by Anna Martin
Later in the afternoon, the second photographer would turn up, the one who had been brought in to take pictures of the wedding. During the day, though, Henry’s own photographer was following him around the house like a shadow, taking hundreds of pictures ready to be added to the website for the house.
When his phone rang, it was a good excuse to dodge the shadow and disappear into the freezing December air.
“Hello?”
“Hey, gorgeous,” Ryan said, his voice light with excitement. “I’ve just picked mum and dad up from the airport. We’re going back to the house now so they can have a shower and get changed.”
“Okay,” Henry said. He checked his watch and allowed himself a second of panic about how late it was getting. “I’m going to have to get changed here. I don’t have time to meet you at home. Could you bring my suit over?”
“No worries,” Ryan said. Henry could hear Ryan’s parents—his in-laws—fuck—talking in the background. He still hadn’t met them. At Christmas, Mr. and Mrs. Burgess had accepted an invitation from a friend to spend three weeks skiing in the Swiss Alps. They’d spent a big, messy, silly holiday at Stella’s house, the four adults working behind the bar at the pub for a few hours over lunchtime, then going back to Stella’s cottage for a late lunch. It had been like no Christmas Henry had ever had before. He’d loved every minute of it.
“You still there?”
“Yeah, sorry,” Henry said. “Just thinking too much. Stella will be here in a minute with her entourage, and I still need to get a room set up for her.”
“Stella’s fine. You don’t need to worry.”
“Not worrying,” Henry insisted. “I’m being organised. I’ll see you later, yeah?”
“Yup. Laters.”
Stella arrived on her own, which was even worse, because Henry was forced to entertain her. She’d had her hair pinned up and adorned with flowers. It was perfect, bright and bold, just like she was. And despite the fact that it was her wedding day, she insisted on helping get the house ready, and because he was pressed for time, Henry agreed.
Ryan arrived next, without his parents but with Henry’s suit.
“Thanks,” Henry said, accepting the suit bag and ushering Ryan in from the cold, giving him a quick kiss on his cold cheek that Ryan turned into something more.
“I need to go change,” Henry said, laughing as he pushed Ryan away, aware that he was probably flushed now too.
“Want a hand with all those buttons?”
“You can probably undo them quicker than I can do them up.”
Ryan gave him a lascivious grin. “That was the idea.”
“No! Too busy. Go find Stella.”
Once changed into his grey suit and crisp white shirt, Henry set about looking for the brother and sister duo that would be causing no end of trouble if left unattended for too long. His first stop was the kitchen, and he was more than a little surprised to find Ryan not there. Usually, Ryan took it upon himself to “test” any food that was left too close to him.
They were in the parlour room—Nell’s room. Ryan had obviously found a bottle of champagne from somewhere, and they were drinking it out of the wrong kind of glasses, not that Henry minded. Not really.
“Come here. I’ve got you a glass,” Ryan said, patting the love seat next to him.
Stella was changed into her dress, which they had bought from a boutique in Bristol. It was a long column of grey silk, the pattern mixed with white and gold and peach and a bright yellow that stopped the whole thing looking too much like a fairy tale. It was elegant enough to be a wedding dress and simple enough to show off the fact that she was a thirty-six-year-old bride with a child who didn’t give a fuck.
The colours in the dress perfectly matched the flowers in her hair and the soft silver polish that coated her fingernails. She wasn’t a woman who wore a lot of makeup. The delicate blush on her cheeks and gloss on her lips was more than enough to complete the picture.
“You look amazing,” Henry said as he accepted the glass of champagne and took the opportunity to sit down for the first time in… hours.
“Thanks,” she said, grinning. “You look pretty dashing yourself.”
Henry laughed. “So, this is it. The calm before the storm.”
“There will be no storm,” Stella said emphatically. “It’ll ruin the fireworks.”
“Okay. No storm.”
“Mum and Dad are on their way, they’ll be here any minute,” she told him.
In response, Henry downed the rest of his champagne. Ryan squeezed his knee and leaned in to kiss him.
“They’re going to love you,” he said. “Both of them are so excited to meet you.” His phone chimed, and he grinned as he read it, raising his eyebrows and giving Henry another kiss before going to get the door.
“Look,” Stella told him, topping off both their glasses. “Think of it this way. Even if they hate you, and they won’t, but if they do—fuck it. They live in Spain for forty-eight weeks of the year. You’ll never have to see them. And Ryan worships the ground you walk on, no matter what Mum and Dad think. So relax.”
“I’ll try.”
The first surprise of the day was Shenal turning up with Paul.
Stretton House wasn’t allowed to hold religious ceremonies, so the vicar had been invited as a guest, rather than the one conducting the service. Apparently, he was more than happy with this. There were very few weddings he got to attend without being involved.
Even though the two of them had been invited separately, Shenal arrived in Paul’s car and held his hand as they took their seats for the ceremony. Henry noticed and elbowed Ryan in the ribs, nodding toward the happy couple, who were busy staring intently into each other’s eyes.
“I knew it,” Ryan whispered.
“I knew it before you did!” Henry exclaimed, affronted at the suggestion.
“Did not.”
“Did too.”
“Did not.”
“Shh. Here comes the bride.”
Another one of Stella’s insistences was that the ceremony would be very short. They exchanged vows, rings, kisses, then in true Stella style, announced that the bar was open. It took a while for Henry to relax. He was worried about the house and about the wedding and whether other people were having a good time.
It was only when Ryan dragged him into the hallway closet and thoroughly kissed him that he forgot anything outside of Ryan’s lips and strangely tickling fingertips even existed.
Much later in the evening, Ryan’s mom—Henry wasn’t comfortable thinking of her as June just yet—cornered him.
“Come walk with me,” she demanded, threading her arm through his and leading him out to the back of the house. Henry followed obediently into the freezing night air and pressed the button to light up one of the portable heaters they’d borrowed from the pub for the night. It worked on a timer, and clearly there hadn’t been anyone out here in a while.
“Do you smoke?” Ryan’s mom asked.
“I try not to,” Henry said, his voice holding an apology.
“Terrible habit,” she said as she pulled a tin of tobacco from her pocket and deftly rolled a cigarette. “I only do it when I’m back. Lord only knows why. Too hot to smoke out there.”
She lit it, inhaled, then passed it to Henry, who took a few puffs and handed it back. He was reluctant to admit—aloud or to himself—quite how good it felt.
“I like you, Henry. I might have only just met you, but I get a feel for people sometimes. And I get a good feeling from you.”
“Thanks.”
June laughed and wrapped her arms around herself in an attempt at protection from the cold. She looked just like Stella, just a little older. Henry wondered if either June or Stella would appreciate being told that.
“I love him, very much.,” Henry said when June didn’t elaborate. “I want you to know that. People are already saying that we only got married so I could stay here and run the business, but that’s not true.”<
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“It’s a beautiful house,” June said. “A wonderful gift. I knew of Nell, of course. Everyone around here did. I’m sorry I couldn’t get back for the funeral.”
“That’s okay. It was organised very quickly.”
“You don’t need to justify your relationship with my son to me, Henry.”
“I—uh. Thanks. I think.” He accepted the cigarette, inhaled, passed it back, and realised there was maybe a tiny hint of marijuana in it. Henry pressed his lips together to stop himself from laughing—Ryan’s mom was hilarious.
“Did you know he was gay?” Henry blurted before he could stop himself.
“No,” she said lightly. “It was a little bit of a shock, at first. The thing is, and this is going to sound strange, but when I look at you, I don’t necessarily see a man. I see a person who is the most perfect partner Ryan could ever wish for. You’re his whole world.”
“And he’s mine.”
“Yes. So, I don’t think sexuality is really that big of a deal. You fit together.”
“Yeah,” Henry said softly. “We do.”
June stubbed out her laced cigarette and stuck the end in an ashtray. She reached for his hand and squeezed it.
“Henry, could I give you some advice? As a woman who has been married to a Burgess man for the past forty years.”
“Sure,” he said with a smile.
“Love with your whole heart,” she said, squeezing his hand tighter. “Talk to each other. Have lots of sex—lots—that can’t be underestimated. And whenever things get tough, and they will get tough, Henry, remember how you feel right now. That always works when I wonder why I’ve been with Dave for so long.”
“I’ll remember that,” Henry said.
“Let’s go back inside,” June said. “It’s bloody freezing out here.”
At a few minutes to midnight, everyone piled out of the house to wait for the fireworks that had been set up to go off from the far end of the grounds. It promised to be a spectacular display, and Henry turned most of the lights off in the house to prevent too much light spilling over.
The patio heaters were suddenly all on full blaze again. Even so, people huddled together for warmth. Ryan tugged Henry away from the crowd of people, off to the side where his little vegetable garden looked over the kitchen window.
“It’s too cold,” Henry muttered as they moved farther and farther away from the heaters.
“Oh, grow a pair,” Ryan told him.
“The pair I have are trying to sneak back into my body.”
Ryan snorted with amusement.
“What did my mum want with you?” he asked as he turned Henry to face the end of the garden and wrapped his body around Henry’s from behind.
Henry tucked his arms up into his sleeves and held onto the arms that were holding him. “Just to talk,” he said. “She gave me some advice about holding onto you for as long as she’s been with your dad.”
“Oh God,” Ryan sighed.
“I know,” Henry said, giggling a little. “Apparently the key is to have a lot of sex.”
Ryan was quiet for a moment. Then he said, “I could have gone my whole life without hearing that.”
As the countdown to the New Year started, Henry leaned in and kissed Ryan’s neck, then whispered in his ear. “You’ve changed my life. Do you know that?”
“You’ve changed mine too.”
The farmhouse was cold when they finally arrived home, somewhere around three in the morning. It had taken a while to usher all the party guests out of the house and back to their homes, most of them making the decision to walk rather than try to get a taxi or drive. The living room still had the embers of a fire glowing in the grate, just enough to keep Hulk warm where he was sleeping on the rug.
Ryan pulled the door closed to make sure the heat didn’t escape during the night, then followed Henry up to their bedroom.
Neither man bothered to shower before bed. They both stripped off their expensive suits and let them fall to the floor wherever they landed before rolling into bed and each other’s arms. Henry yawned widely and sought out his favourite spot on Ryan’s chest, with his head tucked under Ryan’s chin.
There was still a thrill in holding each other like this, having permission from the universe to be with each other, despite all the odds that had been consistently stacked against them.
“It was a good night,” Ryan said sleepily as his fingers combed through Henry’s hair.
“It was,” he agreed. “You can come down and help me clear up in the morning if you like.”
“Sod off.”
“Love you too.”
“Love you, Henry.”
With toes warming on each other’s legs, they drifted, snoozed, then slept.
As the sun began to rise on the first day of the New Year, Ryan Burgess held his husband close to his chest. Even though he was fast asleep, Henry was smiling.
Bonus material
The Lambing
This short story was first published in the GayRomLit 2013 anthology ‘From Atlanta, With Love’.
It was nearly 4.30 in the morning by the time Henry walked in the front door of the farmhouse, and the sun was just starting to rise over the Somerset countryside. In any other circumstances he'd stop and take notice of the gentle beauty in the first rays of light starting to creep over the hills, but, to borrow the words of his husband, he was bloody knackered.
Henry shut the door behind himself and carefully tossed his keys in the Bristol blue glass bowl they'd been given as a wedding present. It wouldn’t be long until Ryan had to get up for work so Henry tried to be quiet as he moved through the house. Then he caught the distinct sound of Ryan thundering down the stairs.
“Hi,” Ryan said, leaning in for a kiss as he pulled a hideously ugly knitted sweater down over a t-shirt. “You're late.”
“I know,” Henry said after returning the kiss. “I couldn't kick them all out until after three, then we had to clear up and I offered to drop the girls home so they didn't have to walk.”
“How chivalrous of you.”
“I thought so.”
Henry was the owner of Stretton House, a large country manor he'd inherited from his great-grandmother. When he'd first arrived in Cheddar from New York the house had been in a poor state of disrepair and he'd spent several months restoring it to its former glory. Now, he ran events and weddings on the weekends, and opened the house up to paying visitors for tours during the week. It was a job he loved doing, in a house he loved owning. But the late nights were a killer.
“What are you doing up so early?” Henry asked.
“Mr. Jones called,” Ryan said. “Several of his ewes have gone into labour, he wants me to help with the lambing.”
“You are joking.”
“Nope. Sadly not.”
“That's disgusting. I thought there was a reason you don't have sheep.”
It was true. Ryan kept a variety of different animals on the farm, but they were there for educational purposes, not to try and make a profit.
Ryan shrugged. “Lambing season means all hands on deck. Mr. Jones will help us out when it comes to harvest if we need extra help. It's just the way things work around here.”
He picked up the keys to his truck and leaned in for another kiss, then allowed himself to be distracted when Henry slid his tongue into Ryan's mouth and his fingers into Ryan's hair, slowing things down and taking more than he'd been offered.
“Don't let the dog on the bed,” Ryan said after he'd pulled away, then peppered more kisses on Henry's lips.
“I won't,” Henry said, lying. “Have fun.”
Ryan snorted with amusement, gave him one last kiss, and left.
The big farmhouse was eerily quiet with him gone.
Henry trudged up the stairs, heading for the attic bedroom that they most often slept in. When he passed Ryan's room, the master bedroom Ryan had used before Henry had moved in, he noticed that the sheets were rumpled and the big, old sheepdog w
as sleeping in the corner. Apparently Ryan had slept there.
Quickly changing his plans, Henry went into Ryan's bathroom and took a shower, washing the smell of sweat and beer from his body, and leaving his beautiful Hugo Boss suit in a pile on the floor. Once clean, he found a pair of Ryan's boxers and crawled in between sheets that still smelled like the man he loved.
For a moment he inhaled and let his body relax for the first time in hours. Then he whistled for the dog.
Hulk didn't need to be asked twice and leapt up onto the bed with more enthusiasm than Henry thought he could muster. Henry rubbed the dog's shaggy head and fell easily to sleep.
Later; much, much later, Henry heard Ryan come back in.
“If you try to get into this bed while smelling like sheep uterus I might have to kill you,” Henry muttered, stretching and rolling over on to the cool side of the sheets.
“I've already showered at Mr. Jones's.”
“Shower again,” Henry said darkly.
He didn't bother to wait for Ryan's reaction, but a few moments later the water started, so Henry guessed he'd been obeyed. While Ryan washed Henry dozed, and was woken again when the bed shifted and Ryan crawled in behind him.
“Have you any idea how late it is?” Ryan asked as he scooped Henry up in his arms, neatly spooning him and pressing whisper light kisses to Henry's shoulder.
“Not a clue.”
“It's late. You missed church.”
“How tragic,” Henry said around a wide yawn. Ryan chuckled. “How many sheep babies did you deliver?”
“Six. I'm sure there will be more, though.”
“That's something to look forward to.”
“You're so bloody sarcastic,” Ryan said, digging his fingers into Henry's ribs in a hard tickle.
“Oof. Get off. Get off!” Henry squealed. He rolled over and pouted. “I hate you.”
“No you don't. You love me.”
It didn't take long for Henry's expression to soften. “Yeah, alright. I love you.”
