Nigel Smith - Nathalia Buttface and the Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster

“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.”

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“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.”

“Are all our relatives a bit loopy, Dad?” asked Nat.

“Only on your nan’s side,” said Dad. After a minute the door opened and Uncle Ernie was standing there with a big beaming smile which very nearly covered his unusual face. It was round and jolly, like the moon. And like the moon, it was also grey and warty, like it had been battered by meteorites.

Lovely Uncle Ernie opened the door and gave Nat and Dad a huge welcoming hug before leading them in. There was a smell of fresh paint, and rotten eggs. Uncle Ernie burbled away, unaware of the doom hurtling towards him.

“Tea and cakes for everyone!” said Uncle Ernie. “Make yourself at home, my home is your home, as you know, I’ll just pop the kettle on.”

“Can’t stop long,” said Dad, “we just dropped by with some wedding news.”

“Dad – shush and look,” whispered Nat, tugging at his sleeve.

“Not now, I’ve got myself ready to drop the bombshell,” said Dad.

There was a ripping noise from the kitchen.

“Sorry, sprout and baked bean soup,” shouted Ernie, “I like to experiment.”

“I think Ernie’s dropping his own bombshells,” Dad went on, but Nat was too worried to find it funny, and she couldn’t tear her eyes away from…

Dad raised his voice. “I reckon you’ll probably think this is good news, it’ll save you a lot of bother and free up a weekend for some fun. On balance. I think you’ll be relieved.”

“DAD!” insisted Nat. “Shuddup and look at that.”

She was pointing at something in the middle of the living room. Standing proud were two freshly painted, enormous, bride and groom gnomes!

“Oooh, do you like them?” said Uncle Ernie, returning and pointing at his wedding masterpiece. “They’re for Tiffannee and Hiram’s wedding.”

“I’d never have guessed,” said Nat. “I mean, you wouldn’t HAVE to give them to her for the wedding, there’s plenty of other uses for them, like, er, um, lemmee think…”

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