Two left feet

EVERYTHING is planned and ready: the venue, my dress, the cake, cars, photographer and flowers.

Although it will be a small wedding compared to my sister Emily’s, Great-aunt Beatrice is flying back from Canada and Dad’s sister is coming from Edinburgh.

Everything is under control. Apart from Dad.

I know he’ll make a speech, and it will be embarrassing.

I can cope with that. It’s his dancing.

“I don’t want a disco or a band,” I tell Tim.

“Why ever not?” he says. “People expect to dance. It’s a wedding.”

He gives me a hug.

“Mum would like a quartet, but I’ve told her it’s only a small wedding,” he added. “We’ll manage with a DJ.”

I swallow hard.

Tim’s parents have chandeliers in the living-room and eat three courses at every meal.

I doubt if the word “takeaway” has ever been uttered in their house.

When they talk of dancing they mean evening dress, a full orchestra and a sprung floor with a glitter ball.

When my family dance we are talking about the Macarena, spilled drinks and tipsy guests.

At first, I thought Tim and I had nothing much in common, either.

We met on a training course and got chatting as we rolled our eyes over the useless instructor.

It seemed obvious to go out for a drink and then dinner after the day’s learning.

The rest, as they say, is history.

“You haven’t seen my dad dance,” I mutter.

“He can’t be that bad.” Tim laughs.

He likes my dad. They sit and work out which team is going to win the league or the championship.

Visiting my parents, he doesn’t have to be on his best behaviour, the sofa allows for slouching and the fridge always has beer and snacks.

“The man is a legend,” I tell Tim. “He clears dance floors. He has two left feet.

“He has broken toes and knocked over so many drinks I’ve lost count.

“Emily’s wedding dress has a large red stain from ‘Dancing Queen’. The living-room carpet has suffered from years of ‘Merry Xmas Everybody’.

“I remember my teacher telling me after a parent-teacher dinner dance that she’d never seen anyone move like Dad,” I go on. “And she wasn’t being complimentary.”

I don’t say to Tim that if Dad starts dancing, his parents will be horrified, and I’ll want to curl up and die.

I can just imagine his mother’s face puckering into a moue of distaste.

“It’s n