Saps.
Roberta puffed out her cheeks and rolled her eyes. Kept her voice quiet as a mouse’s fart, ‘Whatever happened to the “speak now or forever hold your piece” bit?’
But Susan wasn’t taking her on – sitting there sniffling into a hankie, as if this pair of twazzocks were Romeo and Juliet.
‘“Aye, I’m here to sweep the bride off her feet and into a bathtub full of Nutella and seedless raspberry jam!”’
‘Then,’ Fat-Boy gave them all a flash of his dentures, ‘by the power vested in me by the Lord our God, I hereby pronounce you husband and wife!’
A cheer went up from the congregation.
Roberta leaned in for another go. ‘Course, it makes your bits all sticky, but that’s a price I’m willing to pay.’
‘Will you shut up!’
‘You may now kiss the bride.’
Another cheer, as Adriana and Douglas tried to extract each other’s wisdom teeth using nothing but their tongues.
Randy sods.
God, other people’s weddings wereboring. Different when it was your own wedding, when you knew everyone and they were all there to shower you with presents and nonstop adulation, but other people’s? Strangers droning on and on aboutwasn’t it a lovely day, and I can’t believe the weather held off for them, and weren’t the bridesmaids todiefor?
Numpties.
Let’s face it: making poorinnocentpeople sit through other buggers’ weddings was probably against the Geneva Conventions. Bet you could end up in the Hague for that. Especially if you made them wear arse-crack-cheese-wire pants too.
The queue shuffled forward another couple of lengths. Up at the front, a pair of ancient morons in matching tweed peered at the seating board, trying to recognise their own names. How long did it take to work out what table you were sitting on? All going to be dead of old age by the time they got there.
Finallythe Tweedies sodded off, and it was Roberta and Susan’s turn.
The hotel had mounted a large corkboard on an easel, and decorated it around the outside with blue rosettes – each one with a year printed on it in gold: ‘2017’, ‘2015’, ‘2010’, ‘1992’, ‘1987’, ‘1983’... No pattern to it at all, but that was weddings for you, wasn’t it?
Nineteen big round tables on the accompanying diagram, a rectangular one along the top, and a bunch of names down either side. But whoever printed it out needed a new toner cartridge or something, because the letters were all teeny and indecipherable.
Roberta gave the seating plan a good squint, but it didn’t help. ‘Where are we sitting?’
‘Oh, put your glasses on, for goodness’ sake.’
‘I don’tneedglasses. It’s no’ my fault they always print these things in the tiniest font imaginable.’
A sigh, then Susan had a frown at the board. ‘You know your problem? You...’ Her eyes went wide, her mouth clickedshut, then she turned an ingratiating smile on the next couple in line. ‘Please excuse us, we’ll just be a minute.’ She grabbed Roberta’s arm and hustled her away into the corner.
‘What? I never did anything!’
A hard, icy whisper: ‘Now, you listen to me, Roberta Alexander Steel, you willbehaveyourself in there tonight, do you understand me?’
‘Aye, aye.’
‘No, not “aye, aye,” you swear to me on... on Stalin and Mr Rumpole’s lives that you will notsayordoanything that will embarrass me.’
Roberta pulled her chin in. ‘Jesus, is there—’
Getting even closer and steelier. ‘No matter what happens, you are on yourutmostbest behaviour.’ A poke. ‘Utmost!’
OK, this was weird, even for Susan. Intense. And... weird.
But hey-ho. Roberta was nothing if not sensitive and flexible.
