The day Grandma married the son of the man who left her at the altar.
My grandmother is 89, and shes just become the star of the biggest scandal this village has seen since old Tom pilfered the May Fair takings. And weve seen our share of drama here weddings called off, a brawl at the leavers ball, even the time the church roof caved in but THIS, this overshadowed it all.
It all began when Grandma met an elderly gentleman at the pensioners club.
Such a gentleman, darling, she would say, reapplying her pale pink lipstick. And he still drives.
Gran, hes 91. Are you sure he ought to be driving?
Oh, dont fuss. At least he has a car.
Their romance was a whirlwind. Within three weeks, hed proposed with a ring, too. Well, a pretend one, but it was the thought that counted.
Im getting married on Saturday, Grandma announced at Sunday lunch.
Mum nearly choked on her roast potato.
Saturday?! Thats five days off!
Exactly. At my age, you dont waste time. What if I drop dead on Friday?
We bought her a dress pearl-coloured, just elegant enough. Booked the church hall, ordered the cake. One of the cousins even made crepe paper flowers.
The big day dawned. Grandma looked radiant the dress, the string of real pearls inherited from her mother, beaming with a joy I hadnt seen in years.
The hall was full. Soft music played. The vicar thumbed through his prayer book. Everything seemed perfect.
Except the groom didnt show.
We waited twenty minutes.
Then forty.
After an hour, a cousin went to fetch him.
He returned alone, his face the colour of funeral stone.
He says he cant do it.
A murmur filled the hall. Grandma went pale.
What do you mean, he cant?
Hes frightened. Says hes too old, afraid hell fall ill, says hed be a burden. Thinks its best this way.
Grandma sat there, bouquet of white roses trembling in her hands.
Then the doors swung open. In strode a man in his late sixties, smartly dressed, hair silver but thick, and cheeks flushed with anger.
Wheres the bride?
And you are? one of the relatives piped up.
Im the son of the man who just deserted this lady.
The whole room stared.
He walked straight to Grandma and took off his hat.
I came to apologise for my family. This is unforgivable.
Grandma met his gaze without blinking.
How old are you, young man?
Sixty-seven.
Married?
Widower. Four years now.
Children?
Three. All grown and settled.
And do you work?
Im retired. Have my pension and a little cottage.
She thought for a moment, then braced herself with her cane and stepped closer.
Tell me this are you afraid of commitment, like your father?
No. I was married for thirty-five years. Best time of my life.
And what do you think of marriage?
I think its the finest thing that can happen to anyone. My father made a dreadful mistake letting this chance slip away.
She looked him up and down, then addressed us all.
The halls paid for. The foods paid for. The vicars here. The cake cost a bomb…
Gran, surely youre not I started.
Would you do me the honour?
The hall erupted. Shouts, laughter, someone spilled their sherry, a cousin started recording on his mobile, nobody quite believed what was happening.
But I… you
You came to defend my honour. Im already dressed. I wont be wearing this again. So yes or no?
He laughed really laughed, heart and soul.
My late wife always said Id do something absolutely mad one day. Id say the times come. Lets do it.
And so they were wed.
Right there.
The vicar needed a moment to collect himself. One of the cousins cried hard enough to ruin her mascara. Mum couldnt decide whether to laugh, sob, or simply stare.
But married they were.
At the reception, as we ate cake with the former grooms name hastily covered over with tape and a marker I asked Grandma:
Gran, have you honestly just married a man you met two hours ago?
She was radiant.
At 89, Ive no time for long courtships. Hes polite, has a good pension, and bless him, still has his gall bladder. Did you really think Id let a chance like this slip by?
Hes twenty-two years younger than you!
Exactly. Hell outlive me. Someones got to feed the cats.
Three weeks have passed. Her jilted fiancé tried to phone with an apology. Her new husband answered and hung up.
Turns out, he cooks better than Grandma though shell never admit it dances beautifully, and drives her to doctors appointments in a battered but immaculately kept Morris Minor.
Yesterday, I saw them in the park. He was pushing her wheelchair while she scolded:
Slow down! This isnt Brands Hatch!
As you wish, my queen.
Her ex-fiancé sent a wedding present a blender. Grandma decided it would be more useful to someone else and raffled it at bingo.
Now tell me: what sort of grandmother marries the 67-year-old son of the man who left her at the altar and what sort of son agrees to marry the woman who, minutes earlier, was supposed to be his stepmother?
