by Lily Morton
“Duly noted.” I nod solemnly. “Make sure that I come across quite butch in the story, will you?”
“I’ll make you so butch The Rock would blanch,” he promises and I nod happily.
“Have you seen Dean?” Asa asks.
Dylan nods. “Gabe’s got him stashed around here somewhere. He tried to witness an earlier marriage, but we managed to extricate him before there was too much trouble. The bride’s father was getting a little irate.”
I laugh and Asa groans. “Is he stoned?”
Dylan purses his lips. “Hard to tell, because I think he’s pretty much the same either way, but I think not. He was very insistent that he has to do a good job today because you asked him.”
“Aww,” I say as Asa tries to hide how pleased he is.
I turn at the sudden sound of clicking and blink as I see Ivo, his camera held to his face, taking photos of us. “What are you doing?”
He pulls the camera away. “Are you seriously asking that question? I’m baking a cake. What does it look like?”
I blink. “I have a war photographer taking my wedding pictures. Why is this not surprising?”
“Looks like you might need one,” he says, looking at Asa’s eye and taking a quick photo.
Henry comes up behind Ivo. He’s dressed in a sand-coloured suit with a sky-blue shirt and tie that I’m sure is Tom Ford. With Ray-Bans covering his eyes, he could be a model. I look closer – a hungover model.
“Jesus, you look terrible.”
He sips from his takeaway coffee cup. “Hmm, this is what happens when one of Ivo’s mates blows into town. Even the godlike perfection of my looks suffer.”
“But surely your complexion got some rest when you passed out on the floor in the living room,” Ivo says innocently.
Henry lowers his glasses and glares at his boyfriend. “I thought we agreed not to discuss that.”
Ivo laughs and snaps a picture of him. “You agreed. I wasn’t listening until I had my first cup of coffee. I’ve found that it helps my sanity now I’m with you.” He snaps another picture and looks in the viewfinder. “Oh, look at that,” he says happily. “You look like Angry Bird.”
Henry grimaces. “I’ll look like a psychotic bird if you keep taking pictures of me. Take one of the blushing bride instead.”
I shake my head. “Twat.”
“Asa,” comes a slow drawl, and I turn to see my old fuck buddy embracing my betrothed.
Dean looks gorgeous as usual, dressed in a steel-blue suit and with his long blond hair pulled back in a ponytail. He and Asa are stepbrothers, and so look nothing alike, but they have a familiarity in their mannerisms sometimes that’s quite fascinating. I’ve seen them both rub their left ears when they’re thinking and wrinkle their noses before they laugh.
Asa steps back, and Dean turns to me. “Jude, babe, how have you been doing?”
“I’ve been—” I jump as he gives my arse a quick squeeze.
“I recognise this arse,” he exclaims loudly. “Still tight and peachy. I’ve spent a few happy hours in there.” He looks dreamily down at my lower half. “It’s almost like a beautiful holiday home,” he says slowly. “Like a luxury destination.”
An old couple standing nearby tut loudly and walk away.
Asa shakes his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “It’s a holiday home that isn’t renting out rooms anymore.”
“Renting!” I say indignantly. “I never bloody charged, Asa Jacobs.”
Asa laughs loudly, and Dean turns to me, taking my face and looking at my pores with small tuts of annoyance. “Jude, did you pack away your tweezers and any attempt at grooming, when you embraced monogamy? Who the fuck did your hair? Edward Scissorhands?”
I push him off. “Fingers off my pores, Dean. You know the drill.”
He grins good-naturedly. “Okay, mate. Married man and all that.” He turns to Asa and holds up one hand as if he’s in court. “I, Dean Jacobs, do solemnly swear that I am free of all herbal substances for the first time in ten years.” He pauses and stares into the distance. “It’s a bit strange…” He trails off, and we all wait for him to continue.
Eventually, Asa stirs. “Dean?”
“Oh yeah,” Dean says with a start. “I promise not to fuck Jude anymore. It would really come between us, Asa. Bros before hoes.”
Dylan snorts, and I glare at Dean. “And which one am I in this Jacobs conversation, Dean? Because so far Asa has implied that I charge for sex and you’re calling me names. This is not going well.”
Dean grins lazily.
I turn to Dylan, smiling as I find him hugging Gabe. The stark style of his black suit, white shirt, and red tie accentuates his looks.
“Looking good, darling,” I say to him.
“I’ve tried to downplay my natural gorgeousness in a vain attempt not to overshadow you on your wedding day, Jude,” he says, smirking. “I can’t say that I’ve been particularly successful.”
I laugh and hug him, loving how he returns the gesture with only a small trace of the hesitation that used to make him as stiff as a board if anyone attempted a cuddle. “Thank you,” I say softly. “The gesture is much appreciated.” I turn to Dylan, who’s observing us with one eyebrow arched wryly. “Are my mum and dad here?”
He nods. “Your dad’s in the waiting room talking to someone about the atrocity of Londoners buying holiday homes in Devon and decimating local communities.” He shrugs. “We might have to rescue the chap in a bit. Your mum took Billy to the loo.”
“Is he okay?” I ask immediately.
He grins and opens his mouth but whatever he means to say is drowned out by a shout of “Pa,” and I turn just in time to catch Billy as he launches himself at me. I lift him into the air and kiss him quickly. “You okay, mate?” I look him up and down. “Wow, you look good, Bill.”
He makes a slight moue of disgust, looking down at his outfit of grey trousers, white shirt, and red bow tie. His expression seems to indicate we’ve asked him to roll around in cow shit. Knowing my prospective stepchild, he’d probably be happier doing that. “Don’t you like your suit?”
He rolls his eyes, looking so like Asa he makes my heart clench. “It’s not very soft,” he says and then, obviously thinking he’s going to hurt my feelings, he pats my face gently. “But Grandma says the more I walk around in it, the softer it’ll get and look. She let me wear my real shoes.”
My lip twitches as I look at the tiny red Pac-Man Converse hi-tops. “I think that makes the outfit better,” I say solemnly.
He gives his wide gappy smile. “I love you, Pa,” he whispers. “Grandma says you’re getting married today?”
“You still okay with that?” I ask softly. I need to hear this on the most important day of my life. He nods energetically, and my heart softens. I know he’s going to say something soppy now and melt my heart.
“I’m getting used to it,” he says judiciously. “I’m very happy, though,” he adds quickly. “Because Peggy made a massive blue cake with yellow icing and it looks mega. And Daddy says we’re having crackers at the meal afterwards.”
“Christmas Crackers?”
He nods enthusiastically. “They’ll go bang, and we can wear hats.” He spreads his arms out. “I’m so happy.”
I shake my head and burst out laughing, hugging him to me. “That’s the most touching thing you’ve ever said to me,” I say solemnly, lowering him to the ground as he wriggles.
“What does saying a touching thing mean?” he asks earnestly. “I’m not touching a person when I talk.” He considers for a second. “Unless I lick them while I do it,” he says in a tone of realisation.
I groan, and Asa bursts into laughter as he comes near, hoisting Billy up by the ankles so he dangles between us, giggling. “No licking people, Billy,” he says clearly. “They don’t like it.”
“I’m very sorry I lacked someone in life to tell me that,” Gabe muses.
“I’m not,” Dylan murmurs.
Gabe g
ives him a faintly scandalized look. “Not in front of Billy,” he says primly. “Really, Dylan. Show some discretion.”
Billy, who’s been hoisted onto Asa’s shoulders where he’s busily ruining his man bun by digging his fingers in, looks instantly interested. “What’s that, Uncle Gabe?”
Gabe gets that panicked look he has whenever Billy talks to him. As if Bill is a tiny curly-headed unexploded bomb. It never fails to make Dylan and me smile.
I take pity on him. “It means think before you say something, Bill.”
“Like when you said it was fine for me to eat ice cream in bed?”
Everyone breaks into laughter, and I flush. “Yes, just like that. Thank you so much, Bill.”
He grins. “You’re welcome, Pa.” He turns his head and his grin widens. “Grandma.”
My mother is walking towards us. She looks beautiful in a pale-pink dress, her black hair touched with grey coiled on top of her head, and her dark eyes sparkling.
“Bebé,” she says and throws herself into my arms. “You look so handsome.”
I kiss her hair, inhaling her scent of Dune perfume. It’s like olfactory comfort. “You look lovely,” I say. “Is Dad okay?”
She nods and steps back, smiling. “He’s fine. Although he’s a bit cross with the man he’s talking to.” She waves her hand in front of her face. “Phew! We came away and left them to it.” She touches my face and runs her fingers through my curls. “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” she says softly.
“Are you happy?”
She smiles, her face softening and brightening, granting a glimpse of the young girl she once was. “So happy, my Jude,” she whispers. “He’s the most wonderful man. I couldn’t have dreamed up a better man for my baby.”
I glance at Asa and smile. “He surely is. I can’t believe how lucky I am.”
“It’s the same for him,” she says staunchly. “I see him watch you as if he can’t believe he has you.”
As if sensing my thoughts, Asa wanders over with Billy on his shoulders like a tiny king. He kisses my mother’s cheek. “You look wonderful,” he says. “Thank you for taking Billy. It gave us a chance to talk.”
“Did you do your vows?”
He smiles at me. “Yes. We’re ready for the dry, boring ones now.”
She smiles and, rummaging in her bag, she comes out with a small box. She hands it to him, and he opens it carefully. Inside are two roses that are so dark a red they’re almost purple. The scent they give out is heavenly.
“I picked these this morning from the rose bush that Jude’s dad planted on the day I gave birth to Jude,” she says. “They’re for your buttonholes.”
Asa smiles shakily. “They’re so lovely. Thank you.” He pins mine to my buttonhole and bends slightly so I can do the same for him.
“Mama?” she says, and he looks at her enquiringly. “You’re my son-in-law. Do you think you could call me Mama now?”
He bites his lip and nods quickly. I know he’s thinking of his own mother who would be here now if she hadn’t let him walk away and never contacted him again. “I would love that,” he says hoarsely. “Thank you, Mama.”
She hugs him, and it touches my heart to see how gentle my giant is with her. When he stands back, he looks at Dylan. “Have you got the rings?”
Dylan shakes his head, looking mystified. “No, I gave them to Dean.”
As one, the whole party falls silent and turns to stare at him.
“Why?” Asa asks faintly.
“You told me to.”
“I did?” he says slowly.
Dylan nods, looking slightly panicky now. “You said give them to Dean to look after.”
“I said under no circumstances to give them to Dean.”
“Oh,” Dylan says in a tone of realisation. “That makes much more sense when I think about it. The line was rather bad, and I did think it was a bit odd, but then he is your brother.”
Asa turns to Dean who is looking in a rather sultry fashion at a man standing on the steps near us.
I nudge him. “Mate, he’s the groom, judging by his suit.”
He looks startled. “You’re marrying him? I thought you were getting hitched to Asa.”
“Getting hitched?” I snipe. “Have you gone back in time to the seventies and forgot to tell anyone?”
“Ahem.” Asa clears his throat. “Sorry as I am to interrupt this conversation, could we please get to the more serious matter?” He looks at Dean. “Where are the rings?”
Dean nods and points his finger at Asa in a kapow sort of fashion. “I’ve got them, mate. Got them safe.”
Silence falls, and Asa finally stirs. “Got them where?”
“It’s funny how inarticulate you are when you’re talking through gritted teeth,” I say cheerfully.
“Yes.” Dylan leans into me. “He must have been doing that when he spoke to me.”
“Dean,” Asa barks. “Where are the bloody rings?”
Dean jumps as if he’s been cattle prodded. “I’ve got them right here, mate.”
“Where?” Asa asks urgently.
Dean pats his pocket confidently. Then he pats the other side slightly less confidently. Then he starts to pat all his pockets in a somewhat frenzied fashion.
“Oh my God,” Asa sighs.
“I had them,” Dean hisses.
“Oh my fucking lord, you’ve lost my wedding rings.” Asa sounds slightly higher in tone than Aled Jones at his best. “How can we get married without rings?”
I notice Gabe detach himself from the group, but I turn back when Dean strips his jacket off, throwing the Paul Smith jacket on the ground quite cavalierly after rifling through the pockets.
Ivo crouches and starts to photograph him, kneeling on the steps and grinning. “This is fucking epic,” he says happily. “The Sun would pay me thousands for these photos. Male model strips on registry office steps to prevent former lover from marrying his brother.”
“Oh, Ivo,” Henry sighs. “Your suit trousers are going to be so creased.”
“Ivo’s composing a tell-all story, Dean’s lost my wedding rings, and you’re concerned about the knees on your fiancé’s suit?” Asa asks disbelievingly.
“Well, it is Armani,” Henry says primly. “We are not chimney sweeps, Asa, no matter what your hairstyle is appearing to suggest at the moment, so there’s no need to dress like one.”
Dean starts to unbutton his shirt, much to my mother’s amusement.
“What are you doing now?” Asa hisses.
“They’re somewhere on me, man, I know it. I just need some time.”
“What for? To do a rectal exam? We haven’t got time. We need the rings.”
“Will these do?” Gabe’s urbane voice comes from behind me, and we turn as a group to gape at the items in his hand.
“Babe,” Dylan says in an awed voice. “I’d have married you sooner if I’d known you possessed this level of elegance and taste.”
I blink at the rings in his hand. They’re plastic. One is bright yellow with a huge sunflower on it. Another is pink with a slightly scary-looking butterfly on it, and the third is a Mike the Knight ring.
“That’s for Billy,” Gabe mutters. “So don’t get too attached.”
“Alack and alas,” I whisper. “Where did you get these things from?”
“Well, unfortunately, Tiffany’s hasn’t set up shop outside Chelsea Registry Office yet,” Gabe says somewhat snippily. “So I had to work with what we had. Which was the corner shop.”
“Did you win them on a grabber machine?” Dylan asks, looking rather excited. “Can we go back when we get out of the wedding?”
“Of course I didn’t win them,” Gabe says in an offended tone. “I paid the shopkeeper two hundred pounds to open the back of the machine.”
“I love you,” Dylan says very seriously.
Gabe’s lips tick up at the corner. “I am pretty epic.”
Asa looks rather helplessly at me, and I start to laugh,
watching his expression ease. “Bagsy the flower,” I say. “It’ll remind me of when you took my flower, Asa. What a very special moment that was.”
Dylan scoffs. “What flower? You lost that so long ago if you’d pressed it between the pages of a book it’d have been full of hieroglyphics.” He catches my mum’s eye and looks shifty. “What a very silly analogy,” he says in an overly bright voice. “I am, of course, talking about when Jude took up collecting flowers. He was such a quiet and studious boy,” he finishes rather uncertainly and my mum’s mouth quirks.
“Shall we go in?” Asa asks as Dean takes off his shirt, still looking for my wedding ring. “Before my stepbrother is arrested for public indecency on my wedding day.”
We enter the registry office a few minutes later. People turn to look. We’re a noisy group at the best of times, and one of us is very famous, which accounts for a few second glances.
It’s an imposing building with marble floors that gleam softly and a ceiling with ornate coving.
“Wallis Simpson married her second husband here,” Dylan says cheerfully. “So did Judy Garland and Marco Pierre White.”
“They all married Wallis Simpson’s husband? Times were wild then.”
He nudges me. “No, silly. They married different people.”
“Didn’t all those marriages end in divorce?”
“Hmm,” he says shiftily. “Ooh, look, there’s my mum.”
I shake my head as he rushes off. Spying a familiar wheelchair and a man with black and grey waves of hair, I race over. “Pa,” I say.
A wide smile breaking over his face. “There’s my boy,” he says, hugging me tightly. He puts me back slightly. “Well, look at you. Don’t you scrub up well.”
“Not as well as you.” I look admiringly at his navy pinstriped suit. “Where did you get this from?”
“Your mother made me go shopping in Exeter. She thought for some ridiculous reason that I needed a new suit.”
“The only suit you own is the one you got married in.”
“Exactly,” he says indignantly. “And I still fit in it.”
“And I’m sure that brown velvet and flares are very close to coming back in fashion again,” I say soothingly, jumping back so he can’t pinch me. I look around. “Mama said you were talking to some man about helping him buy a second home in Devon.”