He's only just got his breath back, but it's quickening again, because I've not let up since I got off him. I'm facing him, under the sheets, and I've not stopped touching him. Touching his face, his hair. Following his spine with my fingertips, all the way down to the cleft of his arse.

I rub the back of his thigh; he strokes my arm, my shoulder, my back, and breathes open-mouthed kisses against my throat.

His junk was a formless handful after we finished the first time, but now when I have another feel, his wrung-out dick is swelling back to life. I help him along with my hand, then I move down and take him in my mouth. Most often he'll lie on his back for this, but this time he stays on his side and curls himself around me. My forehead presses into his soft belly. Any light that might find its way inside the cave of the covers, is blocked by his body: I can't see, and once his leg – the inside of his knee or thigh – has slid up to rest on my ear, all I can hear is the blood rushing in my head, and for these minutes all I know is the heat of him and the taste of him.

He's close to coming, but I'm getting light-headed from the lack of air down here. I open my mouth and pull back enough to heave in a breath around him, then seal my lips again and arch my neck to let his dick slip into my throat. That does it: he comes. It's a whole-body thing with him, a spasm like electricity sparking every muscle, and then inertia. His dick leaves my mouth as he falls back.

I move up the bed, into the air. He's looking at the ceiling, although whether he's seeing it, I couldn't say. His face is flushed. In profile, his eyelashes look too thick and dark and long to be real.

He turns his head on the pillow to look at me. Smiles, then laughs, and reaches out a hand to smooth my hair.

"Did I pull your hair when I..?" he says

"Pull it? Near enough pulled it out, felt like. You're lucky I didn't bite your dick in half."

He laughs again.

I sit up and drink some water.

"Here, give us some," he says.

"You've got your own."

"Oh yeah. I forgot there's water on my side as well – cos we share one at home, don't we."

"Here." I pass him my glass, and he drinks.

"Was that your phone?" he asks, when it goes off in the other room. "A text?"

"You can go fetch it if you like. Second thoughts, I'll go, in case your legs don't work..."

He gives me a look. I laugh, kiss him, and go and find my phone.

"Who is it?" he asks when I return. "Bet it's Cheryl, saying they've dropped the lads off safely."

I get back into bed. "Yeah, it's Chez. A missed call from her as well, an hour ago."

"We must've been too busy to hear it. What does her text say?"

"Says the lads got away okay, as you said. And she says if I text her back when I've got a minute, she'll give us another call."

"Why don't you give her a ring back, save her phoning us, eh?"

I dial her number. "Don't know why she needs to speak to me – we've not long waved her off."

"Bren, hi," says my sister. "We thought the two of yous had disappeared off the face of the Earth."

"Sorry, yeah, we were busy." I wink at Steven. "Everything okay?"

"Oh, yeah, it's fine. We left the boys at the airport, and their flight was on time on the board, so they're grand."

"Good."

"We're in Liverpool now, having a walk about," she says. "Think we'll be skipping lunch after that enormous hotel breakfast, but we'll find somewhere for a bite to eat before we head for the ferry tonight."

"I'll let you get on with your day. Unless there was a reason you wanted to talk to me?"

"No, only because I said I would."

"Okay. So, thanks again, Chez, for everything."

"Yeah, thanks, Chez," Steven says, loudly enough for her to hear. "Love you."

"Love him too," says Cheryl. "Oh, there was something else, Bren – I was just wondering, have you read your letter yet?"

"My – ? The one from your mum? No, not yet. Why'd you ask?"

Steven kisses my shoulder, then gets up and walks to the bathroom.

"No reason," Cheryl says. "It's just, she'll ask me, I bet."

"I'll tell you when I've read it, okay?"

"She'll be pleased."

"You don't know what's in it, though, no?" I say.

"I told you I don't. But it won't be anything bad, okay? She'd have told me."

"Okay. Okay, Chez, so, have a safe journey home, yeah? And thanks for helping Declan and Padraig out. Talk to you soon."

"Thanks, we will. And you're welcome. Love you."

"Love you too."

Soon as I hang up, Steven's head pops round the bathroom door.

"Just gonna have a shower," he says. "Share if you like?"

:::::::

We wash each other's back, and now and then, as one or other of us turns around in the small space, there's the slide of skin against skin. Other than that, we don't touch: but there's intimacy as present as the water and the steam.

:::::::

I'm out of the shower first, and hand him a towel when he steps out too.

"Ta." He presses his face into the towel before he starts drying his body. "Are you gonna get dressed now?"

"I guess, yeah. Unless you got other ideas..."

A smile. "I actually thought we could dress up warm and go for a walk."

"A walk?"

"Just in the garden, obviously. The grounds, I mean. Cos it's still a nice day, plus we was indoors all day yesterday, so I thought... Unless you want your lunch, yeah, cos I bet you're starving by now, aren't you?"

"We can have lunch later, if a walk is what you want."

"You could have some fruit to keep you going – I know there was still some apples left in the fruit bowl after the kids had been at it. Plus there's them bickies – shortbreads – where the kettle is," he says, and I wonder if now would be a good time to confess that I've eaten all the shortbreads, but then he says, "Actually, did they re-fill the fruit bowl while we were downstairs? Cos there might be more bananas in that case, and they'd fill you up a bit more."

So I save my confession, because if they've re-stocked the fruit they'll have re-stocked the biscuits as well, and I might be off the hook.

"Good plan." I throw my wet towel over the shower screen, and put on a bathrobe.

"So we'll get dressed, then," he says, "And get out before it rains or anything."

When he puts on the other robe, I turn its collar up, hold him by it, and kiss him.

:::::::

"You alright, Steven?" I say when we're putting on our coats: because I can see – or sense, more like – that his surface stillness is covering something else.

"Yeah, I'm alright," he says, only now that he's seen that I've noticed, he gives it up. "I'm just, I'm feeling a bit, like, overwhelmed. In a good way, but like..."

"Was it the blowjob? It was the blowjob, wasn't it..."

The joke is a risk, but it pays off: he laughs, looks relieved.

"Course it was," he says, then, "I'm fine. It was a lot, yesterday, that's what I mean. It was amazing, everything was, and I'm just thinking about it, getting me head around it. D'you know what I mean? A bit of fresh air, and, like..."

"A debrief."

"Yeah." Big smile. "Exactly."

"Good."

"D'you think they've got takeaway cups in the bar? Cos then we could take a coffee out with us, keep us warm."

"I've not noticed any, but yeah, they might." I go and open the French window to guage how cold it is outside. "You're right, the weather's decent. Gonna leave this open, let some air in while we're out."

Then I follow him through to the other room.

"Here, they did fill it up," he says, and he takes a banana from the fruitbowl and throws it to me. "Have that, then we'll go."

While I eat it, I spy the new pile of foil-wrapped biscuits beside the kettle.

"Take these with us to have with that coffee," I say, and I scoop them into my coat pocket.

:::::::

Hugo is in the bar when we get there, putting one of the Sunday newspapers back in the rack for someone else to read. He's got a coat on.

"Alright?" Steven says to him. "You off out?"

"Yes, just driving down to see my brother and his family. You?"

"We're going for a walk in the grounds. Gonna ask if they do takeaway coffee cups in here, though, so we can take one with us."

"Not as such," Hugo says, "Although you're welcome to take a china cup out with you."

"We'll do that, then, eh?" Steven says to me.

"I'll tell you what," Hugo says. "Don't order yet – I'll be one minute."

He goes out to the foyer. We follow to see where he's gone, in time to see him go in a door marked PRIVATE.

"I've seen him come out of there before," Steven says. "It must be where he lives, where his little flat is. Come on, come back in the bar, or he'll think we're nosing."

"We are nosing."

He laughs. Then he says, "I think I'm gonna have a hot chocolate instead of coffee. Cos like, how many coffees did we have, down here this morning?"

"Lost count."

"Yeah. I'm a bit buzzy from it. Anyway, it's hot chocolate weather, innit."

"I'll have the same."

Hugo comes back as fast as he said he would, and he's got two decent-sized mugs in his hand.

"A cup and saucer's no good to you on a walk," he says, and he puts his mugs down on the bar and says to the barmaid, "These gentlemen will have their drinks in these, please, Jasmine. Just charge for the normal size."

"Thanks ever so much," says Steven. "Hiya. Can we have hot chocolate please?"

"With cream?" says Jasmine.

"Go on, then."

"I'll leave you to it," says Hugo. "Enjoy your walk."

"Appreciated," I say.

Once the drinks are made, Steven picks up the mug with the Welsh flag on it, I take the other one – World's Best Uncle – and we go through the foyer to the back door, and let ourselves out.

Straight ahead across the lawn is the orangery.

"Looks different in the daytime," Steven says.

"Does, yeah. Looks its age. Don't we all, though..."

"Speak for yourself."

"I was."

We smile at each other.

"Come on," he says, and we go down the steps and along the canopied path.

He gets close to the door, shelters his eyes from the winter sun with his hand, and peers through the glass to see inside. Then he tries the door handle, and it opens.

"You look surprised," I say.

"I am. I don't know why, mind you, cos why would they lock it?" Then he laughs. "Reminds me of, y'know, when you're a kid and you're walking along the street, and just, like, trying all the car door handles in case someone's gone off without locking it, and if you actually find one that's not locked, you're like – " He does a shocked face to illuminate his point.

I laugh. "Yeah, I remember that."

"In them days, there was still lots of cars that had actual keys, weren't there. You couldn't do that nowadays, when it's all bleepers and electronic whatsits."

"The good old days, when the casual schoolboy car thief stood a chance..."

"Yeah."

I love him.

"You gonna stand there getting nostalgic, or will we go inside?"

"Kiss first," he says.

"Really?"

He nods firmly. "We always kiss before we go in there, don't we."

I suppose he's right. We kissed for luck before we stepped into the party, and again when we re-entered it after we'd been back to the hotel; and if we should come back here when it's summer, no doubt we'll remember this, and kiss.

"Okay," I say.

His lips are sweet with chocolate.

We go in.

Looks like they're part way through clearing up from the party. There are crates of empty bottles on top of the bar. There's a black sack of rubbish, and the floor has been swept and a broom left leaning against the bar beside a pile of sweepings. The tables and chairs have gone. Some of the plants, in their wheeled pots, have been moved into the space that was cleared for the party guests to dance.

"You can tell it's old, you're right," Steven says. "It's like being in history. All the people that would've been here in the olden days – can you imagine them? All in old-fashioned clothes – and then it was us. You would fit right in, wouldn't you – they all had big beards and moustaches in them days."

"See all the wee panes of glass, how some of them are different – not so thick, or whatever? They must'a got broken over the years, been replaced."

"Yeah. Maybe little kids playing, yeah, and broke a window with a ball. And them kids, they could be old men now. Or dead. And they never knew there'd be people stood here in the year twenty-seventeen, imagining them lobbing a ball at a window." He looks at me, grinning at own his flight of fancy.

"That is true."

We wander around for a minute or two between the plants. The glass roof has caught the sunlight, weak as it is, and concentrated it: it's warm in here, and bright.

"I've just thought," Steven says, "Where did all our cards go?"

We go over to the ledge we stood them on last night; look on the floor behind the bar, and inside the crates of bottles. Nothing.

"They won't have thrown them away," I say.

"D'you think someone from the hotel kept them for us? Or Mitzeee or Cheryl?"

"Dunno. We'll find out."

"I'll text them. Mitz first... There, done. I know they'll be somewhere, cos one of them was the one the kids made, and no one would bin that if they saw it, would they."

Even so, I take a look inside the bag of rubbish.

"Not in here. They'll be somewhere, Steven, like you said."

His phone buzzes with a call.

"It's Mitzeee," he says. "Hiya, Mitz – that was quick. … Right, I knew someone would've." He gives me a thumbs-up, then he wanders off, chatting with her.

Something is nagging at me. While his back is turned, I open the rubbish bag again, and see what I saw but didn't register the first time I looked. It's a screwed-up piece of paper, the same creamy colour as the writing paper in our suite. I take it out and unfold it: it's the notes he made yesterday afternoon for the speech he gave at the party. He must have discarded it, thinking it wasn't wanted once he'd finished with it.

I put it in my jeans pocket.

Steven says goodbye to Anne.

"Mystery solved?" I say.

"Yes. She said Cheryl gave them to Hugo, and he'll be making sure they're given back to us. What you doing with that bin bag?"

"Moving it out'a the way. Anne okay?"

"Yeah. They're at the Dog at the minute. You know, the Dog in the Pond, seeing Nancy and them lot, after they dropped Peri home."

"Why did Peri end up with them instead of with her sisters?"

"Because Leela and Tegan took Tony and Jacqui with them, didn't they, so Pez squeezed in with Mitzeee's lot instead cos they had a bit more room."

"Okay. I was thinking it was because she'd taken a liking to Seth. I thought it was lucky Padraig had gone by then, or he would'a felt..."

"Aww, I see what you mean. But Paddy was fine, though, and he got on alright with Peri, as mates."

I nod. He's right. "Yeah, he seemed happy enough."

"Yeah. In fact, everyone got on, didn't they? It's amazing when you think about it – all them different people, all together from yesterday lunchtime till brekkie today, and there was no trouble whatsoever."

"A miracle. Would'a been a different story if Jacqueline and Cheryl hadn't steered clear of one another..."

"I didn't even think of that. I thought about Cheryl and Mitz, though – were you not worried, asking them both to be your party planners? Cos they used to proper hate each other, didn't they."

"'Hate' is a strong word," I say. "...Although possibly accurate in this case. They wanted to do a good job, though, so they put their differences aside. I think their fiances helped keep a lid on things..."

He grins. "How cute are Rich and Nate being besties, eh?"

"Adorable."

"Someone coming, look." Steven grabs my arm like he's about to drag me behind a plant. "Oh, it's okay, he's got a big dustpan, so he's not come to chuck us out... Alright, mate? We're just having a look at the plants and that."

"I leave cleaning till later?" the lad offers.

"We'll be on our way now, anyways," I tell him.

"Yeah, we'll let you get on," says Steven. "Thanks anyway, yeah?"

We pick up our mugs from the bar, and head outside.

"Where to?" I say.

"It's misty over there, look. Is that where the lake is?"

"One way to find out."

We set off across the grass.

:::::::

"Everyone had sex, didn't they."

I turn my head and look at him, sat beside me on the bench.

"Excuse me?" I say.

When he laughs his breath is visible, a cloud of steam in the cold air,

"Last night," he says. "Everyone who was with their other half, I mean – not me sisters, or Curtis and Suki, or Seth. Or Danny and Sam, cos they weren't here, were they. But like, Tony and Jacqui did, and Mitzeee and Rich. Amy and Simon definitely did. And Cheryl and Nate."

"D'you mind? That's my sister you're talking about."

Another laugh. "Sorry. But it's true – you could tell, just from seeing them all at breakfast. All sort of glowy, yeah, and pleased with themselves. D'you know what I mean?"

"Bit like how you look every day?"

He gives me a narrow-eyed look. "If you're lucky."

My turn to laugh. "If you are..."

He smiles.

"Actually, Danny and Sam probably did an' all, now I think about it. Cos they would've had their house to themselves, wouldn't they, when they got home last night."

"Rather not have that image in my head, Steven, if it's all the same to you..."

"You're right, yeah, I wish I'd never thought about it now – me dad and stepmum doing it."

"That's if they do it at all..."

"Eh?" he says.

"Just saying maybe they don't, if it's fellas he fancies."

"Brendan, Danny's bi, not gay. Plus you can see he fancies Sam – it's obvious. They were all over each other at the party, weren't they."

"Yeah."

"There you are, then. And, anyway, when he was going off with blokes, it weren't because he was gay. Leela says it was a midlife crisis, yeah, and he would've been just as likely to have a woman on the side, like when he got off with me mum."

"...Which was not a midlife crisis."

"That's true," Steven says. "But he was eighteen or nineteen when he did that, Brendan, with one kid already at home, so he most probably felt sort of trapped. And I'm not defending him cheating, right, but it's not like you and me can start moralising about people."

"I wasn't moralising. But, okay, yeah, I was wrong. He's bi, they're happy, good luck to them." I get hold of his chin and turn his face towards me. "And I should be thanking him. If he hadn'a cheated on his wife, you wouldn'a been born."

"There you are, then."

"Biscuit?" I pull some of the shortbreads out of my coat pocket.

"Go on then." We unwrap a couple each; he dunks one, takes a bite. "Nice, aren't they?"

"Yep."

Across the lake, a couple of ducks turn in our direction and start swimming towards us.

"Amy didn't say anything at breakfast, about before," Steven says. "I thought she might, but she didn't."

"Before..?"

"About seeing you." He puts his arm round my back; rubs across from shoulder to shoulder. "About seeing them scratches. Mind you, she wouldn't say, would she, over breakfast, and with the kids around."

"Anne said something."

"Did she? What did she say?"

"Said it gave her an insight."

"An insight." He thinks about that for a moment. "About our love life, did she mean?"

"Exactly. Don't see what it told her that she wouldn'a already guessed, though – I doubt she imagined you're the type to lie back and think of England..." Then, when he frowns, I say, "You've not heard that phrase before?"

"No, I have – I know it means, like, put up with it. But why is it 'think of England'?" He raises his mug with the flag on it: "Why not think of Wales, yeah, or your holidays, or what you're gonna make for your tea?"

"It dates back to... I dunno when it dates back to." I smile at him; shrug. "Don't know who said it first, either. I think it was back when women were not supposed to enjoy sex – not the respectable ones, anyhow – so if a husband wanted his conjugal rights, his wife had to do her duty, like it or not. Her duty to procreate the next generation of Englishmen to rule the Empire, convert the heathens, oppress the Irish, etcetera, etcetera... That's the gist of it."

"Blimey."

"Sorry you asked, are you?"

"No. I like it when you tell me things." Then he makes a funny face: "Feel a bit guilty for being English, though."

"Don't worry – you wouldn'a been part of the ruling class. You'd be working twelve-hour days in a factory, or cannon-fodder in one of their wars."

"Cheerful."

"Ain't it."

"Least I know why it's England now – even if I still don't know why it's a busman." He looks at me, and he must be able to tell from my face that I got the reference, because he smiles as he looks away, and for a minute we're quiet, thinking our own thoughts; then he says, "Here's the ducks, look. Here, have some posh shortbread biscuits – wait a sec, I'll break it up for you so it dun't get stuck in your beaks. There you go... We got any more?"

"You talking to me now, or the ducks?"

"You."

"Couple more, yeah."

"Ta." He has a bite of one for himself, and crumbles the rest of it for the birds. "So, where were you, then, Bren, when I was living me miserable life in the olden days?"

"Mm?"

"When I was working them twelve-hour days. Where were you?"

"Ireland, I guess. Or maybe not – maybe I would'a got myself onto a ship, gone to America..."

"A new life, eh? But no, you couldn't, cos how would we ever meet if you did that, with me stuck in a factory in Manchester? Maybe we never did you went to America and I didn't." He shakes his head like he's shaking off this past-life version of us he's just invented. "Why are we talking about this?"

"I was about to ask you the same question."

He thinks for a moment. "Hang on, no, you started it. You said Mitzeee never would've thought I'd just lie back and – "

"Oh, yeah. I did, didn't I." I pause. "Amy wouldn't think it either, presumably..."

"What?"

"Well, you were... You and her, you were, you know..."

"A couple," he says.

"A couple, yeah. So it wouldn't come as a surprise to her, would it, seeing the evidence that you're... passionate."

"Shut up."

"Well, you are, so."

"I know. But you want to know if I was like that with Amy – that's what you're asking. Or, it's what you're not asking, more like."

"None of my business."

"You're right, it's not. But no, I weren't passionate – not the same, anyway. Just so you know."

"You weren't?"

He shakes his head. "We had a good time, though, me and Amy, alright? We were good together. It was real, Brendan, and I'm not gonna make out that it wasn't. Like, I'd not had that before I got with her – someone that really liked me, and I liked her. It was the best feeling in the world, being fancied by someone like her, cos she's special, Amy is. I know you can't see it, but I can, and I always could, so for her to want me, it made it real. I weren't pretending."

"Okay."

"But I never got... you know... carried away, when we did it. I never used to understand, if anyone talked about that sort of thing. Like, when your mates are showing off, saying how it's mindblowing and all that – well, I used to think they were exaggerating, or there was something wrong with me, more like. Then you came along, didn't you, and..."

"And..?"

"I found out who I was." He nudges me with his shoulder, and smiles when I look at him. "And I did get carried away, didn't I."

"From the word go, if I remember rightly. Took to it like a duck to water... So to speak."

He laughs."Here, we shouldn't be talking about rude things in front of the ducks - they better put their fingers in their ears."

"They've got no fingers..."

"Or ears. I never thought of that – can they even hear? They must do, or they wouldn't bother with quacking, would they."

"And you would'a been talking to them all this time for nothing..."

He laughs. "So they must have little earholes, yeah, covered in feathers. It's just the outside bit they haven't got."

"It's just as well. Can you picture them with big ears like yours?"

"Shut up, I ain't got big ears."

"No? They just stick out, then..." Then when he scowls at me, I laugh and say, "I'm joking. You've grown into them."

"What, so I did have big ears sticking out, did I, but it's not so bad now? Thanks, mate."

"You're gorgeous, you idiot. You're gorgeous."

"Alright, you're forgiven."

"Phew..."

"Can you imagine them with ears, though?" he says, back to the ducks. "Little pointy ones on top of their heads, like cats. Or long ones, like rabbits."

He puts his hands behind his head, makes rabbit ears of them.

I laugh. "You're very entertaining, Steven, d'you know that?"

"Thanks... I think."

"It's a compliment. Most entertaining person I ever met."

I never expected that, when he was first in my sights. Never expected the laughter.

"I might get our Leah to do a picture," he says, smiling. "A duck with bunny's ears. I bet she'd make it look like a real animal, wouldn't she, cos she's good at art. Have you noticed good she's getting? I mean, I know I'm biased, but the anniversary card she done with all of us on it, it's really good. You can see who everyone is. It's Lucas's colouring-in that makes it look like a kid's drawing, bless him."

"I'd say putting green hair on Seth takes a certain artistic flair..."

"Exactly. They make a good little team, don't they, Leah and Lucas."

We sit a little longer. It's silent, other than the cry of a bird once in a while. The scene – the lake, and the line of trees in the mist beyond - looks like it hasn't changed in a century or more.

"We would've met," I say. "Y'know, back in the day when you were in a factory or sweeping chimneys or whatever. I would'a tried my luck over here before America. Would'a picked you up on a street somewhere."

Before he gets the chance to laugh at me, I kiss him.

"Feels like frost in your beard," he says, and we kiss again.

:::::::

We're walking briskly now to warm up. Our cups are empty, the shortbreads are all gone, but neither of us is inclined to go back inside just yet.

"Brendan?"

"Steven."

"You know when Cheryl was on the phone before?"

"This morning, yeah."

"You were talking to her about her mum's letter. You're worried about it, aren't you – asking Cheryl what's in it."

"I told you you've got big ears."

"I was right there."

"You went to the bathroom."

"I just heard, alright?"

"Okay."

"All I was gonna say is, if you read it, then you'll know, instead of building it up into something it most likely isn't. I'm right, aren't I?"

"Yes."

"Right, so don't kick off, but I've got it with me. I got it out of your suit pocket." He pauses like he expects me to say what I think about that, but I don't. "Anyway, so if you want to read it now, in the fresh air, and get it out the way, you can. But you don't have to, Bren. If you want, we can put it away for another day, or another year – it's up to you."

"I don't know, Steven." We walk on in silence; after a while I say, "Give me your mug. Then you can put both hands in your pockets, keep them warm."

"Ta." He hands me the cup; I touch him briefly at the small of his back, then quietly he asks, "What's she like, Cheryl's mum? Is she like Cheryl?"

"Same accent," I say, and I smile at him for a second. "Somewhat like her, yeah, I guess. Curly hair, naturally. She only comes up to Chez's shoulder, though."

He laughs. "Really?"

"Really. Not short, just normal height – but compared to Cheryl, she's short."

"Was she alright to you?"

"Yeah, she was, I think, yeah. Took his side, though, sometimes when I thought it was obvious he was lying to make me seem like..."

"But she didn't know how he treated you, did she?"

"About the worst of it? I don't believe she did, no. And Cheryl says not. She knew about the violence though, or some of it, leastways – she knew he took a belt to me – but did she know it was more than just some kind of good Catholic discipline? I don't know if she did."

"Did you tell her about it?"

"No."

"Not about any of it?"

"No. That's what he did – got in my head, made me keep quiet."

"Do you want to stop talking about this?"

"It's okay. So I don't know, bottom line. I don't believe she was complicit, but I didn't believe my grandmother was either, and she was up to her neck in it."

"I think Cheryl would know if her mum had known. I don't mean at the time, when you were kids. I mean, Cheryl would've found out by now, cos all sorts of stuff would've come up since Seamus died."

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right. And Chez still hasn't filled her in about what he was really like, because it wouldn't do any good to anyone. Just cause more pain, wouldn't it."

"So there can't be anything really bad in the letter, can there. The worst would be if she was all, like, 'you killed my husband and I'll never forgive you.' And if she said that, well, you know it's not true, so what does it matter?"

"Better see, in that case."

"You're gonna read it?"

I nod. We stop, and he undoes his coat and takes the letter out from its inside pocket, and hands it to me.

The envelope is pale blue. Brendan written on the front, in her neat, rounded handwriting. I unseal it and take out the letter. All it is, is two small sheets of writing paper in the same pale blue, folded in half, and written on on one side only: but the words blur as I look at them.

"Can you tell me what it says?" I say to Steven, and then I remember how he hates reading out loud, so I say, "You don't have to."

He doesn't hesitate, even for a second. Just takes it from me.

He clears his throat. "'Dear Brendan.' she says. 'Well, I bet you are su... surprised to hear from me after all this time. Of course I hear news about you from Cheryl' – no, she's left off the L at the end, so it's – "

"Yeah, it'll be 'Chery'. It's what she always called her."

"Sherry like the drink?"

"Yeah, that's what it sounds like."

"So, '… I hear news about you from Chery, so I hear... heard when you had your wedding, and now here we are a year later. Chery says you are very happy, and I am glad for you, Brendan. I have been wanting to get in touch with you for a wee while now, but I have not known where to start at... after so long, and with what... happened with your dad. I almost asked Chery to give you my phone number, but I am sorry to say, I ch...' Checked? Sorry, Bren, I don't know what's..."

"It's okay. Show me. Okay, it's 'chickened out'. I can – "

"No, I'll read it out. I want to." He takes back the letter, takes a breath. "'I am sorry to say I chickened out. So I thought I would write to you in...stead, but now that I have started, I don't know what to say. I have had a lot to think about these past almost four years, and it has been up and down, to say the least. There are things I would like to ask you, and I except you... expect you have... questions for me too. I don't Chery...' No, that dun't make sense, hang on. Right, it's, 'I doubt Chery has told me everything. I feel like I have been very stupid for the last thirty-five years, not seeing things for how they were. Now here I am going on about myself – sorry for that, Brendan. So I'll say goodbye for now, but I hope – if you read this – I have broken the ice.' She does little circles over the I's instead of dots, same as our Leah. I've just noticed."

"Does she?"

He nods. "Not much left now, anyway. 'I am putting my address and phone number and email on the back of this letter if you want to reply yourself. I hope you will. One more thing about myself – I've got a boyfriend, if that doesn't sound too daft. Did Chery tell you? We are thinking of making a wee trip to England – our first holiday together – not sure when. If we do, maybe you and I could have a pot of tea? I will understand if you don't want to. Well I really will sign off now. We had some good times, Brendan, didn't we? You, me and your sister I mean. I hope it's not all bad for you when you look back – it would break my heart. All the best to you. Love from Mum'. And she's put a kiss."

He holds out the letter to me. I take it, fold it back into its envelope. When I slide it into the back pocket of my jeans, I feel the other paper in there, the notes for Steven's speech. I put Sharon's letter in a different pocket instead.

"You're cold." I'm looking at him, and his face looks pinched. "We'll head back."

He nods. "You alright, Bren?"

"I'm good, yeah. Thank you, Steven. I was..."

"I know."

He slides a hand into my coat pocket, locking it palm to palm with mine, and together we hurry back to the hotel.

:::::::

When we drop our mugs back to the bar, we look into the restaurant but decide we don't feel like we being in a room with strangers right now; so we return to our suite.

"Do you think they do soup on room service?" Steven says. "I fancy soup – warm us up an' all."

"Call up and ask. Soup sounds good."

"Then we can have a proper dinner tonight if we want, can't we." He dials on the room phone, and gets an answer straight away. "Hiya. We were wondering, is there soup on room service? … Yeah? So can we have soup for two, please. And does it come with some bread? … Can we have an extra roll as well? My husband likes his food. … Yeah. … Yeah it is, yeah. Thank you. Bye."

"Coming up?"

"A few minutes. She didn't ask our room number, she just said, 'And this is for the honeymoon suite, is it?'"

"Our fame precedes us."

:::::::

We've whiled the afternoon away on the couch, watching TV. It's into the evening now.

"It feels much later than it is, dunnit," Steven says. "Because it gets dark so early, I suppose."

He yawns.

"You're not gonna want to go down for dinner, are you."

"Is that alright? We'll get room service again, eh? Did you know they do pizzas?"

:::::::

We've eaten the pizza, and now we're back on the couch, TV on again.

"Brendan, you know Christmas?"

"Christmas? Is that next Christmas we're talking about, or the one that just happened?"

"The one that's just happened. And after all them prezzies you gave me, we said that we wouldn't do anniversary prezzies and you wouldn't get me a birthday prezzie either."

"You said."

"And you agreed. You promised."

"Only because you made me..."

"And you said you would take me out instead," he says. "A candlelit dinner, I asked for. And then it turned out you were taking me away – and that was fine, cos that's still like taking me out, innit. And then it turned out, it was all this. All what happened yesterday, plus today and tomorrow and not going home till Tuesday."

"It was all arranged before you declared a moratorium on presents, Steven. What was I meant to do – cancel? Tell Tony and the lads to un-book their flights?"

"No, that's not what I'm saying at all. Just listen. What I'm saying... What I'm telling you is, it's sort of like you bent the rules, innit. Which means you can't say anything if I tell you I've broke the rules as well."

I laugh. "That's what all this beating about the bush was about, is it? Getting your defence in first? Okay."

"Yeah." His smile is the guilty kind.

"Can't say it's a total surprise..."

"You knew?"

"Suspected. You went AWOL the other day – Friday, was it? – so it crossed my mind you were shopping for something."

"So you don't know what it is, then? Good. Anyway it's not even a present, not really, and if it is, it's more for me than for you. You might not even like it."

"If it's new underwear you've bought yourself, I'll like it..."

He laughs. "Nothing like that. And by the way, I'll still be mad at you if you've got me a birthday present. A candlelit dinner, just us, that's what I want."

"I know, you told me. Full disclosure – I did get you something, only it – "

"Brendan!" He's a picture of indignation.

"It cost a couple of quid. Less than that. Saw it, thought of you, is all."

"Promise? It's nothing extravagant?"

"Promise."

:::::::

An early night.

The bedroom smells fresh, from the change of air when we left the window open while we were out walking.

His arms are stretched out either side of him along the pillows, and I've kissed the length of each of them, palms to pits.

His lips are flaky from being out in the cold. They're warm now, bitten red.

I tug his ear with my teeth, then whisper into it, "Turn over."

I get off him, and he rolls onto his front. He looks at me over his shoulder as I separate his legs. I get my face between them, and get in with my tongue. His hips lift and he pushes back against me. Before long, he's moaning. I taunt him, the tip of my tongue swerving his ring and lapping around it, till he starts saying Please, and I give in and rim him. His hole feels small – hard to get into, but when I do, the pitch of his voice rises, and I keep on till the muscles in my tongue are exhausted from this workout.

I give his bum a bite.

Get off the bed, take his ankles and drag him to the edge of the mattress. Gulp down some water. Lubricate him, and finger him, and brace one foot on the floor, other knee on the bed, and say his name so he looks round and sees how ready I am. Enter him slowly, deeply. Give him a kiss when he twists round looking for one, and in between kisses I stroke up his back with one hand or two, his skin rippling ahead of the pressure.

I come inside him, then pull out, and lift him up, hold him to me, his back against my chest, and kiss his lips, cheek, hair, neck, shoulder – wherever my mouth lands – as I bring him off with my hand.

As soon as we've cleaned ourselves up, we're under the covers, his back against my chest again, but this time, to sleep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

This is night eighty.