My friend Petronella’s two
marriages had been conventional enough.
Number one was in the village church, 20 guests, reception in the
pub. Number two was a bit more lavish,
reflecting her social promotion. A
marquee on a National Trust estate, 200 guests, honeymoon in Kenya. And now,
number three, on her new man’s yacht moored in Cardiff Docks, crewed and
provisioned for the long haul.
I,
as one of her special friends were to, officiate in costumes which she would
provide. She fixed the appointment with
the costumiers for me.
**
I rang the bell twice before anyone
came. A tall rather imposing woman opened the door. “Yes?”
“I’m Martin Black, guest of
Petronella Parker’s wedding.”
“You’d better come in. If you sit here I’ll bring you a coffee. Then
you will proceed to the robing room,” she said.
I sat down. She returned with coffee
and biscuits for two, put them on the little table and sat opposite me.
I looked her. Perhaps fifty or even
sixty. Slim in her ankle-length black dress with dozens of buttons from neck to
the floor. Greying hair piled high on
her head. Long nose, thin lips. Veined
hands. Wedding ring. An imperious rather impressive Victorian lady. I supposed
that I would impersonate a 19th century gentleman. She had the look
of someone who didn’t want conversation so I said nothing.
Suddenly she stood up. “I’ll fetch
your costume. You may go into the robing room now.”
I’m not sure what I expected but it
certainly wasn’t what I saw. The room
was about 15ft square. The only
furniture was a pair of bentwood chairs, a hat-stand and a cheval mirror
covered by a velvet cloth.
The walls were papered with flock
and the room smelt of dust.
She returned with a small case.
“I’ll leave you to change. Call me when
you’re ready.”
I
opened the case. Inside was a striped
bathing costume, a neck to knee woollen thing vintage 1920s. Feeling silly I
changed and uncovered the mirror. What I saw shocked me. I looked aghast. I’m not a vain man but this kit was
ridiculous.
I called. She came.
Said, “Are you sure that Petronella wants me to attend her wedding in
this?”
“Those are her instructions Mr
Black.”.
“And will the other ushers be
dressed the same way?”
“I’m not at liberty to discuss the
others.”
I turned back to the mirror. It had
changed. I saw my ungainly striped
figure and behind me, an automated car
assembly line. Orange robots were
assembling Range Rovers. I looked round but the wall behind me was just a wall
covered in flock wallpaper. I looked
back at my reflection. Cars were slowly
progressing. Robots were delivering bonnet tops and fitting the doors. I turned round very fast again. Flock wallpaper.
“How’s it done?”
“What are you talking about Mr
Black?”
“Look at the mirror,” I said
“I see myself.”
“But the background looks wrong.”
“Have you been drinking Mr Black?”
“Only your coffee.”
“That would account for it. I think you’d better leave.”
Back on the A5 I was stopped by the
Police. They didn’t believe a word of it either
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