Miss Wrong and Mr Right

  ‘And what the hell is that!’ she cried almost losing balance. Mum grabbed her.

  ‘That’s Nigel, I mean Benjamin!’ said Mum.

  ‘Hello Mrs Love, it’s great to meet you,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Oh. Hello,’ said Mum suddenly noticing Ryan and approving at once. She handed Gran back her cardigan covered in llama spit. ‘You’re American!’

  ‘Mum, this is Ryan Harrison. He’s playing Macbeth at the theatre…’

  ‘How lovely to meet you,’ said Mum, quickly reaching round to untie her pinny.

  ‘I really appreciate you including me in your special day, ma’am,’ said Ryan leaning in and kissing her on the cheek.

  ‘Oh, thank you,’ blushed Mum.

  ‘Get off me you little devil!’ growled Gran as she tried to break away from Benjamin who was enthusiastically humping her leg.

  ‘Nigel! I mean Benjamin, stop that,’ said Mum pulling the little pup off Gran.

  ‘Look at my bloody slacks!’ said Gran.

  ‘Don’t make a fuss. It’ll dry quickly, and then I’ll give it a good stiff brush,’ said Mum. She turned her attention back to Ryan.

  ‘Why don’t we go in for a nice cup of tea before we head off to the church?’ trilled Mum excitedly. We started to walk up to the house and Mum mouthed ‘very handsome’ behind Ryan. Gran followed with difficulty, still being humped by Benjamin the dog.

  AA vs RAC

  When we came into the kitchen, Mum shouted up the stairs for my dad to come quickly. He came thundering down wearing just a towel round his waist, his face covered in shaving foam.

  ‘What is it? Is everything okay?’ he said breathlessly, spraying shaving foam everywhere. Mum looked horrified.

  ‘Martin! What on earth are you doing?’ she shrilled.

  ‘What do you mean, what am I doing? You started shrieking up the stairs? Has someone had an accident?’ He suddenly noticed me, Gran and Ryan and visibly relaxed.

  ‘No one’s had an accident Martin! I called you, because Natalie is here, and she’s brought a gentleman friend… I thought you would at least be ready!’

  She made it sound like I had never brought a man home before.

  ‘Ah, yes, hello Benjamin,’ said Dad offering his hand to Ryan and grinning through his beard of foam. There was an awkward pause.

  ‘No, this is Ryan, he’s from America,’ corrected Mum, as if Dad were a moron.

  ‘Pleased to meet you sir,’ said Ryan stepping forward and shaking Dad’s hand.

  ‘Nice to meet you,’ said Dad still confused.

  ‘Hi Dad,’ I said.

  ‘Hello Nat, so what happened to?’

  ‘Benjamin and I, um… we’ve… ‘

  ‘She caught him having the sex vith another vooman,’ said Gran, sitting at the kitchen table and lighting a cigarette.

  ‘Ah, right-o,’ said Dad. ‘Well Ryan, it’s lovely to meet you…’

  ‘Martin, go and put some clothes on!’ hissed Mum, giving him ‘the look’. He went back upstairs, his bum crack showing over the top of the towel round his waist.

  ‘Sorry Ryan,’ trilled Mum. ‘We don’t usually gallivant around the house half-naked.’

  When Dad came back down a little while later, he was dressed smartly in his best suit. Mum had brought out the fancy china, and was fussing over Ryan, asking him several times if he was in a draught. Dad said a proper hello to me and Gran and apologised again to Ryan.

  ‘It’s no problem sir,’ said Ryan. Then when Mum handed him a cup of tea he said, ‘Thank you ma’am.’

  ‘Ooh isn’t he polite?’ squealed Mum. ‘I wish we encouraged children in Britain to say ‘sir’ and ‘ma’am’. Whenever I phone the bank they want to call me ‘Annie’ which is far too over familiar if you ask me…’

  For once I had to agree with her, although the way Ryan said ma’am in his deep American accent was making me go a little weak at the knees.

  ‘Who fancies a drink before we head off to the church, Ryan?’ asked Dad. ‘I’ve got some malt whisky. You’re not driving?’

  ‘I’m in AA,’ said Ryan.

  ‘Ooh! We’re in the RAC,’ cooed Mum. ‘They rung up and offered us a cheaper deal…’

  ‘No, ma’am, I’m in recovery. I’m in Alcoholics Anonymous, I’ve been sober four months,’ said Ryan.

  There was a stunned silence. I looked at him in shock.

  ‘I had no idea,’ I said. ‘You should have said, especially as this is a social occasion…’

  ‘Goodness. I never would have guessed. You’re too handsome to be an alcoholic,’ said Mum.

  ‘Mum!’

  ‘Well, we don’t know many alcoholics,’ said Mum. ‘There’s only Ned and Jed who live in the village, and they look a fright.’

  ‘I vill hev a large visky Martin,’ said Gran.

  ‘Hang on Gran,’ I said.

  ‘No, it’s cool, really,’ said Ryan. ‘Anouska, you go ahead. I’m committed to the programme. Life is good. I’m here in the beautiful English countryside…’

  Dad went and poured a whisky for Gran. He came back and placed it in front of her on the kitchen table. There was a silence as she took a sip.

  ‘This is why I don’t tell people,’ said Ryan. ‘It really isn’t a problem. We’re gonna have a great celebration for Dexter’s christening.’

  ‘Ok, well, that’s great,’ I said. There was another silence.

  ‘May I use your bathroom?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Of course you can dear, Martin would you show Ryan up,’ trilled Mum. When Dad had gone upstairs with Ryan, Mum launched herself on me with a barrage of questions. Where does Ryan live? Where did he go to school? How long have I known him?

  ‘He’s just my guest Mum. He’s not my boyfriend. He’s starring in Macbeth at the theatre,’ I explained.

  ‘He’s a very famous actor Annie,’ said Gran. ‘The star of a big television show in America. You must hev seen him in the papers?’ Mum reached for the local paper on top of the fridge.

  ‘My God Annie, I mean the national papers!’

  ‘We don’t read the national news,’ said Mum.

  ‘Of course not, and now you are so ignorant your brain has shrivelled to the size of a satsuma…’

  ‘Gran, don’t start,’ I said. Dad came back in.

  ‘Did he find it okay Martin?’ asked Mum.

  ‘Yes, I showed him to the bathroom, it’s up to him what he does in there,’ grinned Dad.

  ‘Do you think he’ll mind we don’t have a bidet? All rich Americans have them. I knew we should have got a bidet when we had the new loo put in,’ said Mum.

  ‘Mum, it’s fine,’ I said.

  ‘I think when Ryan comes back we should get going for the church,’ said Dad.

  ‘Annie, do you hev something I can borrow?’ asked Gran who was watching her cardigan now going round in the washing machine.

  ‘Yes, Mum, hang on,’ she said.

  Ryan came back down as Mum, Dad and Gran fussed about getting ready. He leant down and scratched Nigel behind the ears.

  ‘Are we cool Natalie?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes, I’m just surprised you didn’t say anything.’

  ‘I never lie about my alcoholism, if people ask I’m honest. But I’m not going to walk into a room and announce I’m a recovering alcoholic, am I?’

  ‘No, of course not,’ I said. He grinned. I realised there was far more to Ryan than meets the eye.

  The epic trifle

  I had missed the previous three christenings of House, Downton, and Abbey, so this was the first time I had been back in St Bathsheba’s Church since my wedding day. Reverend Ball was at the huge oak doors, looking greasy in his creased cassock, and greeting the congregation. He was the same vicar who had presided over my wedding that never was.

  ‘Hello Mr and Mrs Love,’ he said, showing a huge amount of gums when he grinned.

  ‘Hello Reverend Ball,’ smiled Mum. ‘You remember our eldest, Natalie?’

  ‘Of course,’ he
chuckled. ‘I hope you stay beyond the first hymn this time!’

  ‘Haha,’ I said.

  ‘She’s brought a famous television actor with her,’ trilled Mum. ‘This is Ryan Morrison.’

  I went to correct her, but Ryan shot me a sideways glance.

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Reverend,’ he said.

  It was cool inside when we entered the church. The sun streamed through the stained glass windows casting soft blocks of colour on the stone floor.

  ‘Wow, how old is this place?’ whispered Ryan.

  ‘It was built in the fifteen hundreds,’ I whispered back. Ryan mouthed ‘wow’ again and craned his head back to look at the carved cherubs on the vaulted stone ceiling high above.

  Micky was stationed at the beginning of the aisle, giving out the orders of service to the guests as they arrived. Her husband Dave was beside her, cradling little Dexter who was dressed in a long lace christening gown, his black hair jutting out above a sleeping face. Since their wedding in Greece eight years ago they have both gained a huge amount of weight. Micky is now close to twenty stone and Dave must be more. They looked very happy though. Mum and Dad said hello to Dave and Micky and then went to bag a pew.

  ‘Nat. You came,’ said Micky giving me a kiss. ‘Dave now owes me twenty quid…’

  ‘No, thirty, the extra ten was if she brought a bloke!’ added Dave.

  ‘You bet on me not showing up?’ I asked.

  ‘Yeah, what do you expect? You never come to anything,’ said Micky pointedly.

  ‘Well, I’m here now… And this is Ryan,’ I said. He shook hands with Dave, and gave Micky a kiss on the cheek.

  ‘I recognise you from somewhere,’ said Micky.

  ‘He looks like the guy in that TV show about the beach,’ said Dave.

  ‘I am that guy in that TV show about the beach,’ grinned Ryan.

  ‘Seriously?’ asked Micky, looking impressed. I nodded.

  ‘I’m in London for a few weeks, I’m doing a play at Natalie’s theatre,’ explained Ryan.

  ‘Fucking hell!’ said Dave loudly.

  ‘Dave, shut up! We’re in the fucking church!’ hissed Micky. They were both silent for a moment, just staring at Ryan.

  ‘So your theatre must be, decent?’ asked Dave, surprised.

  ‘What do you mean?’ I said coldly.

  ‘Well, I thought you ran a pub venue out in South London…’

  ‘That was ten years ago,’ I said. There was an awkward silence.

  ‘There are some really fit birds in your TV show mate,’ said Dave.

  ‘I hope they’re not fitter than me?’ asked Micky sharply.

  ‘No one holds a candle to you, Micky,’ added Dave hastily.

  ‘They’d need a bloody big candle,’ murmured Gran in my ear, having caught up with us.

  ‘HELLO GRAN!’ said Micky, using that loud voice reserved for the elderly. ‘ARE YOU ALRIGHT?’ Gran was now wearing one of my mother’s cardigans, which was red and covered in green pom-poms.

  ‘I’m very good dear. Little Dexter is such an angel,’ said Gran stroking his soft dark hair.

  ‘He shits like a train though,’ said Dave.

  ‘DAVE WAS JUST SAYING, DEXTER DOESN’T STOP POOING, GRAN…’

  ‘I can hear you all perfectly,’ said Gran, but Micky ploughed on.

  ‘WE’VE GOT ALL THE GRANS AND GRANDDADS IN THEIR OWN SPECIAL PEW…’ She pulled Gran off towards a pew filled with a row of grey heads. Gran looked back at me pleadingly, but the organ started to play and we had to hurriedly find somewhere to sit.

  Mum and Dad had saved us a couple of seats in a pew near the front. I went in next to Mum, and Ryan sat next to me on the end. Then the church service began and Reverend Ball started to drone on about The Parable of the Mustard Seed. I looked across at Mum who had her ‘I’m pretending to listen’ face on, which is the same one as when she puts on mascara. Ryan gave me a sideways glance and grinned.

  ‘When’s half time?’ he whispered.

  ‘Sorry, there’s no half time,’ I whispered back.

  ‘No hot dogs and beer? Root Beer for me, of course.’

  ‘Shhh!’ hissed Mum, giving me ‘the look’. Ryan grinned and waggled his finger. He was squashed against me in the pew, and I felt the warmth of his leg against mine, the side of his rump, his arm… all of it felt so firm and warm, and he smelt delicious. I spent the rest of the service thrilled at his close proximity. Even Dexter’s bloodcurdling screams as the vicar gently poured holy water over his head didn’t bother me. Our connection was only broken when we stood to sing the final hymn, ‘Who Built the Ark?’

  After the christening everyone went back to the farm for the buffet. There must have been a hundred people crammed into the large dining room. Mum wasn’t happy with Micky’s arrangement that all the guests bring food. Most people had ignored her invitation, so we ended up with seventy Marks and Spencer’s quiche lorraines, and sixty-five raspberry pavlovas. It made me wish I’d brought a bottle of ham and a rotary chicken.

  It was great to have Ryan with me, and not to have everyone enquiring about my single status. They all assumed we were a couple, and none of them expected Ryan Harrison to be a guest at the christening of Dexter Lamb, so they regarded him with a mild curiosity.

  We caught up with Micky and Dave by the buffet table. Dave was still holding Dexter who had fallen asleep.

  ‘Congratulations on your beautiful family,’ said Ryan. I looked over at Downton and Abbey who had quiche smeared over their faces, and were taking it in turns slamming the lid of the piano in the corner. House had pulled her skirt up over her head and it was caught on her tiara, unfortunately she wasn’t wearing any knickers. Micky and Dave hesitated a moment to see if Ryan was taking the piss, but realised he was being nice and American.

  ‘Thanks. I think four is enough,’ said Micky before rushing over to help House with her wardrobe malfunction. Ryan then asked Dave what he did for a living. For the next half an hour we listened politely as Dave droned on about his job in IT. Companies hire him to hack into their computer systems and expose security flaws.

  ‘What’s been the hardest thing to hack into?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘I’m great with computers but terrible with women, so I’d say the hardest thing to hack into was Micky’s knickers!’ said Dave. We laughed politely.

  Gran had been caught up in the herd of old people at the church, and brought back to the farm on the dial-a-ride minibus. She staggered into the living room amongst a group of grey old ladies.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I said.

  ‘Help me,’ she hissed, gripping my arm. ‘They vant me to sit vith them and look at old photos!’

  ‘Come on Anouska, we’ve saved you a seat on the sofa,’ said a twinkly eyed old lady in a blue dress.

  ‘I’ll come and save you in ten minutes,’ I promised. Gran reluctantly limped off to sit with them.

  There was a clinking of glass and the room fell silent as my Dad stood to make a toast.

  ‘Annie and I just want to thank you all for being here today, and we’d like to congratulate Micky and Dave. Little Dexter is another wonderful addition to our family, and now he is filled with God’s love…’

  There were some muted oohs and ahhs, and a clatter of applause. Dad went on.

  ‘It’s lovely to see so many familiar faces, and it’s also wonderful to have a face here that we don’t see often enough. Our eldest daughter, Natalie, has made time to be with us today, and she’s brought her new boyfriend, who you probably know from the television, Ryan Harrison.’

  There was a pause. I looked at Dad in horror.

  ‘No Martin, he’s not her boyfriend,’ corrected Mum in a stage whisper.

  ‘Oh, isn’t he?’ asked Dad. The whole room was looking at me and Ryan.

  ‘No, Martin you missed that bit, when Natalie said Ryan was just a friend…’ whispered Mum loudly.

  ‘Did I?’ asked Dad. I wanted the ground to swallow me up.

  ‘Yes!
You came down in the towel, but then went back up to get dressed… that’s when she said he was just a friend.’

  I don’t know why she felt she had to whisper, everyone was watching.

  ‘Ah, right then. Sorry. Correction, Natalie is still single and this chap is just a friend. Cheers,’ said Dad. Everyone raised their glasses and there was an awkward silence.

  ‘Everyone do help yourselves to the buffet,’ said Mum. Slowly everyone started to talk again, but I felt eyes on me.

  ‘Hey Natalie, are you okay? Do you want a time out?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘And they wonder why I never come home,’ I muttered trying not to cry. Mum came over as if nothing had happened and asked Ryan if he wanted to try her trifle. It sat in the middle of the buffet table with multiple layers, custard and cream threatening to ooze over the rim of the giant crystal bowl.

  ‘Is that a real English trifle?’ asked Ryan.

  ‘Yes,’ said Mum proudly.

  ‘Gee I’d love some, please ma’am.’

  Mum grabbed a bowl, spooned out an enormous portion of trifle and handed it to Ryan. She watched proudly as he took a mouthful.

  ‘I never thought a Hollywood superstar would be eating my trifle!’ said Mum.

  ‘Wow this is good,’ said Ryan digging in. ‘Ma’am you make the best English trifle.’

  ‘Thank you,’ she beamed. ‘And those are homemade sponge fingers, no boudoir biscuits…’ she went on to list the ingredients. I switched off, preferring to watch Downton and Abbey slide along on the parquet floor on their knees, until I heard Mum say, ‘And almost a whole bottle of Harvey’s Bristol Cream…’

  Ryan had almost finished his trifle.

  ‘What’s that? Harvey’s Bristol Cream.’

  ‘Sherry, Ryan,’ trilled Mum proudly. She saw someone she hadn’t said hello to, and excused herself. Ryan’s eyes were wide open and he was staring down at the remaining spoonful of trifle, as if it were a crack pipe.

  ‘Four months,’ he whispered.

  ‘I didn’t think,’ I said.