Dolphin-san: I'm so sorry, I haven't been keeping up with my writing! I feel terrible about it! My tutors just keep piling on the work though, this is the first free night I've had since the start of term , really. But anyway, to make up for it I'm going to try and spend today and tomorrow writing (I have Wednesdays off, supposedly for studying). I know it won't make up for the lack of updates, but at least I'm still trying.

Chapter 34

'I've got mumps,' Ray croaked into the receiver. 'It's awful. I look like a gerbil with bulimia.'

'Mumps!' Hiro sounded horrified. 'I've never had mumps!'

I know that, you berk, thought Ray. Otherwise what would be the point of telling you I've got it?

'Isn't it a nuisance? I won't be able to see you for a whole week –'

'Longer than that,' Hiro cut in, concerned for certain parts of his anatomy. Didn't mumps cause them to swell up agonisingly, like footballs?

Ray rushed to reassure him. 'Oh no, six days is fine. I checked with the doctor. Just as well, too, otherwise I'd have to miss the wedding of the year.'

In the privacy of his own living room, Hiro stuck his hand down the front of his Nike jogging pants, making sure his testicles weren't quietly swelling up behind his back . . . so to speak.

'Wedding?' No, thank God, they seemed okay. 'Why, who's getting married?'

'Oh, it's so exciting.' Ray's voice was croaky but otherwise he seemed cheerful enough. 'You'll never guess!'

'Not your friend Bev. Don't tell me she's bulldozed some poor sod into marrying her at last.'

'No.' Ray sounded hurt. 'Oh Hiro, don't say it like that, we've just got engaged! You sound do anti-weddings.

Hiro grinned.

'Only when they involve saying "I do" to Bev. So who is it then?'

'Takao and James. Next Sunday at the Salinger Hotel in Kensington. Can you imagine?' sighed Ray. 'They've only known each other a month, but they just couldn't wait. Isn't it the most romantic thing you ever heard?'

'Your boss is marrying James Thompson?' Hiro marvelled. 'Where's the actual service being held?'

'Right there in the hotel! Oh, and you should see the guest list,' Ray exclaimed. 'Celebrities flying in from all over the world . . . I mean, are there any famous people Takao doesn't know?'

'And you've been invited,' said Hiro, trying not to sound too eaten up with envy. God, what he wouldn't give to go along to a wedding like that, to rub shoulders with rock stars and actors and models . . . well, if he wore sixteen-inch platforms he could rub shoulders with models . . .

In his bedroom, Ray covered the receiver and mouthed, 'Jealous,' at Max.

'Max mouthed, 'Daisy,' back at him.

'Oh yes, and Daisy Schofield's going to be there.' Enjoying himself immensely, Ray pictured the expression on Hiro's face.

'Daisy Schofield,' Hiro echoed, unable to hide his disappointment. This was so unfair.

Ray paused. Timing, after all, was everything.

'So you'll be able to meet her at long last.'

Hiro digested these words.

'What?'

'You're invited too, dopey!'

'Really? Hey, great.'

He was grinning uncontrollably, Ray could tell. And trying so hard to sound cool. Bless his heart.

Bastard.

'So don't forget, will you? Make a note of it in your diary. Midday, next Sunday. Wear your best suit. Oh,' Ray added as an afterthought, 'and don't breath a word about this to anyone. We're talking Top Secret here. Takao and James want total privacy – the last thing they need is for the place to be hijacked by photographers.'

'Oh, well, yes, I can understand that. Of course,' said Hiro in a trustworthy voice. 'I won't blab. Um . . . who's going to be the best man?'

Ray thought for a moment.

'Can't remember. I think Takao said something about Mick.'

Mick?

Mick!

Deeply, deeply impressed, Hiro swallowed and said, 'Hucknall or Jagger?'

'Oh, one of them, I don't know,' Ray replied carelessly. 'Does it matter?'

Christ, no.

'I could get myself a new suit,' said Hiro, determined to sound casual.

'A new suit?' Ray waggled his eyebrows at Max. 'That's an idea. Look, sorry to keep on, but Takao's drummed it into all of us. You won't accidentally let slip about this to anyone, will you?'

The temptation was too great. Leaning across, Max listened to his husband's reassuring reply.

'I won't breath a word,' he heard Hiro say. 'Darling, you know you can trust me.'

When he had hung up the phone, Ray bounced off his bed. He rummaged amongst the tangle of necklaces in a blue china bowl on his dressing table.

'What?' said Max, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

The copper pot-bellied pig, designed to hang on a leather strap and worn as a choker, went sailing up into the air.

'He said he wouldn't breath a word.' Ray pointed. 'See? A flying pig.'

There was a gentle thud as at landed on the rug next to Max. Picking up the pig, he ran his finger over the little upturned snout.

'Where did you get this? He's brilliant.'

Actually, he was rather brilliant, Ray modestly acknowledged. Ugly and cross-eyed and with one leg longer than the rest, but with bags of quirky character. And hey, no one's perfect.

'I made him. Years ago, at school,' he told Max. 'I joined the metalwork class because I was in love with this boy called Denzil.'

'And did you end up going out with him?' Max gave up on his boring pelvic floor exercises. Eagerly he said, 'Was he your first boyfriend?'

'Oh yes. And it changed Denzil's life forever.' Ray rolled his eyes. 'He was expelled a year later for seducing the metalwork teacher.' He shrugged and held out his hands. 'What can I tell you? The story of my life. This is how much luck I have with men.'

'Well,' said Max. 'I know that feeling.'

Ray watched him pull open the neck of his lime-green cotton sweatshirt, peer down at his stomach and reach for the round cushion on the chair behind him.

'Um . . . what are you doing?'

'I need to be bigger for next Sunday.'

Max shoved the cushion up under his sweatshirt, unfolded his legs and solemnly studied his reflection in the dressing-table mirror.

'I don't know.' Ray was doubtful.

'Too much?'

'You look about fourteen months pregnant.'

The weird thing was, it actually suited Max. When you had blonde hair piled up with combs, and golden skin, and blue eyes that sparkled like the sea, Ray realised, you could get away with almost anything, even stuffing a cushion the size of a sofa down your front.

Max thought he looked a fright, of course, but only because it was the automatic reaction of people everywhere to putting on weight. Plus, his self-confidence had taken a complete hammering when Hiro had left.

Which couldn't help.

'That's better.' Ray nodded approvingly when the big cushion was swapped for her rolled-up denim shirt. 'Size-wise, anyway. I'm not sure about those bits of collar showing through. Looks as if you're about to give birth to something with huge pointy ears.'

Max pulled out the shirt and tossed it back on Ray's waiting-to-be-ironed, hopefully-before-Christmas pile.

'I can't wait for next Sunday. God, I hope Hiro buys himself a really expensive new suit.' He looked at Ray. 'Nothing can go wrong, can it?'

'Nothing.' Ray broke into a huge grin; he was looking forward to it too. 'Just so long as he doesn't go down with mumps.

'Flo? Dancing Queen, is that you?'

Florence, who had been wrestling with the Telegraph crossword, lit up at the sound of Tom Barrett's gravelly voice.

'Tom , you wicked old man! Are you ringing to tell me the date of the wedding? Hang on, give me a hand with this stinking crossword first. Attempt to hide donkeys in mountain slope before noon, eleven letters, something c, something e, something something something –'

'Haven't the foggiest, but I've got one for you. Old man abandoned by nubile young lassie –'

'Oh, Tom, no,' Florence exclaimed, cottoning on at once. 'Not Maria. Don't tell me she's dumped you.'

Tom chuckled at her dismay.

'Well, it was pretty mutual. Maria's a sweet girl, the sex was great, but the novelty soon wears off. All she wanted to do was watch Home and Away and bloody Neighbours. She speaks broken English with an Australian accent. Oh, it was fun while it lasted, Flo, but it wasn't love. She moved out last week, and the relief . . .'

Florence relaxed. He certainly didn't sound heartbroken.

'Were is she now, gone back to Thailand?'

'God, no! Moved in with the fellow next door.' Tom barked with laughter. 'Handy, really. She pops round every evening with a hot meal for me. Even gives me the odd massage if my back's playing up.'

'Humph,' said Florence. 'Being fond of Neighbours is one thing, but isn't that taking it a bit far?'

'No ill feelings,' Tom pronounced cheerfully. 'It didn't work out, that's all. And I'm keeping myself busy, still playing golf . . . just joined the local theatre group, matter of fact. Great fun.'

He and Louisa had always been keen on amateur dramatics, Florence recalled. Acting had been their great passion. It was something else Tom had given up when his wife had died.

'I'll never forget that production you put on in Malta.' As she spoke, the germ of an idea began to unfold. 'You were a fine Professor Higgins.'

'I had a fine Eliza,' Tom replied fondly, remembering Louisa. 'And there's something else I haven't forgotten about that show.' His tone grew stern. 'You fell asleep.'

'Never mind that now,' said Florence. 'What are you doing on Sunday?'

'Not watching endless videos of Home and Away, that's for sure.' Tom sounded immeasurably relieved. 'Why?'

'We're putting on a small production of our own.' Feeling like a movie mogul, Florence lit a cigarette and blew a row of smoke rings . . . damn, it really should be a Monte Cristo cigar. 'You'd fit the bill perfectly for the role I have in mind,' she told Tom, puff puff. 'And I promise not to fall asleep.'

Dolphin-san: Once again, I'm so sorry for making you have to wait so long for an update. I'll work extra hard on the next chapter to get it up tomorrow, okay?