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Chapter Thirty
Alex
The next morning, at around eight-thirty I stroll across from Kip’s apartment to Damon’s and knock on the door. I’ve had a shower, but that’s all. He answers it, yawning, in a pair of track pants and with his hair all over the place.
“Did I wake you up?” I ask with a grin.
“Nah. I was just getting up.” He goes in, leaving me to shut the door. “I’ve spoken to the kitchen and they’re bringing breakfast down.”
“Cool.”
“Patio?”
“Sure. Looks like it’s going to be a nice day.”
He leads the way. “Forecasters said it could rain in the evening.”
“Nah. I’ve booked good weather all day, she’ll be right.”
He chuckles, and we sit at the table.
“Dude,” I say, “you’re getting married.”
“I know! How weird is that?”
“It’s a bit… you know… adult.”
“Yeah. I’d rather be playing Call of Duty and eating a family-size pack of Doritos.”
We both chuckle, because that pretty much summarizes our childhood.
“Have you heard from Belle?” I ask.
Damon smiles. “Yeah, we spoke on the phone for an hour last night.”
“Isn’t that illegal in the Law of Weddings?”
“Nah, apparently it’s the visual thing that matters. She’s happy. She’s had a great few days.”
“Ah, that’s good. I’m glad.”
The front door opens, and we wait as a couple of the staff come into the house with two large boxes.
“Jesus,” I say, amused, “how much food did you order?”
He grins. “We’re out here!” He waves to the two guys.
They bring the boxes through, and we stand and help them unpack. Oh wow. There are two cooked English breakfasts consisting of two fried eggs each, bacon, tomatoes, mushrooms, two sausages, a separate pot of baked beans, a rack of toast, and a pot of spicy chili chutney. There’s also a plate of warmed croissants, a jar of strawberry jam and a jar of marmalade, a pack of softened butter, two small bottles of cold orange juice, and two large piping hot lattes in cardboard takeaway cups.
“Fantastic,” Damon says, “thanks, guys.”
They leave us to it, and Damon and I sit, look at each other and laugh, then tuck in.
After we’ve eaten, he has a shower, and then at ten the barber turns up, and we both get a proper shave, so close that my skin feels as if I’ll never grow a beard again. One of the beauticians gives us a manicure, and the barber styles our hair, leaving us all ready for the day, apart from our clothes.
Saxon and Kip turn up, and the four of us play a game on the PlayStation together, laughing like kids as we race around a track, crashing into obstacles and blowing each other up.
When we’ve had enough, we sit and chat for a while, and then Henry, James, and Tyson arrive. James has brought a bottle of twenty-one-year-old Glenfiddich Gran Reserva that he admits cost him nearly fifty grand, and after lunch is delivered, we open the whisky with reverence and argue about the tasting notes while we eat the pulled-pork rolls, loaded ranch potato skins, and jalapeno poppers.
