Chapter 15
DeAnna Zankich
Sequel to | Sweet Redemption
Summary: The days leading up to the big `I do'.
Warnings: None
Author Notes: A thousand thanks to my sweet friend Kristina Grönberg for the title.
Spoilers: None
They had been in the air a little more than an hour and Brian could hardly keep his eyes open. The Valium he'd taken mixed with the three glasses of Champagne he'd had since take off had him feeling quite mellow. He put his seat back as far as it would go and stretched his legs out. Reaching for the blindfold the airline provided, he slipped it over his eyes and turned on his side in the comfortable first class seat. His muscles felt warm and heavy and he was deliciously relaxed. Brian fell asleep in a matter of minutes.
The dream started off like a memory . . . fuzzy and filled with muted sounds and mixed up smells. A steady hum of some sort of white noise carried throughout and he felt himself shifting in the seat. Vaguely Brian felt like he was experiencing two levels of consciousness at once. He swore he could see Michael sitting next to him on the plane, concentrating on the book in his hand. But at the same time, he could hear those other sounds so clearly . . . the ones from the inside. He breathed deeply and tried to turn his focus toward his dream.
Everything against his skin felt incredibly soft--plush, inviting pillows, satiny sheets and luscious covers. Something scrumptiously warm was stroking his naked body and teasing him very slowly. He could feel it in the palm of his hand . . . a blanket . . . a sensuous cashmere blanket. The most decadent cashmere made anywhere in the world, right there in his hand . . . petting his body . . . Brian knew that blanket. He remembered handling it in that shop in London right before he bought it for Stuart and Vince. He heard himself groan and he almost woke up but he forced himself to return to that wonderful, dark, erotic place.
He could hear Stuart's voice there . . . speaking to him in raspy whispers. Those hot plum colored lips against Brian's earlobe, saying so many wicked little things. What he wanted to do to Brian's nipples, to his belly, to his thighs . . . and all the tantalizing things he murmured about Brian's cock. Stuart's sexy, flirtatious inflection and that fantastic little accent made Brian purr. He could listen to Stuart talk for hours.
In the dream place they were kissing and caressing each other, rolling weightlessly in Stuart's big bed. The heat from their bodies gathered between them and increased as they moved against each other and their supplicating pleasure sounds echoed in Brian's subconscious. He could taste Stuart's lips, feel the erotic flick of his hot tongue inside the kiss. His nipples itched as he felt himself rolling Stuart's nipples under his own tongue. The Irishman's scent filled Brian's nose and he breathed deeply, letting the smell become a taste in his mouth. He could feel his voice vibrating in his own throat but he couldn't hear the sounds he was making. Was he moaning? Was he speaking? Brian couldn't tell. He buried his nose in Stuart's belly in the dream and just . . . tasted him.
His memories were so vivid that Brian could feel the silky hairs on Stuart's torso tickling his nose as he kissed him there, licking and gently biting. Stuart loved to be bitten. Brian slid his hand under Stuart's writhing back, lifting him and covering the soft bit of flesh below his navel with his mouth. He closed his teeth there and sucked gently, feeling Stuart shudder against him. That thick cock pressed into the hollow below Brian's Adam's apple, wetting his skin with slick, silvery pre-come. Stuart's thighs lifted around his ears, engulfing him in heat and erotic aromas, tilting his hips up, guiding his erection to Brian's waiting lips.
And then . . . he could taste everything. Salt and musk and the primal flavor that belonged to Stuart alone. He felt those long, elegant fingers slide into his hair and tug possessively. Brian could even feel that bracelet Stuart always wore on his right wrist as the metal pressed gently into the side of his head. Sighing, Brian felt himself reeling from desire. He wanted everything all at once. His hands roamed over Stuart's heated, smooth skin, teasing and making love with every inch . . . he sucked that swollen cock deep into his mouth . . . moving down the shaft as far as he could go, trying to bury his nose in that soft mound of dark pubic hair. The engorged, spongy head touched the back of Brian's throat and he took a deep breath . . . and then . . . he simply relaxed.
Stuart's cock slid down into Brian's waiting, wanting throat all the way and suddenly his nose brushed that soft, fragrant pubic hair. In Brian's dream, he stopped there, suspended and barely breathing. He could feel Stuart's heartbeat throbbing in his swollen cock as the big vein up the back of it rested against the length of Brian's tongue. Reaching up with his slow, dreamy fingers, Brian cupped and fondled Stuart's tense balls, feeling them tighten and fill up in his grasp. Even in that fantasy state when some part of Brian's mind still knew none of those events were really taking place, he still felt his respiration being constricted and he consciously switched to breathing through his nose. In his dream he heard Stuart groaning and felt him trembling as his orgasm gained momentum.
Brian worked his throat rhythmically, sliding his entire mouth up and down Stuart's cock, stroking it, rubbing it, squeezing it in that tight, wet space. He felt Stuart's body go rigid and then he began breathing in shallow, ragged gasps that made his taut torso heave up and down. Brian held on and waited for the delicious burst of sweet and salty fluids to fill his mouth. Just as he felt the first hot splash on his tongue and then against the back of his throat, he heard someone calling his name . . . a bright voice but far away . . . Brian tried desperately to ignore it, wanting nothing more than to stay inside that all-encompassing, very wet dream. That far away voice was soft but insistent and then he felt himself being gently shaken on the outside.
When he opened his eyes, he sat up a little with a start. Tugging off the blindfold he blinked at the sudden onrush of light from the windows behind Michael's head. His best friend was smiling at him but his eyes were slightly wide.
"Sorry," Michael whispered earnestly. "I had to wake you up."
"Why?" Brian groaned, flopping down on the seat irritably. "That was the best fucking dream I've had in a hundred years."
Michael tossed a folded blanket into Brian's lap and smirked at him. "Clearly," he said. "I woke you up because you were moaning in your sleep. Loud." Michael lowered his voice even further. "And you should visit the little boys' room. You need to clean up."
Brian frowned and felt his cheeks heat up with a rare blush. He lifted the folded blanket in his lap and peeked under it at the crotch of his jeans. His best friend hadn't lied. A large, dark wet spot had formed in the front of Brian's faded jeans just above the head of his slowly deflating cock. He couldn't help but laugh.
"Unfuckingbelievable," he said.
Michael lowered his chin and smiled playfully. "I didn't want to disturb you because you were obviously having a really good time, but people were staring."
Brian's laugh became an embarrassed giggle and he squeezed his eyes shut. "I know I shouldn't give a shit about that, but . . ." He looked over at Michael, still feeling his cheeks burning. "Fuck, that's really embarrassing."
Michael laughed, shaking his head, then his voice went to a whisper again. "You said Stuart's name in your sleep." He looked away shyly, as though he was somehow to blame.
Hearing that made Brian feel tired again. Weary, actually. He settled back down in his seat but he left the folded blanket in his lap and laced his fingers over it casually. "Mikey, that was the most incredible wet dream I've ever had. It was so . . . REAL. I could smell everything and taste everything and FEEL everything." He shook his head, recalling the more intense details so clearly it seemed like they were still happening somewhere inside of him. "It was like . . . channeling or something."
Michael raised his eyebrows incredulously. "Jesus Christ, Brian," he said. "What are we gonna do with you? You've got to get over this guy."
Rolling his eyes, Brian let out a long, deep breath. "Just shoot me and put me out of everybody's misery." He turned to the window and looked out at the bright clouds and the glaring, mid-day sun that would follow them all the way across the ocean.
It was just after one o'clock in Manchester.
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Hazel:
Sitting at her vanity table, Hazel glanced at Stuart in the mirror as he started to unzip his heavy garment bag. She held her breath while she waited for him to reveal the bag's contents. Not wanting to be presumptuous, she cleared her throat to get his attention.
"Are you sure you want me to see?" she said.
"Well, you'll have to," Stuart told her. "I need you to help me." He smiled at her reflection and then he reached into the bag for the hanger.
Hazel turned around on her seat and brought her hand to her mouth as she watched him hold up a full format kilt ensemble. The plaid was dark green in the background and run through with fine-lined squares of blue, yellow and red. She had seen him wear this tartan only once before--at Clive's father's funeral when Stuart was fifteen years old.
"Aw, luv . . ." she said, standing up. She walked over to him and held the fabric of the kilt out to examine it. "This can't be the same one you wore to your grandfather's funeral all those years ago."
"No," he said. "This is Clive's, actually, from his wedding. He couldn't fit into it anymore so he gave it to me. He had a new one made for himself."
"Will he be wearing it today?"
"Yep. AND Marie's boys. You can just imagine how thrilled they are about that, little bastards." He snickered affectionately. "We'll be a sight, the Jones men." He walked the garment over to the wardrobe and hung it on the door. Standing back, he regarded the ensemble critically. "Do you think it's too much?"
"I think it's brilliant," Hazel said quietly. "Vince will melt, he'll love it so much."
Stuart raised his eyebrows and the tip of his tongue peeked out through his front teeth. "He'll have a few reasons to love it," he said wickedly.
"Right," Hazel ruffled his curls. "So you'll be wearing it in the traditional manner, then."
Stuart laughed and his dark blue eyes danced like embers. "Nothing gets by you, Hazel. I love that." He walked over to her and put a kiss on her forehead. "I need your help with all the gear."
"Of course," she said, ready to explode with happiness. She stood by dutifully as he wriggled out of his trousers and peeled off his shirt, getting down to his dark blue shorts and bare feet. She tried to resist letting her eyes roam over his lean young body as he went to the wardrobe to collect his clothes. Stuart had never been short on beauty, but in the last few years Hazel had watched him come into his own as a man. At the full grown yet still tender age of thirty, Stuart was a vision. His skin was evenly tanned and appeared to have been lightly polished with oil. The defined muscles across his back moved gracefully as he reached for the cream colored formal shirt on the hanger.
As she allowed herself a good look at him, her gaze stopped on two discolored spots--one high up on his right shoulder and the other just below his left ear. Stepping forward, she moved his hair out of the way and looked at the mark on his neck. "What is THAT?"
Stuart giggled mischievously. "A love bit, Hazel. Relax. Vince likes to mark me."
She rolled her eyes, then took a look at the mark on his shoulder. Up close the discoloration was much more intense and she could actually see the imprint of her son's teeth just under the skin. "Bloody hell," she muttered. "Doesn't that hurt when he does it?"
He shook his head. "He does it when we're shaggin'--right before I come. Everything feels good right before you come." He winked at her and she smacked his bare arm. "Too much information," she said.
Chuckling, Stuart slipped his arms into the shirt and turned toward the mirror to button it. Hazel sat on the bed again and from there she had an eye-level view of his firm backside.
"You'd best be careful, luv," she said. "I might just have to squeeze your perfect little arse."
He winked at her over his shoulder. "You wouldn't be the first Tyler to do that." He buttoned the shirt carefully all the way up to the collar then he turned his attention to the sleeves. "My cufflinks are in the pocket of the jacket," he told her. "Would you help me with them?"
Hazel got up and dug carefully through the pocket in the waist-length jacket. The cufflinks were in a small plastic bag and she emptied them into her palm. Dark red rubies in a simple gold setting. Lovely. She held his wrists gently and put the delicate bits of jewelry on, then she smoothed his shirt over his arms and back.
The kilt was next. Stuart took it off the hanger and stepped into it, turning around so she could assist him with all the buttons and snaps. When they had the garment in place, he gave her a cheeky grin then he shimmied out of his shorts.
Hazel laughed cheerfully. "Blimey! I'm not sure if I can be trusted with that little secret."
He shook his head. "Believe me, my nephews are going to take every opportunity to flash the guests. The fact that we're bare under the kilts won't be a secret for long." He walked back to the hanger and took down the leg wear. Sitting on the bed, he rolled the pale white stockings up his lean calves then turned the tops of them over with painstaking precision.
Hazel sat down again and watched while he put on his shoes--black leather brogues they were called. He laced them up to the top.
"Nice," she commented.
"Yeah." He stood up and turned in a circle, the kilt fluttering slightly as he moved. "Does it fit all right? It feels loose."
"Everyone loses weight before their wedding," she said. "Do you want me to pin it so it feels more secure?"
"Won't that mess up the line?" He walked over to the standing mirror by her vanity and turned this way and that, inspecting the kilt's movement closely. Taking the waistband in his fingers he slid the garment around a bit too easily.
"Well, you've certainly got enough room to eat a big dinner," she said. She walked over to her dresser and took a tin box out of one of the drawers. In it was her vast and well-used sewing kit. Hazel set the box on the vanity and rifled through its contents until she found two large safety pins. "Right, come here, then. I can sort this for you." She knelt beside him and carefully gathered a bit of the fabric at the kilt's waist, folding it over just above one of the pleats in front. While she knelt there, her eye caught another discolored mark on the inside of Stuart's right thigh, just above the knee. She lifted the hem of the kilt enough to look at the mark, then she sighed and rolled her eyes. "Has he gnawed you all over your body?"
Stuart only grinned.
"Christ," she muttered. "I raised a bloody cannibal." But she was laughing just the same. It pleased her that their relationship was so intensely sensual, even after being together for over a year. It gave her hope that they would share passionate affection for a long time to come.
Turning her attention back to the task at hand, she stabbed a pin into the soft wool of the kilt's waistband and closed the head over the sharp end. "How's that?"
Stuart moved around again, twisting and wiggling. "Feels good. Does it look all right?"
"I folded it right at this pleat," she said. "You can't tell unless you're looking for it." She stood behind him and squinted at his reflection head on, making sure the garment still laid flat in the right places. She held his lean hips in her hands affectionately and gave him a little tickle while he stood there.
"Oi," he admonished, grinning. "No gropin'. I'll tell your son."
She chuckled. "You're no fun." She turned him around so she could see the back and of course, she took the opportunity to give his ass a little smack.
"That's it!" he cried. "Call the police! My mother-in-law's molesting me."
Laughing, Hazel sat down at her vanity again. She looked him up and down approvingly. "Now all you need is the jacket, yeah?"
"Well, that and the sporran and the belt. And the tie. But it's too warm to wear all that gear right now. I'll just bring it with me to my parents'."
"Will you show it to me all together once?" she said hopefully.
Stuart shrugged and walked over to put on the thick black belt. The silver buckle glinted in the lamplight and she squinted at the small design etched into the smooth surface.
"What is that?" she said. "Come closer, I can't see it from here."
Stuart fastened the belt then walked over to her. "It's called a Sheillah buckle," he told her. "It's an Irish Brigade thing. Long story. It was my grandfather's."
She smiled at him, feeling warmed by all the traditions he was observing. "You're still surprising me, Stuart Jones. I never knew you were so . . ."
"Irish?" he teased, walking back over to the hanger to slip into the black jacket. It was heavy wool and was adorned with polished silver buttons. He tied the purse-like sporran around his waist and placed it in the center of the kilt. After he'd adjusted and smoothed everything out, he reached for the last accessory--the black silk bow tie. "I'll need your help with this, too. I know how to do it, but I've never been able to do it on myself." He handed her the tie and she stood behind him to put it on.
Once again they faced each other in the standing mirror as Hazel's fingers moved deftly to knot the tie. She worked slowly, savoring the handsome, elegant figure he presented. He smirked with an almost bashful glint in his eyes.
"Stop lookin' at me like that, woman," he muttered.
"Cope it out. I'm gonna be lookin' at you like this all day, you cheeky sod. Is that too tight?" she said about the tie.
"It's fine. Looks good, yeah?"
She placed her fingers on his shoulders and took a good long look at his reflection. Her voice was low, almost an awed whisper. "Good lord, kid," she said. "You're bloody gorgeous. Like a Celtic god. I'd marry you in a heartbeat."
He held her gaze in the mirror and his expression softened very slightly. "Thanks."
Just as she was about to start crying again, the phone rang. She patted his shoulders then walked over to the bedside table to pick up the extension there. "Hello?"
"Mum?"
"Hiya, luv. Where are you lads?"
"Well," Vince sounded a bit anxious, but then he often did. He was on his mobile and she could hear the sounds of traffic in the background. The connection was a bit weak, like his battery might be running low. "Bernie's car just stopped dead on the A523. We're right outside Alderley Edge and we haven't even got to the flower market yet."
"Vinnie," Hazel said, keeping her voice steady and cheerful so as not to alarm Stuart. "It's after two o'clock, luv. You need to get back here."
"I know . . . we've phoned for a tow-truck and we've got to wait. We're taking Bernie's car to a mechanic and then we're getting a taxi to the flower market. It won't take that much longer, Mum. Is my fianc there?"
"Yes, he's right beside me." She smiled sweetly, looking up and down at his lovely ensemble again. "You should see what he's wearing to marry you," she told Vince. "He'll take your breath away."
"He always does," Vince said a bit wistfully. "Mum, don't tell him we're having car trouble. He'll go mental. Just tell him I love him and that I'll see him at half three, all right?"
"All right," she said, still keeping her tone calm. Stuart was eyeing her keenly, though.
"Thanks. See you there, then."
"Right. See you later." She hung up the phone and folded her hands in her lap, looking at Stuart with a bright, open smile. "Well, he says he loves you and that he'll see you at half three."
"What's wrong?" Stuart said suspiciously.
"Nothing. Everything's fine."
"Hazel, you're the worst bloody liar. What the fuck is wrong?"
"Nothing at all," she insisted. "He and Bernie are just running a bit behind is all. He won't be late, don't worry."
"What's he doing, anyway?" Stuart's tone had become slightly sharp.
"Luv, you know I can't tell you that. He wants it to be a surprise."
"At least tell me where he is." He took the heavy wool jacket off again and hung it up.
Hazel considered that request, thinking it wouldn't give anything away if she told him that much. "They're in Alderley Edge," she informed him.
"What for?" A small knit appeared between his well-kept eyebrows. "What the fuck's in Alderley Edge?"
"Uh, well . . . once upon a time there was a wizard who lived there called Merlin . . ." she said, fluttering her eyelashes in mock innocence.
Stuart pursed his lips and nodded sarcastically. "Fine. Be that way." He laid on his belly on the bed and rested his chin in his hand. "I can wait."
"There's a good lad," she said, softly rearranging his long black curls on the top of his head. They felt like spirals of satin yarn. "I take it you're leaving your hair wild like this for the ceremony?"
"Vince wouldn't have it any other way."
She sighed. "Your mother will have a conniption. She told me herself, she thinks you look like a street urchin with this unruly mop."
"She's my mother," he said. "It's her job to never be happy with anything."
"All right, then," Hazel smiled. "Get out of here so I can get my dress on. Then we'll head off to your parents'. Do you want to ring them and see if they need anything?"
He held out his hand for the phone and she gave it to him as she stood up.
Hazel went to the wardrobe and opened it, taking out the new dress she'd bought for her son's wedding. It was a deep, jewel-toned blue silk, with a tea-length hem and a soft ribbon sash that tied in a big bow at the back. It had simple short sleeves and a conservative V- neck. She had the perfect hat for it, as well. Wide brimmed blue straw with a matching blue ribbon and a silk rose tucked against the band. Uncomplicated and elegant--very Mother of the Groom. Her shoes were blue satin flats with a slightly pointed toe. Dressy but still comfortable enough for dancing. Hazel was very pleased with the outfit.
She laid the dress out on the bed while Stuart rang his parents. He sat with his back to her while he spoke to his father and she felt safe enough to slip out of her robe and put the dress on before he turned around and caught her in her knickers. She smiled as he and Clive joked about the kilts and how Ben and Thom were going to be holy terrors in them all evening. Clive must have told Stuart everything was in order because he didn't even ask about the wedding preparations going on at his parents' house. Stuart asked if they needed him to stop for anything on the way but was apparently told no.
"Right, okay then," Stuart said, glancing back at her. His expression brightened when he saw her dress and he smiled approvingly. "We'll see you in a bit. I'm on my mobile if anything comes up at the last minute. Yeah. Okay, Dad. See you." He hung up the phone then walked around the foot of the bed to get a better look at her. "Hazel, that's lovely. It's a very posh frock."
"I'm glad you like it, luv," she said modestly. "I thought the color was nice. Will you zip me?" Hazel turned around and held her belly in while he wriggled the zipper up her back.
"Where's your hat?" he said. "You'd better have one. If you don't wear one, I can't make Kate wear one. And making her wear a hat is one of the little pleasures of my day today."
She giggled. "Ah, I can just imagine how lovely your wicked Kate will look tonight." Hazel walked over to the vanity and opened the hatbox sitting there. Folding back the tissue paper inside, she gently extracted her hat and placed it on her head. She sat down again, picking up her comb and primping her freshly curled hair to fit nicely under the brim. Stuart leaned over and smiled at her reflection. "You look like royalty."
"Mm. The royal gardener, maybe." She laughed as she continued to arrange her hair. "Luv, will you get my handbag and my shoes out of the wardrobe. They're in that black zipper bag hanging by my coat." She put on her earrings and a simple string of pearls, then--last of all--she put on some dark pink lipstick. Scooting around on the vanity seat, she turned to face him as he brought her shoes. "Thank you, darlin'. I'll just shove these on and we'll be off. Do your folks need anything?"
"Nope. My father said everything was fine. Sister Anne just got there and she's having tea with my mother on the deck."
"Just like any old ordinary Saturday, right?" Hazel said, winking at him. She tugged her shoes on then stood up, standing in front of the long mirror again. "Well?" she asked. "This is as good as it gets, I'm afraid."
She expected him to say something--give her a compliment or at least take the piss about that big ruffly bow in the back of the dress--but he said nothing. When she glanced back at him, Stuart was sitting sort of frozen on the edge of the bed, staring into space. He looked like he was hearing something from very far away and trying desperately to discern the origin of the sound.
"Stuart?" she said, walking over to him and touching his face gently with her hands. "Are you all right, luv?"
He blinked slowly and then he seemed to come back to her. Looking up, he offered a slightly bewildered smile.
"What?" she insisted.
"I . . . dunno, really. I just felt . . . sort of strange for a second. Like I could . . ." He trailed off and then he shook his head as though trying to clear some inner fog. "Never mind. I probably just need to have something to eat." He stood up and took another look at her. "Fantastic," he said, smiling. "You're a vision." He kissed her cheek and she noted that he felt a bit clammy. He gathered the rest of the accessories for his outfit and zipped them into his garment bag, then he headed toward the stairs.
Hazel watched him intently until he turned around at the landing and then she repeated her original question. "Are you all right, Stuart?"
"Yes," he said and he SEEMED all right then. But a moment before when she'd looked in his eyes, he had been a million miles away.
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Brian:
Brian extended his long legs out in front of him. At least in first class there was enough room for him to stretch his tall frame all the way out comfortably.
"Nice nap?" Michael said.
"Yeah. God, I was totally out." He squinted out the window and tried to gauge the time of day. "How long did I sleep?"
"A couple hours. It's almost four o'clock. Well, in the UK. I haven't reset my watch to PA time yet."
"We're getting back to Pittsburgh around the same time of day we left England," Brian said. "Theoretically, this is a forty minute flight."
Michael frowned, working that out in his head. "Wait. Oh . . . that is so WEIRD. No wonder people get wigged out on jet lag." He looked at Brian then and his expression melted into an empathetic smile. "Christ, this is going to be the longest Saturday in the history of the world for you!"
Brian smirked. "Probably serves me right."
Michael looked at his watch again. "The wedding's in an hour," he said softly.
He nodded absently. Glancing down the aisle, Brian caught the eye of a pretty brunette flight attendant. She acknowledged him with a smile then came down to his seat. "Can I get a bottle of Evian and a Bass Ale, please?" he asked. "Mikey, do you want anything?"
"That sounds good," he said. "I'll have the same."
The attendant nodded and went off to get their drinks.
"I'll be right back." Brian took the blanket off his lap and stood up stiffly beside his seat. He tugged his jeans where the dried semen made the fabric stick to his belly and Michael snickered.
"How long has it been since that happened to you?"
"Not since my early twenties. Back in a minute." Brian walked down the aisle and slipped into the lav, closing the door on the small chamber solidly. He leaned on the counter and splashed water on his face, then dried it with a rough paper towel. Using that same damp towel, he unbuttoned his jeans and reached in to wipe away the slightly tacky moisture in his shorts. He couldn't help but smile as he remembered his very vivid dream of Stuart.
"Isn't this the final irony," he muttered bitterly, tossing the soiled towel into the trash slot in the counter. His bladder wasn't full, he'd just wanted to get cleaned up. Flipping the lav lock, he slipped out into the aisle and went back to his seat just as the attendant was delivering their drinks.
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Vince:
After the fiasco with Bernie's car breaking down and the taxi picking them up a half hour late from the flower market, Vince was frantic as he left their flat on Mariners Court. His mobile battery had fizzled out while he was on hold with the taxi company so he'd been unable to call Stuart and let him know everything was all right. He felt certain his temperamental lover had already begun throwing things at his parents' house.
Racing out the door, Vince was dressed in his wedding finery and he was good-naturedly ogled as he rushed passed the caterers and bar staff that were in the last stages of setting up for the reception. Bernie had come with him to the flat and he held the cab while Vince did his business upstairs.
"Come on, lad!" Bernie demanded. "We've got to get you to the church on time!"
Vince scrambled into the cab and Bernie leapt in after him, barely getting the door closed as the taxi sped away from the curb.
It was 4:15.
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Stuart:
Whenever he got really panicked, Stuart went quiet.
At 3:45 he'd rang Vince's mobile for the fifth time but the call was once again answered by voicemail. After that, he'd begun ranting to anyone that got near enough to him--even though most everyone who had gathered early at the Jones's house were giving him plenty of room.
By 4:00, Stuart was red in the face from his almost constant verbal explosions. At ten past, he went into the side garden and unleashed a full-blown tantrum--yelling and throwing around empty boxes, plastic lawn chairs, a rubber hose, broken hunks of a terracotta pot--anything that wasn't nailed down got hurled this way and that. His father came out after a few minutes and brought him back inside, walking his inconsolable son over to the couch.
"Margaret, get the boy a drink," he'd said, sitting Stuart down.
Margaret Jones had been watching her son warily ever since the worst of his outburst began. Once he'd started swearing in Gaelic, she sent the boys out to the back garden with Marie. Then she had gone to the kitchen at her husband's request and brought Stuart a double vodka.
"Drink this," she'd said, her voice quiet and soothing.
At that point, Stuart had been nearly hyperventilating. He looked at his watch for the thousandth time and then he took the glass from his mother, knocking back its contents in one gulp.
Hazel sat on the arm of the couch and heaved an impatient, disapproving sigh. Stuart scowled at her irritably. "Hazel," he snapped. "Where the fuck is he?"
"I told you, he's coming," she said. "If you think he'd miss this-- you're bloody daft. Worse than daft, you're STUPID! He's on his way, Stuart. Now come upstairs with me and let me fix your clothes. You've gone and made a mess of yourself."
"I'm not moving from this bloody spot until he gets here!!" he shouted.
"Oh, for fuck's sake," Haze said, turning on her heel and walking back to the dining room. She had clearly had enough of him.
Margaret took the shot glass out of his hand and went to the kitchen to fill it again.
4:35 and still no Vince.
Stuart tried to steady his breathing. After his mother brought him a second drink, he didn't say anything else for a long time.
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Vince:
Hazel stood on the Jones's front porch as the taxi screeched to a halt in their driveway. Vince jumped out of the cab, then turned back as Bernie got out behind him.
"I'm sorry, Bernie. Have you got the fare?"
"Of course I do, luv," Bernie said, shooing Vince toward the house. "Go!"
Vince smiled gratefully then bolted for the porch. It was 4:48.
"Mum," he said breathlessly as he took the front porch steps in one lunge. "Is he all right? My mobile battery was dead after all that with the car. I would have stopped to ring him but that would have just made me more late Is he . . ?"
She put her hands on his shoulders and squeezed, looking right in his eyes. "Calm down, luv. You're not late. You've got ten minutes. Weddings never start right on time, anyway."
Vince looked at his mother and sighed, his eyes sliding closed. "Christ, he's gone mental, hasn't he? Tell me the truth."
"He's a bit . . . anxious," she said. "But he'll be fine now that he knows you're here. Right, come inside with me. Let's get you all sorted and get you out to the garden." She opened the door and stuck her head in, looking down the hallway toward the lounge. Vince pressed in behind her and looked over her shoulder.
Margaret rushed down the hallway in a flurry of flowing dark blue velvet. She and Hazel were wearing the same color and Vince wondered vaguely if they'd planned to do so. He smiled to himself as he mentally named the color `mother of the groom blue'.
"Oh, thank GOD!" Margaret said in her lovely Irish accent. "Vince, am I ever happy to see you!" She reached over Hazel's shoulder and grabbed Vince's face, pulling him in for a firm, emphatic kiss. "Are you all right?"
"Yeah," he said, and he was. In fact, Vince had never felt better in his entire life. "I just need to straighten up a bit. Is Stuart all right? I mean, really. He's not busy killing himself or anything?"
"Oh, of course he's all right," Margaret said but he didn't miss the look that passed between the two women. "Come on, you go up to our room and get yourself together. I'll go let everyone know the ceremony will start on time."
"Is everyone here?" Vince asked as he and Hazel started for the staircase.
"Everyone and then some," she said, smiling. "We've got a full house. Now, go on." Margaret touched his cheek and gave him a sweet smile and then she was off down the hall again.
Hazel preceded him up the steep stairs and that was the first time he really got a look at her dress.
"You look lovely, Mum," he said, still catching his breath.
Glancing back over her shoulder, she winked at him. "Cheers, luv. I quite like this dress myself. You don't think I look too mumsy, then?"
"Not a bit. You look very sophisticated."
Once they reached the landing, he led the way to Clive and Margaret's bedroom. He hadn't been in there for years, but he remembered right where it was. He and Stuart used to lie on their bed after school and listen to the radio. For some reason, the music always sounded better in there than in the lounge on the bigger stereo.
He walked up to the dresser mirror and looked himself over. Not too bad, really, all things considered. His tie was a bit crooked and he needed to smooth out his jacket, but otherwise he was no worse for the wear of rushing across town.
Hazel stood behind him and reached around to see to his tie. Gently she parked her chin on his shoulder. "Look at you, all ponced up. Can't believe you're the same bloke that left my house this morning dressed in sweatpants and holey Dr. Who t-shirt."
He blushed and looked down as he smiled. "Is it all right?"
"Perfect," she said. "Turn around."
She smoothed his black double-breasted jacket and then adjusted his tie one last time. He'd gone with a basic but elegant black tuxedo and a cream silk shirt--the pure white one he'd tried on had made him look a bit sallow. After ages of deliberation, Vince had to ask Kate her opinion on which tie he should wear. She suggested the long tie, rather than the bow tie, since it was an early evening garden wedding. He'd been a bit hesitant, thinking it wouldn't look formal enough, but once he'd seen it all put together, he'd liked it.
Standing there in Stuart's parents' bedroom, he smiled at his image in the mirror. If he had to say so himself, Vince thought he looked right sharp.
Hazel leaned on the dresser very near to him and just sighed. "Look at you," she said again.
Vince couldn't stop smiling. His cheeks ached a little from the pressure of it.
"I've never seen you so happy," his mother told him.
"I've never been so happy." He put his arms around her waist and pulled her into a tight, loving hug. "Never though I'd see this day in my lifetime. Mum, thank you for everything you did puttin' the ceremony together. And for keeping my mad boyfriend from killing anyone this afternoon."
"Oh, well . . ." she said, hedging playfully. "Then I'll not mention the three body bags in the side garden. Just ignore them. Coroner's on his way to collect them."
He chuckled. "Ah, no. Was he that bad?"
Hazel shook her head. "Let's just say, he was a bit . . . unstable." She laughed and the sound of it rang in Vince's ears like a bell. "He was typical bloody Stuart! No surprises, that's for sure." She picked up his left wrist and looked at his watch. "Oh, this is it, luv. Five o'clock on the dot." Taking his face in her hands again, she touched their foreheads together. "Ready?"
Through the bedroom windows, Vince could hear the soft sound of a guitar. He knew the player was a close friend of Margaret's and he also knew there were other musicians down there, as well. Vince knew there was also a pipe player and a flutist--both friends of Romey's from the university--all to accompany Clive's mother. Stuart had asked his grandmother to sing his favorite folk song as they walked down the aisle.
He could also hear the happy murmuring voices of the guests as they waited for the ceremony to begin. Closing his eyes briefly, he could actually discern a few of them. Kate, Alexander, Reb and Andie, Dane and Lisa. Judith called her husband's name and then Sandra's laughter sprinkled over all the others momentarily and he opened his eyes with a smile.
"Right," he said. "I reckon it's time. Shall we?"
Hazel took her son's arm and they started down the stairs.
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