The Stag Night
When Christopher divorced his wife, he swore off marriage for good. After seven years together, hed had enoughnothing but arguments, nagging, and rows.
«Chris, youre being daft,» his mate Stephen insisted. «A wifes good for a manwell-fed, looked after, loved.» He grinned like the cat that got the cream, listing the perks.
«Dunno, Steve. I did most of the cooking, always hooveredthat was my job. And loved? My Emily could give me such a loving, Id want to leg it.»
Emily had been a right nightmare. Nothing pleased her. If he bought gifts, shed sneer, «Couldve splashed out more.» On holiday, shed watch him like a hawk, scolding him if he so much as glanced at another woman, humiliating him in front of friends.
The last straw came at her mates birthday do. She slapped him for having one whisky too many. He walked out then and there, decideddivorce.
It was messy. Emily fought tooth and nail, but in the end, he let her keep the flat and carfor their daughters sake. He walked away without a fuss.
Time passed. Christopher bought a new flat, a car, paid off the mortgagehis salary was decent. He dated, some women even brought up marriage, but he wouldnt budge.
«No more weddings. Been there, done that.»
Then, at thirty-eight, he met Daisy. Pure chance, in a café. He was out with the lads celebrating Stephens promotion when two lovely women took the next table. One caught his eyedark blue, soul-piercing.
«Blimey, proper drowning pools,» he thought but kept it to himself.
He couldnt stop staring. She noticed, dropping her gaze when their eyes met.
«Chris, smitten much?» Stephen nudged, ever observant.
«Suppose I am,» Christopher admitted, then made his move.
«Evening. Mind if I join you? Im Chris.»
«Daisy,» said the one whod caught his eye. «And this is Zoe.»
They werent drinking wine, just juice. He offered to order a bottle, but Daisy shook her head. «No thanks, we dont drink.»
That night, he drove her home. Soon, they were inseparablesame wavelength, easy company. Daisy had been married briefly.
«Didnt work out,» was all she said. Christopher didnt press; he didnt talk about his marriage either.
Thirty-five, no kids, an accountant at a construction firm. Serious, but she paintedbrilliantlyloved galleries. She dragged Christopher along, and to his surprise, he loved it.
His mates ribbed him, but he bragged about her talent. They even went sketching outdoors.
One night, stroking his cat, Oliver, it hit him.
«Think Ill ask Daisy to marry me,» he mused aloud. «Shes perfect.»
Oliver blinked, indifferent.
«Well live happily, the three of us. You love her tooalways on her lap when shes over.»
Oliver yawned.
Hed found the cat as a scrawny kitten, mewing after him in the rain. Six years on, Oliver was a majestic grey lumplazy, wise. Daisy called him «too clever to bother talking.»
She said yes. They planned a quiet registry do, but family and friends kicked up a fuss.
«Second wedding or tenth, youre not skimping!»
Caving, they agreed. Then came the stag night demands.
«Chris, no stag? Thats not on!»
«Lads, were pushing forty, not twenty,» he argued.
Stephen scoffed. «Ages got nowt to do with it. A stags sacred!»
The wedding was set for Friday, so they picked Wednesdaytime to recover.
Christopher stocked up on booze, ordered sushi, seafood, meats. Wednesday, he set the table. Oliver prowled, eyeing the prawns.
«Not for you,» Christopher scolded, shooing him off.
The lads arrived, raucous.
«Right, ladsbeer first, or straight to the hard stuff?»
«Not me,» said Andrew. «Wifes threatened divorce if I come home pissed again.»
«Same,» sighed Stephen. «Mother-in-laws landing at four AM.»
Chris laughed. «And you lot insisted on this!»
They ate, drank, talked cars, work, Pauls daughters volleyball trophy. By ten, they were leaving.
«Thats it?» Chris asked.
«Families, mate. Work tomorrow.»
Alone, Christopher let Oliver pinch a prawn. He dozed off on the sofa, woke to the cat lounging on the table like a king.
«Cheeky sod,» he muttered.
The wedding was a blast. Marriage to Daisy? No regrets. His second go-round was golden.
