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Asa held his left hand out to the soft light of the bedside lamp. The ring gleamed brighter in the afterglow of some rather frantic, celebratory lovemaking. Behind him, Anthony nuzzled against him, kissing his neck. The legs of his glasses were slightly wonky as they pressed into soft flesh.
“It is lovely, my dear.” He said, pulling Anthony’s arms tighter around his body, enjoying the tickle of his long fingers dancing across the hairs on his chest. Relishing in this new chapter of their relationship. A fresh path opening up in their journey of being an Us.
Anthony grumbled appreciative noises into his intended's hair, huffing blonde waves out of the way in his mission to explore every inch of Asa’s skin.
“We’ll have to take a wee trip up to my mum's. Tell her the good news.”
He said it absentmindedly, not really sexy, talking about one's mother in moments like this, but it did need to be said. Moira still hadn’t met Asa, hopefully, announcing their engagement would soften the sharp edge of her tongue.
“Of course, of course we will.” There was a brief pause, and Anthony could hear the wiring of Asa’s brain, emanating through his skull. The overthinking was burning a hole in his grey matter. He paused his explorations and waited for Asa to piece together the words for his troubles.
“Anthony?”
“Yes, Angel?”
Another pause. Longer this time. The redhead stroked a loving hand down Asa’s back. Soothing touch always worked wonders at calming Asa’s fretful thoughts.
“Do you think she will…ummm”
Anthony pulled back, leaning up on his elbow.
“Do I think she’ll…?”
Ohh, he knew exactly where this was going, but he waited patiently all the same.
“Do you think she’ll like me?”
There it was. Anthony kissed a bare shoulder, while pulling them into as tight an embrace as he could manage without the threat of breaking ribs.
“Don’t you worry, sweetheart; she’ll bloody love you.”
He felt his fiancée relax, allowing his hands to drift and settle on his backside.
“Do you really think so?”
Anthony kissed him, short, sweet, peppered kisses against lips and throat. Melting away the last of his worries.
“Angel, I guarantee it.”
…
“So do you kick wi the left foot, son?”
Asa’s mind froze. What did that mean?
“Excuse me?”
Here it was. Not two minutes in the door, and Asa was being confronted with some sort of homophobic slur? Or at least that’s what he expected. He looked at Anthony’s grandmother. Ninety-four years old, a woman whose small head seemed to nestle in the divet of a truly enormous bosom, who was fixing him with a beady stare through thick lensed glasses.
“Gran!” Anna cast a vicious side eye at her Grandmother before turning back to Asa. “She’s asking if yer a Catholic or a protestant, Asa.”
He blinked twice. Ohh. That wasn’t what he was expecting, but judging from the openly curious looks from the two women, clearly an answer was required. No squirming out of this one.
“Umm, I’m an atheist?”
Nope. That hadn’t worked. They just looked irritated. These were not enjoyable conversations for Asa. He’d had no involvement with organised religion since he was a teenager, and he’d no intention of getting caught up in it again.
“Aye, but are yea a Catholic atheist, or a protestant atheist?”
Ohh for f…hmm, no, he wasn’t going to get snippy the first time he met his in-laws. Anthony’s Mother had insisted they’d come up for a visit as soon as they’d told her the news of their engagement, and he was going to be on his best behaviour, for Anthony’s sake.
“Well, actually, my Father’s family are Jehovah's Witnesses.”
Anna nodded, as if his answer explained a lot.
“Aye, right enough.” She said and puffed on a chunky, bright pink vape. Granny looked confused.
“Wits that?”
Before Asa could answer, Anna did it for him. In a way, he was relieved; no matter how badly she butchered an explanation, he had resolved to just nod along and smile.
“Them wans that stand at the bus station wae the wee magazines Gran.”
“So thur homeless?”
Where was Anthony with the tea? Asa looked around hopefully. He heard the click of the boiling kettle and the low mumbling of Anthony and his Mother talking in the kitchen. Please. He sent a psychic message to his fiancée. Please come and rescue me.
“Naw, no them wans Granny, the lassies are aww buttoned up. They’ve got they wee magazines. Clocktower, I think.”
“Watchtower, yes, that’s right.” Asa sat uncomfortably snug in a floral armchair. The thick layer of plastic protecting the fabric squeaked with even the tiniest of movements. He was sweating under the interrogating eyes of Anthony's Grandmother, Sister, and the large portrait of Jesus that sat in pride of place at the centre of the mantelpiece.
Anna nodded with satisfaction. They were on the same page finally. Agnes was it? clicked her teeth and went back to her knitting. The gentle click-clack of the needles was familiar and soothing, and he relaxed a little watching the precise motion of her hands. Asa’s Mother had been good at knitting. She’d tried to teach him once. Father had not approved.
“Here we go. Moo and two for you son?” Anthony’s Mother, Moira, handed a scalding mug to Asa, as Anthony laid down a plate of Tunnock's tea cakes on the coffee table and winked at his intended. He let out a small laugh as Asa's face turned queasy. A few weeks before, they’d tried to see how many tea cakes they could fit into their mouths. Asa won with six. His triumph was short-lived when he laughed and sprayed marshmallow all over his partner.
“So when were you thinkin of huvin the weddin then?” Moira asked, after a moment's pause, to slap her Mother’s hand away from a second tea cake.
The couple looked at each other and nodded. Anthony knew his Mother would want them to do something grand. So the two of them had a plan in hand to ward off her interference. They’d get married in Glasgow, because that’s where the Crowleys were. Nothing too showy. Registry Office at Park Circus. Then dinner at the Oran Mor, for the atmosphere, and the murals. They’d have maybe twenty people tops, and no kids.
“We made up a guest list. You might want to take a look at it.” Moira picked up a folder from the side of the couch and removed a stapled document. She passed it over. Four sheets covered front and back in her neat handwriting. Moira had been busy.
“We were thinking something much more low-key,” Asa mumbled. He could feel his grip on the situation already coming undone. Anthony flicked through the paper, mouth agape.
“Who’s Wullie?” He asked.
“Yer Uncle Wullie.” Granny answered.
“Wis he at my wedding?” Anna asked.
“Which one?” Granny clapped back, a bitchy eyebrow raised. Anna scowled back at the old woman, who wiggled with satisfaction. Ohh, Asa was beginning to like Granny.
“Mum, there’s got to be at least two hundred names here.”
“Aye?” Moira lit a cigarette with the butt of the last one she’d smoked. Asa swore he could feel the tarr sticking to his insides, and wondered if he had his inhaler in the car.
“We’ve not really got the money for a big wedding.” Anthony looked almost apologetic for having a wedding on a lecturer's wages. Moira was having none of it.
“Aye ye dae. Yev got twenty thousand.” Asa yelped as he spilt his mug of tea in his lap. Anna ran for tea towels. The couple exchanged panicked looks. The conversation had gone from small, quiet and romantic to a full-blown theatrical production in a single sentence.
“What do you mean, twenty grand?”
“It’s what your sister got, why should you no get the same?” Moiras' look dared him to challenge her. He looked to Granny, but she, also, would hear no protest.
“No Mother, we couldn’t ask you to do that.”
Moira waved her cigarette-wielding hand dismissively in Anthony’s general direction.
“Weesht, yer sister got two weddings oot a me, it’s only right that you get one as well.” She ignored Anna's huffed protests beside her. “The money's been sittin there for years. Thought I wis never gonie get it spent.”
She took a quick draw on her cigarette before flicking ash into the large, cut-glass ashtray that took up permanent residency on a small table on her side of the sofa.
“Shrouds don’t have pockets, sweetheart; I cannae take it wi me.”
The other women nodded in agreement. Anthony opened his mouth to protest further.
“It’s a wedding, Anthony. Dae yea no want to show yer fella aff?” That felt like a cheap shot. If he said no, would that leave Asa feeling small and underappreciated? Anthony’s family had always gone in for big weddings. Each one more opulent and showy than the last. Weddings, stag dos, and Hen weekends. The full works.
“You’ll need to have a ceilidh.”
“A what?” Anthony could feel the panic coming from Asa. He reached across the divide of their chairs and clasped his hand. He squeezed reassurance. Everything would be okay.
“A ceilidh Angel. A dance.” He turned his attention back to his mother.
“I’m sure we can do without that, Mum. Besides, Asa doesn’t know the dances.” He winked, and Asa nodded in agreement.
“Auch, they’ll teach him.” Anna huffed candy floss smoke in their direction.
“I’m not a very good dancer.” Asa offered.
“Nor me angel, Mum we don’t want a ceilidh at OUR wedding. I was only ever good at strip the willow, and that’s only cause you just need to be fast, not good.”
The three women tutted.
“I like a ceilidh,” Anna said with the pout she’d wielded since they were small. Anna liked her way. So did the other two. They weren’t the kind of women to take no for an answer from their menfolk, but Anthony was not the kind of man to say yes just to keep the peace.
“If he disnae want it, he’s no getting it. Stubborn so he is.” Moira flicked more fag ash into the ashtray, never missing.
“Jist like his Faither that wan.” Granny pointed disparagingly with a bare needle as she counted stitches.
Anthony smiled sweetly, but his voice was laced with a warning.
“We could just go to Gretna Mother.”
The women hissed and recoiled at the very notion. Asa felt like he had whiplash trying to keep up with the conversation. He ran his fore finger along the length of the chain around his neck, back and forth, back and forth. He took a deep breath, trying his best to not have any sort of anxiety attack in front of his beloveds. family. Wedding planning was proving to be an overwhelming experience.
Moira, turned to him, looking to the wrong man to back up her plans.
“Wit aboot your people, wit have they got tae say about aww this?”
“Umm, I don’t really have any family, to be honest. Mothers not with us anymore, and the rest, well I was disfellowshipped when I umm, well when I…”
He didn’t finish the sentence. He dropped his gaze to his damp lap. It wasn’t nice, this feeling. For all Anthony’s family were loud and opinionated, there was plenty of love. Moiras' care for her children and grandchildren shone like a beacon. It was in the framed articles on the wall, the newspaper clippings, and the graduation pictures. The weekly phone calls and care packages that found their way to their little London flat. Anthony might have lived hundreds of miles away, but the regular contact made it feel less so. It made Asa’s heart ache and long for his own Mother. She’d have been here to help. Even if his Father wouldn’t.
“I do have a niece. Muriel.” Anthony nodded along; he was trying his best.
“Aye. Lovely girl, Muriel. She and her partner are keen to help too.”
“Well, we’ll need a list aff you as well. Cannae just be oor lot, demons the lot of them wae a drink in them.” The women cackled together. Asa had an uncharitable image of them standing around a cauldron, conjuring his worst fears and amplifying them. To many people, too much noise, a swarm of children skidding across the dance floor on their knees. This was going to be a disaster. Maybe Gretna wasn’t such a bad idea after all. He looked helplessly at Anthony.
“Mother, we don’t want a big wedding and that’s final”.
…
From the top table, Asa stared out at a hundred and fifty, mostly strange faces. Anthony was leaning heavily against the back of his chair, swaying with the heat and the underlying buzz of alcohol. He’d been in the middle of his speech when Anna had decided to heckle.
“Anna, you’ve had your weddings; this one's ours, so zip it, or we’ll no buy you a present for yer next one.”
The room erupted in riotous laughter, including from Anna's latest husband. She tried for a hard stare but couldn’t help but take the joke in good humour. Besides, she’d make him pay later.
Anthony pushed himself into a more dignified upright position, pulling at his waistcoat, smoothing it down with the palm of his hand. He raised the microphone to speak. His accent grew thicker with the application of alcohol, and it was quite lovely to Asa’s ear. A faster cadence, with a melodic lilt, peppered with words he didn’t quite know but would never let on.
“My Husband and I would….” The rest of the sentence was lost under the sound of tables being clattered in thunderous applause. A drumbeat of approval that sent silverware flying, and waitstaff scattering to capture the projectiles.
Anthony gave them a moment to settle before carrying on where he’d been so delightfully interrupted.
“My husband and I.” He gestured towards Asa, who took the offered hand, holding it to his chest, his armour against the onslaught of drunken affection.
“Would like to thank you all for coming today. Some of you I’ve not seen in years, and I’m sure free dinner and cocktails had absolutely nothing to do with your attendance.” He cackled along with the onlookers.
“I’d like to thank my Mother and ma sister for taking care of things for us, getting up to sort out a wedding wisnae easy- and you’ve done a brilliant job. Thanks Mum.”
He gently freed his hand from Asa’s grip to blow a fond kiss in his mother's direction, which she caught before blowing it back.
“I’d like to thank wee Morag and Elspith for being the bonniest flower girls; you were both wee smashers. And to my new niece, Muriel, for making sure ma Angel actually made it to the ceremony. Welcome to the family, sweetheart; it’s both an honour and a privilege to know you.”
He turned to gaze down at Asa, the cheek disappearing from his face, replaced with unbridled affection.
“And I’d like to thank my husband, Asa,”
The crowd awed and cooed. A blanket of hush fell over them in the moment.
“Angel, you’ve no idea how scared I was to walk into that book shop and talk to you, after months of just walking by and spying. Fur ages I was to feart to come in.” The audience whooped, and he grinned back at them with mirth and mischief, “Not like that, you creepy bastards.”
“I was heart sore when I walked out wi a book in ma hands, and hadn’t even got your name away with me, but then you came after me. I don’t know the courage it took you to follow, but I’m so glad you did. I love you Angel, ma darlin, and I will be the one to follow you now and always. I will love you until the heat death of the universe, until the mountain at its end crumbles tae dust.”
He pulled Asa to his feet. The pounding of fists on the table dulled to a distant thrum as they kissed, leaving Asa breathless and light. Completely oblivious to the hollering around them. He only had eyes for the redhead in front of him.
“I love you, Angel.” The words mangled through joined lips. Asa felt the heat of embarrassed delight emanating from his own face as he dared to wrap his arms around Anthony’s waist and dip him into a deeper kiss. They looked up to face the cheering mass. For one last time, Anthony brought up the microphone.
“Right, if you’d like to push the tables to the side. It’s time for the fight!”
…
“I don’t know who any of these people are.”
“Don’t worry, angel; neither do I.” Anthony’s smile hadn’t cracked once all day. Not since before Asa had walked up to meet him at the celebrant’s lectern. His face hurt from smiling, and it was glorious. He adjusted Asa’s boutonniere just to touch him. His fingers brushed lightly against the little thistle and white rose, held together by a thin strip of tartan ribbon. Thistles and roses filled the centrepieces, symbolising the union of their Scots and English heritage. The tables had been named for Asa’s favourite books; the invitations sparkled with constellations. Anna and Muriel had gone to great lengths to make sure all the little touches were perfectly them.
Asa noticed fresh tears in the corner of Anthony's eyes. He’d been crying on and off all day, flitting between overwhelmed and sickeningly happy. He was glad his Mother had pushed for a big do. He hadn’t realised how much he wanted to show off, just a little bit. Cool hands cupped his face; Asa’s thumbs brushed the tears away.
“No tears now. You married me; I’ve got the paperwork to prove it; can’t do anything about it now.”
“Ohh no, paperwork, how will our heroes cope?”
They clasped hands and turned to greet their ever-growing swarm of evening guests. They nodded, exchanged hugs, thank-yous, and brief in-jokes with familiar faces. Curt nods for the less approving. These were reserved primarily for the few members of Asa’s family who had bothered to turn up.
“Why’d they come along if they don’t approve?” Anthony mused in peeved astonishment.
“Honouring my Mother, I suppose.”
“It’s an awfully long way to come just to be an arse isn’t it?”
That last comment was overheard by Muriel’s Father, who grimaced in their direction before walking into a doorway. They most definitely didn’t laugh. Not even a little bit.
…
If the guests had been drunk at the speeches, they were truly wasted by the time the band took a break and the food was announced. A vintage yellow ice cream van was parked outside the main doors to the marquee, and a table bowed under the weight of soft rolls with bacon and sausage.
“Fuck yes! Where’s the broon sauce?”
“Archie, that’s yer third wan, you’ll be sick!”
“Can a huv a flake in mine? It’s no a 99’ if it’s no got a flake.”
Inebriated guests littered the lawns. Muriel had made it her mission to steer the manager away from the happy couple every time they’d attempted to approach them about not letting their guests jump in the fountain. Wee Morag and Elspith were handing out rolled-up ballet pumps to the women who were struggling with strappy heels.
“Smart idea that.” Said Anthony as he swirled his tongue around a Mr Whippy.
“Indeed, one of your sisters.” Asa licked a blob of ice cream from the corner of Anthony’s mouth.
“Well, if anyone would know about the wee things missing from a wedding, it’s her.” Asa giggled into his whiskey. They had a drink on every table. Enough to fill at least two bottles of Talisker. He’d started carrying a glass with him, just so nobody else would insist he “Take a drink.”
“Can’t wait to get you out of this.” Anthony tugged on the edge of Asa’s tweed jacket. He’d gone for a mustard yellow herringbone three-piece suit. He looked like he was wearing sunshine, contrasting with Anthony’s black Isle tartan, Highland dress. He’d picked it for the name. It had a spooky vibe. Anthony liked spooky.
“Ohh really.” Asa raised a flirty eyebrow. He was getting rather good at being flirty. It was delightful.
He ran his little finger around the inside of the waistband of Anthony’s kilt.
“I can’t wait to get under that.” Another kiss. There had been quite a few of those today, and there would be many more to come.
“You saucy minx.”
Before the kisses could get out of hand, Anna came running out onto the patio. She grabbed them both by the hand, dragging them back inside.
“Stop footerin* wi each other, ya dirty bastards, they're playing Neil Diamond!”
They may well have rolled their eyes, but that didn’t stop them from running back in with her, scream-singing Sweet Caroline as they went.
…
“Anthony, what's going on? What’s happening now?”
The evening was drawing to a natural close. Children were sleeping on chairs lined up to make makeshift beds. The bar staff had called for last orders. Asa knew he had a bow tie; he just didn’t know where he’d thrown it. He was expecting a final song and then a fond goodnight. What he wasn’t expecting was the sudden rousing of the rabble. Every guest that remained was on their feet and circling the newlyweds, like sharks smelling fresh blood.
“It’s alright Angel; it’s just tradition, Mum insisted. Just follow my lead, okay?”
Anthony slipped an arm around Asa’s waist and led him in a gentle sway in the middle of the dance floor. Looking about Asa saw that the whole party surrounding them was standing at the edge of the starlight floor tiles. Arms crossed, hands clasped, swaying in time to the music, as the singer started to croon.
“By yon bonnie banks, and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond.
Where me and ma true love spent many happy days,
On the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.”
As the song progressed, the swaying stopped. Anthony brought Asa’s hand to his lips and kissed the cool metal of his wedding ring, then suddenly stamped his foot down hard, followed by a clap that rang out sharply, as everyone else joined in.
Stamp
Clap
Stamp
Clap Clap
Stamp
Clap
Stamp
Clap Clap
The drummers tempo started to build, as the crowd sang and clapped
“Ho, ho mo leannan, ho mo leannan bhoidheach”**
Nobody there knew what it meant; there were no Gaelic speakers amongst them, but the sentiment was clear. Arms weaved around shoulders, hands joined. Jumping, and bouncing and roaring the words to a song they’d known before birth, the feelings of joy crashed into the couple in waves. Asa didn’t know what was going on; he felt torn between the bittersweet lyrics of separation and loss and the cacophony of percussion, pipes and stamping feet. Every time he thought he’d got the hang of it, something new, some jolt of speed and tone, took hold and burled him around. Before he could ask Anthony for help, he felt the sudden sensation of being thrown into the air by many hands. He reached out to his husband, who himself had been hoisted, laughing and screeching on the shoulders of friends. The academics gave the Scots a run for their money in alcohol tolerance and fuckery. Everyone not currently bearing the weight of two middle-aged men started running into the middle of the dance floor, then pulling back as the final chorus rang out.
“You take the high road, and I’ll take the low road
And I’ll be in Scotland afore thee
For me and ma true love will ner meet again
On the bonny bonny banks, on yon bonny banks…"
Asa and Anthony found themselves dragged to the ground, locked in a tight embrace with Moira, leaving their faces coated in pink lipstick.
“You look after ma boy, son. Yea hear me? You look after him.”
For all his heart was lurching, Asa couldn’t help but be touched by her earnest pleas. He looked over her head at Anthony, and scrunched his nose affectionately.
“Of course, I will Moira. He’s my world.” She nodded, as she sniffed back the only tear Asa had seen her shed that day, and she wandered off to the patio for one last smoke of the evening.
The music changed for a final time to a more familiar tune. Anthony whooped with delight as Loch Lomond melted into The Proclaimers.
Vibration fired along Asa’s very bones. The shock on his face a beacon to Anthony. He swept in, arms snaking around Asa’s body and holding him close. The shorter man felt sweat weep through Anthony's shirt; it was tacky under his fingertips. His husband's hands slid into wavy blonde hair, cradling his head, and pressed his damp cheek against his own. He mumbled the song's lyrics into his ear.
“And when I come home,
Yes I know I’m gonna be,
I’m gonna be the man who comes back home with you.
I'm gonna be the man who's comin home to you.”
There was a momentary lull. Asa closed his eyes and took a deep lungful of the smell of his love. Salt, cinnamon and smoke. Anthony crushed a kiss to his cheek. Pulling back to look him in the eyes, and grin impishly, as the chaotic dancing continued around them.
“I love you, Angel.”
Asa brushed a damp lock of hair out from behind Anthony's glasses, drinking in the feeling that had followed him wherever he went, since he’d first seen this man standing in the doorway of his bookshop.
“Yes, I think you rather do.”
* Footerin - Scots word. Meaning to fiddle, potter or mess around with something.
** Ho, ho mo leannan, ho mo leannan bhoidheach - "Oh, ho, my sweetheart! Oh, ho, my beautiful sweetheart!" [1]