by Sophie Lee
Please join Arabella and Adam
to celebrate a renewal of vows
In their shed.
Tomorrow at noon.
Bring a plate, if you wouldn’t mind. Your cooking is second to none and we can’t cook to save ourselves.
‘Mum,’ said Edie, looking up at Cinnamon. ‘Can you make them a batch of those pancakes with quince jelly?’
Meanwhile, Edie’s dad was so thankful that she had survived the balloon disaster that he had stayed up all the previous night making the dumb-waiter doggy-lifter fully operational. Only when satisfied it was completely safe did he invite Edie to launch it at a small family ceremony. A bottle of Cinnamon’s elderflower cordial had been sprinkled over the harness (rather than a champagne bottle being smashed to bits, as is the tradition when launching a great ship on its maiden voyage). Edie helped Mister Pants into the cradle, fastened the buckle and turned the lifter handle; then they all watched him ascend to the upper floor of The Pride of the Green, snorting contentedly and licking the sticky cordial off the harness.
Edie had never seen the Blank Marauder look as happy as he did on the day of his ‘vowel renewal’ (as Cheesy kept calling it for her own amusement). When Cheesy arrived, the girls went straight to the Marauder’s shed to make sure it was shipshape and that all his bits and pieces, from his abacuses to his zelig nuts, were stored in their appropriate boxes.
Precisely at noon, when all the guests were assembled, Doctor Stuart arrived in an alpaca-drawn chariot. (Thankfully none of them spat at the guests. In fact, it seemed the alpacas of Runcible had brightened up to such a degree that they could no longer be classified as ‘distressed’.) Mister didn’t recognise her at first since she didn’t have her white coat and microscope, and was instead wearing a full-length cornflower-blue dress with her flaxen hair done in a twist. The Blank Marauder had dressed for the occasion in a silk shirt, a cravat and hounds-tooth trousers that were probably, thought Edie, from another ‘mint condition’ shipment of seventies attire. The Marauder was accompanied by Major Wiggins, who proved to be an unfriendly creature and hissed hostilely at Mister Pants when he strayed too close. Glad of his replacement eye patch, Mister spent the rest of the afternoon glued to Edie’s legs.
The Mayor, who had just come from another Highland Fling session at the Highland Fling Centre, performed double duty as celebrant and master of ceremonies. She brought with her a score of bonny dancers, who kept the crowd entertained with a breathtaking succession of reels and jigs to the ear-splitting strains of a bagpipe band.
Beltane Chompster, thankful that her husband was once again in his right mind and that the town had rallied behind their family, had donated a balloon-basket full of home-made goodies for the feast. Alongside Cinnamon’s buckwheat pancakes and seaweed fairy floss were Beltane’s numerous versions of the noble haggis, in bladders, buns, burgers, bhajis and rissoles. And for those who were not partial to any sort of haggis, there were kippers, kedgeree, devilled sausages, silverside with white sauce, bread fried in lard, fondue, chocolate truffles, cream horns, iced buns and pâté on crispbread with cornichons.
As soon as the happy couple had renewed their vows, the guests tucked into the feast with gusto (which means they ate a lot, enthusiastically). Once again Cinnamon stole the show with her wedding cake, a low-sugar no-yolk meringue made from the egg whites of a hundred happy chickens and topped with gleaming piles of gumnut jelly and tofu cream.
Hogmanay Chompster’s eyes shone with good health and happiness. When the dancers paused to catch their breath he came to the front of the crowd.
‘Ahem,’ he began, ‘can I borrow a wee moment of your time?’ He paused to smooth his kilt. Doctor Dogwatch stuck both index fingers in his mouth and gave a shrill whistle. The crowd fell silent. ‘It seems I’ve lost m’ memory,’ said Hogmanay, ‘… er, of some of the regrettable behaviour I displayed when I was taken ill with what I’m told was a severe pleather allergy. I ken that I caused a bit of pain, not only to my nearest and dearest but to Michaelmas and Cinnamon and to the good people who exchanged their vows today. For that I am truly sorry.’ He smiled sheepishly at the guests. ‘It’s my intention to devote the next six months to a wee bit of fundraising. I’m told that men suffering from midlife crises need assistance and I want to help in any way I can.’
Mister Pants snorted and Cheesy rolled her eyes.
‘What?’ said Edie.
‘Here we go again,’ said Cheesy.
The girls giggled.
Hogmanay paused to look over at the newlyweds, who were perched on a large upturned crate like a couple of parakeets.
‘Now, by the looks of ye there’s no harm done, thanks be to heaven, and so I wish you a long and happy renewal. But,’ he said, ‘before we get stuck into some more haggis there’s something else. Something very important, so a bit more shush if you please . . . I want to thank very specially three brave wee souls who rescued me from certain death. When the whole town was gripped by fear, only these three kept clear heads. When that balloon came down those clear heads averted disaster.’ He gazed out into the crowd. ‘The heroes are none other than my own daughter, Charisma, her friend Edie Amelia and that funny little dog of hers, Mister Pants . . . Where are ye? Ah! Over there by the goodies. Well, hey, come up and take a bow!’ The guests looked round at Edie, Cheesy and Mister and began a slow clap of appreciation, willing them forward.
Cheesy, who was helping herself to some cauliflower cheese, dropped it in embarrassment, right into Mister’s waiting jaws. Edie grabbed her hand and the three of them walked shyly to the stage to give Mr Chompster a huge hug. Then they turned and waved to the crowd, who burst into thunderous applause. ‘What would I have done without ye?’ said Hogmanay. His eyes watered and he took great sniffs into his handkerchief. ‘Congratulations all!’ he said. ‘Now, Your Worship, shall we have a spot more dancing?’
When the pipes began droning, Edie whispered to Cheesy, ‘Let’s get out of here. I don’t know about you but those bagpipes are giving me a headache.’
‘Roger that,’ said Cheesy.
‘Snort,’ said Mister Pants.
Major Wiggins hissed loudly as the three adventurers headed out of the shed and over to where the Marauder’s back fence flanked The Pride of the Green.
‘Cheesy,’ Edie said as the sun set slowly over Runcible, ‘come over here, there’s something you must see.’ She pointed to a sliver of silver gleaming on her rooftop, then pulled her binoculars out of her detective kit. ‘Take a closer look. What’s that, do you think? It must be a clue. Another mystery waiting to be solved . . .’