A Bit of a Do Read Free Page A

communal release from tension like an echo of a distant mass orgasm, as the guests found that they had a definite role to play once more. They were watchers, admirers, murmurers of ‘aaaah!’ at appropriate moments. The uneasy knots broke up and reformed in a homogeneous mass. Except for Elvis Simcock, who prowled on the edges looking cynical, as befitted a young man who had studied the great philosophers and knew how weak-minded mass sentimentality is.
    Paul and Jenny stood framed against the magnificent West Doorway of the old abbey church. A low-flying military aircraft struck a discordant note.
    ‘I feel awful,’ whispered Jenny, smiling rather desperately.
    ‘Why?’ whispered her husband of ten minutes.
    ‘Right! Big smiles! Radiance pouring from every pore!’ commanded the classless Nigel Thick. He thought that the taking of wedding photos was beneath him, but he was clever enough not to show this. He came out with all the right words, delivered with automated enthusiasm.
    Radiance poured somewhat stickily from every pore, and froze on the cool breeze.
    ‘Great! Terrific!’ lied Nigel Thick.
    ‘Wearing white,’ whispered Jenny, free to answer Paul’s question at last. ‘Hypocrisy’s the national disease, and we’ve started to build our marriage on hypocritical foundations.’
    ‘Jenny!’ whispered Paul.
    ‘OK,’ said the young photographer classlessly. ‘Now a nice dreamy one. Two lovebirds gazing into each other’s eyes.’
    Two extremely embarrassed and shy lovebirds gazed into each other’s eyes.
    ‘Aaaaah!’ went the uncles and aunts and cousins.
    ‘Great!’ said Nigel Thick, who intended to change his name to Barry Precious and become famous. ‘Tremendous. Fabulous.’
    ‘The cost of my dress could feed an African family for twenty years,’ whispered Jenny.
    ‘Jenny! Forget all that just for today,’ whispered Paul.
    ‘OK,’ said Nigel Thick. ‘Now a real sexy one.’
    The happy couple made a brave stab at a real sexy one, and Jenny blushed prettily.
    ‘Nice!’ said Nigel Thick. ‘Very nice.’ Nice was the least complimentary of all his adjectives. He only used it when he meant ‘Really awful!’ but the massed ranks of the guests didn’t seem to feel that it was awful. Another satisfied communal ‘Aaaah!’ drifted away across the town’s jumbled-up skyline towards the foetid River Gadd.
    ‘If our child grows up selfish and deceitful, it’ll be our fault,’ said Jenny. She didn’t need to whisper, as a police siren was blaring.
    ‘Jenny!’ said Paul.
    ‘OK,’ shouted Nigel Thick, in competition with the siren. ‘Let’s go for something a bit more informal. Right? OK.’
    ‘Is that all the man I’ve committed myself to for life can say – “Jenny!”?’ said Jenny.
    ‘Jenny!’
    Jenny laughed and gave Paul a quick, spontaneous kiss. She had almost forgotten the watching throng.
    ‘Good,’ said Nigel Thick. ‘Great. Terrific. Fantabulous.’
    ‘“Committed for life!”’ whispered Paul, as the siren faded into the western suburbs. ‘It sounds like a prison sentence.’
    ‘Oh Paul, you don’t think that, do you?’
    ‘No! Love! ’Course I don’t.’
    They kissed.
    ‘Aaaah!’ went the crowd.
    ‘Ugh!’ went the cynical Elvis Simcock.
    ‘Very good!’ went the classless Nigel Thick. ‘Terrific! Nice one! Tremendous!’
    Jenny and Paul disengaged in some confusion, as self-consciousness returned.
    ‘OK,’ said Nigel Thick. ‘Happy couple out. Four proud parents in.’ One day these people would have coffee-table books of his photographs. His mother still called them his ‘snaps’. He was sure she did it deliberately.
    The four proud parents took up their positions, Simcocks together, Rodenhursts together.
    ‘Anything you ever want in the ironmongery line, Laurence,’ said Ted. ‘Custom-built door knockers, personalized coal scuttles, you name it, I’ll give it at cost price.’
    ‘Well well!’ said Laurence. ‘It seems that this union