Nathalia Buttface and The Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster

by Nigel Smith

  “Photographs are not about pictures. Photographs are about LIFE,” said Clara, snorting like a horse.

  “Photographs are A BIT about pictures too, though, aren’t they?” said Nat, confused.

  “You are a child, you don’t understand,” said Clara. Tiffannee and the bridesmaids all giggled. Nat felt foolish.

  “Clara is saying she needs to live with us before she takes pictures,” said Tiffannee. “Anyone can take pictures; Clara makes ART.”

  “How long is she going to live with us?” said Nat, worried. “Only I don’t think there’s much in for tea.”

  Tiffannee laughed again. “Clara only needs to be with us for a few hours to understand who we are. Artists live differently to us; they see the world more clearly.”

  “I can see Tiffannee has a pure, white soul,” said Clara, “which is why today I have dressed her in pure white.”

  Nat looked at herself. She was in jeans and a plain grey T-shirt. She felt drab and dull and boring compared to Tiffannee. “Should I get changed?” Nat said. Clara looked her up and down.

  “No,” she said, “drab suits you.”

  Oh thanks, thought Nat.

  “Shouldn’t we be in our bridesmaid outfits?” asked suck-up Chief Bridesmaid Daisy Wetwipe.

  Nat went cold. Noooo, she thought. Not the Esmerelda. Not in PUBLIC.

  But Clara shook her head violently.

  “This is very simple, so I will only say it once. There is a wedding story here, understand? You will NOT be fairy princesses until the wedding day, when your queen –” she pointed at Tiffannee – “is crowned. Until then, think of yourselves as caterpillars, before you can become the butterfly.”

  “Isn’t she the best?” said Tiffannee. “She knows that a wedding is a story. A story about love. Perfect, perfect love.”

  The bridesmaids all clapped and smiled, apart from Nat, who felt a bit queasy, like she’d eaten too much sugar off a spoon made of honey.

  They watched as Clara started posing Tiffannee and the other bridesmaids, hopping up and then crouching down, with her hands in front of her face, as if she was taking photos.

  “I don’t think that madwoman even has a camera,” muttered Darius.

  “The sun’s all wrong!” shouted Clara. “No pictures this morning, so we just have to BE.”

  She grabbed Nat and pushed her into the bridesmaids. “Be what?” said Nat, confused.

  Clara snorted again.

  I’m gonna get you a bale of hay and a saddle soon, thought Nat.

  “She means we have to just go on the rides and behave like any normal bridesmaids having a wonderful day out with the amazing, beautiful bride,” said Tilly Saddle.

  Tiffannee clapped her hands with glee. Tilly simpered.

  What a crawly bumlick you are, thought Nat.

  “Follow me!” cried the war journalist, marching off into the funfair. The others began trooping after her. Darius, who had just grabbed a hot dog, tagged along behind them.

  Chief Bridesmaid and chief horrible girl Daisy Wetwipe suddenly stopped and pointed at him. He had tomato sauce smeared over his face and bits of onion down his chin.

  “He can’t come, can he?” said Daisy.

  Oooh you are mean, thought Nat, then felt guilty because she often felt exactly the same.

  Clara advanced on Darius. He swallowed the last of his hot dog and burped noisily.

  “No, the little hobgoblin MUST come,” she said, unexpectedly. She grabbed him, then immediately let go and wiped her hands down her trousers.

  “Can’t you see the contrast between you – the beautiful fairy princesses – and this… this thing?”

  “So having him in the background makes us look even more gorgeous!” squealed Daisy.

  “That’s a brilliant idea,” said Tiffannee.

  “Yes, because I am brilliant,” said Clara. “Now stop talking, I’m the only person to talk from now on, understood? TO THE DODGEMS!”

  The bridesmaids and the goblin spent the next noisy, dizzying hour on the rides. Nat even enjoyed herself a little, although she was cross with Darius for not having a plan, and just getting a free day out at the fair.

  He was behaving very oddly. Every time they changed rides, he dashed to a fast-food stall, or a sweetie van.

  “How can you eat all that rubbish before going on a ride?” said Nat. “The rides make my stomach churn as it is.”

  Darius didn’t reply; he was too busy stuffing his face with a bag of extra-sweet chocolate fudge brownies.

  Clara still refused to take pictures, saying she wanted to capture what was REAL, and the bridesmaids weren’t being real enough. Even the bride-to-be was flagging now.

  “Oh, how can you say that?” moaned Tiffannee after the fifth ride. “We’re as real as can be.”

  She gave her best fake smile. So did the other bridesmaids.

  But it was no use. “When you have looked, as I have, into the face of horror,” said Clara, “you know what is real. Those are the only pictures I take.”

  She pointed to the biggest, baddest ride in the park:

  THE DESTRUCTORATER.

  It looked like the inside of a dinosaur skeleton. It glinted and gleamed and stood taller than the sky.

  NO ONE who was sane wanted to go on it.

  “Me first,” said Darius, grabbing Nat’s hand and dragging her with him.

  “Follow the goblin, bridesmaids,” ordered Clara.

  The others nervously obeyed. Soon they were all strapped in their carriage, Darius and Nat in the front seat, Clara just behind them, and the rest of the bridal party in the back. Nat started moaning that she didn’t fancy this ride, but Darius wasn’t listening – he was forcing down a huge, meaty Cornish pasty, full of chunks of beef and veg.

  The carriage lurched forward and Darius burped the National Anthem.

  The rollercoaster was horrible. It looped and twisted and rolled and went backwards and just when everyone thought with relief it was over, it started doing it all over again.

  Nat thought her eyes were going to pop out. She felt dizzy and sick and was very glad she hadn’t spent all morning eating rubbishy junk food. Like Darius.

  She looked at him. He was very pale and trembly. Little beads of sweat were popping out on his forehead.

  “You all right?” she said, anxiously. Darius just grinned an evil grin. Nat recognised this grin as a signal.

  A signal to be very afraid.

  Tiffannee and the bridesmaids, strapped in behind them, were pretending to enjoy the ride, but now they just had that grim look on their faces worn by parents taking their eight-year-old daughters to a boy band concert.

  They were at the top of the biggest dip, just about to hurtle to the ground. Everyone looked terrified.

  “I am ready to make the pictures!” yelled Clara, mad hair flailing. She produced a big camera from an inexplicable hiding place. “THIS is real life. I need real, and now I have real.”

  The carriage shot forward.

  “Duck,” said dizzy Darius, whose eyes were spinning. His face was literally green.

  Nat immediately ducked, so missed seeing what happened next.

  What happened next was THE MOST DISGUSTING THING that Darius had ever done. You have been warned.

  BLEUUURGH! went Darius.

  And launched his lunch.

  WHEEE! flew the contents of his overstretched stomach – half-digested candy-floss, hot dogs (including ketchup and onions), chomped donuts, slimy fudge and lots of bits of sticky peanut brittle.

  The pitter-pattering peanuts were the worst.

  Or maybe the meaty chunks from the pasty.

  AAAAARHH! screamed the bridesmaids as the vile pile of vom hurtled through the air.

  Right at them.

  SPLATTT!

  “BRILLIANT expressions!” yelled the bonkers snapper, taking photos like mad. “Now I am getting real. I am looking into your souls.”

  “Stop taking pictures!” screamed a sick-splattered Tiffa
nnee over the sound of all her bridesmaids shrieking and weeping and wailing.

  “The horror, the horror!” yelled the photographer with wild glee.

  “You’re sacked, Clara!” shouted Tiffannee. “What’s happening?” said Nat, who had her head buried under her arms for safety. The rollercoaster swooped down to the ground and stopped.

  “That’s better,” said Darius, hopping out, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. “Fancy a burger?”

  “SHE’S DONE IT ON PURPOSE!” screamed Daisy Wetwipe, who, by the look of it, had taken a direct hit. “She’s teamed up with the goblin from hell to get rid of us. She wants to be Chief Fairy Princess Bridesmaid and she won’t stop until she is!”

  “Yes, you HAVE to stop her coming to the wedding,” said Tilly, who was almost as decorated.

  “Sack her too, sack her right now,” demanded Erin Granule.

  “She’ll stop at nothing, I tell you,” said Annie Chicken, “NOTHING.”

  “Is this true, Nathalia?” said Tiffannee. “Are you really so desperate to be my Chief Bridesmaid that you’re trying to nobble the others?”

  Nat was outraged. She was about to furiously deny it all when SHE REALISED THE PLAN!

  She could have hugged Darius, except he’d gone to the loos to sponge down.

  This was her big chance to get out of Tiffannee’s wedding! It was so easy.

  “Yes, I admit it,” she said, holding her hands up. “I’m guilty as charged.”

  She thought she might as well do her confession properly and decided to give it a touch of the Juliets. They’d been doing that rubbish play at school and she thought it was pretty feeble stuff, but she did like the sound of the words.

  “By my truth, I swear being a Perfect Fairy Princess Bridesmaid has been my greatest dream ever since I was a child, and I could not rest until my Fairy Princess rivals were all defeated. But in my defence, it’s only because I love you with my heart, goodly cousin. Now punish me. I think banishment should do it.”

  But to her great dismay, tears welled up in Tiffannee’s eyes. She opened her vom-splattered arms and grabbed Nat.

  There was a squishing noise.

  Don’t hug me, don’t hug me, ew ew ew, thought Nat, followed by: I might have overdone the speech a bit.

  “I forgive you,” said Tiffannee.

  “Don’t forgive me,” said Nat, “I’m unforgivable.”

  “It’s only because you care so much.”

  “And because I’m a wicked wicked person who definitely needs to be taught the error of her wicked flipping ways.”

  Tiffannee turned to the miserable bridesmaids. “This little girl is the best bridesmaid EVER,” said Tiffannee. “And what’s more, she’s my family. Anyone who disagrees can get lost.”

  There was a pause. Eventually, Erin Granule stormed off saying, “I’m not sticking around, who knows what she’ll do next.”

  “Anybody else feel like that?” said Tiffannee, putting an arm around Nat.

  Me! thought Nat, I feel like that!

  No one else moved.

  “Meet my new First Assistant Chief Bridesmaid,” said Tiffannee.

  Nat looked round. Then she realised…

  Tiffannee meant HER.

  On Monday at school Nat wasn’t talking to Darius. Except to shout at him.

  “You’ve just made it worse,” she said. “Your plans are rubbish. I keep getting promoted. At this rate I’ll end up being the bride.”

  “There’s one more plan,” he said. “I was saving it for emergencies.”

  “This is an emergency.”

  “It’s risky,” said Darius, “it’s very risky.”

  “I DON’T CARE,” said Nat, “will it get me out of fairy princess horror?”

  Darius paused. “No, it’s too risky,” he said eventually.

  “Darius Bagley, if you don’t tell me, I’m gonna tell everyone you want to kiss Penny Posnitch.”

  “Fine,” said Darius, “get your dad to come in to my house when you drop me off after school, and just play along. No time to explain.”

  Last lesson of the day was maths and Nat always sat next to Darius because he told her the answers but however hard she poked him and scowled at him, he wouldn’t tell her his brilliant plan.

  She was wracking her brains about it, when Mr Frantz the permanently harassed maths teacher passed her desk. Normally when he looked at her, she was staring out of the window with an utterly blank expression.

  “Vot are you concentrating so hard on?” he said suspiciously. “You are girl with maths brain of wombat.”

  “Maths things, sir,” she said. “Numbers, mainly. Really big numbers.”

  Darius, sitting next to her, blew snot bubbles out of his nose and Mr Frantz suddenly remembered why he never usually stood near these two children.

  At last the bell for the end of class went and Nat shoved Darius rudely towards the door, hoping to get out of the school gates and up the road before Dad could pull up in the Atomic Dustbin and embarrass her, but as they approached the gates she realised it was too late.

  PAAAAARP!

  The farty car horn blared out and literally everyone at the gates turned round. Nat felt her face going red, knowing immediately what vehicle was making the horrible noise even before she heard Dad’s cheery call: “Nat, over here, Nat! Stop pretending you can’t see me! Stop turning around and walking the other way. Quick, you’re going to have to jump in while we’re still moving. I’ve opened the big slidey door so it’s easy… Hurry up, I can’t actually stop or the engine cuts out for various mechanical reasons I don’t quite understand yet,” yelled Dad. “Get a move on, I’ve driven past the school gates three times already and I think the school bus drivers are now trying to kill me.”

  Nat put her head down in the vain hope no one could see her and ran for the horrible, smoky old van, Darius trailing behind.

  As soon as they got in, Darius immediately started to wrestle with the dog, trying to get his dog biscuit off him. The pair thrashed around on the floor in the back of the van until they eventually pulled up outside Darius’s scruffy little house in the litter-strewn street.

  There was a police car sitting outside. “Oh dear,” said Dad. “Darius, I think Oswald might be in trouble again.”

  “Nah, it’s just Fiona,” said Darius, “Oswald’s fiancée.”

  “Fiancée?” said Dad and Nat in unison.

  Dad was stunned; Nat was FUMING; why hadn’t Darius told her?

  “Yes, they’re getting married,” said Darius hopping out of the van.

  “Married?” repeated Dad. “Oswald’s getting married? Oswald, your brother Oswald? Oswald Bagley’s getting married?” Nat couldn’t believe the news. Oswald Bagley, who looked after Darius since neither of his parents were around, was probably the hairiest and most terrifying man since the Viking Lord, Olaf the Hairy and Terrifying, who could scare people to death by smiling at them. Nat had never seen Oswald smile; she didn’t think he could.

  “Just WHO is mad enough to marry your brother?” asked Nat.

  “It’s a policewoman,” said Darius. “She said it was easier to marry him than keep arresting him. Come in and meet her.”

  He hopped out of the van and scampered towards the door chewing half a soggy dog biscuit. Nat stomped furiously after him while Dad locked the van.

  “And when exactly were you going to tell me about this?” fumed Nat.

  “When it was important,” said Darius simply. “And now it’s important.”

  She stormed after her friend up the untidy garden path to the battered, weather-peeled front door. The front door wasn’t locked – even in this part of town no one was mad enough to try and pinch anything from Oswald Bagley – so Darius pushed it with his foot and sauntered on in.

  Nat couldn’t believe what she saw. The front room was usually littered with half-drunk bottles, and almost empty of furniture, with old upturned beer crates for seats. There were generally missing floorboards and a wide and interestin
g selection of other people’s belongings lying around.

  But not today. Today the room had a carpet, a small table and a proper little sofa. The windows were clean, most of the smell had gone, and there was even a little vase of garden flowers on the windowsill.

  “Wrong house,” said Nat, turning to go back out.

  A second later, Nat heard a woman’s pretty voice singing a song and a second after that, Oswald Bagley’s bride-to-be walked in from the kitchen, carrying a tray of tea and slices of cake.

  “Definitely wrong house,” said Nat, but Darius grabbed her arm and led her further into the front room, swiping a bit of cake on the way past and chucking himself down on the sofa.

  “Shoes off,” said the woman, with a firmer edge to her voice than the singing voice would suggest. She turned to Nat. She wasn’t tall, but there was a solidness to her, like the stump of a tree. Her face was rather round and her hair rather short. She had fierce, intelligent blue eyes and very white teeth. She was also wearing a police uniform.

  “You must be the famous Buttface,” said the woman smiling.

  “Must I?” said Nat, glaring at Darius, who grinned. The woman shot a sharp glance at him. “Sorry, Darius said you liked your nickname. I can see he’s been rather naughty again, bless him. Sit down, have a cup of tea.”

  Nat sat next to Darius as the woman bustled around her. “Now, what should I call you?” she asked. “I’m Fiona. Fiona Sweetly. Police Constable Fiona Sweetly, in actual fact. I can’t stay long, I’m actually on duty, but if Oswald doesn’t get his afternoon cuppa he gets a bit cranky.”

  “Is he here?” said Nat, not wanting to think about a cranky Oswald.

  “He’s in the garden, doing something with the hollyhocks.”

  “Fire-bombing them?” joked Nat. Well, half-joked. Fiona’s face grew stern, then softened. “I suppose I must accept Oswald has a bit of a reputation,” said his intended with a sigh, “but all that’s going to change.”

  “Congratulations on your wedding,” said Nat, shooting daggers at Darius again.

  In response, Darius did something extraordinary. He rearranged his normally lumpen, blank-looking face into something similar to a normal twelve-year-old’s.