Page 12 of The Best of Times
Perhaps he hadn’t mastered being Beatrice Wimpole’s consort fully.
“We don’t want you running down the aisle, Prof,” Aron said.
The Professor guffawed, setting everyone else off.
“Bumfloods,” Granny piped up.
“What did you just say?” Aron replied. Unease trickled down his spine like lava.
“That’s what you used to call that when you were a child,” she said with a giggle. “‘Granny, I think I’m having a bumflood,’ you’d cry.”
This time, the whole room collapsed in hysterics. All except Aron who genuinely could not believe she had said that.
“Thank you for sharing that with the group, Grandmother dearest.”
This only served to make the hilarity increase tenfold. Aron had no choice but to join in.
“I’ll get you back,” he said.
Granny squeezed his knee. He was more than willing to be the butt of any joke to see that twinkle in her eye.
Mercifully, calm soon restored and the meeting went ahead with no further humiliation on Aron’s part.
The colours were going to be cream and gold. Neither the bride nor the groom wanted anything too ostentatious. That made it easier for Aron and Paul. He had fretted that Granny would come up with a Renaissance theme or something similar.
Stuart had his jobs, as did Simon and Rodrigo.
“You two have a meeting with Edwin and Anais tomorrow to go through everything else. Please be kind to them,” the Professor announced. “Now how about a bottle of fizz? Let’s celebrate getting the ball rolling.”
“I knew I was marrying you for a reason,” Granny replied. “I put a Taittinger in your fridge for this very occasion.”
“That was you, was it?” the Professor exclaimed. “I’ll have to keep an eye on you.”
They both got up.
“I might have some nibbly bits in the cupboard. I’d got them for Christmas,” the Professor said. “We can always buy more. Today is a celebration.”
Giggling like teenagers, they headed for presumably the kitchen.
Alexander was deep in conversation with Jeremy and Stuart. Simon and Rodrigo only seemed to have eyes for each other.
Paul smirked at him.
“I’ll give them a hand,” Aron said.
He fled the room and straight to the downstairs toilet. Panting, he locked the door and stared at his reflection in the mirror.
“So much for showing him what he’s been missing,” he said to himself. “Fuck’s sake.”
Holding on to the basin, he forced himself to focus. He’d made a bad start, that was for sure. Things were not written off totally though. That fucking lustful stare from Paul told him that.
“Okay. Get it together. You live in New York, for God’s sake. Plus you’ve sweated your arse off in that gym so you could come here and exude confidence. Go forth and exude.”
After flushing the toilet, he walked out of the bathroom and straight into Paul.
“Loitering around bathrooms now?” he remarked.
“I figured I’d better check you haven’t got a case of the bumfloods.”
