by Lily Morton
He shakes his head. “He was here a minute ago. Can’t work out where he’s gone.”
I grin and look up as Asa comes over. “The registrar needs a few words with you,” he says, throwing his arm over my shoulders.
“Why?”
“To make sure you’re in a fit state of mind.” He smirks. “Good luck with that. Try not to talk too much.”
He and my father break into peals of laughter as I shake my head and walk over to where a stern-faced woman is waiting to usher me into a room. I wince as Ivo detaches himself from Henry’s mouth and follows me with his camera clicking.
“What are you doing?” I hiss.
He smirks. “Just getting photographic evidence of the day.”
“Should you be calling it evidence? I’d work on your spiel if you’re branching into wedding photography,” I snipe. “It sounds more like a crime scene investigation.”
“If Dean doesn’t find those rings, it may turn out to be.”
Dean is standing on the other side of the waiting area taking off his socks and shoes. I glance at the stern-faced woman ahead of us and sigh. I feel a bit like I’m being summoned to the headmaster’s office. However, she proves to be very friendly and to have a lovely smile, so I’m much more relaxed when I leave the room ten minutes later.
The area outside the waiting room has filled up when I come out, and I smile in delight at seeing Dylan’s parents and siblings. I wave and begin to make my way over, only to be intercepted by Amos.
I hug him. “You alright, Amos?” I bite my lip. “Come to offer me some marital advice?”
“Ah, just bear with him no matter what he does.” I blink as he shakes his head gloomily. “It will all pan out as fate intends, Jude.”
“And that’s good?” I ask hesitantly.
“Usually not,” he says with a sort of gloomy relish. “My study of fate leads me to conclude that it’s usually the reverse.” He sighs heavily. “I’m sure you and Asa will weather the tests of time.” He pauses, and honesty obviously compels him to add, “Most people don’t, though, so I wouldn’t be too disheartened if it all goes terribly wrong.”
I blink, and my arms are suddenly full of Peggy. “Jesus, Peg.” I laugh, disentangling myself. “You nearly put my eye out.” She’s wearing a fuchsia-coloured suit and a matching hat with a feather in it.
“Is that a pheasant feather?” I ask, reaching out to touch it.
She slaps my hand away. “Not sure what it belonged to but it was definitely dead before they took this for my hat.”
“That’s a massive relief,” I say solemnly.
She grins at me until her eyes fill. “Oh, don’t mind me,” she wails, reaching into her massive handbag and pulling out a hanky. She blows her nose a couple of times. “I’m just so bloody happy, Jude. I’ve known him since he was a scrawny lad and all these years I’ve wanted so desperately to see him loved because he’s such a special man.”
“I know,” I say softly and hug her. “Thank you for looking after him.” I look at Amos. “And you too.”
He looks slightly dubious but then concedes gracefully. “I’ve done all that I possibly could.”
Peggy shakes her head. “He wasn’t Dennis Nilsen, Amos.”
“Ladies and gentlemen,” the registrar says loudly. “If you’d like to make your way into the room, we have a wedding to perform.”
There’s a lot of laughter and chatter as everyone moves into the room she’s indicating.
Asa comes over with Billy clinging to his hand. “You ready?” he asks nervously.
I smile at him and straighten his tie. I look at his hair and contemplate tidying that but decide to forget it. It’ll be a messy mane again in seconds.
“I am absolutely ready,” I say, beaming at him. I look down at Billy. “You going in with Daddy and Uncle Dean or walking down the aisle with me?”
“With you, if that’s okay,” he says earnestly. “Grandma and Peggy gave me a big box of petals, so I’ve got to throw them at you.”
“Not so much at him and not so much throw,” Asa begins .
I shake my head firmly. “Bill can do what he wants with them. It’s his day too, and it’s fine with me.”
“Everything’s fine with you,” Asa says affectionately. “You’re the most chilled person I’ve ever met.” He kisses me warmly, and grabbing a thankfully fully dressed Dean by the elbow, he tugs him into the room followed by Ivo with his camera clicking.
“Daddy seems a bit worried,” Billy says, and I crouch to face him.
“He just wants everything to go right, Bill,” I say softly. “It means a lot to him.”
“It will be brilliant,” he says staunchly. “We’re all together, aren’t we?”
“Oh Bill,” I say with a lump in my throat. “We should listen to you more.”
“You really should.” He nods firmly. “Especially about what time I have to go to bed.”
My dad wheels up neatly with my mum at his side. “You two ready?” he asks.
“We are,” I say, coming to stand next to him.
“Okay, love,” my dad says. “Let’s have them.”
I watch open-mouthed as my mum crosses over to the window and comes back with a pair of crutches.
“Oh, Pa,” I say. “Are you sure?”
“I am not wheeling my only child down the aisle. I am going to walk you down that bloody aisle.”
“Language,” my mum says serenely, and we both hover as he grasps my arms and propels himself up. She holds up the crutches, and he pops them under his arms. We wait a second until he’s got his balance and then we step back gingerly.
“I’m fine,” he says. “I’ve been practising for ages.”
“I would have been fine with the wheelchair,” I say softly.
“Well, don’t worry. You’ll see it soon enough.” He grins at me. “Your mum’s taking it to the end of the aisle where it will be ready for me.” He looks down at Billy, who is staring at him transfixed. “You okay, Billy?”
He nods furiously. “You’re so tall, Grandpa. You look like a pirate.”
“Maybe I am,” he says mysteriously. He grins at me. “You ready? I’m not sure standing around too long like this is going to have a positive outcome.”
I laugh and tuck my hand in his pocket. “Come along then, Peg Leg Pete, Scourge of the Western Seas.”
“Oh,” Billy breathes. “Is that your pirate name? That’s epic.”
“Right, Bill, have you got your petals?” I ask. He nods, standing to attention. “Then, off you go. Chuck away. But go slowly so Grandpa can keep up.”
He darts to the doorway, and we move slowly behind him. “You’re good with him,” my dad says softly.
“I love him,” I say. “It’s easy.”
We make our way into the room, and I look up to see Asa waiting for me. He looks tall and handsome in his suit but also so familiar and dear to me that I have to swallow tears in my throat. The lemon-coloured room is full of light from the tall windows and heavy with the scent of the enormous flower displays that I’m quite sure Asa ordered. If acting fails, he could certainly go into wedding planning.
“You nervous?” my dad asks.
I shake my head. “Nope. Not even a tiniest bit. Asa’s waiting for me.”
And so we make our slow, halting way down the small aisle as Pachelbel’s “Canon in D Major” plays. Billy chucks his petals about with such abandon that he hasn’t got any left after a few minutes, but he moves slowly, his eyes always flitting to my dad and me to make sure that we’re keeping up. I smile at him. He’s such a good boy.
When we get to the end of the aisle, Asa darts over to help my dad into his wheelchair. “That was a sight,” he says affectionately to my dad who pats his arm companionably.
“Can’t wait to get in my chair, to be honest.” Asa smiles and goes to pull back, but my dad suddenly grabs his arm. “Look after my boy,” he whispers.
Asa reaches out and clasps his hand. “Always and w
ith every bone in my body,” he says steadily. They grin at each other and Asa offers me his hand. “You ready?”
“Always,” I say. I look down at Billy. “Want to sit with Grandma or come up with us?”
His eyes dart uncertainly about. “I think I’d like to be with you and Daddy,” he whispers.
“Then that’s what we’ll do,” I say, and holding both of my men’s hands is how I end up in front of the registrar.
She starts to talk, and my eyes flick to Dylan, who has come up on my other side. He immediately bugs his eyes out, and I bite my lip to stop myself laughing and turn back to the registrar. Sometimes we seem only a tiny step away from primary school.
“Okay,” she says, smiling at Asa and me. “First, the unpleasant bit. I’m quite sure this won’t be a problem, but I must ask. Does anyone in this room know of any just impediment to me joining these two men in matrimony?”
I smile at everyone in the room and then nearly jump out of my skin when Dean shouts, “Oh my God! Yes. Yes!”
The room seems to come to a screeching stop, and Asa turns to glare at his stepbrother.
“What the hell?” he says in a low voice.
“I’ve found them,” Dean exclaims, ignoring Asa’s face of apoplectic doom. “The rings. They were in this little pocket on the back of my trousers,” he says sunnily, handing them to me and slapping Asa on the back.
“So, you’re not objecting to this marriage, then?” the registrar enquires faintly.
Dean looks perplexed. “Fuck, no!” he exclaims. “I mean, sorry. No way. These two are meant to be.” He waves at her airily. “Why have you stopped? Let’s get them married, mate.”
I can’t help my snort of laughter, and Asa shakes his head at me. “You’re enjoying this?”
I laugh. “You must admit that it could have been amazing. My previous partner shouting out in torment at the last minute at me marrying another man. Epic,” I say happily and then make haste to lose my smile as the registrar and Asa stare at me. “But very, very silly,” I say ponderously. “At such a solemn occasion.”
Dylan snorts. I elbow him discreetly, and I see the exact moment when the registrar decides to get the ceremony done as quickly as possible.
“Okay,” she says brightly. “Let’s proceed.”
Slowly my laughter fades, but it’s inside me like sunshine racing through my veins as I say the words that bind me to the man I love. And I hear his own vows in his deep, resonant voice, the Yorkshire in his accent very thick today.
Finally, the registrar asks for the rings, and I look down at Billy. “You want to put the rings on for us?”
Asa looks at me in query, and I smile. “He’s part of this family,” I say. “Right from the very beginning, it’s been the three of us. Might as well do it at the start of the rest of our lives.”
His eyes look over bright, and he nods furiously, smiling down at his son as he very solemnly puts the rings on our fingers.
“And I now pronounce you married,” the registrar says with a big smile. “Congratulations, gentlemen.”
I turn to Asa, and he grins down at Billy. “Thanks for your help, sweetie.”
Billy shrugs. “I quite liked the other rings with the flowers,” he says sadly. “Maybe if you ask Uncle Gabe he’ll swap for the flower ones.”
We break into laughter, and our first kiss as married men is with smiles on our lips. It seems like an excellent omen to me.
Henry and Ivo
A Change is as Good as a Rest
This is a deleted chapter from Risk Taker. It’s set between the events of Chapter Four and Chapter Five, in the two months that separate them. Ivo is seeing his therapist, and I wrote this chapter to show Henry’s attempts to help Ivo get interested in exercise again. I took it out because it unbalanced the other chapters.
Henry
I clatter down the stairs and grab my jacket from the coat hook. Like usual, Ivo’s jacket is slung half over the bannister and half on the floor, and I stop to tut and hang it up. Order restored, I leave the house. Gabe’s car is parked in front, and Ivo and Gabe are leaning against it, waiting.
“What?” I ask as they both look me up and down.
“Is that outfit new?” Ivo asks.
Gabe snorts, and I glance down at my outfit of royal-blue checked trousers with a royal-blue V-neck jumper and a white polo shirt. “It is,” I say happily. “I must say I like the golf section in Harvey Nicks.”
Ivo looks dubious. “This is your first time playing golf. What if you don’t like it?”
“I’m sure I will,” I say cheerfully. “Any sport where people dress like this is one I know I’m going to love.”
Gabe shakes his head. “You never change.”
“What?” I say indignantly. “Just because I like to look nice, whereas you two…”
“What about us two?” Gabe asks.
I tilt my head. “You’re a bit blah, aren’t you? Would a bit of colour have killed you?”
“If it was in the form of plaid trousers, yes,” says Gabe.
Ivo nods. “You should have done what I did, Henry. I borrowed my gear from Max.”
“Max, who? Do you mean Journalist Max?” I ask testily.
Ivo obliviously nods.
Gabe smirks. “Was that a growl?” he whispers to me as he turns to open the car door.
“No,” I snap. “Max is one of Ivo’s oldest friends. Why would I growl?”
“Isn’t he one of Ivo’s oldest fuck friends too?” Gabe asks cheerfully. “Oh, look, there’s that noise again. Henry, I must say golf brings out a very animalistic side of you.”
“It’s going to bring out a very serial killer side too if you persist in trying to be funny.”
“The ginger pertness is suffocating around here,” he observes.
Ignoring him, I sneak a glance at Ivo. Even dressed in borrowed gear, he looks amazing. He’s wearing black trousers with a subtle grey check and a black polo shirt and jumper. He and Gabe in his all-black outfit look sleek and expensive.
Ivo looks up, and, catching my gaze, he grins at me. “Are you really sure you want to do this?”
I nod emphatically. “Yes. It’s a proven fact that exercise and sport help with sleep and… other things.”
Ivo smiles. “You can say it, Hen. I’ve already told Gabe about the mild PTSD.”
Gabe shakes his head. “The way he emphasised the word mild made it sound like a cold.”
“I know. He’d moan more about a cold. He’s a dreadful baby over minor ailments, but he’d be terribly stoic if you chopped his leg off.”
“I’m going to enjoy watching you play golf, Henry,” Ivo says contemplatively, and Gabe laughs.
An hour later, we tread onto the greens. “So, this is the first tee?” I ask Gabe. He nods, and I shake my head. “It’s going to be awfully confusing. My first tea is usually served in bed.”
“By me,” Ivo says tartly. “Your maid.”
“Making someone happy makes you happy, Ivo,” I say piously. “You know I live to make that happen.”
“How self-sacrificing of you,” he says wryly.
Gabe shakes his head and strides to the tee. Putting his ball down, he examines the clubs in his bag.
“How long have you been playing, Gabe?” I ask.
“About a year. I have to come a lot because all the partners play.” He shrugs. “It’s a good walk and a chance to get some fresh air.”
“And a spot of weightlifting. This bag’s bloody heavy.”
“I’m sure you were a sloth in a former life,” Gabe observes.
Ivo laughs. “Was there anything less energetic than a sloth to compare Henry with?”
“Nothing living,” Gabe announces acerbically.
“Hey,” I say crossly, but they ignore me. It’s been this way since they met and I assured Ivo that Gabe wasn’t more important to me than him. After that, he decided to like him, and the two of them have always found common cause in taking the piss out of me.
Gabe lines his ball up and takes a couple of practice swings. He steps back slightly and with a neat-sounding thwack sends the ball sailing down the fairway.
“Wow,” I say as he steps back with a modest expression. Or, as near to modest as Gabe can get, which isn’t actually anywhere close.
“Your turn,” he says happily.
I turn back to rifle through the bag Ivo and I hired because he’d forcibly stopped me from buying a set of clubs in the shop. “I still think we should have bought a set of clubs,” I say.
Ivo shakes his head. “Sure we should. They could join the badminton rackets, walking boots, and hockey sticks in the garage, which is where your sporting equipment goes to die.”
“I think you have the wrong idea about me. I’m actually very sporty. You’ve just not been around enough to see it.”
“You’re about as sporty as Gemma Collins,” he says calmly, finding the club called a driver and handing it to me.
“Oh, okay, maybe you have been around enough,” I say faintly, and he laughs.
I put the ball on the little plastic tee and stand back.
“What are you doing?” Gabe asks with a thread of laughter running through his voice.
“Checking the direction of the wind.”
“And you are doing that, why?”
“To determine where my shot goes.”
“Okay,” Gabe drawls. “I can’t wait to see where Tiger Woods puts this one,” he says in an aside to Ivo, who snorts.
Glaring at the two of them, I take a couple of practice shots, or rather, I swing the driver about in a vague approximation of what Gabe did, with no idea of why he did it. Finally decided, I aim for the ball. The driver makes a lovely swishing noise, and I do a little two-step of happiness.
“I like this,” I say excitedly. “Where did the ball go, though? I took my eye off it.”
“Well, you’re actually supposed to watch the ball,” Gabe says. “It determines where your shot goes. However, in this case, you’re being a bit ambitious.”
“Why?”
“Because your ball is still on the tee,” Gabe says patiently.