Wednesday, 14th June
Today has been nothing short of legendary for our quiet little villagepossibly the biggest scandal since the time old Alfie pilfered the proceeds from the village fête. Weve seen some things here: wedding bust-ups, punch-ups at the leavers do, even that fateful afternoon when the church roof gave in. But this this tops the lot.
My grandmother, age 89, just became the talk of the village. It all started when she met a charming gentleman at the local seniors club.
Hes a real gentleman, love, she told me, dabbing on her favourite rosy lipstick. And he still drives.
Granny, hes 91. Should he really be driving?
Oh, do stop. At least hes got a motor.
The romance was swift as a spring shower. In less than a month, hed asked her to marry him and even produced a ringalbeit not a real diamond, but as she put it, it was the thought that counted.
Im getting married on Saturday, she declared at Sunday roast.
Mum nearly choked on her Yorkshire pudding.
Saturday? Thats in five days!
Exactly. At my age, you get on with it. I could drop dead on Friday for all we know.
So, we bought a pearl-coloured dresselegant but not over the top. Booked the church hall. Ordered the cake. My cousin even made the flowers from tissue paper.
Then the big day came. Granny looked radiant in her dress, wearing a string of real pearls once belonging to her mother. And the smile on her facewell, I hadnt seen her beam like that in years.
The hall was buzzing. Light music played. The vicar flicked through his prayer book. It was all too perfect.
Except the groom hadnt turned up.
We waited twenty minutes.
Then forty.
After an hour, one of my cousins popped round to the old fellows house.
He returned alone, looking like hed just come from a funeral.
He says he cant do it.
Murmurs rippled across the room. Granny turned pale.
What do you mean, cant do it?
He says hes scared. Too old, worried hed become a burden. Reckons its better this way.
Granny just sat there, clutching her bouquet of white roses.
Then, out of nowhere, the door swung open. In strode a chap in his mid-sixties: sharp suit, silver hair, eyes blazing with indignation.
Wheres the bride? he called.
And who might you be? piped up an uncle.
Im the son of the man who just jilted this lady.
You could have heard a pin drop.
He walked over to Granny and doffed his hat.
Ive come to apologise on behalf of my family. This is inexcusable.
Granny stared him straight in the eye. How old are you, young man?
Sixty-seven.
Married?
Widower. Four years now.
Children?
Three. Grown and flown.
Are you working?
Im retired. Got my pension and a cosy cottage.
She paused, considering. Then she stood up, steadied herself with her cane, and took a few steps towards him.
Tell meare you as skittish about commitment as your father?
Not a chance. I was married thirty-five yearsbest years of my life.
And what do you think of marriage?
Best thing that ever happened to me. My fathers a fool for missing out.
Granny surveyed him from head to toe, then turned to the room at large.
The halls paid for. The foods been ordered. The vicars here. The cake cost a small fortune
Granny, surely youre not thinking I began.
Would you do me the honour? she asked him.
Chaos ensuedcheers, laughter, drinks sloshed about, and at least five people started filming despite not having a clue what was unfolding.
But I you
You arrived to defend my honour. Besides, Im ready to go; its not as if Ill wear this dress again. So: are you in, or not?
He burst out laughingproper, heartfelt laughter.
My late wife always said Id end up doing something off my rocker one day. Guess todays the day. Lets do it.
And they got married.
Right there on the spot.
The vicar had to sit down and catch his breath. One of my aunts cried so hard she ruined her mascara. Mum seemed torn between crying, laughing, or simply being utterly speechless.
But married, they did.
At the reception, while we wolfed down cake (on which the original grooms name had been covered with a bit of tape and a new one scrawled on with marker), I sidled up to Granny.
Granny, did you really just marry a man you met two hours ago?
She beamed. At 89, Ive no time for long courtships. Hes polite, well-off, and still got his gallbladder. You think Id let this pass me by?
Hes 22 years younger than you!
Exactly. Hell outlive me. Someones got to look after my cats.
Three weeks have gone by. The chap who left her at the altar tried to call and apologise. Her new husband answered and promptly hung up.
Turns out, hes a better cook than Granny (though shell never admit it), an excellent dancer, and he drives her to every appointment in an old but spotless Rover.
Yesterday I saw them in the parkhe was pushing her wheelchair, she was scolding him: Steady! Its not the Grand Prix!
As you wish, my queen, he replied.
The ex-fiancé sent a wedding gifta blender, of all things. Granny thought someone else could make better use of it and raffled it off at bingo.
So, tell me this: what sort of grandmother marries the sixty-seven-year-old son of the man who left her at the altarand what sort of son agrees to marry the woman who was almost his stepmother five minutes before?
Today taught me that, regardless of age, life still has surprises in store. Sometimes all you need is the courage to seize themand perhaps a little English stubbornness to see it through.
