The Day My Grandmother Married the Son of the Man Who Left Her at the Altar

The Day My Gran Married the Son of the Man Who Ditched Her at the Altar

My gran is 89, and shes just become the leading lady in the biggest scandal this little village has seen since Old Barry nicked the charity funds at the summer fete. And trust me, weve witnessed it all: weddings called off at the last minute, punch-ups at the leavers do, and that legendary Sunday when the church roof collapsed right onto Vicars Volvo. But thisthis was in a league of its own.

It all kicked off when Gran met a distinguished gentleman at the pensioners club.

Hes a proper gentleman, darling, she told me, carefully applying a hint of pink lipstick. And he still drives himself around.

Gran, hes 91. Are you sure he should even BE driving?

Oh, dont be daft. At least hes got a car.

The romance was all a bit lightning-fast. Within three weeks, hed popped the question with a ring (alright, cubic zirconia, but still). It was the thought that counted.

Im getting married on Saturday, Gran announced at Sunday lunch, scooping more peas onto her plate.

Mum nearly choked on her roast chicken.

Saturday? Thats in five days!

Exactly. At my age, love, you dont want to waste time, do you? What if I keel over on Friday?

We bought the dresspearl coloured, understated, but lovely. We booked the church hall, ordered a Victoria sponge. One of the cousins even made the flowers herself from crepe paper shed rescued from the Brownies cupboard.

The big day arrived. Gran looked radiantdressed up, pearls round her neck (real ones, Grandma Ediths legacy), and a grin I hadnt seen in years.

The hall was packed out. Soft music played, the vicar shuffled his notes. It was shaping up perfectly.

Exceptthe groom was nowhere to be found.

We waited twenty minutes. Then forty. After an hour, one of the uncles was dispatched to check on him.

He returned alone, looking like hed just come from a funeral.

He says he cant do it.

A collective gasp went through the room. Gran looked like shed seen a ghost.

What do you mean, he cant?

He says hes afraid. Too old, might get ill, doesnt want to be a burden. Thinks its better this way.

Gran sat there, clutching her bouquet of white roses.

Then, the doors banged open and in strode a chap in his mid-sixties, well-dressed, thick silver hair, and sporting the expression of a man whod just lost out on a pub quiz.

Wheres the bride?

And you are? one of the cousins demanded.

Im the son of the man who just did a runner on this lovely lady.

You couldve heard a pin drop.

He strode over and took off his hat.

Ive come to apologise, on behalf of my family. Its unforgivable.

Gran looked him square in the eye. And how old are you, young man?

Sixty-seven.

Married?

Widower. Four years now.

Children?

Three. All grown, all out of the house.

Work?

Retired. Decent pension, nice little cottage.

Gran eyed him for a moment, then rose to her feet, gripping her walking stick.

Tell meare you scared of commitment, like your father?

No. I was married for thirty-five years. Best years of my life.

And your take on marriage?

Its the finest thing that can happen to anyone. And my fathers a fool for missing out with you.

Gran looked him up and down and turned to everyone.

The halls paid for. The foods paid for. The vicars here. The cakes cost me half my pension

Gran, youre not thinking I started to say.

Will you do me the honour? she asked him.

Chaos eruptedcheers, laughter; someone spilled their shandy and another started filming on their phone, though I doubt they knew what to caption it.

But Iermyou? he started.

You came to defend my honour. Plus, Im already dressed. Im not wearing this again. Soyes or no?

He laughedfull belly laugh.

My late wife always said Id end up doing something utterly bonkers one day. Looks like todays the day. Alright, lets do it.

And so, they tied the knot. Right there on the spot.

The vicar needed a minute and a stiff tea. One of the cousins wept off all her mascara. Mum didnt know whether to laugh, cry, or call for help.

But they married.

Afterwards, while tucking into the cake (where wed patched over the wrong grooms name with a bit of sticky tape and a Sharpie), I asked gran, Gran, have you seriously just married someone youve known all of two hours?

She beamed. At 89, I havent time for a slow courtship. Hes got manners, a solid pension, and all his own teeth. Do you think Id let this sort of chance pass by?

Hes 22 years younger than you!

Precisely. Hell outlive me. Someone needs to look after the cats.

Its been three weeks. The original groom tried to phone and apologise. New husband answered, told him to get lost.

Turns out he cooks better than Gran (though shell never admit it), is a dab hand on the dance floor, and takes her to every check-up in his old but beautifully maintained Ford.

Caught them in the park yesterday: he was pushing her wheelchair as she scolded him.

Steady, Roger! Its a park, not Silverstone!

As you wish, my queen.

The ex-fiancé sent over their wedding gifta blender. Gran decided someone else could use it more and raffled it off at bingo.

So, you tell me: what sort of gran marries the 67-year-old son of the man who left her at the altarand what sort of man agrees to marry the woman who, five minutes earlier, was supposed to become his stepmother?