The Decoy Bride

Throngs of people outside still waiting

for the bride to appear.

She's not in there. I can feel it.

Any moment now, she should

be leaving the hotel.

I overestimated her. I thought

she'd be more elusive.

- I don't understand what's happening.

- What is going on here?

I don't think they want us to know

which one the real bride is.

The streets are full of brides,

the skies are full of brides,

the press doesn't know which way is up.

- I'm a genius. Still no sign

of Marco Ballani? - None.

- Our intelligence says he's

gone skiing. - Now?

Then we're good.

Hello?

You! What the hell are

you doing in there?

I am the wedding photographer.

Can I have the tall people at the back?

- OK, buster, fun's over.

- How long have you been in there?

Oh, my God. This is not soda.

I'm gonna kill you!

- You are ruining my life!

- I've ruined plenty of lives.

You're nothing special.

You abscess!

When I do get married, you will not

even know what continent I'm on!

Marco Ballani, you golden Roman god!

I will not be defeated by

that disease of a man.

We're gonna have to disappear

completely.

We can get married in outer space.

Or the lost underwater

kingdom of Atlantis?

Outer space? I don't think you can yet.

Is that what your intelligence

tells you?

We're gonna have to go somewhere

crazy remote.

Hi, Mum.

Oh, no.

- What's happened?

- Nothing. I'm fine.

- I'm fine. - Well, that's good.

Just so long as you're fine.

Are you going somewhere?

I don't suppose you're in

the mood for a wedding?

There is somebody out there for you,

somebody sensitive and

faithful and kind.

But you'll never meet him

if you're hiding here.

Good. I don't want to meet him.

He sounds like a twat.

I'm like kryptonite to men.

Kryptonite dipped in cellulite.

So, what's new on Hegg?

Give me the headlines.

One of Donald's sheep drowned.

They had to fish it out

with a curtain rail.

- Hello.

- Mild out, isn't it, Iseabail?

It's this global warming.

- Katie's back.

- Are we late?

Too late to marry him.

Quick!

Sorry. No.

Hi, Angus.

You're too late, Katie Nic

Aodh. He's mine now!

There's always the Oban tinker. He'll

be visiting come September.

And he's keen to marry

on account of his leg.

I'll marry you, Katie. How old

will you be in eight years?

- 40.

- Could have gone to 36.

- The return of the native.

- Hello, Laird.

That was quite the entrance, Katie.

And continuing the theme of

my public humiliation,

I may need my old job back.

What happened to your

fancy Edinburgh job

at the trouser catalogue?

I ran out of ways to describe pockets.

If you don't mind me saying, Katie,

you've always had such a

terrible taste in men.

I know. I've gone man vegan.

They say after the first six years

you don't miss them any more.

You've picked the right spot to try it.

There are no single men left on

Hegg, are there, after today?

Except for me, of course.

Perhaps you'll dance with me later on.

You'll not be forgetting

Hegg law, Laird.

- You must dance with us all. Eldest

to youngest. - Oh, yes.

The dance of the dead.

Which means I should get to you

about 4:
30 in the morning.

So,

how long are you back for?

Well, actually, I'm thinking

of staying.

I thought you said nothing

ever happened here.

No. Well, nothing happening

is becoming more appealing.

So, this is all very grown-up.

You've a wife

- and a beard.

- Well,

Muireen thinks differently

of beards than you.

And marriage.

Look, I truly hope you'll be...

Aye.

Hegg:
An Island History,

The Definitive Guide.

By Katie Nic Aodh.

5 a copy. We split the proceeds.

A guidebook to here? Don't be mad.

Come see our disused toilet

that may or may not be haunted

by the ghost of a drowned cow.

You see? We need to channel

this raw, creative energy.

Else you're liable to get restless

and go wandering off again.

Nobody's going to buy

a guidebook to Hegg.

Unless it's cheaper than

our toilet paper.

A marketing conference? Here?

- The tide has turned.

- For the marketeers.

1 each or 1.50 with hair.

They want my castle, just

as it is, for a week.

- Good luck to them.

- This is a beautiful island, Katie.

In a way...

New beginnings. It's like

the whale all over again.

You're not too young to remember

the whale, Laird?

- No, I remember.

- There'll be money in this lot too.

No throwing yourself at the

men visitors, Katie.

We don't want them thinking this is

the Orkneys where anything goes.

Now, Katie, chop chop. Chapter One,

in which a young woman and her laird

rescue their island from

certain doom by writing

a brilliant guidebook.

The island of Hegg lies half-drowned

and wind-battered,

the furthermost drop of

the outermost spray

of the curling wave of

the Outer Hebrides.

It has a population of 75,

a majority of whom are

probably about...

Though Hegg no doubt

has a certain charm,

it has never been a popular

stop on the tourist trail.

Even the Vikings never showed

the slightest interest in us.

But the islanders remain a hardy

and resourceful people.

All those under 50 are now

married, except one.

The island has one B&B

which offers the traditional Scottish

breakfast of haggis,

sausage, chips and beans, or if you're

feeling more metropolitan,

you can have the continental breakfast,

a bread roll, two Weetabix

and a Snickers bar.

Have we got any Michelin

stars I can put up?

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