Page 92 of Paper Roses

“I do hope not,” Mal says. “Jowan will never let them wear leg warmers.”

“And neither should we.” A grin lights up his face, and he strides towards Mal. “You’re home,” he says, giving him a kiss that lasts a very long time.

I waggle my eyebrows at Artie, who snorts. The sound breaks the couple apart.

I smile at the man and introduce myself and Artie. Then I say, “You must be the famous Cadan I’ve heard so much about this morning.”

Mal grins. “Oh dear. That never presages good things.” He considers that. “Apart from the time he found me at a party and shagged me in a cupboard.”

Cadan shakes his head and reaches out to shake my hand. “Sorry, I wasn’t here to greet you. I was moving all our livestock to Timbuktu.”

I grimace. “Yes, I feel like I should be saying sorry.”

“I’d say if you started, you’d never finish. The bride is rather intense. She’s already collared me three times and asked more prying questions than my mother did when I was twelve and started locking my bedroom door.”

Mal stirs. “Have you really moved all the sheep? Even Robbie, Gary, Mark, Harold, and Jason?”

Cadan rolls his eyes. “Yes, because they are actually part of my flock.”

“Makes you sound like Jesus,” Mal says fondly.

I stare at them. “You named your sheep after Take That?”

“Pre-split,” Mal offers. “They’re very close.”

“Not that close,” Cadan mutters. “Gary kicked Robbie in the head this morning.”

Mal sighs. “Oh dear, life imitating art.”

Artie laughs.

“It’s very warm in here,” Cadan says, looking around.

I grimace. “That’ll be the heaters. They’re everywhere. Global warming hasn’t ever occurred to these people. She’s done more to melt the icebergs than if she’d stood over them with a hairdryer.”

“We do need the heaters, though,” Artie murmurs, ever kind. “It’s cold out there.”

A hysterical screech makes us all jump. Claire, the bride, is standing in the doorway. “Oh my god, Jed and Artie. We have todosomething about the cows.”

I make a mental note to cancel my ear-syringing appointment. It’s not necessary anymore. I observe Claire, who’s dressed in a thin silk gown. Her head is full of rollers and she’s wearing a green face pack, so she looks rather like a hysterical alien who’s landed on Earth to bother humans with her unreasonable demands.

“Do what with the cows?” Cadan asks warily. He turns to Mal and whispers, “I’m telling you now, this wedding business is the worst idea you’ve had since you decided to deliver meals to tourists’ doorsteps.”

“That could have worked if we’d given it a chance.”

“Only if either of us could cook.”

Artie steps towards the alien bride. “Oh dear, Claire,” he says gently. “Whatever is the problem?”

She immediately calms—such is Artie’s effect on overwrought wedding people. We call him the wedding whisperer and send him into the trenches whenever there’s a problem. It was one of the reasons I started having him do weddings with me. Then, I quickly got used to having him there. I look at him affectionately as he calms Claire.

“It’s the cows,” she’s hissing at him. “They’re not right.”

I scratch my head. “Not right for what?”

She paces, ignoring Cadan and Mal, her whole being intent on importing more news of doom. “They’re too loud.”

“Am I going to have to ball gag the cows?” Cadan says, sotto voce.

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