They were only an hour into it, but already this was the greatest wedding party anyone had ever been to. It was the perfect combination of terrific music, wonderful food and drink, stunning location and, at the top of the list of essential ingredients, two lovely hosts. Doody and Pogo not only looked magnificent in their suits, but they radiated happiness. All the guests found themselves under Pogo and Doody’s happy spell and were soon dancing with old friends in the crypt of St Paul’s Cathedral. Christmas parties, book launches, even awards ceremonies had been held in the crypt, but never had it been decorated as beautifully as it was now. There were flowers, and plants, and even little trees everywhere. And I mean everywhere. Pogo loved plants as much as his father had done, and the crypt felt like a tropical jungle rather than the resting place of Admiral Nelson.
‘Let’s get a picture of us all together!’ shouted Nelson’s mum, and a group quickly swarmed together in front of her: Doody, Pogo, Nelson’s dad, Celeste, Ivan and Nelson. ‘I wanna nice smile from you, Nelse, not that ruddy frown you’ve been wearing all day,’ she said with raised eyebrows, which meant this was not a discussion point.
Nelson attempted a smile.
‘Here, take this of us all, will ya?’ said Nelson’s mum to the waiter serving drinks. He put down his tray and held her phone up to his eyeline.
‘Everyone say “Bees Gees”!’ shouted Doody.
‘Bees Gees!’ they all replied, and the waiter took the photo. Everyone rushed to see how it looked.
‘Oh, that’s the best photo ever!’ squealed Nelson’s mum. ‘I mean, Nelse looks a bit washed out, but look at us all! Ha ha! This is going on the wall at home.’
Nelson only had a second to glance at the photo before his mum put the phone away, but it was enough time to see she was right. He did look washed out. It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy being at the wedding; he just felt so strange today. Even when he had been summoned to present the wedding rings, Nelson had felt a burning desire to keep them in his pocket. Part of his brain was telling him to hand over the rings, while another wanted desperately to keep them. His hesitation was mistaken for nerves by Celeste, who helped him out. Once the rings were on his uncles’ fingers, Nelson had felt an uncontrollable surge of love towards Pogo and Doody and ran forward to embrace them both. Everyone had laughed and thought it was a delightful moment, but Nelson had quickly retreated, feeling ashamed. And now, looking at the photo of himself, he wished he looked better. Handsome like Ivan.
‘All right, folks! How we doing out there?’ Doody had leaped on to the stage and grabbed the microphone, his big toothy grin wider than ever before. Everyone turned and cheered.
‘Fancy a bit o’ line dancin’ then?’
The guests cheered again.
‘Well, give it up for Rodeo Jones and his Wild Horses!’ Four musicians dressed for the Wild West took to the stage: a drummer, a violinist, a double bass player, and a singer with two large front teeth and a greased centre parting, who took hold of the mic.
‘I’m Rodeo Jones and this here is my band, the Wild Horses!’ It was without doubt the most unconvincing American accent anyone had ever heard. The band began to play an infectious country rhythm, and Rodeo Jones began to sing instructions to the guests while slapping his thigh.
‘Get in line, get in line. Ladies left, fellas right. Step to the beat now, one, two, three . . .’
He may have had an awful American accent, but Rodeo Jones had an incredible power over the crowd. Within seconds he had divided the room into two rows of dancers who obeyed his every word.
‘Face your partner! Right hand up! Take their hand and round ya go!’
It worked! Everyone was dancing perfectly together. Celeste and Ivan could not stop laughing as they spun around, and even Uncle Pogo with his false leg was able to swing Doody around in time with the music. There was a smile on every face except Nelson’s. He had managed to dodge his mother, for she would have insisted he join in, and he hid in a corner by the food table. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to join in, he just couldn’t. Everyone else was having so much fun, but he didn’t know how he felt. One minute he was tired, the next he was angry, then he was hungry and eating everything he could get his hands on. Looking past his uncles on the stage he could see Admiral Nelson’s tomb. This is where it had started for our Nelson: camping out in the crypt of St Paul’s on the night of the storm. It was here, as he lay asleep in a tent constructed by his Uncle Pogo, that his monsters had been born.
Nelson found himself looking down at his reflection in an empty silver drinks tray. He didn’t like the way he looked. He wanted to change his hair. His shirt collar was too big and made his neck look too thin. He bared his teeth and thought they looked crooked and embarrassing.
‘What am I doing?’ said Nelson out loud, though everyone else was too busy dancing to hear him. He had never in his life cared what he looked like, and now he saw his face as a collection of flaws and defects.
Grabbing a lemonade and scoffing a handful of salted peanuts, Nelson snuck out through the door and climbed the stairs leading to the ground-floor exit.
The sunshine caught him by surprise, but when Nelson put up his hand to shield his eyes, the sun shone straight through.
Not just through the gaps in his fingers. Right through his skin and bone, as if he were made of glass.