WATCHING BRAD
Part 166
Brad was as giddy as a little boy waking up on Christmas morning, bouncing around and giggling and trying to get me excited and pumped up about our flight to England. I, on the other hand, told him bluntly that our wake-up call had come about two days too early for me and no amount of coffee would wake me up enough to even come close to being ‘pumped up'.
With our flight leaving at nine o'clock and with us having to be at the airport at eight, it called for a very early morning for us all. Fortunately, our travel clothes had been packed in a separate suitcase and, once emptied, we put our rented tuxedos, the twins' tuxes, and our used underwear and socks (placed in a separate plastic bag, of course) into the case to be given to Nathan who would see that our laundry got home and the tuxedos were returned to the rental store. Our overseas luggage had been packed and locked and loaded in the trunk of Barry's car the day before. While Barry and Nathan would be taking us to the airport to see us off, we would be bidding our farewells to the rest of our family and whoever happened to stay in the city.
"You can't spoil my mood," Brad said as he ran around the room turning on all the lights and opening the drapes, his chipped tooth sparkling through his wide smile and his green eyes twinkling. "Not today!" With the final light turned on, he ran toward the bed and, with a leap, landed on his knees beside me and then lay down upon me. He rested on his elbows at my sides, looking down at me and smiling gently through his now-closed lips. The breath from his nostrils wafted breezily over my face. "For the first time in my life," he continued, "I'm waking up in bed with my husband. Nothing is going to spoil that for me."
"Speaking of waking up," I moaned through a stifled yawn, "how did you sleep?"
"Better than I've ever slept before. I think I'm going to like it."
"We've been doing it for a long time already."
"Yeah," he grinned as he rolled onto his right elbow and held up his left hand and flashed his wedding ring at me, "but we weren't wearing
these."
We fell silent then with me looking up at his beauty and with him looking down at me. "I love you so much, Ted de Villiers," he said finally.
"And I love you, Bradley Hayes."
"Ah ah ah!" he chastised, holding up one finger in warning. "Bradley
de Villiers Hayes."
"Gee-sus, Murphy, Brad. You're not going to use that whole name, are you?"
"Damned right I am! I'm making it legal as soon as we get back. I can't wait to see it on my driver's license." He paused a few moments, then repeated pensively, "Bradley de Villiers Hayes. I like the sound of that."
The kiss which followed was a very long and enjoyable one indeed.
Somehow, we managed to get ourselves showered and dressed and I even managed two cups of coffee with our breakfast from Room Service before Nathan and Barry showed up at our door to escort us down to the lobby. Our entourage of family and well-wishing friends were already there, waiting to bid us a Bon Voyage. Our parents were there, of course, and Terry and the kids. Warren and Bill had stayed the night at the hotel and were there to see us off as well.
Warren had wanted to take us to the airport, but we had spent many hours talking him out of it, insisting that he would be tired enough as it was without having to battle the traffic and the crowds at Pearson. While he had bitched about it for a long time after we'd convinced him not to go, I suspect that, from the look of him that morning, he was grateful he didn't have that chore awaiting him now. He looked as exhausted as I felt.
The twins greeted us halfway across the lobby, of course, running as fast as their little legs could carry them and taking a mighty leap into our waiting arms. It was going to be hard enough for us to leave them, but I felt worse that they really had no idea how long two weeks was and I knew they would miss us terribly, but not as much as we would miss
them. Once more I had reservations about leaving them and almost decided to cancel our honeymoon again. . . but I didn't.
It was a happy but difficult and tearful parting for everyone. The boys, who had been so happy and smiling to see us that morning, ended up crying and grasping at us, hoping that we would give in and take them with us. One of the most painful things I have had to endure was to have my father pull Justin away from me as his screams of ‘Daddy', joined by his twin brother's screams of ‘Daddy Brad', filled the lobby. Their screams were, in fact, the last thing we heard as we exited the hotel doors. It took everything I had inside me not to scream out my own anguish and I swore then and there that I would never leave my children like that again.
The ride to the airport was a silent and sullen ride for me and Brad. We sat in the back seat holding each other and feeling each other's sorrow and sadness. Brad's early-morning excitement and enthusiasm had vanished completely, replaced by same misery I was feeling and I could sense that his misery wasn't in empathy of mine but was his own. Leaving the kids was just as difficult for him as it was for me. He held my hand and leaned against me, resting his cheek against my shoulder.
Nathan tried his best in the beginning to cheer us up, but he understood how we must have been feeling and soon let the conversation fade away, but only after he and Barry had promised to go straight to our home and to spend the rest of the day with the kids.
That made me feel a bit better.
A bit.
* * * * *
I was grateful for the air conditioning in Barry's car. The heat that day was oppressive and weighed heavily upon us. The humidity in the city made it feel as though we were wading waist deep in a swimming pool. The discomfort it caused was extreme, even during our short walk to the car, and the dampness it caused in our clothes and hair was palpable. It certainly made my sour mood at leaving the kids behind even more sour. That was one thing I would not regret leaving behind.
Our flight lifted off on schedule. We'd arrived at the airport on time, unloaded our luggage and such onto a trolley, double-checked our passports and tickets, then headed off to check in with Air Canada. Nathan and Barry had accompanied us to the gate where they gave us our farewell hugs and kisses on the cheeks.
Brad was relaxed now, but the lift-off had been a very tense moment for him. He held my hand the entire time, squeezing it when things happened and
really squeezing it when other things happened. I had tried to prepare him for everything that he would hear and feel and what might happen, but even knowing what they were didn't make it easier for him. He remained silent, but I talked softly to him throughout, keeping him calm and explaining everything again as it happened. It became much easier for him as we reached altitude and were able to release our seatbelts and relax and get comfortable.
The first thing we did was to reset our watches to London time.
"This is weird," Brad commented.
"What is?"
"It's already afternoon there and we just ate breakfast awhile ago."
"And it's going to be closing in on midnight by the time we collect our luggage, get through customs, and cab it to the hotel."
"What time will that be back home?"
"About seven o'clock. Just subtract five hours."
"Believe it or not," Brad said off-handedly, "I've never been in another time zone before."
"It's not that different except that everyone will be going to bed tonight when you're feeling hungry for supper," I explained. "And when we go back home, we'll be ready to go to bed when everyone else is thinking about what to eat for supper. It's a short day going over and a long day coming back and it will take a day or two to get used to it both times. That's why I left tomorrow open. We have to adjust to London time."
"How far will we be from Greenwich?"
"It's just east of London," I explained. "Sort of a suburb. Why?"
"That's where times starts, isn't it?"
I smiled at the thought. "Sort of. It's the basis for all the other time zones and the world sets its clocks to it."
"Can we go there?" he asked.
"Sure, if you want."
"And Stratford," he added. "I've always wanted to see Stratford."
"I didn't know you were into Shakespeare."
"I'm not," he explained. "But I've been to Stratford in Ontario and I'd like to see the place it was named after."
"Sure," I said. "Okay. We can stop there on our way to Gran's place in Nottingham. It's not far out of our way."
Our flight offered in-flight internet service and Brad spent the next few hours writing Emails to the kids and then cybertouring England and all the places we would be visiting. If nothing else, it kept his mind occupied and away from where he was. I could only hope to be that calm and relaxed when it came time for us to take the Chunnel to mainland Europe. I was convinced that would be the day the English Channel would decide to fall on our heads.
* * * * *
As I suspected, it took much longer to get through customs this trip. Each trip during the last few years had seen increased security at Heathrow. The customs agents were efficient and congenial, yet thorough and surprisingly speedy, pushing the passengers and their belongings through as quickly as they could.
At last, with our luggage piled on a trolley, Brad pushed it along as we made our way through the airport and to the darkness outside. Brad paused there, looked around and drew in a deep, cool breath of British air through his nostrils, held it inside him for a few moments, and then let it out again.
He looked at me then, his eyes full of emotion and misty romanticism. "I'm really in England, aren't I, Pops?"
"The home of Big Ben, Icky-Sticky Pudding, Mr. Humphries and Hyacinth Bucket, and Bob's your uncle and Fanny's your aunt," I told him with a proud and happy smile. It made me happy to see him so happy.
With people passing us in all directions, Brad politely and discretely wrapped his arms around me and hugged me. "Thank you, Ted," he whispered. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Tiger," I replied as I hugged him back.
* * * * *
Brad's initiation to England was most delightful. Even before we made it out of Heathrow, he turned to me and said, "It's just like all our favourite Britcoms rolled into one except that I'm in the show!" I was enjoying watching him take it all in and I saw in him the same awe and curiosity I'd seen so many times in the twins. Everything was a wonder to him.
We hailed a taxi and, with our cabbie's help, loaded our luggage into the ‘boot', climbed into back seat, and headed off into the night and toward our hotel. The cab was a very familiar ‘London Black' and our cabbie, who was around my age, was friendly and accommodating. He introduced himself as Andy with an accent which was very familiar to me and, upon discovering that we were Canadian, he expressed his delight. "I'm chuffed as nuts to meet you, guv" he exclaimed at a rapid pace as he shook our hands. "I love listening to your accents. They're the bee's knees, they are."
Brad looked completely surprised, but smiled proudly. "This is the first place I've ever been where I had an accent."
Later, as we rode in the back seat of our black cab, Brad commented, "This is so cool!" He was sitting behind Andy and his head whipped around to his right as an approaching car drove past him. He looked around at me, his broad grin greeting me once again. "I've seen the British driving on the other side of the street on TV and in the movies, but it's a whole lot different when I'm here and doing it."
"You'll find a lot of things different over here, Brad," I reminded him, "and it's way better than anything you see on PBS. This is the real thing."
He discovered that rather quickly when he realized there was no handle to roll down the window. "Squeeze the clips at the top," I told him, "and slide the window down."
That, too, was ‘so cool!'
Andy played tour guide for us as he drove us to our hotel, pointing out many of the smaller but interesting sites along the way and giving us a brief commentary on the history of each. We saw a lot of places I knew we would never see on any city tour bus.
At the hotel, Brad helped a bellhop unload our luggage from the cab and stack it on a hotel trolley as I paid the fare, giving Andy what I considered to be a generous tip for giving us such a pleasant, enjoyable, informative ride. Andy beamed a large smile at me and, as he drove away, wished us ‘happy hols'.
The night-shift desk clerk, Gareth was an older gentleman who quickly had us checked in and on our way to our room. As we rode the elevator up to our floor, I asked the bellhop, "Anyplace around here you can recommend where we can get a bite to eat? Airline lunches, you know."
"What's yer fancy?" Nigel asked.
"Someplace where we can get a good, authentic steak and kidney pie," I told him. "I don't want anything that comes out of a box."
Nigel tapped the side of his nose with his index finger. "It's a bit of a walk, guv," he said, "but yer belly'll be happy yer feet did the work."
The directions were easy enough and there was no need to copy them down. As it turned out, it really wasn't that far to walk. We were there in just over ten minutes from the time we exited the hotel. The restaurant was rather small and bijou, but clean and family friendly. It was, as the British are prone to say, ‘full of character and period features'. It was too late for families, of course, but there were several couples there enjoying a late-night meal.
As Nigel had promised, the pies were made on the premises and were, indeed, better even than Mom makes. I think it's the ingredients. They're the same in Canada, but they're not the same if you know what I mean. Even when Mom gets most of the ingredients sent over by her family, there are some things she simply has to buy back home, and that's where the differences lie. The meat somehow tastes different in England.
Our waiter, Malcolm, was an older gentleman with greying hair and the soft, lingering remnants of a Scottish accent. He was extremely efficient at his job and most accommodating, especially after he discovered that we were newlyweds. We were treated to a bottle of champagne ‘on the house' as it were, but, in truth, I suspect it was ‘on Malcolm'. As he presented it to us, he commented softly so that only we could hear: "Perhaps, before I die, this country will allow me and my partner to enjoy the same happiness as you."
"Aren't civil unions allowed here?" I asked curiously.
"Civil unions," Malcolm replied almost sadly. "Pshaw! It is not the same, my friend. Would you have settled for a civil union without the joys and benefits of marriage?"
I thought about that for a moment before responding. "No, I don't suppose I would."
"I
know I wouldn't," Brad added. "I've only been married for a day, I wouldn't have it any other way. Living together was nice, but this is so much better. I like being married."
Malcolm smiled at Brad, then looked at me. "That is why I and my Albert will never give up the fight. Things are changing very quickly in this world these days, and our day will come. Perhaps not in my lifetime, but it will come. Nonetheless, I am very happy that they changed more quickly in Canada than they are changing here. You have many years ahead of you, my friend. Enjoy them the way you should be able to enjoy them."
Malcolm went about his duties, leaving us alone to enjoy our meal and the delicious champagne. As we sat there, eating, Brad recounted the day's events, talking excitedly about all the new and wonderful experiences he'd had. I commented about how easily and calmly he'd taken the flight and he responded, "I told you before, Pops. As long as you're there to hold my hand, I think I could go anywhere." I could only hope that he would return the favour when we took that train ride to France and the English Channel fell on our heads.
We strolled leisurely and slowly back to our hotel, still floating on the champagne bubbles and the light-headed feeling they leave with you. We ambled along, window shopping and enjoying the sights and the sounds of the cool city night. The dismal and depressing humidity of Canada was an ocean away from us. In the end, though, we had to run the final block and a half when the London skies suddenly opened up and a fierce and drenching rain soaked through our clothes in a matter of seconds. I'd packed two collapsible ‘brollies', but had forgot them at the hotel room. I wouldn't make that mistake again.
We entered the hotel laughing our heads off and holding hands and dripping water on the carpet. To Gareth, we must have looked like two sopping and soggy rats. With a cheerful smile, he handed us our key card and bid us a good evening as Brad and I happily sloshed our way toward the elevator.
In our room, we went straight to the en suite and ran a hot bath, stripping off our clothes as the tub filled. When we were naked, we fell into each other's arms, hugging and kissing and enjoying the closeness of our bodies.
We separated long enough to turn off the faucets and to use the toilet, then settled into the tub with Brad sitting between my legs and laying back against my chest and nestling his head into the side of my neck. My arms encircled him and his hands held mine close to him.
We sat there in comfortable and euphoric silence, feeling the heat from each other and enjoying just being together and thinking about the joy we would soon be sharing when we finally went to bed.
Our first full day of marriage was quickly drawing to a close, and I was happier than I had ever been in my life.
To Be Continued
