Page 16 of From Notting Hill with Love…Actually (Actually #1)
Sean dodged in and out of the vehicles that still crawled along the road. Horns beeped, and obscenities were shouted from car windows, but he kept going until he reached the other side. Two delivery boys standing outside a pizza restaurant having a cigarette idly watched him.
Sean approached them and words were quickly exchanged, and then some money. The boys put on their helmets and climbed aboard their mopeds. Sean climbed onto one of the bikes too, perching on the back where the pizzas usually sat.
Oh no, you can’t be serious , I thought, as they wove their way back across the traffic toward me.
“Climb aboard,” Sean shouted above the noise of the engines. “They’ll get us there on time!”
“But I can’t—I’m wearing a skirt!”
My delivery boy smirked at my tight dress. “You could always hitch it up,” he leered.
“Come on, Red!” Sean called. “Don’t be a spoilsport—it’s the only way we’re going to make it there on time!”
I glared at Sean, then, swallowing my pride, hoisted up my dress and perched myself gingerly on top of the pizza rack.
My escort turned round and grinned. “I’m Brian,” he said, holding out his hand.
“Scarlett,” I said, shaking it.
“Nice name. Look, Scarlett, you’re going to have to put your arms around me,” he instructed. “Or you’ll fall off.”
“Right,” I said, closing my eyes and wrapping my arms around Brian’s skinny torso.
Jeez, this had better be in a movie somewhere , I thought, as I held on for dear life while Brian expertly wove his moped in and out of the congested Glasgow traffic.
He’s not exactly James Dean or Marlon Brando .
But I don’t suppose, as I balanced precariously on the back of a pizza delivery bike, I looked much like a starlet of Hollywood yesteryear either.
***
We arrived at the wedding with minutes to spare.
I clambered off the moped as gracefully as I could and hurriedly smoothed down my dress, grateful there had not been any undelivered pizzas on the bike during our ride or my current odor might now have been less Chanel No.
5, and more Order No. 5 with extra pepperoni and cheese.
I was grateful we’d been wearing helmets too, for as much as my hair had been flattened from being squashed under the helmet, if it had been loose I’d have had another movie moment to add to my list, and it would have been a most unwanted one—that of Bridget Jones’s frizzy hair after she’d been in Daniel Cleaver’s open-topped sports car.
“OK?” Sean asked, holding up his hand to the pizza delivery boys as they sped off together, zigzagging back through the traffic.
I nodded. “Yeah, I think so. Well, at least we got here before the bride.”
“Only just,” Sean said, nodding in the direction of a big black car pulling up outside the church .
I watched as the car door was opened and a young girl wearing white alighted from the vehicle. “Is that Rachel?”
“Yes,” Sean said, taking a quick glance. “Now come on, let’s get inside before she does.”
“It’s an unusual outfit she’s wearing,” I said as we quietly crept into the church.
“Mmm, is it?” Sean said, finding us an empty pew at the back. “I didn’t really notice.”
It was then I realized something wasn’t quite right.
As I looked around me, I saw the congregation weren’t dressed in the usual wedding attire of morning suits, dresses, and oversized hats, but were wearing what looked like fancy dress outfits.
“Sean, what’s everyone wearing?” I whispered.
“What do you mean?” Sean looked up from his Order of Service.
“Look at everyone, they’re all dressed funny.”
As we both looked closely at our fellow guests, the realization dawned on us that the wedding obviously had a theme.
Nearly everyone had on some sort of costume, the only exception seemed to be a couple of elderly grannies, or maybe they were aunts, who wore the more traditional wedding attire of pastel twinset with matching shade of large feathery hat.
“Didn’t you know it was fancy dress costumes?” I hissed in Sean’s ear. “I feel a right fool dressed like this now.”
“It’s worse than just fancy dress,” Sean whispered back, a smile beginning to spread across his face.
“What do you mean worse? How could this get any worse than us being at a fancy dress wedding in normal clothes?”
Just then the huge wooden doors at the back of the church burst open, and everyone stood up as the first bars of the bridal march began.
That sounds familiar, I thought as the notes began to register in my ears.
Then it hit me what the music was, and why Sean was now standing next to me grinning like a fool—as the John Williams theme from Star Wars echoed around the church, and Rachel, dressed as Princess Leia—bagel hair and all—shimmered toward us in a long white dress.
I looked at Sean. His eyes shone in amusement.
“It can’t be, can it?” I asked, wanting to giggle. “It’s not a Star Wars –themed wedding?”
“Look at Uncle Jonathan,” Sean hissed, barely able to speak for laughing now.
The man walking Rachel down the aisle was dressed in what looked like a monk’s habit—a long brown hooded tunic, knotted at the waist with rope.
“I think he’s Obi-Wan Kenobi!” Sean squeaked, his hand covering his mouth to try and conceal his mirth from the approaching Jedi Knight.
Following Princess Leia and Obi-Wan were the bridesmaids, two of them dressed as Ewoks, and the other, an older girl, as Queen Padmé from the later Star Wars films.
We watched in amazement as the bridal procession passed us. Sean craned his head around the end of the pew to get a better view down the aisle.
“Who is the groom dressed as?” I asked, unable to see clearly through the people in front of me, one of whom had come as Jar-Jar Binks and was wearing extremely tall headgear .
“I think he’s Han Solo,” Sean said, whispering. “Oh my God, guess who the best man is?”
I tried to look through the sea of costumes and caught a glimpse of something gold shimmering up ahead. “Not C-3PO, surely?”
“It surely is.” Sean leaned his head back toward mine. “Shouldn’t it really be Chewbacca, though, wasn’t he Han’s best mate?”
I smiled at Sean. “I thought you didn’t know anything about movies?”
“Maybe some I do. Anyway, everyone knows Star Wars .”
“I guess.”
“I suppose we can let them off the Chewbacca thing. After all, who’s going to be daft enough to dress up as him? The suit would be stifling inside.”
I nodded in agreement. “I can’t believe this, Sean. I’ve been to loads of weddings, but never anything like this before. I mean, what’s next—the vicar dressed as Darth Vader?”
Sean took another look. “How did you guess?”
“What? You’re kidding, let me see.” I leaned across Sean to take a peek. And indeed, up ahead conducting the ceremony was Darth Vader himself, in a long black cloak and full head mask.
I grinned, then realized I was still lying over Sean’s lap, so I hurriedly pulled myself up again.
“Sorry,” I whispered in embarrassment.
“No worries,” Sean said, and our eyes held each other’s again for the briefest of moments.
Then we noticed that the rest of the congregation was standing, and it was time for the first hymn.
Well it wasn’t actually a hymn, we all sang “Super Trouper” by Abba.
(Except it was written “Super ‘Storm’ Trooper” on the Order of Service.)
The Star Wars theme continued throughout the ceremony.
The rings were brought out on a silver cushion carried by a full-size remote controlled R2-D2.
Then it was Yoda’s turn to give us a reading, based on his own philosophies and teachings.
The part of Yoda was played by one of Sean’s cousins—he crouched down behind the pulpit with his hand stuffed inside a children’s puppet of the wise Jedi.
The piece de resistance of the whole ceremony, though, came during the signing of the registers, when we were treated to a reenactment of a classic fight scene from one of the films. Obviously Darth Vader was a little too busy just now signing paperwork to be fighting Luke Skywalker, so Darth Maul took his place in the battle of the light sabers—in full red and black makeup.
When the battle of good against evil had been won and the registers had been signed, the happy couple walked back down the aisle through an archway of millennium stormtroopers, each holding a light sabre above their head.
“Well, that was certainly different,” I commented, as we emerged into the cold February air once more.
“Different is certainly one of the words I’d use to describe it, yes,” Sean said, squinting into the bright winter sun. He pulled a pair of silver sunglasses from his pocket and the Brad Pitt Ocean’s Eleven look was now complete. I swallowed hard.
I looked around at the guests emerging from the church behind us to try and take my mind off it.
“Oh my God, Sean,” I said, spying a rather large woman standing not far away.
“Look at all the trouble that woman has gone to—she’s well padded up under that dress.
What a sense of humor, eh? Jabba the Hutt does M it was just a feeling—well, a lack of feeling really. I was certain if Diana had been my mother I’d definitely have felt something…anything, when our hands touched.