Chapter 23
Wedding – what wedding? – Oh! that one.
Of course I gave her the chance to change venues for it; I could just imagine Presidents and Millionaires sat on plastic chairs amongst the headstones, and watching us live on a big screen, although at least I was guaranteed a place indoors if it was raining, but ‘no’, she had already told her ‘friends’ and they had both said that they would be there, so that was two of the indoor seats taken up, and I tried to visualise them at the ‘top table’ at the reception, now that would get us on the front page of Vogue (again).
We (Sue) agreed on a spring wedding, it would give everyone a chance to look at their calendars and make their plans, but one RSVP that I didn’t expect was a call in person from a certain President from over the pond, ‘it’s OK Andrew, Michelle and I will be there, we wouldn’t miss it for the world, all I had to do was change the date of the G8: by the way have you got a few spare seats for Presidents ..….. & ……….. & Prime Minister ……. ‘, fortunately they were already on the list.
The big day arrived and even the weather played its part, it was spectacular – perhaps having ‘him’ as guest of honour had its benefits - and Wroxham and the surrounding area entered into the spirit of the occasion, although Mrs Bradleys B&B would never be the same again – she had two Presidents, a Prince & Princess and a Lord and Lady staying in her four roomed establishment.
My decked out Riva Aquarama (or should that now be ‘our?’), resplendent in satin ribbons collected Sue from our ‘summer house’, of course with Bob the Bosun at the helm, and he wend his way slowly through the cornucopia of river craft, resplendent in huge quantities of bunting for the occasion - twice. Arriving at a public landing stage she was greeted by crowds of well wishes, TV cameras and Russell – with his own Rolls Royce, my crappy Maybach apparently was not good enough for her ‘special day’ today. He then drove her – complete with motorcycle outriders, their ‘white helmets’ flashing in the sun, up to the church of St Mary the Virgin, now resplendent in its new lead roofs, well perhaps not the little one, it still had a few years left in it, and it was wall to wall dignitaries, but one of the front rows was reserved for El Campo staff, there had to be a draw for the seats, and it was rumoured that guns had even been drawn during it, but fortunately no one was hurt. The glass screen that divided the congregation from the draughty main door had been opened out to squeeze a few more soles in, and there was a live ‘big screen’ outside, but no plastic chairs amongst the grave stones, ‘sorry - Health & Safety’, apparently one slip and you could join your ancestors – literally.
The service was of course a tear jerker, but I stopped long enough to say ‘I do’ and to ‘slap a lip lock’ on the bride, then it was outside for the photos, a quick ride in a horse drawn carriage – no it wasn’t the one from the Coronation – it was the other one, (much to Russ’s disgust) and then back into the Aquarama for a sprint around the river, with Sues veil streaming in the slipstream, then my phone rang and I went as white as her veil, it could only be Maria, all other calls were on divert, and the only reason she would ring us was Alice.
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Alice had a tough time with her first born, Holly, and the doctors, in desperation, put it down to the pollen count in the New Forest, and the birth had its moments of trauma as well, that is why they quickly relocated to the Broads, not much grass and loads of water, but this pregnancy was if anything even worse than her first, but she struggled gamely on and had even spent the week prior to our wedding in hospital, on a voluntary basis, ‘just to sort herself out’, and it looked as though it had worked, she looked ‘blooming’, but when we arrived at the hospital, with Sue still in her wedding dress, we found out that her previous stay had not been ‘voluntary’, and she had discharged herself for the wedding. Once Sue and I were safely on the Aquarama she started to go downhill fast, and it turned into a race of who could get to the hospital first, her or us. It was close, but Alice had a helping hand from Aaron, who had been ‘hovering around’ ready to whisk us away on our honeymoon. By the time we arrived Alice was already in theatre so we sat around drinking coffee, trying not to talk about anything slightly medical when a young nurse (she looked about twelve, so she must have been quite senior) asked Sue if she could have a photograph with her in her wedding dress, I think her boss had a heart attack on the spot, but recovered enough to be in the second photo. By the third every staff member on the floor was in on it and the last one, before Alice came out of theatre, I think they were dragging them in off the streets. It did take our minds off what was going on next door, but we were quickly brought back down to earth, Alice lost her baby, a surgeon later told me in confidence that ‘it was a blessing’, there were so many ‘complications’, and for a while it had been ‘touch and go’ for her as well, but my ‘tough little cookie’ pulled through’.
A few days later, with her well on the mend, the Surgeon returned, myriad tests completed, and ’in his opinion’ Alice was allergic to England, her ‘bodies or aunty bodies or her white, pink, green or blue sells’ (or however you spell them) were fighting each other whenever she shivered, she needed to move to a place that had a low pollen count, a lot less rain and a warmer climate’.
I couldn’t have put it better if I had bribed him to say it myself, honest I didn’t - I cannot type with my fingers crossed – wekl nob vewy weel.
When she saw the makings of a grin on my face she said ‘Not that bloody beach front place?’, but there was definitely the beginning of a twinkle in her eyes.
‘Language Timothy’ I said, then ‘afraid so, but I will buy your old place from you, we can extend the two into one’.
‘But you already own it Daddy, but you can give me a 10% finder’s fee if you like’.
That’s my girl, getting better all the time, but if I remembered rightly I FOUND IT FOR HER.
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As soon as I’d had the idea I set plans in motion, I have never been one to ‘let the grass grow beneath my feet’ and Robin and Emma entered into the project with mucho gusto, finally settling on a very modern looking wooden home that fitted in beautifully with the beach front look, and Alice had reluctantly said ‘whatever,’ but Algie was if anything even keener than the other two. There would be more than enough land left over to plant two or three more properties, but for now they had the pick of the litter – location wise. Mid way between the properties there was now a fully operational funicular lift that can whisk them almost up to airfield level. At its top there is a sub-terrainian garage where their new eco-friendly cars eagerly await them, to whisk them silently along to us in Mi Casa, sorry Nuestra Casa (our home), whenever the urge takes them, and the new spur road, from the garage to the taxi-track even has its own railway crossing gates: complete with flashing lights. I had briefly considered constructing ‘their very own’ railway station but I then thought ‘a bit O.T.T.; perhaps as a Christmas present next year’. Security was of course a high priority but between modern technology, armed guards and land mines, oops sorry I had eventually been overruled on them, they could live a fairly normal life without living in ‘splendid isolation’ as Alice called El Campo. Even though their homes were even larger than their UK ones they flew up (I think the pools took longer to fill), and they had the benefit of a world class, ‘on site’ interior designer to advise them on the inside bits. They were now both ready for occupation so perhaps I should consider renaming ‘El Campo’ (the field), ‘Tenedor del Sur’ (Southfork); but only if I can be Jock Ewing, not J.R.
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About the Author
I spent twenty-two years in the Fleet Air Arm (Royal Navy) as an Aircraft Mechanic, most of my time as a Maintenance Supervisor.
Following a brief time driving heavy goods vehicles I then spent a further fourteen years as a Housing Officer for a Local Authority/Housing Association before being medically retired.
I have two children (and a growing number o
f grandchildren) from my first marriage, and following my retirement, met, married, and relocated to Spain with Melva.
This is the third book in my Andrew Michaels trilogy, and hopefully you will have already read the first two, Road to Recovery, and then Onward and Upward, but if not, then perhaps a journey back in time will fill in a few blanks.
Connect with me Online:
https://www.tonywilson.es
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