Cally wails. ‘What happened to my disco?’
I hiss at Penny. ‘These two are dancing to The Supremes, and this time we’re NOT BACKING DOWN!’
Penny’s talking through gritted teeth and looking like she’d like to throttle me. ‘Not according to Patricia. You do know any change will ruin the moment?’
I’m glaring at her. ‘You aren’t pulling that one again.’
The players have lifted their bows and the violin notes are already drifting across the room. I’ve watched for the last eight hours as Nigel and Cally have had every choice they’ve made for their day overruled. It’s definitely not my style, but something about Patricia’s sneering and Penny’s refusal to give an inch has made my blood fizz. Add in those six glasses of champagne, and I’m already over at the mic stand.
I have to say, I only win the fight for the mic because the Master of Ceremonies isn’t expecting me to wrestle him. Before he thinks to tighten his grip, the mic is in my hand. And as I hold the flat of my palm up and glare at the orchestra the notes gradually stop. I ignore the 150 other open-mouthed faces staring at me like they want to nuke me, and drag in a breath.
‘Okay, so listen up … er … ladies and gentlemen, Nigel’s dad, Patricia. I think we all agree that Patricia’s wedding organisation has been totally fabulous. But the stars of today are actually Cally and Nigel – and the good news is, we’ll be having their choice for your entertainment tonight: firstthey’regoing to be dancing toYou Can’t Hurry Loveby The Supremes, and after thatyou’llall be dancing the night away to my personal collection of wedding party bangers.’ I dip into my bag and hold my CD high in the air. ‘Track twenty-three, Penny, please. Take it away, Mr and Mrs Anderson!’
I look out at the audience expecting at least one person to inadvertently clap, but instead there’s only a gaping awkward silence, the swish of Patricia’s coat tails as she whooshes off into the next room, and the distant sound of waves crashing out on the beach. But then Penny scuffles away to a cupboard in the wall, and Nigel and Cally move into the centre of the space on the floor. It feels like we’re waiting forever. Then suddenly, coming from the speaker stacks at the side of the room there’s the first, low, rhythmical beat of the drums, and the clink, clink, clink of a tambourine. And then, as the singing starts, Nigel and Cally are dancing together, shimmying across the floor. It’s bouncy, it’s catchy, it’s light, and it’s the most fun thing we’ve heard all day.You can’t hurry love, you just have to wait, love don’t come easy, it’s a game of give and take …
Nigel holds Cally at arm’s length, then pulls her in to him again. At first they’re smiling, then as he twirls her around and sweeps her backwards down to the floor then whips her up again, they start to laugh. It’s barely two and a half minutes, but they move across the room, twirling, spinning, making small steps, then big runs. One swift movement twists fluidly into the next as if they’re joined by an invisible thread. When he throws her into the air and flips her over I can’t help gasping along with everyone else.
I murmur to Nic. ‘Oh my, she’s so athletic.’ Then I kick myself for giving him the opening. This is usually where he’d tell me how Pixie-face does flick flacks and tumbles in her sleep, and how she’s actually on the Olympic gymnastics team for the floor routine. And I’m actually ready to feel so sick in anticipation of it that I’ll be reaching for one of my dedicated purple sacks. But he doesn’t.
Instead he gives a wistful smile. ‘She’s certainly been great for freeing Nige from his mother’s snares. If anyone had told us he’d ever dance like that, neither of us would have believed them.’
And then as the track ends, Nigel slides Cally backwards down onto the floor. Then he pulls her up again and into his arms and kisses her, and the room goes wild. People are stamping and clapping and whooping, and there are shouts of ‘Encore, encore’.
But Cally comes across the floor, and still leading Nigel by the finger she takes the mic. She’s a little breathless as she speaks and she’s smiling straight at me. ‘Thanks for making our day with that, Milla, and thank you all for coming. Now, it’s over to all of you – get on the dance floor and show us your moves!’
Nic’s staring down at me, his head tilted as he listens for the notes coming through the speakers. ‘What’s next then – The Pet Shop Boys?’
I’m surprised he remembered. ‘Unless she’s got it on shuffle, it should beIs this the Way to Amarillo?.’
Nic pulls a face. ‘Can’t we ask for something better for our dance?’
‘Like what?’ I had no idea he’d be so picky or have an opinion when he usually doesn’t.
‘Roxy Music,Jealous Guywould work, or Bon Jovi,Always…’
The guy certainly knows his way around power ballads. Due to how out of control my dragonflies are today, both of those would be worst-nightmare tracks for me. ‘OrTiger Feetperhaps?’ It’s the slowest I can handle.
Nic’s shaking his head. ‘Not suitable at all.’
AsAmarillobegins, I’m watching all Nigel’s parents’ friends flooding into the space, and jiving around. But at the side by one of the open doors to the terrace, I’m also watching Cally leaning against Nigel.
Nic’s prompting me. ‘Come on, you’ll have to do better than that.’
I’m biting my lip. ‘How do you think Cally looks?’
He gives a shrug. ‘The same as she always does … with a bit more lace.’
I’m already two steps away. ‘Give me a moment. She’s not usually that white.’ That particular shade of ghostly green means we’ve got five seconds, tops. As I hurl myself towards her, I’m diving in my bag. ‘Everything okay, Cally?’
She’s already clasping her hand to her mouth.
‘Let’s get some fresh air.’ Arguing over dance tracks when I should have been on Cally’s case … what the hell was I thinking? As I propel her out onto the terrace, I’m fumbling to open up a nappy sack. ‘Here, take this …’
But I’m too slow. Even as I shove the open plastic bag at her she jack knifes in the middle, heaves, and the stream of dark chocolate vomit completely misses the bag and lands in a trail right down the front of her wedding dress.
‘Oh crap.’ This fail is all down to me. If my reactions hadn’t been dulled by the champers, if I hadn’t let my attention slip off Cally and onto Nic, I’d have been on it. My job for the day was to be ready for disasters and avert them, not pick up the pieces.
Cally groans. ‘Look at me, Milla! What the hell am I going to do?’
