CHAPTER 102
Someone was trying to kick the front door in, and Eric’s arm was stopping me getting out. I finally managed to slither free, reassured Tabby and Jessica, then shot downstairs and launched myself at the two vicious thugs who stood outside the house.

Kelly was all over me, while Jan was a little less demonstrative, but only a little. I managed to untangle the octopus eventually, and asked the obvious question.

“Tea?”

Kelly ran past. “Me do!”

That was when I noticed the rather large case that Jan held.

“Oh god, all of that?”

“We need to try out a few looks, Annie, so we will have a bit of on-and-off before it’s done. You can say ‘arse’ now if you want.”

I settled her into the living room as the tea arrived, Kelly taking one up to Eric, and there was a squeal, followed by a load of giggling. She appeared back downstairs slightly flushed.

“He was half awake, tried to grab me for a snog before he realised I wasn’t you! All morning stubble and curry breath, too!”

“Hands off my man, you strumpet! You have one of your own, aye?”

Now and again, Kelly’s face moves in a way that transforms her from a pretty teenager to a stunning beauty, and that smile was one of those moments. No doubt; Mark was definitely a keeper, there. Jan got down to business, and I am afraid I have no idea what she was talking about or doing, or what with. All I knew was ‘where’. She slapped and slathered, brushed and tickled, primped and fussed, and kept wiping it all off and starting again. Kelly kept up a chain of patter and gossip, and throughout she was moving in that swaying, dancing way I had come to think of as ‘happy bounce’. Jan looked hard at my face.

“I did Steph’s for their wedding, you know. She looked gorgeous to me, but she kept picking faults. If you start the same tricks, it’s going to be ‘Brenda Meets the Bride of Frankenstein’, OK?”

“Mmmfffmmff”

Eventually, it was done, and Eric was downstairs by then staring at the finished product.

“I don’t know who you are, but do you fancy marrying me September next year?”

I packed him off to shower and dress, and then the others started arriving, which was not the plan. Esther, Eric and I were meant to ride with the Super, Kirsty and Den in works cars up to the Palace, while the others caught the train to Victoria and a taxi to the gates. I did realise, of course, that as soon as they realised how close it was to the station as well as how expensive the cabs are, they would walk.

Into my new uniform, as Eric dried himself and put on the morning suit I had pressed him to wear, Hair. Shoes. Hat…downstairs, Merry and Esther were trying to help Kelly keep my whole family supplied with tea. There was a honk of horns, and I still wasn’t ready, I would never be ready, but there were the cars, Den and Kirsty in one, and the taxis came for the rest, and…

Driving up the M23 was no problem, but the closer we got to the centre, the slower we drove. Eventually, however, we were dropped off at the side entrance, and the cars cleared off to park. We were no heads of state, sweeping in through the front gate. Flunkies checked us against lists, protocol was dictated, and we waited, and then, suddenly, I was walking up a carpet past Dennis and his wife, with Eric and Aunty Esther to one side, and a woman I felt I had known personally all my life was smiling gently before me. She murmured gently,

“Don’t worry, Sergeant Price, I am not going to ask ‘and what do you do?’ as that would be rather silly. Listen to my little man, smile for the cameras, and be welcome”

Her little man began his half-shouted speech, and there were the deeds, and the dangers, the pain and the blood.

“And with complete disregard for her own safety, Sergeant Price approached the burning vehicle barefoot over broken glass, disregarding the possibility of a second device in her concern for her friend and colleague Sergeant Armstrong”

Arse. That hadn’t been disregard, that had been stupidity. I should have thought of that possibility at least.

“…and who is now making a steady recovery from his wounds. For these actions, Her Gracious Majesty has seen fit to award her Gallantry Medal to Sergeant Anne Jessica Price. Sergeant Price…”

I stepped forward again, and as cameras flashed did my best to curtsey as that other woman in the hat handed me a small box and shook just the tips of my fingers.

“Do stand up, Sergeant. Let us talk to your friends. This is the man whose life you saved, I believe?”

“Yes, Your Majesty. Dennis Armstrong and his wife, Kirsty”

“Ah, the lady with the hose pipe. No, don’t look too surprised, this award is in my own personal gift, and I take an interest in each case. Well done, both of you. Sergeant Armstrong, you are fortunate indeed in your choice of spouse and friend. And your two companions?”

“Your Majesty, my fiancé Eric Johnson, and my Aunty Esther”

More fingertips, more gentle remarks, and then I realised that she was still keeping track of the clock as we were ushered out of the other side before the next award. Out, and round, and down, and then we made our way with Eric pushing Den’s chair to the front of the Palace, where a Gurkha was standing guard that day and my family was waiting.

“Annie, over here! Gizza smile for the Sun!”

Some things are inevitable.

Eventually, they buggered off, all except one of the photographers, and we began our round of family photos against the building, my medal in my hands. The photographer came over to us.

“People, if you want, I can do you some decent pics. Annie, I was at the court that day, you know, ‘get ‘em out’. Didn’t like that, yeah, not with that kiddy stuff. No charge, just pro pictures.”

Eric nodded, and we went from a few compact digital camera shots to what turned out to be truly wonderful and pin-sharp photos of a special day. Not only that, with his help we had shots of all of the family together. Eric whispered to me as Merry thanked the journalist.

“Did you notice: all the way through that recital, they gave you the correct pronouns?”

Oh yes, my love, I most definitely noticed.

Cars, and taxis and trains. A farewell to the Super. Naomi and Albert at the Woodruffs’ door with a huge grin and a young couple behind them. Flashes, moments, bright colours against the gloom of my past.

Family and friends.

There was a spread to make the most jaded palate sit up and smell the air. As usual, the two families had pulled out a significant number of stops, and Ginny had added her own vegetarian touches in salads of surprising mixture and colour. It seemed everyone was there, from Stewie to Polly, even Simon the vicar, Jim, Sam, Nev; my new life in a nutshell. A rather large nutshell, covering the whole of the Woodruffs’ house and garden, and the dynamics were interesting, as Uncle Tom discussed life and violent death with Stewie and Nerys collared Simon in theological debate, with John at her shoulder like a tag team wrestler.

Steph had some of my clothes ready, and after doffing my new uniform I was back downstairs with my hair down and my heels up, in Eric’s present. Arabella’s eyes went wide, but Merry just winked and Aunty Esther nodded in recognition, and I called for Darren, and Steph, Kelly, Eric and Jan, and we started out on an evening of what we loved.

We played jigs, we played reels, we played slow airs, and of course I did that Tull thing, but I kept the posing to a minimum, just as Steph’s hair stayed in place for once. That was when Leah surprised me, and out came a small and simple harp and a happy grin, and John led in with the slow first line.

“Mae hen wlad fy nhadau…”

And the harmonies rose, and the affirmative shout went up, “Gwlad! Gwlad! Pleidiol wyf I’m gwlad!” as the passion soared, and I wondered how I could ever have moved away.

Hiraeth. That song always does it. They worked their way through a few devotional hymns, and then Leah started picking out that lovely tune, and Merry’s clear voice rose solo.

“Mi sydd fachgen ieuanc ffol…”

Well, it would have been rude to let them do it on their own, so we joined in, and then, of all people, I heard Den’s voice quietly start out.

“When ah wes young, and in me prime”

The refrain was known to all, and as he quietly breathed out the words of the lament for his lost youth of a man dying of black, coal-fouled lungs, I knew he had finally turned the corner.

“Ee, aye, ah cud hew!”

And he was wrong. His hewing days weren’t through, as his wife sniffled away in her joy, and my family roared out the responses.

This time…some of us had beer.