Nathalia Buttface and the Totally Embarrassing Bridesmaid Disaster

Oooh, thought Nat, girls are so mean! I wonder who they’ve got it in for. At least for once it can’t be me as they don’t even know me. This is waaay better than school.

“I should have been Third Assistant Bridesmaid,” said a girl with scraped back blonde hair called Tilly Saddle. Her hair was so tightly yanked back it pulled her eyelids up into a look of permanent shock.

“Yes, you should. Or me, at any rate. And now she’s taken that place, which should have been either me or you,” sniffed Erin Granule, who had a little moustache.

“She’s trying to climb the bridesmaid ladder,” said Annie Chicken, who exhibited a nose stud which looked like a fat spot.

“You’re in danger now of course, ’cos you’re Second Assistant Bridesmaid,” said Daisy to a girl called Bella Drench, who had black frizzy hair piled up like a loo brush, and had shaved her eyebrows and drawn them back on.

“Yes, she’ll be after your place next.”

“Not if we get her first,” whispered Bella, her eyes flicking darkly in Nat’s direction as she sat down next to them.

“Hi, I’m Nat, who we hating on?” said Nat, a little nervously.

Five pairs of bridesmaid eyes glinted angrily at her.

That would be me then, thought Nat, sliding down into her seat, it IS just like school, after all.

After a tense and embarrassing journey, with Nat catching regular unpleasant whispers behind her, the minibus at last pulled into a wide gravel drive that cut through beautiful green lawns.

They parked alongside a large number of big shiny cars in front of a huge old house. The house reminded Nat of a Victorian school. Or perhaps a Victorian prison, she suddenly thought, as she saw a bunch of people in grey tracksuits being marched up a hill and made to do press-ups.

That doesn’t look very relaxing, thought Nat. Then she noticed a big sign.

The full name of the spa was:

FABULOUS YOU! SPA, WELLNESS AND FITNESS… FOREVER.

Underneath, someone had painted the words:

OR ELSE.

Which alarmed Nat a little.

The bridesmaids were greeted at the front door by a trim woman in a blue tunic with thin lips and a clipboard. She had one of those tight smiles that people who don’t enjoy smiling have.

Her plastic name badge read:

Gertie Catflap.

“Welcome to your super fun-packed luxury spa day,” said Ms Catflap, handing each of the girls a form.

“Sign this, it means we’re not responsible if anything happens to you during a treatment.”

As they signed, she said: “The changing rooms are on the left. Please get into your swimming costumes. Quick as you like now, you don’t want to miss a fun-packed minute. Go, hurry.”

Her smile got tired about halfway through, so by the time she said ‘fun-packed’ it looked like she was sending them all down for a ten stretch in the clink. Nat didn’t want to think about what Ms Catflap would do to anyone who DIDN’T have a super fun-packed time.

None of the other bridesmaids spoke to Nat in the changing rooms.

Be like that, Nat thought. I’ll just have a day of pampering on my own. See if I care.

She put on her bathing cossie and wrapped a fluffy spa robe around herself. She wished Penny Posnitch was here to enjoy it with her. She smiled and thought how much fun she’d have telling her friend all about her super fun-packed luxury spa day at school tomorrow.

Obviously she wouldn’t bother telling her friend Darius about it, because his idea of a super fun-packed day would probably involve tactical nuclear weaponry and a big red button.

The first treatment was in a large, brick-lined room, built around a massive mud bath. Gentle music was piped in from somewhere. The lighting was soft. The mud, however, smelled like farts.

Actually Darius WOULD like this, thought Nat.

The girls clambered into the big tub filled with the warm, gloopy mud. Close up, the mud smelt of perfume that didn’t QUITE mask the smell of rotten eggs.

Nat sank into the muck with a big, ploppy, trumpety noise.

“Hey, it wasn’t me,” she said, as the other bridesmaids pulled faces.

“Now ladies, you must wear shower caps,” said Gertie Catflap, popping her head round the door. “If this mud gets in your hair it’ll never come out,” she said, before disappearing again.

But just as Nat reached for a plastic cap, she felt someone’s leg slide sneakily around the back of hers…

And give it a deliberate, hard yank.

Before she could even yell, Nat was tipped right over and landed with a squelch, face-first in the sticky, stinky mud.

“Blech, you flup glupp cowpig,” Nat coughed, coming up for air. “You did that on purpose. Who was it?”

The other bridesmaids just laughed nastily and pretended to look innocent.

“It’s very slippy in here, little girl,” said Second Assistant Bridesmaid Bella Drench, who Nat reckoned had definitely done it.

“It’s dangerous, getting pampered,” said Tilly Saddle smugly.

“You might be better off sitting back in the minibus with some crisps and a fizzy drink,” simpered Erin, who had a tiny fleck of mud stuck on the end of a moustache hair.

“Nothing too greasy though… ” said Annie Chicken, nose stud quivering meanly.

“No, she doesn’t want to get MORE spots, does she?” cackled Daisy, as the others all joined in the laughter.

Not for the first time in her life, Nat wished Darius was lurking nearby. He might be a tiny evil ninja of doom, but he was HER tiny evil ninja of doom, and that’s just what this rotten lot needs, thought Nat, pulling lumps of sour-smelling mud from her hair and spitting great gobs of it back into the bath.

“Ew,” said the bridesmaids.

“Shuddup,” said Nat, in her best Darius/evil ninja of doom voice.

“Hardly perfect Third Assistant Fairy Princess Bridesmaid behaviour,” said Daisy, sharply.

“I don’t care,” snarled Nat. “I never wanted to be Third Assistant Fairy Princess Bridesmaid anyway…” she began.

“I told you!” said Daisy, looking at the others. “She wants to be Second Assistant Fairy Princess Bridesmaid.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Nat.

“No, she wants to be Chief Fairy Princess Bridesmaid!” said Tilly Saddle, gasping in horror.

“You’re bonkers,” said Nat, “and more than that, you’re all a bunch of—”

“OK girls,” interrupted Gertie Catflap as she burst back into the room, “time to get showered off. Follow me.”

Nat and the other bridesmaids were led to a small shower room decorated all over with blue and white shiny, tiny tiles. But instead of the usual shower nozzles on the walls, there was just one great big hose.

“This is a high-pressure hose,” said Gertie Catflap, “to help get all that sticky mud off. It is quite powerful though, so you do have to be careful. Do you want me to hose you down, or would it be more super-fun to do it yourselves?”

“Oooh let us, we just love super fun, don’t we girls?” said Daisy, grabbing the hose.

“No, can you do it?” said Nat, who didn’t like Daisy’s tone.

“All right, you can do it,” said Gertie Catflap not hearing Nat, “but do be careful, it’s very high pressure. Don’t go mad!” She closed the tiled door behind her.

“Of course,” said Daisy Wetwipe. “I’m not mad…”

She grinned at Nat.

“I’m furious,” she whispered.

“I’m actually quite clean,” said Nat, scraping bits of drying mud off herself as she tried to make a break for the door but discovered her knees were locked together with gloop.

Daisy was way too fast. Nat was backed against the wall as the Chief Bridesmaid pointed the hose at her and the other girls gathered round on all sides, hemming her in. With an evil grin, Daisy began to turn the big metal wheel with ‘WATER PRESSURE’ written on it, twisting it right round to:

FULL POWER – ONLY TO BE USED BY EXPERIENCED STAFF.

The other bridesmaids snickered as Nat looked frantically around the small room, trying to escape. But there was nowhere to hide.

“Enjoy your shower, you little creep,” said Daisy, and pressed the ON switch.

For a long moment nothing happened except a horrid gurgling noise, deep in the pipes. The hose trembled as the pressure built up.

“I’m gonna spray you to kingdom come,” cackled Daisy, gripping the hose tightly with both hands.

And then the water shot out like a rocket.

Now, Nat had done rockets at school, and Darius liked building them, so she was a bit less surprised than Daisy by what happened next. Instead of the water lifting Nat off her feet and shooting her across the shower room, the OPPOSITE happened.

“Aaaargh! Help!” squealed Daisy, as she was hurled into the air by the power of the water, shooting out of the wildly bucking hose.

“Waaaah!” she screamed as she was shot around the room in a big circle, sliding across the walls, like one of those motorbike riders on the wall of death at the circus.

“Let go!” shouted Bella.

“I can’t! I’m too scared!” shouted Daisy, the pressure lifting her six feet off the ground. “Turn it off, turn it off!”

She was now whizzing around at the top of the room, and gathering speed all the time.

“The wheel’s jammed!” squealed Annie Chicken, frantically trying to turn it off.

“You’re turning it the wrong way!” shouted Tilly.

“Now it IS stuck!” squealed Bella. “You absolute idiot – blaaaagh!”

The last noise was because she got hit, smack-bang in the mouth, by the water.

“I’m drowning!” shrieked Bella.

“If you were drowning, you couldn’t speak,” cackled Nat, dodging the watery jet. She was quite enjoying herself now.

Suddenly, Bella’s loo-brush hair shot off in a big black frizzy mass. She shrieked even louder. “My hair extension! That cost me a fortune. Someone grab it before it goes down the drain…”

All hell broke loose. Two bridesmaids tried to grab the flying Daisy, Annie struggled with the wheel and Bella scrabbled after her disappearing hair, which slithered towards the drain like a big soggy spider getting flushed down the loo.

Nat realised that all the spray had sloshed her clean as a whistle and she could move again. She saw her chance and dashed for the exit.

She slipped through and slammed it behind her in relief.

“Everything all right?” said Gertie, who had come over to check on the faint wails and squeals that were coming from behind the door.

“Very all right,” said Nat.

“Are you sure? I thought I heard screaming and the words: ‘HELP, HELP, I’m going to die’.”

“Oh, you know us bridesmaids,” said Nat. “We do like to scream. It’s all the excitement, waiting for the big day.”

Just then, the door burst open and Bella came hurtling through it, gripping her sodden, ruined hair extensions. She skidded on the floor like a rocket-powered fish and lay, panting, at Nat’s feet.

“You… you…” said Bella, pointing at Nat and coughing up water. “You are responsible…”

“For all the fun and good bridesmaid times? Too kind,” said Nat. She grabbed a nearby towel and began to help dry Bella off, making very sure she shoved the towel in her face, really firmly.

“You’re wiping my eyebrows off you little— mumph,” said Bella, but her words were muffled by the fluffy towel.

“Lovely spa you’ve got,” shouted Nat to Gertie, rubbing even harder.

“Gerroff!” said Bella.

Behind them, the wailing slowed down and eventually stopped.

The Second Assistant Fairy Princess Bridesmaid, now with short hair and no eyebrows, grabbed the towel and flung it across the floor. “I give up,” she said, bursting into tears. “Take my place! I can’t win. You are a bridesmaid MONSTER.”

With that, she ran off to the changing rooms.

The door to the shower room opened once more. Nat felt the glares of Tiffannee’s remaining fairy princesses boring into her back like hot fairy knives.

The rest of the spa day was just as horrid. Nat tried to talk to the other bridesmaids and tell them she wasn’t ACTUALLY trying to nobble them all, but they refused to listen. In fact, they all kept their distance, jumping a mile every time she tried to say anything. They looked at her the way very tasty gazelles look at very hungry lions.

The only reason Nat didn’t get more upset about the horrid bridesmaids was that she was kept too busy to think much about them. The rest of the day wasn’t so much a relaxing pampering spa experience – with warm fluffy towels and hot oils and foot rubs and gentle eyebrow-shaping – as a terrifying boot camp of pain.

Instead of glittery toenail painting she got the EXTREME ZUMBA POWER HOUR which made every muscle ache. And instead of a gentle massage she got OLGA THE PUMMELER who found those muscles and pounded them into weeping submission. Then there was a JOG AND SWEAT DETOX session in a big damp plastic suit and finally she had to drink a huge glass of HEALTHY HELGA’S CLEAN IT OUT NOW! JUICE. And all under the silent evil glare of the other fairy princesses, who weren’t QUITE pummelled and sweaty and detoxed enough to forget to glare.

It was miserable. She was glad when it was all over and the minibus dropped her home again.

“I thought you’d gone to get de-stressed,” said Dad as she barged through the door and up to her room, “you look ten times worse!”

In school the next day, Nat told Penny Posnitch her latest troubles, recounting the spa story in full gory detail.

“That’s funny,” chuckled Penny, not very helpfully.

“That’s not helpful.”

“I suppose those bridesmaids do sound horrible, but I don’t see what your problem with fairies is,” said Penny.

“That’s because you LIKE fairies,” said Nat. “What did you hand in last week instead of your history homework?”

“Pictures of fairies,” said Penny, “but that’s better than Darius, who drew a picture of his—”

“I know exactly what he drew a picture of,” snapped Nat, “that’s why he’s been sitting in the corridor for every history lesson since.”

Nat sighed a big sigh. “How do I get out of this wedding?”

“My dad says there’s only one way to get out of a wedding,” said Penny.

“What is it, what is it?” said Nat, hope flaring briefly, like a flame in the darkness of her soul.

“If you were already invited to someone else’s wedding,” said Penny.

Nat sighed again. The tiny flame of hope had turned out to be a mega meteorite of doom.

What a daft thing to say, Nat thought. What are the chances of getting invited to someone else’s wedding on the same weekend at such short notice?

Suddenly, she smelt something damp and earthy. Then she felt a wriggling beside her and noticed Darius was sitting next to her, picking his nose and eating it.

“Were you doing sneaky listening, chimpy?” said Nat.

Darius just shrugged.

Nat thought he had that strange look on his face that meant one of two things. One, he could be thinking deeply. Or two, he was going to burp the alphabet. Both always ended badly.

She took a gamble and hoped that he was thinking the slightly less disgusting option.

“Get me out of this wedding,” she said. “I know you can. I’m the only person in the world who knows you’re actually a tiny evil genius and not just a chimp.”

“What do I get?” said Darius, looking across the school playground. The sky had darkened.

“I’ll owe you a favour,” said Nat, feeling like she was doing the sort of deal people warn you never to do.

“What sort of favour?” There was a clap of thunder and rainclouds gathered overhead.

“I dunno, whatever you want,” said Nat.

Lightning hit a church steeple over in the distance.

“Deal,” said Darius, spitting on his hands.

Nat took a deep breath and took his disgusting, squishy hand.

They shook on the deal.

Darius smiled an evil smile.

“So, what do I do?” asked Nat.

“OK, the first thing you have to do is pretend you REALLY wanna be a bridesmaid. Agree to anything the stupid bride wants you to do.”

“That’s bonkers.”

“Nah, it just means she won’t suspect anything when you DO get out of it.”

“Sneaky,” said Nat.

“I’ll also have to meet this Tiffannee,” said Darius, “see how tricky it’s gonna be.”

“Sure,” said Nat, “come round on Saturday.”

Darius smiled and offered her some earwax.

“I get bored with just bogeys,” he said.

Not for the first time, Nat wondered if Darius was a genius who pretended to be a chimp, or if it was the other way round.

Nat’s Saturday morning lie-in was broken by the sounds of clanging and banging and shouting from downstairs. She wandered crossly down to the kitchen to find Mum telling Dad off (the shouting) and Darius hunting for food in the pantry (all the other noises).

“There’s only three weeks to go to this wedding and you haven’t even ordered Tiffannee’s centrepieces,” said Mum. “You’re meant to be helping me, remember?!” Dad was looking at a list Mum had written for him with TO DO – URGENT on it. NOTHING was ticked off.

Except Mum. Mum was really ticked off.

“Two things in my defence,” said Dad, taking a nervous gulp of tea. “One is that I was a bit late on finishing off those Christmas cracker jokes, and had to do those first, and two…” he paused, “I don’t actually know what centrepieces ARE.”

Mum told Dad EXACTLY what they were in great detail and with some rude words chucked in too. Nat chuckled and jabbed Darius in the backside with a fork.

“Stop that,” she snapped, “you’re supposed to be working on a great plan to get me out of this. If your great plan is just to come round and stuff your fat face then our deal is off.”

He retreated out of the pantry with a loaf of bread and a pot of jam.

“Wedding bells, ding dong!” trilled Tiffannee, at the door.

She rushed into the kitchen, air-kissed Nat and then noticed grubby, twitchy Darius. He put his face out for an air kiss. Jammy splodges dripped off it. Tiffannee stepped back in alarm.

“You must be Darius. I’ve heard a lot about you,” she said backing away. Nat thought her face seemed to say: Enough to keep well out of your way.

“He’s a bit sticky, but he’s generally harmless,” said Nat. She thought for a moment. “Well, he’s nowhere near as bad as everyone says.”

Then Tiffannee told them all – in full dull detail – about a row she’d had with her aunt. She was staying with Auntie Daphne until the wedding, but she was quite moany about her.

“She insists on bringing me TEA in bed every morning,” complained Tiffannee, “and I’ve told her, we drink COFFEE in Texas.”

Mum looked a bit disapproving.

“Of course then I realised I was being silly,” said Tiffannee.

Mum smiled.

“I mean, I CAN’T drink coffee, my teeth need to be super-white for my wedding,” the bride-to-be went on.

Mum frowned again. “Tiffannee,” she said, “I know you want things to be perfect, but you’re going to drive yourself doo-lally.”

Along with the rest of us, thought Nat.

Tiffannee looked at a big gold watch on her wrist and squealed: “OMG, we have to go. Hiram’s meeting us in town. Said he wants to see where I grew up.”

“I’m not sure she HAS grown up,” said Mum once Tiffannee had dashed off.

“Come on, Darius, get out of the pantry,” said Nat as they all trooped off, adding wickedly, “oh and please make sure you sit next to lovely Tiffannee in the car.”

Mum waved them all off at the door. She said that unfortunately she was “too busy with work” to come. But Nat caught a sneaky peek at her laptop, and there was definitely a movie on it, not a spreadsheet.

The lucky groom who was marrying their English rose was a Mr Hiram J Wartburger III. He was waiting for them in a busy café just off the shopping centre.

The Texan oilman was big and rectangular like an oak wardrobe. He had an enormous square chin and a bald spot bigger than Dad’s. He was wearing a bright, candy-stripe suit, which made him look like an oversized stick of rock.

He stood up when they came into the café and in a huge booming voice said: “Hey! Over here! Over here! Can you see me?”

“We can’t really miss you in that suit,” said Dad.

“Mighty pleased to meet you all,” said the man as they sat down. “Hiram’s my name, hire ’em and fire ’em, that’s mah game.”

He said that very loudly and very proudly.

“Sorry?” said Dad.

“What ah mean is, ah say I hire people, and then if they get uppity, ah fire them, just like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Now what do you think of that?”

“What do you mean by ‘uppity’?” asked Dad, scanning the plastic menu.

“Like asking too many questions,” said Hiram looking at Dad, then breaking into a huge grin which showed his enormous, bright white teeth, “that’s uppity. Like that one you just asked. You would now be fired! Yes, sir.”

Tiffannee giggled.

“Take no notice of the big lunk,” she said, “he’s all talk, he’s a total pussycat really.”

“Ah confess ah’m as nervous as a fire-eater on an oil rig, that’s for sure,” said Hiram, “I mean, meeting you folks and all, I want to make a good impression on mah new family.”

By now, customers in the café were turning round to see what the noise was. One elderly woman with blue hair tutted and her husband briefly looked up from his meat pie and said, “It’s all right, dear, I think he’s American.”

He said the word American in a kind of whisper, as if he was naming an embarrassing medical problem, like a bumrash that might be catching.

“Oooh, that explains it,” said the blue-haired old lady, “poor thing. I suppose they have to shout because their country is so big. Hard to hear each other, maybe.”

Nat felt herself growing more and more uncomfortable as Hiram told them how EVERYTHING was bigger, faster and better in Texas than anywhere in the world, especially “little old England”.

Tiffannee gave him peck after peck on the cheek – aaargh thought Nat, public display of affection urgh.

“Isn’t he AMAZING?” whispered Tiffannee to Nat eventually. “Isn’t he just the bee’s knees and the cat’s pyjamas rolled into one?”

“He certainly thinks so,” muttered Darius. Nat hid a giggle.

The waitress came over with a bacon sandwich for Hiram, who looked at it, and seemed confused. “Excuse me, miss,” he said loudly to the waitress, who was young and spotty and bored.

“Yeah, what?” she said.

“What do you… ah, say, what do you call this?”

“I call it a bacon sandwich. What do you call it, fish and chips?” said the waitress, who didn’t care for being shouted at.

Hiram raised his voice over the café’s steamy coffee machine to about the level of a jumbo jet engine and said: “Then may ah POLITELY ask, where is the bacon?”