Stuart:I’ll pass that on.
Angus:…
Stuart:Don’t worry, your baby is safe with me. We’re dressing her as we speak and doesn’t she look bloody gorgeous.
A picture of the main barn pops up in our chat. There she is. Sun-dazzled beams, exposed brick wall, the floor I re-laid on my hands and knees, polished until it shone. Every time, it takes my breath away. I zoom in. And again, frowning. That’s…
Stuart picks up on the first ring.
“It’s your neighbourhood fairy godmother speaking. How can I help you?”
“Why the fuck is the barn purple?”
“Should it not be?” he asks, feigning innocence.
I growl. “You and I both know that the bride asked for magenta, not lilac.” I want to run headfirst into a tree. Two years ago, I was a respectable farmer, a man of the land. Today, I’m worrying about fucking swatches.
How low I’ve sunk.
Stuart sighs. “Angus. Am I not right now going out of my way to save your bacon, dropping my life and my responsibilities to help you?”
“Yes.”
“And of the two of us, am I not the one who is more likely to know what colour the bride wants, given that I am not only here, but also have a Masters in Graphic Design from Central St Martin’s, unlike you, the straight neanderthal with a Bachelors in Animal Husbandry who has barely left his farm in four years, and who I for some ungodly reason keep referring to as my best friend?”
I don’t have a chance to reply. His voice lashes me down the phone. I’m sure if we were in the same room, we’d be chest to chest while he poked me in the breastbone with his index finger the way he likes to do when he’s feeling feisty.
“And” – I can feel it coming, thepiece de resistance, and I roll my eyes, which I know he can feel even from this manymiles away – “most importantly, am I not more likely to know what colour the bride wants given thatI am the fucking wedding planner?”
“She changed her mind then,” I say into the silence that follows.
Stuart takes a deep breath. “She changed her mind. And, as we all know, what the bride wants, the bride gets. So. Any more criticism of my work, or can we go back to you being eternally grateful?”
“You get a cut of the wedding, same as we do.”
“I’m going to hang up on you.”
I resist the urge to keep winding him up. “How are Mason and Ross getting on? Have they burned anything to the ground yet?”
I wish I was exaggerating, but I’m forever scarred by the Christmas my twin brothers somehow got their hands on our Da’s gun, emptied the gunpowder from the cartridges and burned an entire bale of hay, as well as both their eyebrows, narrowly avoiding setting any of the actual farm on fire in the process.
Needless to say, Christmas was cancelled that year.
“They’re about as useful as sheep trying to knit, but you can’t fault their enthusiasm.” I can hear Stuart’s shrug down the phone. “How goes the walk? When are you back again?”
“Weather’s been good,” I tell him, looking at the sky, which has a few scudding clouds, but is mostly clear. “Bit of rain yesterday, but clear today. Should be back with you Friday morning.”
Stuart hmms under his breath. “And how areyoudoing?”
I stretch out my legs and take a deep breath, filling my lungs. “Alright, y’know. Knee’s not playing up too much. Not as fit as I was, but this body’s seen worse days.”
“Angus. I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m here for you. I wish this bloody wedding was on any other bloodyweekend, but I hope this week gives you what you need.” He pauses. “And if you ever do crawl out of your man cave and decide it’s time to develop a modicum of emotional availability, you know where I am. Okay?”
“Okay.”
I hang up. There were so many offers at first: a shoulder, a cup of tea, a hankie, in case you need a bit of a cry. Do you want to talk? Can I do anything? Maybe you should see a therapist?
Over time, they dried up. My ex-girlfriend Violet, who was always asking me to open up, finally left, the way she was always going to. The way people do.
