by Nigel Smith
Or it might be because Darius had painted over the word DON’T in white paint.
Trapped Norwegian tourist, Henrik Henriksonn, was right in the thick of it, still taking pictures. He looked a bit confused, but seemed to be doing a good job.
Tiffannee stood at the top of the steps and prepared to throw her flowers to the waiting crowd. Tilly Saddle spat on her hands and crouched, ready to leap. But Nat had other ideas.
As soon as the bouquet was tossed in the air, Darius made a cup for his hands, which Nat stood on. He threw her upwards. Darius was small but surprisingly strong, and Nat was skinny and light.
She leapt up like a salmon in a hot pond. She sailed over everyone’s heads and grabbed the flying flowers. The wings might even have helped.
YESSSSS! she thought, seeing the two rings in the flowers.
Then she realised how high she was.
NOOOO, she thought.
Splat.
She landed.
On poor Henrik Henriksonn.
“I’ve broken everything in my body,” she wailed.
“You have broken ME,” said the squished tourist. “Can I go now?”
“No,” said Nat and Darius in unison.
“Gimmee that,” said Tilly Saddle, grabbing at the bouquet. “It’s MINE.”
There were murmurs of “shame” and “rude” and “big bully” from the crowd.
Tilly forced a big fake smile. “We’re only playing!” she said, picking Nat up and dusting her down and straightening her dented wings.
“Bridesmaid banter, that’s right, isn’t it, bum ’ole?”
Nat smiled a fake smile back – and stamped her foot down hard on Tilly’s toes. And Nat was wearing her big heavy black boots.
Tilly went red in the face and cross-eyed with pain.
“Banter THAT,” said Nat, grabbing the rings and running. She gave Tiffannee a peck on the cheek. “See you at the marquée!” said Nat.
“Where are you going?” asked Tiffannee, looking confused.
“Love you, must dash,” shouted Nat over her shoulder, “I need to, er, I need to, um…”
She couldn’t think of an excuse for dashing off so quickly.
“SHE NEEDS A POO!” shouted Darius, running after her.
“What? That was a great excuse,” said Darius in the back of the van, as they sped to the next wedding. “Stop… ow! Stop pinching, you’re breaking the skin now.”
Oswald’s wedding ceremony was taking place outdoors, in the rose garden of the local park. By the time they got there, Nat had zipped up her black jacket over her fairy princess outfit and was looking less utterly lame.
“I got the rings, did you remember your thing?” she said to Darius, trying to keep a straight face and failing totally.
He held up his cuff, still locked on to his wrist. It jangled.
Nat could tell the Bagleys were already at the wedding because the roads around the park were blocked by an extraordinary selection of cars, vans and trucks.
A few, a very few, were modern and shiny. Most were not. There were battered pick-ups; old convertibles with silver sticky tape holding down the fabric roofs; big, dented estate cars with thick heavy tyres and cracked windscreens. There were old delivery vans and horseboxes and camper vans even tattier than the Atomic Dustbin.
They had to park miles away. “Run,” said Nat, as the three of them jogged to the park. They made it inside with only a few minutes to spare.
Merlin was already there, under a black awning, next to a bubbling cauldron.
And also already there were:
THE BAGLEY CLAN.
If Nat had ever done her history homework, she might have known that today was the anniversary of the battle of Scrotalanium, as the town used to be called in Roman times.
Dad, who fancied himself as a bit of a local historian, DID know, although not as much as he pretended to. He whispered:
“It was right here, where we’re standing. The roman legion under Squintus Maximus were faced by the wildest and most savage barbarians in the whole Empire,” he said.
He looked around at the bunch of Bagleys, who were staring at them.
“It must have felt a bit like this,” said Dad.
A roar went up from the wild wedding guests.
“Crikey, it’s happening again,” said cowardly Dad “let’s go. It didn’t end well for Maximus. He was called Minimus afterwards.”
But Darius just ran into the crowd, where he was tossed from cousin to auntie to uncle to cousin again like a volleyball.
“They’re FRIENDLY barbarians, Dad, we’ll be fine,” said Nat, stepping forward with a smile and getting swallowed up. She was petted and patted and passed around until she found herself next to Fiona and Merlin.
“Morning!” said Nat, who had decided the day was SO bonkers she might as well try to enjoy herself. “Nice day for a wedding, what’s in the cauldron? Breakfast?”
“Bats, rats, toads, weasels and some secret herbs and spices,” said Fiona, kissing Nat. “But it’ll probably taste like chicken. Have you got…?”
Nat produced the rings and Darius appeared, jangling his cuffs.
“Phew,” said Fiona.
“Where is Oswald?” intoned Merlin the dry-cleaner.
As if to reply, Oswald stepped out of the bushes. He stood straight and tall and proud. He was clad all in black leather, and his beard was plaited in two, like a Viking. The only colour on him was his face, which was painted with two bright blue stripes across his cheeks, and on his beard, where two tiny flames flickered and smoked from the ends.
“He’s quite handsome, in a totally terrifying way,” said Nat, “but I might only be saying that ’cos those fumes from the cauldron are making me feel odd.”
“He’s lush,” said Fiona, looking at him with an expression Nat recognised as GROWN UP.
Ew, thought Nat, public display of affection coming, ew ew ew.
The ceremony began and although it was quite odd, Nat didn’t think it was much odder than the one in the church. As far as she could tell, they were both just old men in robes banging on about something or other in deep booming voices.
The couple lit candles and drank some of the disgusting brew, and Fiona said something about Oswald being the other half of her, which Nat thought sounded revolting.
Then the time came for Oswald to say his bit.
Oooh, I’m finally gonna hear Oswald speak, thought Nat, can’t wait.
But, just then, the mounting fumes from the cauldron caught the back of her throat and she started coughing, and couldn’t stop. She bent double as tears fell, streaming, down her face and she gasped for air.
Dad rushed over. “She’s choking!” he said, thumping her back and squeezing her ribs while she kept trying to fight him off. “My little girl’s choking, give her air, never mind all the wizardry…”
By the time she’d recovered, though, the ceremony had moved on and she’d missed Oswald’s big moment.
“Who bears the rings?” said Merlin Tolpuddle gravely.
“That would be me,” said Nat, handing them over. Merlin put the rings on the couple. The Bagley clan made a kind of ooooh noise.
“Who bears the cuffs of togetherness?” said Merlin. No one moved. Merlin prodded Darius with his staff.
“Is that me?” said Darius, and stepped forward, jangling his handcuffs. Oswald produced the key with a wide smile.
“I know where that’s been,” said Darius, grumpily.
“And now will the Maid of Horror step forward?” said Merlin.
Nat did as she was instructed. She felt like she was in a film; it was all quite fun. Merlin, the shaman of the dirty shirts, took her arm and placed it over the bubbling cauldron.
“And will the Prince of Misrule step forward to join her?”
Merlin took Darius’s arm too and made them hold hands.
Urgh, less fun, thought Nat.
“Now, I join the two families together,” said Merlin, holding the handcuff
s.
“I’m not really family,” began Nat.
But Fiona shushed her. “You’re the closest thing I’ve got to a little sister,” she said, gently.
“Ahh, that’s so nice,” said Nat, eyes filling with tears again.
What is it with weddings and blubbing? she thought. Get a grip, Nat.
Then Merlin placed the other cuff around her wrist.
“Hold it right there, beardy,” she said.
“Don’t worry, it’s just for a minute,” said Fiona. “It’s part of the wedding binding ceremony.”
CLUNK went the heavy iron cuff.
And Nat was joined…
To Darius Bagley.
Merlin did a bit more mumbo jumbo then at last said: “Release the Maid of Horror and the Prince of Misrule.”
Oswald passed the key towards Merlin. The shaman of the dirty collars couldn’t quite reach, so ever-helpful Dad took the key…
And dropped it RIGHT IN THE CAULDRON.
“Ooops, butterfingers!” said Dad.
Nat was totally chained to Darius.
“Get it out,” said Nat, glaring at Dad, “get that key out, right now.”
“We cannot touch the cauldron until it is cooled,” said Merlin. “It is forbidden. It is taboo.” He looked down at the bubbling goo. “Also it’s flipping hot and I’ll get scalded,” he muttered under his breath.
Nat looked at her watch. It was on the side attached to Darius and she nearly dragged him into the steaming pot.
“Watch out,” he said.
“We’ve gotta get to Tiffannee’s reception in twenty minutes,” Nat hissed at Darius, panic rising in her voice. Then she yelled at Merlin: “Oi, Dumbledore, will it be cool in ten minutes?”
“Ten minutes? You’ll be lucky. Give it a couple of hours, more like,” said Merlin, who wasn’t sounding very wizard-like any more, “or possibly not till tomorrow, to be on the safe side.”
“Where’s the spare key?” Nat asked Fiona hopefully, trying to pull her hand out of the old cuffs.
“There isn’t a spare key,” said Fiona, “and stop wriggling, you’ll never get out of them without a key. Even Fingers Bagley never got out of those cuffs. They’re the best ever made. You’ll just have a wait a while, together. You don’t mind, do you? Seeing as you’re such good friends. It’s all part of the magic of weddings.”
“When today is over, Dad…” growled Nat, dangerously.
Merlin turned to Fiona and Oswald. “I have just one more duty to perform,” he said, reaching into his robe. He pulled out a business card and handed it over to them.
“You get two-for-one dry-cleaning for the first three months of your marriage. All part of the service.”
He raised his staff and shouted: “That’s it – they’re married!” A great cheer went up.
“I am available for other ceremonies,” Merlin went on, even though no one could hear him over the great Bagley cheering, “christenings, funerals and children’s parties too.”
“Yay and woop for flipping weddings” said Nat wearily, “and extra cheering for bridesmaiding.”
She felt her hand get lifted up towards Darius’s face. She yanked her cuff, sharply.
“Ow, you almost pulled my nose off,” said Darius.
“Stop picking it then,” she said crossly.
Then she realised what else he would do with his hands over A WHOLE DAY.
“AAAARRGH!” she yelled. “Get them off now!” but no one in the cheering crowd heard her scream.
“Any ideas?” said Nat.
Nat and Darius were sat facing each other across the little camping table in the back of Dad’s van, the cuffs lying on the table between them.
“Power tools,” said Darius.
“Any other ideas?” said Nat. She knew how rubbish Dad’s DIY skills were.
They had been home to pick up the big bowls of Dad’s wedding stew which were now clanging around in the back of the van. They were now off to serve the stew at Tiffannee’s perfect olde English summer wedding marquée, formerly known as Spiro’s Super Circus.
Then they would just have enough time to dash to the Castle Country Club, where Penny and Mr Posnitch were making a posh lunch.
Dad’s phone bonged.
“That’s a text,” he said passing his phone back. “Can you look for me, I’m driving.”
Nat leaned over to grab the phone, pulling Darius with her. His face hit the table with a smack.
“Thanks,” Darius said, “I’ve been trying to get that tooth out for ages.”
“Sorry, I forgot,” said Nat, giving him another yank for luck.
“Oh heck, it’s from Mum,” said Nat, reading the text. “She got an earlier flight!”
“HHHNNNNG,” said Dad.
“She’s heading to the the Castle Country Club,” shouted Nat, “she’s expecting it to be Tiffannee’s wedding, Dad!”
The van swerved and Dad said some rude words.
“I hadn’t QUITE told your mum the full story,” said Dad, “I was going to say we found this new venue in a field in an old circus and it was definitely way better than the country club, but then I thought that might make her a bit completely furious so I had a better plan which was to hope Mum’s meetings ran over and she missed the wedding altogether.”
“That’s not a plan, Dad,” said Nat, appalled.
“It’s not a GOOD plan, I agree,” said Dad, “but it was a plan.”
Nat put her head in her hands.
“I had a back-up plan too,” said Dad.
Hope flared up in Nat briefly, like so many times before.
“That plan was to pray she saw the funny side.”
Nat’s hope was immediately squished, like so many times before.
“It sometimes takes a while to see the funny side,” said Dad, “but you can usually see it eventually.”
Nat glared at Dad.
“I can see you glaring in the rear view mirror,” said Dad, “and it’s putting me off driving. Look, I’ll call your mum when we get to the circus – I mean olde worlde perfect English wedding marquée – and tell her to come there instead. She’ll probably think I did all the right things anyway.”
“Like she always does you mean?” said Nat.
“Well, um…” said Dad, uncomfortably.
Darius grinned. Eventually Nat joined him. “You’re right about one thing, Dad,” said Nat.
“Am I?” said Dad, who didn’t hear that often.
“Yeah. I AM starting to see the funny side.”
The van stopped at some traffic lights, and the useless engine cut out. All three of them suddenly noticed a loud slurping sound coming from the back.
Nat and Dad instinctively looked at Darius.
“It’s not me,” said Darius.
“Where’s the dog?” Nat said suddenly. “He’s usually licking Darius ’cos he’s the most tasty thing in the van to— uh oh.”
She dived into the back, dragging Darius with her, who clanged his face on a pan.
“Forgot again, sorry,” she yelled. Then she saw the mutt. He was lying on his back with a very happy look on his doggy face.
A doggy face covered in gravy.
Well, stew.
Dad stew.
“HE’S EATEN THE STEW!” yelled Nat, “Dad, the dog’s munched Tiffannee’s wedding lunch.”
“He’ll be OK, it was just meat and potatoes,” said Dad starting the van again.
“Never mind THE DOG,” shouted Nat. “Listen to what I said. I said he’s EATEN Tiffannee’s WEDDING LUNCH!”
“All of it?” squeaked Dad nervously.
“Dunno,” said Nat as she and Darius went through the pots and cartons of food. The crafty hound had started munching right at the back so they hadn’t seen the havoc he’d caused until too late. Pot after pot and carton after carton had been sniffed, investigated, licked, tasted…
…and gobbled right up.
Only a few pots remained undisturbed.
“There
’s about half left,” said Nat, “but that’s got dog hairs in.”
“Fish ’em out,” said Dad. “There’s nothing poisonous about dog hair.”
“Dad, we can’t serve wedding guests half a plate of hairy stew,” said Nat. “I mean, it’s not like everything else today has gone tickety-boo. Tiffannee’s sitting in a field in a Bagley circus tent with two out of six bridesmaids and a wedding photographer who’s a kidnapped Norwegian tourist, and half the FBI. The disco’s just Darius with an iPod and the band is you and Miss Hunny on a ukulele. The least we could do is give them some proper food, not furry dog-slobber.”
She wanted to bang her head on the little table. Instead, she yanked her arm and clanged Darius off a portable stove.
“If you’re gonna look on the dark side all the time…” said Dad.
“Right, that’s it!” Nat dashed forward to throttle her dad.
“Glark,” said Darius, who was dragged behind her and was now wedged between two large cast iron pans.
Fortunately for Dad that meant Nat was pulled up short before she could get her fingers around his neck.
“The cake!” yelled Dad. “Tell me that the cake’s OK.”
In the panic over the slurped stew, Nat had forgotten about the cake. It was in the back under a large protective sheet.
“I’m too scared to look,” she said. Darius wasn’t. He whipped off the cover to reveal…
A perfect, three-tiered, beautiful white wedding cake.
“It’s fine, Dad,” said Nat with a huge sigh of relief.
“See? Maybe our luck’s changed,” he said, ramming on the brakes to avoid Merlin Tolpuddle’s dry-cleaning van which had just pulled out in front of him without looking.
“That was close,” said Dad, honking the horn and wagging a warning finger at the shaman. “Everyone all right in the back?”
There was a silence.
“Not really,” said Darius.
Dad looked in the rear view mirror.
Nat was sitting with a totally stunned expression on her face.
And the top tier of the wedding cake…
Squished on her head.
The cake was in a terrible mess.