‘Not,’ he replies, sliding his free hand into the inner pocket of his jacket and pulling out his phone. ‘We’re here,’ he says, ending the call almost as quickly as he started it.
‘Did you check the times?’ I point at the signage demoting the business hours. We’re five minutes away from the office closing.Did I get gussied up for nothing?
‘Do you have your passport?’
‘Yes. Why?’
‘Let’s take a seat at the counter.’
‘The closed counter?’
‘Trust me, it won’t be long.’
He barely has the words out of his mouth when a man on the other side of the counter bustles up.
‘Mr Beckett, I assume.’
‘Ah, wonderful. Mr Smith.’ The pair shakes hands before the newcomer extends the welcome to me.
‘Ms Welland,’ he says by way of greeting, shaking my hand vigorously as he beams. ‘Thank you both so much for your patience. I have your paperwork here and your judical waiver!’ He waggles said paperwork before setting it down. ‘Now, if I can get you both to read through the documentation and sign in the appropriate sections, we can get to the fun bit.’
The forms are pretty basic, though I’m surprised to see my details already filled out.Name. Date of birth. Address. No one asked me for this stuff! Other than these, there are a few other details that jump out at me.
Beckett, at thirty-nine, is twelve years older than me, and a few years older than he looks.
He was married and divorced eight years ago.
His name? Alexander William Beckett III
‘You look good for an old man,’ I whisper, resolutely keeping my gaze on the form.
‘And you’re angling to be pulled over my knee,younglady.’
Unfortunately, he doesn’t keep his voice to a murmur as he answers. I’m not sure who’s more embarrassed—the clerk or me.
Forms are signed and passports are produced before we’re led down the hall by our new best friend, who has slipped on his suit jacket and is regaling us with the details of a recent refurbishment, including the addition of stylish new restrooms.Yeah, really.
‘How did you get them to marry us after hours?’ I whisper, wrapping my hand around Beckett’s bicep, who happens to still be holding my hand.If we’re only playing, I’m going to make the most of it.
‘I find you can fix most problems by throwing a little money at them. Though on this occasion, it’s more a case of who you know rather thanwhat.’
‘Friends in high places?’
‘Something like that.’
We enter the west chapel, though the room isn’t very chapel-like at all. It’s a modern space; the walls painted a pale shade of apricot and the light fixtures a modern take on Art Deco. A lectern stands at the far end of the room, our companion taking pride of place behind it with a wide smile.As far as civil servant positions go, he must have a great job, I think to myself. All the happiness and none of the heartache. Well, except for the admin.
The ceremony is short. Actually, that might be an understatement—a couple of minutes tops, words going by in a blur, our so-called solemn declarations.
Love. Honour. Cherish. Keep the bonds of matrimony. I follow the vows as dictated to me, feeling nothing before Beckett does the same.
‘I, Alexander,’ he begins gravely, ‘take you, Olivia, to be my spouse.’
I’m not crying.
Maybe I have hay fever, judging by the telltale prickling of my nose.
‘To have and to hold from this day forward.’
