‘Well, every household’s different,’ Noah responds, picking up his wine. ‘But it usually tends to last the whole day rather than just the evening. Some people decorate their houses for Christmas, some wait until after Thanksgiving weekend.
‘When I was small, my sister and I would come down on Thanksgiving morning and mom had decorated the house from top to bottom while we were asleep. We used to play silly games, sometimes watched the football, and always, always ate far too much.’ His voice is wistful and I suddenly realize how far away from his native land Noah really is. There might only be a stretch of water between us – albeit a large one - but American traditions and customs are actually quite different from ours.
‘Do you regret making your home in England?’ I ask softly.
For a moment I don’t think he’s going to answer, but then, ‘Yeah, I miss my sister and her family, but it’s a long time since I had anywhere I could really call home – until now. I can’t remember the last time I was so happy.’ He raises his glass to Tory and she blows him a kiss, tears evident in her eyes.
‘Bloody hell, I’ll be watering my pumpkin in a minute,’ says Freddy, dabbing his own eyes.
His words shatter the emotional atmosphere, but as everyone laughs, I look over at my gay friend surreptitiously. Despite his flippant words, he’s definitely not at his usual sharp-witted best, and he’s studiously avoided meeting my eyes throughout dinner. I make a silent vow to corner him just as soon as we leave the table.
It’s almost ten o’clock and we’re finishing our coffee, when Noah suddenly stands. ‘Admiral Shackleford, I have a surprise for you,’ he announces formally, before ruining it with an excited grin and disappearing into the kitchen.
Five minutes later he reappears with a tray of twelve port glasses and a large crystal decanter. Placing the tray on the table carefully, he holds up the decanter to the light. The liquid within glows with an almost otherworldly light and the Admiral stares at it reverently. ‘Is that…?’
‘It’s name is Scion,’ Noah interrupts, looking towards Tory’s father in delight. ‘A one hundred and fifty five year old Port from the Douro Valley in Portugal.’
He walks round to the Admiral’s chair. ‘Would you like to pass the Port Sir?’ he asks softly.
As the decanter is passed around the table, Noah goes on to tell the history of this particular batch. It seems it was a relic discovered by chance a few years ago. I daren’t ask him how much it cost.
Once everyone has a glass, he asks the Admiral to break with Thanksgiving tradition and propose a toast to Her Majesty, the Queen. ‘After all, this is my home now,’ he smiles. After the toast, I take a large sip and grimace. It might have cost a small fortune, but personally I can’t see the attraction.
‘So, Admiral, are you going to finally put us out of our misery and reveal the identity of the naval chaplain who’s going to be marrying Tory and Noah?’ Freddy’s voice is shrill, and immediately drowns out the small talk, causing everyone to look over at him in surprise. As I look at his flushed, slightly mutinous face, I feel my heart drop in an echo of my earlier apprehension. There is complete silence round the table as each person looks over at the Admiral.
‘What’s wrong dad,’ Tory asks lightly, ‘You’ve not picked a Father Jack to marry me have you?’ Everyone laughs, envisioning the elderly, decrepit, foul-mouthed, alcoholic priest from the sitcom Father Ted.
When I say everyone, I actually mean everyone except the Admiral, Jimmy, Freddy and my aunt Flo. What the f**k is going on? I’m suddenly feeling very sick. All eyes are now on the Admiral who looks as though he’s just swallowed something nasty.
He coughs self consciously, and now the alarm bells in my head are ringing a bloody symphony. I look over at Tory and her face is identical to how I imagine mine must look.
My friend looks round the table. ‘What’s going on dad?’ she whispers when the Admiral still doesn’t speak.
‘The thing is Victory,’ her father blusters after another excruciating few seconds, ‘This padre, he’s an old friend of mine, we were very close once upon a time. He did your mother and I a real service when were young.
‘At the time, your mum wanted him to be your godfather, but being the fine upstanding man that he was – and is – he refused, saying he couldn’t be around often enough to do right by you. He was spending most of his time in doing God walloping work in war zones at the time. So instead, he asked if he could be the one to officiate at your wedding – whenever that was.’
He pauses, then, ‘To be honest, I thought he’d have popped his clogs long before you finally managed to get a man to make an honest woman of you Victory – he’s at least ninety.’
Tory frowns. ‘Well that’s a lovely story, and of course I’m happy for your old friend to marry us. Why haven’t you told me before now?’
‘You haven’t seen him,’ Freddy cuts in, glaring at the Admiral.
‘Is there something wrong with the guy?’ Noah asks mildly.
‘What’s his name,’ questions Jason, ‘If he’s a naval padre, I might well have heard of him.’
‘Oh you’ll have heard of him alright,’ Jimmy throws in unexpectedly. ‘Come on Sir, it’s time to come clean.’
The Admiral glowers at his friend, then closes his eyes, muttering, ‘What a bloody cake and arse party.’ His face looks waxy pale in the candlelight. This is so unlike Tory’s father, the whole scene looks and feels totally surreal.
‘His name’s Boris, he…’
‘Oh my God, not Bible Basher Boris?’ Jason interrupts in disbelief.
‘So you’ve heard of him?’ I ask Jason, ‘Who is he?’
‘He’s a legend in the RN,’ Jason states matter of factly, ‘Mainly due to the fact that he has problems with.. er…, breaking wind.’
‘Well that’s not exactly uncommon,’ the Admiral says defensively, I mean let’s be honest, everybody farts.’
‘How many people’s wind problems are so bad they clear out a room full of over two hundred people Sir?’ Jimmy’s voice is determined.
‘And it really, really is bad, I can vouch for that,’ Freddy butts in with a shudder. ‘I didn’t think I was going to get out of The Windjammer alive.’
So that’s what was wrong with Freddy.
‘Okay, so what are you saying here people?’ Noah asks calmly, ‘That we have an elderly guy who dearly wants to officiate at Tory’s wedding, but has a major flatulence problem that could potentially evacuate a building full of two hundred people?’
There’s a pause. ‘That about sums it up,’ mutters the Admiral at length.
‘Doesn’t he realize how bad his, err, problem is? questions Tory, ‘I mean have you mentioned it to him?’
‘I think he lost all sense of smell years ago.’ The Admiral sighs defeated, ‘You don’t understand, the man is nearest thing to a saint I’ve ever come across - he doesn’t have a vindictive bone in his body. ‘How the bloody hell can I tell him he can’t fulfil his lifelong dream of marrying my daughter because of his trouser trumpets?
‘I mean, he’s practically pushing up the daisies, a shock like that would finish him off for sure.’
‘Well I just hope that when he gets to the Pearly Gates, St. Peter’s stocked up on air freshener,’ mumbles Freddy.
‘What exactly was the good turn he did for you and Celia?’ Mabel asks curiously.
There’s another, longer silence and I sense with a sharp stab of fear that whatever that favour was, it’s actually the whole crux of the matter. I glance over at Tory and know she feels it as well, then I look over at Freddy’s anguished face. It’s obvious he’s aware of what’s coming.
‘Dad?’ Tory’s voice is loud and commanding.
‘I think it’s time I took part in this story.’ Flo’s voice is quiet, and she looks over at me as she speaks.
‘What are you talking about?’ I whisper, fear turning to a sick dread.
Florence glances up at the Admiral. ‘Charlie, you’re righ
t, it’s time we put this whole damn business to bed.’ Uncharacteristically the Admiral reaches out his hand and pats her on the shoulder – Tory had kept her promise to sit them together…
‘Lies and secrets, Flo,’ he says heavily, ‘They weigh a body down after a while.’
‘As you should bloody well know,’ Tory mutters looking daggers at her old man. The Admiral ignores his daughter’s comment, still looking at the woman seated beside him. ‘Are you going to do the honours, or shall I?’
‘I think this is more my story, Charlie,’ she responds, pausing before adding wryly, ‘But feel free to add your two pennies worth whenever you feel the need.’ The Admiral nods his head, oblivious to her slight sarcasm.
‘The thing is,’ Flo begins, turning back to cast her anxious eyes over the whole table, ‘I mean, it was a long time ago, and we were young and very foolish, but you see… I mean what happened was… that is…’
‘Get to the bloody point Florence,’ the Admiral butts in, obviously deciding he’s going to actually get his two pennies worth, ‘The thing is, Flo and I got married – when we were both eighteen.’
I don’t know what I was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t that. The silence is absolute. To be honest I don’t think any of us knows what to say.
‘Are you still married now?’ asks Noah, getting straight to the nitty gritty in his usual relaxed manner.
‘No, no, of course we’re not married now, but that’s where old Boris first came in.’ I’ve never seen the Admiral look so uncomfortable. ‘Go on Flo, you tell it from here,’ he continues gruffly.
My aunt takes a deep breath, then says simply, ‘Charlie and I had a bit of a fling when we were young and stupid. We decided to tie the knot on impulse – more to get back at my father than anything else. He was a tyrant until the day he died, and I think Charlie felt sorry for me.
‘Boris was the naval chaplain at BRNC. For some bizarre reason, he and Charlie were close.’ She glances up at the Admiral as she speaks, and I can see him visibly forcing himself not to interrupt.
‘Anyway, we persuaded Boris to do the honours, but as soon as we’d said, ‘I do,’ Charlie was deployed east of Suez for twelve months and Boris went off to the Falklands.
‘Charlie and I kept in touch for a while, but I think we both realized we’d made a mistake, even before he sailed. Communication was by snail mail then and I got tired of waiting for the postman. I was still living with my parents, despite Charlie’s chivalrous attempt to take me away from all that, and after six months, I was desperate to get away.
That’s when I met Luke.’ She pauses and knocks back the rest of her Port. ‘Is there any more of that?’ she asks Noah, a little desperately. Face unreadable, Noah leans over to pour her another glass.
‘Luke was a, a, well he was different to anyone I’d ever met.’ Her eyes return to me and I stare back at her silently.
‘He was an incredibly charismatic man, even then. People would hang on his every word. He used to spout about the rights of the working classes, especially the miners – although he’d never been down a mine in his life. His father was one of the wealthiest men in the South Hams and his mother came from a prominent Dartmouth family. He didn’t get on with either of them, and when his moralizing became an embarrassment to them, they decided to ship him off to a distant cousin in The States.’ She pauses again, staring back down into her glass.
‘I went with him,’ she continues simply at length. ‘I left a note for Charlie to come back to and just, well…’
‘Bloody vanished,’ Tory’s father inserts belligerently. She nods her head and takes another, deeper breath.
‘Of course we were still bloody hitched, the Admiral went on. ‘I had no idea where she’d gone at that point – I just knew it was somewhere in the USA.
‘And then I met your mother.’ He turns looks over at Tory. ‘I loved Celia from the moment I set eyes on her,’ he says hoarsely. ‘I couldn’t tell her about Flo – she’d have had nothing to do with me. So I kept it a secret and went ahead and married her anyway.’
‘You committed bigamy?’ Tory gasps, the disbelief in her tone vocalizing everyone else’s.
‘Aye, and I’d do it again,’ her father responds curtly. ‘I could never have risked your mother walking out of my life, never.’
‘Quite romantic when you put it that way,’ mutters Freddy, completely engrossed like the rest of us. Tory throws a warning glare his way and he subsides with a small shamefaced shrug.
‘Anyway, that’s when Boris came back from darkest Borneo or wherever the hell the bloody navy had sent him by then. Of course he cottoned on straight away that there was some funny business going on and threatened to tell Celia. I explained what had happened and begged him not to say anything.
He agreed not to blab on me as long as I went ahead and got divorced from Flo. Then he did no more than take a bloody year’s sabbatical and went off with the divorce papers to The States to track her down. It took him over six months, but eventually he came back with everything signed and sealed. I did my bit, and before I knew it, we were divorced.’
‘But your marriage to mum couldn’t have been legal if you were still married to Florence at the time, Tory states, angry tears in her eyes. Her father nods his head wearily.
‘And what’s more you were on the way by the time Boris got back from the US. I knew I had to tell Celia, it was the right thing to do.’ He sighs before going on, ‘I’m not sure how long old Boris would have kept schtum anyway – he wasn’t a big fan of bigamy.
‘So, long story short, I came clean to your mother, she forgave me – God knows why - and we got married again – for real this time. That was when Celia suggested he become your godfather and he had the bright idea of being the one to marry you when you finally tied the knot.’
‘Did he already have a problem with his, err, bowels?’ Emily asks politely after a few seconds when nobody speaks.
‘No, that came later, after he had a stint in Sierra Leone – that was the first time they practically sent the silly sod home in a casket.’
‘So how come I’ve never met this man who is apparently so fond of me, it’s his lifelong ambition to watch me tie the knot.’ Tory accuses sarcastically.
‘You have seen him before love,’ the Admiral responds, for once refusing to rise to the bait. ‘He came to your mother’s funeral, but you were too distraught to take much notice. Apart from that, old Boris has spent his whole life doing his bible basher bit.
‘Up until he retired, God, The Royal Navy and your mother were the only ones who knew everywhere he was holed up – I certainly had no idea where the bloody hell he was from one year to the next.
‘Celia used to send him photos and snippets about you every month, right from when you were a baby. She always knew wherever he was.’ He sighs again heavily, ‘But then your mother was like that. Old Boris retired from the RN after a bit of an incident involving his arse at the old Naval Chapel in Greenwich. Became a missionary full time after that.
‘He only came back to this country when he heard about my, err, slight brush with the Law. Said he wanted to support me – although to be honest I wish he’d never bothered because that’s when he found out you’d finally bagged yourself a bloke.’
‘He’s a bit old to be doing missionary work now isn’t he?’ Neil asks drily.
‘God’s work is never done apparently, according to old Boris,’ muttered the Admiral, ‘But aye, you’re right, I think he was actually relieved not to be going to back to wherever it was he’d sprung from.’
‘So here we are, in this damn predicament, all because you can’t tell the bloody truth about what you had for breakfast,’ Tory bursts out, after it becomes clear her father’s got no intention of elaborating further.
‘Honey, please don’t get upset,’ Noah intervenes before any argument can escalate, ‘I promise we’ll sort this.’ Then he turns to the Admiral. ‘Charles, can you arrange a meeting with Boris as soon as poss
ible?’ The Admiral nods his head sheepishly and Noah turns to Jason. ‘If Boris really is incapable of conducting the service, can we get a hold of someone else at short notice?’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ Jason responds briskly. ‘It doesn’t have to be a naval chaplain who takes the ceremony. Any ordained minister can conduct the service, providing we get security clearance.’
‘Right then, that’s settled,’ Noah states to the whole table, although it’s clear he’s directing his words to Tory who’s still throwing poisoned looks towards her errant father.
‘Actually, it isn’t quite,’ I say quietly but determinedly. I turn back to my aunt Flo. ‘So what happened after Boris tracked you down in The States?’ I question, determined now to get the full story. I can tell by her face that she was hoping that this part of the tale would get lost in melee. She tenses visibly, then closes her eyes in defeat as everyone’s attention turns back to her.
‘Luke and I went to Charleston in South Carolina,’ she finally responds, her voice tired and stiff. ‘Luke had relatives there and they took us both in.’ She shakes her head sadly, ‘I’m not sure what I expected. Maybe that Luke would settle down and get a job, forget about his need to vent about the establishment and every damn injustice that happened to catch his attention.
‘To say he wasn’t popular with the Charleston set would be a complete understatement. Pretty soon he became totally unemployable, and his relations, who at the end of the day were only second cousins, made it clear we’d outstayed our welcome.
‘They didn’t actually throw us out on our ear, with Luke being family, instead they offered to let us use a small clapboard house on their property. It was far away enough from town to minimize their embarrassment and remote enough that they thought Luke would give up his constant need to bash the institution.’
She takes a deep breath and, for a second, looking at her tormented face, I’m tempted to tell her to stop, but before I can open my mouth, she continues wearily. ‘They couldn’t have been more wrong. They just gave him something to focus his rage on. I’ve already told you how charismatic he was and within three months he’d set up a commune with ten of Charleston’s finest youth in it. By the time the good townsfolk sat up and took notice, that little clapboard house was the centre of South Carolina’s newest cult, complete with wire fence and sawn off shotguns.’
All For Victory: A Romantic Comedy (The Dartmouth Diaries Book 3) Page 17