different enough not to be competitive. Neither brother covets the otherâs life because they are content and settled and secure with their own patterns. Neither, therefore, passes judgement. They disagree frequently but they rarely argue. And though Dominic lavishes many a smile on Polly, it is with no intent other than his seal of approval, acknowledgement of his brotherâs good fortune.
On first meeting her, Dominic had put her to the test and discovered she came through with colours blazing. He regaled Max with his findings.
âBit small?â Dominic suggested.
âBut perfectly formed,â Max justified.
âMmm,â conceded Dominic, ânicely put together. Bright too.â
âAs a button,â confirmed Max.
âGregarious and outgoing,â said Dominic, throwing a cushion at his brother. âGood balance for you, you fusty old fart.â
âI donât think you can talk about farts being fusty, Dom,â warned Max with a retaliation of cushions, âitâs the pot calling the kettle black.â
âBastard! Flatulence is a serious medical matter. OK, OK. So this Polly Fenton is a teacher.â
âYup, English.â
âShame itâs not PE but never mind. Remember that PE teacher I went out with?â
âUnforgettable,â cringed Max.
âGave a whole new meaning to the term âgames mistressâ, I can tell you.â
âI can hear her still,â Max groaned.
Dominic had a private reminisce, of which Max decided not to partake, before returning his attention to his brotherâs new girlfriend.
âFenton. Do you know, she actually apologized to me for not being related to Roger. Now thatâs what I call impressive.â
âWho?â
âMaximus Cretinous!
Roh-
ger
Fen
-ton,â Dominic stressed as though spoken italics would assist, âseminal nineteenth-century photographer? Crimean War?â
âRight, right,â hurried Max. âSheâs not related to James either.â
âWho he?â
â
Jay
-ums
Fen
-ton, dickhead,â Max relished. âCome on â landmark British poet, journalist, critic?
The Memory of War
?â
Dominic regarded his brother slyly. âSwot!â he declared, with a friendly punch to the biceps.
âBack to Polly?â Max, ever the pacifist, suggested; so they chinked glasses and toasted her health and Maxâs very good fortune.
âGet you, Max!â mused Dominic. âIs she tickling your fancy or melting your heart?â
âWeâre not talking marriage here,â Max had laughed, standing and stretching, and offering his brother a choice between a frozen lasagne ready-meal or beans on toast.
âSheâll be half-way through her journey now,â Dominic remarks, listening to his watch, checking it against the time on the video and phoning the talking clock to make absolutely sure.
âOh, and I asked her to marry me,â Max says to Dominic, as if informing him merely that he had invited Polly along to the cinema with them.
âOh yes?â says Dominic, keeping a straight face but unable to do anything about the sparkle in his eyes.
âYup,â says Max, âjust before she went through passport control.â
âDid she, er, accept graciously?â asked Dominic, all wide eyed and winsome.
âNot in so many words,â said Max slowly, âwhat with all her sobbing and hugging me. And her nose all blocked up.â He proffered the crumpled section of his shirt as proof.
âAh,â said Dominic, further convinced that all women were soft. And so, it now transpired, was his brother. âBet she made off with your diamond!â
âActually,â said Max, burping lightly under his breath and passing his glass for another refill, âit was all a bit spur-of-the-moment. The words sort of tumbled out. Anyway, sheâs having to make do with the plastic jigger from a small