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[cuvalwen.livejournal.com]

This is the first draft of the start of my (long planned) sequel to my fic ‘The Marrying Kind’, and I’m posting this little bit now in honour of the fact that today is the first day for registering for Same Sex Civil Partnerships, with the solemnisations to take place on the 21st.
There’s still some way to go for the fic, I’m not entirely happy with the voices, but I just wanted to bung this up to consider how far we’ve come in the last 70-80 years- from illegal to formalised.
Enough moralising. Here’s the ficlet.


As regular readers of my memoirs will be aware yours truly here is not the best at mornings even at the best of times, and so it was when I awoke the next morning decidedly puzzled as to why I was reclining over on one side of the bed, rather than in my usual proprietary sprawl over the full expanse. Clearly, something was different; there was a definite feeling of Something Having Changed. Then recollection poked its nose around a mental door, and I grinned. A glance at the clock showed that the hour was still early- only just gone nine in the ack emma., which explained why that agent of both the change and my unfamiliar situating in my own bed was not as yet in evidence with the traditional b. and e.s and a cup of that which cheers but does not inebriate.

I was about to call out “Jeeves!” when it occurred to me that, once you’ve had your head down on a chap, a certain amount of familiarity was now permitted in terms of address; so instead I sang out “Reginald!”. It didn’t sound quite right, so I tried again with “Reggie!”.
Not only did it still not sound right, but there was no response forthcoming either, and I was just wondering whether to essay “Reg!” which didn’t suit him at all, or go back to “Jeeves” when that aforementioned paragon appeared around the (physical) door and enquired if I had called him.
I confirmed that I had, indeed;

“But I was trying to use your given name- tell me, do you prefer ‘Reginald’, ‘Reggie’ or ‘Reg’?”

He appeared to wince slightly, and replied “To be perfectly frank, Sir, I prefer ‘Jeeves’”.

“Oh, come on, old stick” I replied warmly “If we’re not on first name terms by now, I don’t know what! And while we’re about it, I’m not ‘Sir’, I’m ‘Bertie’. Or ‘Silly Ass’. I answer to both.”
Then a dreadful thought struck me.
“I say, you aren’t starting to regret last night, are you? You’re not going to say that it was all a mistake and you’re about to set sail for the wide blue yonder?”

To my great relief he smiled and sat down on the bed.
“No… Bertie, I have no inclinations in that direction at all. It is merely that I have no particular attachment to my given name- to the extend that it does not feel as if it is my name. And it is not the name that you know me by.”

“Oh, well, if it’s just that… ‘Jeeves’ it is then. You know” I continued thoughtfully “In the circs it’s probably just as well that we can’t get married- imagine the confusion at the altar. ‘Do you, Bertram, take this man Reginald…’ and there’s both of us gawping around like owls going ‘Who?’ until we work out who the vicar’s going on about…. Well, I’ll be gawping, anyway…”

Here Jeeves stood up again and looked rather uncomfortable. I’ve never seen him show his emotions hardly at all before, and now here they all were at once. Maybe that Eton trick opened the floodgates…
“I believe that we may consider ourselves safe from that eventuality, Sir, since not only is a marriage between us not legal, neither were our actions last night.”

This pulled me up sharp, I have to admit. I was aware of the unsympathetic view the law held about such activities, but to be honest the surprise of realising my feelings, and the joy of finding that they were returned with interest, had rather pushed that little detail out of my head.

“And it is for that reason, Sir, that I believe that our terms of address should not change materially. An over-familiarity in private may result in a slip in public, which would render our situation rather awkward."

“Ah! I see, Discretion being the better part of valour, and so on?”
Here Jeeves’ eyebrow raised slightly, in a way that normally accompanied an ‘Indeed, Sir’ that would sound remarkably like an ‘Sez you’.
“Oh, dash it all, Jeeves, I can be perfectly discreet! I know that normally the ideas of Wooster, B. and discretion are not only in opposition but have a good deal more than two sword lengths between them, but I managed it perfectly well at school.”

“Might I enquire, Sir, as to what it was that you kept secret?”

“Me and Bingo, of course- in public it was always ‘Little’ and ‘Wooster’ but the rest of the time….”
Here I trailed off. It rather looked as if, in my zeal to demonstrate how dashed discreet I could be, I had fairly put my foot in it. Jeeves, bless him, seemed unperturbed, and merely nodded gravely.

“I had suspected as much, Sir. I had, however, been sure that such activities on your part were now firmly in the past.”

“Well, by Jove, so had I!”

“And I would like to reiterate now how glad I am that that is not entirely the case.”
I was about to reply to the effect that I was dashed glad that these ‘activities’ were part of his ken, as well, when he forestalled me-
“The fact remains, Sir, that whilst with care our new… situation… can prosper, a casual attitude will only lead to- I hesitate to use such a melodramatic term- but ‘disaster’ does not seem to be overstating the matter.”
Disaster. The word sent shivers down my spine. I had a dreadful vision of what discovery would mean- at best, separation; at worst, prison. Suddenly the world didn’t seem quite so rosy any more. I reached out and held his hand.

“Trust me, Jeeves” I whispered “It won’t ever come to that.”