Page 71 of Glitterland
“Check you, babes.” Darian crept up behind me and squeezed. He was wearing a jacket that looked as though it was made from the feathers of a bird of paradise—which, I suppose, passed for formal wear in his world.
“Let me guess,” I said, “I look like I work in parliament.”
“Oh, my God, babes, look at all these ties.” Peering into my wardrobe, he gave a gasp and pulled out a silver twill Stefano Ricci tie, set with Swarovski crystals. I’d bought it because I was so fucking depressed I would have bought anything. “Wear this one.”
I cringed. “With a navy suit, or indeed ever, absolutely not.”
“But it’s so bling, babes. It goes wif my shoes.”
“That tie says one of two things. It either says, ‘I’m a wanker,’ or ‘I’m mentally ill,’ and, though I am both, I have no wish to broadcast it.”
Somehow, between expressing my determination not to wear the tie and leaving the house, I ended up wearing the tie.
19
Afternoon
“I’ve nevva been to Cambridge.” Darian bounced excitedly on the balls of his feet as we dropped my bags off in the room Amy had booked for me at her old college. “It’s well nice.”
“Bah. It’s just like a smaller version of Oxford, where they cheat at Tiddlywinks and punt from the wrong end.”
“You gonna show me rand?”
“No, we’re going to stay here and fuck—I think we have time before dinner if we’re quick about it.”
“You’re so romantic, babes.”
We fell onto the single bed with such abandon that it went crashing into the wall, knocking a chunk out of the plasterwork. From the arched, wisteria-woven windows came a sudden shaft of sunlight, warmed gold by the surrounding sandstone, in which the dancing dust motes glittered like stars.
***
Evening
The rehearsal dinner was being held in the fourteenth-century Old Hall—though I was unsure why we needed to practice eating and having awkward conversation.
“Are we like ’aving dinner in a church?” whispered Darian, awestruck.
“It’s just a college dining hall.”
“What’s wif the stained glass?”
“Most likely an eighteenth- or nineteenth-century addition.”
He gave me a look. “I just fink it’s proper weird.”
At that point, we got swept along into the rest of the milling guests, escaping only from the hurricane of introductions, greetings, handshakes, and meaningless civilities when we finally washed up in front of Max and Amy and the rest of the wedding party.
Amy threw herself into my arms. “Ash, you came. I’m so happy!”
“Um, yes. And I brought, um, Darian.”
Amy beamed at him. “Thank you for coming to the wedding of a total stranger. I hope it isn’t completely awful.”
“No way. I love a wedding, me. I fink it’s proper nice, taking an oaf to be with someone for your whole life. I reckon most people wanna get done wif me after five minutes, janarwhatamean?”
“That’s a blatant lie,” said Amy staunchly. “You’re lovely.”
He gleamed under his tan, blushing. “Awww, fanks. ’Ow nice are you? Did you come ’ere? Like Cambridge?”
