Chapter Twenty-Eight
BEA
‘What’s wrong, deary?’ June’s voice pops up from her purple wheelchair. ‘You having boyfriend trouble?’
How about boyfriend troubles, plural? How aboutex-boyfriends trouble multiplied by two!
‘Aye, lads are like buses. They never arrive but in twos.’
FML for saying that out loud. Thankfully, no one but June seems to be listening; all caught up in other conversations—discussions that sound like a who’s who.
‘How are you, June?’ I ask, crouching down to her level. She’s only recently begun using a wheelchair following a stroke. A big adjustment for anyone, but as I understand it, June was more active than most her age. Besides, I often think staring up people’s noses must get old. But more than this, being on this level provides me an excuse not to cause a scene because I swear to all that is holy, if Jon puts tries to hold my hand once more, I’m going to amputate the fucker and shove it up his ass.
He’d arrived a little while ago, right as we were heading to the chapel. Dylan had baby Alisdair wrapped in one arm as the bastard strode towards our group, full of his usual confidence and urbane charm.
Speechless didn’t even cover it—it took me a minute to find words.
People. So many people. Many of them famous.
‘What are you doing here?’I’d demanded through gritted teeth as he’d leaned close enough to kiss me on the cheek. I’d turned my head, of course. He’s lucky we had an audience, or I might’ve given him one of Natasha’s Glasgow kisses.As in, nutted him.
His smile had faltered before it was pushed back in place. ‘Why, I’ve had the invitation on my fridge for months!’ Then, hand outstretched, he turned to Dylan to tell him how big a fan of his he was.
Liar. All the lies! Dissembler extraordinaire!
He’d greeted everyone in turn—introducing himself as my bloody boyfriend! Only Fin looked confused. What was I to do? Cause a scene by yelling he wasn’t? I had to make a decision right there and then, and I’d decided I’d deal with him after the service when I could get him on his own. And beat him to death with the soggy end of his dismembered arm.
Only, it hadn’t happened like that. Jon inserted himself in the middle of the crowd, like the coward he is, and I wasn’t going to drag him out.
‘What’s he doing here?’Fin had whispered as we’d left the chapel following the service.
My answer? ‘I think he has a death wish.’
June’s warm, papery hand pats mine again, bringing me back to our conversation.
‘Speaking of boys, I see you brought your toy boy.’ I send her a cheeky wink, hoping it’s more convincing than my smile.
‘That’s Sam, my nurse,’ she says, patting my hand again. ‘He’s nice to look at, but I can’t think why he’d want a job wiping my bum.’
‘Because you’re the coolest older person this side of Keith Richards, June,’ Sam says with a kindly smile.
‘And you’re better looking,’ adds her granddaughter, Nat. ‘Where’s the food being served? I’m Hank Marvin.’Rhyming slang.She means starving; why people can’t just stick to English is perplexing.
‘Is Hank Marvin here?’ asks a perked-up June. ‘I used to love his records. You know the ones, hen! He was in that group.’ She makes a motion with her hand as though she can grab the words in the air as they pass. ‘The... the dementors!’
‘That’s Harry Potter, June. Your man Hank was in The Shadows.’
‘Was he?’ she asks, turning her head to look both left and right. ‘What’s he doing hiding, then?’
‘Let’s take you for another spin around the gardens, hey?’ This from Sam again. Poor June. She looks a little perplexed.
‘Aye,’ she agrees. ‘That sounds lovely.’
As Sam pushes her away, they pass Ivy, Dylan, and the star of the show, baby Alastair.
‘I seen his boaby,’ June tells her nurse, making a mildly obscene gesture with her arm as they pass. ‘It’s like a baby elephant’s trunk—holding an apple at the end!’
As I straighten, Jon reaches for my hand. Again.
