Date: Sat, 07 Jun 2008 21:15:27 +0100
From: jerryfell@hushmail.com
Subject: Boy at the Wedding - 3

Alexander locked the Audi with the remote and made his way slowly
towards the squat Norman Church with its solid square tower and
arched sandstone windows.  Church bells peeled out across the
surrounding countryside.  The wedding guests were streaming towards
the church from every direction.  Alexander slowed to savour the
moment and compose himself.  There was something incredibly English
about the scene.  The summer heat.   A smell of freshly mown grass
mingled with farmyard tang.  Hedgerows and the narrow country lane
now chock-full of expensive cars, disgorging women in bright
dresses fussing and hurrying to be at the church in good time.  A
group of children were chasing each other around the ancient sunny
tombstones.  There were white roses to be affixed to button holes
by women at the door and people to greet him inside the cool church
with an immaculately printed order of service.  As he looked around
to decide where to sit, a church organ swelled with a music he
hadn't heard since his own childhood at boarding school.

Alexander had to steady himself with his hand against a worn stone
pillar.  His disciplined, ordered life was drifting away from him
in all the sensual overload of the moment.  The perfumes of the
women who made past him, the light cutting through the stained
glass, the  growing volume of the organ, the cool of the church -
all of it taking him in and out of childhood memories and an
emotional rawness he hadn't felt in many, many years.  The closest
he had ever come to this moment had been the death of his father.
In the hospital, with his father close to death, he had been
overwhelmed by a raw love that took him back to his six year old
self.   Unalloyed.  Uncomplicated.  Painfully sharp.  As though he
had just stepped through an emotional time-warp.

He spotted someone he knew.  And another.  Smiles.  Hurried
greetings and promises to catch up at the reception.  Through the
open west doors he could see a Rolls Royce arriving with the bride.
 Henry and Mary hurried past them with Matilda.  Henry raised a
hand in greeting before squeezing himself into a pew.

Alexander sat at the back of the church next to a young couple with
a baby in a pram they had parked in the side aisle.  He was
introducing himself to them when the organ blared like a peel of
trumpets, the congregation rose to their feet and the stunning
bride entered the church on the arm of her father.  Alexander stood
too, with relief, determined to let go of his inner turmoil and
rest in the liturgical rhythm, rising and falling through prayers
and hymns as man and wife became one flesh.  He smiled to himself
as he, with the rest of the congregation, knelt, sat or rose to
their feet in unison.  `We are Borg' he mused.

There was a ripple of applause as the vicar announced that the
groom might kiss the bride.  As the couple made their way to sign
the legal documents the congregation rose to their feet to sing.

Come down, O love divine,
seek thou this soul of mine,
and visit it with thine own ardor glowing;
O Comforter, draw near,
within my heart appear,
and kindle it, thy holy flame bestowing.

Again, the hymn tugged at him from his own youth.  He was back
again in the chapel of his boarding school staring at a boy in the
choir he had fallen in love with.  As the organ led the
congregation into the rise and fall of the melody he was
Sebastian's age again.  In love again with the heady intoxication
of adolescence.  Alexander, surrounded by Angels and the music of
heaven found himself in raw emotion.  He opened his throat and,
stronger than any primal scream, found himself giving full voice:

O let it freely burn,
till earthly passions turn
to dust and ashes in its heat consuming;
and let thy glorious light
shine ever on my sight,
and clothe me round, the while my path illuming.

He held his hymnbook high.  He blinked away the tears that blurred
the page.  And as he sang, ahead of him in the congregation a
mother stooped to tend to her child, and with the bend of her back,
Sebastian appeared through the crowd.  A shaft of sunlight picked
him out from high overhead as he turned with his hymnbook in a
flash of golden hair and looked right through the crowd, right into
the emotional, singing turmoil of Alexander.

Alexander held his gaze.  Locked together though thirty feet apart.

And so the yearning strong,
with which the soul will long,
shall far outpass the power of human telling;
for none can guess its grace,
till Love create a place
wherein the Holy Spirit makes a dwelling.

The woman straightened up.  Sebastian was lost in the crowd again.
Alexander fished his silk handkerchief from his breast pocket and
blew his nose, trying not to catch the eye of the young couple next
to him.  He thought: `What the fuck?!  What sort of a moron am I?
I am wallowing in this shit."  The string of profanity helped him
to recover.  Brought him back.  He was glad to get out of the
church.  The bride seemed to take forever to clear the porch, but
as soon as she was clear he hurried outside back into the sunlight
and gulped in the fresh air as the congregation poured out of the
church.

He could see the Audi in the distance.  He wrestled with an
overwhelming desire to get in it and leave the entire scene behind
him.  It was as if the motorway was beckoning to him with a promise
of sanity.

"Thank God that's over!  Time to hit the beer tent!"  It was Henry
surrounded by the entire family.

"Mary, you look spectacular!  And you Matilda, what a pretty dress"
he found himself saying.

"You should have sat with us old chap.  God wasn't the vicar a
perfect bore!"

"You were rude Henry." Offered Mary.

Sebastian piped up:  "Dad told the vicar to get on with it."

"Under my breath."

"No, Henry.  Out loud.  We all heard, and so did the vicar.  He
went bright red and lost his place."

"You're exaggerating."

Sebastian was grinning from ear to ear and rolling his eyes at
Alexander as if to say: `There goes my dad again.'

"Well bugger it."

"Henry!"

"Come on old gal, Beer Tent's awaiting.  The vicar will beat us to
it if we don't hurry."

And so Alexander was swept up in the family and together they made
their way through the graveyard, along a dry stone wall and out
into a meadow which looked like a mediaeval army camp with bright
canvass tents, marquees and fluttering flags.  Henry was swinging
Matilda by her arms.  Sebastian ran on ahead.  Mary fell in
alongside him.

"It is nice to meet you at last Alexander."

"You too."

"Henry was so excited when he knew you would be here.  You two
should make a point of seeing each other more often.  You are
always welcome to stay with us Alexander, if you can stand the trek
out to Belgium."

"Well thank you.  And you both, when you are in London.  I have
plenty of space.  Too much really.  I rattle around in it."

The main marquee was the destination for lunch.  A receiving line
greeted them and then they were in the muggy heat under canvass,
surrounded by pink and white.  Circular tables and gold lacquered
chairs.

Henry whispered to him:  "Fuck me.  Chav palace!"

Mary looked daggers.  She hadn't heard him but knew exactly what he
would be thinking.

Alexander laughed.  "Are we sitting together?"

Mary and Sebastian were inspecting a map of the tables.  "We are on
table twelve, and uncle Alex is with us."

Uncle Alex.

They found their table and greeted another family sitting with them
with another boy and two girls under ten.  Sebastian sat the
opposite side of the table to Alexander.  Alexander was sandwiched
between Henry and Matilda who had spotted his acorn cufflinks.

"Can I see?"

He let her examine his shirt cuff.  Sebastian came round the table
to look.  His fingers rotated the gold nuggets.  His finger nails
were beautifully cut for a young boy.

"They expensive?"

"Sebastian!"

"Well, I guess they are for a pair of cufflinks.  A bit of an
extravagance really."

"How much?"

"Sebastian!"

Henry was leaning over the table to pour the wine.  Generous
glasses.  He had waived away the waiter.  "Not as much as your
school fees, Seb."

"Yes, that must be painful."

"I'll say.  License to print money.  If I ever decide to give up
the old diplomatic game I'll set up my own sproglet meat factory
and educate the sons of the gibbering classes."

"And daughters!" piped Matilda.

Mary smiled.  "Hard to believe he's a diplomat isn't it Alexander!"

"Sorry!  I missed that.  I thought you were in business in
Brussels."

"No, leave that to you, old chap.  Diplomatic core at the E.U.
Telling Frenchy and Fritz some home truths.  Much more fun!"

Over the sound system: "Would you please stand.  Pray silence for
Reverend Charles Trotter who will say Grace."

"Oh Christ!"

"Henry!"

Sebastian was making moon eyes at his father: "Trotter".  He pushed
his beautiful button nose up and oinked.

"Henry look what you've started!"

They bowed their heads for grace.

There was something exciting about eating under canvass.  The
chairs on the grass.  The waiting staff moving around the tables
with rehearsed synchronicity.  The two hundred guests buzzed,
clinked glasses and relaxed as the meal progressed.

Alexander stole glances at Sebastian throughout the meal.  It was
as much as he could do not to stare at the boy.  His eyes seemed to
possess their own hunger, and acted like a deranged photographer,
snapping picture after picture, sorting them away in mental files.
The turn of his head.  A jaw-line.  A smile.  Those vivid green
eyes that seemed sometimes to shimmer like wine in a wine glass.
The boy had discarded his jacket, as had all the men at the
reception.  The tent was hot.  Sebastian seemed to blush from time
to time, but whether it was from picking up on the attention he was
being paid, or from the heat - it was hard to tell.  Sebastian sat
with sleeves rolled up, his smooth thin forearms sometimes behind
his head, sometimes draped across his mother's shoulders.  His body
seemed too lithe, too young to be constrained by a white bow-tie
and starched shirt.  When the desserts were served - off came the
bow-tie.  Soon he was running off with his shirt untucked.

Mary exclaimed:  "He's taken his shoes and socks off Henry.  Tell
him!"

But Henry was onto his second bottle.

"God' it's good to see you again you old bastard."

"You too Henry."

"And you have done well.  I mean you have done well."

"Luck mostly."

"Nonsense.  You don't get a yacht in Cannes and a fuck-off house in
London on luck."

"Well look at you, you have done well for yourself."

"True, true true.  But children are a pain Alex.  They want all the
toys.  Greedy little buggers.  You don't leave any spare cash for
daddy do you Matilda?  Riding lessons.  Sailing lessons.  Piano
lessons.  School fees.  Holidays.  On and on and on.  Endless."

With a big grin Henry swept Matilda up in his burly arms and gave
her a big kiss.  "But who's my little cuddle bunny!"  Another big
kiss.  "God you're getting heavy Matilda!" Then turning to the
other children at the table he said "Why don't you lot go cause
trouble outside."  With a nod from their parents they were gone and
the adults were left alone at the table.  A lanky teenage DJ was
coaxing couples onto the dance-floor with cheesy old pop songs.

"Alex old chap...."

Alex turned to face his old friend.

"Good, very good that you and Seb are hitting it off."

Alex blanched but forced a smile.

"The only buggering downside about being in Belgium is that he
can't come out for weekends.  Poor little chap has to stay at
school while his mates piss off for weekends at home.  I know this
is a bit much, but any chance you could do the honors once in a
blue moon?"

"Take him out for the weekend?"

Mary put her hand on his on the tablecloth.  "Say if it is too much
to ask Alexander.  We just thought you might enjoy him in small
doses."

"No I....  I would be happy to.  Delighted.   But... do you think
he would be okay with that?"
Henry was beaming.  He swept up a wine bottle from the table and
poured Alex a full crisp glass of Chablis.

"He was telling us how much he likes you.  You've made a fan there
Alex."

Alex was wondering about the exact timing of that statement from
Sebastian.  He doubted it followed the incident.

"Well, if he'd enjoy it, by all means."

Beneath the tablecloth that draped over his legs, with Mary on one
side and Henry on the other, his cock stirred and swelled and
forced itself under his clothing to a full erection.  Fortunately
at that moment the DJ started to play a Phil Collins number that
saw Henry heave himself out of his chair and drag Mary laughing
onto the dance-floor.

Alexander watched the dancers.  He was happy for them.  He found
the awkward flailing arms and stumbling steps mesmeric.  They were
too drunk or too happy to be embarrassed and he would not be
embarrassed for them either.  He rocked back on two legs of the
chair with his wineglass in hand.

Sebastian was standing next to him.  "Hi."

"Oh hi, Sebastian!  Sorry I was miles away."

"Can we play croquet again tonight?"

"Sebastian, Sebastian, Sebastian...." he said.  "I'm a little
drunk.  You'd thrash me."

"I thrash you anyway."

"I'd love to."

The two of them watched Henry and Mary on the dance floor.

"Have you been running around?"

"Yeah, I'm all sweaty.  Why don't you come outside?  I want to show
you something."

"What?"

"Come on!"

Dusk had fallen over the tents.  The north star was visible and a
harvest moon.  Groups of smokers were gathered together in clumps.
Children were running around playing tag.

"There look there."

"Where?"

"There."

There were fireflies over the neighboring meadow.

Sebastian flicked damp hair out of his eyes and climbed up on the
wooden fence to sit and look out into the field.  Alexander leaned
on the fence just inches away from the boy.  Every fibre of his
body wanted to reach out and touch.  The nape of his neck.  The
small of his back.  An arm around his shoulders.  But he didn't
dare.  He could hardly breathe.

"Are we friends again?" He managed.

The boy shrugged.

The evening was curling around them.

They stayed silent, staring out into the field.

"Seb, Seb!"  Another boy about his age was shouting at him from the
flap of one of the tents.  "Come on.  It's your turn."

"Gotta go."  Sebastian swung himself down from the fence.

"Croquet may have to be tomorrow."

"Whatever."  Then to his friend: "Hold up!"  And he was gone.

Alexander stared into the darkening meadow.  Danger.  Fear.
Recklessness.  Madness.  What was rushing towards him out of the
dark?

He turned and strode back into the main marquee.  He sloshed wine
into his glass and polished it off in one.  He walked purposefully
to the dance floor, asked Henry if he minded, and then spun with
Mary under the strobing lights.  He pressed his cheek to hers, held
her waist in his strong hands and looked deep into her green eyes
as he danced with her son.

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Comments very gratefully received.  jerryfell@hushmail.com