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‘And?’
‘Abject failure. He just smiled and said “piscem autem Veneris”. Which apparently means “but fish on Fridays”. Still, I think he appreciated the effort. Anyway, enough about me. Today is all about the Heebster and her shiny new hubby. So, off to your remote cottage in the Lake District tomorrow? Looking forward to a spot of hot tub action?’
Hebe says nothing, but a blush starts to spread across her cheeks.
‘Leave her alone, Troy,’ I admonish him. ‘You know she gets squeamish about sex stuff.’
‘I’m not squeamish,’ Hebe squeaks indignantly. ‘I just don’t see the need to discuss it with my brother and sister.’
‘Yeah, well, just remember there won’t be anything you get up to in that hot tub that previous honeymooners won’t have done before you,’ Troy tells her with a laugh. ‘I’m not saying sloppy seconds, but…’
‘Oh, Troy, that’s disgusting.’ Hebe claps a hand to her mouth in revulsion. ‘I don’t think I’ll be able to even look at it now.’
‘Relax,’ I tell her quickly, before the image can take root in her mind. ‘He’s just winding you up, and those hot tubs are so pumped full of chemicals that nothing is going to survive in there for more than a few seconds. You’re going to have a lovely time, just enjoy each other’s company as you wind down from all the excitement of today and get ready for the next stage of your life.’
‘Thanks, Athena,’ Hebe says, brightening up. ‘Right, I’d better go and see where my husband has gone. I still can’t get used to calling him that.’
‘Enjoy it while it sounds positive,’ Troy quips. ‘If I ever hear Henrietta refer to me as “her husband” these days, it means I’m deeply in the shit.’
‘Sloppy seconds, really?’ I say to Troy once she’s out of earshot. ‘You know she’s going to obsess about that, don’t you? I’ll be amazed if they go anywhere near the hot tub now.’
‘I know.’ He does at least have the grace to look a little ashamed. ‘I realised I’d gone too far as soon as the words were out. She’s very different from us, isn’t she?’
‘She’s very different from you,’ I correct him. ‘You literally have no filter at all, do you? How does your wife stand you?’
‘She loves me,’ he says simply. ‘Because I am essentially very loveable.’
‘And not at all short on self-belief.’
‘Hey, you don’t do so badly in that department yourself. It’s why you’re a hotshot consultant and Hebe isn’t. How is the mad world of retail? Is there about to be a revolution in baked beans that I need to know about?’
‘Piss off, Troy,’ I tell him good-naturedly.
‘All I’m saying is that the next time the British public goes mad and starts panic buying bog roll or whatever, it would be helpful if my sister, who is supposed to be on the inside track here, let me know before the shelves were stripped completely bare.’
‘Nobody could have predicted that. Would you like me to explain the just-in-time supply chain to you?’
‘Nah, you’re all right. I’ll stick to my swim lane and you stick to yours.’
‘And how is business?’
He sighs happily. ‘Really, really good, thank you. I’ve got a six-month waiting list now, which allows us to predict our income better and makes Henrietta a bit happier. Also, I’ve had some enquiries from a magazine about possibly doing an article on me as part of a series they’re doing on the resurgence of traditional craftsmanship. That won’t hurt business at all if it comes off.’
I look at Troy and can’t help feeling a little pang of sisterly love towards him. He is annoying, as I’m sure all older brothers are, and he definitely shouldn’t have planted the hot tub idea in Hebe’s mind, but I’m fiercely proud of him. Mark’s dad may drone on about pulling himself up by his bootstraps, but Troy probably knows more about living through that expression than Raymond ever will.
Troy knew exactly what he wanted from pretty much the moment he hit adolescence. He was going to go into the City, earn a shit-ton of money, and buy his first Aston Martin on his twenty-fifth birthday, which is the earliest he reckoned he’d actually be able to insure the thing. And, to be fair to him, he achieved all of it, meeting Henrietta along the way as well. The Aston was pretty short-lived, as it gave way to the enormous mortgage on the substantial farmhouse they bought just before they got married, but it seemed like they were set for life.
What none of us knew was the toll the lifestyle was taking on Troy. Sometimes, I feel like I should have spotted it, but I was dealing with my own stuff at the time and he hid it well, to begin with at least. I think things started to unravel seriously when Henrietta fell pregnant with the twins. Even now, I don’t know the full details of what happened – I’m not sure even Mum and Dad do – but something quietly gave way in him when Edward and Frederick were born. I know what I suspect, because it’s a tale as old as time, but we don’t talk about it. The short version is that there was a breakdown, an extended stay in rehab, and an eye-wateringly huge golden goodbye from his employers, who I suspect had known they were burning him out, had turned a blind eye and didn’t want to be dragged through the courts.
Mum and Dad never said anything to Hebe or me, but we heard enough whispered conversations to know how worried they were about him for the first few months after the breakdown. Troy looked like a ghost of himself, Henrietta had permanently red-ringed eyes and there were times when we really thought their marriage wasn’t going to survive. But then, quite out of the blue, he announced that he’d enrolled on a shoemaking course. An apprenticeship followed, and the orders started to flood in once word started to spread around his city mates. It turns out that, having never shown the slightest interest in working with his hands, he’s actually extremely talented, and he now has his own workshop at the farmhouse. His prices are high enough to bring tears to most people’s eyes, but it seems there’s a healthy market for bespoke shoes, if his order book is anything to go by. To be fair, they are beautiful, although I do regularly berate him for not doing women’s ones. He says it’s a different skillset and he doesn’t want to be distracted from his main focus, but I did manage to persuade him to make a pair of (admittedly flat-soled) patent leather brogues for me for work once, and they’re still one of my favourite pairs. As I look at him, a question comes to me.
‘Did you make Mark’s shoes?’ I ask.
He smiles. ‘Wedding present. I’m very pleased with them.’
‘Why didn’t you do the boys’ ones?’
‘Small feet. Too fiddly. No time. Plus, have you seen the state of them? If I’d gone to that amount of trouble, only for them to scuff the crap out of the leather within ten minutes, there would have been a murder done. In all honesty, I did offer, but Henrietta’s practicality won out, and I have to say she’s right. Cheap and cheerful wins the day where small children are concerned, as I think Hebe may have discovered with their suits. I’ll have plenty of time to make them nice pairs when they’re older. Talking of which, they’re probably about to hit the crash phase of the sugar rush, so I’d better go and help Henrietta scoop them up. I’ll catch you later, yeah?’
