“You… what? What do you mean?”
“Powder blue with white trim is simply not your color, Tom. I’ve never seen such an awful-looking tux in my life. And are the white patent leather shoes for real? Even with the navy cummerbund and bow tie, which, I admit, add a teaspoonful of class, it’s the epitome of Tack-A-Rama. Like a 1970s game show host or someone who’s stepped off the set of the originalOcean’s Elevenmovie.”
“Thank you, Marcus,” said Moira, folding her arms. “I’m glad one of you has some sense of decency.”
“I loved that movie,” muttered John.
“Hang on,” said Tom. “You said it was fabulous? In the charity shop?”
Marcus came over then, put his arm around Tom’s waist, and lightly kissed him on the cheek. Even after four years, with Marcus doing his damnedest to suggest fashion choices for Tom, the man still showed up in some absolute doozies.
“It was fabulous in the charity shop. But that’s where it should have stayed. There’s a good reason it was there in the first place. Anyway, Mum’s right. You should wear your black tux to the party. With the simple white wingtip and black bow tie.”
“Boring.”
“You still have no idea, do you? Quite how incredibly hot—I mean,handsome—you look in that combination. Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“What? And I don’t look incredibly hot and handsome in this? Come on, Dad. What do you think?”
“Okay, son. Marcus has a point. Itisa bit gay.”
“John!”
“Dad!”
Moira and Tom spoke in horrified unison, while Marcus collapsed into fits of laughter. Eventually everyone followed suit, bringing Katie into the room to find out what all the fuss was about. At twelve now, she had grown all too quickly.
“What are you all—?OhmyGod, Dad. Whatareyou wearing?”
Behind her, Charlotte burst into loud, uncontrollable fits of giggles, starting the whole room off again—until the front doorbell rang.
“Heavens,” said Moira, checking her watch. “Is that the time already? For goodness’ sake, go up and change, Tom. I’ll let the guests in.”
Marcus had been pleasantly surprised at how quickly the Bradfords had come around to their son’s feelings for Marcus. Moira had been a tough sell at first, but having had Marcus in their lives for so long made things that much easier. Three months after the announcement, Moira had quietly spoken to Marcus as she turned up at his apartment to collect the girls.
“I’m not going to say that I understand. But my granddaughters adore you and my son has been the happiest he’s ever been since his wife died. So. That’s all I’m going to say on the matter.”
Case closed.
Both girls had been overjoyed, but for the first couple of months, even though Marcus had spent most nights in Tom’s bed, they had been careful. Sunday mornings especially, they’d been regularly invaded by the girls jumping up and down on their mattress and scaring Marcus awake. But that was a small price to pay. When Marcus went to pick Charlotte up from school one day and overheard her referring to him as “…my other dad. He’s famous, you know?”, he felt such a sense of pride—he texted Tom as soon as they’d gotten home.
Marcus suspected that Tom felt the brunt more than he. At one point Tom had almost given up on going down to the pub with his football chums, until Marcus had persuaded him that he had every right to be there. Perry, whose wife, Julia, and kids had been close to Tom’s family, had been the hardest cold shoulder to take. When Tom announced the news, Perry became distant, purposely avoiding talking to Tom. Whenever they did, usually just a few words, they’d talk about the kids or football—nothing too emotive. Maybe time and patience would help, but on more than one occasion, Tom stated openly that he had gained more than he had lost.
And now here they were, four years later, Tom at forty-five, Marcus at thirty-five, about to celebrate their combined eightieth birthday party together. Had she been alive, Raine would have wanted this.
Fitting over a hundred people into the back garden of their new semidetached house turned out to be easier than either of them imagined. Fortunately Marcus and Tom’s new neighbors had all accepted the invitation to their garden party, so they could at least continue into the early July evening while daylight remained. More importantly, they had woken to cloudless blue skies and a beautiful summer temperature, although weather reports hinted at showers. To prepare for all possibilities, Tina had gotten Joel, her latest assistant, to call her events contacts and book a large marquee, which they had erected at one end of their spacious garden. Even rain could not have stopped the event. As it turned out, John, Moira, and Marcus’s parents, Colin and Debs, who turned up later, appreciated being able to sit in the shade.
Since Tom, Marcus, and the girls had moved into the house two roads away from John and Moira, life had settled into a comfortable rhythm.
Late in the afternoon of the party, with Tom uncharacteristically insisting on providing the speech to all gathered—despite Marcus’s offer to take over—Marcus stood at the sink of their kitchen, the window open, enjoying the aroma from his small window-ledge herb garden. After sending the girls off to collect used plates, cups, cutlery, and glasses from around the garden, Marcus washed while Moira wiped.
“Even when Lorraine was alive, I was always going to be in their lives, Moira. That much hasn’t changed,” said Marcus, rinsing tumblers one by one, then handing them absently to Moira. “You know. Background checks on the girls’ dates when the princesses grew old and serious enough to go on them, even if that entailed hiring private detectives. Or a personal stakeout outside their respective houses.”
Beside him, Moira clucked her tongue the way she did when John had said something politically incorrect. And there across the garden lawn, the man himself—John—sat holding court as usual, laughing with a cluster of relatives and friends, all enjoying the afternoon and the company. Behind him, Lincoln Prescott used his hands to talk animatedly about something with an out-of-uniform Daniel Mosborough and Ken Villers, Damian Stone’s widower. Beneath their cherry tree, Marcus’s bookkeeper, Trevor, who had recently had a difficult split from his long-term partner, stood in complete awe with a towering Kim Kendrick, their New York investor. Marcus always had a warm feeling when everything felt right with the world, when different friends or associates of his found common ground.
“And now I’ll have Tom by my side through good times and bad. And I honestly can’t think of anything more wonderful. A couple of curly straws, sharing a can of Special Brew in the old folks’ home together while we watch Chelsea version 255 with players whose names neither of us can remember. Or sitting on the front pew at St. Mark’s with you and other members of the family while Tom walks one of his beauties down the aisle. Or being there to hug the man and stuff a cigar in his mouth when one of them produces a grandson or granddaughter.”
Absently, he twisted his head around and for the first time in his life saw Moira had turned away from him. For a moment he wondered what was happening, thought she might have turned away to sneeze, until he noticed a small movement, the gentle rise and fall of her back. She was sobbing. Unsure what to do, he dried his hands quickly and put his arm around her shoulders.
