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“This is a stupid idea,” Lockwood is saying loudly when Scripps and Posner arrive at the stately home on the Yorkshire coast Dakin’s rented out for the weekend to host his second wedding. “Scripps, he’ll listen to you, tell him this is a fucking stupid idea.”
“This is a fucking stupid idea,” Scripps recites wearily, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. He’s spent the better part of two hours on a cramped train from Sheffield to get here, and the lack of alcohol in his hand to atone for it isn’t pleasing him.
Dakin finally deigns to look up from the book he’s reading –he’s reclining in a garden chair with a martini in a pair of cheap sunglasses, a battered copy of War and Peace open on his knees.
“Oh, decided to join us at long last, have you?” He asks, peering over his glasses at Scripps for a moment before going back to his book. “Not like you’re meant to be the best man, or anything.”
“Some of us have to work, you know,” Scripps scoffs, smiling gratefully as Posner reappears from the nearest gazebo and presses a pint into his hand. “Though I do agree with Jimmy. I’m not sure who’s stupider, actually –you for asking Fiona to marry you in the first place, or Fiona for actually going along with it.”
“Tell me again how many successful marriages you’ve had, Scripps?” Dakin laughs, turning a page of the book. “Because I don’t think your record is any better than mine.”
“I’ve never gotten married,” Scripps rolls his eyes. “But if I had, I wouldn’t’ve thrown it all away at the first sign of grief.”
“He’s got you there, mate,” Lockwood interrupts, and Timms nods sagely beside him. “Just sacking off Irwin like that, it was daft. You must know that.”
“It doesn’t matter if it was daft,” Dakin closes his book with a slap. “It’s not the point. I’m marrying Fiona tomorrow, and if you don’t believe me, then the service is going to have to convince you.”
He tucks his book under his arm, straightens his sunglasses and stands up to return to the house.
“Anyway, I don’t know about you lot, but the breakfast bar’s open and there’s a fry up with my name on it. And I’ll thank you not to mention Irwin again,” Dakin leads the way up towards the house, and Scripps hangs back for a moment to fall in to step with Posner.
“I see he’s completely moved on from Irwin, then,” Posner clicks his tongue, picking his way up the field and looking idly at Scripps. “If by moved on we mean ‘is still hopelessly hung up on’, of course.”
“Naturally,” Scripps takes a long drink of his beer. “He told me it was mutual when they split up, you know. Said it didn’t have anything to do with the fact that Irwin was going back down south to work when he had a posting in a firm in Manchester. I don’t know who he thought he was fooling, but it certainly wasn’t me.”
“Do you reckon Irwin’s going to come?” Posner asks, stopping for a second and looking up at the house. “Does he even know it’s happening?”
“He must do, surely,” Scripps frowns, turning away from the house to look out over the cliffs towards the sea. “Totty and Hector are meant to be coming. But like I told you, I saw him when I was down at the Beeb the other month and he seemed none the wiser. So if he is, he’s putting on a solid show of convincing everyone he either doesn’t know or doesn’t care.”
“You’d hope even Dakin wouldn’t be so crass as to invite his ex-husband to his wedding. Especially given this time it’s to a woman,” Posner clicks his tongue. “Though it would be just like Irwin to turn up out of the blue, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” Scripps agrees. “I can’t imagine it going well if he does, though.”
“No,” Posner hums, quietly taking another drink. “Nor can I, actually. Now, come on, we need to go put our bags in our room, and I don’t know about you but I fancy having a nosy round here. It’ll probably be the only time any of us are let in a place like this.”
“Given Lockwood’s probably got intentions to bring the place down around his ears by the end of the weekend, I think you’re right. Come on, let’s get a shift on,” Scripps touches Posner’s elbow and guides him up and towards the house.
There’s something of a commotion by the time they regroup with the rest of them; there’s still no sign of Fiona anywhere, but Mrs. Lintott and Hector have arrived and have taken up residence under one of the parasols on the lawn.
“Oh, shit,” Scripps mutters under his breath, and Posner cocks his head sideways to look at him. “Hector. I kind of hoped I’d seen the last of him when we left school.”
“Ah, Scripps!” Hector starts, completely disregarding Posner and bustling over to embrace him. Scripps freezes and glowers over Hector’s shoulder at the rest of the boys, who’re all hiding laughs in their hands. “I hear you’ve got a job at The Guardian now.”
“I do,” Scripps extricates himself from Hector and takes a few steps back, knocking his shoulder against Crowther’s as he moves to back away. “Speaking of, I think my boss said she was going to ring me about something today, I should really–”
“Nonsense, you’re the best man at what promises to be the wedding of the year! Take the weekend off,” Hector waves a hand at him. “There’s a walled garden around here that’s meant to be lovely, do you think–”
“I hate to interrupt what is obviously such a welcome flirtation,” a voice rises from a little way off, and the entire party turn to look. “But I’m told there’s a wedding here this weekend.”
“Irwin!” Lockwood says brightly. “I was starting to think you weren’t gonna bother turning up. And after all the work that went into getting you an invite!”
Irwin huffs a quiet, barely there laugh, and Dakin is staring between him and Lockwood with an expression of complete betrayal.
“What in Christ’s name are you doing here?” Dakin pulls his sunglasses from his face and rises to his feet, crossing the grass until he’s face to face with Irwin. “You weren’t on the list of invitees, how did you–”
“My wife couldn’t make it,” Akthar supplies, raising a hand in surrender when Dakin wheels around to round on him. “There was a spare seat. It was Jimmy’s idea, really.”
“Oi!” Lockwood barks, frowning. “You all agreed with me. Said it was a good idea, you all did.”
“Scripps, did you know about this?” Dakin snaps, turning to him with an unhappy expression.
“How could I, I’ve just got here,” Scripps retorts, making an incredulous face at him. “I had bugger all to do with this.”
“Actually, you did,” Irwin interjects, and both Scripps and Dakin turn to frown at him. “You saw me at the BBC offices recently. You might have mentioned the wedding.”
“But I didn’t bloody well invite you, did I?” Scripps replies, folding his arms over his chest. “That’s all on this lot.”
“Anyway, it doesn’t matter who invited you,” Dakin finally speaks up again, shaking his head. “Because you’ll be leaving. Now.”
“Oh, come now, Dakin, I don’t think that’s really necessary,” Mrs Lintott hums, looking up from the magazine she’d been reading through the entirety of their argument. “Sit down, Tom. You look like you could use a drink. Sherry?”
“This is unbelievable,” Dakin marches up towards Lockwood and Scripps and hisses under his breath. “He can’t be here.”
“Why’s that?” Lockwood asks flippantly, smirking down at Dakin. “Fiona never had an issue with him when we were at school.”
“That’s– that’s not the point, Jimmy,” Dakin huffs. “There’s not room.”
“There’s plenty of room, Akthar said,” Scripps counters. “You just don’t want him here because then you’ll have to admit you still have feelings for him. That’s it, isn’t it?”
“You can fuck off, too,” Dakin snaps. “That’s not it.”
“Of course it isn’t,” Lockwood replies, and Scripps rolls his eyes. “It looks like he’s staying, anyway. I’m sure Fiona’ll be happy to see him again after all these years.”
Dakin glowers at the both of him, shakes his head, and disappears back inside the house, slamming the door behind him heavily.
“All things considered,” Irwin pipes up when he’s sure Dakin’s long out of earshot. “I think that went better than expected.”
“I expected to get twatted in the face, to be honest,” Lockwood admits with a shallow laugh.
“I do think he’s pleased to see you, though,” Scripps says, fixing Irwin with a look. “I mean, he’d never admit to it, but he is.”
Irwin smiles at him, almost sadly, and Mrs Lintott slides a glass across the table to him.
“I’m going to go look for one of these gardens I’ve heard tell about,” Posner says after a few moments, when everyone’s fallen into quiet conversations and Scripps is watching Lockwood and Timms bicker about beer choices. “Coming with?”
“Yeah, go on,” Scripps drains the last of his beer, squashes the can and throws it in the general direction of the bin. “I could do with a wander.”
They walk aimlessly for a while, getting lost around the grounds, and they don’t quite reach the gardens before they stumble upon Rudge and Fiona on a golf course.
“When did you two get here?” Rudge turns, swinging his club behind him as he moves over to shake both their hands warmly. “Dakin’s been right stressy.”
“This morning,” Posner tells him, smiling fondly at Fiona in greeting. “Neither of us could get off work to get over here any earlier.”
“It’s good to see you both again,” Fiona steps forward and embraces them both in turn, a smile on her face. “Thanks for coming. Stuart has been in a right flap, you know. You might be able to calm him down a bit now you’re here.”
“Not likely,” Scripps scoffs, tucking his hands into the pockets of his trousers.
“You usually manage somehow, though,” Fiona hums, idly twisting the club in her hand as she speaks. “He might be being more ridiculous than usual but you’ve dealt with him in worse positions.”
“I don’t think that’s quite what he meant,” Posner interrupts hesitantly, a pained expression on his face. “Look, I don’t think we should be the ones to tell you, but–”
“What’s gone off?” Rudge asks with a frown.
“It’s just –Irwin’s turned up. And Dakin’s not happy about it, but I think he’s designs on staying for the wedding, too,” Scripps elaborates, wincing as he watches Fiona’s expression pinch and change.
“Oh,” she says after a moment, tucking a stray strand of her behind her ear. “That’s strange. I asked Stuart weeks ago if he wanted to invite him, because, you know, I was his colleague for a few years and we’re still sort of friends, and he said he’d mention it. Only he came back a few days later and said he’d asked and Tom wasn’t going to come.”
“Hate to tell you this, Fi,” Scripps says with a pitying expression. “I don’t think he ever asked. The only reason he came today is because Jimmy mentioned it to him and Akthar had a spare seat, that’s all.”
Fiona frowns, knocking the base of her club against the grass softly.
“That’s –oh. I should’ve known Stuart wouldn’t want to ask him, really. But it doesn’t matter now,” she shrugs, straightening the bow in the ribbon she has tied in her hair. “At least he’s here. Stuart will calm down eventually, he always does. And we’ve the big party tonight to take his mind off things too. It’ll be fine.”
She shakes her head, and Scripps looks at her sadly. They stand in silence for a moment, and when Fiona looks up again she’s trained her expression in to one of almost indifference.
“Fancy a game, anyway?” She asks, gesturing at the golf course behind her. “I’ve rather been showing Peter up, I’m afraid.”
“She means she’s been kicking my arse, more like,” Rudge laughs, and Fiona blushes pink across her cheeks. “Come on, lads, it’ll be a lark.”
“Oh, go on, then,” Posner smiles at her, and the corners of her mouth quirk up in to a small smile. “Though if you’re beating Rudge I’m not sure either of us’ll be much competition.”
Fiona laughs then, smile almost reaching her eyes, and she throws Scripps and Posner clubs of their own.
None of them notice Irwin watching them idly from up near the house, fingers idling over the seams of his jacket sleeves. He shakes his head, then turns back towards the house to carry on looking for Dakin.
He eventually finds him in the vast library, sitting at one of the desks surrounded by open novels and anthologies.
“I should’ve known you’d be in here,” Irwin says with a fond smile, and Dakin’s head snaps up to stare at him. “I just wanted to give you your wedding present.”
“We’ve a table for that tomorrow,” Dakin tears his eyes away and tries to return his focus to the Coleridge poem in front of him. “You could’ve put it there.”
“It’s not your actual wedding present, not really,” Irwin runs a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I asked Akthar for your wedding list; I got you a toaster.”
“Great, thanks for that,” Dakin supresses the affectionate smile threatening his lips and stares firmly at the book before him. “I assume that’s not it, though?”
“This?” Irwin holds out the present he’d been keeping tucked under his arm. “No, it’s not. This is –this is just yours. I saw it, when I was in a second-hand bookshop. We were Dublin, filming for a documentary on –sorry, that’s not important. But I saw it, and I thought you’d like it.”
He sets the package down on the desk and steps back, stopping himself before he owns up to the fact that he’d forgotten he couldn’t just buy Dakin things whenever the feeling hit him.
Dakin looks hard at him for a moment, before he reaches over and picks up the package, gently tearing back the paper until he gets a look at the cover.
“You’re joking,” Dakin stares between Irwin and the book in his hand. “This is a first edition. A first edition of Another Time, for Christ’s sake. You don’t just find these things.”
“You do when you present a reasonably popular BBC Two programme, it seems,” Irwin laughs shallowly, and Dakin looks at him for a long moment, his eyes softening. “Do you like it? It’s got the poem I always remember you reciting in it.”
“Lullaby? Yeah, it does,” Dakin carefully leafs through the pages until he reaches it, even though he knows it backwards. “It’s brilliant, seriously. I never thought I’d even see one of these, let alone have one. Thank you.”
Irwin just smiles, soft and impossibly fond, and Dakin looks back at him for a long moment before he starts to speak again.
“Every farthing of the cost, all the dreaded cards fortell,” Dakin says, quiet and almost under his breath, fingers skimming at the print on the pages. “Shall be paid, but from this night–”
“Not a whisper, not a thought, not a kiss nor look be lost,” Irwin finishes, and Dakin looks up at him, surprised. “I still remember the first time you read me that, you know.”
Dakin smiles weakly, and for a moment doesn’t notice the door creak open.
“Oh, sorry, are we interrupting something?” Fiona says, and the two men turn to see her and Posner in the doorway.
“No, no,” Irwin shakes his head, looking away from Dakin so he doesn’t have to see his expression shift into sadness. “I was just leaving, really. Posner, a word?”
“Of course,” Posner nods quickly. “I was looking for you, actually. Rudge wants to say hello.”
The two of them leave, and Fiona steps inside the room and closes the door, crossing over to Dakin’s desk and pulling up a chair beside him.
“Are you alright, Stuart, love?” She asks, resting a hand on his thigh. “You look a bit peaky.”
“Fine,” he replies tightly, resting his hand atop hers. “Irwin just had a wedding present for us, is all.”
“Oh, really? What is it?”
“First edition Auden anthology,” Dakin replies offhandedly, like it’s something as simple as that. “Nearly impossible to find.”
“Oh, wow,” Fiona smiles, reaching over to gently touch the front cover. “That’s brilliant. Just like him, too, to put in so much thought for a simple thing.”
Dakin hums, firmly not thinking about the first kiss he’d shared with Irwin after that drink they finally had, or the time he’d recited every line of every sonnet he knew into his skin as they embraced, how he once thought his heart might give out when Irwin produced handwritten vows at their wedding that opened with a Neruda verse, how–
“Can I ask you something?” He says, and Fiona looks over at him through her hair, confused.
“Of course you can,” she searches for his hand and squeezes gently. “Anything.”
“Do you love me?”
“Darling,” she looks horrified even to be asked such a thing, and presses their hands together tighter. “Of course I do.”
Dakin smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes, and he leans in to kiss her hard.
He supposes this will have to be enough.
*
Scripps goes down to the party with Posner that night, the pair of them dressed in their second-best suits –they’d been ordered to save their best offerings for the service itself, and Scripps doesn’t want to find out what’d happen if they disobeyed Dakin on his wedding day.
Posner had disappeared almost immediately on arrival in search of drinks for the pair of them, and had left Scripps with Mrs Lintott for company.
“So, yourself and Posner,” she says, eyeing him over her gin and tonic. “When did that happen?”
“When did what happen?” Scripps frowns. She stares blankly at him, looking utterly exhausted by him already.
“I’d rather assumed you were in some sort of relationship. This is the first time I’ve seen you apart all day.”
Scripps splutters helplessly for a moment, fumbling for his words and staring at her.
“No, no, we just live together,” Scripps explains hurriedly, shaking his head. “Only way either of us can afford rent, really. Sheffield’s not what it used to be.”
“I’m sorry,” Mrs Lintott hums, taking a sip of her drink. “I assumed. Since the days when I used to teach you, I’m afraid I always have.”
Scripps doesn’t say anything, but his expression turns sad and pinched. Mrs Lintott reaches over and tentatively pats his arm, watching as he fiddles aimlessly with a stray thread on the tablecloth.
“Everything alright?” Posner reappears then, three glasses of champagne in his hands. “I got you one too, miss.”
“Thank you, David,” she smiles at him and he slides the glass over to her. Scripps takes his and drinks half of it in one gulp, apparently shaken by their earlier chat. “Though I’ve told you all before, you can call me Dorothy. Now I’ve retired one more ‘Mrs Lintott, miss’ might just drive me to suicide.”
“Sorry, miss –I mean, Dorothy,” Posner laughs, pulling up the chair beside Scripps and sits down. “Dakin’s got something planned, by the way. Don’t know what, mind you, but I figured you’d appreciate the warning.”
“Given his less than gleaming track record, that’s an alarming thought,” Scripps hums, dragging his finger around the ring of his glass. “I just hope it’s not strippers.”
“Can I have your attention, please!” Dakin’s voice rings out over the room, and Scripps exchanges a hesitant glance with Posner before they turn to look at him. He’s standing on a platform at one end of the room, microphone in one hand and open bottle of champagne in the other.
“Is he–” Lockwood appears over Scripps’s shoulder, an eyebrow raised.
“Drinking champagne?” Posner supplies, turning a little to look at Lockwood’s face. “I think he is. I thought he’d–”
“Stopped drinking champagne?” Scripps carries on, frowning. “He has. Hasn’t touched it since before his and Irwin’s wedding.”
“I thought as much,” Lockwood replies. “Should we worry, do you reckon?”
“I’m not sure yet, you know,” Scripps clicks his tongue. “He can handle a drink just as well as the rest of us. I wonder what’s made him go for the champers, though, it makes him loopy.”
“Bagsy not dealing with his hangover in the morning,” Lockwood snorts. “You’re the best man, that’s your job, mate.”
“Oh, cheers, you prat,” Scripps laughs.
“I just wanted to say,” Dakin pipes up from the front of the room, voice muffled but not quite slurred. “That I’m very lucky. This beautiful woman next to me chose me over anyone else, and I’m very grateful. She’s one of the best thing’s that’s ever happened to me.”
Fiona blushes red up to her ears, and tries to prise the microphone from Dakin’s hand before he embarrasses either of them further.
“I’ve prepared a little poem–”
“Really, Stuart, you don’t need to do that, I’m sure–” Fiona says, squeezing his arm in an attempt to get him to stop.
“No, you’ll like it, promise,” he kisses the side of her head and she stares at him, helplessly, as he clears his throat and begins. “Come, madam, come, all rest my powers defy–”
“Oh good God,” Lockwood groans, pressing his hand over his eyes. “Please tell me I’m not hearing this.”
“Sorry, mate,” Scripps gets to his feet and pats him on the arm in mock pity. “’Fraid you are.”
Lockwood makes a distressed noise and sinks into Scripps’s vacated seat, dragging his hand down his face. Scripps laughs, but catches sight of someone leaving the room when he looks up; the tail end of Irwin’s jacket just slips through the doorframe as he leaves.
“Ah, Scripps, there you are!” Hector spots him then, and Scripps curses under his breath. “I was wondering where you’d got to.”
By now, Dakin has finished his poem and is looking remarkably pleased with himself as he weaves through the crowd and starts dancing with every relative and colleague he can find.
“Cover my arse for me, will you?” Scripps hisses to Posner, skirting a hand across his shoulders as he moves to leave.
“Why? Where are you going?” Posner asks, frowning, but he keeps watching Dakin as he twists himself around a woman he works with. Scripps supresses a sigh and shakes his head weakly.
“I just need some air, is all,” he says, starting to move away as Hector advances. “And I reckon Hector’s hand is on a one way mission to my arse, and unless he wants my foot up his jacksie I’m not letting that happen.”
Posner laughs, but doesn’t say anything more, and Scripps’s frown softens into something sadder. He excuses himself from the room, following after Irwin, with little more than a cursory wave to Akthar as he goes.
“Have you seen Scripps? He was here a moment ago,” Hector asks upon arrival at the table, a confused look in his eyes.
“He went that way, dear,” Mrs Lintott instructs him, pointing in the complete opposite direction to the doorway Scripps had escaped through.
“Thank you, Dorothy,” Hector smiles and turns on his heel to follow the direction she’d gestured. She thinks it’s the least she could do, after their conversation.
*
Irwin is halfway towards the cliff tops before he considers anyone might’ve seen him leave. He doesn’t expect it to be Rudge that catches him, though, but he finds the other man smoking a cigarette against one of the cricket pavilions on his way down the garden path.
“Now then,” he greets him, holding out the packet of cigarettes. “Where’re you off to?”
Irwin takes a cigarette gratefully and Rudge passes him a lighter, shielding him from the sea breeze.
“Home, I think,” Irwin sighs heavily, exhaling smoke. “It’s easier for everyone involved that way, as far as I see it.”
“Don’t be daft,” Rudge snorts, taking a drag of his own cigarette. “You’re causing no harm here. It’s been a lark having you about, actually. Almost like school again.”
Irwin laughs weakly, but doesn’t have chance to reply before Lockwood comes charging down the grass at the pair of them.
“Oi, Irwin,” he starts as he skids to a stop in front of them, suit in disarray. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You can’t let him go through with this,” Lockwood says sternly, tucking his hands into his pockets.
“What makes you think he’d listen to me?” Irwin barks out a harsh laugh, tucking his cigarette between his lips. “He never has before.”
“If they get married, everyone’s gonna come out of this fucking miserable, Dakin especially,” he carries on, expression hardening and mouth pressing into a thin line. “I don’t care if you don’t think he’ll listen to you. Have you tried? Me and Scripps both have, and you know he normally bothers to listen to one of us, and he won’t.”
“So? Even if he does want to listen to me, who says it’s going to make even the slightest bit of difference?” Irwin scoffs, closing his eyes against Lockwood’s glare.
“Alright, fine,” Lockwood’s frown deepens. “Don’t talk to him if you don’t want to. But you should know; he’s drinking champagne.”
Irwin’s eyes widen and he stares at Lockwood, alarm evident on his face.
“You’re joking,” he says slowly, plucking his cigarette from between his lips and dropping it to stamp it out on the ground.
“He’s a bottle down already, at least,” Lockwood tells him, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. “Now if you care about him, even just the littlest, shittiest bit, I suggest you drag your head out your arse, buck your ideas up, and come with me.”
Irwin nods sharply, and dutifully follows Lockwood back up to the house.
*
By the time Posner manages to catch Dakin to congratulate him on his interesting, if inappropriate performance, the other man is blind drunk and giddy, sitting out on one of the lawn chairs with only a bottle of champagne for company. Posner’s a little the worse for wear himself, he realises, as he trips over the doorstep on his way out to speak to him.
“Pos!” Dakin drawls, turning in his hair to look at him. “Haven’t seen you in ages. How the hell are you?”
“Oh, alright, I suppose,” Posner smiles weakly, dropping down into the chair next to him.
“Stuart? Stuart!” Fiona comes darting out of one of the doors, her face frantic. “There you are. I’ve been looking for you all night. You do know it’s almost four in the morning, don’t you? We’re getting married today!”
Her expression is odd, like she’s upset about something, but neither Dakin nor Posner ask. Dakin looks at her for a moment, his eyes bleary and unfocused, and grins lopsidedly.
“Will you come to bed, please?” She frowns, reaching out a hand to help him up. Dakin frowns at her, his mouth turning down into a petulant pout.
“Do I have to?” He grumbles, and she looks hurt, drawing her hand back and fumbling her fingers along the seam of her dress.
“Well, no –I shan’t force you. I just thought–” She stops, shakes her head, loose curls bouncing as she goes. “Never mind. Will you come soon, though?”
“Oh, I suppose eventually I will,” he hums drunkenly, dragging his finger over the rim of the champagne bottle in his lap. Fiona frowns at him, her expression sad, and she sighs to herself, heading back inside with only a weak wave to Posner as she goes.
“That wasn’t very nice of you,” Posner says sagely, after a moment’s silence. He drags himself into a sitting position and steadies himself with a firm grip on the chair, fixing Dakin with what he hopes is a stern expression.
“So? She’ll recover,” Dakin laughs and leans back in his chair. Posner frowns at him for a long moment, watching as the other man stares up at the stars.
“Why are you marrying her?”
“I love her, I suppose.”
“Do you?” Posner asks incredulously. “Are you sure? Because it doesn’t look like it to me.”
“What would you know?” Dakin scoffs, turning slowly to look at Posner, his eyes hard. “I’ve not seen you in any long-term relationships, mate.”
“No, but I know what love is, thank you very much,” Posner huffs, folding his arms over his chest. “I thought I loved you once, you know. I didn’t, though, I know that now.”
“I feel like that should offend me,” Dakin laughs dryly. “How’d you know, then? When you’re in love and when you’re not.”
“I don’t know how to explain it,” Posner frowns, looking away from Dakin and up at the sky. “It’s different. Everything about it is. Anyway, you should know yourself –you’re getting married today. It’ll be the same as how you feel about Fiona.”
Dakin’s expression changes, and his eyes turn sad.
“You do love her, don’t you?” Posner presses, sitting up and reaching over to rest his hand on Dakin’s knee. Dakin looks up at him, closes his eyes against his stare. “Dakin, you’ve been divorced once already and you’re not even thirty. Don’t put yourself through it again if you’re not certain. Fiona deserves better than that.”
“Pos,” Dakin starts, cocking his head and fixing Posner with a steady look. “When you fell in love, how did you know? Please.”
“Well,” Posner hesitates, drawing his hand back and knitting his fingers together, fiddling uncertainly. “It’s not always obvious. When I first realised I was in love with –well, in love with this man, there wasn’t a big realisation or anything. I just looked at him one day and it all made sense. I understood.”
He smiles to himself, and when he looks up Dakin looks crestfallen.
“And does he know?”
“Oh, no, no,” Posner laughs wetly. “I haven’t the nerve for that.”
“You always used to,” Dakin smiles, cocking his head to regard Posner’s stricken expression. “When we were younger, I mean. You always told me.”
“You were different,” Posner smiles weakly. “I didn’t love you, not really. I think I loved the idea of you more, honestly –I knew you’d never look twice at me so it didn’t matter.”
“And your new man, you stand a chance, do you think?” Dakin asks, a frown on his face but a genuine curiosity in his voice. Posner flashes him a weak, sad smile but doesn’t say anything. “Who is it? Do I know him?”
“Doesn’t matter,” Posner says after a moment, clenching his hands together. “You can’t marry Fiona, not if you don’t love her.”
“I do,” Dakin replies quickly, voice wavering uncertainly. Posner fixes him with a look that’s both concerned and fed up at once.
“Look, Dakin,” Posner starts, reaching for Dakin’s hand where he’s worrying at the cuff of his jacket with restless fingers. “People do love you. We only want what’s best for you, and I don’t think Fiona’s that. And I don’t think you do either.”
Dakin looks up and meets his eyes for a moment, his stare hard, and he leans in and presses a quick, firm kiss against Posner’s mouth. Posner recoils before he reacts, and tightens his grip around Dakin’s wrist.
“Much as my teenage self appreciates the closure, you don’t want this, and frankly neither do I,” Posner tells him sternly, and Dakin stares back at him with blank eyes. “You’re drunk, you’re getting married today, and you need to really, really think.”
Dakin doesn’t say anything, only exhales heavily and looks down to study the grass at his feet.
“Look, I’ll go get you some water so you can sober up a bit, yeah?” Posner suggests, patting Dakin’s arm awkwardly. “I’ll meet you in the rose garden in ten minutes?”
Dakin nods, and Posner smiles at him before he gets to his feet and disappears back inside. It’s only when the door closes behind him and the light disappears that Dakin hurriedly wipes at his eyes, before he sighs to himself and heads off towards the gardens.
Posner is crossing through the stairwell when he’s making his own way to the rose gardens, a few minutes later, when he happens across Scripps sitting on the bottom step and looking completely miserable.
“Hiya, Pos,” he says, raising a hand weakly by way of a greeting. “You alright?”
“Oh, yes,” Posner replies distractedly. “Have you seen Dakin?”
“Not recently, no,” Scripps replies, tracing the lines of the carpet with a fingertip. “Rudge said he was in the courtyard somewhere, though. Why?”
“He wanted this,” Posner holds up the bottle of water in his hand. “He said he’d be in the gardens but you know what he’s like.”
Scripps laughs but doesn’t look up, eyes trained on his shoes.
“Good party, isn’t it?” Posner says offhandedly. “Exactly what you’d expect, really. Anyway, I’ve to dash, don’t want Dakin throwing up into the flowerbeds, now do we?”
“No, no, I suppose we don’t,” Scripps replies quietly, but when he looks up, Posner’s gone. He sighs to himself and scoops up the pint glass next to him, draining it in one mouthful. “‘Good party’, honestly.”
“Look, are you sure this is a good idea?” Irwin asks Lockwood for what must be the fifth time as they come to a halt in the central staircase, their voices echoing up the landings. Scripps looks up from the floor to watch the two of them come in from outside, windblown and damp from the sea air.
“Never been surer,” Lockwood grins, turning round and catching sight of Scripps on the stairs. “Oh, hiya Scripps. You alright?”
“Grand,” Scripps gets to his feet, leaving his glass on the stair and straightening his suit out. “Too sober to deal with this shite, though, I think.”
Lockwood laughs brashly, and is about to speak when he’s interrupted.
“Oi, Dakin!”
“Was that–” Irwin asks, fixing Scripps with a curious frown.
“Posner? Yeah, it is,” Scripps sighs, and Irwin’s look turns pitying. “Interesting, isn’t it? I thought he’d got over this.”
“Ah, Scripps, there you are!” Hector’s voice rises from the drawing room doorway, and Scripps pales.
“Fuck. That’s my cue to leave, I think –best be off,” he presses a hand to Irwin’s shoulder as he leaves. “Good luck.”
Irwin nods quickly and watches as Scripps darts out of the room, just as Hector appears at the foot of the stairs.
“Ah, hello, boys,” he smiles at the two of them, and Lockwood exchanges a despairing glance with Irwin. “Having a good night?”
“Oh, brilliant, sir,” Lockwood replies quickly, nodding seriously. “We’re looking for Dakin, have you seen him?”
“No, no I haven’t, unfortunately,” Hector hums, gesturing in the air. “I think Dorothy might have, if you can find her.”
“Thank you,” Irwin forces a smile, steering Lockwood towards the nearest door with a hand behind his back. “We’ll see you at the wedding tomorrow, yes?”
“Of course,” Hector smiles, bowing slightly to see them off. “Have a good night.”
“You too,” Lockwood replies offhandedly, leading Irwin out as quickly as he can manage. “Come on, sir. We’ve work to do.”
“Are you feeling any better?” Posner asks, watching as Dakin downs half the bottle of water in one mouthful. Dakin swallows, and sits down heavily on the wall behind him.
“A bit,” he admits, mouth pressed into a thin line. “Oh, god.”
“You’ll be fine, you always are,” Posner hums reassuringly, patting Dakin’s shoulder awkwardly. “God only knows how, but you are.”
Dakin snorts a laugh and kicks at the gravel at his feet, leaning heavily against Posner when the other man sits down beside him.
“I’m drunk.”
“Yes, you are,” Posner replies, laughing softly to himself. “Best sober up soon, hadn’t you?”
“I should, I suppose,” Dakin sighs, knocking his head against Posner’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, you know. About earlier.”
“Stop the presses, Stuart Dakin apologises,” Posner laughs, turning his head to fix him with a fond expression. “It’s fine though, really. In fact, I think it rather helped.”
“How?” Dakin asks incredulously, dragging himself back into a sitting position.
“Well, I know I’m definitely not in love with you,” Posner laughs briefly. “Not that I really thought I was anymore, but it’s nice to be sure.”
“Does Scripps know?”
“What about?” Posner frowns, face darkening with more blush than he’d ever admit to. Dakin tries to look at him sternly, but his eyes are bleary and half-asleep.
“Oh, nothing,” Dakin clicks his tongue, leaning back against his hand. “I just have my suspicions, is all.”
“No, really, what about?” Posner presses, turning properly to face Dakin, but he’s too slow, because there’s a thud and a snore and the other man is asleep, half buried in the hedgerows. Posner sighs, pulls him out of the plants and lays him against the bricks, and sits back to watch the sunrise.
*
“I thought I’d find you out here,” Irwin says as he walks up to the bench on the cliff tops. Scripps turns and looks over his shoulder at him, and greets him with nothing but a small smile. “I brought you a cup of tea. Milk, one sugar, right?”
“Yeah, cheers,” Scripps takes the mug from him and takes a long drink, turning back to watch the sea. “No joy on the Dakin front, I take it?”
“No, not as yet,” Irwin takes the empty seat beside him on the bench, taking a drink of his own coffee. “Are you alright?”
“Grand, grand,” Scripps replies quietly, studying the shape of the waves instead of looking at him.
“Have you been in love with Posner a long time?” Irwin asks after a moment’s silence, his voice slow and measured. Scripps whips his head around to stare at him, eyes wide.
“Don’t be stupid, I’m not–” Scripps starts, shaking his head and frowning, turning away and kicking at the grass. “Is it that obvious?”
“Quite, yes,” Irwin replies, and from the way Scripps’s shoulders sink he can tell that wasn’t the answer he was hoping for. “Though if it makes you feel better I don’t think he’s noticed.”
“Yeah, much,” Scripps laughs shallowly, taking another sip of his tea. “How did you cope, before? When you didn’t know Dakin actually liked you, and you just thought he wanted a shag.”
“Not brilliantly, I must admit,” Irwin smiles to himself as he remembers. “I think our circumstances are a bit different, though.”
Scripps hums in quiet agreement, and falls silent for a moment, watching as the sun crests over the horizon.
“Scripps,” Irwin starts after a few minutes of silence but for the sound of the sea. “I’m sure if you spoke to him, you’d be fine.”
“Up until last night I’d’ve thought the same,” Scripps sighs, finishing his tea and setting his mug down in the grass. “Now he’s hung up on Dakin again and it’s as good as useless to even bother. It’s like we’re sixteen again.”
“This has been going on a long time, then?”
“Long enough,” Scripps sighs. “Not like I expect anything to come of it now, though. I reckon you’ve still half a chance with Dakin, if you try.”
“I’ve never known you be so negative,” Irwin frowns at him, and Scripps laughs weakly. “If I knew you better I’d say it’s not like you.”
“My life grows tired, hungry to no purpose. I love what I do not have.” Scripps recites heavily, and Irwin reaches out as if to comfort him, but stops. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. I’ll be fine, I always am.”
“Scripps,” Irwin says with a sympathetic smile. Scripps just shakes his head and gets to his feet, undoing his tie as he goes.
“Come on, sir,” he says, holding out a hand to help Irwin up. “We’ve a wedding to stop.”
Irwin gets to his feet, pats Scripps once on the shoulder in what he hopes is a consoling way, and lets him lead the way back up to the house.
*
Scripps disappears off to get changed once they reach the house, and Irwin meanders around until he encounters Fiona pacing around the library in her wedding dress, bouquet dropped on one of the desks.
“Oh, Tom,” she starts when she spots him, stopping in her tracks to look at him. “I’ve not seen you all night. Are you alright?”
“Fine, thanks,” he looks her up and down. “Are you alright, though?”
“Oh, I’ll be okay,” she hums, tapping her foot anxiously. “Have you seen Stuart anywhere?”
“No, actually, I haven’t,” Irwin replies, and she deflates with a sigh. “I’ve been looking for him myself.”
The door creaks open and both of them turn to see Posner, Dakin draped over his shoulder asleep.
“Oh, thank the heavens,” he says, lowering Dakin down on to one of the empty desks, where he curls up almost immediately. “He’s been mumbling for the pair of you for half the night.”
“Has he?” Irwin frowns, cocking his head at Dakin’s snoring form.
“Almost non-stop, actually,” Posner replies, straightening his suit. “Have either of you seen Scripps? I need to talk to him.”
“He went to spruce himself up, he’s not slept,” Irwin explains, and Posner’s expression pinches into a concerned frown.
“Why don’t you take Stuart up to our room then go find him?” Fiona suggests. “He can catch an hour or two in bed before he needs to start getting ready.”
“I’m sure I can manage that,” Posner nods, scooping Dakin up to lean against his shoulder again. “If you see Scripps before I do, tell him I’m looking for him?”
“Of course,” Fiona nods. Posner beams at her, and turns to drag Dakin up to his room.
There’s silence for a moment or two, and Fiona fiddles with the ribbon on her bouquet as she thinks.
“Was he like this before your wedding?” She asks quietly, and Irwin starts at the sound of her voice. “Only, I’m worried he might be getting cold feet.”
“Not exactly like this, no,” Irwin admits, and she sighs to herself. “I’m sure he’s not, though. Once he wakes up later he’ll be fine.”
“I’m not so convinced,” she confesses, picking up her bouquet and gripping it tightly. “About him, or myself, actually. I’ll see you at the service, Tom.”
She sees herself out, the train of her dress flowing elegantly behind her. Irwin watches her leave, then pulls a book from the shelf and begins to read; he figures he has the time.
He’s halfway through The Great Gatsby before he hears any activity in the rest of the house; Lockwood is apparently attempting to shatter all the glass in the windows with his shouting.
“Ah, sir!” Lockwood grins when he sticks his head out of the library. “Finally, someone bothers to listen to me. Come on.”
Lockwood grabs him by the sleeve of his jacket and pulls him into the hallway, dragging him out and through the house until they reach the grand hall.
“What’s this in aid of?” Irwin grumbles, letting Lockwood force him into a chair.
“Ah, the groom!” Timms bursts into laughter from the corner of the room as Dakin comes stumbling in, suit pristine and neat but with sunglasses covering his eyes. “Morning, sunshine!”
Dakin moans miserably, and flicks Lockwood the finger as he sinks into a chair.
“I found this in my room, as I was getting out of bed,” he digs around in his pocket and produces a tie, dark pink and paisley patterned. “Is it any of yours?”
There’s a series of mumbled, muffled ‘no’s around the room, and Dakin deflates into his chair, hanging the tie over his thigh.
“Who was I with last night?” Dakin continues idly, rubbing at his temples and willing his headache to pass before the service.
“You don’t remember?” Akthar tries and fails to stifle a snigger into his sleeve. “I think half the house heard you.”
“Don’t be a dick, Akthar, I’ve not got the patience this morning,” Dakin whines, leaning his head back against the chair.
“If I say ‘rose garden’, does that mean anything to you?” Crowther snorts, leaning back against the table behind him. Dakin whips his glasses off his face and turns to gape at him, eyes wide and alarmed. “Ah, now he remembers!”
“No, someone tell me, who was I with?” Dakin asks desperately, getting to his feet and staring at each of them in turn.
“Was it Fiona, maybe?” Timms supplies, smirk on his face like he knows it certainly wasn’t.
“No, no, she’s hayfever, she can’t go near real flowers,” Dakin frowns, shaking his head and wincing immediately after.
“Morning,” Posner says with a small smile as he steps into the room, Scripps on his heels. Dakin freezes, eyes going wide, and Lockwood whistles through his teeth.
“How’re you this morning, Pos?” Lockwood grins cheekily, and Scripps frowns at him and sits himself down on one of the tables.
“Oh, alright, thank you,” Posner smiles a little, looking at Dakin’s white face with alarm. “Are you quite alright, Dakin? You look a bit pale.”
“Jimmy, please be quiet,” Dakin starts, when he hears Lockwood sniggering in the background. “Did you have a good evening?”
“Oh, it was fine,” Posner replies, pouring himself a glass of water from the pitcher on the sideboard. “Good might be a touch strong, but it was nice for everyone to be back together, I suppose.”
“Yes. Nice,” Dakin winces, some of the colour returning to his cheeks as he exhales. “That’s how I’d describe it. Nice.”
“Sorry, is something the matter?” Posner meets his eyes, expression hardening.
“You tell me,” Dakin replies, tucking his hands into his pockets. “What happened last night?”
“You don’t remember?” Posner laughs, shaking his head. “Now, why does that not surprise me?”
“Posner,” Dakin frowns, squaring his shoulders. “Tell me what happened last night.”
“We talked, mostly,” Posner admits with a shrug, fixing Dakin with an odd look. “Among other things.”
“What other things?” Dakin asks desperately.
“Come on, Dakin,” Posner laughs. “Even you’re not that bad.”
“No, Posner, what ‘other things’? What should I know about?”
“You’re ridiculous,” Posner shakes his head, expression pinching into a frown. “I can’t believe you’re going through with this, after everything.”
“Why wouldn’t I be?” Dakin snaps.
“If you remembered last night, you’d know full well why,” Posner sighs, taking a drink. “Anyway, have you seen my tie? I had it last night, now I can’t find it.”
“This isn’t it, is it?” Dakin asks warily, holding the tie he’d found out. Posner stares at him and reaches out for it, slowly, and feels the fabric between his fingers. “Oh, god. What did we do?”
“I think you might need this,” Irwin produces a hipflask from the inside of his jacket, and holds it out to Dakin, who takes it gratefully and knocks back a mouthful. He hands back the flask, and looks at Irwin with an expression nothing short of heartbroken.
“Oh, god, Tom,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I’ve done the stupidest thing. I know I promised I’d never do anything to hurt you again, but–”
“Hold on,” Irwin stops him, raising a hand to his face. “I don’t understand how I factor into this any more. I think you’re confusing me with Fiona.”
“Fiona,” Dakin almost wails a moment after, burying his face in his hands. “Oh, Christ.”
“Yes, Fiona,” Scripps pipes up, his expression hard and unsympathetic. “She’s about five foot three, blonde, cares a great deal about you, and that. You know, I’m not sure she’d take too kindly to any of this.”
“How the hell am I meant to explain this to her?” Dakin stares between Scripps, Irwin, and Posner desperately, and finds the three of them staring back with equally blank expressions.
“I wouldn’t worry so much about that,” Irwin clicks his tongue, and Dakin rounds on him. “I think she already knows.”
“How does she know?”
“She was here,” Posner interrupts. “You were a complete shambles.”
“Oh, god, of course she was,” Dakin groans. “Why didn’t we just sell the story to sodding OK Magazine!”
“I can arrange that, if you want,” Scripps hums, and Dakin turns to glower at him. “Figure it’d save on phone bills.”
“Fuck off,” Dakin retorts, turning away from Scripps and back to the others.
A door slams open, and Dakin’s mouth hangs open as he turns to see Fiona standing there, in her wedding dress and veil with her bouquet by her side.
“Well, if it isn’t the blushing bride herself,” Lockwood greets her with a smile. She fixes him with a dejected look, and his smile falters into something more apologetic.
“Stuart, can I have a word, please? In private?” She looks desperately around at the other men, as if willing them to leave the room.
“I don’t think that’s necessary, Fi,” Dakin replies quietly, and he watches miserably as her façade crumbles. “They already know about last night.”
“Oh. I see,” Fiona exhales quietly, bring her flowers into both hands and twisting the stems in her palms. “I’ve been thinking, you see, and I’m –I’m not sure we should get married.”
“You mean, you’re not sure we should get married today?”
“I mean –I mean I’m not sure we should get married ever,” she continues after a moment, looking up at him sadly. “I’ve spent all night wondering what to do with myself.”
“Fiona, wait,” Dakin starts, stepping towards her as if to take her hand.
“Don’t, Stuart, please,” she shakes her head, the lace of her veil falling delicately around her face. “I know you’re not happy. You don’t have to pretend. I know something happened between you and Posner last night, you don’t have to tell me what, but I know by now I’m not going to make you happy.”
She looks over Posner’s shoulder at Scripps, and offers him a watery smile, and he sniffs and nods at her.
“Wait, hold on,” Posner comes to himself after a moment, and Fiona looks at him with sad eyes. “This, ‘something’ you’re talking about, it’s not what you’re thinking.”
“Isn’t it?” Dakin wheels around to stare at him. “But your tie was in my room!”
“And I don’t know how that happened,” Posner admits. “But all that did happen was one particularly unpleasant kiss. Unpleasant for both parties, I might add. We were drunk, you were upset, you kind of just lunged for me, really. It wasn’t enjoyable in any sense of the word.”
“Oh,” Dakin replies softly, scuffing his shoes against the carpet. “Why was that it? You used to love me.”
“Used to,” Posner repeats, staring hard at him.
“Are you seriously asking why he didn’t try and sleep with you on the night before your wedding?” Fiona gapes at him, her expression hurt.
Scripps laughs at the three of them, shaking his head.
“What are you laughing at?” Dakin glares at him, and Scripps stares straight back, cocking his head.
“You act like this is the worst thing we’ve ever seen you do, mate,” he scoffs. “We all know it’s not. I’ve fond memories of you falling in the River Don half naked, myself.”
Dakin fixes him with a withering look, and Scripps only smirks smugly at him. Dakin holds his gaze for a moment before he sighs, his shoulders sagging.
“Fiona,” Dakin starts after a minute’s silence, and she looks up at him sadly. She’s crying, and Dakin steps towards her and takes her hands in his. “I’m sorry. Really. But we can’t get married.”
“I know,” she replies wetly.
“You are far, far too good for me,” Dakin laughs, and she forces a weak smile. “I could’ve never made you happy.”
“Nor I you, I don’t think,” she laughs almost fondly, squeezing his hands. “Goodbye, Stuart.”
Dakin shakes his head minutely, leans down to press a last kiss to her cheek, and then watches her go.
“Now what?” Rudge says into the awkward silence, leaning against the cabinet of glassware behind him. “You’ve about four hundred people out there waiting to see you tie the knot.”
“I’ll think of something. I got myself into this mess, I suppose I’ll have to get myself out of it somehow,” Dakin sinks down into one of the chairs, pinching the bridge of his nose. Posner opens his mouth to speak, and Dakin looks up at him with hard eyes. “Don’t even think about it, Posner. If you ask me to marry you I’ll smack you in the face. You’d hate it, I’d hate it, and I think Scripps especially would hate it.”
Posner freezes and wheels around to face Scripps, who is staring at Dakin with wide eyes and looking aghast.
“Wait, what?” Posner says, turning properly and stepping towards Scripps, who suddenly looks like he’s about ready to flee the scene. “Scripps?”
“Yes?” He replies, his voice strangled and unsteady. “Is he telling the truth?”
“I’m offended you think I’d lie,” Dakin laughs, reclining back in his chair.
“Not now, Stu,” Scripps tells him without looking away from Posner’s eyes. “Is he?”
Posner stares at him, a dark blush rising up his cheeks, and he nods hurriedly, biting his lip.
“Oh,” Scripps continues, his voice softer than Posner’s ever heard it. “That’s –that’s good, then, isn’t it?”
“Yes, yes I think it is,” Posner nods again, biting back a smile.
“Oh my fucking god,” Lockwood groans, dragging his hand over his face in despair. “Will you just kiss him already?”
Scripps blushes up to his ears and Posner laughs at him, fond and affectionate, and steps towards him. It’s Scripps that makes the first move after that, though, sliding his hands up nervously to grip Posner’s waist, and leans in to kiss him.
There’s a mumble of ‘oh, thank Christ’ from someone in the room, but neither of them can bring themselves to care as Posner’s hands wander to Scripps’s waist, his shoulders, the line of his jaw. When they finally separate, they’re both flushed pink and grinning, deliriously happy.
“Love me with thy voice, that turns, sudden faint above me; love me with thy blush that burns, when I murmur ‘Love me!’” Posner recites softly, just loud enough that Scripps can hear him. Scripps only beams happily, and connects their lips again.
Dakin leaves them for a moment before he gives a slow round of applause, a smile on his face.
“As happy as I am for you both, really,” he starts, dragging himself to his feet. “I’ve a wedding to get out of.”
Scripps pulls away from Posner but keeps a tight hold of his hand.
“Look, I can come up with something, if you want,” he says, looking at Dakin’s pained expression. “I write for a living, remember. Shouldn’t be too difficult.”
“No, it’s fine,” Dakin sighs, straightening his tie. “It’s my own fault I’m in this mess, I’ll get myself out. See you on the other side.”
He heads towards the grand hall, where he can hear a hubbub of conversation as he approaches. He takes a breath to steel himself, and pushes open the doors to the room. Everyone falls silent as he walks up the aisle, alone, and comes to a stop at the altar at the head of the room.
“Can I have your attention for a moment, please,” he clears his throat and begins to talk, watching as the rest of the boys slink in and take seats at the back of the hall. “Sorry to have kept you waiting. There’s been a slight –well, there’s been some complications. Fiona and I, we’ve –we’ve decided to call it quits. I’ve made rather an arse of myself, to be blunt about it.”
He stops, fiddles with one of the plastic flowers on the altar in front of him and takes in a shaky breath. The main doors of the hall creak open, and Irwin’s standing there sheepishly, straightening his pocket square.
“A few years ago,” Irwin starts, walking down the aisle towards Dakin, who has yet to do anything except gape at him dumbly. “You were invited to a wedding of mine.”
He gestures for Dakin to repeat his words, and he comes to a stop beside him. Dakin looks at Irwin, confused, breathing heavily, but turns back to the crowd and clears his throat again.
“A few years ago, you were invited to a wedding of mine,” he starts, and looks to Irwin for his next cue.
“And I did you out of it by eloping to Spain without telling anyone.”
“And I –I did you out of it by eloping to Spain,” Dakin laughs softly, looking sideways at Irwin with an impossibly fond expression. “Without telling anyone.”
“Which was really very rude of me,” Irwin’s looking back at him, holding back the urge to reach out and take his hand.
“Which was really, really, very rude of us,” Dakin corrects him, and Irwin laughs quietly so only he can hear.
“So I intend to make it up to you now, by going through with it as originally planned,” Irwin stops resisting and takes him by the hand and squeezes.
“So we intend to make it up to you now,” Dakin sniffs, trying desperately to hide the fact that his eyes are watering with tears. “Oh, god, by going through with it as originally and magnificently planned, so if you could just keep your seats for another moment– are you serious?”
Dakin turns to Irwin, takes hold of his other hand and looks him in the eyes.
“I’m serious,” Irwin replies, nodding minutely and blinking back his own tears. “I always am when it comes to you.”
Dakin laughs wetly, and brings Irwin’s hands up to his lips to kiss the backs of his palms.
“I love you, you know,” Irwin continues, looking at Dakin with an expression so happy and affectionate Dakin almost wants to kiss it away. “I don’t think I ever stopped.”
“I know, I know,” Dakin nods, smiling unsteadily. “I love you too.”
Irwin leans in and kisses him hard, fisting a hand in the lapel of Dakin’s jacket and losing himself for a moment. He comes back to himself when he hears applause and cheering from the back of the room, and looks up to see Posner and Scripps on their feet, tucked in to each other’s sides, clapping. Lockwood and Timms are beside them, whooping loudly, and even Crowther looks quietly pleased.
“You’re next, you know!” Dakin shouts, when he catches sight of Scripps’s pleased smirk.
“I’m counting on it, mate!” Scripps shouts back, ignoring the blush that darts up Posner’s cheeks at his words. “Now shut up and kiss your husband!”
Dakin laughs, openly and happily, and turns to do just that.