Page 13 of Short Stack 3

A Mystery Tour

A short story that was written for my newsletter subscribers to celebrate the release of Something Borrowed . It’s set after the events of that book.

Rafferty

I tuck my top hat under my arm and stroll out of the hotel. The afternoon sun is warm on my head, and I tilt my face up to it, enjoying the sight breeze after being cooped up all day at a wedding.

“Oi.”

Blinking, I lower my head and look around for the source of the call. “Hey,” I say as I see Leo. He’s leaning against the wall of the hotel, holding an envelope. “What are you doing here? Did you have a client today?”

He rolls his eyes. “Say it a bit louder for the couple behind us who now think I’m a high-class hooker.”

I look at his tight jeans and navy T-shirt. “Not exactly high—” He raises one eyebrow, and I hasten to add, “ More than high- class. Is there something above that, because you’re definitely it?”

“Twat,” he says in an affectionate tone. He straightens up. “I have something for you.”

“Is it the recipe for the goulash you made last week, because I only said I wanted it for Stan’s benefit. I have zero intention of ever trying to make that dish.”

“That bodes well for Stan’s continued survival.”

He hands me the envelope, and after a bit of juggling, I pass him my top hat.

“What is it?” I ask.

“Why don’t you open it and see?”

“The last envelope I took from a man was a couple of years ago, and it was David. Do you remember that?”

He grimaces. “The envelope of toe clippings. Who can forget that?”

I shudder at the memory. “He said he wanted me to have his essence.”

“I would have thought that sperm would have been a better choice.”

“How fortunate that you were off on a cruise picking up bankers and not here to advise my lovelorn swain.”

“Swain? Have you and Stan been at the period dramas again?”

“You know he loves them, and I just exist to make that man happy.”

“Well, as far as I know, this isn’t toenail clippings. To be handing you something like that, I would have to be one of your men, and I can honestly say, Raff, that I’d rather eat my intestines with a teaspoon.”

I snort and nudge him. “I know that tone of voice. It covers up extreme affection.”

“It’s buried very deep.” He taps the envelope. “Open it, then. I do have a life to get back to.”

I direct a curious glance at him but tear open the envelope and slide out a sheet of thick paper. “What’s this?” I ask, and then my fingers run over the surface, and I blink. “Braille.” I look up at Leo. “Have you got me mixed up with Stan?”

“I’m fairly sure he’s the hot, funny one of your partnership.”

“I know you’re joking about that because I’m pretty sure that’s actually me.”

“No, I haven’t got mixed up. The paper is a message for you. Stan wants you to read it.”

“Does he really?” I look down at it, now intrigued. “I wonder if he’s got a hotel room for the night to surprise me. I hope he’s naked. Once, he waited naked for me with sushi on his body. It was very erotic eating it off him, but I have to say I haven’t been able to so much as touch raw fish since then.”

“I would like to expunge this conversation from my brain. Read it.”

“God, you are so bossy. You should tone that down a bit if you expect to keep a husband. Ouch!” I pull my arm away from where he just pinched it. “Okay, I’m reading it. Turn around.”

“I beg your pardon.”

I roll my eyes. “I have to feel along the braille. I can’t do that holding it in the air, so I need to rest the paper on your back. I do wish you’d think things through clearly.”

“I wish I hadn’t got up this morning. I wish I was on Mars where Stan couldn’t reach me,” he says conversationally but turns around so I can use him as a prop. “How long have you been able to read braille?”

I huff as I run my fingers over the bumps on the paper. “It’s a bit of a work in progress, to be honest. I took a night class, but I’m not terribly good at it.”

“Doesn’t Stan help you practise?”

“We tend to practise naked, so I don’t always have the best concentration on homework.” I frown. “It says, ‘Beat me at the park’. What the hell does that mean? Are we playing competitive sports, or is Stan taking an interest in spanking?”

Leo gives a long sigh and straightens up. I fumble to hold the paper as he reaches into his pocket and produces another envelope. “Stan knows you very well.”

I tear open the envelope and find a sheet of paper with a typed message on it.

I knew you wouldn’t be able to read it. Meet me at the start of us.

I look up, frowning. “This is a bit too cryptic for a Saturday afternoon after I’ve just spent all day talking about the weather and whose hat is the nicest. What’s the start of us?”

He looks amused. “Stan said you’d say that too. He wants you to meet him where the two of you began.”

I begin to smile as realisation dawns. “Well, that’s at his family home, isn’t it?”

“Praise all the saints and the tiny baby Jesus too. Yes, that’s right.” He pats my cheek, and his face is suddenly filled with affection. “Love you, babe.”

“Love you too.”

I watch him walk off and then shake myself. “Do I have time to go home and get changed?” I shout after him.

“Nope,” he says without turning around. “Stan needs you to move quickly on this.”

“Great. I’m in for a lot of rather ridiculous comments walking through London like this.” I look around for a cab and blink as one pulls smoothly up next to me. I lean down. “Are you free, mate?” Then I grin. “ Nigel .”

The cabbie smiles back at me. “Taxi for Raff.”

I climb into the back. “Well, this is a nice surprise. Did someone book you for me?”

He winks at me in the mirror. “Stan hired me for the afternoon.”

“That man thinks of everything. Well, I need to head to Stan’s parents’ house.” I rattle off the postcode, and he pulls away.

I settle back in the seat. “Do you know what’s happening, Nigel?”

He takes a right, raising a middle finger at someone in a car nearby who objects to the move. “I do, but I’m sworn to secrecy, Raff.”

“Well, it’s bound to be great if it’s Stan.”

“It is.” I think his gaze softens as he looks at me in the mirror, but then he turns away to abuse another motorist, and I sit back for the ride.

Half an hour later, we pull up outside Stan’s childhood home, and I pat Nigel on the shoulder. “Do you know what I’m supposed to do now?”

He nods at the two figures coming down the drive. “No, but they will. I’ll wait here for you.”

“Will you? Why?” He mimes zipping his mouth, and I grin at him.

“Keep your secrets, then, Nigel.”

Climbing out of the cab, I start to laugh at the sight of Stan’s parents. “I’m sorry. Did I interrupt you on your way to Royal Ascot?”

Rowena rolls her eyes. She’s wearing a long, gold, sequinned dress with a rather large hat that has roses on it. “Stan said we had to dress up. Edward insisted on this get-up. I’m rather distressed that I’ve broken my make-up embargo after all these years.

“Just think green eyeshadow is now back in fashion. Go, you.”

She snorts, and Edward doffs his top hat at me. He’s wearing a morning suit, but I’m amused to see he’s obviously lost his dress shoes again because he’s wearing the pair of Bart Simpson slippers that Vinnie bought Rowena for Christmas.

“Good afternoon,” he says, grinning. “You’re looking spiffy as usual, Raff.”

“Of course. I always do.” I smirk. “Nice slippers. I doubt you’ll get in the royal enclosure, though.”

He shrugs. “Such is the way of life. I’m not sure I’d want to be in there anyway. Don’t you have to be on your best behaviour all the time?”

“Not judging by the current royal family, no.”

Rowena hugs me, and I grin as she kisses my cheek. I smell Baccarat Rouge, and my heart warms with a thousand memories of hugs like this. Saoirse didn’t do childhood hugs because she said I was usually sticky or filthy or a mixture of the two. She wasn’t wrong.

“What’s all this about?” I say.

She sniffs. “We’re just happy, Raff.”

“Well, I suppose it’s nice that your happiness comes with a grip that a boa constrictor would envy.”

She shoves me, laughing. “I love you, even though you are a very exasperating boy.”

“I love you too.” I look at both of them. “So? I’m here at the start, and Stan is nowhere in sight. What happens now?”

Rowena looks at Edward. He startles. “What?”

“The thingy,” she hisses. “Give him the envelope.”

“Oh.” He grins. “That’s a relief. I thought I’d forgotten something.” He pats his jacket. “It’s in here somewhere.” He pats his trouser pockets. And then does it again and again, each time with more urgency. “Now, where did I put it?”

“Oh god.” His wife sighs. “I knew I should have kept hold of it, but you said you would do it.”

He checks the back pockets in his trousers. “Where on earth did I put it, Rowena?”

“How would I know, darling? It’s as likely to be in the compost bin as it is the airing cupboard. Both are places I’ve found things you put away safely. You’d forget your head if it wasn’t screwed on.”

“Head.” He crows in triumph. “Of course it is.” He takes off his top hat, and there, tucked in the lining, is a familiar envelope. “I think you can say I’m a safe pair of hands,” he says smugly to his wife.

She rolls her eyes. “Only if all the safe pairs of hands had them tied behind their backs.”

I snort and take the envelope. The paper inside is familiar, and the note’s written in braille. I gesture at Edward to turn around. He obliges me by offering his back, and I prop the note on it to run my fingers over the page, frowning in concentration. “This never gets any easier, does it?” I remark. “Hmm, this doesn’t make a jot of sense. ‘Meet me your hunch.’” I look up. “Is he commenting on my posture? Do you think Stan is as good at braille as he thinks he is?”

Rowena laughs and hands me another paper with a typed message on it. I read it and sigh.

This is the place where I realised I was in love with you, but you never knew. When you went to sixth form college, and I went to work in the record shop, I thought I’d lose you. But you never changed. I would walk to meet you for lunch, and we would sit in the sunshine, eating and laughing, and you were as interested in the shop as you were in your new life. And no matter how many new friends you gathered with your sweet nature, you never left me behind. How could I not fall in love with you, Raff? It was as natural as breathing.

“It’s college,” I say, my whole body turning warm at his lovely words. They bring back so many good memories. I trace my fingers over the typed words. “He’s never told me that before.” I shake my head. “I would never have left him behind.” I look up at Rowena, who has tears in her eyes. “How could I? I’ve always needed him by my side to move forwards.” She sniffs and punches my arm. “Ouch! Is that affection?”

Edward hugs me. “Always, my boy. Always.”

“Okay, I’m off to college again.” I shrug. “I’m thinking now that this is a game. Are there prizes?”

Stan’s dad hums thoughtfully. “In a manner of speaking.”

“ Edward ,” Rowena says in a warning tone. “You can’t tell him too much.”

I narrow my eyes. “Is Stan the prize?”

Edward laughs. “Isn’t he always?”

“True, although your cryptic answer has been noted.”

“That’s a relief. I’d hate for it to have been wasted,” he says cheerfully.

“So, I just need to find more notes on this marvellous mystery tour before I can see my boyfriend. Stan will then think I’m highly intelligent, and there might even be prizes. Is that right?”

Edward nods. “That’s it.”

Rowena cocks her head. “Are you going along with it?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.

“Of course.”

“Why?”

“Because no matter what Stan’s doing, he’ll be waiting at the end of this game. That’s why it’s worth playing.” I grin at them. “See you later.”

“Tell Stan to ring me immediately and tell me,” Rowena calls.

“Tell you what?” I ask curiously.

“Oh.” She flushes. “Just a record he was recommending.”

“Okay.” I hug them both and then head back to the taxi. I give Nigel the new postcode. “We’re on a marvellous mystery tour, Nigel,” I say.

He shrugs. “Well, you are, Raff. I’m just racking up congestion charges.”

“I do love your sunny nature.”

He snorts, and we set off.

When we stop, I get out of the cab and look around my old college curiously. I’m profoundly thankful it’s the summer holidays. If the usual number of people were about, I’d get a fair few comments for lurking in full morning suit.

I walk towards the main gate, wondering if I’ll see Stan soon and what, exactly, he’s up to. I think this might be Stan’s way of reminding me how much we love each other. Not that he has to. I will never forget that. But summer means a lot of work for me, and I’ve been away a lot lately as many couples have the travel bug and want to get married as far away from England as possible. There was a time in my life I would have enjoyed a lot of travel, but lately, it’s dragged, and all I’ve wanted is to be with Stan and Hump in our new home.

If love is on Stan’s mind, perhaps for the end of this magical mystery tour, he’ll appear naked? Brightening at the thought, I pick up my step and walk through the gate.

I immediately cross paths with someone I recognise and stop dead. “Mr Johnson,” I gasp.

“The very same,” he says lightly, stopping in front of me.

“God, you haven’t changed a bit.”

He’s as gorgeous as ever. We’d all had crushes on him back in the day. He was the youngest teacher in the college and didn’t seem that far away from us in age. Looking back, our attention was probably a pain for him. He’d navigated it well, though, persisting in trying to educate us while we sighed over his wavy brown hair, soulful brown eyes, and long, lean body. Not to mention a voice made for audiobooks.

“Are you still here, then?” I ask.

He grins. “For my sins.” He shakes his head. “Rafferty Kendrick.”

“My name sounds a lot better in that tone of voice than the one you used for discussing my essays.”

“The Wombles had a better grasp of English literature than you.”

I snort. “You’re not wrong, but you still got me through it.”

“Yes, I still remember your highly creative excuses for not doing your homework. My favourite was the death of your grandma.”

“That’s a bit harsh.”

“Not considering that you appeared to have buried fifteen of them. You were either living in a cult or chronically unable to work outside the classroom.”

“I’d have been a good cult member — very bright and bubbly — but I’m afraid it was the latter.”

“By the time your class finished, I needed therapy, not a raise.” He proffers a white envelope.

I gape at him. “How the hell did Stan get you involved in this?”

He grins, and he’s so good-looking it makes me blink. “I collect vinyl. He sourced a rare Sex Pistols album for me.”

I shake my head. “That man. He should run the world.”

“He’s a good bloke. You go well together.” He hands me the envelope, and after I ask if I can use his back as a prop for reading the braille, he gestures at the nearby brick wall. “Use that. I’m not a pack animal.”

I snort as I open the envelope. “Fair enough.” I lean the paper against the wall and run my fingers over the braille. Then I look over at him. “I don’t suppose you have?—”

“Not yet. Stan promised I could listen to your wild stabs in the dark first.” His mouth twitches.

“He’s a hard man. Okay.” I frown. “I think this says to go to…” I pause, feeling fairly scandalised. “Erm, he’s saying go to the scene of a happy ending.” I consider where this might be. “To be honest, we’ve had happy endings in a lot of places. Stan needs to be more explicit in his instructions.” I grin at him. “This is actually rather erotic. How many of my old crushes are on this tour?”

He grimaces. “I’m glad I didn’t know I was a crush of yours.”

“Why? Would you have struggled with your feelings and ended up breaking the college rules before succumbing to a fit of conscience and dying alone in an attic?”

He blinks. “Nope. I’d have had to invest in more Valium.”

I laugh loudly. “Well, I’m afraid Stan’s gain is your loss. Now, where am I supposed to get my promised happy ending?”

He reaches into the pocket of his jeans and produces a familiar-looking paper. After he hands it to me, I read it quickly.

Not a happy ending like that. You have a one-track mind. Go to where we’re having our happily ever after. I’ll be waiting.

Happiness fills me like sunshine, and I smile. “Well, I suppose I’m going home.”

He claps me on the shoulder. “Nice to see you again. Tell Stan I’ll be expecting a crate of rare records if he ever wants this doing again.”

“You’re a very hot gold digger.”

I grin at his laughter and make my way back to the taxi.

“Home, James.” I wink at Nigel. “I’ve always wanted to say that.”

The street is quiet when I get home. Saying goodbye to Nigel, I stand on the pavement for a few seconds, relishing the fact that I’m home. It’s dinnertime, and I can smell barbecues on the air. I smile at our neighbour as I walk up to our front door. Mrs Turner is deadheading a pot of geraniums with an air of ferocious concentration. “Evening,” I say. “How’s Petal doing?”

Her cat had kittens in our shed a few months ago. Hump had found them fascinating but learned very quickly to admire them from a distance.

“She’s fine, thanks, Raff. You look very smart.”

“Everyone should dress well for the supermarket. It’s important to keep up one’s sartorial standards.”

“And one’s degree of talking bollocks.” I laugh, and she grins at me. “These weddings keep you busy?”

“They do.” We exchange smiles.

I let myself into the house. It’s warm and silent, and for some reason, my heart starts to beat fast. “Stan?” I call.

The word falls into the silence, and then I hear him call, “In the lounge.”

I set my top hat on the side table and run my fingers through my hair. “Well, that was a nice magical mystery tour,” I say as I stroll into the lounge.

The room is transformed from the empty shell it was when we moved in. The wooden floor is glowing from my rigorous polishing. We’d set a huge, brightly coloured rug on it and then bought a new sectional that’s filled with cushions. Two walls are lined floor to ceiling with shelves containing vinyl, and the other wall holds the original tiled fireplace and a huge abstract painting that I’d bought when I was in Germany a few months ago at a wedding. The colours are warm and vibrant and reminded me of Stan as soon as I saw it. The air smells of oranges from the incense sticks on the long coffee table.

Stan is standing in front of the bay window that’s letting in a swathe of late-afternoon sunshine. He’s wearing jeans with a James concert T-shirt. His curly hair has grown longer than usual and frames his tanned face. Hump is at his side and appears to be wearing a huge yellow bow on his collar.

“I’ve had a rather strange afternoon, thanks to you. What is going on?” I ask and then gulp. “Oh my god, is it our anniversary?”

His lip twitches. “I’m tempted to play this out, but no, it’s not, babe.”

I edge nearer to him, suddenly hyperaware of my body and the rustle of my suit trousers. The quiet space seems full expectation, as if the air is vibrating. “What’s going on?” I ask again.

I come close, and his hand rises. I immediately place mine in it, the feel of his skin against mine almost a painful release. Love fills me, and I let him pull me close for a hug.

“I love you,” I say into his neck.

He kisses my temple. “I love you too.”

I pull back slightly so I can look up into his dear face. “What was all that about? And as an addendum, I definitely need to brush up on my braille reading. You really can’t promise blowjobs with my homework if I get something right. It’s very distracting.”

He licks his lips, and I suddenly register the tremor in the hand holding mine. He’s nervous.

“Stan,” I say immediately. “What’s the matter? Are you okay?” I gape at him as he slowly lowers himself to his knees. “Was it the mention of blowjobs?” I ask seriously.

He snorts and looks up at me with a face full of laughter. “You’re impossible,” he says.

I grin. “Not the first time you’ve ever said that, but if you’re thinking of giving me a blowie, we might need to close the blinds. It took ages for Mr Brockman over the road to stop blushing whenever he saw us after the last time and —”

“Rafferty Albert Kendrick.”

I stop rambling. “You’re full naming me now. Am I in trouble?”

He sits back on his heels, and Hump licks my hand. I pet his ear while looking at the face I love most in the world. “Rafferty Albert Kendrick,” Stan repeats softly. He shakes his head. “I had this all planned, and as usual, you’ve derailed it all.”

My heart starts to thunder, and I swallow hard. “What?” I whisper through a thick throat.

He chuckles, but there’s a nervous edge to the laughter, and suddenly, I’m too far away from him. I lower myself to my knees, flinging my arms around his neck. He steadies himself by grabbing my shoulders and smoothing his palms over them.

“There was a reason for the mystery tour. Can you guess?”

“It was our past,” I say slowly. “All the different ways that led to us becoming me and you.”

He swallows hard. “That’s right. I sent you on it because now I want to focus on our future.” He takes a deep breath. “I love you. Will you marry me?”

The whole world comes to a stop. Like someone taking the stylus off a spinning record.

“What?” I whisper.

He clears his throat. “I know you always said you wouldn’t get married, and you like the way we are.”

“I don’t like it. I love it,” I say hoarsely.

“But I want to marry you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re the love of my life,” he says simply. “I want to feel a ring on your finger when I take your hand in mine. I want to introduce you as my husband when we go somewhere. I want to say the vows I never thought much of before, because those words suddenly have meaning now they’re about us. I want you to marry me because you’re fucking it for me. You always will be.” He stops and takes in a noisy gasp of air. “But you don’t have to,” he says, ever my fair Stan. “If you still don’t fancy marriage, it’s fine. I just needed to say it and —”

“Ask me again,” I say, my voice firm and fast.

“What?”

“Ask me again.”

“Will you marry me?” He bites his lip.

“Yes,” I say and hug him tight.

His mouth finds mine, and he kisses me — long kisses full of passion and love, hard kisses that bruise our lips, and gentle kisses where he makes love to my mouth. When he pulls away, my lips are sore.

“God, I love you,” I say softly. “I will marry you.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been surer of anything. I always said I’d only do marriage when my person was as serious about it as me, and you’re that. I know we’ll last because it’s us. I don’t have any other words.”

“You don’t need them,” he says softly. “You said yes.”

He kisses me again, and we slide down onto the rug. Hump huffs and wanders off. I hear his claws pattering away to the kitchen, but my attention is on Stan and his hands on me. His touch manages to be familiar and comforting while also being hotter than the surface of the sun.

When he pulls back, he fumbles in his jeans pocket. “I have something for you.”

I snort. “I’ll say.”

“Not that.” He pauses. “Well, of course that, but actually this first.”

He holds out his hand, and on his palm is a platinum wedding band.

“Oh my god , Stan,” I breathe.

He smiles. “Hold out your hand.” I do as he says, and he puts it in my palm. “Feel inside it.”

Staring at him, I run my finger along the inside of the ring. Then I frown and look down. “It’s rough. Is that braille?”

He nods. “It’s a braille ring.”

“Babe, that’s the best thing ever . What does it say?”

“Now, the reports coming in say you’re not terribly reliable with reading braille…”

“It’s not like that’s front-page news.”

He chuckles. “But I think you might know this word.”

I concentrate and then swallow hard, feeling tears in my eyes. “Does it say ‘mine’?”

He nods, his beautiful face earnest in the light. “Because that’s what you are. You’re mine, Raff. Every beautiful, charming inch of you.”

I take his hand and put the ring in it. “Put it on,” I whisper and watch as he finds my hand. His long fingers trace my palm and unerringly find my ring finger. He slides on the ring, and I smile through my tears.

“Now you’re mine,” he whispers before dropping a kiss on the ring.

“Didn’t you know, Stanley? I’ve always been that.”