‘Can you believe it’s been one week since Rupert and Emma’s wedding?’ said Joyce to Barry, his second wife.
‘Not at all. And we haven’t even got to the reception yet,’ replied Barry. ‘I can’t believe that the driver of this gimmicky London bus that they put on to get us there took the wrong turning and ended up taking us through the Channel Tunnel. It was only when we were half way to Paris that he realized he’d stuck his satnav on his windscreen upside down.’
‘I know. Stupid man. At least we’re nearly there now, just in time for episode two.’
As the bus pulled up outside The Feathered Lion, the only public house in Rusty Meadows, the wedding guests got off. ‘Crap!’ said Barry. ‘I left my wallet in the church and I don’t have any money for the driver’s tip.’
‘Tip? You’re giving him a tip??’
‘I kind of feel a bit sorry for him. And if he’s got to do that journey again to get back to the depot, he could probably do with a bit of cash so he can get himself a snack at the services. I’ll just nip to the church to get it.’
Barry crossed the road, entered the church, found his wallet down the back of his pew, and returned to the bus to give the driver 78p in loose change. ‘Treat yourself to a sausage roll, mate,’ he said to him. Joyce and Barry then entered a marquee that had been set up in the beer garden of The Feathered Lion. Although the marquee had been decorated to Emma’s requirements, things didn’t quite look as she’d imagined, mostly due to the bus driver’s diversion to the reception via France. The flowers had wilted, the ice sculptures were pools of water in large pots, and deflated balloons were strewn across the tables. Even so, the sad state of things wasn’t going to stop a gaggle of starving wedding guests from enjoying themselves. The wedding party found their seats and prepared to welcome in the newlyweds.
Jack Jackson, landlord of The Feathered Lion and wannabe town crier, entered the marquee ringing the bell he uses for last orders. ‘Here ye! Here ye!’ he shouted. ‘Please be upstanding, raise your glasses and welcome your bride and groom, Mr and Mrs Rupert Johnson!’
Rupert walked into the marquee to thunderous applause. However, the applause fizzled out and the guests were all a flutter as they noticed that Emma wasn’t with him. ‘Where’s Emma?’ shouted Sid Littlehead, the farrier.
‘I’m out here!’ replied Emma, from outside the marquee. ‘Jack hasn’t called me in yet. He only asked for Mr and Mrs Rupert Johnson. Rupert’s probably told him that he likes to wear my undies at weekends.’
‘Erm, you’re Mrs Rupert Johnson,’ said Jack.
‘What? You mean I’m no longer Emma? I’ve lost my last and my first name? Gosh, that’s going to get some getting used too. Oh well, here I am everyone!’ Emma entered the room and joined her husband, and the guests applauded again. ‘Did you know about the name thing?’ she whispered to Rupert. ‘Apparently I’m now called Rupert too. I can see that getting confusing.’
After Rupert and Emma found their seats, everybody tucked into their food. It may have been a week old, but was fresher than the usual offerings at The Feathered Lion. After the meal, Dave, Rupert’s best man, got up to look for Jack. He found him behind the bar of the pub. ‘’Scuse me, Jack. Do you have a toastmaster? We’re about to start the speeches.’
‘A toastmaster? Um, I think our chef is quite au fait with the grill. I can ask him to chuck a couple of rounds of bread under it if you’re still hungry.’
‘That’s not what I meant,’ said Dave. ‘We just need somebody to introduce the toasts.’
‘Leave it with me. I’ll be five minutes.’
Five minutes later, Jack came into the marquee ringing his last orders bell again. ‘Here ye! Here ye! I introduce to you two slices of Warburton’s finest extra thick bread, toasted to perfection on both sides. I shall leave them right here.’ Jack placed the toast on a table next to the wedding cake and went back to the bar.
‘Oooookay,’ said Dave, tapping his fork against a wine glass. ‘Ooooh, G sharp, I think. Ladies and gentlemen, I’d like to propose a toast to the bride and groom. But first, as it is my right and duty as best man, I’d like to say a few words about the groom. Rupert and I go back a long way. I remember it as if it were yesterday. We were sitting on a London bus in the Channel Tunnel on our way back from France. Oh, hang on. That was yesterday. No, our first meeting took place back in January 2011. It was a typical hot summer’s day here in Rusty Meadows, and we were both fishing at separate parts of Muddy Lake. Rupert spotted me and approached. “Say, I don’t suppose you have some maggots going spare?” he asked me. They were his first words. Most people learn to say mummy and daddy first, but not our Rupert. I offered him a small cup full and he wandered back over to his rod. A little later he came back and said “Those maggots were delicious, really filled a hole. Nothing seems to be biting today, so do you fancy getting a drink as a way of me thanking you?” We came in here, had a few jars and chatted about the usual things: cars, football, birds. His favourite is the collared dove. As the weeks and months went on, we spent quite a bit of time together. I’d go over his and we’d have movie and pizza night. He’d come over mine to play old games. You should see him whoop the ass on Alex the Kid.’
‘It’s Alex Kidd, moron!’ shouted Sid Littlehead. ‘Made his first appearance in Alex Kidd in Miracle World for the Sega Master System in 1986, became one of Sega’s earliest mascots. Later went on to appear in sequels such as Alex Kidd: The Lost Stars, Alex Kidd: High Tech World, Alex Kidd in Shinobi World, and over on the Sega Mega Drive in Alex Kidd in the Enchanted Castle.’
‘I wasn’t talking about the classic video game, Sid. I was talking about Alex, my pet goat. Rupert comes over and we play Whip the Goat. It’s a game that my family has played for years. Uncle Dave used to play it, so did Grandad Dave, cousin Dave and my mother Dave.’
‘Is everyone in your family called Dave?’ asked Rupert.
‘Most of them are. It makes doing my family tree impossible. I was on Ancestry the other day, and I’ve got green leaves flapping everywhere with hints about Daves. I think there was a Davinia once. She was a Dave but had her gender realigned and became Davinia.’
‘So you and your freaky family of Daves whip goats?’ said Sid. ‘I wonder what PETA would say about that.’
‘I couldn’t give a crap,’ said Peter, sitting in a darkened corner by himself looking sinister.
‘You can talk, Sid’ said Dave. ‘You hammer pieces of metal onto horses’ feet for a living.’
‘Ah! So that’s what a farrier is!’ shouted whoever it was who asked what a farrier was in episode one. Oooh, Martha Edwards apparently, owner of the chippy.
‘They’re horseshoes, and you have to have qualifications and a license and whatnot to be able to put them on horses,’ replied a perturbed Sid. ‘It’s a proper profession. Not like yours. What are you? A nurse? I can picture you in hospital in your naughty nurse’s outfit.’
‘You do get male nurses, idiot,’ replied an equally perturbed Dave.
‘Yeah right. What next? Lady vicars? Female soldiers? They’ll be giving women the vote next.’
‘Oh, shut up Sid,’ said Joyce, Barry’s second wife.
‘Yeah Sid. Shut up,’ said Dave.
‘You being just as bad,’ said Barry, Joyce’s third husband. ‘Now come on, are you actually going anywhere with this speech or is this whole episode just going to descend into farce?’
‘It’s probably just going to descend into farce. Anyway, getting back on track,’ said Dave, trying to get back on track. ‘Now, anybody who knows Rupert knows that he spends a lot of his time under cars. He really does need to learn to look when he crosses the road. When he’s not getting himself run over by cars, he likes to tinker with them. Nobody knows what he actually does with them. He just seems to take bits out of them, looks at them with confusion and bafflement, puts them on the ground, and then a few hours later, he’ll sometimes put them back into the car. Quite often in different places. Hasn’t got a single car working yet. Even ones that were working beforehand.’ The wedding guests laughed. They weren’t really sure what they were laughing at but just did so out of courtesy. You should too.
‘Rupert and I have never really fallen out. That was until he told me he’d fallen in love with Emma and asked her to marry him in Chiquitos. I did say that proposing in Chiquitos is a bit tacky. He could at least have taken her to Wagamama instead. Rupert is a great friend, but I felt that Emma might not be the one for him. She doesn’t seem to be the settling down type, preferring to be, how can I put it, readily available, perhaps? Slack, loose, promiscuous…’
‘Do you get the feeling that whoever is writing Rusty Meadows once had a bad experience with an Emma?’ whispered Joyce to Barry.
‘It certainly looks that way,’ replied Barry. ‘Have you seen Emma’s face? If looks could kill, she’ll be staring a lot at Dave later. I can’t believe he’s talking about her like this.’
‘So I told Rupert what I thought about Emma,’ continued Dave, ‘and he told me to keep my opinions to myself. He accused me of being jealous of his relationship and that if I want us to remain friends, I need to accept Emma. Of course, I’ve accepted Emma many times before and since their engagement. We all have. I told Rupert that I’ll always look out for him, we agreed to disagree about Emma, put it behind us, and went back to whipping Alex the Kid. And now, we’re here on Rupert and Emma’s wedding day. And, although I don’t expect their marriage to last very long, I wish them every happiness for however long it does last. So, raise your glasses and join me in toasting Mr and Mrs Johnson. To Rupert and Emma!’
‘To Rupert and Emma!’ replied the wedding guests, clinking their glasses and having a sip of flat champagne.
‘Thanks Dave, that was beautiful,’ said Rupert. ‘Wasn’t it, honey?’ he said to Emma.
‘I’ll have words with you later, Dave,’ said Emma, appearing rather annoyed.
Next to make a speech was Emma’s dad, Wensley Dale. As Wensley isn’t a very interesting person, his speech wasn’t very interesting either so isn’t going to feature here. Instead, we’re going to cutscene over to The Feathered Lion pub itself, where we find Jack Jackson standing behind the bar drying out a glass with a tea towel. It’s the sort of thing landlords do in these sorts of things.
The door of the pub opened and in walked a man wearing a cow boy hat. ‘Howdy partner!’ he said to Jack as he approached the bar. ‘Can I get a glass of your finest English ale?’
‘You can,’ replied Jack. ‘You sound American. Are you?’
‘Sure am,’ replied the American. ‘My name’s Hank Hogan. I’m from a little place called Muleshoe, Bailey County, Texas, USA. You heard of it?’
‘The Texas, USA bit I have, but not Muleshoe, Bailey County.’
‘Shucks,’ said Hank. ‘So, what beer do you recommend? Is that Carling any good?’
‘It is if you like drinking pisswater.’
‘Isn’t that libelous?’ asked Hank. ‘Darn it, I love pisswater anyhow. Pour me a glass of it.’
‘I think it’s only libelous if it isn’t true,’ replied Jack, pouring the drink. ‘So, what brings you to these parts?’
‘Prospecting, I guess. Can’t say too much now, but I’ll probably be round for a while. Hey, you don’t happen to know a place where I can stay for a few nights, do you?’
‘There’s a guest house up the road run by Allan Keay and his wife Brenda. Allan used to be a headmaster at a nearby grammar school, while Brenda was a chiropodist. They’ve both retired, but recently decided to use part of their house as a guest house. I would have thought that they’d have a good enough pension to live off, but apparently not. They’re quite set in their ways and have no sense of humour. They’re in the wedding in the tent outside. I can ask them if they have any spare rooms if you’d like?’
‘That’ll be great,’ said a grateful Hank, taking a sip of his lager. ‘Holy cow, this drink is amazing! So, why is this quaint little place called Rusty Meadows?’
‘It hasn’t always been Rusty Meadows. It used to be Sunny Meadows, but back in 1985 we had a visit by Rusty Lee. She’s the only famous person to have ever visited these parts. So in honour of the event, the place was renamed Rusty Meadows.’
‘This Rusty Lee sounds like one hell of an important gal to get somewhere named after her. I’d wager that she is mighty proud of the accolade.’
‘I very much doubt that she even knows about it. Anyway, I’ll find out about that room for you.’
Jack Jackson went off, while Hank said howdy to everyone. ‘Howdy there, I’m Hank,’ he said. ‘From Muleshoe, Bailey County, Texas.’ Most people grunted back at him. ‘This inn sure is quaint’ he said to himself while he continued to enjoy his pint. Jack returned with Allan and Brenda Keay in toe.
‘Hank, this is Brenda and Allan,’ said Jack, introducing then to Hank, which is fairly obvious from the bit of dialogue.
‘Howdy Ma’am. Howdy Sir,’ said Hank, shaking the hands of his prospective accommodatoters, accommodatationeers, um, guest house owners. ‘I’m Hank, from Muleshoe, Bailey County, Texas.’
‘Afternoon. I’m Allan,’ said Allan.
‘And I’m Brenda,’ said Brenda.
‘Jack tells us you’re looking for somewhere to stay?’ asked Allan, who didn’t really want to continue with pleasantries and just wanted to get onto business.
‘Sure am,’ replied Hank. ‘Do you have any rooms?’
‘I’ll check,’ said Brenda, whipping out a notebook from her handbag and studying it. A few seconds later she said, ‘We have the Lord Grantham apartment or the Lady Edith Crawley suite available.’
‘Oh, Downton Abbey fans, are we?’ smiled Hank.
‘I’m sorry? Downton what?’ asked a bewildered Brenda, looking disapprovingly at Hank through the tops of her glasses.
‘Downton Abbey. The TV show. You Brits made it.’
‘I’m sorry Mr Hogan, I haven’t got the faintest idea what you’re talking about. Do you, Allan?’
‘Not at all,’ said Allan. ‘We only put the television on for The Queen’s Speech on Christmas Day. Everything else they broadcast is pure piffle. Downton Abbey? Never heard of it, let alone watched it. Absolute nonsense. So, what’s it to be? Lord Grantham or Lady Edith? Lord Grantham has a view of Flat Hill Farm and Lady Edith has a view of the cricket pavilion.’
‘Gee, I think I’ll go for Lady Edith. I might even get to see a cricket game.’
‘Doubt it,’ said Allan. ‘It’s just a view of the pavilion. Brenda, put Mr Hogan down for the Lady Edith suite. We won’t be staying at this wedding much longer as we’ve had our free food and don’t particular relish the idea of staying for the ghastly evening do. Plus we need to get back to feed the dogs, Mr Carson and Mrs Hughes. When we’re about to leave, you can ask Mr Jackson to phone a taxi and follow us to our house.’
‘Sure thing,’ said Hank.
Allan and Brenda returned to the tent while Hank continued supping his beer. ‘They sure are fine people,’ thought Hank.
‘They’re okay,’ thought Jack.
Later that day, the evening reception began. The disco lights were switched on, a spinning ball reflected spots all over the fabric of the marquee, and a DJ started spinning some discs. Or playing tracks from his Greatest Wedding Hits playlist on Spotify. Every now and again, interspersed was an advert for Spotify Premium. With the exception of Allen and Brenda who’d already left and taken Hank to their guest house, most of the wedding guests from the afternoon reception remained for the evening. And as tends to happen at weddings, a few extra people were invited for the evening celebrations.
Still sitting in a darkened corner was Peter. A young lady approached him and sat down at his table. ‘Excuse me,’ she said ‘Are you Pssst?’
‘Hey there, sexy lady,’ said Peter, obviously impressed by what he saw. ‘I’ve had a couple of glasses of champagne, and three-quarters of a bottle of wine. Now I’m on the Scotch. I’d say I’m sociably merry. Not too sure if it’s my head spinning or the room, but one of them needs to stop soon before I fall off my chair.’
‘No, I meant, are you Pssst? The person? I wasn’t at the wedding itself but my friend is one of Emma’s bridesmaids and mentioned that there was somebody on their own at the back of the church called Pssst. She said he was kinda cute and wanted to know if he was single? I thought it might be you, seeing as you’re sitting on your own in this dark corner. Why are you doing that, by the way?’
‘Just to be sinister, I guess. But mostly because Jack hasn’t bothered to put working bulbs in any of the lights around here. He’s such a skinflint. I bet it was he who booked this DJ with the free Spotify account. And, no, I’m not Pssst. I’m Peter. Pssst isn’t actually a regular character. I doubt we’ll ever see him again. He was just used for a joke. Twice now apparently.’
‘Oh, that’s a shame. So you must be Sinister Pete then? I’ve heard all about you.’
‘Really? Well, you can tell your bridesmaid friend that while Pssst isn’t here, I am and I’m available.’
‘I don’t think she’s your type, Peter.’
‘Why not?’
‘Mostly because she doesn’t have four legs, nor does she bleat.’
‘Hey, that was never proven,’ an angered Peter protested. ‘Insufficient evidence, they said. Look, I’ve had it tattooed onto my elbow.’
‘That says “insuficent evidnce” And the letter “S” is the wrong way round.’
‘Yeah, and? I had to do it myself. In a mirror. On my own. In the dark. Now, if you’ve done offending me, you can go back to your bridesmaid friend and tell her that it’s either me or nobody.’
‘I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. Look, let me get you a drink. What would you like?’
‘Baileys and Coke please,’ answered Peter. ‘Stirred, not shaken.’
Moments later… ‘One stirred Baileys and Coke, and my phone number. Call me.’ Peter was left at the table by himself and took a look at the note. ‘07777 777777 Claire x’ it read. Peter picked up his phone and dialed the number, believing that he was about to be pranked.
‘Hello,’ said Claire, answering it.
‘Hi,’ said a surprised Peter.
‘Who is this? And why do you have my number? If you’re trying to tell me that my computer has got a virus again, get stuffed. You fixed it last week. And now nothing works. And my bank account has been drained. I don’t suppose you know who could have done it, could you? You could find out who put the virus on my computer that you fixed for me, couldn’t you?’
‘It’s Peter,’ interrupted Peter. ‘You just gave me your number.’
‘Blimey! You’re keen!’ said Claire, turning around and facing Peter with a smile.
‘Just checking you weren’t pieing me off.’
‘Eh?’
‘You know? Pieing me off. It’s what the cool kids say on Love Island. And other such programmes.’
‘Oh right. No, I wasn’t pieing you off. Listen, I’ll speak to you later. We can have some banter together. Call me during the week and we’ll arrange something.’
‘Like a date?’
‘No, like an international cheese tasting convention. Of course a date. Now, shoooo, stop being so eager. It’s offputting. Plus I need to tell my friend that Pssst isn’t here.’ Claire put her phone down, followed by Peter. They gave each other a quick friendly hug and parted ways.
‘You’re in there mate,’ said Aussie Steve, patting Peter on his back.
‘Woah! Steve, how long have you been there?’ asked Peter.
‘All day. It’s very dark in this corner, it’s a great place to hide.’
‘Too right it is. So, um, how’s business at the Surf Club?’
‘Not so good, mate,’ replied Steve. ‘I don’t really get many surfers in.’
‘I’m not surprised. It doesn’t help that we’re at least forty miles from the nearest coast and the closest body of water to us is Muddy Lake, which really doesn’t attract many surfers. What on earth made you want to open a surf club here?’
‘Well, when I heard that there’s a village near here called Ocean Heights. I kind of assumed that it’d be near the sea. So I bought an old shed, converted it into a surf club with pool table and milkshake bar for the local kids to loiter around, and that was that. It was only a few weeks later that I discovered that Ocean Heights got its name because Billy Ocean visited once. What is it with naming places after famous celebrity visits around here? Anyway, I’d love to sit here nattering to you, but I find you a little odd and have some business to attend to.’
‘Oh, um, right. Okay. Nice to speak to you, Steve.’
Steve didn’t hang around. He’d spotted Emma at the bar and decided that he needed to speak to her. ‘Emma,’ said Steve.
‘Steve,’ said Emma. Oh, this dialogue is exciting. ‘What do you want? Why are you here?’
‘You invited me.’
Emma moved herself and Steve away from people trying to eavesdrop at the bar. ‘Yes, but that was before you decided to announce to everybody in the church that we’ve been seeing each other. Go away, you’re not welcome.’
‘What’s changed? Apart from the fact you’re now married.’
‘Exactly that. I’m now married. And I’m now called Mrs Rupert Johnson, not Emma.’
‘You’re such an idiot Emma.’
‘It’s Rupert. And yes, I was such an idiot. Such an idiot to have ever even thought that you’d take me up on my offer of a quickie.’
‘What? Well, why the hell did you even ask me to?’
‘I dunno. Steve, I’m confused.’
‘Confused about what? Your relationship with Rupert? Your feelings for me?’
‘No. If you must know I’m confused about how oranges get inside their peel without leaving any evidence.’
‘You really do have a few kangaroos loose in the top paddock, don’t you?’
‘What? Eh?’ Emma stared at Steve with a blank expression. The stare lasted for a while. At least three seconds. Maybe more. Maybe seven. But it went from being a stare of bewilderment and bemusement to a stare of lust and desire.
‘Come with me, Emma. Tell Rupert it’s off. Come back to my place.’
‘The Surf Club? No thanks. It always smells of gone-off milkshake in there.’
‘Listen, they’re even playing our song.’
‘It Only Takes a Minute Girl by Take That?’
‘Yes. It’s fate. So, come with me?’
‘No, I can’t go anywhere with you. I love Rupert and I want us to be happy together. And that means I don’t want you, or Jack Jackson, or Sid Littlehead, or Nigel Vicars, or Elderly Ernest, or best man Dave, or best man’s brother Dave, or anybody else trying to stop us from being happy. I’m sorry Steve, but you need to keep away from me. For both our sakes.’
‘Fair dinkum. But I can assure you that you’re going to regret this.’
‘We won’t Steve. I promise you, we won’t.’
Interrupting the moment was landlord Jack Jackson ringing his last orders bell again. ‘Here ye, here ye!’ he shouted. ‘Ladies and gentlemen, please gather outside on this cold October night as we send our still happily married couple off on their honeymoon.’
‘Where’s Rupert?’ shouted Sid Littlehead.
‘Why do you always have to shout?’ asked Dave, the best man. ‘He’s gone to the toilet, said he needs to tinker with the hand dryer as it doesn’t work. That was about half an hour ago. He’ll be back in a bit.’
An hour later, Rupert emerged from the men’s toilet. ‘All done, mate?’ asked Dave.
‘Um, kind of. It needs a new valve. And there’s something wrong with the coil spring. Seems to be missing a ventilating suppository too. I’ve stuck an out of order sign on it for now, and left some of the parts of it on the floor nearby so it should be good for the time being. I’ll come back in the morning to sort it.’
‘Great. Grurgh, I think I’m going to be sick. Too much Lambrusco.’ Dave ran off to the toilets.
‘No, you won’t be back in the morning,’ said Jack. ‘We’re waiting to send the pair of you off. Rupert and Emma, the residents of Rusty Meadows, and some of our neighbours in Ocean Heights and Peter Andre Gardens have clubbed together and bought you a five night stay at the Premier Inn in Bracknell. You even get breakfast included. And the TV gets all of the Freeview channels. And if you do want to venture outside your room, you can explore the many roundabouts, industrial estates and business parks that Bracknell has on offer.’
Rupert beamed from ear to ear to ear and joined his wife Emma, who was standing near the bar looking sheepish. Although this interested Peter greatly, he now only had eyes for Claire so let the moment pass. Steve had made himself amiss. ‘Isn’t that nice of them?’ said Rupert to Emma. ‘I’ve never stayed at a Premier Inn before. I’m so looking forward to it.’
‘Yes, darling. It’s going to be lovely,’ said Emma, somewhat unenthusiastically. Emma, Rupert and all of the wedding guests gathered outside The Feathered Lion. The London Bus from earlier was waiting outside for them.
‘Make sure you’ve got your sat nav the right way up this time!’ shouted Bruce hilariously. Or is it Barry?
‘It's Barry,’ said Joyce, Barry's wife.
Emma and Rupert stepped onto the bus and waved at the guests, blowing kisses and expressing their gratitude for such a wonderful day and surprise gift. The doors of the bus closed, the happy couple found a seat, and the bus began its journey. And as it shrank into the distance along the road while the wedding guests waved it away, a crash of windows smashing could be heard as The Feathered Lion exploded in a massive fireball.
