Bill
Bill was a joker. One of the lads, a card, the life and soul of the party. You've met his type before; a magnet for attention who, almost certainly, didn't do too well on his studies at school but made up for it by clowning around and being popular.
The first time I met him, he was introduced as "uncle" Bill. A friend of my father's - and of many others' too. Dad joined him (never the other way around) at the 'pub for his regular Monday evening darts session and a few beers. They went fishing together once a month at stupid o'clock on a Sunday morning. They would return home with a pike or two and mom would stuff them into the freezer compartment at the top of the 'fridge' and throw them out months later.
When Dad re-married, Bill was invited to join the celebrations. They'd stayed friends through the difficult times of the break-up, the subsequent soul-searching and occasional blind dates. Julie was dressed in a pale blue outfit for the ceremony, Dad had bought a suit and looked uncomfortable throughout the vows. Bill remembered to supply the rings at the appropriate moment and everything happened at the right time in the right order. Afterwards, everyone retired to the Bell for the reception. There was a passable five piece band, a finger buffet and a good, cheap bar. Everyone was having a nice time.
After about two hours, the party had really got a swing on; the band sounded good because they - and the audience - were more relaxed; the food was being consumed at a not-too-quick, not-too-slow pace; the local football team were thrashing a stuck-up London club and no-one had started any arguments.
It was at this point that Bill was persuaded to get up on stage to sing. There were a lot of howls of laughter and the sort of banter that you'd expect to hear if you're about to see the popular bloke make a fool of himself. The band played a few chords and chatted to Bill to determine his preference and, once agreed upon, began playing a popular sixties tune. They weren't bad - not brilliant - but okay in a sort of local pub in a small town for a small event kind of way.
I remember vividly those first few moments of Bill's song. He could sing. I don't mean that he could sing, I mean he could SING. The sensation was of the whole room losing focus, the chatter around the room stopped, all movement halted as everyone turned to watch and listen to "good old Bill" who surprised pretty much everyone in the room except Dad. There was a brief moment of silence when he'd finished, followed quickly by rapturous applause and cheers from all the friends and family who had gathered for the wedding.
Bill went on to perform a few more numbers, the audience having overcome their shock at his talent and absorbed the fact that he actually had a dimension they'd never imagined. The room had got a little noisier; the gossip and family news had restarted amongst the aunts and nephews; the final few chicken thighs disappeared from the buffet trays and everyone knew that they'd had a great time.
Many years later, I discovered that Bill had often sung while he and Dad were driving to their fishing trips. It was something he'd never shared with anyone else but always wished he could do. I think he did good.