Epilogue

S tan

"Where do you want this box, Stan?"

"Sorry," I say into the phone. "I won't be a second." I reach out and feel over the box for the braille label. "That's for the bedroom," I tell my brother. I skim the label underneath that, which tells me what's in it, and bite my lip. "Maybe don't open this one, either."

"Oh god. I'll be emotionally scarred by the time we've finished moving you."

"That'll make up for all the trauma you've inflicted on me and Lottie."

"Preach it," my sister calls. "I'm afraid I've run out of the light boxes. What a tragedy . Shall I dust something instead?"

"How about the whole house?" Vinnie suggests. "It's like Miss Havisham's home minus the wedding dress."

"And the mouldy food," my sister adds.

"I could actually manage that," Vinnie says mournfully. "I haven't been fed since seven this morning."

I hear footsteps, and my mum's voice says, "You're not at the zoo, Vinnie, where someone's going to throw food at you. There's a shop only twenty yards away."

"Yes, but it's Stan's job to feed me after I gave up my entire weekend to move him and Raff."

"You gave up six hours. Quit whining," I instruct him and turn back to my phone. "Sorry to keep you. Yes, that is the right gas meter reading. My father did the reading."

"Oh dear," my mother mutters, making me smile.

When I've finished the call, I slide my phone into my jeans pocket. "How's it looking?" I ask her.

Her footsteps sound closer, and I smile as she slides her arms around me, imbuing the air with her scent. She's been wearing Bulgari's Pour Femme since my dad bought it for her on their first date. He'd taken her for afternoon tea and then perfume shopping, and according to her, he had her at the first fruit scone.

"It's lovely," she says quietly. "The perfect house for you and Raff. It's got such a warm and serene feel to it. You're going to be so happy here."

I reach out and pat her head. "We're happy anywhere, though."

"True, but it's nice that Rollo finally did something half decent as a parent."

We'd been considering moving for a while, wanting to give Hump a garden to run in. At some point, he'll retire, and I'm not giving him up, so Raff had declared we needed more room for the army of active and retired guide dogs we will have. When Rollo found out, he called on us and announced that he was giving us this house. Raff had protested, but Rollo had insisted, saying he was doing nothing with it.

It's an old Edwardian terraced house with the original wood flooring, and Raff says there's a Milton tiled entranceway. It's perfect for us. My shop is a couple of streets away, and it's near the tube for Raff and the park for Hump.

"Do you think it was a nice gesture or a tax break?" I say.

My mum snorts. "Best not to ask. Just accept the flow with Rollo."

"I'm not sure I'm comfortable with that, because it usually involves some sort of drama worthy of EastEnders ."

"Tell me about it. He came to dinner with his current wife last Sunday and split up with her over the treacle sponge. It was better than watching Columbo . I still can't believe he actually fathered Raff."

"Well, he's got his charm."

"I still persist in the notion that Raff was a particularly charismatic cuckoo who hopped into the wrong nest." She kisses my cheek. "Thank goodness he's found the right one now."

Raff

"Are you sure you won't stay for some cake, Raff?"

I shudder at the thought of actually eating a slice of the thing, especially since it had taken five tasting sessions before they'd picked this one.

I turn to the bride and smile. "I'm absolutely sure, lovely, but thank you anyway. Are you happy?"

She gives me a wide grin that's fuelled by champagne and happiness. "Blissfully."

"Then my job is done."

She pouts. "You're going, aren't you?"

"Only if you don't need me for anything else."

I hold my breath in case she thinks of something. Brides usually can, but this time, she shakes her head. "No, of course not. You get off. I know you're moving today, and we're so grateful you still did the wedding."

"Of course," I say immediately. "I wouldn't have missed it. At the least, you got me out of moving the boxes."

She laughs. "Happy to be of service. Well, say thank you to Stan and give him a kiss from me for letting me borrow you today."

"Will do."

She floats away to a crowd of friends, and I cast one more eye around the reception. The cake is cut, and most of the guests are now half-cut. Perfect.

Satisfied that everything is as it should be, I leave the hotel in long strides, tugging off my cravat and feeling a welcome breeze on my throat. Spying a taxi, I flag it down and slide in.

"Where to, mate?" the driver says, and I blink.

"Nigel!" I say in delight.

"Sorry?" He peers in his mirror. " You ."

"Yes." I wave. "It's lovely to see you again."

He looks warily around. "Where's Joe?"

"Oh, probably moving hundreds of boxes at the moment," I say, smiling at the thought of Joe's face.

"He's not going to join you, so you can get dressed again in my cab? It took ages to get the smell of aftershave out."

I shake my head. "Nope. I'm a reformed man, Nigel."

"What does that mean?" he asks cautiously. "Will you be taking any item of clothing off? I need to be prepared."

"Not a stitch. I'm actually going home."

"And where's that?"

I start to give him my old address and pause. "Silly me. That's not where I live."

"You don't know where you live? That doesn't exactly surprise me."

"Oh, you," I say playfully. "Your sense of humour kills me." He rolls his eyes, and I give him my new address. "That's my new home, where I live with my boyfriend and our dog."

His eyes twinkle in the mirror. "Well, he's a brave man."

"That he is, Nigel. That he is."

Half an hour later, I stand on the street and wave to Nigel as he drives away. Then I turn and look up at our new home. It sits in a patch of late afternoon sunshine, and the windows are glinting. A smile tugs at my mouth, and I feel a wave of warmth and happiness.

"Are you going to be standing there all day grinning like an idiot?" an acidic voice enquires.

Startled, I turn to look over my shoulder. Leo is standing on the pavement behind me, clutching a box. His usually pristine appearance is rumpled, and he has a streak of dust across his face.

"Did you know you have a little something on your…?" I falter at his glare. "Oh, silly me. What was I thinking? You look lovely as usual, Leo."

"I look sweaty. Why did you pick the hottest day of the year to move house?"

"Serendipity," I offer. "My bride was happy, anyway."

"Thank you for that information, Count Dracula." He huffs. "Do something useful and order some pizza. Stan's brother is getting hangry."

"He's not the only one," I mutter. "Where's my beloved?"

"Directing operations in your lounge."

"He's so sexily bossy, don't you think?"

"I'm finding it more just bossy, but you keep going, Casanova."

We grin at each other, and then he proceeds up the small tiled path to the house and vanishes into the darkness of the hall.

"I think that's done. The van is empty now and we can do the last lot tomorrow."

I turn around to find Stan's dad grinning at me.

"Really? I missed it all. How sad I am," I say, making an expression that I hope looks like sadness. In reality, I'm thrilled about my time management skills.

"Oh really?" He arches his eyebrow, a wry expression on his face that makes him look so much like Stan that I hug him.

"Thank you so much for helping." I grimace and step back. "You're rather sticky."

"That's what happens when you move twenty packing cases. Not that you'd know. The heaviest lifting you've probably done today is a glass of champagne."

"It was ice cold, and I did think of you."

"Did you?"

"Not really."

He breaks into laughter, and then his face turns serious. "This is a lovely house, Raff. You're going to be very happy here."

"Is this the part where you warn me about treating Stan right?"

"Nah. You've been doing that for the last twenty years, and I can't see it ever changing."

I stare at the man who's been the real father in my life all these years. If fatherhood is counted by time, advice, love and laughter, then he has the job. "Thank you," I say quietly.

He comes closer and puts his hand on my shoulder. "Love each other and hold tight because this world has ways of tugging you apart. Don't go to sleep on an argument and always, always let Stan make the emotional decisions in your life."

He breaks into laughter as I shove him, and we smile at each other.

I have so many things I could say to him, but I've already said them all, and as he looks at me with twinkling eyes, I'm sure he knows anyway.

"Pizza?" I say quietly instead.

"Perfect," he replies, and we make our way into the house.

He walks up the stairs, and I pause in the living room doorway. It's a big room with a bay window and a scratched wooden floor, but I hardly notice it as my whole attention is on the man standing in the window. He's bathed in early evening sunlight and covered in muck and a fine sheen of sweat. His curls are wild, and he hasn't shaved today, so the stubble is heavy on his square chin. He makes me smile every time I see him, and I can't envision that ever changing.

Hump gives a short bark, gambolling over to me, and I scratch his head.

"Alright, love?" I say.

Stan grins at me. "Welcome home, babe."

I shake my head. "I've been home for a long while, Stan, and it's never been a house."

He doesn't get a chance to reply as family and friends swarm into the room demanding food in exchange for labour, but I see the smile on his face, and that's enough.

The next couple of hours are spent eating greasy slices of pizza and drinking warm wine from plastic cups amidst loud talking and even louder laughter, but in the end, Stan's dad gets to his feet. "Let's leave these two here for their first evening in their new house." He strokes Stan's curls back. "We'll be back in the morning to help again."

"Thanks, Dad," Stan says, getting up and hugging him.

The others trickle out in a wave of goodbyes and hugs while I stand at our new doorway with my arm wrapped around Stan's waist and Hump a warm weight on my foot.

Joe's the last, holding hands with his husband, Lachlan. "Good luck in your new home," he says, kissing Stan and then turning to me. "A new start," he says happily. "I love those."

Lachlan grimaces at me. "Just know that if you ever need shelves built again, I have changed my phone number and moved to the Seychelles."

"True friendship knows no limits," I tell him.

"Lose my number," he replies. He offers me a rakish smile, and then they're gone, and we're finally alone.

After shutting the door, we wander into the living room, a frown of concentration on Stan's face as he works out the contours and angles of the room. Finally, we settle down on the old wooden floorboards.

"Tomorrow, we get the new sofas," I say, resting my head on his lap while he leans against the wall by the fireplace. "I'll be able to help."

"Oh dear, were you hoping for another wedding?" he enquires, a wry look on his face.

"I must say I think it's very inconsiderate of the church not to do them on a Sunday."

He bursts into laughter, and I grin at him, lifting my fingers to his lips. He kisses them, and I settle back, feeling his hand stroking my hair. The repetitive motion is lulling and seems to become a part of this sun-filled empty room.

"It's not a new start," I say idly.

Stan blinks awake from whatever daydream was in his head—probably a world of free vinyl—and I reach up to take his long fingers in mine. "Joe was wrong. This isn't a new start."

"It isn't?"

I shake my head. "Nope. That started twenty years ago when I walked up your drive." A smile tugs at his full lips, and I elaborate. "This—you and me—we're a constant timeline, Stan. We've always been together. We just didn't realise it for a while. And life will happen all around us, but it's just us on that line walking together. Always together for however many years we have on that path."

He grins. "I like that image."

"I'm full of good ones like that. I should have been a poet," I say modestly.

"It just would have been more realistic if, while on that path, you'd stopped walking and demanded a taxi because you were tired."

I snort. "Who brings realism into a romantic metaphor? You're a monster ." I look up at his face. It's so indescribably dear to me. "You'll never guess who was at the wedding."

"Tom Holland."

"You wish. No, Bennett was there." I add slyly, "With his new husband."

"You're joking ."

I start to laugh. "Nope. They got married last week. I find it heartbreaking that he didn't ask me to organise the wedding."

He laughs and then shakes his head in wonderment. "Wow. What's the husband like?"

"Very pretty. He's an accountant with a good stock portfolio, and his hair is very tidy." He snorts, and I eye him. "Are you bothered?"

"God, no ." The incredulity in his voice relaxes a tiny part of me that I hadn't realised was worried. "I'm actually really happy."

"Surely not for the current Mister Bennett? Thoughts and prayers would be more appropriate."

He pinches me. "I'm glad he's found someone. I hope he'll be very happy." He smiles. "Like us."

"You're mushier than E.L. James on a bad day," I inform him and pat his hand, which has stopped stroking, to indicate that he should resume his duty. I yawn sleepily after a few minutes. "We'll go to bed in a minute. I don't care if it makes us look like eighty-year-olds."

"That'll be an accomplishment as it isn't set up yet. Joe was doing it and gave up when it didn't magically assemble itself."

"Okay, we'll go up to lie on the floor soon." He chuckles, and I smile up at him. "Let's just sit here for a while, then."

"Why not, Raff? It's just you and me to please in this house."

"Well, that augers well for the future. I'm easily pleased, and you're too distracted most of the time to notice."

He chuckles, and the sound follows me into sleep.

Stan

I feel Raff's body grow heavier and know he's asleep, but I keep up the motion of my hand in his hair. It's soothing to me, and despite the jokes, I know he's tired. I was able to take a week off work to move us and had an army of helpers, but Raff had three weddings this week, and he's worn himself ragged as usual trying to please everyone.

I inhale, gathering in the scents of our new home, and immediately stifle a sneeze—there's a lot of dust. Raff stirs, and I freeze, but his breathing evens again.

I sniff a little more cautiously this time, and my reward is the faint scent of the wax on the floorboards, the sweet smell of honeysuckle that grows up the side of the house, and the ghost of Raff's cologne.

Hump whines, and I reach out, find his head, and tug his ear gently. He gives a grunt of contentment.

"Home," I say with satisfaction. He settles against me on the other side of Raff's long body, and I sit happily in silence with the two counterpoints that keep me steady on my life's path.

Things will happen in our lives. I know my sight is getting worse, and there will be other tests along the way for us, but here and now, I don't care, because I'm happy and I have Raff. I've learned that I can't control the future. We'll deal with whatever comes together, and that's all that anyone is really gifted with—someone to tread the path with them and hold their hand when the going gets rough.

I am a good friend, a happy lover, a loving son and brother, and a blind man. I like the scratch of old vinyl, the smell of rain on dry earth, and the soft silk of Raff's velvety old coat that he keeps saying he'll throw out because he looks like an extra from Bridgerton . I'm complex, impatient, and not always easy to be around, but Raff is the person who sees and loves all of me. And that's good because I'm proud to be the person who makes him happy. With him, I can be anything I want. There are no limits or conditions to his love, so I am the luckiest man I know.

Outside, an ice cream van tinkles its siren music, and children's voices sound on the street. And Raff and I sit with our dog on the empty floor of our new home. Together.