Page 21 of Four of Hearts

Harry headed upstairs, dreading what he was going to find. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been in the spare room. It was spare, after all. He had no need to ever go in there, unless they were having visitors over. Which they didn’t.

He opened the door, stepped inside. Hanging on the wardrobe was a suit carrier. He made his way over to it, took a moment to calm himself down, then undid the zip.

When Harry eventually made his way back into the kitchen, he did so with as little drama as he could, mainly because he didn’t need to. His outfit more than made up for it.

‘Well,’ said Grace, her eyes wide. ‘Don’t you look something, my Love!’

‘One way to describe it I suppose,’ said Harry, taken aback then by what Grace had just called him. They’d never been a couple where calling each other names likeLoveorDarlinghad been a thing. Hearing it now, though, he rather liked it.

Harry’s outfit comprised surprisingly realistic fake chainmail, a rather fancy velvet top, elbow length gloves, a cape, and a crown. In one hand he carried a large plastic sword, in the other a plastic shield. A scabbard hung from a belt.

‘I’m King Arthur, apparently, according to the label on the clothes hanger,’ Harry said, but was suddenly somewhat distracted by Grace, who had sidled up to him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

‘My liege,’ she said.

Harry tried to not smile, failed completely.

‘You like it, then?’

Grace’s eyes were wide and more than a little wild.

‘Shall we go upstairs?’ she asked.

Harry stepped away, opened the door, and decided to just go with it and get into character.

‘After you, m’ Lady.’

NINE

Come morning, and Harry had come to terms with both the fact that he was going on a stag do, and that he would be wearing fancy dress. This was mainly down to Grace being very persuasive once they’d got upstairs, and how quickly she’d removed said fancy dress.

The event itself wasn’t until the evening, with transport arriving late afternoon to take him to the Tan Hill Inn. Grace was out for the day with her dad, and Harry was, quite to his own surprise, left to his own devices. He had a whole day to himself, something he rarely, if ever, experienced. Grace had asked what he was going to do with it, then right away suggested his speech.

‘What speech?’

‘The wedding speech, Harry.’

‘But won’t Ben be doing one?’

‘For him, yes, but not for you.’

‘It’ll be the same thing, though, won’t it? We’re brothers, so...’

At which point, Grace had planted a kiss on Harry’s cheek, grabbed her guns, and with Jess and Cheese at her feet, headed out the door, only to poke her head back into the house before she closed it, with the words, ‘You could even write a poem if you fancied.’

The door was already shut by the time the slipper Harry had grabbed off his foot had thumped into it.

She had a point, he thought, and he’d already been jotting down a few things anyway, such as who to thank, and, well, that was about it, really. He wasn’t one for speeches, but it would certainly give him something to work on during the day, once he’d got the other thing out of the way.

Harry stared at the digital voice recorder. It was sat on the work surface in the kitchen. He pressed play, listened to the message again, already had the phone number in his head. He needed more tea, though, and a couple more slices of toast, so he sorted that out, first, before he did anything else.

Fifteen minutes later, tea and toast gone, Harry was now sitting by the fire, Smudge leaning against his leg, her jaw on his lap. He’d not lit the fire, as he wasn’t planning on being in the house much. A speech could be written anywhere, and a good walk with Smudge would be perfect for that. First, though, he needed to make a call.

With one final listen to the message on the digital voice recorder, Harry tapped the number into his phone and waited. It was answered in four rings.

‘Hello, Harry. You got my message, then?’

The politeness of the voice was somewhat marred by the sliver of meanness shot through every word.