PART 3
Geoff explained our idea, with Eric’s help. The former looked across to me, frowning.

“I only learned some of this to try and keep up with Steph. If it’s talking about bits of bikes, I’m fine. This is something else”

Janet came in at that point, and Pat took her aside, putting away his mobile. I watched her face as he spoke, and each little nugget of Roland’s story led to a definite reaction on her face, culminating in an expression I found deeply scary. I had had my doubts about Janet’s agenda when we first met, but she had proven true to her declared position, and the change in Pat’s mood had been profound. This was something new from her; this was rage. She caught my gaze, and her jaw set. There was a sharp nod, an affirmation of our common cause, and she was gone again. Pat returned to the table.

“Remind me never to upset the wife, Tony. Might be messy…she’s gone to convene the chapter, or whatever it is. Eric, can you let Roland know his sister’s on her way over, so he can be adequately butch for her?”

They made quite a sight as they came across the car park, Annie and Steph arm in arm with Sophie, Janet in the lead, and Ginny bringing up the rear with her daughter. Somehow, we managed to squeeze people in around us, but I decided to stand, being either a gentleman or an idiot. You’d have to ask the wife to know which one, though. Sophie smiled sadly at her brother, and touched his cheek, and if anyone had ever doubted her femininity it ended then. She looked round to us, eyes moist.

“You do this because my brother, he is polite to you once?”

Steph sat up straight. “He wasn’t polite, he was civilised, humane, everything Pat here said in his sermon. He treated me with dignity, me, a complete stranger. He showed me that it wasn’t just my beloved here, and his family, people who knew me. It could be anybody. Sophie, we have long memories here, and you have to understand that there is a reason for it all buried in the churchyard”

Janet nodded. “Yes. Alice is keeping Enid company, but she had a touch of it herself, and Sarah here. Look, I am out of the direct loop on this. My school is too young in age terms for a French assistant, but I shall ask around”

Annie nodded. “I might have a better chance, Janet. I am still doing the schools liaison bit, aye? Got rather a collection of Heads I know. Steph…depending, aye, could we put her up for a while if I find somewhere? Get her on her feet, aye?”

I couldn’t help it, and started to laugh. Sarah fixed me with one of her best mother-stares.

“Well, Hall, explain. What is so funny?”

“Darling, love of my life…”

“Continue”

“Don’t you see? This is everything I love in you, all of you. None of you has had it easy, but as soon as you see someone hurting you are there, picking them up, yeah?”

I paused a second or two before adding “That and your delightful bum, of course”

Her grin gave me all the answer I needed, and I turned back to the French girl. “Sophie, what do you think?”

She looked suddenly shy. “Would people here not…you know, hate me the same?”

Annie sat up straighter. “Let’s just say that round here we sort of have an interest in that sort of thing and, er, a very good support group. Resistance is indeed useless, girl. Want to explain it all to your brother?”

She nodded, and there was yet another burst of Foreign, this time considerably quicker and more animated than Geoff and Eric’s attempts, Roland looked hard at Annie, then at his sister, and I realised I was already doing it, shifting perspectives. I mean, there was no way on Earth I could ever find her attractive. Mickey Mouse hands, huge feet, a jawline from Desperate Dan rather than Cindy Crawford, but…but. Every thing she did, every move, every utterance, she was female. I found myself, just for an instant, having some quite negative feelings about my wife, on the basis of luck and genetics.

No, not fair. Make this work, Hall.

“Boys, girls, we seem to have a plan, so what say we blow this gaff for Simon’s bar and see how mad our resident virtuosi can get?”

Arwel rumbled. “Sure he’s got ale in?”

Geoff nodded. “I’ve done a few runs with the van, Arwel”

Hywel laughed. “Let me rephrase that: are you sure he’s got ENOUGH ale in?”

Steve then did something that made me prouder than ever of my best friend. He whispered something to Steph, and she rattled off something Froggy about ‘musique’, and Steve stood, extended his hand to Sophie and asked “Voulez-vous danser avec moi?”

His height was the thing, his height and his bulk, and as she stood she seemed small beside him, as anyone would, but for her it clearly meant something. I did catch a little flicker of her eyes towards his wedding ring, but she was clearly happy to take what she could get.

Steph led the way back to the hall, which had emptied of most of the locals but still held what I was beginning to think of as one family. Normally you have to put up with whatever fate and your relatives throw at you, but here, now, we were making our own. As the various players assembled, Steve called out “Can we have a waltz?”

Steph shouted “Dream Waltz. Darren, that’s three-four, aye?”

Steve bowed to his partner, and then took her hand and almost flowed into the ballroom hold. As the music began, they swirled off, and I was amazed at how well he danced. Clearly, he had talents that he had kept hidden, perhaps as part of the whole biker thing we had always shared. As they stepped and turned, Pat led Janet up, and Arwel Alice, Simon Merry, and more and more couples joined in. I caught Arris’ face as she beamed at her husband, so in love with him it hurt, and as I sat my own wife climbed into my lap and kissed me.

“What’s that for?”

“Just for being the man I needed to find, love; just for being you”.

She huddled in my lap as Jim led Ali round, amid half of bloody Wales, and I caught a glimpse of Roland. This time, he made no attempt to hide his tears, but looked on as his girl danced and blushed, swayed and smiled, in Steve’s arms.

That night, I lay with my wife, the dog and boy in their own tent, and Pat’s words stayed with me. Humanity….how could one ever be human without being humane?

Morning came, with a chorus of coughs and groans as people started stoves or made their way to their respective facilities. Merry was, as usual, disgustingly bloody perky as she dished out our breakfast. I had a slight case of stale-beer mouth, and needed a cup of tea, cause my useless excuse for a wife had got up to go to the ladies’ instead of serving me one in bed. I made a note to find out exactly what a shewee was, and see if it could solve that problem. I mean, if she could fill a pee bottle in the tent, she could do the same for a kettle. Just with different fluids, obviously.

Geoff came over as I piled two plates with heart attack and tomatoes. “Give us a hand later, mate? Got to set the tables and stuff out for the kids”

“You had tea in bed, didn’t you?”

“Yup. Took a while, but we now have a fully-trained boy, even if he is someone else’s”

“What, Darren?”

“No, Mark. Kelly kicks him out first thing to do our teas; she says if she must commit mortal sins in a churchyard, he can at least do the penance for her”

I laughed. “Geoffrey, your family is seriously, seriously weird, yeah?”

“Ah, Tone, I wouldn’t change then for anything. Here’s your missus; later?”

“Yeah, OK. What’s up love?”

“Those bogs. Fucking freezing! Put my arse on the seat and I thought it was going to stick to it. Pass that tea over, cariad, I need to run it through the pipes. Jim?”

“With Pie, off on some explore somewhere with Darren”

“Aye, and two girls, no doubt! Think Ali’s forgiven Darren yet?”

“As long as she has Jim, yeah. What you up to this morning?”

“Er…bit of a cliché, love. Taking Sophie over to Annie’s, give her a spruce up, aye?”

“As long as you make me a promise”

“Wossat?”

“Spend less time round your uncle. You’re starting to sound like him again”

And so it went. We blokes lifted and moved, heaved and shifted, while the Women’s Institute girls annexed the kitchen. As we set out the tables, the kids followed us round to lay out places for the guests. Someone from the hospital wandered around removing chairs where suitable for those in wheelchairs, and the smell of roasting meat grew steadily stronger. I collared Simon.

“What’s on the menu, mate?”

“Turkey, turkey and turkey, with trimmings. Between you and me, I would have gone for some other meats, but with Annie, you know…”

Shit. Of course. “Pud?”

“Done in a tray, but should be OK. Just be grateful you don’t have to peel the sprouts. You’ll be calling it women’s work, no doubt”

They started to arrive just after twelve, in a mixture of small coaches and wheelchair-friendly people carriers. They were a mix indeed. Some kids looked as if they should be out playing with my boy and his dog, but some…It was another epiphany, the knowledge pushing itself gracelessly into my mind, exactly why Simon lived as he did, did what he could. Even without his imaginary friend he clearly took delight and pride in being able to expand the world’s supply of ‘good’

They walked or rolled, or were pushed, in, and we set about sorting their places, with crackers and soft drinks. Alice and co were up to their eyeballs in WI ladies, but Steph, Annie and my wife were still missing. We were nearly ready to dish up when they appeared, Geoff’s sister-in-law Jan in tow, and…she was blushing, but there was a smile there, and I don’t know what they had done to her, but whatever it was seemed to have boosted her confidence no end. Steve looked across the room, and blew out a wolf whistle, and she turned and ran, Sar right behind. Jan sighed, shrugged theatrically and followed them into the ladies carrying a large square case. Ah.

Arris was slapping her husband’s backside, which wasn’t having much effect due to his leather jeans, and he looked a little shamefaced as he shrugged his apologies to me across the hall. Sophie was back out in a few minutes, though, and while I couldn’t see exactly what it was they had done, she looked softer, more complete, and yet she was looking around under her fringe as if awaiting a slap. I wondered what the French was for ‘arsehole’?

Before she could find her way to Roland, my wife threw her an apron. “Time for us girls to dish up, Sophie!”

Annie grinned and gave Steph a nod, and as we made the rounds of the tables with loaded plates and full glasses, our house band started to play, something classical, and the music lay there like a friend under the hubbub of happy children. Crackers were pulled, silly hats worn, dreadful jokes shared, and only one of the children threw up. Could life get any better? I keep asking that question, and the answer is always the same: yes, it could.

That night, we were let loose. Dishes done, tables cleared away, and we split the night in two. Part of it, of course, was my chance to ogle some married woman’s backside as she danced in a short skirt to our sort of music, and part of it was sitting down and watching as two of my friends went absolutely insane in the most inspired manner imaginable. There was one moment…

Steph was doing her mad ginger lunatic bit, hair going everywhere as Darren and Eric stared at her left hand, which was bent in some unnatural way and seemed to be halfway up her nose. The fiddle was screaming, and probably stunning bats, as she and Annie tore into ‘Locomotive Breath’ in what can only be called a free interpretation. Sar was completely gone, down and dirty with Arris, Chantelle, Ali and Ginny, Sophie doing all she could to keep up with them as the house band drove the rhythm and the nutters played their musical games and threw sweat everywhere. Both of them were in dresses over leggings, but Annie had heels on, and I wondered if it was like Alice’s excuse: because now, at last, she could.

She was in the middle of some lunatic bit of tongue and finger work, and I knew it was coming, and up it went, her left leg, and she was doing her best Ian Anderson pose, grunting and yelling through the flute, hair soaked to her head.

On three inch heels. It was like watching a tree fall in the forest as she slowly started to lose the vertical, and Eric just stepped forward and leant into her, not missing a beat on his guitar as she straightened her leg and stood up again. I didn’t know if it was rehearsed or not, but it was amazing either way. They knew each other so well, fitted together seamlessly. Their adopted son just grinned and carried on with his drumming, as if he had seen it all before.

And so to the end of the evening. Eric sat with his wife improvising on his guitar as she did strange and wonderful flute-based things, but the rest of us…we found our partners, or our parents, or our dog, or all three, and we finished our drinks in near silence. It had all been said, all been done.

This was our Christmas. There were presents to come, packages at home to open, letters to write, but this, this was the important bit.

Family. Friends. Love.