The Stag Night
When Christopher got divorced from his wife, he swore hed never remarry. After seven years of marriage, hed decided there was nothing good about itjust endless bickering, shouting, and rows.
«Chris, youre being daft,» his mate Stephen tried to convince him. «Married lifes proper important for a blokealways fed, looked after, pampered.» He grinned like a Cheshire cat, listing the perks.
«Dunno, mate,» Christopher shrugged. «I did most of the cooking, always hooveredthat was my job. And pampered? My ex, Katie, pampered me so much I didnt know where to hide.»
His wife had been a right nightmare. No matter what he did, she was never happy. If he bought her gifts, shed complain they werent posh enough. If they went on holiday, shed watch him like a hawk, accusing him of leering at other women, humiliating him in front of friends.
The final straw came at her mates birthday do when she slapped him for having one too many brandies. He walked out then and there, dead set on divorce.
The breakup was messy. Katie fought tooth and nail, but in the end, he gave her the flat and the carthey had a daughter, after all. He walked away without a fuss.
Time passed. Christopher got himself a new flat and car, paying off the mortgage thanks to his decent salary. He dated, and a few women even brought up settling down, but he wouldnt budge.
«No more marriages. Been there, done that.»
Everything changed at thirty-eight when he met Daisy. They crossed paths by chance in a café. Hed gone with his mates to celebrate Stephens promotion, laughing over drinks. Two lovely women sat at the next table, chatting quietly over juice.
When his eyes met Daisys, he frozeher dark blue eyes were mesmerising, maybe because the café lighting was dim.
«Blimey, proper drowning pools,» he thought but kept it to himself.
He couldnt stop stealing glances, and she noticed, looking away bashfully whenever their eyes met.
«Chris, reckon youve got your eye on that bird over there,» Stephen teasedalways sharp as a tack.
«Suppose I have,» Christopher admitted, deciding to make a move.
«Well, get on with it then,» Andrew said with a wink.
Christopher stood and walked over.
«Evening. Mind if I introduce myself? Names Christopher. Hope Im not intruding.»
«Evening,» they replied. «Im Daisy,» said the one whod caught his eye. «Jessica,» added her friend.
«Pleasure. Fancy if I join you?»
«Go on,» Jessica said.
The women werent drinking wine, just juice. He offered to order a bottle, but Daisy shook her head.
«No, thanks. We dont really drink.»
That night, Christopher drove Daisy homesober behind the wheel. Soon, they were seeing each other regularly, realising how well they clicked. Daisy had been married briefly before.
«Just didnt work out,» she said shortly, clearly not wanting to dwell. Christopher didnt pushhe wasnt keen on revisiting his own failed marriage either.
Daisy was thirty-five, no kids, an accountant at a construction firm. Serious but with a hobbyshe loved painting, visiting galleries, and even got Christopher into it. His mates ribbed him, but he stood by her talent, though she rarely painted. Theyd even go on countryside trips just for her sketches.
One evening, lounging with his cat, Smokey, it hit him.
«Reckon Ill ask Daisy to marry me,» he mused aloud, stroking the cat. «Shes perfect, Smokey. Well be a proper little familyyou included, since youre always glued to her lap.»
Smokey blinked lazily, unbothered.
Christopher had found him as a scrawny stray kitten years ago, mewing on the street. Hed tucked him into his jacket and brought him home. Now, Smokey was a hefty, laid-back grey tabby. When Daisy met him, shed laughed.
«Smokeys cleverjust too lazy to bother talking.»
Christopher proposed. Daisy said yes. They planned a quiet registry office do, but family and friends kicked up a fuss.
«Whats it matter if its your second wedding? Dont be tightyoure having a proper do!»
Not wanting to seem stingy, they gave in. The guest list grew, invites went outthen came the next demand.
«Chris, no way youre skipping the stag do!»
«Lads, were pushing forty, not twenty. Stag dos are for kids.»
«Rubbish! Youve got to say goodbye to bachelor life properstag nights tradition!» Stephen insisted loudest.
The wedding was set for Friday, so they planned the stag for Wednesday.
«Gives me time to recover,» Christopher reasoned. «And lads can go mad without the missus nagging. Bet theyll hire a stripper.»
He took the week off to prepare. On Tuesday, he stocked up on booze, then rang a restaurant to order platterssushi, seafood salads, meats.
Wednesday, he set the table himself. Smokey grew twitchy at the smell of sushi, hopping onto a chair, ears twitching.
«Not for you, greedy guts,» Christopher scolded, moving him to the sofa. «My night, not yours.»
Smokey squinted at the spread, probably thinking, «Suit yourself,» or plotting a stealth raid.
The lads arrived in high spirits, joking and laughing.
«Dig in,» Christopher said, cracking open bottles. «Starting with beer, or going hard straight off?»
«Im out,» Andrew admitted. «Wifes threatif I come home smashed again this month, shes divorcing me. Not risking it. Plus, Im driving.»
«Wives, eh?» Stephen sighed. «Im off the sauce too. Mother-in-laws flying in at four A.M.got to fetch her.»
«Stephen, you were the one banging on about the stag!» Christopher laughed but nodded sympatheticallymother-in-law duty was grim.
«Youll see when you marry,» Andrew said.
«My future mother-in-law lives in Cornwall,» Christopher said cheerfully. «Shes coming for the wedding, then its back to peace.»
«Rub it in, why dont you,» grumbled Paul, whod lived with his mother-in-law for twenty-five years.
They drank, ate, praised the spread, then chatted about politics, work, the weather.
«Thinking of getting a new motor,» Andrew said. «Any recommendations?»
The talk turned to cars. Paul bragged about his youngest winning silver in a regional volleyball tournament. By ten, everyone was leaving.
«Thats it?» Christopher asked, baffled.
«Chris, mate, weve got work tomorrow. And families.»
After they left, Christopher sat at the table. Smokey stared pointedly at the prawns.
«Fine, help yourself,» he relented, sliding a plate forward. Smokey daintily took one, then another.
Christopher cracked a beer, dozed off on the sofa, and woke to find Smokey sprawled smugly on the table.
«Cheeky git,» he chuckled. Smokey ignored him.
And that was the stag do. The wedding itself was lively, and married life with Daisy? Christopher never regretted it. His second marriage was downright blissful.
