Famous Last, page 8
“Honestly? I don’t get it. What do they see in each other? Lyle is about as interesting and welcoming as a colon scan—I know he’s your cousin, Peony, but you did ask. He could teach Mona Lisa a thing or two about how to look bored. Tate, on the other hand, is a total hunk who is clearly smitten with Lyle, and I have absolutely no idea why.”
“Join the club, sweetie. Takes all sorts. My cousin always has attracted total hotties.”
“Maybe I should try losing fifty pounds, bleaching my hair blond, wearing T-shirts with inappropriate slogans and adopting an air of aloof tiresomeness. Perhaps then I’d have more luck snaring someone like Tate.”
At least Peony had found him funny.
“You and Tate? I’d give it two weeks before you got bored. After the hot sex had worn off. Yes, he’s good-looking in a subjective kind of way, but he has nothing to say for himself, no opinions or interests.”
“Might be worthwhile just for the fortnight of hot sex. It’s been a long dry spell.”
Peony had chuckled into her ice-filled virgin mojito. Another surprise for Spencer was that Garrett had chosen a girlfriend who had a personality, and one who didn’t appear to drink alcohol. Finally his brother had struck gold. He also wondered—maybe a little unkindly—how long it would be before Garrett fucked everything up.
“Your brother said you were funny. He and your parents think you’re too fussy.”
Spencer hadn’t been surprised to hear his brother had been talking about him.
“Now I’ve finally met you, I disagree,” she had continued. “I said to him tonight, you wait, he’s just biding his time. One day he’ll shock the hell out of the lot of you.”
One pleasant surprise from the night before was how much he had enjoyed chatting with Peony, even if he didn’t agree with her prediction about him. She knew what she wanted and recognised what she had in Garrett, rough edges and all. And even a fool could see that, right now at least, she was as besotted with him as he was with her. And in Spencer’s book that had to be a win-win all round.
After showering, he wandered into the kitchen diner where his father perched on a bar stool at the kitchen island wearing his tartan dressing gown, his earbuds in, totally immersed in a news channel on his tablet. Behind the counter, his mother scowled at their swish new coffee machine, which appeared to have been designed to look like the control panel on the flight deck of an airliner.
“Any chance that contraption makes cappuccinos?” asked Spencer.
“It does. Usually,” she replied, clearly flustered. “If only I could find how to switch the stupid thing on. I used this button on the side yesterday, but nothing’s happening. Surely it can’t be broken already. We’ve only had the thing a couple of weeks.”
Spencer walked over, put a plug into the wall socket and flicked the on switch. Instantly the machine whirred to life. His mother turned and shook her head at him with exasperation.
“Honestly, I don’t know why your father finds it necessary to unplug things at the wall socket at night. It’s so annoying.”
“You know how safety conscious he is. Doesn’t want the place to burn down while everyone’s sleeping. And as long as he doesn’t touch the fridge or the freezer, I’d say you’re okay. Any chance of that coffee?”
Even though she’d had no idea to check the wall plug, his mother appeared to handle the coffee machine with the expertise of a barista. Within minutes she had produced a generous mug of foaming cappuccino with a sprinkling of chocolate on top. His father, no doubt getting a whiff of coffee, removed his earbuds and smiled at his wife.
“Ah, there he is, my husband. Back from the outer reaches of the Interweb.”
“I’d love a coffee, thanks, dear.”
“Where is this Guy Fawkes event tonight?” asked Spencer. “In a park, I’m guessing. Will they still be going ahead?”
“Let’s see what the weather does,” said his father, peering out at the garden through the floor-to-ceiling sliding doors that provided a perfect panorama of the ongoing thunderstorm. “They usually put on a display along the seafront, off the pier, but if this keeps up maybe they’ll cancel. We’ll see.”
“Emergency triple espresso, mother,” came a croak from the door. If Garrett’s carrot-coloured mop had appeared unruly the day before, this morning it had taken on a life of its own, like a ginger mushroom cloud.
“I’m not even going to ask what time you got in,” said his mother, standing guard at the coffee machine. “How come Spencer doesn’t look like an extra from The Walking Dead?”
“I left them to it,” said Spencer. “There are only so many lime sodas a boy can take.”
“Are you permanently off alcohol?” asked Garrett, scraping out a stool and taking a seat next to him. Once installed, he grabbed Spencer’s mug and took a mouthful of his coffee.
“No, of course not. But you know I’ve never been one for getting wasted.”
“Which probably explains your abysmal batting average.”
“He’s being sensible. A person shouldn’t rely on Dutch courage to chat up people. That’s how accidents happen. Ask your Auntie Julie,” said his mother, about her single parent sister, before turning towards the window. “Oh my goodness. Will you listen to that.”
His mother’s words had been partially drowned out by a loud clap of thunder, rattling the patio doors.
“Alcohol helps get your foot in the door,” said Garrett before turning to Spencer. “What’s Mum knocking up for breakfast?”
“Mum’s not knocking up anything,” said his mother, back to them, slamming down a mug of coffee in front of Garrett. “If you want toast, you know where the toaster is. Your father’s treating us to brunch at Hunters at midday, a restaurant along the seafront that we both adore. They have a special set-price brunch which comes with freshly caught lobster cooked to your liking. Tonight we’ll grab hot dogs or fish and chips from one of the stalls along the front while we watch the firework display.”
“What firework display?” asked Garrett. “The event got cancelled two weeks ago because of the dreaded plague. Along with everything else.”
“Seriously?” said Spencer, clunking his mug down on the countertop. “You mean I’ve been dragged all the way down here under false pretences?”
“Why didn’t you tell us?” asked their mother.
“I thought you knew. And I assumed Dad would be doing fireworks in the back garden instead. Like he did when we were kids. Anyway, what’s the big deal?”
His mother sighed and shook her head.
“In which case, we’ll take a family stroll along the seafront after brunch, to make up for the lack of fireworks. And don’t worry, Spencer darling, this weather is just like the coronavirus. It’ll soon blow over.”
* * * *
The weather did not blow over.
Fortunately for Spencer, his parents knew how to pick a restaurant. Hunters turned out to be exceptional and, considering the time of year, only half full, probably due either to the weather or to the health concerns across the nation. Six courses served over three hours complemented by sparkling wine, and Spencer lounged back in a hazy buzz of too much fresh seafood and bubbles.
Sometimes he simply loved to observe his family interacting with one another, surrounding him with warmth like one of his mother’s hugs. His parents might disagree over some things but not very often. In fact, they seemed to appreciate each other more now they’d both retired, appreciated each other’s strengths in their union.
Five of them shared a table overlooking the seafront—Peony gamely agreeing to join them—as the foul-weathered light show playing out over the English Channel occasionally dragged their attention away from conversation. His brother sat with his arm protectively around Peony the whole time as she sipped on her pomegranate mocktail while Garrett followed suit with his father and ordered beer.
“Would you hate me if I said that I’m glad there’s no firework display tonight?” said Spencer. “This is much more fun, all the family together.”
“Oh, Spencer, you are such a sweetie to say that,” said his mother. “But we’ve been to a firework display ever since you were small boys. Such a lovely tradition.”
“Tradition? My arse. More like British sordidness at its worst,” said Garrett. “What other culture celebrates some poor sod getting hanged, drawn and quartered—cut into four pieces and each part sent to the four corners of the country—for attempting to blow up the Houses of Parliament? You’d get a medal for doing the same thing these days—”
“I don’t think that’s quite right, son,” said their father, ever the policeman. “You’d get banged up for a considerable number of years, in case you’re getting any treasonable ideas.”
“And how do we celebrate?” continued Garrett. “By creating a scarecrow we call a ‘guy’, clothed and stuffed with straw, then sitting the poor sod on a mound of wood piled ten feet high before setting light to the whole bloody thing. More like a horror movie or publicly sanctioned arson.”
“Any public bonfire needs to be authorised, carefully prepared, and managed to meet local fire safety codes,” added their father. Spencer’s family had all learnt to tune him out.
“You know,” continued Garrett, “a lot of historians reckon the introduction of Guy Fawkes Night celebrations was a ploy by the church to erase an old pagan festival.”
“Samhain,” said Spencer. “Or All Hallows’ Eve. You’re right. Probably the former.” One of the magazines Spencer worked on had run an article about the Gaelic celebration that signalled the harvest season coming to an end and the beginning of the darkest, coldest stages of winter. “In times gone by, they constructed huge bonfires not only to keep people warm, but to scare away wild animals and evil spirits.”
Only Peony seemed to be paying any attention to what he was saying.
“And did you know there’s apparently somewhere in the country that refuses to celebrate Guy Fawkes Night?” continued Spencer. “The place where Guy Fawkes went to school. They don’t allow his image to be burnt out of respect for their former pupil.”
“God, no wonder you’re single,” said Garrett. “Spouting crap like that.”
“Don’t say that about your brother, Garrett,” said their mother, before turning to Spencer, her cheeks rouged from one too many glasses of bubbly. Spencer, who shared his mother’s complexion, imagined that he looked similarly flushed. “When are you going to bring someone home, Spencer? You know your father and I will be fine.”
“We’ve had that conversation, dear,” said their father.
“As I told Dad, it’s not exactly the best time to meet new people, Mum. The atmosphere out there isn’t exactly conducive to dating right now.”
“Is anyone having dessert?” asked their father.
“And anyway,” said Garrett, after downing his pint and thumping his glass down on the table. “Mum’s going to have her hands full soon. Being a grandmother, and all.”
“Do you think we could order two?” asked his mother, to the menu. “There are so many. And I can’t decide between the chocolate soufflé and the Eton mess.”
“Have both, love,” said their father, also staring at the menu but absently reaching across to pat her hand. “I can share with you.”
Spencer stared between Garett and Peony—both looking down at the menu Garrett held—the sudden realisation of what had been said washing over him as though he stood outside in the pouring rain. Had Garrett spoken the words he’d thought he’d heard? Did his parents already know and had taken the news in their stride? But surely they would never have kept something like that from him. He tilted his head to one side and looked quizzically at Peony. Eventually she looked up, giggled, and nodded.
“Mum! Dad!” said Spencer loudly. “Are you paying attention? Your son, Garrett, has just made a monumental announcement.”
Peony laughed aloud now and Garrett pulled her across and kissed the top of her head.
“Peony and I are having a baby,” he said.
Finally, he managed to get their parents’ attention.
“What? How did that happen?” Spencer’s mother’s features had frozen in shock, the dessert menu dropping from her fingers.
“Usual way, Mum.”
“And you’re both okay with this?” asked their father.
“How long have you known?” said their mother at the same time.
“I’m over the moon. We both are. And we’ve known for about three weeks.”
“Why didn’t you say anything before?” asked their mother.
“Because I wanted to have the whole family together,” said Garrett, grinning at Spencer. “Seeing as you’re all going to be on child-minding duties.”
“Yes,” said Spencer, “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Not you, of course. I wouldn’t trust you to look after my pet tarantula,” said Garrett, before supplementing the comment because of the horrified look his father gave him, “if I ever had a pet tarantula.”
“What do your parents think, Peony?” asked Spencer’s mother.
“Peony’s mother passed away four years ago,” said Garrett. “And she never met her father.”
“Oh, heavens. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s fine,” said Peony. “Well, it’s not fine, of course. I wish Mum was still around. But there’s no point wishing for the impossible, is there? At least the child will have you both as grandparents. And Spencer as an uncle, of course.”
“I think it’s brilliant. I’m going to be cool, gay Uncle Spencer. And I am going to spoil your kid rotten, bro.”
Peony giggled again and snuggled into Garrett.
“I’m going to pick out dresses and accessories and makeup,” added Spencer.
“We don’t know the sex yet,” said Garrett.
“And your point being?” said Spencer, enjoying watching the smile drain from his brother’s face while Peony tipped back her head and laughed aloud. “Does this mean you’ll finally be getting your own place?”
“It’s early days,” said Garrett, giving Spencer the stink eye before talking to his parents. “The baby’s not due until April or May. And we haven’t really discussed—”
“Of course you’re not, Garrett. Not yet, anyway,” said his mother. “Peony will need someone around to help with the baby. You’ll stay with us, of course you will. We’ll be happy to have you, won’t we, Colin?”
For the first time that weekend, Spencer’s father stepped out of his mental man cave and really joined the party. After studying Garrett then Peony, making a careful assessment, he turned to Spencer’s mother.
“We’d be delighted,” he said, before kissing her on the cheek. “Grandma.”
This single word instantly got Spencer’s mother’s attention.
“Okay. House rules. This child will not be calling me either Granny or Grandma.”
Everyone but Spencer’s mother laughed. She had made the fact clear on other occasions when they talked about the possibility of her sons having children—either or both of them.
“How about Nanna?” asked Spencer.
“I guess that might work.”
“Shame, I had my heart set on Glamma.”
“Don’t push your luck, Garrett,” said their mother.
“Thank you both,” said Peony, directly to Spencer’s mother and father. She appeared almost relieved, but then she had only just met the big-hearted Wyrrell family.
“This calls for a celebration,” said Spencer’s father, beckoning the waiter. “Hello there. Can we get everyone a glass of bubbly so we can make a toast? Oh, except for the mother-to-be over there. She’ll have a glass of sparkling lemonade.”
A good sport, the waiter smiled at Peony and gave a thumbs up, then stayed to take their dessert orders before heading to the kitchen.
“Surely you can have one glass of champagne,” said Spencer.
“I could. But I’m not taking any chances,” said Peony.
Spencer’s mother nodded her approval before folding her napkin onto the table, and insisting on swapping places with Garrett. Finally their mother had a project she could get her teeth into—a new grandchild on the way. Spencer felt happy for her. With the three men of the house sitting together, Garrett got the grilling he thoroughly deserved.
“You know the saying, Garrett?” said Spencer, enjoying his brother’s discomfort. “A baby is for life, not just for Christmas. You’re going to have to step up your game.”
“I know that,” said Garrett, scowling at Spencer.
“And are you going to make an honest woman of her before the baby arrives?” asked their father. “Or are you happy to bring your child into this world without—”
“Dad! Please!” said Garrett, looking over his father’s shoulder. “We haven’t thought that far ahead. Where’s that bloody champagne?”
“Well, you’d better start thinking ahead. April is just around the corner. Now I’ve got something really important I need to ask. Are you paying attention?”
Poor Garrett squeezed his eyes closed and, while pinching the bridge of his nose, bobbed his head twice.
“How would you feel about me going ahead with that roof extension? Give you both your own double bedroom and private bathroom, as well as a small adjacent room you can use as a nursery?”
Garrett’s eyes shot open and even Spencer felt the sting of tears. Maybe their father didn’t speak very often, but when he did, he usually had something huge to say.
“You would do that for us?”
“I’ve been wanting to do the extension for ages. But your mother quite rightly said we didn’t need the extra space with only you at home and Spencer living in London. Now I have a legitimate excuse and I think your mother will be completely on board.”
“I would love that. But let me contribute this time, Dad.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. I’ll be using you boys’ inheritance to pay for the renovations, so consider this payment in advance. Honestly, in all the time we’ve lived down here, I’ve never seen your mother look so happy. And you know how I am when I’ve got a project on the go. Ah, here are the drinks. Let’s have that toast.”
