Sod's Law Pt. 07

As far as the wedding preparations were concerned, I had little to do, beyond negotiating with Ezra and the Trust about the change of use of the ground floor rooms. There seemed to be no mention anywhere in the trust deeds of babies!

All was cleared with the partners who, having been invited to the wedding, were all smiles about the alterations. David Abrahams gleefully announced that his house was less than a Sabbath Day's walk from the church, so he could attend the service!

Over the weeks we began to adapt the rooms into what amounted to a self-contained flat, though I could not see us being able to use the microscopic kitchen for anything other than warming baby food and drink and making cups of tea or coffee.

In any case the residents seemed keen on us eating with them and assured us they were looking forward to having a baby among them at meal times, an earnest of which was the somewhat premature arrival of a high chair in a corner of the big kitchen, bought by Alan and Annette, our two most recent additions to the household.

We had sent an invitation by fax followed by a more formal one by post to Peter, and we were delighted that he faxed back that he and his wife and young Robert would be flying over for the wedding.

'I wouldn't miss my sister's wedding for the world,' he wrote. 'I'm longing to meet her."

On Holy Saturday, Helen suggested we go to church the next day, Easter Day. With all that had happened, how things had changed immeasurably for the better, I felt a sense of relief and gratitude. Easter was about new beginnings, so why not?

I think I might have mentioned that I'm a 'two minder': I've not made my mind up about whether there is a God, but if there is, I should thank God - show my appreciation, - if there isn't, what have I lost? So yes, Church was a good idea.

We went, and I felt the same sense of peace about the place that I'd felt in Manchester Cathedral all those months before.

--

Helen arrived at the House on Wednesday evening of Easter week. We retired to the ground floor flat, closed the outer door and fell on each other, clothes flying in all directions. We were still in the corridor.

Once naked, Helen led me by rock hard penis into the bedroom where she stopped, put her arms round my neck which pressed her breasts and now rounded belly against me, and we kissed at some length. My hands were on her bottom pulling her to me and they were moving to invade her crease, when she pulled apart.

"I know we've been making love for a long time so this might sound stupid, but d'you think we could abstain until our wedding night? Make it that much more special?"

I was astounded, frustrated and annoyed.

"You must be joking! It is stupid bordering on criminal!" I groused, showing more than a little irritation. "You get us naked, grab my cock, pull me into the bedroom, press up against me and then pull this crap on me? OK! No sex, suit yourself, prick tease."

I pulled away, and started to leave, picking up my clothes, and leaving her standing naked by the bed, a look of surprise on her face, her mouth opening and closing.

"David darling, I'm sorry!" she began, but I was out of the room, almost slamming the door behind me. I dressed rapidly, and was leaving when she emerged, tears in her eyes.

"David!" she cried opening the door and following me. "Please!"

"No!" I retorted. "Have it your way. I won't trouble you until Saturday, and in view of this, I might not even trouble you then," at which I left the flat. She was still nude, so couldn't follow until she'd found a dressing gown, by which time I was out of the house and driving away.

There comes a moment in a temper tantrum when one realises how stupid one has been. After half a mile I pulled to the side of the road and rested my head against the steering wheel.

I understood why I behaved as I did. I hadn't seen her since Sunday, so there was an element of frustration, exacerbated by her stripping off and dragging me into the bedroom.

There was also my concern that everyone travelling a distance would have a room at the small hotel we had essentially taken over for the four days. Finally there was the preparation of the ballroom, the caterers and the bar, all the organisation of which fell to me. And I had thought I'd have nothing much to do!

That said, I definitely overreacted. If I'd simply said, 'No, darling, get on the bed and spread 'em,' I was sure she would have cheerfully done my bidding, it was only an idea of hers after all. Come to think of it, abstinence until Saturday was quite a romantic idea; it was her broaching the idea after getting us both naked, aroused and eager that showed a certain lack of sensitivity.

It came to me that to my knowledge this was the first stand up shouting row we'd ever had. Then I remembered the morning after the 'denouement', which qualified in spades and made this fracas seem like a minor disagreement. With that perception I turned the car round and drove back.

I entered the House, went straight to the flat and, going from room to room, found it empty. I was pretty sure she'd be in the kitchen - where else could she be?

I entered the otherwise empty kitchen to find her in a dressing gown with her back to me, making tea. She turned to me with a look of apprehension, and tears began immediately.

"I'm sorry!" The words came from her but simultaneously from me. I strode across the kitchen and took her in my arms, hers going round my waist, her head on my shoulder.

"No," I said. "It's my fault. I totally overreacted."

"You were right," she said in response. "No! I don't mean you overreacted! I mean it was crass of me to get you at that point and then put you off. You should have-"

"Raped you?" I asked.

"You could never rape me," she said. "I will always be willing, I will always want... I did then... That Idea just came into my head and I said it out loud. Completely the wrong moment. Forgive me?"

"Not your fault," I said. "I was so happy to see you and we seemed on our way into bed, it was over the top what I said. So forgive me?"

"I will if you will."

"I will."

"So will I," and she giggled. "So shall we go back and carry on where I interrupted us?"

"D'you know?" I said. "Thinking about it, now that the pressure is off it is a good idea. It will make Saturday special. In fact, I'll sleep in the old room until Saturday."

"You don't need to," she said, a note of pleading creeping in.

"Come on, love," I said. "After this afternoon, d'you really think platonically sharing one bed is a good idea?"

"Hmm, no, perhaps you're right. You pour the tea, and I'll go and get dressed."

As she left the room, Chris came in to begin cooking the evening meal, took one look at her state of undress and, knowing she'd only arrived a short time before, nodded his head in her direction and gave me a knowing smile. Of course he was wrong, but I wasn't going to correct him. I do have some masculine pride.

--

Having been so elevated spiritually on Sunday, and virtuously, though reluctantly, having abstained from sex from Wednesday, on Thursday I made a foray into the depths of hedonism. I refer of course to my Stag Night.

Ibrahim, Alan and Chris were joined by Peter Benson who was badly jet lagged having just arrived off his flight from Australia, but who was valiantly determined to keep up with the rest of us, my foster brother Craig, Jarred Abrahams who was the son of one of the partners from my firm, and amazingly enough, Barry Roberts, Helen's ex, made up the rest of the party.

I had thoughtfully taken Friday off, though it was less to get over the excesses of the night before, and more to welcome and accommodate guests at the nearby hotel who were travelling from further afield.

The night was in fact fairly low key: we had a few pints in our local pub, then a visit to a club where the waitresses were scantily dressed but fully covered.

In deference to my status as a lawyer we eschewed the worst excesses common to many stag nights, but managed to become suitably inebriated. The only one sober among all of us was Ibrahim who guided us back home afterwards. There are advantages in having a Muslim as a friend!

There were no strippers, no lap dances, no being handcuffed to lampposts in my underwear, no stripping me naked and leaving me to walk home in the early hours. No one seemed disappointed, apart perhaps from Craig - perhaps we were getting old!

Helen had her Hen Party the same night, we having agreed that I would be sleeping in my old room until Saturday night, while she would be in our new flat on the ground floor.

The girls were travelling to Blackpool and I thought it just as well I didn't know what transpired. Hen parties can be pretty wild, especially in Blackpool. I was amazed at the photos of their night out - those skimpy revealing dresses! Phew!

I had picked up Peter Benson, his wife and child from the airport, and booked them into the hotel late Thursday, only just in time for the stag night. Dawn, his wife, just wanted to go to bed and was happy to look after little Robert who was already fast asleep.

On Friday morning Dawn was looking well rested when Peter and I, along with our well deserved headaches, met in the hotel lounge. We had had a long conversation at my stag night, and he had told me he had news for me about our respective family histories, which he wanted to share with me before he and the family met Helen for the first time at lunchtime that day.

He showed me all the work he'd done on his family history. It was very impressive and, shall we say, interesting. We both laughed at what he had discovered and he promised not to tell Helen what he had found. As a result I modified the speech I would give at the wedding reception.

--

On the day, we laid on a fleet of taxis for those at the hotel. There was no one infirm or of great age, so we let it be known that, because the Church was walking distance from River House, we would be walking to Church, and everyone would be walking back with us.

The wedding itself went off very smoothly, Helen looked stunning, I looked handsome (she told me), vows were made, rings were exchanged, the triumphant march down the aisle was completed, photo's were taken, even the sun shone warmly on us that Saturday afternoon.

Everything having been done to everyone's satisfaction, we led the way in procession from the Church, walking in our finery to River House. Craig and Kim, who were Best Man and Chief Bridesmaid followed us, followed by Mum and Maurice Metcalf, and Chris and Kathleen Metcalfe. Next was Peter Benson and Dawn, pushing their child in a borrowed pushchair, then members of the House mixed up with the ex-fostered family followed, and some of the Partners and my office staff. Barry and his new girlfriend was there, as were people from Helen's office, and her long term girl friends with their partners.

The procession caused quite a stir and the denizens of our cul-de-sac turned out to line the route, and were invited to join us in the evening for the party.

Perfect! It was done: we were married; man and wife - what God hath joined together, let no Sod put asunder (slight paraphrase there)!

As we arrived at the house, "We've done it!" Helen crowed. "At last, no more hitches now we're hitched! Tied together for good and all."

I said nothing, but kissed her soundly on the doorstep, and she kissed back with like enthusiasm before we took our spot by the front door to welcome the guests.

The reception went wonderfully. The food from the caterers was superb; the ballroom was more than able to cope with the guests, who were suitably impressed by our luxurious house. The red wine was not spilt over Helen's wedding dress, nor indeed was anything else spilt on anyone else to our knowledge.

The speeches, well, they were good too. Maurice, Father of the Bride was good enough to apologise to both of us for our year apart, after regaling us with some of Helen's more embarrassing moments growing up, and welcoming me into their family.

My reply was short, thanking him and Kathleen for adopting Helen and thanking them wholeheartedly for changing her name from Kylie to Helen. I gave a brief résumé of our rocky progress to that moment. Then came a little wedding gift via Peter to my new bride.

"Now you all know how we were forced apart by an investigation company's report, asserting that we were brother and sister. It was devastating for both of us, and nearly resulted in Helen marrying Barry, who we're delighted could be present today with his girlfriend Kathy.

"I was able to prove that we were not brother and sister and were not even related after all, so we could be here, married as we now are. No going back now, eh, darling?"

At this there was her wide smile and nod, and applause and wide grins all round, the widest being on Peter Benson's face: he knew what was coming. I held up my hand.

"But now it turns out that things are not quite as straightforward as I thought, and it's too late to change things now we're married! As I said, no going back.

I turned towards Helen. "Peter, your real brother, has been doing some family history research and thanks to him, I have to tell you, my darling, that I was wrong. In fact, you and I have been related all along!"

I paused and there were gratifyingly horrified gasps and mutterings all round, the loudest and most anguished from Helen and her parents.

"David, No!" she cried. "How could you go ahead-?"

"Hush," I said. "This is my wedding gift to you: the definitive truth about our real kinship. We are cousins!"

Now there was a silence in the room, borne of apprehension in some, curiosity in others.

There was a groan from Helen who now looked puzzled but worried. "So we shouldn't have-"

"Please, let me finish," I said, dragging things out rather. "It's not as bad as it sounds. I can reveal to you my love, that though we are cousins, we are distant cousins, very distant cousins, seventh cousins somewhat removed, I believe! We share a great, great, great, great, great, great, grandfather, Elijah Evans, who was born in 1747. Elijah was married three times. We come from sons of his by two of Elijah's different wives. I think that's distant enough to be safe from incest!"

It's not often that the bride batters (albeit not hard enough to bruise) the bridegroom's chest with her clenched fists in front of everybody at the reception! Or uses such coarse language. Our first married fist-fight, one-sided since I did not retaliate. In fact I presented my chest for punishment.

"You SOD!" she shouted as, laughing, she belaboured my chest, the guests howling with laughter.

"Sod? Me?" I bridled, affronted, as the clamour died down. "You've got the wrong man lady! Sod's long gone."

She stopped hitting me and instead kissed me quite savagely (albeit not savagely enough to bruise), and everyone cheered.

"True, Sod's long gone," she proclaimed. "Sod is no more!" and stroking my face, kissed me again.

The End

--

Oh, the baby, nearly forgot!

In mid-July Helen gave birth to a beautiful baby daughter whom we named Anastasia. With bright sparkling eyes, my loving wife showed me the results of the paternity test we'd agreed should be done.

I was without doubt Anna's father. No dilemma to solve about whether to tell Barry: the problem simply did not arise. Sod would trouble us no more about that matter, and neither would his Law.

--

Since then, as the years pass, sometimes when things go wrong in our happy lives, and one of us might say, "Sod's Law?"

We would always stare at each other and then say with a smile, in chorus, "Nah!"

REALLY THE END.