Bad Bridesmaid. Portia MacIntosh

on cue I hear the sound of footsteps on the stairs. I quickly remove Pulp Fiction from the DVD player and put it back on the shelf, just as Auntie June walks in.

      ‘Did everyone behave?’ she asks, not wasting a second on pleasantries.

      ‘Of course,’ I reply. ‘They’re little angels.’

      ‘I was talking to them,’ my auntie informs me.

      I roll my eyes at my auntie as Tarantino’s two newest fans nod their heads.

      I grab a bottle of water from the mini fridge and take a swig, safe in the knowledge I have passed myself off as a capable babysitter.

      ‘Wait a second,’ my auntie starts, puzzled. ‘Why are you two in your underpants?’

      Caught off guard, I spray the big gulp of water I had taken out of my mouth. I cough and splutter for a moment (much to the amusement of Josh and Max) before trying to explain.

      ‘It’s not what it looks like,’ I start, but my auntie cuts me off.

      ‘What does it look like?’

      I hesitate for a moment.

      ‘I don’t know, but the boys wanted to swim and I didn’t think you’d appreciate me going in your room to find shorts.’

      My auntie looks at the boys for confirmation and they dutifully nod. I think my auntie is picking up on the fact that we are all behaving very shiftily, but that’s only because I let the boys watch a movie with an ‘eighteen’ rating, not because I held an impromptu orgy and decided my ten-year-old cousin and his mate could attend if they adhered to the dress code.

      Auntie June sniffs her son suspiciously.

      ‘You two, go and shower,’ she instructs them, having obviously smelt the unmistakable whiff of chlorine on their skin, even though they’re dry because they’ve been watching the movie for the past few hours.

      ‘You’re welcome,’ I say victoriously. I may not have wanted to babysit today but I successfully kept the boys alive – something no one thought for a second that I could do, and yet they still left them with me. Never underestimate the lure of chips.

      My auntie follows the boys back upstairs, eyeballing me cautiously as she leaves the room.

      I don’t waste my time wondering why June hates me these days, she just does and I’m weirdly OK with it. You would think I’d be distraught by the fact that pretty much every member of my family doesn’t really like me but I’m OK with that too. I have a few theories going, most of which involve me being born to a sexy celebrity couple and ending up getting swapped in the hospital, but I made peace with them emotionally exiling me a long time ago.

      I suppose I should go and do some work. As I head back to my poolside workstation I glance over the DVDs again, making a mental note that the boys should watch Reservoir Dogs next – as part of their film education, it’s called Media Studies, I promise.

Chapter 9

      Despite promising to keep working while I’m away, I didn’t get very much done today. I tried, but I was only on a roll for about ten minutes before Belle called me for dinner, and all group activities are not optional – unless they need a babysitter.

      ‘Bangers and mash,’ my sister informs me cheerily as I enter the dining room. I knew I was going to have trouble keeping up my diet while I was here but this is ridiculous. Still, my sister will take it personally if I don’t participate so I suppose I’ll eat the vegetables and push the rest around my plate to create the illusion that I am eating it.

      ‘Yummy,’ I reply enthusiastically – as you know, when it comes to sausage I am an expert at faking it.

      Soon enough everyone is seated at the two tables, the grown-ups on the main table and everyone under sixteen at the kids’ table next to us. Even though not everyone is staying at the beach house, we seem to be spending a lot of time together and eating all our meals together – thanks to Bridezilla’s ridiculously strict scheduling.

      This evening I am sitting between my grandma and a hard face… my Auntie June. I was expecting to be in a horrible position, with shit being flung at me from both sides, but they’re not giving me a hard time at all tonight. My gran has always had moments of indifference towards me, but my auntie is usually unrelenting. Not tonight though.

      ‘I hear you did a good job with the kids,’ my dad says to me from across the table. ‘Well done.’

      This comment catches me off guard as I am eating a mouthful of peas, causing me to swallow the wrong way and cough a little.

      ‘Yeah.’ I sip my water. ‘Well, they’re good kids. I had fun.’

      ‘Maybe you do have maternal instincts,’ my mum says warmly.

      I glance around the table and see that everyone is smiling at me.

      ‘Maybe,’ I reply, knowing full well that I am about as maternal as a shoe. Still, if people are going to be nicer to me for showcasing these “normal” feelings then I’m all for it. Whatever makes my stay here more tolerable.

      ‘You did do a good job,’ a voice that sounds exactly like my auntie’s says, but it can’t be her, can it?

      I look to my right to see my Auntie June smiling at me. Yes, smiling at me, and it’s not forced or smug, it’s genuine.

      ‘You’ve clearly done some growing up, Mia,’ she adds.

      Belle, visibly annoyed that I am getting more attention than her, attempts to put me back in my place.

      ‘Mia, why aren’t you eating your dinner?’ she asks angrily.

      ‘The vegetables are delicious,’ I lie.

      ‘Well, it’s your show business diet, isn’t it,’ my mum chimes in. ‘It’s a tough business. Things like that matter.’

      My eyes widen. First my dad compliments me, then my auntie is nice to me and now my mum is defending me – and everyone is still smiling. I must be dreaming.

      Perhaps now everyone is seeing me in a better light, this wedding might not be so bad – I might even have fun.

      ‘So you’re refusing to eat my sausages?’ my sister persists.

      ‘I don’t really eat pork,’ I reason. My sister looks angry but everyone else in the room seems fine with me until…

      ‘I don’t eat pork,’ a voice echoes my own. Everyone looks towards the end of the table, where the kids’ table is. Josh is grinning widely.

      ‘Excuse me?’ my auntie says to her son.

      ‘I don’t eat pork,’ he continues as he eats, much to Max’s amusement.

      When I let Josh and Max watch Pulp Fiction I knew that they wouldn’t tell their parents on me, but there’s one thing I didn’t anticipate happening – something that is inevitable when you watch a Tarantino flick – they caught the quoting bug.

      I glance down the table at them, pleading at them with my eyes not to take this any further, but they’re not looking at me, they’re having too much fun.

      ‘Why not?’ my uncle asks his son curiously.

      ‘I don’t eat filthy animals,’ Josh replies.

      Everyone in the room is still baffled, apart from Dan’s older brother Mike who is chuckling to himself – he’s clearly a fan of the movie. If this situation wasn’t all my fault I’d probably be amused too – and impressed, Josh is nailing the delivery of these lines, and he has remembered them perfectly. It’s true what they say, children have minds like sponges.

      ‘They root in shit,’ Josh elaborates, clearly on a roll. ‘That’s a filthy animal.’