If so, it truly is the end of an era. An unprecedented time of peace and prosperity for mainland Britain for which she deserves some of the credit …’
Jasper looked up. ‘What’s going on? What does that mean, Daddy?’
‘Tomorrow we’ll all be saying God save the King.’
Alan took a quick deep breath before opening the door to the Victorian house he shared with his husband. It was falling down a bit, showing its years, but they’d redone the electrics a decade ago, and it should hold up for some time yet.
‘I’m home!’ Alan called out, letting the door swing closed behind him. It was warm inside – too warm for his comfort, to be honest, but Sebastian was feeling the cold more these days, the arthritis in his joints acting up. Alan wouldn’t ask his husband to turn the heat down, but he was quick in stripping off his coat and cardigan.
Sebastian came through the swing door from the kitchen, letting through the scent of a chicken curry, and Alan’s stomach rumbled in response. Sometimes people assumed that a metal man wouldn’t eat, but Alan’s skin was only metal on the outside. His internal workings were entirely human, every part of him fully functional. And now that functional stomach was reminding him that he’d missed lunch, and breakfast had been much too long ago.
‘Dinner’s ready. I’ve been keeping it warm.’ Sebastian gave him a quick, dry kiss, lips to lips, and then headed back into the kitchen. Alan followed.
‘You didn’t have to wait for me,’ he said. It was late, past ten.
‘I don’t like eating without you. You know that,’ Sebastian said quietly. He climbed onto the step stool, reached down plates from the cupboard. The dishes they’d picked out together on their wedding day, heavy bone china in cream, with a simple gold rim. Alan didn’t usually bother noting such everyday details, but perhaps his time with the Queen was making him more sentimental than usual. Five years ago, he and Sebastian had promised each other they’d use the good china every day. They’d waited long enough to finally be able to marry; there was no point in waiting for anything else.
Sebastian had looked handsome at their St Paul’s wedding, in his morning coat and top hat. Oh, he had the thickness of late middle age, twenty extra pounds lodged solidly in his belly. But he’d still looked good back then. In the last five years, Sebastian had aged visibly; his hair was almost pure white now, with matching bushy white eyebrows, and twenty extra pounds had turned to forty. Alan didn’t really mind: he liked a solid man, and at the age of seventy-four Sebastian had surely earned the right to slow down a little and eat his fill.
Unfortunately, Sebastian minded, and that had its consequences in their rather desolate bedroom. Now his hand trembled a little, balancing the plate heavy with rice and curry, and Alan reached out to take it from him. Sebastian pulled away. ‘I’ve got it, Alan; don’t fuss.’
‘You should’ve eaten. The doctor said—’
‘Enough,’ Sebastian snapped. He took a quick breath, visibly steadying himself. ‘It’s almost time for the news – we can watch together.’ He handed Alan a cold beer, and then they were moving back through the door, heading into the sitting room, with its comfortably worn leather furniture and the big TV. ‘How is she doing?’
Alan let it go, settling down on the couch beside his husband. ‘It won’t be long now, I think. Tomorrow or the next day.’ The curry was sharp and sweet, the way he liked it, with a little vinegar tang to balance the heat. Sebastian dark-roasted the spices, ground them himself, giving the curry a rich flavour surpassing any local takeaway. The TV news was still covering the recent football results: Watford continue their winning run, following recent promotion back into the Premier League … Alan’s days of dreaming of Olympic gold were long past him; no one would call him a serious runner now. But he still enjoyed following sports.
Sebastian took a long draught of his beer. ‘And the rest of the royals? How are they taking it?’
‘Henry is practically chomping at the bit. How Margaret managed to raise a son like that …’ Would Elizabeth’s child have been any better? If they’d given him a chance?
‘Well, Richard’s a decent enough chap. Did you see him?’
Alan answered carefully, ‘Yes, the Duke was there, of course.’
When he’d first started dating Sebastian, their relationship had been open. Sebastian had an insecure streak, though, and after a few too many angry fights, Alan had agreed to monogamy. It simply wasn’t worth arguing. He’d held to it, mostly, until the affair with Richard. Sebastian had caught him, not long after it first started, and that had almost been the end of their relationship. A crystal chess set, a gift from Richard, had ended up shattered in pieces on the tiled greenhouse floor. Alan’s perfect memory replayed the scene on command: Sebastian shouting, ‘How do you expect me to compete with a fucking prince?’ Tears that he refused to shed stood in his eyes.
Alan had eventually persuaded Sebastian to forgive him, promised never to slip again. The problem, Alan had reasoned at the time, wasn’t the affair itself – that had gone on quite pleasantly until he’d been caught. He’d been sloppy, that was the problem. That’s why Sebastian had been hurt. He didn’t want to hurt his husband; Alan loved him. But Alan had seen no point in confessing when he and Richard shared a few stolen moments, here and there, over the years.
Of course, lately, it’d been a bit more than that. Richard had grown ardent, intoxicatingly passionate. Sometimes, Alan thought he should confess it all: confession was good for the soul, they said. Did jokers still have souls? A morbid thought for a sombre night.
‘Alan?’ Sebastian leaned forward, tapped Alan’s arm.
‘Sorry – just thinking of Margaret,’ Alan said hastily. ‘Her family’s gathered around the bedside in proper fashion. Perhaps I should have stayed …’ The news was shifting now, onto the weather. Cold and rainy, with more cold and rainy to come. Appropriate for mourning at least.
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. ‘What could you do there, really?’
All manner of things, like searching for a lost heir. Not that he could discuss that with Sebastian. There had been times over the decades, when little bits of Silver Helix business had slipped out; that was inevitable in a long relationship. But this news was potentially explosive; Alan couldn’t risk a slip of Sebastian’s tongue. It was almost as it had been, back during the war, when they’d worked on the German ciphers at Bletchley in complete secrecy. Alan had long ago learned how to keep his mouth shut.
Still – ‘There are things I should be working on.’ It wouldn’t hurt if Sebastian thought there was a good reason for his late nights.
Sebastian shrugged. ‘I’m sure, but I’m also sure the Crown can spare you for a few hours. It’s not as if you’re running the Silver Helix. You can have a decent meal, and get some sleep, and in the morning, maybe you can sort out that leaf mould?’ He gestured out of the window to where the summer house sat at the far end of a row of trees. The birdfeeders had all been recently filled, and Alan knew that in the morning a host of birds would be swooping down and squabbling over the bounty. Robins and goldfinches, starlings and crows. ‘You promised you’d take care of that this weekend – the snowdrops will be smothered if you don’t, and my shoulder …’
Alan
