Bertie groaned.
“It’s not fair! Why do I have to go?”
“It’s your cousin’s wedding,” said Mum.
“I love weddings,” sighed Suzy. “So romantic!”
“Yuck! I hate them!” said Bertie.
The last wedding his parents had dragged him to was deathly dull. He had to sit through speeches that went on for days. Even when it was time to leave there were armies of aunts waiting to kiss him. This time, his cousin Dora was marrying her fiancé, Bruce. Bertie had met drippy Dora. He couldn’t see why anyone would want to talk to her – let alone marry her.
“In any case, we’re going,” said Mum. “Suzy’s a bridesmaid and you’re a pageboy.”
Bertie looked horrified. Him? A pageboy?
“No way!” he cried.
“All you have to do is look smart,” said Mum.
“I never look smart,” said Bertie, truthfully.
“You will for Dora’s wedding,” said Mum firmly. “That’s why I’m taking you shopping on Saturday. Suzy can find a bridesmaid’s dress and we’ll get you a kilt.”
“A KILT?” Bertie gasped for air. “But that’s a … a…”
“A SKIRT!” giggled Suzy. “HA HA!”
“Don’t be silly,” said Mum. “Bruce is Scottish and lots of the men will be wearing kilts.”
“But can’t I just wear jeans?” begged Bertie.
“Of course not! It’s a wedding!”
Bertie groaned. This was torture! Cruelty! It couldn’t be happening!
On Saturday morning Mum took them to “Gladrags” wedding shop in town. The snooty assistant helped them to choose things to try on. Suzy picked a pretty lilac dress with puff sleeves and went to change. Bertie didn’t choose anything. The kilts were all too big, too baggy, too … skirty! In the end Mum chose one for him. Bertie took it into the changing room and slammed the door.
A moment later, Suzy appeared.
“Oh darling, you look lovely!” said Mum.
Suzy twirled round in front of the mirror. She’d always dreamed of being a bridesmaid. It was just a pity Bertie would be there to spoil the pictures.
“Where is Bertie?” Mum frowned. “He’s been in there ages.”
She knocked on the changing room door. “BERTIE?”
“He’s not here!”
“Bertie, hurry up, we’re waiting!”
“It doesn’t fit. It’s too big!” grumbled Bertie.
“Nonsense! Let me see!” said Mum.
“NO!”
Mum folded her arms. “Right, I’m counting to three. One, two, thr—”
BLAM! The door burst open. Bertie stomped out, scowling furiously. He was wearing a black jacket, a frilly shirt and a green kilt with a hairy sporran. It was the smallest kilt in the shop, but it practically reached Bertie’s ankles.
“It’s too big!” he moaned. “I look stupid!”
“Ahh,” said Suzy. “Do you want an ickle pink bow for your hair?”
“SHUT UP!” cried Bertie.
“Take no notice,” said Mum. “Lots of boys wear kilts. I think you look very handsome.”
Bertie scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Handsome? He couldn’t go out like this! What if one of his friends saw him? It was bad enough that he had to be at Dora’s wedding, but dressed in a tartan skirt? No, he wouldn’t do it, not for his cousin, not for anyone. And there was nothing they could do to make him.