Wedding Rules Rugby

          “So who are you then?” I asked Ed.

            “Gerald Sotherby, second cousin, once removed, of Frederick Evedon, Lord Evedon’s nephew.” This was in fact a real person; we’d been doing our research. We simply had to pick someone so remote that they wouldn’t, surely, actually be in attendance themselves.

            We were in the pub, practising our identities and building up a reliable store of Dutch Courage. It was only six thirty and the wedding reception wasn’t until eight.

            “What do you do?” Ed asked me.

            “Well, you know, this and that,” I answered, “I attend functions and make sure certain events go down properly, that sort of thing.”

            “Perfect,” said Ed, “no one could doubt your socialite status.”

 

*

 

            At eight o’clock we attended the venue and were rather dismayed to discover a queue there. There were bouncers on the door taking names and referencing them against a guest list. We hadn’t anticipated that.

            “Shit,” I said.

            “I was afraid this would happen,” Ed said. “Time for plan B.”

            “Plan B? What’s that?”

            “Just let me do the talking.”

            “Oh Christ!”

            We got to the door and Ed gave a pair of names I’d never heard of. Sure enough the bouncers parted and we were allowed through without question.

            “Who the hell are we?” I asked, in a hoarse whisper.

            “Cousins of the bride.”

            “We’ll never pull that off!”

            “We’re in, aren’t we? Switch back to Plan A now, and they’ll never work it all out. We’re like criminal geniuses. No, scratch that, I’m a criminal genius and you’re just my fat white sinister cat.” He grinned.

            We wondered around in excitement for half an hour or so, thrilled at the prospect of free champagne and mischievous deception. Reality, as so often, did not live up to expectation. The reception was full of stuffy old people. The novelty of acting a pair of fools soon wore off. Eventually we located two women in their late thirties dressed as spring chickens. We made a bee line for them.

            “Good evening ladies,” Ed said.

            “Hello! And who would you two be? I don’t think we’ve met.”

            “Sotherby?” Ed said, turning to me.

            “Yes, Gerald. That’s you.” I flashed my eyes at him. “I’m Sandy Ross, pleased to meet you.”

            “Gerald and Sandy! Wonderful. I’m Jemima and this is Ellen.” She flashed a grin.

            “Drink then ladies?” said Ed.

            “Well thank you Gerald.”

            “Off you go Sotherby,” he said to me.

            I rolled my eyes and turned to the ladies, “he thinks it’s funny to call me by his name, some silly dominance complex…” but surely enough I went to get the drinks.

            On my return I was amazed to see Jemima’s hand resting lightly on Ed’s waist. He was gesticulating confidently and grinning from ear to ear. I stood next to Ellen and she smiled at me nervously.

            “So how do you know the happy couple?” she asked.

            “Well, we’re first cousins once removed of Lord Evedon’s nephew.”

            “Oh really?” she said. “How exciting!”

            “Isn’t it just.”

            “Well, that’s terrific. Let me see… if I’m the bride’s sister’s husband’s uncle’s daughter, does that make us related?”

            “I don’t know,” I said, a rush of blood and alcohol going to my head, “it rather depends on what you have in mind.”

            “I say!”

            I raised a cockily suggestive eyebrow.

            “We’ve got a couple of real young bucks here Jemima.”

            “Oh darling, don’t think I hadn’t noticed.”

            “You ain’t seen nothin’ yet,” Ed said, slipping into a vulgar accent for the hell of it.

            “No, quite,” said Jemima, “not enough by half.”

            The evening progressed in this ludicrous fashion until the four of us were completely wasted. We’d retreated into a darker corner where Ed had contrived to get his hand most of the way up Jemima’s thigh.

Suddenly the DJ started playing ‘My Sharona’ by The Knack. Ed leapt to his feet and grabbed me by the arm. He dragged me onto the dance floor, which just happened to be empty. He played air guitar and head banged insanely. For a moment I stood there watching him in a state of stupefaction but then the two women came crashing after us and mimicked Ed’s dancing thereby destroying his attempted irony and making him look as though he were making a serious effort. Ed himself either failed to note the aura-shift or simply didn’t care. Something about the situation made me laugh. I let go and followed suit.

At once our scene was disturbed by a loud shout from across the room.

“That’s them!”

We turned instinctively toward the shout and saw two bouncers approaching towards us rapidly. Ed turned to look at me and grinned.

            “Time to cut and run Sotherby. It’s been a delight ladies, look me up sometime – Sandy Ross, at your service.”

            “Don’t go!” they chimed. But it was too late, we were scarpering.

            The next few moments seemed to go in slow motion. Ed turned to the approaching bouncers and set himself, legs and arms spread, like a New Zealand rugby player half way through that intimidation ritual. He extended one arm slowly, then stretched out his fingers, palm up, towards them. They paused out of confused admiration and disgust. Ed suddenly beckoned them in a Matrix-style move. They looked at one another and then started toward him again. I watched on in amazement and noticed that Ellen was clutching my arm. Everyone in the entire room, bride, groom, lordships and all had stopped to watch. There were muffled gasps of horror. Mothers clasped hands over their son’s eyes and scolded them for daring to laugh.

            Ed abruptly broke forward toward the bouncers. He faked to the left and the bouncer on that side went flying past him. The second bouncer made a comic dramatic dive for him. He caught Ed’s ankle at full stretch and Ed went crashing to the ground. The sight brought me back to life. I shook Ellen free and dashed for Ed. The second bouncer was on his feet but I threw champagne in his eyes. The unexpected happened; the two women started beating him with their handbags.

            “Jemima!” shouted an appalled old woman from the sidelines.

            “You can’t stop me now Mother, I’m not a little girl anymore!”

            I could barely take my eyes from this car crash. I span back and saw Ed grappling to free his ankle from the bouncer. I ran past him, sweeping him up by the arm and thereby freeing him. We sprinted out of the place and away down the road.