“That can’t have been easy,” I say cautiously. What he describes is a world away from my own solid upper-middle-class upbringing.
He smiles, and there’s a wealth of love and memories in that wide grin. “Not at all. It was fun. My sister and I kept each other up telling tall stories, and we were all really close. My parents bought an old rundown hotel in the Lake District in the end, and we had a flat there.”
“So, you managed their hotel when you grew up? Not that I’ve seen any major sign of you having grown up yet.”
He laughs. “No fear of that happening. My sister actually got the manager job. She’s older than me and was already doing it when I left school. Besides, I fancied branching out, so I got a job at a hotel in Devon.”
“I bet you were good at it.”
He shoots me a surprised look. “Really? You seem to think I’m rather disorganised.”
“In your private life. Not in your job. I’ve seen you in action.”
“In all ways,” he says flirtatiously, and I roll my eyes and gesture to him to continue.
“Well, it was good fun to start with, but it was all a bit too familiar because my entire family live and breathe hotels. And then one weekend a wedding was booked, and I met Jed.” He smiles fondly.
I stiffen. Who is Jed to him? Are they lovers? A shocking burst of jealousy makes my head reel. What the fuck? Why am I bothered? We’re not exclusive. We’re not really dating. I actually don’t know what we’re doing, but I’m avoiding addressing the question in case it makes me lose this effervescent young man.
“So—” I clear my throat. “So, Jed is your boss, yes?”
I see the moment he realises that I’m jealous. Pleasure and surprise vie for supremacy in his eyes, but he just shrugs. “He is, and nothing more.” I sag a little, and he kindly pretends not to notice. “Don’t get me wrong—he’s fit for an older bloke.” I glare and he chuckles. “But he doesn’t get involved with his staff.”
I nod, unsure what to say to that declaration. Luckily, he doesn’t seem to expect a reply.
“Confetti Hitched was actually his husband’s business,” he says. “Jed took over after…”
“After what?” I prompt.
“His husband died.”
“Oh no. That’s very sad.”
“It was. By all accounts he was a lovely bloke. Very funny and incredibly kind. Jed took over after he died. He was a copper before that.”
I blink. “Bit of a change from the wedding business.”
“Not so much as you’d think.”
I laugh. “So how did you end up in the business?”
“The whole weekend was a catalogue of disasters, and I put out so many fires I should have been wearing a very fetching outfit and sliding down a pole.”
“I do like your hose.”
He snorts. “Jed got talking to me at the bar after the wedding. We were like the weary survivors of some famous battle by that point. He said I was admirably suited for the wedding business, as I had nerves of steel and a high tolerance for bullshit. He offered me a job that night, and I’ve never looked back.” He balls up his sandwich wrapper and throws it into the bin. “So, what about you?”
I shift position. “What about me?”
“Don’t you feel you should tell me about yourself?”
His eyes are very blue and intent, and I run my finger under my collar, feeling suddenly under a spotlight. “Well, not much to tell,” I mumble.
He eyes me for a long second and I wonder what he sees. A man who doesn’t want to tell him personal details because he’s shit-scared of intimacy.
He pats me on the hand and stands up. “Come on.”
I stand up too. Part of me is relieved that he isn’t questioning me. The other part knows I’ve missed an opportunity, and it’s likely to come back and bite me on my arse. I shake my head and follow him as he meanders out of the park. Catching him up, I check his face to see if he’s mad, but he looks his usual serene and charming self.
“Okay?” I ask awkwardly, and I’m relieved at his surprise.
“Of course. Why?”
“Well, I didn’t tell you something about myself and—”
His head cocks, and he’s listening intently. But not to me. He’s focused on something in the distance. I fight a surge of hysterical laughter. I have never met a man more equipped to knock me off my pedestal. It’s energising and yet scary.
“What is it?” I ask.
“It’s Thursday. I forgot.”
“And is that vitally important?”
“I’ll say. Come on.” He seizes my hand and drags me after him.
“Where are we going? Joe, I have work to do, and it is in completely the opposite direction from where we’re heading.”
He drags me out of the park onto a side street and stops dead. “Ta-da.”
“Ta-da, what?” I say crossly. “It’s like being with Steven Mulhern but twice as irritating, which is really saying something.”
“Look.”
I gaze over at where he’s pointing and blink. A line of men is queuing outside a small building called Malones. They are all without exception dressed in eighties costume. Fluorescent socks and extremely tiny shorts abound, and I can hear their excited chatter from here.
“Have we time travelled?” I ask.
“It’s Thursday Bunk Off,” he says, laughing.
“Thursday what?”
“Mike runs that club.” That strange bristly thing happens in my chest again like it did when he kept mentioning his boss Jed. He carries on talking, oblivious to my discomfort. “I did his wedding last year and got to know him. He’s lovely and he does a Thursday afternoon gay eighties event. Come on.”
I’m stupidly relieved that he knows Mike because of a wedding, but I dig my heels in. “I’m sure I’ve misheard you, but for a minute I could have sworn you were trying to persuade me to go clubbing on a workday.”
He grins. “You heard perfectly well. Glad to report that your hearing is still good, daddio.”
“Please don’t call me that,” I say.
He chuckles and grabs my hand. “Come on.”
“Where? Into the club? What the fuck?”
“Of course.” His eyes are glowing, and that mischievous look is back on his face. It’s never very far away. “Why not?”
“Because I am an adult and not a student and because—” I falter. “And because I don’t have a costume.”
“Pah. No problem. We’ll unbutton your shirt a bit and say you’re Harrison Ford in Working Girl. I’ll be someone from Miami Vice who’s lost his espadrilles.”
“I’m so relieved that you’ve solved that life-shattering problem. Just a few more to deal with before you take me into a nightclub during the workday.”
He comes close, his enticing scent weaving around me and making my head spin. “It’ll be fun.”
“You’re rather impulsive, aren’t you?” I say in dawning realisation.
He throws his head back, laughing. “Of course,” he says through his chuckles. “That’s what makes life fun.”