Going to the Chapel Read online

  I didn't expect to feel nervous, but as the hour crept closer I began shaking and my stomach churned. I wondered whether Twinks would like my choice of wedding suit. What if he hated it and refused to go ahead with the ceremony until I changed it? An Indian friend of Brian's, a tailor, made it for me. It’s an elegant two-piece comprising of superbly tailored trousers and a jacket with a classic Nehru collar. It's called a Jodhpuri suit and is a mixture of eastern and western influences. Indian grooms will often choose to have it made up in bright colours and elaborately embroidered. I opted for a plain black material for mine, though the collar and cuffs are embroidered with silver thread. It's the best fitting suit I've ever owned and I love it. When mum saw me in it she said I had never looked more handsome and burst into tears, saying she never imagined she'd see the day when her gay son took a bride down the aisle.

  I reminded her it wasn't an aisle as such and that the bride was in fact a man, and then cautiously asked her what Twinkle's dress was like. She said I'd soon see and I was going to be stunned, just like my father had been stunned when he saw her in her wedding gown, though look how that ended, waste of a good frock. My stomach churned harder. I finally admitted I was slightly bothered by what kind of gown Twinks was going to show up in. Visions of some of the hideous, over the top, bow bedecked, marshmallow like creations in some of the magazines he'd looked through had crept into my dreams once or twice. He’d shown a particular interest in one that looked like something from a BDSM fantasy. It was composed of what appeared to be scrunched up wire tied plastic bags with lots of metal rings adorning it. I prayed and prayed he hadn’t bought it. I also hoped his heels wouldn't be too high, so he didn't tower over me, or that his veil wouldn't be too elaborate and entail me fighting through a jungle of net to kiss him.

  By the time Brian and I drew up outside the register office my stomach was imitating a cement mixer. Not surprisingly our wedding party caused a bit of a stir even before the bridesmaids and the bride arrived, due to the colourful array of our gathering guests. There were so many fancy feather fans, boas and headpieces fluttering around that it looked like a fox had run amuck at a parrot farm. The truth has to be faced - men in dresses draw attention.

  My mother looked beautiful. I was so proud of her. She was wearing a simple elegant ankle length ice blue silk dress, with not a feather in sight. Priscilla was in peach with cream accessories. The sight of mum holding hands with him caused a few murmurings in the family ranks. My much married aunt Sharon on my dad's side was heard to comment that losing Des to a younger woman had obviously sent Joan over the edge into lesbianism and who could blame her, men were such bastards.

  Big Mary and Barry caused a few dropped jaws when they turned up clad in identical upholstery print floral frocks. Twinkles later asked if they'd thought it was a fancy dress wedding and they'd come as a three-piece suite with matching pouffe. Big Mary, quite rightly, clipped his lug. Barry looked happier than he'd looked in a long time. It was nice to see him outside the confines of the hospital.

  The arrival of the bridesmaids caused a chorus of comments and gasps. Twinks said all along he wanted the wedding to reflect who we were and the world we moved in and as such he had told everyone to dress up, be glamorous and have fun. Lulu, Maryann and Natalie were wearing dresses that epitomised the kind of exotic, sumptuous showbiz glamour many drag queens aspire to. Their siren red silk frocks were strapless and cut low on the bodice. They were tight moulded to the body down to about mid thigh where they then fishtailed out in yards of frothy tulle dramatically patterned with white flowers. They all wore elbow length white satin gloves, even little Gabby, whose dress was identical in colour and material to the grown ups, but styled more suitably for a little girl. They all had their hair and wigs piled up and pinned Spanish style with sparkling combs, flowers and feathers. Dominic in his little pageboy outfit matched to the colours of the dresses also drew lots of oohs and ahhs.

  As I stood posing for photos on the sweep of steps leading up to the register office I couldn't help but notice that not only was our photographer taking pictures of our group, but some of the photographers and guests of other wedding parties were also slyly snapping away.

  Brian suddenly gave me a nudge and pointed to a car drawing up. My bride had arrived. We'd hired vehicles from a car company specialising in vintage motors. The bridal car was an elegant 1937 Austin Ambassador with running boards, which was driven by a liveried chauffeur. My heart began thumping as the chauffeur got out and opened the rear door for Twinkles to alight. What would his dress be like?

  As he stepped onto the pavement the whole world slowed to a silent stop, or so it seemed to me. It was like everything receded into the far distance, leaving just the two of us standing there. He wasn't wearing a dress. I was stunned. For a moment I was too shocked to move and then I gathered my wits and walked down the broad steps towards him.

  He was wearing an exquisite gentleman's frockcoat and trousers in a deep shade of midnight blue. The coat was cut just a little bit longer and fuller in the skirt than the norm and was perfectly complimented by an embroidered lavender silk waistcoat teamed with a plain lavender cravat and a pearl pin. He was carrying a simple arrangement of lilac roses and dark green ivy leaves. He looked altogether beautiful.

  He smiled as I approached and told me I looked gorgeous. I honestly couldn't speak. I questioningly gestured his outfit with my hand. He told me he had thought long and hard about what the day meant. He decided he wanted me to be absolutely certain about whom I was marrying. I had met him before I ever met Stardust and had loved him before I learned to love her for his sake. He pointed at his bridesmaids saying they were her representatives and that was enough. The lady herself could wait, because this was about us. It was our special moment, Tarn and Jonathan.

  I finally managed to squeeze some words past the lump in my throat to tell him how handsome (and incredibly sexy) he looked and then I embarrassed myself by crying. The chauffeur kindly offered an immaculate white handkerchief. Twinks took it and dried my eyes for me. We clasped hands and went to join our wedding group, being almost blinded as cameras flashed.

  It was a deeply personal ceremony. Karen, Paul, Lulu and Brian contributed little readings and anecdotes. I promised to go on loving and cherishing and getting spiders out of the bath for Twinkles, as well as keeping him supplied with pink fluffy mules. He vowed to love, honour and obey me, as long as it didn't interfere with his viewing of Hollyoaks. It was all said slightly tongue in cheek, but he and I knew what the vows really meant for us.

  Twinks almost set me bawling again just before we exchanged our wedding rings. He unexpectedly recited a poem to me called "Love's Philosophy" by Percy Bysshe Shelley. I'd never heard it before. It’s a beautiful poem. He made every single word sound meaningful to our particular situation. I don’t think I’ll be breaking any laws if I quote the poem here. Percy has been dead for well over a hundred years, which I think puts his work into the public domain.

  ‘The fountains mingle with the river,

  And the rivers with the ocean;

  The winds of heaven mix forever,

  With a sweet emotion;

  Nothing in the world is single;

  All things by a law divine

  In one another's being mingle;

  Why not I with thine?

  See! The mountains kiss high heaven

  And the waves clasp one another;

  No sister flower would be forgiven,

  If it disdained its brother;

  And the sunlight clasps the earth,

  And the moonbeams kiss the sea;

  What are all these kissings worth,

  If thou kiss not me?’

  As he spoke the final line he placed the ring on my finger and I kissed him. Dominic prompted by his mum and dad applauded loudly and was delighted when everyone joined in. It was perfect. I don't think I'll ever find adequate words to describe it.

  When the ceremony was complete we posed for a few phot
ographs with the Registrar and with our chief witnesses Lulu and Brian, while everyone else made their way outside. When I finally walked out of the room with Twinkles on my arm I felt like king of the world.

  There was a surprise waiting for us when we stepped outside into the summer sunshine. We found ourselves at the centre of a cabaret act. Twinks was thrilled, his face radiant with happiness. As we descended the steps we were showered in rose petals while being serenaded by the PP girls and boys, led by Cherie Pie dressed in a feathery lime green number (prompting Lu to bitchily comment she looked like a giant budgie) They sang ‘The Chapel of Love’ a song made famous in the sixties. It literally stopped traffic in the street, as people got out of their cars to watch the show.

  The Cabaret was fun and more importantly it served as an excellent icebreaker between the different contingents of guests. By the end of the song my dad and Gill and all the straighter than straight members of my family were happily clapping along and joining in with the chorus.

  We were drowned in confetti yet again when we arrived at the PP to be greeted by other friends and relations who hadn't attended the ceremony at the registry office.

  I suppose in essence it was your typical family wedding. It had tears, tantrums, laughter and hangovers. The sight of my uncle Ronnie in what Twinks termed his demob suit taking to the floor with Empress Gloria, who looked like an extra from Moulin Rouge, will remain indelibly printed on my memory, as will the sight of aunt Helen dancing with Bear Daddy.

  Maryann took a fancy to Terry and they enjoyed several smoochy dances. Dad commented that they made a very attractive couple and Twinks gleefully agreed before even more gleefully informing him of Terry's status as a pre-operative transsexual scheduled to officially become a man in the New Year. I thought dad was going to faint.

  Mum and Gill had a champagne fuelled row with mum trying to shove Gill's head into the wedding cake. It ended with dad dragging Gill off to dance and Prissy doing the same with mum.

  As afternoon gave way to evening Twinkles disappeared and I was beginning to wonder where he'd gotten to when Lulu suddenly appeared on the PP stage and made an announcement using words he’d improvised from the film ‘kinky Boots.’ 'Ladies and Gentlemen and those of you yet to decide, I give you the one, the only Miss Stardust Twinkles! Bride of the year!' There was a drum roll and Twinks made a grand entrance to rapturous applause and a cacophony of cheers, shouts and screeches.

  The bridal gown he was wearing was the same style as the bridesmaid gowns only in a reversal of the colour scheme. His dress was white silk with red flowers decorating the tulle skirts and his gloves were red satin. He was also wearing a short net veil attached to a very elaborate and sparkling tiara.

  Holding out his hand he told me the lady had waited long enough and was ready to dance with her husband. I helped him down from the stage, kissed his hand, took him in my arms and as we moved around the floor I really was, to echo the words of the Westlife song we were dancing to, flying without wings.

  And there it is, the account of our special day, a rather long one, though not long enough according to some. Apparently my fashion descriptions are inadequate and do not do the gowns justice. I failed to mention the sparkly bits on the tulle skirts, and nor did I mention makeup or accessories or shoes or describe the cake and table decorations. In fact he's a good mind to start his own journal to rectify my scandalous oversights. That'll be the day! As I’ve said before he's far too lazy to do any writing. He’d expect me to be his personal secretary and type as he dictated.

  21st June 2006: Honeymoon Over

  It's Summer Solstice, which means half the year has gone already. It’s downhill to Christmas now. It's rather cold today, here in the North East anyway. After a run of beautiful summery days the weather front has broken and it’s wet and windy in addition to being cold. I only hope the Druids who are out celebrating the Solstice at Stonehenge or elsewhere have gotten thermals on under their robes.

  On the domestic front, my domestic front anyway, the weather has also broken with warm wedded bliss giving way to something altogether cooler. Twinkles is in a strop with me.

  In honour of it being Royal Ascot Week the PP is having a Ladies Day event on Friday evening, as it does every year. It's a popular charity event with extraordinary costumes and hats, as well as weird and wonderful races. The 'races' involve some of the PP patrons being horses with bets being placed on who will win the various courses. Twinkles is cross with me on two counts. I told him he couldn't buy anything new to wear and I put a limit on how much he's allowed to bet on the races. He thinks I'm being unreasonable. I don't.

  We've spent a fortune lately. It’s time for us to draw in our horns and rebalance our books. He's apt to get carried away on such occasions. His competitive streak comes to the fore and makes him determined to out do and out bet his rivals. One memorable year he managed to lose over a hundred and fifty pounds plus all the costume jewellery he was wearing. As for new clothes, he doesn't need any. I suggested he wear his wedding gown again, as it's very glamorous, but no, everyone has seen it now. He has things he bought when we were in Italy, but again no, he wants something else. I refused my permission.

  He's grumbled, griped and complained all evening about how mean I am, how dictatorial, how I lack imagination, what a killjoy I am and so on. I'm utterly sick of it.

  I think part of his mood is rooted in difficulty adjusting to 'ordinary time.' We've had a long run of excitement with preparing for our wedding and honeymoon and he's reluctant to let go of it. I'm afraid it's up to me to put the brakes on. I've told him in no uncertain terms that my patience is spent and if he makes one more complaint I'm going to put him over my knee. He's doing his smouldering Martyr act in front of the telly now, arms folded, legs crossed and face like a Shakespearean Tragedy. Yep, the honeymoon period is definitely over.

  23rd June 2006: Hands of Time

  Paul Healy was one of my closest friends at college and through my university years. He was a quiet sort of lad, but not in a shy way, just quiet, quietly spoken, gentle in manner and yet self-confidant. He was also blond and good at sports so not unsurprisingly I fancied him a bit at first. However, he didn't fancy me. He was straight and, as he used to joke, he preferred his dates to have bulges in a slightly different area to where I had mine. We played hockey and squash together, shared mutual friends and generally were good mates. We had some good laughs and he was a good listener when needed, as I hoped I was.

  After Uni he went off to do a post grad course in London and I joined the Civil Service. We still stayed in touch regularly and met up from time to time and then he announced that he'd gotten a post with an Australian company and was off to work in Sydney. I was sad. It seemed like the end of something. I would miss him, but I was happy he was doing what he wanted to do. We promised to stay in touch with each other.

  Inevitably, distance and different lifestyles and interests meant contact dwindled to the exchange of a card and brief letter at Christmas plus the odd email and phone call. I had an email from him in the New Year saying he was planning a trip back to England in the summer to see his parents. He’d been hoping to get over in time for our wedding, but unfortunately work commitments had not allowed him to. He said he was looking forward to seeing me and meeting Twinks in person as well as introducing his fiancée to us. I was so looking forward to seeing him in the flesh again.

  Last night I got a phone call from Australia. It was Paul’s fiancée. She broke the news that Paul had passed away. I was and still am utterly stunned. He was the same age as me, in his early thirties. He’d always been fit and healthy. How could he be dead? He'd suffered a massive heart attack as he left for work one morning. His poor fiancée found him dead on the drive of their house.

  I couldn't sleep last night. My mind did one of those slide show reviews. You know the ones I mean, where scenes from the past are projected onto the canvas of your mind's eye and you see yourself and your friends as you once were, in soundless
, jerky motion, the scenes flicking over and over. I saw him at his twenty-first birthday party, happy, laughing, his arms around a girl whose name I could no longer recall. I saw him at graduation full of joy and looking forward to the future and so many other times. I’m not ashamed to say I cried as memories paraded before me.

  I'm surprised by how hard his death has hit me. After all I haven't seen him in years. It's not really going to alter the pattern of my days and yet I feel bereft. Some aspect has gone from my life. It's hard to explain. I think I'm writing this as an attempt to clarify what I'm feeling. It's like a door has permanently closed, a connection has been severed forever and a little bit of me has somehow died with Paul.

  He was a nice man and a good friend. I will miss him. I wish I could turn back the hands of time and relive some of those moments of friendship and also tell him how much I valued the time spent in his company.

  I told Twinks he should still go out tonight and enjoy himself, but he refused saying he wasn't going to leave me grieving all alone and I was very mean to suggest he did so. I wouldn't go waltzing off out if one of his friends suddenly died. He didn't always put himself first you know.

  I apologised, saying I hadn’t meant to discount him. There's a fine line between selflessness and selfishness and I realised it would be selfish not to allow him to share my sadness or comfort me.

  He’s nodding off in front of the telly as I write. His sleep was as scant as mine last night because he was too worried about me to sleep well. I'm tired too. I'm going to take us both up to bed.

  25th June 2006: Kiss from a Rose

  No one can kill a romantic moment quite like him in frocks. I arose early this morning and wandered out into the sun soaked garden to drink my tea and enjoy some solitude. It was tranquil. The air was soft and richly scented with perfume from an old style rose, which cascades over the fence. It's supposedly derived from a variety of white rose that was the emblem of the House of York during the Plantagenent wars. It's beautiful and I always intended to buy the red Lancastrian counterpart but have not yet got around to it.