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by Charles Lacey


Well, we are now married! Jay is my husband, and I am his. And when I say it, or think about it, my brain still turns to pink fuzz. He is still the same sweet, gentle, lovable boy that he was twenty years ago. He finished his degree and then studied law, and is now the junior partner in a firm of solicitors. He wrote to his father inviting him to our wedding, but there was no reply. I don't suppose there ever will be, now. Years ago, Jay said to me, I love your family, I wish I could come and live with you. Well, he got his wish in the end, and I got mine. We're too old to adopt a child but we are thinking about fostering. We could easily afford a nice house, perhaps somewhere like Sutton Coldfield, or even one of the villages around. But to all our friends and colleagues, we are just Drew and Jay (or Jay and Drew) and that's as it should be. We'll never have the sort of house that Jay lived in when he was a boy, but it doesn't matter. Jay was jockeyed into a sham marriage by the pressure of money. But once he said to my Mum, if I'd stayed in that marriage, I'd have had ten times the money I have now, and a great big house, and been utterly miserable, but now I have Drew, and I'm the happiest man in the world. And I leaned over, and we kissed, and then we went to put the kettle on for tea.

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