Authors: Penelope Bush
There’s a big woman behind the counter. She’s talking to a customer, an old wrinkly man, and they both turn and stare at us.
‘Well, well. Look what the dog dragged in.’ The old man’s laugh is a painful-sounding wheeze. He thinks he’s hilarious
because Rory is being dragged across the shop by the dog, which is busy chewing the sleeve of his jacket. Luckily Rory doesn’t seem to mind and he’s actually laughing now, so I just leave them to get on with it.
‘What can I get you?’ The woman sounds very friendly and kind but I can feel myself going bright red and can’t think what to say.
Rory has none of my problems. He’s never shy and can talk to anyone. He shakes off the dog, makes his eyes all big and says to the lady in his best voice, ‘We’ve recently been orphaned and abandoned. We’re all alone and have nowhere to live and were wondering if you could take us in and look after us. I’ve always wanted to live in a sweet shop.’
Rory’s always doing this sort of thing. I think it’s just to embarrass me, because he never does it when Mum’s there. And the weird thing is that, whereas I find his behaviour deeply annoying and puke-making most adults think it’s desperately cute and they go all gooey-eyed and say, ‘Ahh, I’d love to have you, but —’ at which point I always step in and save them the embarrassment of trying to think of an excuse. This is exactly what’s happening now with the big shop lady, so I jump in and say, ‘We’re looking for the registry office.’
‘You don’t say! You’re getting married, are you?’ says the old man, going off into wheeze world again. ‘And there was me thinking you were the new bubblegum sales rep.’ He points at my hideous dress and he’s so amused by this oh so funny joke that he goes into a paroxysm of laughter and I’m seriously worried that he might actually die.
I ignore him, but Rory, who’s just got the joke, is now
dancing round me shouting, ‘Bubblegum, bubblegum,’ over and over. That’s the trouble with seven-year-olds; they never know when to stop.
‘Now, let me see,’ says the shop lady. ‘There used to be a registry office two doors down, but they’ve just moved it, haven’t they, Stan?’ She appeals to the old man, who’s just about recovered his breath.
‘Yep, it’s a travel agent now. You could book your honeymoon there.’ And he’s off again, overcome by his own wit.
‘So where is it now?’ I manage, through gritted teeth. ‘We’re missing our dad’s wedding.’ I’m close to tears, because I’ve just realised that they’ll all be waiting for us and won’t have a clue where we are.
‘I think they moved it to the town hall,’ says Stan gleefully and he’s about to start his wheezy laugh again but the shop lady, seeing a tear finally escape and mingle with the rain on my face, gives him a warning look.
‘Here, I’ll draw you a map. It shouldn’t take you more than fifteen minutes, if you walk quickly.’ She hastily scribbles some lines on a paper bag and holds it out to me, smiling encouragingly. I grab it with one hand and Rory with the other, and yelling ‘Thank you’, we run.
The run soon slows to a trot, and then a walk. Although it’s not raining heavily any more, it is mizzling – a sort of cross between drizzle and mist which you walk through without realising how wet you’re actually getting. Of course, Rory is whinging again. ‘Why can’t we get in another taxi?’ His whiny voice really gets on my nerves.
‘Yeah, right,’ I say. ‘And God knows where we’d end up then.
We might get the same stupid taxi driver and he’d probably drop us at the zoo or something.’
‘The zoo, the zoo! I want to go to the zoo. Let’s go to the zoo, Alice. It’s much better than a boring old wedding.’
Aaarrgh. I really want to hit my little brother sometimes. Well, nearly all the time, actually. The trouble is, if I do, he’ll start bawling and we’re just entering the centre of town where all the shops are, and I’m desperately trying to keep a low profile. If anyone from school sees me in this dress I think I will literally die. Oh God! What if I bumped into Sasha and her friends?
And then, of course, because this is my life we’re talking about, that is exactly what happens. I see Sasha coming out of Accessorize, surrounded by her horrible friends. I just freeze. I go hot and then cold. She hasn’t seen me yet because she’s showing off a new pair of earrings. Even though they’re all too far away to hear, I can imagine her friends going, ‘Ooh, Sasha. They do suit you.’ That’ll be Chelsea. And Clara will be saying, ‘Oh, Sash, are you going to wear them to your party?’ She’s been going on about her fifteenth birthday party for weeks, and how wonderful it’s going to be.
She’s still admiring herself in the shop window so I dive for cover into the nearest shop.
‘Are we here? Is this it? Where’s Dad?’
God! Why is my brother so thick? This is so obviously a book shop. Rory is hopeless at reading, which is probably why he’s always trying to get me to read to him.
I look at the map. The town hall is at the end of this street. I peer out of the doorway and see Sasha and co going into
Starbucks. That is so typical of her. When I come shopping in town with Imogen, we always go into the café near the station because it’s about four times cheaper. And we go to Claire’s instead of Accessorize for the same reason. Not that we shop that often, because I’ve never got any money and Imogen doesn’t like shopping much. She says it’s boring, which of course it is, if you haven’t got any money.
Finally we make it to the town hall and, miracle of miracles, there’s Dad standing under the portico looking worriedly up and down the street.
‘Where the hell have you been?’ He looks seriously stressed out. Well, he’s not the only one. I’m just about to launch into an explanation about the hopeless taxi driver and the rain and the newsagent’s and the trek across town, when Trish appears.
‘Thank God!’ she says. ‘There you are. Come on, let’s go.’ Instead of heading into the building, they set off up the road, me and Rory dragging along behind like bits of baggage. It’s then that I realise that Trish is not wearing her long, white, dreamy wedding dress. Instead, she’s got on a very smart but, let’s face it, very boring cream-coloured suit. I hurry to catch up with her.
‘Why aren’t you wearing your dress? What about the wedding?’ I realise I sound painfully like Rory with his interminable questions, but it can’t be helped.
‘You’ve missed the wedding. We couldn’t wait forever. We were lucky to get that slot in the first place. As it was we held on as long as possible and then the registrar had to hurry the ceremony because the next lot were waiting.’
‘But your lovely dress, why aren’t you wearing it?’ My voice
comes out a bit squeaky.
‘I never had time to finish it.’ Trish’s voice is tight and I realise that she, too, is seriously stressed. What’s wrong with everyone? I thought weddings were supposed to be happy occasions. ‘Anyhow,’ she continues as we approach an extremely seedy-looking pub, ‘there didn’t seem much point when I realised that your dad wasn’t going to hire a
smart
suit.’
I look at Dad who is indeed looking like he always does, in one of his sad work suits.
Trish hasn’t finished yet. ‘I decided I’d look hopelessly overdressed, so I just put on my best conference suit.’
‘Great. Well, thanks for telling me!’ I desperately want to say, but I don’t trust myself to speak without blubbing.
I can’t believe it. I spent all morning trying to get Rory into his suit, when frankly he’d have been better off in his Spider-Man outfit. At least then I wouldn’t be the only one at the party in fancy dress. Not only have I been totally humiliated in this poxy frock, I never even got to be a bridesmaid because we missed the bloody wedding. I know my face is bright red from all the pent-up fury, injustice, disappointment, embarrassment and about a hundred other emotions that seem to be coursing through my veins at this moment. No doubt it’s clashing horribly with the pink.
Dad is at the bar ordering a round of drinks. I go and stand next to him and make the mistake of leaning on the counter. There’s about a century’s worth of old sticky beer, which I thought was varnish, and I have to peel my arm off in a hurry. There’s nothing to wipe it on. The man next to my dad is grinning at me in a slightly creepy manner and I’m just
thinking it would be best to ignore him when he hands me a big white handkerchief. I smile with relief and wipe my arm clean.
‘Hello. I’m Terry.’
I’m trying to surreptitiously sidle closer to Dad so that he can rescue me from this weirdo, but Dad’s eyes are fixed on the telly above the bar. The afternoon racing’s on and I can tell from the way he’s standing – sort of all tense – that he’s got a bet on. When the race finishes his shoulders slump, he thrusts his hands into his pockets and I know that he hasn’t won.
Trish thinks that Dad has given up gambling and he even had me convinced for a while. But I know my dad. What other reason could there be for choosing such a dive to hold a wedding reception in, other than it’s next to a bookies and it shows the racing on the telly? Trish must have been born yesterday.
I give Dad a quick hug to cheer him up. I hope he didn’t lose too much.
‘Enjoying yourself, Princess?’ he says, hugging me back.
I know I’m too old for such names but I still love it when he calls me that. It gives me a warm feeling inside. I wish he’d made more of an effort and worn a smarter suit, though. Never mind, he’s so handsome he’d look good in a sack and wellies.
Terry is still lurking and grinning at me. I can hardly say to Dad, ‘There’s some old perv trying to chat me up,’ when said perv is standing right next to me, so I just stand there blushing, as usual, and tug on Dad’s sleeve because he’s still glued to the racing. Eventually Dad turns round and sees the old man.
‘Alice, this is Terry.’ Great. Now he’s introducing me to the nutter. ‘This is Trisha’s father. Your new step-grandfather, I suppose,’ he says cheerfully.
The thought that I might have grandparents, albeit step ones, is giving me a funny feeling. You see, I don’t have any grandparents. Dad’s mum and dad are both dead. I used to have a gran, my mum’s mum, but she died a few years ago.
‘We’ve already met,’ says Terry, tucking his now sticky hanky into his trouser pocket. ‘I shall escort the young lady into dinner,’ and he takes my arm and leads me over to the tables in the corner of the pub. They’ve been pushed together – a bit awkwardly as they’re round – and they’ve got handwritten
Reserved
signs on them.
‘Before we sit down and get acquainted, I’d better introduce you to Trisha’s mother – only whatever you do, don’t call her Granny,’ he says, laughing.
When Terry finally manages to locate his wife, in a gaggle of women all crowded round Trish – her work mates, no doubt – I can see why he thought this was so funny. She’s even more glamorous than Trish and looks more like her sister than her mother.
‘Joan, this is Alice,’ says Terry, and I’m waiting for the bit about me being her new step-granddaughter and maybe her hugging me, but he doesn’t say it so I just smile weakly. Joan is staring at me and I’m suddenly aware of how damp and bedraggled I must look.
‘You know, Gary’s daughter,’ Terry points out. This information still doesn’t raise a smile from her so Terry adds, somewhat obviously, ‘She’s Trisha’s bridesmaid.’
‘Patricia didn’t have any bridesmaids.’ Trish’s mum says this accusingly, glaring at us both, and I want to say, ‘What – do you think I’d dress like this for fun?’ and then think it might be better to explain about the misdirected taxi and the mad dash across town, but I don’t get a chance because Joan has turned her attention towards her husband.
‘Honestly,Terry. I can’t take you anywhere. What’s happened to your handkerchief?’ She’s pointing at the breast pocket of his suit.
‘Oh, that,’ says Terry innocently. ‘I’m glad you put that there, it came in very handy just now,’ and he turns and winks at me.
‘That handkerchief was purely for decorative effect, Terence. It was not supposed to be
used
.’ Tutting loudly, she turns back to Trish.
Come to think of it, Dad has cancelled our weekend with him on more than one occasion because they’ve had to go and see Trish’s parents. I used to feel resentful and wondered why we couldn’t go as well. Now I can see that Dad was sparing us, rather than excluding us.
‘Sorry about that,’ says Terry as we go to sit down. ‘She’s upset. This isn’t really the kind of wedding she had in mind for her only daughter.’
No, and I don’t suppose Dad was the sort of man she had in mind for a son-in-law. She probably thinks that Dad’s too old for her daughter, and he’s divorced and has two children already. Not exactly Catch of the Year. I think Terry knows what I’m thinking because he takes a swig of his beer and nods towards Dad, who’s standing at the bar telling a joke. Everyone
around him is laughing and smacking him on the back.
‘Great bloke, your dad. Trisha’s a lucky girl.’ Terry grins.
I’m so grateful, I could kiss him.
Although I feel a bit awkward talking to Terry, I’m really glad that he’s sitting with me because there’s no one here that I know, and if it wasn’t for my new step-grandad I’d be sitting all alone. Dad’s showing Rory how to use the fruit machine, even though it’s got a huge sign on it saying
You must be over 18 to play on this machine
. Sometimes I suspect that my dad might be a bit irresponsible.
I find myself telling Terry all about my disastrous day and he thinks it’s hilarious and is laughing at it all, but in a nice way, so I don’t mind and eventually even I start to see the funny side.
‘Well,’ he says when I’ve finished, ‘I think you look lovely in that dress.’ He’s pushing it a bit there, but I let him off. ‘And not at all like a piece of bubblegum. More like a yummy iced bun,’ he adds, winking at me, and I slap him on the arm.
‘Seriously, though,’ he says, looking all serious, ‘I do think that you were very mature and sensible, managing to find the right place and looking after your little brother.’ This has me blushing bright red again, but thankfully everyone’s coming to sit down now for the meal.
I had expected there to be some special food laid on, but Dad is handing menus round that he’s picked up off the bar.