B Darts ch 26

Chapter 26

The next morning when I woke up I asked Seven if he would pick up my
socks. He laughed and said he knew my game and I said he didn't. I said
I really needed my socks, my feet were cold, practically frostbitten.
So Seven got out of bed, walked across the floor, bent over and picked
up the socks. It was a simple thing but it made me happy. I had seen
that smile. It was the best smile in the world. It was a smile that
could lead somewhere. It did.

Later, we went downstairs.

The Poet was sitting in one of my chairs with a notebook on his lap,
AkiMat was curled up on the sofa asleep and strange noises were coming
from within the tent.

"What's going on?" I said.

"I'm making a plan," said The Poet, sticking the wrong end of the pen
between his lips. "For the meeting. With the secretary. About the
darts."

"No," I said, nodding towards the igloo-shaped structure in the centre
of my floor. "I meant in the tent."

"I don't know," said The Poet. "It sounds like a cow."

He was right, it did. "Moo," went the noise, "moo, moo, moo."

I stepped over the smouldering embers of the fire and unzipped the
flap of tent. I looked inside. Captain Vegas was there. 16 was
there.

"Oh," I said, trying to make a joke of it. "I was expecting a
cow."

"No," said Captain Vegas with a smile, "no cow. Can you put the cattle
on?"

"The cattle?" I said.

"Yes," said Captain Vegas. "I need a cup of tea. Udder-wise I'll be in
a bad moo-d all day."

16 started to laugh and then he didn't stop. He laughed and laughed
until Captain Vegas squirreled a corner of their sleeping-bag into his
mouth. Only that shut him up.

"Leave them," said The Poet. "It's been animal jokes all night." There
was a smile on The Poet's lips. "It was the coyotes that started it. We
should never have invited them to join us. It's true what they say,
"Wherever a coyote goes a hyena is sure to follow.""

I was just going to get on the phone to anyone, the RSPCA, the Rotary
club, anyone, when Seven walked into the room. He was holding a letter.
I was glad of the diversion.

"What's the letter?" I said.

"It's C," he said. He held the page up in the air. He looked happy
about something. "It's C," he said again.

"C?" I said. "The letter after B?" To be honest I wasn't sure if I was
awake anymore. I ran over to the window. Perhaps Salvador Dali would be
there on a camera crane busily filming the surreal. He wasn't. I turned
back to Seven. "C?" I said. I thought at any minute I would fall to
floor. I thought at any minute I would wiggle my hips. I could imagine
the headlines, "LOOP GAROO IN SESAME STREET MISHAP. "IT WAS C THAT DID
IT" HE SAYS".

"It's my sister," said Seven. "C. She's getting married. We're all
invited."

"C," I said. "Your sister. Right. Getting married." Everything fell
into place. C wasn't just a letter. C was the name of one of Seven's
sisters. I don't know how I had forgotten. The editor went berserk. He
needed a new headline. He was screaming, "Hold the front page! Hold the
front page!" I ignored him. I was used to his tantrums.

"When is it?" I asked. "The wedding?" It was a redundant question. I
knew exactly when the wedding was. It had already been one of those
mornings.

"Today," said Seven. "Get ready. Everybody, get ready."

So we did. The Poet put down his plan. AkiMat folded up the tent. 16
took the sleeping bag out of his mouth. Within fifteen minutes we were
in the fruit-mobile, booted and suited, ready for anything any nuptials
could throw at us. We were all there that is, except for one exception.
Captain Vegas stayed behind to go flat hunting. He promised to keep a
log.

"My last one was quite a success," he had said as he kissed 16 lightly
on the nose. I still remembered. 16 had wobbled like a jelly. He knew
better than anyone about Captain Vegas and his logs.

After hours of driving, weaving in and out of traffic and toilet breaks
on the hard shoulder Seven parked the car by a hedge and then set off
across the muddy fields there. We followed.

"Are you sure you know where you're going?" I said, dodging a dodgy
looking sheep.

"Positive," said Seven, "the country is my home. It's in my blood. I
could milk a cow before I could walk."

"Nice," said 16. "Will it be a big wedding?"

"Probably," said Seven. "We're a big family."

"Will there be cake and everything?" said 16.

"I guess so," said Seven.

"Will the bride wear white?" said 16.

"I doubt it," said Seven. "I told you about C and Five. The incest
thing."

"Oh," said 16. "Will Five be at the ceremony?"

"You can see for yourself," said Seven. "We're here."

Indeed, Seven had stopped walking. We were outside a building that
must have once been a barn. Now it was a church. I knew it was a church
because someone had tacked a spire onto one of the gable ends.

"Nice," I said.

"Shhh," said Seven, "we're late. Let's go inside."

We pulled open the doors and found that really, we were in a church.
There was the altar, there was the nave, there was the vicar, the bride
and the groom. There was also something else, something that surprised
me.

"Monkeys," I whispered.

"I told you about the monkeys," whispered Seven.

"Shhh," said one of the bride's family.

"I thought it was just a story," I whispered.

"No," whispered Seven, "it was true."

"Shhh," said one of the groom's family.

"Do you," said the vicar from the front, "C, take Gaston Fontaine to
be your lawfully wedded husband."

"The monkeys are wearing suits," I
whispered.

"It's a wedding," whispered Seven.

"Shhh," said one of the bride's family.

"And do you," said the vicar, "Gaston Fontaine, take C to be your
lawfully wedded wife."

"But monkeys!" I whispered.

"Shhh," said one of the groom's family.

"At a wedding!" I whispered.

"Yes, monkeys!" whispered Seven. "At a wedding!"

"QUIET!" shouted the vicar.

"I do," said Gaston Fontaine very quietly.

"I do," said C even more quietly.

The monkeys clapped their hands. They seemed to be laughing.

It was later and we were at the reception. The bride and groom were at
the top table almost hidden behind a huge tiered cake, and there were
many other tables, all full. Even the monkeys had their own
table.

"Speech!" shouted someone.

"Speech!" shouted someone else.

Then everyone started shouting it. Over and over. The shouts seemed to
be directed towards our table, towards Seven.

"I'd better do it," said Seven, "I'm always the one who has to make a
speech. It's expected."

"Go for it," I said.

"I will," said Seven.

"Knock them dead," I said.

"OK," said Seven.

He stood up. The shouts died down. Seven looked around the room and
then he started to speak.

"It is two years," he said, "since I have left the village. In that
time much has happened. I have set up a fruit stall, I have bought a
house, I have found a boyfriend."

As soon as Seven said the word boyfriend the crowd went wild.

"They seem happy about that," I said proudly.

"I told you," said Seven. "I'm the seventh son. I'm cursed. If ever I
have children then the whole village is doomed."

"Oh," I said.

Seven held up his hands. The crowd were quiet.

"And today I come back," said Seven, continuing where he had left off,
"for the wedding of my sister, the wedding of C. I know it is customary
for the best man to make a speech but in this case it is difficult. You
see, our best man is a best monkey."

The crowd went wild again. Even the monkeys. They were hanging from
the chandeliers. Literally.

"So," said Seven when the crowd were finally quiet, "the making of a
speech is down to me." He took a deep breath and turned towards C and
Gaston Fontaine. "I hope you will both forgive me. I am not good at
speeches so instead I will tell a story."

C and Gaston inclined their heads. I sat back and took a sip of
champagne. I was happy. I liked Seven's stories.

"When C was just a little girl," said Seven, "she was very forgetful.
She would forget everything, the day of the week, her name, which was
her left foot and which was her right. We thought she would grow out of
it or, at least, we thought she would grow into her memory. She didn't.
Her memory never got any better. Then one Christmas mum had an idea.
She bought C a label maker.

"For C, it was the best present she had ever had. She put it to use
straight away. She printed out the words MUM and DAD, she peeled off
the sticky backing and she attached them to mum and dad. She gave them
a hug. "Thanks mum, thanks dad," she said and for once she got it
right.

"After that, C started to attach labels to everything. In the bathroom
the tap was labelled TAP, the toilet was labelled TOILET, the sink was
labelled SINK and so on. C would spend all her time printing out those
labels and peeling off the sticky backing. One day I even went to the
toilet and found a label on myself. PULL HERE it said. But I didn't
mind because the difference in C was huge. She didn't have to remember
things. She was happy for a time.

"I say for a time because it was around this time that C started High
School and became best friends with Melissa Gringlewood. C and Melissa
would spend all their time together and pretty soon Melissa was covered
head to toe in labels. HAIR, TEETH, EYES etc. But the most important
label was the one that said BEST FRIEND.

"Then it happened. The event.

"One break C caught Melissa and Danny Bench in a revealing clinch, a
clinch that revealed they were kissing. This wouldn't have been so bad
if C hadn't already labelled Danny with the following labels. CUTE.
BOYFRIEND. MINE. It wouldn't have been so bad if Melissa hadn't
promised C to try her best to get them together. C ran home
crying.

"Later that night when C was still crying mum asked what was wrong. C
explained. She explained about Melissa. She explained about Danny
Bench. She explained about the labels. BEST FRIEND. MINE. BOYFRIEND.
Mum said, "there, there" and said that sometimes it was impossible to
label things, not everything could have a label. C said she understood
and she stopped crying. But she didn't believe mum, she had a
plan.

"That night C broke into Danny Bench's house. She snuck into his
bedroom and carefully removed the labels she had put there before. Then
she added some new ones.

"The next day everyone noticed the change in Danny. When the teacher
said take out your pens he dropped his trousers and took out his cock.
When it was lunchtime Danny sat on his head and spooned mashed potato
into his pockets. But worst of all when he saw Melissa he put his
finger up his bum and then asked her if she wanted to suck. Of course
Melissa dumped him.

"Later C came into my room and confided some things to me. She said
that mum was wrong. She said that everything could have a label but
that labels could be changed. She said that labels were powerful
things. She said that labels both defined who we are and what we did.
And C has been using those labels ever since. Watch out. That is the
end of the story."

Seven stopped talking. Everyone in the hall was silent. No one said a
word. Not even the monkeys.

"Nice story," I said.

"Oh dear," said Seven.

Out of the corner of my eye I noticed Gaston running a finger around
the inside of the collar of his shirt. He looked nervous. He looked
about ready to bolt.

"Oh dear," said Seven again.

I had an idea.

"That label machine," I said. "Where is it?"

"I don't know," said Seven. He shrugged. "In C's handbag I
guess."

"Cover me," I said.

"With what?" said Seven. But I had already gone.

Without pause I snuck over to C. I reached into her handbag. I found
the machine. Then, as quickly as I could I printed out a hundred
labels. On each one was the same word, HAPPY. With the help of AkiMat
and The Poet and 16 we stuck the labels on each and every guest.

The party began again in full swing.

"Well done," said Seven, surveying the scene.

I shook my head. "It was nothing. After all, it was your story that
gave me the idea. I couldn't have done it without you."

Seven smiled. "Couldn't have done it without me. I guess I'm that kind
of boyfriend."

"Yes you are," I said.

"Do you want to dance?" said Seven.

"No problem," I said. "Let's dance."

We did. We danced and we danced until we couldn't dance any more.