Dolphin-san: Hey there all. I've decided that I'm going to try and write a little something every time I have a free minute, even if that means I have to write some in college and send it back to my home computer. Oh, and until I can figure out what's been going wrong with the line break thing, seeing as how it looks fine on my laptop and only goes bizarre when I upload it to , I'm going to be using this, KHRK-KHRK, unless I find something better, though I'll probably keep that.

Any way, on with the story. Enjoy.

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Chapter 36

'What the fuck is going on here?' marvelled Buzz Baxter as Hiro stormed out of the ballroom and the place erupted once more. He nudged the tall girl who was crying with laughter next to him. 'What's going on?'

Bev wiped her streaming eyes with a tissue.

'You're the journalist, can't you work it out?'

Hiro's husband Max was by this time hugging the boy in the white suit. The noisy old biddy in the wheelchair was wearing the vicar's dog-collar. And the vicar, now minus his dog-collar, was busy cracking open a bottle of Veuve Clicquot. When the girl next to him rushed up to join them, Buzz went along too.

Whooping at the sight of Bev, Ray hurled his bouquet into the air. Automatically Bev caught it, then, horrified, let it drop, as if it were crawling with maggots.

'That's not fair,' she wailed. 'You didn't get married! Now you've probably given me a thousand years bad luck.'

'I almost got married,' said Ray. 'For a few seconds there, I thought he was going to go through with it.'

Max, his waiter's cap askew, nodded cheerfully at Buzz Baxter.

'Hi, Buzz, sorry you didn't get what you came for. I hope you didn't give Hiro any money upfront.'

Buzz grinned; he'd always fancied Max. He liked him even more now he knew he had guts.

'You set the whole thing up.'

'Well, it was a joint effort.'

'Quite a lot of effort.'

'Worth it, though,' Max said with relish. 'Worth every minute, just to see the look on his face.'

Buzz shook his head in admiration. Hiro would never live this down.

'And if he'd gone ahead with the ceremony, you'd have -?'

'Made my entrance,' Max supplied, 'at the crucial point.'

Tom Barrett, handing out glasses of champagne, said, 'Pity he didn't, I was looking forward to that bit.' He cleared his throat and intoned solemnly, '"If anyone here present knows of any reason why these two men should not be joined together in Holy Matrimony, they should speak now . . ."'

He paused dramatically, and Max mimed bursting through the door. Brightly Max explained, 'That's where I would have come in.'

'Isn't he marvellous?' Florence patted Tom Barrett's arm with pride. 'What a performance, better than Donald Sinden any day.' Teasingly, she tugged his wide black sleeve. 'This cassock suits you, too. I've always had a thing for men in uniforms.'

Buzz wondered how many gaskets his boss was going to blow when he went back to the newspaper offices without a story. Ah well, sod it. He gulped down a brimming glass of champagne; may as well make the most of the free booze.

'So who's footing the bill for all this?' He held out his glass for a swift refill.

Ray's mouth twitched.

'Hiro is,' he joked. 'Well, inadvertently.'

'Blimey.'

Behind Ray, Kai was packing the video camera back into its case. Ray gestured towards it.

'We filmed the whole thing. There's a new prime-time TV series going out in the autumn, called Sweet Revenge. People send in home videos and they pay five thousand pounds –'

'I know, I've heard about it. This is great.' Buzz started to laugh. Turning to Kai, he said, 'I hope you remembered to take the lens cap off.'

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The party spilled out into the walled garden at the rear of the hotel. Almost giving a couple of ancient residents heart attacks, Ray paused at the top of the steps and took off his borrowed white suit, stepping out of it to reveal the orange vest and mauve shorts beneath. The next minute he was splashing around in the ornate Italian fountain with Buzz.

Takao spotted Max sitting on a bench with a plate of coronation chicken from the restaurant. Joining him, he observed, 'You've changed, too. Did I miss it?'

The black and white waiters uniform had been replaced by a floaty shirt the colour of cinnamon and faded, loose-fitting jeans, and his golden hair, no longer tied back, tumbled around his shoulders.

'That would have really finished them off.' Pulling a face, Max nodded at the elderly residents, who were still looking stunned. He had limited exposure of his own unlovely body to the confines of the downstairs loo.

'Pretty colour, it suits you,' said Takao.

The shirt was ancient. Flustered by the compliment, Max attempted to cover the darns in the worn cotton, then realised that Takao was watching him with amusement. Giving in, he laughed and held up his plate of coronation chicken.

'At least I'm perfectly co-ordinated.'

'Until you eat it.'

'For about the next three minutes, then.' Ruefully, Max gazed down at his stomach. 'I can't stop eating. It's scary, having the appetite of a prop forward and being the shape of a rugby ball.'

Takao didn't think it was scary. Accustomed to the finicky eating habits of the models he'd spent the last few years knocking around with, it was a real breath of fresh air. He liked the way Max ate with such evident enjoyment, forking up the tender chicken and licking mayonnaise from his fingers. This was how eating should be, after all. You were meant to enjoy it.

Last week, Takao had been cutting the hair of a knock-kneed, chain-smoking sixteen-year-old sent to him by one of the more ruthless agencies. When he caught her scrutinising the wording on the back of her cigarette packet, he had said, 'They damage your health.'

The girl, blinking nervously up at him, replied, 'I don't care about that, I was checking they don't have any calories.'

'Here comes James,' said Max. 'Poor thing, he looks jet-lagged.'

Privately, Takao thought it was impossible to tell. The half-closed eyes and dazed expression were pretty much a permanent feature. All the models were wearing them this season. He'd tried teasing James about it, but he hadn't got the joke. Beautiful James might be, Takao thought with a regretful smile, but a sense of humour wasn't his strong point.

He had persuaded James to come along with him today because his frequent trips abroad meant there time together was limited.

And about to become more so, Takao thought sadly, realising that yet another hollow relationship was ready to bite the dust. Why did he do it? What was the point of getting involved with these boys in the first place?

But he already knew the answer to that one.

Basically, depressingly – like Everest, only skinnier – because they were there.

'Hi,' said James, coiling his body on to the wooden arm of the bench next to Takao. 'Can we go now?'

Max had finished his chicken. Takao took the empty plate from him.

'I was just about to fetch Max a piece of raspberry gateau. Shall I get you one too?'

James' eyelids flickered briefly, acknowledging the so-called humour of this suggestion.

'No thanks. The wedding thing's over. Why can't we go?'

'We're celebrating.'

'I don't know anyone here.'

'You know Ray,' said Takao. 'Go and dance in the fountain with him.' Please, he thought, silently willing him to laugh and kick off his shoes. I'd love it if you did that.

Max saw the blank expression on James' sculpted face.

'Why?'

'You might enjoy it.'

James looked at him as if he'd gone mad.

'I'd get wet.'

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The Salinger Hotel was famous for its Sunday-afternoon tea dances. Inside, the orchestra played sedate numbers from the twenties and thirties, and elegantly dressed couples moved decorously around the polished dance floor. Outside, in the garden, Ray danced – rather less elegantly – with Tom Barrett.

'We're raising a few eyebrows,' Tom told Ray, glancing up at the windows. 'Monocles are popping out as we speak.'

'That's because I look like a tart, and you're dressed as a vicar.'

'My dear, I'm the envy of everyone in that ballroom.'

Waltzing for all he was worth, Ray said, 'Oh Tom, aren't you lovely? Why can't I meet someone as nice as you, only forty years younger?'

Tom shouted with laughter.

'God, I'm sorry,' mumbled Ray. 'I suppose I just answered my own question. A walking disaster, that's me.' Stepping backwards instead of forwards, he pulled a face. 'Not to mention a waltzing one.'

'That's no way to speak,' Tom chided. You're not a disaster.'

'I am.'

'Refreshingly honest, maybe.' Amused, Tom glanced over at Florence. 'Can't think where you get it from.'

'Poor Florence. I feel guilty, twirling away while she's stuck in her chair.'

'I wouldn't give much for your chances if she heard you calling her poor Florence.' Tom's smile was fond. 'Good old Flo, she was quite something in her day.'

'She still is,' said Ray. 'And I wouldn't give much for your chances if she heard you calling her old.'

Tom looked thoughtful.

'Can she stand at all?'

'Oh yes, with support.'

They grinned at each other.

'Dare you,' said Ray.

'Done.'

Florence looked up in alarm as Tom, his vicar's robes billowing and his manner purposeful, approached her.

'You're not leaving already?'

'I am not. I've come to ask for the pleasure of the next dance.'

Astonished, Florence said, 'With who?'

'You, you daft woman. And it's with whom.'

'Pah! You're the daft one, Tom Barrett,' Florence snorted, 'if you think I'd let you fling me round in this chair like a child let loose with a supermarket trolley. Ridiculous, that's how we'd look –'

'Not in the chair.' Tom shook his head. 'You can stand, I checked with Ray. And if I can haul a set of clubs round eighteen holes,' he held out his arms, 'I'm sure I can manage you.'

'Lovely turn of phrase you have there,' grumbled Florence. 'Makes me sound like a sack of turnips.'

Tom smiled.

'Turnips are quieter. Turnips don't argue.'

'Go and dance with a turnip then.'

Evocative music drifted through the open French windows as, inside the ballroom, the orchestra struck up the next tune. Irritatingly, it was one of Florence's all-time favourites.

'I'd rather dance with you,' Tom said calmly. 'Much rather.'

'I don't do the tarantella anymore.' Florence's tone was truculent. 'I can't twirl.'

Sensing weakness, Tom raised an enquiring eyebrow.

'Can you shuffle?'

'Oh, I can shuffle.'

He nodded with satisfaction, reaching down and clasping his arms firmly around Florence's waist.

'That'll do.'

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'Fancy a bop?' said Buzz.

'Why not?' Max shook back his hair and stood up. 'But if you try to unzip my jeans, I shall have to kill you.'

Buzz grinned. Max was alright.

'You're a pregnant guy. I do have some scruples, you know.'

'You amaze me,' said Max.

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It was the sight of Florence and Tom dancing together that finally did it for Ray. One minute he was sitting kicking his heels happily in the fountain and the next there was a lump the size of the Rock of Gibraltar battling to burst out of his chest.

Shuffle, shuffle went Tom's feet, in perfect time with Florence's. He was smiling down at her, saying something and making her chuckle. And Florence was clearly enjoying herself; that look on her face said it all. With her new short hairstyle, her jaunty hat and flowing dress of violet silk splashed with crimson orchids, she looked fabulous. And so happy Ray wanted to cry.

The next moment, to his horror, he realised that he actually was crying. Hot tears were spilling over on to his cheeks like lava out of a volcano and there was nothing he could do to stop them. Oh God, please don't let anyone see me like this . . .

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Tom Barrett, his snowy surplice billowing in the breeze, was dancing with Bev. Max had been persuaded to take a twirls round the garden with Tony Vale, still in his Blues Brothers suit and glasses but now wearing, as a finishing touch, Florence's flower-bedecked velvet hat.

'He isn't inside,' said Kai. 'I can't find him anywhere.'

Takao frowned.

'He wouldn't have left without telling us. And his bag's still here.'

James, busy lighting up yet another cigarette, said vaguely, 'When I went to the loo earlier, there was someone crying in one of the cubicles.'

Takao stared at him.

'Was it Ray?'

'How would I know? All I could see was his feet. Green converse with purple glitter.' James exhaled a stream of smoke and pulled a face. I mean, totally passé.'

'Those were Ray's totally passé shoes,' Takao said furiously. 'Why didn't you tell us earlier?'

James looked amazed.

'Because you didn't ask.'

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Dolphin-san: Well, there you go, a nice long new chapter for you. Don't worry, though, I still have a few ideas up my sleeve for this.