CHAPTER 78
Eventually the evening wound down. It had been a long, long day, and I was still shuddering at the thought of steak in chocolate sauce.

Sometimes something just grabs you by the back of the mind and clings on muttering.

I was tired. Not just from the dancing and the long day, but from emotion. My parents had tried to lead me away from trying to sort others’ lives out, and all that happened was that those lives sought me out. So far, it had been mostly misunderstandings, misapprehensions, and in essence people’s unwillingness to see their true worth. There was Hywel, convinced he was just a bit of rough, some short-term fun. Andy, absolutely certain he was so despised by adult women that he had to remain an adolescent. Jon, who seemed to worry that Anne would put doctrine above affection, and that woman herself , who could not slacken her faith and feared that it was the thing driving Jon away.

Just like me, really. I had hidden, I had run, I had feared, and I had been wrong, it seemed, and despite my parents’ nagging it was me they came to.

Then, once more, there was Arwel. I didn’t have a clue as to what, if anything, I could do to sort him out. There was a man’s man, not exactly a homophobe, and certainly from my experience not a ‘transphobe’ (horrible word) but finding himself falling for a little bald man in a dress and wig. I was a little frightened of my uncle. He had always been willing to turn to violence as a young man; not exactly a thug, but someone who never, ever stepped back. I had no fears he would lash out at Alice: that wasn’t his style. What worried me was that he might turn that deep anger, that viciousness, on himself.

I knew my uncle, and the one thing that always sat in his mind was being true to himself, true to his image of manhood. What would he do if he couldn’t live as he saw fit? I was worried. At that moment, though, he was deep in conversation with Alice, and she seemed to be doing an awful lot of touching, to his arm, to his hand, to his knee as she went to get some drinks, and once to his lips to shush him when he was clearly on too much of a conversational roll.

He wasn’t pulling away, or showing any objection n his face, but was that the alcohol, or acceptance? If the former, would it be guilt next?

Tony came up to me, wrapping me up from behind, obviously picking up on my mood.

“Love, this is our second wedding in a row without a fight, which is normally a miracle. Leave them to it, there is nothing else you can do but be there for both of them.”

He moved my hair aside and kissed the back of my neck. “And I will be there for you and them, you know that. Now, we need to get small people away, and I have had beer, and beer means we need to stop at the Charcoal Grill for some elephant’s leg with all the trimmings”

“You are not snogging me after garlic sauce, Hall”

“Chilli sauce, then, and if you have some too we’ll match”

Oh, you smooth romantic bugger. We gathered together the small herd of children and started the round of goodbyes. Suzy was, of course, taking Hywel back to hers, sharing a taxi with Anne, who was busy saying goodnight to Jon rather enthusiastically in a corner. Arwel, to a certain level of surprise on my part, was using the spare room at Enid and Alice’s place.. Back off, Sarah, back off.

We made quite a group for the kebab shop, four children and eight alleged adults, as Pat and Janet had also decided that alcohol needed topping up with grease. I don’t know what Mehmet the owner made of us, because even the children were dressed ’tidy’, as they say back home. Griddled pitta bread, filled with shavings of…something large and greasy rotating on a vertical spit, topped up with masses of salad and red sauce, with just a few pickled green chillies on top. The kids, of course, went for something more to their taste, burgers and chips. Clutching our bags we made the short walk back to our house, all adults paired up, hand n hand, as life should be. Janet was very slightly drunk, but it was hard to tell whether that was with alcohol or the simplicity of being able to show and receive affection in public.

The children were still bouncing, having had a long afternoon and evening of chasing each other round sports fields and function room, of dancing and laughing. I carried a certain vicarious pride that my boy was still the best little dancer of the lot, with a real passion for music and seemingly devoid of those inhibitions that make most boys shuffle from foot to foot rather than let rip on the floor. We had put them all in one room, and with a few small controls we knew they were going to have an all-nighter of sorts. There are times children must be left alone to be kids, to work through their own excitement. They would catch up on sleep later.

Into the house, and out of the shoes. Bliss! I got the kettle going for the sane people in skirts, and issued orange squash to the smaller ones, while the lunatics in trousers descended like locusts on some of Tony’s malts. I held up a hand.

“Before you start on Highland Park or Old Seaweed or whatever, don’t you think it might be better to get the kebabs out of the way first? It’ll taste better unmixed with peppers!”

Pat nodded. “White, no sugar then, my dear!”

Remember what I said about wondering if being a woman was a rational choice? Well, obviously, it’s not a choice, is it, but my point is valid. Men make some huge assumptions, especially when they have their arse in a comfortable chair.

I did my wifely/hostess duties and distributed teas and paper towels for greasy fingers, and for a while there was almost silence as jaws masticated and mouths slurped. Janet was slumped against her man as they ate, and Ali was perched on her dad’s knee attacking a burger that seemed wider than her head. I had a little epiphany, a little moment, reflecting on how I was sitting happily in my own family’s home, with treasured guests after a wonderful day, and it was all so normal, so beautifully mundane that I was blissfully happy. I squeezed my husband’s thigh and whispered in his ear “How much sleep shall I let you have tonight?”

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The following day, a Sunday, Enid had offered a buffet lunch before people had to set off for Reading and Wales, so after a long lie in I got very gingerly (oh god, what a night….) out of bed to pick up after Arris had sorted the kids’ breakfasts out, and then started putting together something for the adults. Arris was grinning.

“Bore da, John Wayne!”

“You’re just jealous cause mine’s newer than yours”

“If you’re not careful, you’ll wear it out, girl”

“Mmmmmmm what a way to go!”

Two confused men eventually gave up trying to work out what was so funny. Being Welsh is very useful.

We spent the morning with the kids playing board games, reading or just dozing after their midnight adventures, and then as we were all waking up properly loaded up Steve and Tony’s cars for the run out to Alice’s. Suzy’s car was out the front, next to Arwel’s bus, and Ellie and Karen were straight back out of the house to load their bits and pieces for the trip back.

The two older women had laid out a feast, which was optimistic in the extreme considering the quantity we had got through the day before. The children needed sensitive steering, of course, away from pud and sweet stuff and onto cold meats and salad first. Kids will be kids, of course, and I had a quick check around for tins of Quality Street or similar sweets. I know my boy.

What I was also checking on, of course, was how Arwel was behaving now he was sober. Hywel was easy, he was as welded to Suzy as if he would fade away if the connection was broken, and she looked much the same. It was the older two I was watching.

It seemed OK, and they were keeping quite close, physically. She loaded his plate for him, and there was a small argument about how much he was allowed to eat. She was at the table, selecting a mix for both of them, he was demanding more, and she was saying no. So, Arwel being Arwel, he got up to top up his plate. Alice said something, and he just slipped his arm round her waist for a hug before going back to his seat.

And as he stepped away he quite casually patted her backside.