Nathalia Buttface and the Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster. Nigel Smith

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СКАЧАТЬ 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.

      “Dad can’t even be trusted with a tin opener. And on that note, have you seen him with a glue gun? Last time he tried to make a model aeroplane he glued a German dive-bomber to his nose and went to casualty.”

      Dad chuckled. Nat glared at him.

      “And you put the plane stickers all over your face. You had swastikas all over your forehead and no-one in the hospital would talk to you. Except that one man and he had some very odd ideas.”

      Tiffannee’s lip wobbled. “At least your dad’s here,” she sobbed. “And your dad would make YOUR wedding day perfect.”

      I doubt that very much indeed, thought Nat.

      Hiram hugged Tiffannee, and Dad put an arm around her too.

      “Watch the dress,” she sniffed, “it’s di Milano.”

      “Sorry,” said Dad, taking his arm away.

      “And you’re the closest thing to my dad I’ve got,” wailed Tiffannee, “which means you’re supposed to be my dad until my dad gets here.”

      Dad couldn’t bear the sight of a crying woman. “What can I do?” he said, “you can’t un-invite Uncle Ernie, there’s a small chance you might look like a terrible person if you do.”

      “I know,” she said, “that’s why she’s got to do it for me.” Tiffannee turned to Nat. “You’re so sweet and clever, you can let him down gently, I’m too upset to talk to him. And you’re my second assistant chief bridesmaid. AND you said you’d help.”

      Nat’s mouth was open in disbelief. She looked at Darius, who had told her to agree to everything the bride wanted. He gave her a quick thumbs-up.

      You’d better have a good plan brewing, she thought.

      “I’d be very glad to help,” she heard herself say, “anything for you.”

      “You’re a darling,” said Tiffannee, “thank you.”

      “That’s settled then,” said Hiram. “Sorry y’all but you gotta fire ’im.”

      

      “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” complained Nat, standing outside Uncle Ernie’s front door later that afternoon. She looked around at his neat and tidy front garden, full of novelty gnomes, and wished she was somewhere else. “Uncle Ernie’s really nice. Everyone likes him. This is going to be horrible.”

      But Darius had said she had to play along with Tiffannee’s wedding plans, even the barmy ones.

      “He likes you,” said Dad. “You can help let him down gently.”

      Dad rang the doorbell. Instead of a bong, it sang a happy little tune.

      “Hello guests, you are welcome, hello guests,” trilled the doorbell, before what sounded like a choir of gnomes chimed in:

      “HELLOOOOO GUESTS!”

      “Coming!” shouted Uncle Ernie from inside. “I’m just painting Tiffannee and Hiram and my hands are sticky.”

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