Not sure where I'm going with this but I hope you enjoy it. As ever, with love. :) xxxx
"Oh hello."
Hearing Sam's bored, haughty greeting, Christian smiled and stopped fiddling with a leaf from the hedge, turning to lean against the brick gatepost, folding his arm across his chest and supporting his elbow on his wrist.
"Hiya biatch. How are you?"
"I'm fabulous. This goes without saying. If you've called for a chat, Ste's out. He says he's gone to mixed martial arts but I suspect he's at cupcake making for beginners at the church hall, belly on him. I'll get him to ring you, if I remember."
"You could talk to me…" The plea in his voice surprised Christian and he added quickly, "…if you're not too busy designing a pejazzle."
"I'm watching Come Dine with Me. Oh hang on."
Down the line came the sound of fumbling, a click of plastic, someone saying, 'for the Tarte au Citron alone, I give Mike a….' cut off as the television muted so he would never know the score and a small dog whining.
"Oh shut up Uhura, you silly cow. Here, sit back down. Hello. What do you want?"
"Me or Uhura? I was wondering what you've been up to, haven't spoken to you in ages."
"Usual. Missed you at Chucky's sexybition. It was a riot. Sculptures fashioned from ordure. Al turned up in a suit made of peacock feathers, cost three thousand pounds and he leant on an exhibit and got it covered in shit. Ha! I died. I'm not sure I'm talking to you anyway."
"Did he? The arse. Why aren't you talking to me, what have I done?"
A Minute Mart carrier bag fluttered over from the square, turning in gymnastic arcs until it flapped like a fish in the gutter. Christian felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in the cool night breeze.
"I know we can't come, though how you could possibly THINK of getting married without me and Ste there, well, me anyway, is beyond me. But an invite might have been nice."
Confused, Christian frowned.
"You should have got one. Perhaps the post is up the shitter. Where is it you're going again?" He sensed the hesitation while Sam considered inventing a glamorous location to make him jealous.
"Eastbourne, with the old dear. She's been banging on about it for months, wants to put flowers on Dad's grave. I might consider putting her off, if you were getting married in a castle, or the Ritz. An East End restaurant? That's…novel."
"It's the family business. Sy's helping his brother to run it."
"Whatever happened to your plans of being carried in by semi naked hotties and serenaded by trannies in the seediest dive you could find?"
Unable to recall any such thing, Christian laughed.
"How long ago did I say that? I bet I was pissed."
"Oh years ago. When you thought you were in love with that boy from New Zealand. Until you had him and decided he was boring and you couldn't possibly spend the rest of your life with someone whose knob was shaped like a potato."
Christian racked his brains, trying to find a memory of a face or a name or a potato shaped knob, suddenly filled with guilt when a vision of tearstained cheeks and a plaintive cry of, 'but you said you loved me!' burst into his mind.
"Blake! Shit, I was such a bastard."
"Still are, darling! Still are!" Sam trilled. "Anyway, I thought the delectable Syed's family loathed you with a passion so strong it made them grow snakes for hair and steam pour from every orifice? How come they're letting you use their glamorous venue for the wedding no one ever believed would happen?"
'They were so wrong!' Christian mused gleefully, warmed by the excited anticipation of the commitment he and Syed were about to make.
"We're well matey now. His mum went through a hard time, realised she was wrong to be so vile. She's helping me plan the wedding. Well, I say helping, more trying to completely take over. I keep having to get Sy to tell her off."
"He must be so thrilled." Sam responded, sarcasm dripping from every word. "Remember you're marrying him, not her. How is the delicious Syed? Changed his mind about a foursome yet?"
"No! And neither have I. He's…" Pausing, Christian tried to decide what to say, realising he had no idea, that they hardly seemed to spend any time together. He knew something was bothering him, from the dark dart of Syed's eyes whenever he tried to fathom the reason behind his quietness, knew he sounded like a broken record the amount of times he had asked if there was anything wrong. "..Okay. Stressed, always working. He wants to make everything a success…"
"He's probably having an affair. Uhura! Don't lick your faff and then me, you shameless little madam…"
"Don't be daft. Sy's not like that."
"He's a man, isn't he? If you're hanging round with mommy dearest discussing buttonholes and pearlescent balloons, who knows what he's up to? I bet it's that gorgeous tart he knew at school."
"Michael? He'd have a job. He's in Cuba. Anyway he's all loved up."
"Still with that speccy, mysterious one? All hidden depths and no doubt goes like a train… Him then."
"I think he's working up north somewhere. Honestly, Sam, it isn't that. Something's troubling him though…"
"Cold feet? Incurable illness? Realised he's not gay after all? Wind? The thought of an eternity having to share a bathroom with you?"
"Fuck off Sam."
"See! I told you to wait until Ste got back. Seriously, sweetie, everyone gets weird before a wedding. I was a gibbering mess before mine and Steve's. Remember, I took against the cake so violently I nearly called the whole thing off?"
"God yes. I had to talk you down."
"I ask you, what was so difficult about angel's wings in magenta icing? It'll be fabulous. No, actually it won't, because I won't be there. It'll be distinctly average. Have we done now? I'm sure talking to me has been useful for you."
Christian shook his head, grinning with amusement, aware that Sam had done all he possibly could to be of no use at all.
"You're a miracle worker. I'll miss you being there."
"Of course you will, why wouldn't you? You'd better do something later. I want some return on our electronic potato peeler. Shit, given it away. Love you, muscles! Ciao! Ciao! Sod off!"
"We will. Love you too. Say hi to Ste from me."
"Yes. Yes."
The line went dead. Christian looked at the screen and then towards the windows of the flat. Fingers of light slivered through the slats of the blind, spilling out onto the front garden, warm, inviting, homely, until a shadow flitted through them, briefly hiding the welcome beacon.
'Syed the shadow…' He felt a little twist of worry tightening at his throat and scrolled through his contacts to find another number.
