by Jo Edwards
quite see. The ceremony was extremely brief, which was lucky as Myra’s feathers kept flicking in my face and tickling my nose, causing me to sneeze several times. As I didn’t have a handkerchief, I had to use a KFC receipt I found in my wallet. When it was over, we all trooped outside to the walled garden for some photographs.
Granny Pattern came and stood with us, shaking her head in disbelief. “My poor Arthur,” she groaned. “What would he say if he was alive today? His youngest daughter, the apple of his eye, committing such an unnatural act! I thank the Lord he’s gone from this world, I really do.”
“Dad was quite a tolerant man, as I remember,” said Mum, her face very flushed. Under her breath she murmured, “He bloody well must have been, to have put up with you all those years.”
“And his eldest daughter,” continued Granny Pattern, narrowing her beady eyes as she looked at Mum. “Unable to satisfy her husband’s needs and now left all alone without a hope in the world.”
“I’m doing alright,” Mum said, defiantly.
“Alright?” exclaimed Granny Pattern. “That man left you prostitute!”
“You mean destitute.”
“I know what I mean.”
I enjoyed the hog roast very much and then Auntie Trisha and Biffa cut a huge chocolate cake and we had a slice with champagne, which Myra whispered was “cheap Cava shite”, but it tasted very nice to me. I felt rather dizzy afterwards and had to sit in the bar while everyone else was dancing. Myra staggered in and out of the bar to top her glass up; she’d switched to cider, and her feathery thing had moved round to the front of her head, almost completely covering her face. She had to tilt her head up the ceiling and puff at the feathers to be able to see out. Biffa came into the bar and plonked herself down heavily on the sofa next to me, bouncing me up in the air.
“Not dancing, Foggy? The DJ’s brilliant – we were in the same rockabilly band at college, until he got kicked out for growing cannabis in the common room. Ridiculous over-reaction, I mean, it’s hardly a crime, is it?”
I told her I felt a bit light-headed. Auntie Trisha came in too, looking all hot and sweaty. “Jesus Bifana, your uncle can cut a dash on the dance floor! I could scarcely keep up with him; he’s throwing women all over the place! Budge up a bit, guys.”
Biffa shifted closer to me. “I haven’t got an uncle.”
“Well, who’s that guy in the grubby blue suit? Keeps grabbing all the girls?”
“I dunno. I thought he was one of your lot.”
“Oh. Oh well. Do you like our rings, Foggy?” They both raised their left hands and waggled bands of gold and diamonds at me. Biffa’s was the size of a knuckle-duster but Auntie Trisha’s was slim and pretty. “Cost the best part of a grand they did, but so worth it! We got them engraved, see? Our names and today’s date. Gorgeous, aren’t they?”
They did look lovely. “Not dancing, Foggy?” asked Auntie Trisha. “I thought you’d be in your element; a chance to practise your moves before the big night!”
“He’s feeling a bit light-headed.”
“I’m not surprised! He’s been popping pills all day long! What’s this?”
My wallet was on the table next to the Ibuprofen and Dad’s letter was poking out. “Oh, it’s-” I didn’t have time to explain; Auntie Trisha was already reading it.
“What is it?” asked Biffa, peering over her shoulder.
“It’s from Weasel-features,” she said slowly. She always had pet names for Dad. She looked at me. “Foggy; please tell me you haven’t sent him any money?”
“I’ve invested six hundred pounds,” I told her, proudly. “I had to use my overdraft and er, a loan, but it’s ok - Dad’s new company is such a huge success he can double it in less than two weeks! He’ll be down shortly with my cheque and he wants to discuss running the company with me!” I beamed at them; it felt great to tell someone at last. “Just think – me, a company director! But please don’t let on to Mum and Myra; I want it to be a surprise for them.”
Biffa and Auntie Trisha looked at each other. “Oh, they’ll be surprised alright,” said Biffa.
“And you said he was in Parkhurst!” I laughed. “I knew you were only joking; but you had me going for a while!”
Biffa put her arm round my shoulders and gave me a big hug that went on for so long I feared a rib would pop. It was probably her way of apologising. Mum stumbled over to us and slurred, “Come on you boring bastards, everyone’s doing the Time Warp in there! Morto, Myra’s still sitting on the floor after ‘Oops Upside Your Head’. I think she’s passed out.”
Counting the cost
I didn’t feel at all well on Sunday. The taxi ride home was a bit of a blur but I vaguely recalled it having to stop several times for some reason, so it took forever to get home. It wasn’t fair that I felt so rough when I’d hardly had any alcohol at all, although Biffa had pressed a huge brandy on me towards the end of the evening; fortunately, I hadn’t drunk the creamy-looking thing that Auntie Trisha gave me in a sperm-shaped test tube. I’d tipped it into an ice bucket when no one was looking.
My back was throbbing from repeatedly having to haul Myra up from the dance floor and shoving her breasts back inside her dress each time she pulled it down to flash the waiters. I’d also made the mistake of picking up Granny Pattern’s handbag for her; it weighed a ton! When I asked her what she’d got in there, she sniffed, “Just a bit of cutlery, like. And one of those candelabra things. Couple of dinner plates. Two wine glasses. And the bell from reception. Come in handy that will; the old bitch in the flat next door’s got tinnitus – I can drive her mad with this.” She saw my shocked face and got defensive. “We’re entitled to a few bits you know, the prices this place charges! It’s criminal.”
It was past midday, but Mum still wasn’t up, so I took the opportunity to write a letter to Dad.