Bad Bridesmaid Read online

  ‘Just don’t tell your parents, OK?’

  They nod eagerly.

  I pop the DVD in the machine and sit myself down on the sofa with Josh and Max. I’ll stick around for a few minutes, just to make sure they’re enjoying it, and then I’ll head back into the pool room and do my work.

  As the opening scene in the diner plays out, Josh and Max’s eyes are glued to the big screen. Ah, that look of wonder, that mesmerised stare – I remember when I watched my first Tarantino movie, they’re going to love it.

  “I love you, Pumpkin.”

  “I love you, Honey Bunny.”

  ‘Well, I’m going to leave you guys to enjoy this,’ I say as I head for the door, but it falls on deaf ears.

  I grab a couple of beanbags, one to hold the door to the games room open and one to do the same with the door to the pool, that way I’ll be able to hear them if they need me. As I put the second beanbag in place, I overhear the line: “Any of you fucking pricks move and I’ll execute every one of you motherfuckers! Got that?” For a moment it occurs to me that maybe this isn’t the best film to put on for a couple of kids whose parents have sheltered them from bad language and inappropriate behaviour their entire lives, but that’s exactly the reason they should see it. This movie is a work of art, everyone needs to see it… although probably not when they’re ten years old. Well, Josh and Max are clearly enjoying it and that leaves me to get on with some work. What’s the worst that can happen?

  ***

  Perhaps it has something to do with the water – the way it reflects on the walls and the gentle sounds it makes as it laps against the sides of the pool when there aren’t any noisy children splashing around in it – or the fact that jetlag is still screwing with me a little, but it wasn’t long after I sat back down by the pool when I fell asleep. So much for getting some work done before the adults get back… oh my God, the kids!

  I jump up from my seat and dash into the games room, only to find Josh and Max exactly as I left them, their eyes still glued to the screen as Samuel L. Jackson finishes delivering that epic speech from the final scene of the movie.

  “And you will know I am the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon you.”

  The boys, who are not even aware I have re-entered the room, both blink at the screen, their facial expressions giving nothing away. I wonder if they have even spoken to one another during the film.

  ‘So, what do you think?’ I ask them as the credits roll.

  ‘That was so cool,’ Josh enthuses.

  ‘I didn’t want it to end,’ Max adds.

  ‘Well, there’s plenty more where that came from,’ I tell them, proud to have introduced them to a cinematic genius. ‘Just don’t tell your parents.’

  ‘When can we watch another?’ Josh asks excitedly. ‘Do you think you can make everyone go out again tomorrow? What are we watching next?’

  ‘Hold your horses,’ I chuckle. ‘I’ll do my best.’

  Right on cue I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I quickly remove Pulp Fiction from the DVD player and put it back on the shelf, just as Auntie June walks in.

  ‘Did everyone behave?’ she asks, not wasting a second on pleasantries.

  ‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘They’re little angels.’

  ‘I was talking to them,’ my auntie informs me.

  I roll my eyes at my auntie as Tarantino’s two newest fans nod their heads.

  I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and take a swig, safe in the knowledge I have passed myself off as a capable babysitter.

  ‘Wait a second,’ my auntie starts, puzzled. ‘Why are you two in your underpants?’

  Caught off guard, I spray the big gulp of water I had taken out of my mouth. I cough and splutter for a moment (much to the amusement of Josh and Max) before trying to explain.

  ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I start, but my auntie cuts me off.

  ‘What does it look like?’

  I hesitate for a moment.

  ‘I don’t know, but the boys wanted to swim and I didn’t think you’d appreciate me going in your room to find shorts.’

  My auntie looks at the boys for confirmation and they dutifully nod. I think my auntie is picking up on the fact that we are all behaving very shiftily, but that’s only because I let the boys watch a movie with an ‘eighteen’ rating, not because I held an impromptu orgy and decided my ten-year-old cousin and his mate could attend if they adhered to the dress code.

  Auntie June sniffs her son suspiciously.

  ‘You two, go and shower,’ she instructs them, having obviously smelt the unmistakable whiff of chlorine on their skin, even though they’re dry because they’ve been watching the movie for the past few hours.

  ‘You’re welcome,’ I say victoriously. I may not have wanted to babysit today but I successfully kept the boys alive – something no one thought for a second that I could do, and yet they still left them with me. Never underestimate the lure of chips.

  My auntie follows the boys back upstairs, eyeballing me cautiously as she leaves the room.

  I don’t waste my time wondering why June hates me these days, she just does and I’m weirdly OK with it. You would think I’d be distraught by the fact that pretty much every member of my family doesn’t really like me but I’m OK with that too. I have a few theories going, most of which involve me being born to a sexy celebrity couple and ending up getting swapped in the hospital, but I made peace with them emotionally exiling me a long time ago.

  I suppose I should go and do some work. As I head back to my poolside workstation I glance over the DVDs again, making a mental note that the boys should watch Reservoir Dogs next – as part of their film education, it’s called Media Studies, I promise.

  Chapter 9

  Despite promising to keep working while I’m away, I didn’t get very much done today. I tried, but I was only on a roll for about ten minutes before Belle called me for dinner, and all group activities are not optional – unless they need a babysitter.

  ‘Bangers and mash,’ my sister informs me cheerily as I enter the dining room. I knew I was going to have trouble keeping up my diet while I was here but this is ridiculous. Still, my sister will take it personally if I don’t participate so I suppose I’ll eat the vegetables and push the rest around my plate to create the illusion that I am eating it.

  ‘Yummy,’ I reply enthusiastically – as you know, when it comes to sausage I am an expert at faking it.

  Soon enough everyone is seated at the two tables, the grown-ups on the main table and everyone under sixteen at the kids’ table next to us. Even though not everyone is staying at the beach house, we seem to be spending a lot of time together and eating all our meals together – thanks to Bridezilla’s ridiculously strict scheduling.

  This evening I am sitting between my grandma and a hard face… my Auntie June. I was expecting to be in a horrible position, with shit being flung at me from both sides, but they’re not giving me a hard time at all tonight. My gran has always had moments of indifference towards me, but my auntie is usually unrelenting. Not tonight though.

  ‘I hear you did a good job with the kids,’ my dad says to me from across the table. ‘Well done.’

  This comment catches me off guard as I am eating a mouthful of peas, causing me to swallow the wrong way and cough a little.

  ‘Yeah.’ I sip my water. ‘Well, they’re good kids. I had fun.’

  ‘Maybe you do have maternal instincts,’ my mum says warmly.

  I glance around the table and see that everyone is smiling at me.

  ‘Maybe,’ I reply, knowing full well that I am about as maternal as a shoe. Still, if people are going to be nicer to me for showcasing these “normal” feelings then I’m all for it. Whatever makes my stay here more tolerable.

  ‘You did do a good job,’ a voice that sounds exactly like my auntie’s says, but it can’t be her, can it?

  I look to my right to see my Auntie June smiling at me. Yes, smiling at me, and
it’s not forced or smug, it’s genuine.

  ‘You’ve clearly done some growing up, Mia,’ she adds.

  Belle, visibly annoyed that I am getting more attention than her, attempts to put me back in my place.

  ‘Mia, why aren’t you eating your dinner?’ she asks angrily.

  ‘The vegetables are delicious,’ I lie.

  ‘Well, it’s your show business diet, isn’t it,’ my mum chimes in. ‘It’s a tough business. Things like that matter.’

  My eyes widen. First my dad compliments me, then my auntie is nice to me and now my mum is defending me – and everyone is still smiling. I must be dreaming.

  Perhaps now everyone is seeing me in a better light, this wedding might not be so bad – I might even have fun.

  ‘So you’re refusing to eat my sausages?’ my sister persists.

  ‘I don’t really eat pork,’ I reason. My sister looks angry but everyone else in the room seems fine with me until…

  ‘I don’t eat pork,’ a voice echoes my own. Everyone looks towards the end of the table, where the kids’ table is. Josh is grinning widely.

  ‘Excuse me?’ my auntie says to her son.

  ‘I don’t eat pork,’ he continues as he eats, much to Max’s amusement.

  When I let Josh and Max watch Pulp Fiction I knew that they wouldn’t tell their parents on me, but there’s one thing I didn’t anticipate happening – something that is inevitable when you watch a Tarantino flick – they caught the quoting bug.

  I glance down the table at them, pleading at them with my eyes not to take this any further, but they’re not looking at me, they’re having too much fun.

  ‘Why not?’ my uncle asks his son curiously.

  ‘I don’t eat filthy animals,’ Josh replies.

  Everyone in the room is still baffled, apart from Dan’s older brother Mike who is chuckling to himself – he’s clearly a fan of the movie. If this situation wasn’t all my fault I’d probably be amused too – and impressed, Josh is nailing the delivery of these lines, and he has remembered them perfectly. It’s true what they say, children have minds like sponges.

  ‘They root in shit,’ Josh elaborates, clearly on a roll. ‘That’s a filthy animal.’

  On hearing her ten-year-old son say shit, my auntie snaps her head to the right at an impressive speed. The smile is immediately wiped from Josh’s face when he realises how angry his mum is, and just how much trouble he’s in.

  ‘Where did you hear that?’ his mum asks him.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he replies, fooling no one.

  ‘Max?’ my auntie asks her son’s partner in crime, but he’s frozen still and completely silent.

  ‘Josh, tell us where you heard that,’ my uncle demands, sounding angrier and angrier as he says each word.

  Just keep your mouth shut, Josh. This will all blow over.

  ‘It’s Pulp Fiction,’ Mike says in an attempt to diffuse the situation. Little does he know, he has just sealed my fate.

  ‘Where have you seen…’ my auntie’s voice trails off as she turns to face me, this time her movements are slow and sinister. ‘You!’

  My auntie points at me with her knife, and whether she just happens to have it in her hand or she’s actually planning to stab me, I decide not to take any chances and jump up from my seat. I move around the table as I try and explain.

  ‘You let my son watch a “fifteen” rated film,’ she shrieks as she tries to chase me around the table.

  ‘I think it’s an “eighteen”,’ Mike unhelpfully chimes in, which only makes my auntie angrier.

  I’m too busy trying not to get stabbed to notice what everyone else in the room is making of this, but I know for sure that no one is doing anything to intervene.

  ‘It’s a classic,’ I reason.

  ‘A classic that’s full of swearing,’ my auntie yells.

  ‘It isn’t gratuitous swearing, it’s all in context,’ I insist.

  ‘Actually, I think it features over two hundred and sixty uses of the F word,’ Mike muses.

  ‘Piss off, Wikipedia,’ I snap, which provokes an unimpressed reaction from everyone in the room. Everyone but Belle, that is, who looks delighted that universal balance has been restored. Everyone hates me again.

  Chapter 10

  ‘I’m not saying you’re not likeable,’ my sister explains as she admires her underwear-clad body in my bedroom mirror. ‘Just that you need to try harder to make people like you.’

  I lie back on my bed and exhale deeply. Dan’s back is still bad so he’s still stuck in bed. I assumed that was why Belle asked me if she could try on her bridal underwear in my bedroom, so he didn’t see it. In actual fact this is her not so subtle way of telling me that I need to try harder to “make people like me” – which, in my opinion, is as good as telling me that I am not likeable.

  ‘What do you think of the shoes?’ Belle asks. OK, so I’m here for a lecture and to watch my sister prance around in her underwear and a pair of white ballet pumps.

  ‘They’re nice,’ I reply. Personally I would have gone for something with a heel, but with my sister usually opting for ugly, clumsy, flat mules no matter what the weather, I’m lucky she isn’t forcing a pair on me to go with my bridesmaid dress. The wedding ceremony is taking place on the beach, so the outfits have been tweaked accordingly.

  ‘I can’t wait to see what my dress looks like with the shoes and the veil,’ she says to herself as she wiggles her hips in front of the mirror with a level of narcissism not unlike that of Patrick Bateman when he’s shagging those hookers in American Psycho. ‘The clothes should have been delivered by now.’

  Right on cue there is a knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ Belle calls out, still admiring her figure. It’s great that despite being a bit overweight she’s still so full of self-confidence. I know that when I was fat I wouldn’t ever have felt comfortable showing as much skin around other people – even when I was alone I didn’t like catching the sight of my own podgy reflection.

  Uncle Steve walks into room with an armful of garment bags.

  ‘Here’s the first lot,’ he starts, before clapping eyes on a nearly naked Belle and stopping in his tracks.

  ‘Thanks, Uncle Steve,’ she squeaks as she takes the clothes from him. As Belle dumps the clothes down on the floor and begins ripping into them, my uncle sidles over to me.

  ‘Are you trying anything on?’ he asks.

  ‘No,’ I laugh.

  ‘You should, I can give you a male perspective.’

  ‘Aw, thanks, uncle,’ Belle interrupts. ‘Can you go get the rest of the clothes first?’

  Worried he might miss something while he’s gone, my uncle dashes out of the room.

  ‘Right, if you want me to try anything on we’re doing it now, before Uncle Sleaze gets back,’ I hurry my sister.

  ‘Hey, I’m the bride, me first,’ Belle complains. ‘Not everything is about you.’

  I exhale deeply. Steve trying to catch sight of me in the nip is very much about me, but there’s no reasoning with Belle at the moment. Whether I have to try anything on or not, I suddenly feel very naked around my uncle in the super-short, hot pink, tiny nightdress I slept in last night.

  Belle finds her dress, hops into it and demands I zip her up.

  ‘Wow,’ I exclaim.

  ‘I know, right?’ my sister replies as she twirls around in front of the mirror.

  Lucky for me, Belle took my exclamation as one of delight rather than one of horror. Make no mistake though, I am horrified.

  In addition to her white stockings and white ballet pumps, my sister has slipped on a strapless, white tutu dress. She looks like a little girl about to perform Swan Lake with the rest of her ballet class, but if I tell her as much she will no doubt act as moody and stubborn as a bratty little diva.

  ‘So you like it?’ my sister asks.

  ‘It’s…’ I pause to think carefully about what I’m going to say. ‘Is it a bit short for a bridal gown?
’

  ‘I’m getting married on the beach – duh! It has to be short or it will get covered in sand. All the outfits are short, even the men’s trousers. We’re going for a sort of casual formal look.’

  As my brain tries to process exactly what a casual formal look is, I feel a headache coming on.

  ‘So, what’s my dress like?’ I ask, suddenly terrified.

  ‘All in good time,’ my sister says. ‘I’m trying to figure out how this veil goes on.’

  I take the sparkly white birdcage veil from my sister and begin fixing it in place on her head.

  ‘Here, it’s easy.’

  My sister takes a long hard look at her outfit in the mirror. A single tear rolls down her cheek and for a moment I am touched by her sweetness – that is until that beautiful single tear turns into an eruption of wailing and a flood of tears. I may not be an expert on the emotions of your typical bride but I’m fairly sure this is not a display of happiness.

  ‘Belle, what’s wrong?’ I ask.

  ‘My wedding is ruined,’ she cries. ‘My wedding is ruined and my marriage is going to fail. And it’s all your fault,’ she adds.

  ‘What? How is it my fault?’ I’m confused.

  ‘Because… because… because… because… because…’

  As my sister struggles to say what she wants to say because she is so upset it occurs to me that this would be an inappropriate time to start singing ‘We’re Off To See The Wizard’ at her, so I don’t.

  My mum comes bursting into the room.

  ‘Oh, Belle, darling, what’s wrong?’

  ‘Mia did it,’ Belle wails.

  ‘Mia, what have you done now?’ my mother asks me angrily.

  ‘I don’t know,’ I reply honestly.

  Soon enough we are joined by my grandma, who must have heard the commotion too.

  ‘What’s going on?’ she asks as she joins my mum in comforting Belle.

  ‘Mia has upset Belle,’ my mum tells her.

  My gran, who doesn’t look the least bit surprised, rolls her eyes.

  ‘You tell us what she did, Belle,’ my gran demands.