Husband Material (London Calling #2)(57)

“To be fair,” put in Judy, “it is quite a significant thing. I told my parents about most of my marriages.”

“You see,” exclaimed Mum. “And Judy was a terrible daughter.

She gave her father three heart attacks.”

I sighed. “Fine. I’m a terrible son.”

“You were a terrible son,” Mum corrected me. “Oliver is my son now.”

Oliver had a faintly panicked look in his eyes, a look that was slowly spreading to the rest of his face. What he still didn’t quite get about my relationship with Mum was that we sort of upset each other all the time, sometimes over huge things like, um, me not telling her I was getting married, sometimes over tiny things like whether the guy who used to live next door to us when I was twelve was called Jim or John. It was just that it didn’t mean anything because she was my mum and, despite what she was saying right now, I was her son and we loved each other and always would.

“I don’t think it’s a trade,” he said. “I think it’s more a jointly and severally liable kind of deal.”

Mum smiled beatifically. “Oh, it is so nice having a son who is a barrister. He always says intelligent things instead of insisting the guy next door used to be called John.”

“Hang on”—I actually jumped to my feet in a moment of strong emotion—“I never said he was called John. You said he was called John.”

“I did not say he was called John,” Mum insisted. “I said he was called Jim because that was his name. But you never listen to me as well as never telling me anything.”

“No, you didn’t. You said his name was John, and you remembered specifically because of the Beatles.”

Mum shook her head. “No, that was our other neighbour Mr.

Starkey. In any case”—she rose majestically from the sofa—“I should serve up the extra-special vegan special curry before the artichoke goes soggy.”

This was Oliver’s cue to go through to the kitchen and help, Eugenie’s cue to follow him, and my cue to sit in the living room having a bizarre conversation with Judy.

“So,” I began. “How’s…things?”

She absently lifted a spaniel out of the fireplace. “Not bad. Can’t complain. Went to see a chap the other day to see if I could have the use of his cock.”

“And…how did that go?”

“Very disappointing. He’d sent me a picture of it, but it turns out that wasn’t his cock at all. Belonged to another fellow. And you could tell immediately—much smaller, head a completely different shape, and it was bobbing up and down quite erratically.”

“It happens,” I said.

Judy gave an indignant snort. “Not to me it doesn’t. Why is it when you get to a certain age, chaps think you’ll take any cock they offer you? I mean, I said to him, ‘Sir, I have handled many cocks in my time, and that is by far the scrawniest, scraggiest, least satisfying specimen I’ve ever—’”

It was at that moment that—to my mild relief—Mum poked her head round the door. “Oh, by the way, mon caneton, though I am still very angry with you, I should also say that I am over the moon for you and Oliver. Obviously, my own wedding was a cocaine-fuelled rager and my husband was a piece of shit who fucked three of the bridesmaids, but I am sure things will be different for you.”

“I suppose,” I said. “There’ll be less cocaine, and I’m pretty sure Oliver won’t want to have sex with any of the bridesmaids…”

Mum nodded sagely. “It is one of the advantages of being a gay.”

I let that one slide. “I think it’s also an advantage of marrying somebody who isn’t a complete arsehole.”

“I suppose that might also be part of it. But are you absolutely sure about the cocaine? Because if you did want some, I am certain I could arrange it.”

There were few things of which I was absolutely surer. “No cocaine. Also, you don’t have to arrange anything.”

For a moment I was worried I’d offended Mum again. “But of course I will arrange things. You are my son, you are supposed to plan your son’s wedding. You are also supposed to pay for your son’s wedding.”

“Technically, that’s daughters,” pointed out Judy. “Which was a bit rough on my old man what with my having so many. Still the bugger owned half the Home Counties so he could afford it.”

“I don’t have any daughters,” Mum replied. “And anyway Luc is a gay so—”

“Can we please not have the gay-as-a-noun conversation again?” I asked.

Mum shook her head. “Not now, Luc, this is very important.”

It took me a moment to realise that the very important thing that she was discussing was why it was okay for her to take over my and Oliver’s wedding. “Slow down a minute. It’s generous of you, Mum, but we really don’t need you to pay for anything.”

“Well, I was just speaking to Oliver, and he said it was very kind of me.”

“Yes, but that’s because in his world ‘It’s very kind of you’ is code for ‘I’m too polite to say no.’”

Bearing four bowls of extra-special vegan special curry with a dexterity that should have been impossible for anybody who hadn’t been a professional waiter, Oliver emerged from the kitchen. “Did I hear my name?”