Free Something Invisible by Siobhan Parkinson

from the strictly stickleback point of view, if you see what I mean, and your ears will never stick out quite as well as mine do.…” He stopped here for Jake to laugh and, in spite of himself, Jake did give a small smile. “But I’ve been your dad for as long as you can remember, Jake. It doesn’t matter who’s married to whom.”
    â€œIf it doesn’t matter,” Jake said, “why bother?”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter to you and me, I mean,” Dad said. “It matters in other ways. Your mother and I would like to be married.”
    â€œBecause of Daisy.”
    â€œNot only because of Daisy, Jake.”
    â€œIt didn’t matter when it was just me.”
    â€œJake, I know it must seem like that.”
    â€œBecause it is like that.”
    â€œNo!” said Dad. “We always intended doing it, but, well, we just let it drift … and then Daisy coming along just sort of reminded us.”
    Jake stared at him, a long, cold stare. Dad stared back. He looked very uncomfortable, but he kept staring anyway, as if willing Jake to agree.
    â€œOh, do what you like,” said Jake at last. “What does it matter anyway? I don’t care what you do.”

CHAPTER
    29
    The weather had improved dramatically, which was lucky because they were having the wedding-cum-christening in the garden. At least, they had the actually getting married and getting christened part in the local church, and then they had the party in the garden, in the sunshine.
    It all happened very fast. Jake hardly had time to think about it.
    â€œSo that’s the proof, Father,” Jake’s mum was saying to the priest who’d done the marrying and christening, as she served him his wedding lunch. “Salmon and raspberries just couldn’t be in season at the same time by a quirk of evolution, it’s too divine a coincidence.”
    â€œSo that means there’s a God?” said the priest, looking startled.
    â€œMmm,” said Jake’s mum, grinning at him.
    â€œWell, it’s not a proof known to theology,” the priest said, “but it’s pretty convincing, I must say.”
    â€œYou could write a paper on it in a theological journal and send it to the Vatican and they might make you a bishop,” Jake’s mum suggested, waving her fish slice in the air. “I’d never let on I told you. It’d be our little secret. Have some more champagne.”
    â€œSo does this mean we’ll be seeing more of you at Mass?” the priest asked slyly.
    â€œOh, now!” said Jake’s mum noncommittally. “You never know your luck.”
    â€œYou’re drunk,” Jake hissed at her as the priest moved off with his plate of salmon and his glass of champagne, chuckling to himself.
    â€œOnly the teeniest bit, Jakey,” she said.
    Her eyes were shining. She looked lovely, in her pearly-colored dress and with her hair all caught into a flowery headdress, though it had begun to work itself a bit loose by now and was drifting around her head in its usual wild way.
    â€œIt’s not every day you get married,” Jake’s mother was saying. “And champagne doesn’t make you drunk, you know. It only makes you merry. Have a Coke, why don’t you, Jake?”
    â€œI’m full of bubbles already, thanks,” Jake said. “And I know when I’ve had enough. I hope Daisy doesn’t get drunk. Can you imagine, a baby with a hangover? Ugh!”
    â€œJake, I’ve only had two glasses. Stop lecturing me. It’s my wedding day!”
    Jake shrugged. “I hope you don’t think I’m going to change my name,” he said.
    â€œWhat?” asked his mother. “Why would you change your name?”
    â€œWell, boys usually have the same name as their fathers. Isn’t that why people get married?”
    â€œOr their mothers, Jake, as you have had all your life.”
    â€œBut you