Dear Sir,

I’m afraid that I cannot accept your offer of a relationship, because I am in one with a wonderful, beautiful man. He is the epitome of all that is manly, and I am very lucky to have him, as he is considerably more intelligent than me.

Kind Regards,

 

 

Two years later

I finish backing the display board in its bright lime-green paper and take a step back to examine it.  Perfect. My eye pans across my classroom to check everything’s in place for the next term, and I smile. My classroom. I can’t believe it. I am now a Year One class teacher in a primary school ten miles away from our home.

I shake my head. When Asa had first proclaimed I should go back to university and complete my Masters and go onward, he’d been surprised by my hesitation, as had my mum and dad. But I’ve always held true to a view that you can’t go back. If I tried to go back to my old life, it would be like me trying to wear my old teenage clothes – awkward and not a good fit anymore.

So, I explored my options and an idea had taken root, fuelled by the pleasure I take in Billy’s company. I announced my intention to a gobsmacked and amused Asa, and then I went back to uni for a year to do my PGCE. Two years later, I’m a newly qualified primary school teacher.

I’m sure people from my old life would look askance at Jude Bailey the model, now knee deep in children, with my time spent subject to the dictates of the school bell and occasionally mopping up vomit and worse, and loving it. However, they never knew me, and the one person who truly knows me, inside and out, finds it a totally understandable career shift.

At the thought of him, I can’t help the up tilt of my lips. The two years together have flown by, and I can honestly say I have never been happier. Asa has given me everything I ever dreamed of. A big old house full of books and laughter, and the freedom to finally be me. Now, I no longer have to dress as if the world is watching me - I’m at my happiest walking on the beach with him and Billy in old jeans, holey t-shirts, hair that hasn’t seen a stylist’s scissors for a while, and a full-on beard. I know squinting into the sun and laughing will give me irredeemably early wrinkles as Dean has pointed out, but I now have the freedom not to care, and a man who loves me exactly as I am, because to my joy, Asa has never seen my looks, only me.

At the thought of Dean, I laugh. Asa’s stepbrother took the news of us with his usual slightly oblivious sang-froid, to the extent Asa harbours a suspicion he’ll turn up one day trying to get into bed with me. I shake my head and laugh at him because if he ever tried, Asa would already be there. Asa has proved he can be startlingly possessive. He wasn’t such a gentle giant in Dublin last year when a man came onto me. I smile, because it’s reciprocal. I didn’t behave too well that weekend either, when the green-eyed monster took me.

Dean has now taken to dropping in every few months, descending on us for weekends. He usually brings at least two suitcases and a truckload of wailing over the fact I rarely moisturise anymore. He stays for a while, drives Asa up the wall with his constant changes of subject and then departs, leaving us all a little more grateful when the spare room is empty again.

The only thing I really miss from my old life isn’t a thing, but a person – Dylan. He was appalled at the idea of Asa moving us all to Devon, and before we left, he dedicated a lot of time to persuading me not to go. He would turn up at the house armed with pamphlets of what there was to do in London, and charts listing the many pros of living in the capital city. He would brandish these, and then dismiss the delights of Devon with a moue of disgust and a muttering of, ‘well, I suppose you’ve always got the sea’.

He was slightly placated when Asa announced we were keeping the London house and would be back quite a lot, particularly when his play started. He’d been even more placated by Gabe announcing that their Devon house was only ten minutes away, and they could come back most weekends. Gabe had drawled he couldn’t bear to witness the juvenile displays of over the top emotion which might occur if we were separated permanently. I thought he was joking, but they manage about three weekends a month, and those times we spend together, eating at each other’s houses, barbeques and cook outs on the beach with both sets of families. And Stanley. Asa even speculated last night that Gabe would look for a partnership down here eventually, and I’m keeping my fingers crossed.

I shoot a glance at my watch and start. Shit, I’m going to be late. I take a last look around the classroom and then grab the bags containing the gifts the children have bought me for Christmas. I’ll have to hide the chocolates because Billy’s grown to love and anticipate my last day of each term. I switch off the light, and shouting goodbye to the last couple of teachers in the building, I book it out to my Mini.

I set off, opening my window so I can inhale the wonderful wild gorse and salt scented air. My drive to work runs through narrow country lanes which occasionally open to show the patchwork sprawl of fields and the bright, cold-blue sparkle of the sea.

Finally, I whip my car into a small parking space outside the local village school and join the parents walking into the building. It’s a lovely primary school with a good reputation, but it still tickles me that Dylan and I attended here and now, I’m walking its corridors as a parent. Because I am one, without a doubt. Billy received the news we were all moving to Devon to live together with a rapturous excitement, which made tears stand out in my eyes, and we truly have become a family.

Our evenings are spent together sitting around the kitchen table, eating and laughing and helping Billy with his homework. We walk the beach with Stanley, and spend weekends pottering around the house, or crabbing with Billy and one of his friends from the village. He’s nearly seven now and dearer to me than I ever thought was possible. I would cheerfully lay down my life for him, and it’s strangely humbling to be gifted that feeling.

I tear myself from my thoughts as I enter the hall and scan the rows of seated parents for Asa’s familiar wild, dark hair. Spotting him, I edge past seated people, exchanging nods and smiles and then fall into the vacant seat beside him.

“You’re late,” he grins, grabbing my hand and squeezing tightly in lieu of a more intimate greeting.

“Got caught up.” I smile at him, leaning across to get hugs from Peggy and a sad nod from Amos.

Asa was astonished when he’d announced the move, to find they both wanted to come with us. He was prepared to keep them working in London maintaining the house. But Peggy announced with tears in her eyes that she wasn’t leaving Billy, and if he thought she wasn’t going to spend her time watching Asa finally be happy, then he was sadly mistaken. Amos merely announced lugubriously that Devon was as good a place as London to draw his last breath.

The lights dim and I look up. “Was he nervous?”

Asa scoffs. “As if. He’s his father’s son.”

“Well, at least he’s over the disappointment of not landing the role of Joseph.”

“He rolls with the punches,” Asa mutters.

I look around as the Nativity starts and find a few surreptitious looks coming our way. Asa is big again, perhaps even bigger than before. His miniseries was the catalyst for it when it exploded onto the screens, scooping up awards left right and centre. The play six months later had cemented this fame.

He could have gone to Hollywood again. They certainly came calling. But he announced one night around the dinner table that he wasn’t going back there because he liked his life as it was. Instead, he signed up for the next three seasons of the show which had been immediately commissioned. He did it with the proviso he mostly filmed in the school holidays, because then Billy and I would be free to join him. Outside of that time, he’s at home, picking Billy up from school, pottering about the house, or popping over to the farm to sit in my dad’s study and talk books, or help out around the farm.

I sigh contentedly and lean back in my extremely uncomfortable seat.

I shoot a look at Jude out of the corner of my eye when I hear him sigh happily. It’s a sound I never grow tired of, and devote embarrassingly long periods of time conjuring up ways to hear it. It’s at its best in our bed in the dark hours of night when we’re at peace and alone, naked in all ways. I shift uncomfortably in my seat at the effect this thought is having on my body, and divert my attention back to the Nativity, only to stiffen slightly at the sight of my son appearing on stage in jeans, a tweed jacket, combat boots and -

“Is he wearing a flat cap?” I hiss.

“Ssh,” Jude whispers back as Peggy raises her camera in the air, obstructing ten people’s view behind, but hopefully getting a bloody photo. “He wanted to wear it.”

“I’m quite shocked. Will Joseph be keeping whippets?”

Jude is trying very hard not to laugh, his beautiful face twisted with the impish dark humour which attracted me to him from day one. It’s always in his face, his naughty irreverence, and I adore it. “He insisted on wearing it,” he hisses.

I focus back on the Nativity. “I’m actually relieved. I thought we might be looking at an avant-garde version of the Nativity. Sort of ‘Emmerdale does Jesus’.”

Then I stop talking and groan audibly, as instead of turning Mary and Joseph away from the inn, my son decides to hog the stage and invite them in. “Of course there’s room,” he says merrily, gesturing at the cardboard house behind him like a seventies game show host, and ignoring the whispered shouts from his teacher backstage.

“Oh, I can’t watch,” I moan, slumping down in my seat and trying not to catch any of the other parents’ eyes, as the children start to argue amongst themselves. Jude bursts into laughter, the sound as rich and as familiar to me as my own these days.

We sit helplessly as two teachers scuttle onto the stage and have a hissing conversation with my son. They finally manage to separate the children after Mary punches Joseph, and Jude sniggers, leaning in to whisper, “Mary and Joseph will be on the ‘Jeremy Kyle Show’ soon.” He snorts. “Asking for a DNA test.”

I reach out and drill a long finger into his ribs to stop him making me laugh, aware of Mary’s mother glaring at us from two rows back. Some of the parents have been a little sniffy about two men in a relationship, but the vast majority have been very welcoming and friendly. Some of it, I think, is because Jude was born in this village and his parents are very well respected. Some of it is also due to the fact I made up the sum needed to replace the village hall two months ago. Whatever it is, as long as they treat Jude and Billy with respect, I’m fine. I couldn’t give two shits what they think about me. Then, because my scene stealing son has been manhandled off the stage, I relax and let my mind drift over the last couple of years.

I always thought of myself as an easy-going man who loved life. I never had much luck with partners, but I consoled myself with the fact I have an amazing son and genuinely believed it was enough. Having Jude has taught me how stupid I was.

He’s everything to me, and when I wake up in the morning and see his face on the pillow next to mine, I count my blessings. He’s funny, clever, kind and the greatest friend I’ve ever had. I know absolutely, he is in my corner at all times, despite all his previous fears and worries.

Over the past couple of years, there have of course been blips. You can’t change years of conditioning. So he would dart off at the drop of a hat to deal with something at the farm, and then beat himself up because he’d forgotten a dinner date. But gradually, like a wild animal, he stopped hovering on the threshold of our lives, and came in and settled down with us.

It helps that his mum and dad are better. They both love the fact that Jude is nearby, and have developed a special bond with Billy. Billy goes to the farm all the time and can often be found playing with Dylan’s nephews, the three of them into everything. But he and Jude’s dad have a very strong bond, and once he knew he wasn’t intruding, his dad started to visit us. Then Jude and I started taking him to the pub, and slowly he picked up the reins of his old life again. They’ve just come back from a couple of weeks in Mallorca at the villa and look really well, and they’re also coming to us for Christmas.

I had to do some strong talking that day to get them to accept the money, but by the time I finished, I think they knew there wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for Jude, and how much of a favour they were doing me by taking it. So now his family is whole again, and in an unforeseen event, I’ve found myself with a new family of my own. His dad calls me son and phones me all the time recommending books, and his mum cooks constantly and has struck up a firm friendship with Peggy. It’s strange and wonderful to have this close knit, loyal group after years of being without my own family.

Jude worried about the money, but he needn’t have bothered. I’ve always been very canny and invested in property, so even if the work dries up, I have enough to support us for the rest of our lives. Not that it shows any sign of drying up. I’m booked solid for the next few years, despite me informing Max I was out of action during term times.

It works out admirably well. I sometimes have to go away, but the longest is a couple of weeks, and the happiest I feel is when the car starts up the hill leading towards my home and my family. I know when I cross over the threshold, I will smell something cooking, hear voices shouting and laughing, and everyone will be waiting to welcome me home with their open arms.

I remember as clear as day, in that small Yorkshire town, closing the door of my family home for the last time when I’d been chucked out. I’d been so determined I would travel the world until I found the place worth stopping for.

Ironically, I travelled all over the world, lived in a luxury most people never dreamed of, but I finally found my contentment and stopping place twice in my life. And it wasn’t even a place, it was two people. The first time I fell in love, was when the nurse handed me a red-faced, squalling baby and he opened his eyes and looked at me. The second time, was when I opened my study door and found a gorgeous, bright, cheeky man standing there, with a heart as abundantly big as the sky. My Jude. My best friend, my lover and my heart.

Looking sideways at him as he laughs, I smile, because here in the humdrum setting of a dusty Devon school hall decorated with tinsel and fairy lights, I have everything I will ever need. I have my home.

We pick up Billy from the classroom and he’s remarkably insouciant for someone who nearly broke up Mary and Joseph. 

“Daddy does it with scenes,” he says, shrugging. “It needed a bit extra, and really, I don’t think the innkeeper would ever have been that mean.”

“He’s obviously never stopped at a Travelodge,” I whisper, and Asa snorts.

After mince pies and a glass of incredibly awful mulled wine, we pile into the car. Peggy and Amos set off earlier. “I’m starving,” I mutter, rubbing my flat stomach. “I think we should have dinner and then a night in front of the TV and Christmas films. What do you think, Bill?”

There’s a silence, and I look up in time to see Billy and Asa exchanging a look. “Erm, what’s going on?” I ask curiously, and Asa starts.

“Nothing. Bill and I thought we’d go to the beach. It’ll be empty now and we want a long walk.”

“Okay,” I say slowly, unsure where the funny atmosphere is coming from. “Let’s go there, then.”

“No!” Asa shouts, and when I jump, he moderates his tone. “I thought I’d drop you off. You can get changed and join us in an hour.”

“An hour,” I say slowly. “That’s alarmingly precise.”

He shrugs. “Just go with it please, Jude.”

I stare at him and Billy, and then concede. I’m sure I’ll find out what’s happening soon enough.

They drop me back at the house and then peel off quickly, leaving me staring after them. Shaking my head, I let myself in.

I pause for a second to admire our home. Astonishingly, Asa hadn’t wanted to paint the outside orange with green stripes. I had learned he only painted the pink palace that colour after a very cool first meeting with Mrs Fawcett-Smythe, who had mentioned his reputation for louche behaviour, and then laid down the behaviour the other residents expected from him. The pink had been Asa’s very visible fuck you.

Inside, it’s warm and welcoming and a mixture of the two of us. The rooms are high-ceilinged and light and the furniture is big and comfy, just inviting you to come in and settle down. Large colourful paintings share wall space with framed photographs, and there are bookshelves everywhere. As befits the season, the whole place smells of cinnamon, pine from the large tree in the lounge, and mince pies baking. I inhale greedily because Peggy’s mince pies are heavenly.

I climb the stairs which are festooned with fairy lights, while Stanley barks and tries to trip me up. The first floor has Billy’s bedroom along with Peggy and Amos’ rooms, a massive bathroom, and a guest suite. The landing is stripped down to the original wooden floorboards which are covered in an old oriental runner, and both walls are lined with floor to ceiling bookshelves. I reach down and shelve a couple of books Billy has obviously had out, one of which makes me smile as it’s my collection of Du Maurier photographs, and then I carry on upstairs to the second floor.

Our room is at the top of the house, and we’d gone to town on it. It faces the beach and has a balcony running off it, so one entire wall is glass. You can lie in bed at night and see starlight speckling the sea, and when there’s a storm, it’s like being in the eye of it. Best of all, I like to lie awake at night with the windows wide open, letting in the roar of the surf, and most mornings we have our coffee outside on the balcony. We sit at the table, watching the beach come to life in an oasis of quiet, when it’s just us together before the madness of the day begins. There are also some comfortable loungers out there, and it’s private enough to sunbathe naked. I shiver thinking of when Asa once came home from a shoot and found me out there. That welcome home was extraordinarily … robust.

I chuckle and move into the dressing room, inhaling the scent of amber and lavender. I change into jeans and a grey jumper, and wrap a big scarf around my neck, taking my time as per my instructions. Finally dressed, I use up some more time by unpacking Asa’s suitcase, which is lying on its side with clothes exploding from it. He’s been in Ireland for two weeks, involved in training for the new season of his series. This seems to have mainly involved waving a sword around during the day, and then testing his Guinness endurance at night. I stole a weekend while Bill was at my mum and dad’s house, and only have a very hazy memory of it.

With an armful of washing I clatter down the stairs. I stop off in the laundry room, and then pop my head around the door of the kitchen. This is a big room painted a warm, clear orange, with light oak cupboards. It runs the length of the back of the house, and is open plan, with a massive table at one end which seats ten. Huge candles set in ornate carved holders decorate the surface. You can usually find someone sitting there - working on a laptop, doing homework, or just sitting chatting.

“Did you enjoy the –” I start to say, and then grind to a stop. “What are you doing?”

Peggy, jumps up from the table like she’s been shot, and shoves something behind her back. “Nothing,” she says brightly. “Just getting dinner ready, that’s all.”

“What’s that behind your back?”

“Oh, just something to flavour the sauce.”

I crane my neck. “Jesus, you’re going hard-core, Peg. That’s champagne.”

“Only the best for my sauces,” she says haughtily, and then I yelp as she smacks the hand I had outstretched to uncover the plate near the oven.

“Ow. Jesus, Peg.”

“Out,” she says threateningly, with her spoon in the air. “Go and find Asa and Billy.”

“I’m going,” I laugh. I call for Stanley, and then look at Amos. “You okay, Amos? You look like you’re thinking heavy thoughts.”

“Just thinking of the high incidence of divorce now in modern marriages, Jude. It’s a real trial nowadays to keep the romance alive in a relationship. Not to mention ill health. Forty-two per cent of marriages end in divorce, you know.”

“Okaaay.” I elongate the word and look at Peggy for inspiration but she has her eyes closed and is shaking her head. “You thinking of getting married, then? Who’s the lucky woman?”

Peggy snorts. “There isn’t a woman in this kingdom equipped to handle that man’s incredible cheeriness.”

“I’ll have you know, Mrs B, I was quite the catch in my day,” Amos says with great dignity.

“And I bet you were thrown back,” Peggy says smartly.

“Okay, I’m off,” I interject, and then look at Peggy in confusion as she hugs me tightly. I pat her back. “You okay, Peg? I’m only going to the beach, not off to war.”

She shakes her head. “Just happy, love,” she says, and I back away slowly, afraid if I move too quickly it might aggravate her.

“Okay, Stanley and I are out of here.” Waving my hand, I grab my coat and let myself out and tread down the path leading down to the beach from our back garden. Stanley darts off and then stands barking as if encouraging me to hurry up. “Not you as well,” I mutter to her. “People are very weird tonight.”

I pull my coat tighter around me as I step onto the beach and the breeze hits me. The sky is a dark grey colour, shot through with scarlet, and the waves are crashing onto the sands. I look left and right and then see Asa and Billy sitting talking someway up the beach, a blanket wrapped around them and their dark heads bent over something in front of them.

I smile tenderly at the sight of the two most important people in my life, and then stare at the fact that they have tiki torches burning in the sand. This is overkill for a walk on the beach, but maybe we’re going to have a picnic down here.

Stanley gambols over to them, barking furiously, and Asa jerks in surprise. When he sees me he surges to his feet. He says something to Billy who immediately jumps up.

“Jude,” he shouts, running at me, and I swing him up into my arms. He’s grown a little taller and a little heavier, but his arms still wrap tightly around me, and his head still rests trustingly against mine. I squeeze him tight and kiss the side of his head.

“You okay, innkeeper?” I ask, and he chuckles, giving me a sloppy wet kiss on the cheek.

He straightens up in my arms and grabs my face between his small hands. “I love you, Jude,” he says fiercely.

“I love you back, mate,” I say thickly. “Always and forever.”

“Daddy and I have a surprise for you,” he says solemnly, and I smile at him.

“That sounds nice, sweetheart.”

“I think it is,” Asa says, coming close and slipping his arms around me so together we cradle Bill. “Show him, Bill.”

Bill wriggles down and grabs my hand, and my smile dies away, replaced by a gravity which echoes the seriousness apparent in their faces. I swallow hard, and Asa takes my other hand. Taking a deep breath, he guides me over to where they were sitting.

The tiki torches gutter and flare in the keen sea breeze, sending light and shadows dancing over the clean stretch of sand, and the pebbles and stones which have been arranged carefully so they spell out two words.

Marry Me

I gasp and move closer, crouching down and reaching out to trace a trembling finger over one of the smooth stones. “Oh my God,” I say softly.

Asa hunkers down next to me, drawing Billy into his arms. “What do you think?” he says softly. “Do you want to take us on, Jude Bailey? Because we’d rather like us to be permanent.”

“Are you sure?” I ask softly, and he nods, the light showing the sheen in his eyes.

“I love you very much, Jude. I want to be married to you, my best friend, more than anything. It’s forever for me, and I’d like a ring to show it.” He pauses and then holds out a small box to me.

I open the box with a trembling hand to reveal two thick platinum bands.

“So, what do you think?” he says softly.

I laugh, and it sounds more like a sob. “Yes,” I croak out. “Of course I’ll marry you, Asa. I’m yours. I always will be, love.”

He draws me to him and kisses me gently, and I feel Bill throw his small arms around us. “Hooray,” he shouts, and then pauses. “Daddy says this is the nicest and best way that we can keep you, Jude.”

“It certainly is.” I pull slightly from Asa’s embrace, to hug the little boy who owns a piece of my heart forever. “You okay with it, Billy?”

He looks up at Asa who nods, and I look on in confusion as Asa reaches into his pocket and draws out a sheaf of papers and gives them to Bill. “What’s this?” I ask, and Billy nudges me until I’m sitting on the cool sand and he can climb onto my lap.

“Daddy says I can ask you now,” he says solemnly, and gives me the papers. I look at Asa who nods encouragingly, so I unfurl them and hold them nearer to the light. I skim them. Then I come to a stop, my heart pounding in my ears.

“Is this what I think it is?” I ask hoarsely, and Asa nods dumbly. “Are you absolutely sure, Asa? This is a gift beyond anything you could ever give me.”

He nods and smiles gently. “The fact you really see it that way means I absolutely and irrevocably want it.”

Billy grabs my face between his little hands. “Daddy and I want to know whether you’d like me as your own little boy. We want to know if you want to adapt me.”

Asa laughs and I smile, even as a tear runs from my eye. “Oh Billy, I would like nothing more than to adopt, and occasionally adapt, you.”

“Really?” he asks excitedly. “Does that mean you’ll be my daddy too?”

I nod, and he claps his hands. “I’ve talked about this with Daddy and Grandpa.” I smile, because he’s talking about my dad. “I want to call you Pa, because Daddy will still be Daddy.” I nod seriously, and he kisses me again. “You can be my Pa forever. That’s awfully nice, isn’t it?”

“It is,” I say softly.

“Maybe you could adapt Stanley too,” he offers, cuddling into me and putting his fingers out for her to lick.

“I would certainly like to adapt her habit of going to sleep on my pillow and peeing in my shoes,” I say darkly, and Asa chuckles.

I lean back, feeling Asa’s strength and warmth at my back like they always will be, offering comfort and laughter and a boundless love. I wrap my arms around the little boy who first taught me how to love without fear. We form a circle of tangled arms and legs and cuddles in the sand, while the torches gutter and pop and the sea roars.

“Forever?” I say softly, and Asa buries his head in my neck. I shiver as I feel, as well as hear his words falling into the air like a magical incantation.

“It’s a deal, Jude.”