**The Stag Night**
When Edward divorced his wife, he vowed never to marry again. Seven years of marriage had convinced him there was nothing good in itjust squabbles, shouting, and endless rows.
“Ed, youre being daft,” insisted his mate, Stephen. “A wifes good for a mankeeps you fed, tidy, looked after.” He grinned like a Cheshire cat, listing the perks.
“Dunno, Steve. I did most of the cooking. Hoovering was always my job. And looked after? My ex, Emily, had a way of looking after me that made me want to bolt.”
Emily had been impossible to please. Gifts? “Couldve bought something nicer.” Holidays? Shed watch him like a hawk, convinced hed eye up other women, humiliating him in front of friends. The last straw came at her mates birthday do, when she slapped him for an extra glass of brandy. He walked out then and there, decided.
The divorce was a bloodbath. Emily fought tooth and nail. In the end, he gave her the flat and the cartheir daughter lived there, after all. He walked away without a fuss.
Years passed. Edward bought a new flat, a new car, paying off the mortgage with his decent salary. He dated, but when some women hinted at settling down, he shut it down.
“No more families. Been there, done that.”
That changed at thirty-eight, when he met Daisy. A chance encounter 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, hypnotic, maybe from the dim lighting.
“Blimey, proper drowning pools,” he thought but said nothing.
He couldnt stop glancing her way. She noticed, lowering her gaze each time they locked eyes.
“Ed, smitten, are we?” Stephen teased.
“Suppose so,” Edward admitted, deciding to introduce himself.
“Go on then, make your move,” Andrew winked.
Edward approached. “Evening. Mind if I join you? Im Edward.”
“Evening,” they chimed. “Daisy,” said the one whod caught his eye. “Charlotte,” added the other. “Not at all.”
He offered wine, but Daisy declined. “We dont drink.”
That night, he drove her home. Soon, they were inseparablealike in spirit, easy in each others company. Daisy had been briefly married. “Didnt suit,” was all shed say. Edward didnt press; he didnt discuss his own failed marriage either.
Daisy was thirty-five, no kids, an accountant at a construction firm. Serious, but she paintedwell, too. She dragged Edward to galleries, and to his surprise, he liked it. His mates ribbed him, but he defended her talent. They even went sketching in the countryside.
One evening, stroking his cat, Smokey, Edward had a thought.
“Reckon Ill ask Daisy to marry me,” he mused aloud. Smokey blinked lazily. “Well live together, the three of us. You like her, dont you?”
Hed found Smokey as a kitten, mewing on the street. Six years on, the plump, grey tom was still his shadowlazy, clever, but too bone-idle to bother speaking. Daisy reckoned:
“Smokeys sharp. Just cant be arsed to talk.”
Edward proposed. Daisy said yes. They planned a quiet registry do, but friends and family kicked up a fuss.
“Tightwads! Doesnt matter if its your second weddinghave a proper bash!”
Not wanting to seem stingy, they caved. The guest list swelled. Then came the next demand: a stag night.
“Ed, no stag? Thats not on!”
“Lads, were nearly forty. Bit old for all that.”
“Rubbish! Its tradition. One last hurrah!” Stephen boomed.
Edward couldve refused, but he didnt. Daisy was strictno nonsense in marriage. Might as well go out with a bang.
“Fine. Booze and foods on me. You sort the entertainment. But were doing it at mineno prying eyes in pubs.”
The wedding was Friday; the stag, Wednesday.
“Gives me time to sober up,” Edward reasoned. “Wonder if theyll hire a stripper?”
He took the week off. Tuesday, he stocked up on spirits. Catering? Easyjust rang the posh takeaway.
“Platters of sushi, seafood, a bit of steak.”
Come Wednesday, he set the table. Smokey prowled, eyeing the prawns.
“Not for you, greedy,” Edward scolded, lifting him off the chair.
Smokey squinted, plotting.
The lads arrived, rowdy as ever.
“Dig in,” Edward said, cracking open beers. “Start light or go hard?”
“Im off it,” Andrew sighed. “The missus said if I come home pissed once more this month, shes divorcing me. And Im driving.”
“Wives, eh?” Stephen groaned. “Im dry too. Mother-in-laws landing at four a.m.”
“Steve, you were the one banging on about stags!” Edward laughed.
“Wait till you live with yours,” Andrew muttered.
“Mines in Cornwall,” Edward grinned. “Coming for the wedding, then back she goes.”
“Rub it in, why dont you?” Paul grumbled. Hed lived with his mother-in-law twenty-five years.
They drank, ate, moaned about work and politics. Andrew waffled about buying a new motor. Paul bragged about his daughters volleyball trophy. By ten, they were leaving.
“Thats it?” Edward frowned.
“Mate, weve got jobs. And wives.”
Alone, Edward pushed the prawns toward Smokey, who delicately helped himself. Edward dozed off on the sofa, waking to find Smokey sprawled on the table, lord of all he surveyed.
“Cheeky bugger,” Edward chuckled.
The wedding was loud, merry. Married life with Daisy? He never regretted it. Second time lucky.
