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“One flob-accinno coming up,” said Darius, guessing what Nat was thinking.
“In Texas, when we ask for a bacon sandwich we get half a pig between two loaves!” yelled Mr Wartburger III. Everyone in the cafe was now looking at them. Nat moved her chair away and looked at a picture on the wall, trying to pretend he was nothing to do with her.
“Everything’s bigger in Texas,” said Darius.
“That’s right,” said Hiram.
“Like the cars.”
“Massive, yup.”
“And houses.”
“Huge, you got it.”
“And people’s heads.”
“Definitely,” said Hiram, “They’re very big.”
“And their mouths?”
“That’s right, we got great big mouths, and they’re bigger than anyone else’s mouths, and don’t you forget it, sonny boy.”
By now the whole café was laughing.
Hiram stopped and frowned.
“Hey…” he said, glaring at Darius, but Darius had put on his best blank expression, the one Nat knew he used when he was pretending not to understand something in maths because he couldn’t be bothered to do it.
And then… Hiram threw back his head and burst into the loudest – and most embarrassing – laugh Nat had ever heard. “Ha ha ha. That’s good, that’s real good, you got me,” he said crying tears of laughter and shaking his head.
Afterwards, they walked around town, with Tiffannee pointing out some of her favourite places; the cinema, the swimming baths, the nail bar. According to Hiram, everything was ‘cute’ and ‘adorable’ just like his ‘hunny bunny’. Nat started feeling a bit sick.
So she wasn’t keen when Hiram insisted on taking everyone to “one of those quaint old tea rooms” next because he’d heard so much about them.
“They’re on every street corner in England, right?” said Hiram, over the noise of the traffic. “The ones with the thatched roofs, roses up the wall, little old ladies on bicycles with big pots of tea and muffins and cucumber sandwiches, am I right?”
Nat looked around at the street. There was a mini-mart and a tattoo parlour, a 24-hour locksmiths, a cab office and a charity shop.
“We might have to go into the countryside,” said Dad, “for the whole thatched roof thing.”
“OK, let’s walk to the countryside. It can’t be far, your whole island is tiny.”
Even Tiffannee looked embarrassed now.
“Well, might be easier if we drive,” said Dad, who liked to help. “Hop in the Atomic Dustbin, we’ll find somewhere.”
As Nat clambered in she hissed, “Just don’t go anywhere that you might want to go to again, ever.”
“Don’t be like that,” said Dad. “He’ll be family in three weeks,”
Nat groaned. She hadn’t thought it possible, but this wedding was getting WORSE by the second.
“How’s the brilliant plan coming on?” she hissed at Darius. He rubbed his stomach, which was as tight as a drum.
“Too full too think,” he burped, contentedly.
Yes, thought Nat, worse and worse.
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A little later and the sun had come out and Dad had stumbled on a lovely tea room in the kind of perfect, rose-clad cottage that make Americans go weak at the knees.
“Lemme tell you about our vision for the wedding,” said Hiram J Loudmouth, as they sat in the little garden at the back of DINGLEY DELL TEA ROOMS AND COUNTRY FAYRE SHOPPE. He munched on an enormous slice of Victoria sponge, scattering crumbs as he spoke.
“Magical, fairytale, ye olde worlde, English, retro, vintage, countryside, historical, garden,” said Tiffannee, counting off the ‘buzz words’ on her fingers.
“It’s modern, but with a traditional twist,” agreed Hiram.
“Yes, yes, we know,” said Nat, “we’ve been organising it for you for ages now.”
“Yes, but I think we can do more,” he said. “Since I’ve been here, I’ve been stuffing myself with your culture.”
And cake, thought Nat, wiping crumbs off her top.
“You’ve got a church booked, you’ve got six Perfect Fairy Princesses…” began Dad.
“Five,” corrected Tiffannee, “one so-called friend has let me down and won’t even say why!”
That’ll be hair and eyebrow-less Bella then, thought Nat.
“You know, Tiffannee cried for two solid hours when she found out,” said Hiram. “The hurt that selfish woman has caused…”
“At least she wasn’t family,” breathed Tiffannee. “Can you imagine?”
I’m trying not to, thought Nat, wincing inwardly.
“…and then you’re going to that posh castle golf club hotel where there’s a lunch and then a band and a disco,” said Dad, carrying on. “And wedding centrepieces,” he added, quickly.
“OK so we got the basics,” said Hiram, “but where’s the maypole?”
Dunno where it is but I know where I’d like to put it, thought Nat.
“Erm…” said Dad.
“Maypole. We want old English, right? So we need morris dancers, a jack in the green, a troupe of mummers…”
“…some jugglers, clowns, folk singers, food vans, hog roast,” Tiffannee finished.
“Let me write all this down,” said Dad, confused. “Do you want these before or after the disco?”
An hour later Dad’s notebook was full and he looked frazzled.
“We’ll never get all this organised in time,” Nat said to Darius, when the pair of them went inside to order more tea. Darius looked thoughtful.
“Keep agreeing to do everything she wants. You have to look like you really REALLY want to go,” he said.
“It’ll make your excuse later look way more believable.”
“Yes, yes, but what’s my excuse gonna be?”
“One thing at a time,” said Darius, sticking his fingers in YE OLDE COUNTRY JAMME pots.
Nat had to listen to more wedding drivel all afternoon. She tried to look interested but probably failed. And then the loud American grabbed her and said: “You know, you’re very important to Tiffannee, Nathalia!”
“Why’s that?” said Nat.
“Tiffannee had a dream of six Fairy Princess Bridesmaids and you were chosen sixth. Which makes you top of the Fairy Princess Bridesmaid pyramid. The most important.”
“Or it makes me the last princess chosen which makes me bottom of the fairy princess pile. The LEAST important,” said Nat.
“Plus you’re family,” said Tiffannee, giving Nat a little squeeze, then smoothing out her dress. There it is again, thought Nat, that rotten word ‘family.’ Every time she tried to get out of anything recently, someone would say: ‘it’s for family’, as if that explained everything. It was driving her bananas.
“In fact, I have an announcement to make. Now Bella has deserted me, I want you to be… Second Assistant Bridesmaid!” said Tiffannee, grandly.
“Yay,” said Nat, not very grandly at all. She scowled at Darius.
“But we do have one teensy weensy problem,” said Tiffannee, “and we need your help.”
Nat was going to complain, but Darius nudged her and raised a crafty eyebrow.
Here goes with the evil plan, thought Nat. “OK,” she said. “Of course I’ll help. I’d love to help.”
“Is it about the entertainment?” said Dad excitedly.
“No,” said Hiram.
“I’ve had some genius ideas about that,” said Dad.
“It’s not about the entertainment,” said Tiffannee.
“Let me just tell you anyway,” burbled Dad.
Nat cringed. Dad was always keen to do the entertainment, anywhere and everywhere they went.
And it was always a total disaster. From school quiz nights ending in riots to birthday parties ending in casualty, from holidays that landed them in jail to discos that ended with her naked baby botty projected ten metres high, Dad was the WORST entertainer on the planet.
“Joke-a-oke!” said Dad. Everyone looked blank, “It’s like karaoke, but people stand up and tell great jokes from a screen, rather than sing rubbish songs.”
“Whose jokes?” said Tiffannee.
“My jokes,” said Dad.
“No,” said Hiram, Tiffannee and Nat together.
“OK, then how about I get my old college band back together, just for your wedding?” said Dad, hopefully. “King Ivor and the Hunnypots — we could do a great set for you, no problem.”
“Dad, no one liked your band when you were young and thin and had hair,” said Nat.
Dad just laughed.
“He can’t resist it,” said Nat, annoyed, “he’ll do anything to get attention, he’s worse than a bride.” She looked at Tiffannee. “No offence,” she added, quickly.
Darius said nothing, but Nat noticed he was looking at Dad with the weird expression that she knew meant he’d had an idea or else was about to armpit fart the national anthem.
“Back to me, people,” said Tiffannee, “you know, the bride?”
“We’re all ears,” said Dad.
Tiffannee looked pained. “It’s Uncle Ernie,” she said, “I think I’ve made a terrible mistake.”
“Did you forget to invite him?” said Dad, “because it’s OK, he’s quite a distant relative, he won’t mind.”
“No, I did invite him, that’s the problem,” said Tiffannee, awkwardly.
Even super-confident Hiram looked uncomfortable. “It was MY fault,” he said, “I wanted Tiff to have the biggest and best wedding ever so I invited everyone she knew… without asking her.”
“Including Uncle Ernie,” said Tiffannee.
“What’s the problem?” said Nat. She thought Tiffannee looked embarrassed. That’s odd, she thought, it’s usually me looking embarrassed.
“She wants a PERFECT wedding, not the biggest,” said Hiram, “and she doesn’t think uncle Ernie is, well, the perfect guest.”
“He’s a long way from perfect,” said Tiffannee, though flushing red and looking a bit uncomfortable for saying it.
Nat was so shocked she couldn’t speak. She thought everyone in her family was used to having embarrassing relatives.
“Uncle Ernie is so weird-looking he’ll ruin the photos,” said Tiffannee, squirming a little, “and so full of wind he’ll ruin the magic and romance of the ceremony with trumpet noises and the smell of rotten eggs.”
“So?” said Nat.
Tiffannee’s eyes filled with tears. “So Daddy promised me a perfect wedding but he can’t be here right now to make it perfect. He’s still stuck in Texas because there’s this teeny-tiny oil spill and they’re saying it’s his fault.”
“An oil spill? Who put someone from Dad’s family in charge of an oil well?” said Nat, “you can’t trust a Bumolé with a wedding.”
The other customers in the tea room stopped chewing and started listening.
Nat cringed; she hated her embarrassing family surname – and all the terrible nicknames it had earned her – and hadn’t meant to say it out loud. But she carried on anyway.
