My Fake Wedding(55)

George is perched between the his ’n’ hers marble basins in Poppy’s mother’s bathroom, shocking-pink fag in one hand, glittery tiara in the other. A woman with a big blonde pineapple hairdo, purple patent stilettos and a white satin frock coat with a Wonderbra and little else underneath is comforting a gross, snot-encrusted baby that is screaming so hard its mouth has turned into a perfect square. For a moment I forget all about George and am unable to stop myself from staring at it, wondering if its cheeks are going to burst open like overripe peaches. It really is horrid.

‘There there.’ She chucks it under the chin with a fake cerise talon. ‘Poor little Chanel. Don’t you worry, my lover. Mummy’s got you now.’

‘Chanel?’ George wrinkles his nose in distaste. ‘Methinks “Topshop” might be more appropriate. Poor little sod. I hardly think that outfit’s what they call couture, darling. In fact, I doubt you could even term it off-the-peg. That’s bargain bloody bin if ever I saw it. And it’s stained.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I apologise. What the fuck is George doing? Does he want me to make a go of this business or not? I can’t afford to have one of my waiters behave like this at my first gig. I’ll never live the bloody thing down.

‘Did you try to steal the baby?’ I sigh, going hot and prickly behind the knees as I suddenly remember his New Year’s request to rent my womb for a bit. Shit. Perhaps he was really serious about that. And now he’s decided David is the best thing since ready-cooked polenta, he’ll be feeling his lack of paternity all the more.

‘Of course not,’ he scoffs.

I breathe a sigh of relief.

‘Look at it, for God’s sake,’ he spits. ‘It’s not even a very nice one. Bugger all bone structure. Weak chin, look.’

But Chanel’s mother has other ideas.

‘I caught him parading up and down with her in front of the mirror,’ she accuses. ‘Carrying her by the scruff of her neck, he was. As though she was a bleeding cat.’

Handbag’s more like it.

Blimming heck.

‘For the last time,’ George raises his eyebrows to heaven, ‘I wasn’t stealing it. I was merely borrowing it.’ He pouts. ‘Wanted to see what it looked like with my cravat, darling. And it was entirely the wrong shade of pink so I went to put it back. Don’t worry,’ he assures the mother, ‘it was nothing personal. If I’d known it was yours I wouldn’t have touched it with a ten-foot pole. Oh, it was all very sweet lying in that bedroom, gurgling away on a Georgina Von Etzdorf throw, darling, but if I’d known where it came from I’d have throught twice about borrowing it, I can tell you.’

‘George.’

‘I mean the phrase “shallow end of gene pool” does spring to mind, I must admit. And lowest common denominator isn’t a phrase that’s far from tripping off the tongue either.’

‘George. Stop.’

‘And I think I’d like any daughter of mine to grow up knowing the difference between dinner and lunch, thank you.’

Luckily, some bulimic bint in a wispy lavender dress chooses that precise moment to rush in and yack up her dinner, so in the rumpus that follows as everyone tries to leap out of the way of low-flying chunks of barf, I’m able to grab George by the cufflinks and slope off downstairs with him to find David. But not before some woman in the queue has looked at me, nodded towards the cubicle where the vomiting is taking place and muttered, ‘It’ll be them oysters, I bet.’

‘Those oysters,’ I say without thinking. ‘And, no it won’t. They’re perfectly fresh.’

‘Some people,’ I say to George as I frogmarch him back to the barn. He grumbles all the way. It just isn’t fair. Some people shouldn’t be allowed to breed. That poor, chinless wonder upstairs is going to grow up thinking Black Tower and Matchmakers are the height of sophistication. And when you think of the life he and David could have given it if it had been that little bit more attractive.

I can’t be angry with him for long. After all, no damage has been done. And when he catches sight of David dancing along to Steps on his own and races over to give him a hug so that, for the second time that day, I get an enormous lump in my throat, I can forgive him anything.

Plus, people, even the Walnut Whip lady from the church, can’t stop congratulating me on how wonderful the food has been. My very first venture has been a complete and utter success. I’ve given out countless business cards and already booked another two events. And, as I look in the mirror that night, too exhausted to bother taking my make-up off, I give my reflection a wink and a big grin.