The Big Little Wedding in Carlton Square: A gorgeously heartwarming romance and one of the top summer holiday reads for women. Michele Gorman
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the best curries in East London, Mrs Ishtiaque.’
Mrs Ishtiaque blushes at the compliment.
‘The best,’ Mr Ishtiaque confirms. He’s a man of few words.
‘Let’s get this over with,’ I tell Daniel when he’s finished trading smiles with the Ishtiaques.
‘Yah, now I know how you felt at Mummy’s drinks,’ he murmurs as we make our way to the bar.
Uncle Colin is pretending not to notice us. If he was in one of those old-timey westerns, he’d be polishing a glass and whistling.
He does a comedy double take as we approach. He’s destined for the stage, honestly.
Hands are shaken across the bar. ‘Barbara’ll be down in a minute,’ Uncle Colin says as he spritzes the shandies. ‘You’re very welcome here, Daniel.’
When Daniel visibly relaxes I feel like kissing my uncle. But he’d only get embarrassed if I did.
The ladies at Auntie Rose’s table aren’t backwards in coming forwards when we join them with our drinks. They’ve been looking forward to this for weeks. June’s even traded her tracksuit for trousers and one of those silky printed tops with a pussy bow that office workers liked to wear in the eighties.
‘Do you like East London?’ Doreen asks, doing her trademark cleavage cross-twiddling.
‘Yah,’ he answers politely.
‘What do you like about it?’
‘Oh gosh, yah, I like that Emma was born and raised here amongst so many people she loves. And once I’ve spent more time here, I know I’ll love it as much as she does.’
‘Lor’ love a duck, ’e ain’t half charming!’ says June.
‘She likes you,’ I tell Daniel.
He flashes them all his killer smile. I happen to know that those teeth took two and a half years to straighten out. I never had braces, so my own overlap a tiny bit. ‘Thank you. I was just telling Em that it’s not my natural milieu, but I hope I don’t put my foot in it too badly!’
I cringe. Must get him to stop saying milieu. ‘It’s not his usual part of town.’
My family and friends don’t seem to know what to make of Daniel. His poshness would normally set their teeth on edge, but their curiosity at this exotic specimen overcomes any ingrained mistrust. Before long they’re showing Daniel how to play cribbage, firing questions and answers back and forth, and even though I’m sure they don’t completely understand each other, they’re laughing like old friends.
Doreen meets me at the bar. ‘Your Daniel seems nice.’ She doesn’t bother keeping her voice down, so half the bar can hear her. ‘Can’t play cards worth a damn, though.’
‘He’s probably just letting you win,’ I say.
‘You and your auntie, both too cheeky by ’alf.’
‘How is she? With you all, I mean?’
Doreen puts a leathery hand on my arm. ‘She’s all right, my love, not much more forgetful than the rest of us. She’s been all right at home?’
‘Usually. She’s wandering more lately, though.’
‘She’s safe here.’
Most of the time you wouldn’t think there was a thing wrong with Auntie Rose. She never gets muddled up and she doesn’t forget words. She just gets into her head sometimes that she’s got to be somewhere else. If someone’s around when she grabs her coat or handbag and announces ‘Right, I’m off’, then we can go with her. But every so often she makes her announcement to nobody, and we have to send out a search party.
So far she hasn’t left the neighbourhood, but you can’t turn her around once she gets going, either. It might be the laundromat or the café or a specific shop. No amount of coaxing will get her to turn back. It doesn’t matter that she never has laundry to do or a shopping list to tick off. She’s going wherever she’s decided to go, and that’s all there is to it.
She doesn’t seem distressed or frustrated that she can’t tell you why she wanted to go in the first place. Whenever we ask her she just shrugs and says, ‘One of life’s mysteries.’
But what if she decides one day to go to Heathrow, or Downing Street via a rough estate? That’s what I worry about.
I hear Barbara behind me as I’m carrying the drinks back to the table. ‘So where is this young man I keep hearing about? Hello, my love!’
‘Uncle Barbara!’ I throw myself into his waiting arms. ‘Come and meet Daniel. He’s heard all about you.’
Of course I’ve told Daniel about Uncle Barbara, but nothing prepares him for meeting my uncle in the flesh. First of all, he’s Uncle Colin’s identical twin. All six foot three hairy inches of him. Secondly, he’s built like a railway siding. And thirdly, he’s wearing a swingy red and white dress and shiny black knee-high boots.
He claps Daniel on the back with more force than someone in a frock should have. As everyone shifts round to make room for him I catch Daniel’s eye. He’s grinning like he can’t imagine anything more fun than being surrounded by old ladies and cross-dressers.
Uncle Barbara used to be Uncle Mark, but I haven’t called him that in a very long time.
‘You’ve picked bridesmaids and groomsmen now, yeah?’ Uncle Barbara asks us. ‘They need some warning, you know. And you need time to find outfits. Once that’s set, everything else can work around them.’
Of course he’d know all about it. I don’t often think of him that way, but when he was Uncle Mark he was married. His wife took off with their two boys after finding him in one of her frocks. They moved away up north, and it’s only in the past few years that his sons have even started talking to him. He goes up every few months, and I have to give him credit for that because it doesn’t sound like it usually goes very well.
‘Kelly’s my bridesmaid,’ I tell him, ‘and Daniel’s sister and one of his best friends.’
‘And my flatmate, Jacob, will be my best man, along with three of my school chums as my groomsmen,’ Daniel adds. ‘It’s going to be an awful lot of fun!’
‘An awful lot!’ croaks June as smirks dash round the table. I can tell they’re not making fun of Daniel. Only his odd figures of speech. I can’t blame them. He does talk like Bertie Wooster sometimes.
‘You’ll need another bridesmaid, Emma,’ Uncle Barbara says. ‘It’s bad luck to have an odd number. We had three at my wedding and look what happened.’
‘It made you queer,’ Auntie Rose chips in. ‘Only joking. I know the difference between a queer and a trannie.’
But not the difference between being offensive and not, clearly. ‘Mum,’ I shout over to their table. ‘How many bridesmaids did you have?’
‘Four,’ she says. ‘Why?’ She gasps, throwing her hands over her mouth. ‘Have you got only three? Oh no, Emma! You’re doooomed.’
‘You’re all taking the piss,’ I say. ‘Hilarious.’
‘It does look better for photos to have an even number on each side, though,’ Uncle Barbara points out. ‘If you’re looking for another, I’d be willing to step in.’
He sounds jokey, but he’s blushing under his beard.
Aside from my parents, Uncle Barbara is my closest relative under seventy and I’d love for him to be one of my bridesmaids, but can you imagine the looks on my new in-laws’ faces seeing him come up the aisle? ‘Thanks, Uncle Barbara, I’ll let you know, okay?’
‘Just don’t wait too long, like I said. I’d have to get me dress. And shoes, accessories …’