One peculiar afternoon, my distant aunt rang me and invited me to the wedding of her daughtermy distant cousin, whom I hadnt laid eyes on since she was six. In her six-year-old age, that is. Familial affection has never exactly tugged at my heart, but any feeble plans to wriggle out were instantly thwarted.
At least once every twenty years, we can see each otherdont you dare be absent, my aunt said, with a hint of thunder.
And so the invitation arrived, all white doves and pink roses embossed, from Emily and Charles, and, a couple of days before the event, another reminder followed. There was no escaping it; I had to go.
Oh well. There goes my Saturday, I thought, but what can one do?
I turned up at the restaurant with a bunch of flowers, a dreadfully sour mood, and the firm intention to make a discreet English exit after about an hour. When I entered the banquet hall, I was seated among a lively bunch of young ladsfriends of the groomwho, after a few glasses, began enthusiastically remarking what a stunning aunt the bride had and how I could hardly pass for an aunt at all, and insisted we all become the best of mates and thoroughly enjoy ourselves. So we did just that.
I did not, of course, recognise the bride. Years had transformed her from a dusky little mouse into a sweeping blonde with an impressive bosom. I rather preferred her as a mouse.
The atmosphere, though, was rather gloomy. A great mass of sour-faced aunties with their stoic husbands, a groom who looked as though hed wandered into a trap, and a bride preening in the glory of her allure and her bust. If not for our quick-merry band, the affair might have been mistaken for a wake. Disapproving glances darted our way from every formidable aunt.
I missed the first round of toasts, but arrived just in time for the second. They started with me. The master of ceremonies, keen to discover my relation, gleefully proclaimed:
And now, the young and beautiful aunt of the bride will say a few words to the happy couple!
I got up and intoned, with the warmth of a spring sunrise, Dearest Emily and Charles!
The wedding was already on the manageable side of quiet, but at that, a mortuary silence fell. In that instant, it dawned on memy own aunt was nowhere to be seen, and Im fairly certain she wouldnt have altered so much that Id fail to recognise her.
The brides name is Megan, hissed an aunt with a formidable pink hat from across the table, and the groom is Simon.
Megan? Simon? Are you sure? I stammered.
Some folk just come to gorge themselves at other peoples dos, added Pink Hat, just like the time one turned up at my sons leaving party for the Armybarely managed to kick him out. No pride, no conscience, these people.
It was at that moment I realised that the entertainment at this wedding was about to take a turn. The guests leaned forward, eyes glinting hungrily, rising from their chairs as if preparing for a fox hunt. Sleeves remained rolled down, for now.
But lookI have the invitation! I almost wailed, waving the offending card. It says right hereEmily and Charles, Windermere Restaurant, Jubilee Suite.
Salvation came in the shape of a waiteran angel in a waistcoat: Excuse me, madam, I believe we have another party upstairs, perhaps youre meant to be there?
Oh yes, send her on, declared Pink Hat with a sniff. Have a free dinner here, another up therehow shameless is that? Brazen as brass, some are.
Brazen cheeks a blessing, interjected another aunt in celery green, looking positively poisonous.
Let it be knownI do not resemble some grubby opportunist or notorious schemer. Still, from the outside, whos to say? The grooms friends leapt to my defence, only to receive a scathing rebuke from an aunt in a lilac scarf: Just look at heralready bewitching all the men!
And Pink Hat chimed in again: Took our chief accountants husband, didnt she? You turn your back for a tick and shell have the shoes off your feet, the witch.
I have never stolen anothers husband, but suddenly I felt a disgraceful vixen, a home-wrecker of grand magnitude. I even began casting speculative glances around at the married menmight as well, at this point, if Im being accused on all counts.
Luckily, the kindly waiter dashed off to the other function and soon returned with my real aunt in tow. She quickly summed up the situation and swore up and down that she knew meand throughout, she gave me these odd little winks and nods as if to suggest Id always been a bit strange in the head, and wasnt it all rather funny?
Anyway, I was hurried off to the correct suite, where, indeed, the dusky beauty Emily and whatever Charles awaited, and where I was steadily plied with strong drink long enough to see only the fuzzy edge of embarrassment.
At least I hadnt delivered my gift to the wrong bride.
But I was still escorted out by the grooms matesfrom the first wedding.
