6

6

Much to his annoyance, Fen was still feeling hurt by Ripley's rejection a couple of days later. If there hadn't been a kiss… He'd hoped Ripley might call him… But he didn't and there was no way Fen would contact him. He was currently taking out his irritation on one of the Lutyens garden seats, vigorously rubbing down the wood with fine sandpaper.

If Alistair had been around, he'd be telling Fen there'd be nothing left if he carried on like that, and Fen sighed and eased up. He didn't like working on a Saturday but he had to take his turn on the rota. Today it was him and Scott. At least Scott mostly stayed in the shop, glued to his phone, and left Fen alone.

Just as Fen had thought Scott's name, the door opened and Scott walked in brandishing an envelope.

"This is for you. Hand delivered by a courier."

As Fen reached out to take it, Scott snatched it back. Fen bit into his cheeks and tried again, only for Scott to hoot and jerk it out of reach. Dickhead! Fen stopped trying to get it and carried on dragging the fine sandpaper down one of the staves.

"The shop isn't your personal mailbox," Scott said.

"And you shouldn't be gambling when you're at work."

"Mind your own fucking business."

"A fool and his money," Fen muttered.

"What did you say?" Scott snapped.

"Gambling games are set up on the basis of punters losing eventually. Most people lose money. Even those who win, don't win much."

"How would you know?"

"It's obvious. Why run a business where you don't make money? They give enough back to get people hooked. People don't like randomness. We look for patterns so we convince ourselves those right numbers will come up in time. Doesn't mean they will. Like choosing the same National Lottery numbers time after time."

"There's skill involved in card games."

"Like blackjack and poker? Some, but because there is still an element of luck, no matter how expert you think you are, you can lose against a novice."

"I'd beat you."

Fen shrugged. "But I won't play."

"Then stay the fuck out of my business. You know nothing about it." Scott threw the envelope down next to him.

Fen kept working and made no move to take it. Only when Scott had gone did he pick it up. He didn't recognise the elegant handwriting. But then, no one ever wrote to him. Did anyone write letters these days? Inside the thick cream envelope was an invitation to an exhibition of Japanese ceramics at the Tate. Wow! Fen double-checked it was his name on the envelope.

He'd not told anyone he was keen to go. He'd thought about it, but that was all. This invite wasn't even for the general public. It was a private pre-opening event, with drinks and nibbles. Fen turned the card over but there was nothing on the back.

He had a very short list of who might have sent it.

His mum? Maybe.

Alistair? Possibly.

Charles? Though it would be the first gesture of its kind, so unlikely.

Seth or Morgan, Fen's friends? Equally unlikely. It wasn't as if it was Fen's birthday and how would they get him an invite to an exclusive event?

So Ripley. In truth, he'd been Fen's first thought but he'd wanted to consider other options before he leapt at that one. A gesture to compensate for being a twat over the BMD?

Well, he'd find out on Monday evening because there was no way Fen wasn't going. Although that was assuming Ripley went too and he might not.

As he pushed the card back into the envelope, Scott came bounding in and snatched it from his fingers. "Court summons? Debt collector?"

He pulled out the card and frowned.

"It's an invite to an exhibition," Fen said.

"A private opening. Why's it come to you? It should be for Dad or Uncle Alistair." He looked on the reverse of the card, then tossed it at Fen. It landed on the floor. Fen forced himself not to look at it. If he showed the slightest interest, Scott would tread on it or rip it up. Scott was reaching for it when the buzzer indicated someone had come into the shop. The moment he'd left the workroom, Fen retrieved the card and put it in a zipped pocket of his backpack.

The shop closed at four. Fen left Scott to lock up and went to his Tai Chi class. Mostly he practised the martial art in his bedsit, but once a week, he took part in a group session. Moving in unison with others somehow gave him more energy and focus. The slow, gentle movements were perfect exercise for someone like him and having others around made Fen feel as if he belonged.

He waved to Agatha, the lady who ran the class, and after he'd dumped his coat and bag at the side of the room, he took his place at the back and put his crutch on the floor. Most of the exercises he could do without it, but not all. Several class members were already warming up and Fen joined them, doing head and shoulder rolls, and more awkwardly for him, reaching for his toes. He could just about circle his hips without falling over.

There were challenges in Tai Chi for someone with BMD. It was harder for him to stay balanced, harder to lose himself in the meditative element, but he did his best and if there was something physical he couldn't manage, then he did his own version.

Fen liked the way Tai Chi movements flowed without pause so the body was in constant gentle motion. He particularly liked the move yun shou, or cloud hands, when you moved your hands as if they were clouds being softly played with by the wind. First one arm, then the other, then both. When everyone in the room did it, it looked beautifully elegant.

Standing on one leg for any length of time didn't. When Fen began to wobble, he had to stop. He found his focus again, centred himself and carried on, only to find himself wobbling again. Shit.

"And relax," Agatha said.

There was a chorus of relieved exhalations. Fen was the youngest person there. Almost everyone else was in their fifties and sixties, plus a married couple in their seventies. He wished there were more his own age. Someone he could make friends with.

"Legs apart, bend your knees," Agatha said in a gentle voice. "Relax your breathing. Sink further."

Not without holding onto his crutch. Fen used it as a support.

"Lower."

Agatha's voice was hypnotic and sometimes Fen forgot she was telling him to do something he couldn't do, which tended to wreck his serenity when he ended up struggling not to fall over. It was a miracle he managed not to snigger when the lady in front of him let out a loud fart.

When the session ended, Agatha put her right fist to her left palm and held it out in front of her body, as she'd done when the session started.

"Tong Xue Men Zai Jian, students." Agatha saying goodbye.

"Lao Shi Zai Jian," they all responded. Goodbye teacher. They made the same gesture. A martial arts sign of respect, indicating you had no weapons, meant no harm.

Fen never hung around. Everyone always seemed to want to talk to him, generally to ask how he was doing, and when people were too kind, it ate at his defences. As did Ripley not contacting him. Well, that was that, then.

Unless he was at the Tate on Monday.

I am pathetic.

Fen got to his mum's at eleven thirty on Sunday morning. After he'd woken, he'd spent forty minutes doing ballet exercises, using the handle on the wardrobe as a barre. Even now, nine years after he'd left the Royal Ballet school, he missed dancing. The creeping awareness he was able to do less and less made his heart ache, but he wasn't going to stop doing what he could.

Usually, monthly Sunday lunch at his mum's place was for the two of them, but he could see both Alistair and Charles's cars in the parking area at the foot of the block of flats. His heart pounded a little faster as he went up in the lift, but his mum had said it wasn't anything bad, so…

She opened the door before he reached it and pulled him into her arms. "Hello, sweetheart. You look well!"

She said the same thing every time she saw him, regardless of how he looked. She was a great believer in positive reinforcement.

"Hello, Mum." Fen handed her the sunflowers he'd bought. Her favourites.

"Oh they're lovely! You shouldn't have, but thank you. I'll put them in some water. Hang up your coat and go on through into the main room."

"Why are—?"

"Wait and see." But she smiled so it wasn't going to be bad news.

Scott and his mum, Diana, were there. Scott stood by the window messing around on his phone. The other three were talking. Alistair smiled at him, Charles and his wife didn't.

Alistair pushed to his feet. "Hi, Fen. What can I get you to drink?"

"Some water would be great, thank you."

Alistair disappeared, no one spoke, and Fen stood there, feeling awkward.

"Do sit down," Diana pushed to her feet.

What might have been perceived as a gesture of kindness—wasn't. There were other places to sit. He didn't need her chair.

"I'm fine, thanks."

She dropped back into her seat.

"Scott tells me you have an invite to a private event at the Tate," Charles said. "The Japanese exhibition. How on earth did you get that?"

"It's obviously from that dude who bought the Japanese globe." Scott shot him a smug look.

Smartarse. Fen shrugged. "I don't know who sent it. Maybe Mum."

"What have I done?" She walked in carrying the vase of sunflowers and put them on the windowsill.

Alistair handed Fen a glass of water.

"Did either of you get Fen an invite to the pre-opening of the Japanese ceramics exhibition at the Tate?" Charles asked. "No? Then it's the man who paid for the kintsugi piece without even haggling. He was trying to impress you. Looks like he's still trying."

Fen's mum came up close to him. "Is he someone special?"

She looked so excited and Fen hated to spoil her delight, but… "No."

"If he's in the market for more Japanese pottery, we need him coming back to us," Charles said. "You did sound knowledgeable about it."

Fen bit back his irritation.

"Fen knows more than any of us," Alistair said.

Charles huffed. "The man is obviously not a boyfriend, so who is he?"

Fen couldn't help himself. "Why shouldn't he be a boyfriend?"

Charles laughed. "Fen! Look at you. Look at him. He's just saying thank you for handing back that lot."

"What lot?" his mum asked. "What are you talking about?"

"I bought a box of bits and pieces at auction and it turned out it should have been withdrawn. Mr Belmont came to the shop to ask me for it and I arranged to meet up and give it back to him."

"You gave him something when he came in," Scott said.

Thank you, resident spy.

"I found a George Cross in a wooden box."

"Oh my word." Alistair gasped.

"And you gave it back?" Charles gaped at him.

"Yes."

"Of course he did," said Fen's mum.

"It was the right thing to do," Alistair added. "Well done, Fen. No wonder he bought you a ticket to the ceramics event. Talking of right things…" He took Fen's mum's hand. "We asked you all for lunch today to tell you our news. I asked Daisy if she'd do me the very great honour of becoming my wife and she, perhaps unwisely because I haven't yet revealed all my horrible habits, said yes."

Fen's mum was looking at Fen and he smiled at her as he walked over.

"Congratulations," Fen said. "To you too, Alistair. That's fantastic news."

"Thank you." She squeezed Fen's fingers.

"Thank you, Fen."

Alistair was a kind man and he'd look after her. Fen was happy she'd have someone other than him looking out for her, especially if he wasn't around to do it. He took a deep breath. The downside to them getting married was the other part of Alistair's family. Fen didn't like Charles, Diana or Scott, and they didn't like him and he didn't think they much liked his mum. He thought it might have something to do with the way she'd encouraged Alistair to stand up to Charles who liked to ride roughshod over everyone. Even his own son. In that respect, Fen felt sorry for Scott.

"I have champagne ready to open! Scott, come and give me a hand with the glasses."

Fen felt a frisson of disappointment Alistair had asked Scott and not him, but Fen would have only been able to carry one glass at a time, and definitely not a tray of glasses.

Everyone was still chattering about the wedding when they sat down to eat. It looked like they wanted to get married next year in Italy, which meant Fen would need a passport. And travel insurance.

They were all crammed around the makeshift dining table set up in his mum's sewing space. Not one chair matched another. Nor did the plates. But it didn't matter. The food was fantastic. Lots of crispy roast potatoes and parsnips, a perfectly cooked joint of beef and dishes of peas, carrots and fluffy Yorkshire puddings. Plus, a little bowl of mint sauce for Fen because he was a fiend about it, almost no matter what he ate.

"I'm going to move in with Alistair," his mum said to him quietly. "It seems pointless paying rent for this place."

"The landlord has announced he's going to have it renovated after Christmas," Alistair said.

"Bastard," Fen said. "All those years you asked him…"

His mum shrugged. "Oh well. At least I'm not going to have to cope with his horrible taste in kitchen units."

"Just my horrible taste." Alistair smiled.

She elbowed him. "They're lovely." She turned to Fen. "There'll be a bedroom there for you if you ever need it. I wouldn't move otherwise."

Fen nodded. Alistair had a house rather than a small two bedroom flat so Fen understood.

"Maybe Scott will be next," said Scott's mother.

Fen doubted it. As far as he knew, Scott never went out with anyone for more than a few weeks.

"The poor girl will not know what hit her," said Charles. "Don't think I haven't seen all those wedding magazines, Diana."

"Maybe Diana is planning her second one," Alistair said with a laugh.

Charles guffawed, Diana rolled her eyes and Fen thought if he'd have dared make that joke, it would have been treated with deathly silence.

"Well, it will be lovely to have a family wedding," Diana said. "I mean you're not likely to have one for Fen."

Fen felt his mum bristle and put his hand on her knee and squeezed.

"I'm holding out for a billionaire," Fen said.

"Very sensible." Alistair chuckled.

Scott snorted.