Off the Beaten Track

Unsurprisingly, the speeches given before the meal were just as mundane and grating as the ceremony. Mr Pritchard, father of the bride, gave a heartfelt speech about his ‘little princess Julie’ which ultimately ended in an uncomfortable atmosphere, the guests not knowing where to look as he wept into his tissue. This was not improved by the best man’s speech which followed. Harvey had been right; there was something about Stephen which made you want to resort to drastic violence. It soon became apparent that unlike his brother, the older Edwards had the charisma and charm of a coffee pot. Instead of amusing the guests with anecdotes of boyish mishaps, he spent thirty minutes on what seemed to be a business pitch, encouraging the room to invest in his and Peter’s stationary company. Throughout all of the speeches Harvey had fiddled with the napkins on the table, folding them until they took on the basic shape of a plane. During his brother’s speech he had caught Jon’s eye and gestured towards the planes, proceeding to sit on his hands and grin mischievously when the youngest Fisher halted his plane throwing scheme with an amused shake of his head. Joseph Fisher had looked disapprovingly at his son’s new friend. From the moment the two had met Jon could tell his father had taken an instant dislike to the man and his bleach blonde hair and nose ring. Politeness and formality stopped Joseph from speaking his mind, but Jonathan could imagine what he was thinking, ‘pansy’ being one of the many select words his father used to describe men who looked like Harvey. His mother Charlotte on the other hand appeared fascinated, observing Harvey as though he was an exotic creature, something to look at and take pictures of, but under no circumstances take home. To the best of Jon’s knowledge Charlotte had always lived a sheltered life, marrying at 18 to a man much like her father, and raising her two boys in the hope they would turn out the same. It was only natural she would be interested in something which didn't fit with her cookie cut-out suburban life.

Eventually Peter stood up, offering words of thanks to those in the room. Jon's hand twitched towards the planes which lay disregarded on the table, they had suddenly become much more appealing. “And now, before we eat” Peter continued, alerting Jon to the fact that he hadn't been listening, “I would like you to all join me in a two minute silent prayer”. Automatically the majority of the room clasped their hands together and bowed their heads, Jon included. His prayers usually consisted of apologies; after all he had a lot to be sorry for, hating his brother only being the tip of the iceberg. He dared not venture any further down that iceberg however; his mind was a Freudian nightmare waiting to happen. Jon was sure that the various events and feelings which he had furiously repressed for years were almost certainly going to result in a mass murdering spree when they came to the surface, so better to apologise and pray for forgiveness in advance. Suddenly his thoughts turned to Harvey, what was he doing right now? He opened his eyes slightly, and peered in the other man’s direction. At first glance it appeared he was sat with his head bowed, but as he focused he realised the man was reading that damn book again, holding it under the table. Jon shut his eyes sharply. If Harvey Edwards was anybody but Harvey Edwards, then Jon would hate him, and that extended tolerance for any person is bound to cause problem.

“What did you all pray for?” Harvey asked excitedly after the end of the two minutes, quietly disposing of his book under the table. “I think you’re mistaking praying for blowing out candles on a birthday cake” Jon replied, raising his eyebrow. From the corner of his eye he saw his father do the same, the difference being there was no humour in the oldest Fishers eyes. “Oh” Harvey shrugged, seemingly uninterested in conversation now that food was placed in front of him. Jon was grateful for the man’s apparent short attention span, as he had been wading into risky territory, especially since his father now seemed to be critically move Harvey’s every move. “Harvey, what do you do for a living?” his mother asked politely, buttering the bread which had been placed before her. “I'm in a band” Harvey answered enthusiastically, causing Jon to grin, “I mean we’re not famous or anything, but we do ok” Mr Fisher grunted disapprovingly, “I thought you would be a part of your brothers company.” “I guess I just don’t have the same passion for pens as Stephen does, sir”. The table broke into awkward silence as Joseph and Harvey stared purposefully at each other, each refusing to break eye contact. “What instrument do you play?” Charlotte started, hoping to quell the discomfort and get back onto more pleasant conversation. For a moment it appeared as though Harvey wasn't going to reply. “Bass guitar” but he replied eventually, breaking eye contact with the older man, “Can you play an instrument Jon?” Jon startled slightly at being directly addressed “Urm, I own a guitar? I think I can play ‘Come all ye faithful’ on the piano if you’re really pushing me” Harvey chuckled and focused his attention back on his meal. “Jonathan a journalist” Charlotte stated proudly, rubbing her sons shoulders. “He works for his father’s newspaper, isn't that right Joseph?” “Yes” declared her husband, perking up considerably “Brilliant sports reporter aren't you son?” It was Harvey’s turn to raise an amused eyebrow. “Really? Sports? You don’t seem a sports kind of guy” “Don’t let the glasses confuse you, at high school I was on the football team” “And the baseball team” his mother added boastfully, looking down as Jon shot her a look. “That’s cool” Harvey complemented politely, although Jon guessed he was anything but impressed.