by Nigel Smith
But Darius didn’t play any of his favourite songs. At that moment he put on a PROPERLY SOPPY ONE. Tiffannee and Hiram’s favourite.
“Our love is perfect,” sang the sappy singer, “’cos we’ve got perfect love.”
Vom-tastic, thought Nat.
But Tiffannee and Hiram smiled at each other and walked out on to the makeshift dance floor for the first dance. A glitter ball sparkled shafts of light across the tent and the newly-weds, eyes only for each other, began a slow, smoochy dance.
Everyone applauded.
“You might, somehow, get away with this,” Mum said to Dad, as she joined them both, “unlikely as it seems.”
Dad smiled his idiot goofy smile. Mum burst out laughing.
“Come here, you big dope,” she said, her whole body shaking, “I’ve been trying not to laugh for an hour, but it’s impossible.”
Dad hugged Mum. They both dashed over and hugged Tiffannee and Hiram, who looked puzzled.
“Know this, Tiffannee, if your daft husband gives you as much joy as mine, you’ll be the happiest woman alive.”
“Does that mean I’m not in trouble?” asked Dad, hopefully, as they strolled back towards Nat.
“No, you’re in massive trouble,” said Mum, but she kissed him as she said it.
Repelled as Nat was by this, she breathed a sigh of relief. For the first time since the weddings had started, she felt a surge of hope.
They had totally rescued the weddings! And then the storm blew the marquée away.
It was so quick, no one was really sure how it happened.
One minute the bride and groom were smooching under a disco ball, the next they were standing in a soggy, rain-lashed field.
The guests all screamed and ran for cover as all the ropes on one side of the big top seemed to give way and the gale caught the underside of the tent and flipped it over.
Nat noticed that Mum managed to tread on Dad’s ukulele in the chaos AND make it look accidental
It went crunch.
“Ooopsie,” said Mum, as the neck snapped. Dad looked horror-struck, Miss Hunny looked relieved.
“AAAARGH!” said Tiffannee’s dad, zooming past, holding on to a tent rope and trying to pull it downwards. He lost his footing and was dragged, face down, through the mud.
“I’ll help you,” shouted Dad, and ran after him.
“Can I go home now?” shouted Henrik Henriksonn, who was tangled up in a tent rope and dragging along behind him.
Guests ran for their cars. They tried to drive off but the soft ground was so muddy, their wheels just turned uselessly. They were all stuck.
“Into the caravans!” shouted Darius, and the guests scrambled and ran for the empty circus vans.
Tiffannee ran in little circles in the middle of the chaos. Her dress was totally ruined. Her crown of wildflowers was sliding colourfully down her face, and her beautiful shoes were plastered in mud.
Her bottom lip trembled as she looked around at the ruins of her big day.
Chief Bridesmaid Daisy Wetwipe stood in the middle of the field, cackling. She looked like a witch, summoning a storm. She grabbed hold of Tiffannee, as Hiram ducked for shelter in a caravan.
“SHE’S done this!” screamed Daisy Wetwipe pointing at Nat, her limp, soggy fairy wings quivering with rage. “It’s all Nathalia’s fault. She’s sabotaged us because she couldn’t be Chief Fairy Princess Bridesmaid. I told you so!”
Nathalia just stood there, soaked and miserable.
Tiffannee looked at Nat with a look of hurt and anger. It was horrible.
Nat looked at the soaked bride splattered with mud. Daisy was right, in a way. She HAD ruined her cousin’s big day. She felt ashamed of herself.
And then a tent peg fell out of Daisy’s purse.
Nat and Tiffannee gasped.
Tiffannee bent down to pick it up.
“You pulled this out?” she said to Daisy, holding up the tent peg. “You DELIBERATELY SABOTAGED my wedding. In the middle of my first dance!
The chief bridesmaid was lost for words. Her make-up ran down her face in the rain, making her look like one of the sad clowns. Just then Henrik Henrikson popped up and took a photo of her.
“And worst of all,” yelled Tiffannee, “then you tried to blame it on my own family?”
“I can explain…” said Daisy, desperately. She pointed at Nat. “It’s all her fault. She’s mad with jealousy. She got rid of the other bridesmaids and now she’s planted this tent peg on me. She’s still trying to get rid of me, even if it means ruining your wedding. It’s called bridesmaid fever!”
Tiffannee strode over to the rambling bridesmaid and snatched her soggy crown of flowers from her head.
“Oh do shut up, you AWFUL woman,” snapped Tiffannee.
Nat and Darius grabbed Tiffannee’s arm and led the sodden bride into the first caravan they saw.
The three of them dried themselves on some handy blankets and shawls.
“I guess this makes you my Chief Bridesmaid,” said Tiffannee, with a smile, handing over the head-dress. But it was a sad smile.
Nat had to admit the bride looked a bit down. “Not gone perfectly, has it?” said Nat. “I’m ever so sorry.”
“It’s not that that’s making me sad.” Tiffannee’s lip trembled. “The thing is,” she said, “girls spend years and years thinking about their wedding.”
I won’t, thought Nat, unless its years of thinking about how to avoid it.
“And every magazine you read, and everyone on telly and all your friends say it has to be perfect, the most perfect day of your life.”
Nat put a comforting arm around her.
“It made me bonkers,” said Tiffannee, “Nevermind bridesmaid fever, I’ve had bridal insanity! I even made you un-invite lovely Uncle Ernie. What was I thinking? I wish he was here so I could say sorry.” She sniffed, unhappily: “I must be the worst bride ever.”
Nat didn’t know what to say. She pulled off her fairy wings, miserably
Everything was ruined and she felt terrible.
Until the door opened.
And in came Hiram the groom, Mum, the two dads, the two nans and the FBI men, followed by un-uninvited Uncle Ernie (with his rescue dog Buster)…
Ernie was wheeling in:
The most genuinely, astonishingly amazing cake Nat had ever seen.
It was a cake that even her made-up pretend chef Marcel would have been proud of.
Instead of a boring, remodelled, ordinary wedding cake, there stood:
Beautiful cake models of the bride and groom!
Tiffannee couldn’t speak.
Everyone burst into wild applause.
“I’d had so much practice making the matchstick gnomes,” Uncle Ernie said, “that this was a doddle.”
Gnomes? Raymonde mouthed to Dad, who indicated he’d explain later.
“OMG, Uncle Ernie, that’s AMAZING!” said Tiffannee. She embraced Ernie, who trouser-trumped with pride. “After what I did, you must really love me to still have made these?!”
“We all love you, hon,” said Hiram.
Tiffannee blubbered – this time, happily.
Uncle Ernie grinned from wonky ear to ear. Buster ran round his legs in happy doggy circles.
“I’m SO sorry about the invite,” said Tiffannee, with tears in her eyes. Nat didn’t know if the tears were because of her emotion or because of the smelly trump.
“And I’m so sorry to you, Nat,” said Tiffannee giving her a hug. “I know being a Fairy Princess with those other awful bridesmaids wasn’t exactly fun…”
Nat smiled. “Nah, I totally get it now. Weddings are about family. And sometimes family are daft and embarrassing. And sometimes they even make you dress like Esmerelda the spanner fairy…” She took a deep breath and said, with total honesty, “but it’s been an honour to be your bridesmaid Tiff, thank you so much for asking me.” Dad hugged Nat, the soppy idiot.
Tiffannee broke into a big teary-eyed smile. Her face l
it up and it was like the sun peeking out from a raincloud.
“You know,” said the bride, cuddling up to Raymonde, “my dad’s here, I married the man I love and I’m surrounded by people who actually, properly care for me.”
“That’s true,” said Nat, shouting over the rain hammering on the caravan roof.
“I wanted today to be perfect. But it doesn’t matter any more that my wedding hasn’t gone according to plan. This IS sort-of perfect.”
“Yeah, sort-of perfect,” said Nat. She heard yells from outside the van. She looked out of the window at the trapped wedding guests, desperately trying to get their cars out of the muddy swamp.
“That works for me,” said Tiffannee. “I’ve had a sort-of perfect wedding. It’s just a shame my family didn’t get the party I promised them.”
And then an INCREDIBLE thought struck Nat.
“Chimpy,” she said, pinching Darius to get his attention, “have you got Fiona’s mobile number?”
She dialled the new bride. “Fiona,” said Nat, “you know you said we’re family now? And you know the way that family always helps each other out…?”
Nat turned to Tiffannee. “Stand by, your family’s about to get a whole lot bigger,” she said, with a grin.
Nat reckoned the rescue operation that took place over the following hour was noisier and messier and windier than Bad News Nan on Boxing Day.
It was a bit like a film she had seen about the escape from the Dunkirk beaches but instead of hundreds of little ships, there were loads of rubbish cars roaring up to the stranded wedding guests, headlights blazing, with ropes and chains and hairy, shouty Bagleys.
There were enough Bagleys who didn’t drink to drive the cars, and enough Bagleys who DID drink, not to mind hauling vehicles out of the mud. In fact, they seemed to think it was a great wedding hoot!
“It’s nice to be the hero sometimes,” Fingers Bagley said to Nat, as he yanked on a rope.
A blue light flashed. “Oh heck,” said the old safe-cracker. It was the police.
But they were here to help too.
It was Fiona’s mates from the local station. “The town was very quiet,” explained Sergeant Nabber, hopping out of his car, “probably because all the troublemakers are here,” he muttered, looking around.
One by one, the trapped cars were hauled out of the swampy ground. The only thing totally stuck was Dad’s pride and joy – the Atomic Dustbin.
“We’ll have to abandon her, Dad,” shouted Nat in the teeth of the gale.
But then a roar split the air. It was new bride PC Fiona Bagley – and she was on Oswald’s favourite, most powerful, biggest bike.
The Beast. “I thought he’d dismantled it to make your wedding rings,” Nat shouted to Fiona, as Oswald attached a heavy towing chain to Dad’s van. Fiona showed Nat her empty hand. Her ring was gone!
“I said he could put the engine bits together for this rescue,” she said, “so I guess he’s got his rotten bike back. Oh well, nothing’s perfect is it?
“Tell me about it!” said Nat.
“At least I get to ride it now,” yelled Fiona, happily.
With a roar and a screech and a big sucking sound, The Beast pulled the Atomic Dustbin clear of the mud.
Tiffannee walked up to the triumphant Fiona.
She was by now looking like a drowned fairy queen. Fiona giggled, and Tiffannee put an arm around her. “I think we’re going to get on very well,” she said.
“Everyone back to the Country Club!” shouted Fiona. “We’re having a party!”
And WHAT a party.
By midnight, the joint wedding bash was clearly a massive, a roaring, a gigantic, a perfect success.
Darius’s DJ set was totally banging. It was so good he got EVERYONE dancing, even Bad News Nan.
Who didn’t twerk, hoorah.
Unlike Grammy Bagley, aaaargh.
Penny even persuaded Nat to get up and dance and Mr Posnitch taught them the famous Albanian Two-Step Tango.
New groom Hiram was line-dancing with new bride Fiona, and new groom Oswald was twirling new bride Tiffannee over his head like a cane.
Fiona’s police chums were arm-wrestling with the FBI agents to prove who were the better crime-fighters. The FBI men won the arm-wrestling, but then realised they’d lost Raymonde! They wanted to chase after him but Oswald gently convinced them to stay a bit longer.
Fingers Bagley and Fiona’s grandad had got roaring drunk and Nat watched as they began sobbing on each others’ shoulders, saying how sorry they were to have been enemies for so long.
“This is better than perfect,” yelled Tiffannee, as Oswald whizzed her about again, “you’re the best, Nat.”
Yeah, I must be pretty good, organising all this, thought Nat, feeling pleased with herself for the first time for AGES.
Mum danced up to Nat, “You do realise you’re turning into your father?” she said. “He makes a total pig’s ear of things but everyone still loves him. It drives me nuts.”
“I’d rather be you, Mum,” said Nat, alarmed and feeling less pleased with herself, but Mum just laughed and twirled Nat around.
“Where IS your daft dad?” Mum went on. “I haven’t seen him for a while, which makes me nervous.”
“That’s how I feel about Darius,” said Nat, and Mum laughed again.
Suddenly the music stopped. Everyone booed. Then Nat saw them, walking up to the stage. It was Dad, dressed in a too-tight gold jacket, and Miss Hunny in her pretty dress. She was carrying a mike, Dad was carrying a ukulele with the neck sellotaped back on.
“Oh no,” said Mum, “not this, anything but this.”
Nat felt faint. It had all been going so well…
Dad took the mike.
“I’m very sorry but King Ivor and The Hunnypots have split up over musical differences,” he said. Though he was smiling.
Everyone who had ever heard Dad play, cheered.
“Basically, I’ve been chucked out of my own band,” said Dad, to more cheering.
With a smile he handed his uke to Hiram’s best man, Mike J Stenkowitz Jr, who strummed it expertly.
Mike and Miss Hunny took to the stage and something rather wonderful happened.
They were flipping brilliant. Miss Hunny had a voice like an angel dipped in – well, honey – and Mike played the ukulele in a way Nat had never heard before – that is, in tune and in time.
They played three of Tiffannee and Hiram’s favourite songs and everyone joined in on the choruses.
Then they played one of Oswald’s favourite songs and everyone put their fingers in their ears.
“He’s a tiny bit better than me,” said Dad, standing next to Nat. Nat squeezed his hand, gratefully.
“Plus,” said Dad kindly, “I reckoned you might have suffered enough embarrassment today already.”
This time he got a proper hug.
It was almost dawn when the joint wedding party finally broke up and the last remaining guests staggered out into clean, fresh morning air, all storm clouds long since blown away.
Everyone agreed it had been the best wedding – the best WEDDINGS – ever.
Tons of lovely things happened.
The local paper was going to run a story about the heroic Bagleys and ensure they were allowed to party in the town again.
Henrik Henriksonn didn’t win the church picture prize, but he did get his photos of the dramatic rescue published in the local paper. Which made Peter Petersonn green with envy.
Plus, his pictures of Uncle Ernie’s cake got Uncle Ernie a new career as a celebrity baker.
Tiffannee’s escaped dad Raymonde still keeps in touch with regular postcards from Mexico.
Mr Posnitch fell in love with the tangled-up contortionist from the circus.
Daisy Wetwipe left the country in shame.
Miss Hunny and Mike the best man formed a new band and made a record.
Bad News Nan and Grammy Bagley discovered they both loved funerals and promised to
share any future invites, to double the fun.
And both Fiona AND Tiffannee told Nat she was the greatest bridesmaid in the history of bridesmaids, just before slipping away with their new husbands, and that GROWN UP look on their faces.
Yuk.
A pink dawn slid across the horizon as Uncle Spiro plopped a sleepy Darius in the back of his car.
“See ya, chimpy,” said Nat.
“Not if I see you first, Buttface,” said Darius.
“He’s staying with us for a week,” said the circus-master, “he’s got some great ideas for our next show. Ninja nightmares, he calls it, could be a winner.”
The driver, one of the miserable clowns, pulled away.
They got about six feet before the wheels fell off and the top sprang open and custard squirted out of the engine.
“Oops – it’s the clown’s car,” said Spiro. “I forgot.”
Finally, only Nat, Mum and Dad were left. They stood happily outside the Country Club, waiting for a cab. Nat was shattered, but full of a warm glow inside. Job done, she thought, yawning, somehow…
“Forgot to mention,” said Dad, “my cousin Isobel got engaged at the party. She’s had a great time. She’s asked if Nat would be her Chief Bridesmaid and if I’d be her wedding planner.”
Nat looked at Mum. “Obviously I said yes,” said Dad.
Mum and Nat chased him around the car park with his broken ukulele.
Have you read…?
Click on the covers to read more from Nathalia Buttface
Nat has a chance to start afresh at a new school, in a new town… but with the same old embarrassing dad. Uh-oh! This isn’t going to end well…
Summer holidays are here and Nat’s off to the South of France. Surely even embarrassing Dad can’t ruin this? Don’t bet on it!
When a video of Nat dancing goes viral she soon realises fame isn’t all it’s cracked up to be… Especially with THE MOST EMBARRASSING DAD IN THE WORLD as a manager!
About the Author
NIGEL SMITH has been a journalist, busker, TV comedy producer and script writer, winning an award for his BBC 4 radio comedy, Vent. More importantly, he has been – and still is – an embarrassing dad. Much like Nathalia Buttface, his three children are continually mortified by his ill-advised trousers, comedic hats, low-quality jokes, poorly chosen motor vehicles, unique sense of direction and unfortunate ukulele playing. Unlike his hero, Ivor Bumolé, he doesn’t write Christmas cracker jokes for a living. Yet.