Belinda Missen - A Recipe for Disaster

‘Thank you for that.’ Seamus scowled at her. ‘Really.’

She reached around and grabbed hold of his arm. ‘Now, don’t be like that, Shame-us,’ she said, over-pronouncing his name as usual. ‘You’re lovely enough, but I was so hoping Lucy could make her marriage work.’

I pressed fingers to my temples. ‘Kill me now.’

Entrées were an alternate drop of sticky maple ham with fig jus, and lemon-marinated prawns. They both looked delicious resting atop green leaves, and I was hungry enough to want either, despite my usual hatred of seafood. Today I wasn’t fussy. Seamus refused his plate of prawns.

‘Send it back. It looks like shite.’ He held a hand up before the plate could so much as dint the tablecloth.

I braced, waiting for the fallout. Looks were exchanged around the table, which was full of strangers, thrown together like some late-night speed-dating exercise. Normally, at a wedding, that’s a perfectly wonderful opportunity to meet, network, and exchange ideas. Only, tonight those ideas felt more like dirty laundry. Our waiter, a perturbed-looking teenager, disappeared back to the kitchen without another word.

Tables around us clattered and chattered, the noise rising to a crescendo of excitement as entrées became mains. It was under this umbrella of noise that Oliver made his way across to our table.

‘Problem with the entrée?’ he asked, a solid hand placed on the back of my chair.

‘Fuck off,’ Seamus grumbled.

‘Good to see you, Lucy. You’re looking well.’ Oliver offered up a plate. ‘Are you still allergic to seafood?’

‘What?’ Seamus stood, sizing him up. ‘She’s not allergic.’

‘No, you’re right, but she doesn’t like it, does she?’ Oliver placed the beef in front of me, seafood in front of Seamus. ‘If you tell the kitchen you’re allergic, you’re not going to be served it, are you?’

Seamus, a permanent frown now set on his face, glanced at me, at Oliver, and back again.

Oliver extended his hand. ‘Oliver – it’s good to meet you.’

‘Shame I can’t say the same.’ Seamus refused to shake hands.

‘I’m just here for the food.’ Oliver patted him on the shoulder. Seamus flinched. ‘No need to get antsy.’

Mum watched on gleefully, hoping Oliver would somehow white-knight me, perhaps sweep me away in a flurry of mashed potato and daydreams. All I wanted was to get through the night without it devolving into a fiery pit of who was right, who was wrong, or who was the better cook. As Oliver walked away, Seamus leaned in for an over-the-top, attention-grabbing, beer-infused kiss. As if I wasn’t already feeling claustrophobic and uncomfortable.

‘Who picks fish for a wedding anyway?’ Seamus pulled his seat in. ‘What a joke.’

‘Seamus, please.’ I looked at him.

‘What?’ he asked. ‘It’s true. And I can cook better than this.’

‘Okay,’ I said.

‘Okay?’

I huffed. ‘Yep. I’m agreeing. You can cook better than that.’

He couldn’t. It was one thing to debone an entire carcass of meat. It was another altogether to be able to cook it, and burnt steaks weren’t my idea of a good time. He reached across and gave my knee a squeeze, satisfied grin pinching at his eyes.

Mum’s plate had barely been cleared off before she barrelled Oliver into a corner. One minute she was eating, the next she was spilling secrets quicker than a Japanese fast train. With frown lines and his teeth dragging at his bottom lip, Oliver fixed her with a gaze that said he was drinking in every single word she had to offer. As for Seamus, he’d disappeared into a cloud of footballers by the bar. They yelled, they cheered, they shattered a beer glass on the floor.

‘You all right, Kiddo?’ Dad looked at me. Despite the glazed look in his eyes – too much beer – I could sense a talk coming on.

‘I am fine.’ I tore my eyes away from Oliver, who was watching me over my mother’s shoulder.

‘You’re a great liar.’ He smiled his way around the room, waving at an old family friend.

Holding my glass steady at my mouth, I almost laughed. ‘I am not.’

‘That’s what I meant.’ He pointed at me with an almost empty bottle. ‘You and your mother get that look about you when you lie. It’s all distant gazes and short sentences. I say it’s great because I can spot it a mile off. Made your teenage years much easier.’

I returned his question. ‘Are you okay?’

He hiccupped. ‘I’m great. You know she’ll be carrying on about His Nibs for months now?’

‘No doubt.’ I dug around in the bottom of my handbag for my phone. Facebook was having a stellar night. Edith had already uploaded a photo of her cake, which was overflowing with likes, comments, and questions about who had baked it. Zoe was freaking out in sync with me, if her messages were anything to go by, and I had a friend request from someone in Nigeria. That was about as legit as my night was fun.

‘Are you really all right?’ Dad leant in to the table like it was the only thing holding him up.

‘Yeah, I’m okay.’ I took a deep breath and waved my phone at him. ‘Just a surprise, that’s all.’

‘Isn’t it just?’ He offered a gurgling laugh, like a bath plug being pulled. ‘What are you going to do about it?’

‘Nothing. It’s completely okay. People can choose whomever they want to cater. We’ll sort out what we need to sort out, and the sun will come up tomorrow.’ I grinned.

‘Buck up, Kiddo.’ He clapped a hand on my shoulder. ‘It’ll work out in the wash.’

Another glass shattered, tinkling across the floor. Victorious, Seamus departed the scrum and made for a microphone sat by the DJ’s station. He picked it up, inspected it, tapped it, and switched it on with a squeal that brought the room to a standstill. And then he climbed up onto the bridal table.

‘Good evening, friends,’ he began.

A slightly enthusiastic cheer rose from a clueless crowd.

‘Jesus,’ I groaned. If I could have slid further under the table, I would have. And where was the DJ? Nowhere. Toilet break, maybe. A DJ was absolutely not going to save my life tonight.

‘Hello, everyone. Would you like to hear a … no, don’t take it from me, I have a story to tell you,’ Seamus started, his voice echoing through the room. ‘Get away. I want to say some words for the bride and groom.’

A chill ran up my spine. On the list of stupid things he could do, this was going to be the one that took the cake – absolutely no pun intended. My heart raced like a hamster on a wheel. This wasn’t going to end well for anyone.

‘Isn’t the bride beautiful today? You look incredible.’ He smiled proudly, chest puffed out as the crowd clapped and cheered. ‘And how about the cake, huh? Beautiful?’

More cheering. Well, that was a plus I was happy to take.

‘… so, Lucy has made this cake, right. It looks great but, I mean, let’s be honest – it wasn’t hard. A bit of flour, eggs, and chocolate, and suddenly, she’s handing out business cards and calling herself a baker.’

Behind me, Oliver mumbled low and slow, ‘Fucking hell.’

‘… it’s hardly a talent.’ Seamus burped. ‘Come on. It’s just a bleeding cake.’

The PA squealed. I grimaced. Confused faces looked around the room, everyone trying to work out just who Seamus was directing his ire at.

‘It gets better, though.’ He laughed. ‘Did any of you know she’s still married? You know who to, right? That caterer who’s been racing around here all night. Beef, chicken, beef, fish. Fuck off.’

He burped. The crowd gasped in horror. Each time someone tried to grab at him, he darted out of the way. The DJ was still nowhere to be seen, having left the room with the quiet warbling of mood music set to Repeat: All. Next up, ‘(I’ve Had) The Time of My Life’ for five hundred points.