128

George looked around the room and felt oddly fond of all these people.

It was not something he was accustomed to feeling at family gatherings.

He squeezed Jean’s hand. He was in love with his wife. It made him feel warm inside.

Everything was going to be different from now on.

What, in any case, was frightening about death? It came to everyone sooner or later. It was a part of life. Like going to sleep, minus the waking up.

And there was Jamie, arriving late, as children usually did.

Jamie was a homosexual. And what was wrong with that? Nothing whatsoever. So long as one was hygienic.

And there was his husband beside him. Boyfriend. Partner. Whatever the word was. He would ask Jamie later.

No. That was the man who was operating the wheelchair for the crippled girl, wasn’t it. Plump. Scruffy hair. Beard. Obviously not a homosexual now that George thought about it.

Even Douglas and Maureen were all right, really. A little vulgar. A little loud. But everyone had their faults.

And, look, there were fluorescent lights in the room, which meant that if you spread your hand out and waved it from side to side at the correct frequency you could make it look as if you had six fingers. Wasn’t that strange. Like spinning a bike wheel to make it look as if it was not moving.

129

Jamie asked the woman behind the desk where the wedding was and he could see her actually scanning the desk for a weapon. He looked down and saw blood on his hands and tried to explain that his father had run away but this didn’t make the woman relax. So he put on the voice he used with difficult clients and said, “My sister, Katie Hall, is getting married to Ray Phillips in this building right now and if I’m not there to witness it you will be hearing from my solicitor.”

My solicitor? Who the fuck was that?

She either believed him or was too frightened to tackle him alone, because when he strode off in search of the wedding, she stayed in her chair.

He stopped by the door at the end of the corridor and opened it a crack and saw a woman vaguely like Auntie Maureen and a cleavage which definitely belonged to Uncle Brian’s wife. So he slipped inside and the registrar said, “…constitute a formal and public pledge of your love for one another. I am now going to ask each of you in turn…”

His father was standing next to his mother smiling benignly, and Jamie felt a weird combination of excitement and anticlimax having spent the journey imagining he’d be the center of attention, then finding out he wasn’t, so instead of jumping up and down and telling someone about his ridiculous adventure he had to shut up and stand still.

Which was probably why he grinned and waved at Katie without thinking when he caught her eye, making her put the ring on the wrong finger, though thankfully it was funny more than anything. And when Jacob rushed forward to hug her, he couldn’t resist rushing forward to hug her, and the registrar seemed a little put out by this, but quite a few other people joined in, so she had to lump it.

They poured into the car park and a friend of Katie’s asked what he’d been doing to get himself in such a state and he said, “The car broke down. I had to take a short cut.” They both laughed and Jamie reckoned he could probably say he’d been attacked by a leopard and everyone would take it in their stride on account of the carnival atmosphere, though his mother was quite concerned that he spruce himself up at the earliest opportunity.

“How’s Dad?” he asked.

“He’s in excellent form,” she said, which alarmed Jamie slightly, because he couldn’t remember his mother saying something that positive about his father even when he was entirely sane.

So he accosted his father and asked how he was feeling, and his father said, “You have very strange hair,” which was technically correct, but not the answer Jamie was expecting.

Jamie asked if he’d been drinking.

“Took some Valium,” said his father. “From Dr. Barghoutian. Perfectly safe.”

“How much?”

“How much what?” asked his father.

“How much Valium?” asked Jamie.

“Eight, ten,” said his father. “Enough. Let’s put it like that.”

“Oh dear God,” said Jamie.

“I would very much like to meet your boyfriend,” said George. “How did that sound?”

“Are you planning to give a speech at the reception?”

“A speech?” said George.

“You’re bleeding,” said Jamie.

George held up his hand. There was blood dripping out of his sleeve. “Now that is odd.”

130

George sat on the toilet seat in the upstairs bathroom while Jamie put a new dressing on his wrist and helped him into a clean white shirt.

He remembered now. Jean had put the first dressing on earlier in the day. He had cut himself on a barbed-wire fence. Though precisely how he had come into contact with a barbed-wire fence was not clear.

“So, you haven’t written a speech,” said Jamie.

Of course. He remembered now. It was Katie’s wedding today.

“Dad?”

“What?”

“A speech,” asked Jamie. “Have you written a speech?”

“What for?”

Jamie rubbed his face. “OK. Look. Katie got married this morning…”

George raised his eyebrows. “I’m not a total dimwit.”

“They’re having the reception in the garden,” said Jamie. “After the meal the bride’s father usually gives a short speech.”

“She’s getting married to Ray, isn’t she,” said George.

“That’s right. So here’s what we’re going to do.”

“What are we going to do?”

“I’m going to talk to Ed,” said Jamie.

“Who’s Ed?” asked George. The name did not ring a bell.

“Dad,” said Jamie, “just listen, OK? Ed is the best man. After the meal he will announce that you’re going to speak. Then you stand up and propose a toast. Then you sit down.”

“OK,” said George, wondering why Jamie was making quite such a song and dance about this.

“Can you do a toast?”

“That depends on whom I am meant to be toasting,” said George, feeling rather smug that he had spotted the trick question.

Jamie blew out lots of air, as if he was about to lift a heavy weight. “You get up. You say, ‘I would like to propose a toast to Katie and Ray. I would like to welcome…’No. Too complicated.”

It struck George that Jamie was a little confused himself.

“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say, ‘To Katie and Ray.’ You sit down.”

“I don’t make a speech,” said George.

“No,” said Jamie. “Just a toast. ‘To Katie and Ray.’ Then you sit down again.”

“Why am I not making a speech?” asked George, who was beginning to wonder why he should be following instructions from a confused person.

Jamie rubbed his face again. “Katie and Ray want to keep it short and simple.”

George digested this. “All right.”

“You get up,” said Jamie. “You say-”

“To Katie and Ray,” said George.

“You sit down.”

“I sit down,” said George.

“Brilliant,” said Jamie.

George remained on the toilet for a few minutes after Jamie left. He felt slightly aggrieved that he was being denied the opportunity to talk at length. But when he tried to imagine what specific things he might say at length his thoughts became a little fuzzy. So perhaps it was best to follow the line of least resistance.

He got off the toilet, waited for his head to clear and made his way downstairs.

Someone handed him a glass of champagne.

Was it wise to drink champagne when he had already taken Valium? He had little experience of these things. Perhaps there was a doctor amongst the guests whom he could ask.

Gail materialized in front of him. “Brian was very sad not to have you down in Cornwall with him.”