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“So, Miss Not-Quite-Goodman, how would you like to celebrate our not-wedding?” Humphrey grins across at Martha, scuffing playfully at the sand with his feet as he walks.
They’re wandering hand and hand along the beach, idly watching as Margo somehow finds all the best preserved and most beautifully coloured shells with ease.
“Hmm,” Martha’s eyes twinkle, “well, we don’t have a reception.”
Anne is quite happily listening to an animated Zoe explain something a little way behind them, all thoughts of the disastrous wedding plans seemingly gone as he glances around and catches her look of mild confusion at the concept of ‘Tik Tok’.
Whatever that is.
“Correct,” Humphrey agrees, easily.
“And we have an unexpected child,” Martha nods over to where Esther and Kelby are chasing Ryan – or is it Esther and Ryan chasing Kelby? – along the edge of the shallows, a smile playing at her lips.
Finding himself smiling too, Humphrey repeats, “Also correct.”
“How about…” she trails off, seemingly looking around for inspiration, “that.”
He follows her gaze, his eyes alight on a sign and a beaming smile crosses his face.
Squeezing her hand, he raises his voice to call, “Hey, Ryan! How would you like to play some mini golf?”
“Sir!” Esther shouts in alarm, “you nearly took Anne’s eye out!”
Humphrey turns with a grimace.
“Oh. I’m so terribly sorry, Anne,” he apologises profusely, “I’m a little unwieldy with my clubbing technique.”
“Clearly,” his not-quite-mother-in-law harumphs but she does rather graciously step further away to accommodate his unique style.
Martha sidles over to Zoe where she’s stood, watching the chaos around her in amusement.
“Mini golf not your thing?”
Zoe shrugs easily, “I just know I’m not very good so I’m not super competitive or weird about it.”
She motions over to where her mum is taking lining up her shot far too seriously and Martha barely holds back a chuckle.
“You can still enjoy it though, right?”
“Oh yeah, I do. I know I can enjoy something without being amazing at it.”
Martha raises an eyebrow, surprised, “That’s a very mature thing to say.”
“I’m a very mature person,” she replies with a shrug, only partly joking.
Leaning closer, Martha whispers mischievously, “Not too mature to help me sabotage your mum, I hope?”
Zoe narrows critical eyes then smirks, “What exactly did you have in mind?”
“Oh, damn,” Anne frowns as her ball enters the water with a mournful plop, “it’s been a while since I did this.”
“That’s quite alright, Anne, I’ll get it back for you.”
With confident strides, Humphrey crosses the green, golf club still in-hand.
“No! Humphrey!”
Martha’s discouragements come to late as he steps knee deep into the water, stoops to retrieve the ball then steps out again, presenting his catch to a bemused Anne with a dramatic flourish.
“There we go, problem solved!”
“Oh yes…” Anne hesitates, “only, my ball was purple, not blue.”
Looking up from where he’s leaning against his rather flimsy club to empty out first one shoe than the other, Humphrey peers back into the water and sees a little collection of different coloured balls down there.
Instead of being put-out, he nods determinedly.
“Jolly good.”
“Did you see that?” Kelby pats Zoe urgently on the arm, “Margo just made it in one!”
“No way! It’s a literal corner, how is that even possible?” Zoe glances over, disbelieving of how she could have looked away for two seconds and suddenly it’s all over.
“What can I say,” Margo smirks over at them, blowing on the end of the club like it’s a smoking gun, “I have hidden talents.”
“Mum? I know your competitive-“
“I’m not competitive,” Esther insists, hotly.
“You just shouted ‘yes!’ when Ryan missed a shot,” Zoe deadpans, unimpressed, “it’s not that deep, please chill.”
“Sorry, sorry everyone,” Kelby mumbles as he retrieves his ball for what must be the fifth time.
“Seriously, Kelbs,” Esther barely holds back a laugh, “that couple looks about ready to murder you and I don’t fancy having to arrest anyone tonight so please-“ she pats his shoulder encouragingly, “try and hit the ball in at least vaguely the right direction.”
“I’ll try, Sarge.”
She watches with some pride as he carefully lines up his shot.
But it all backfires when he puts too much power in and hits the ball so far that it flies right in front of the Chief Super who happens to be walking past in a show of movie-level bad (or comedic) timing.
Immediately, he gulps and ducks behind where the Inspector and Martha are huddled lovingly together at one side, leaving Esther gaping after him.
“Kelby! That is not what I meant!”
“Humphrey!” Martha watches the fall as if in slow motion, unsure if she should be amused or concerned.
There’s a delay before his mouth seems to catch up with his brain and he mutters a reflexive, “Oof.”
“Uh, Sir?” a muffled voice appears from below him, “your elbow is digging into my ribs.”
“Oh, I’m sorry Kelby!”
Humphrey tries to get up but they’re too tangled together, limbs and golf clubs intertwining in such a way that would take two much more coordinated men to untangle.
Exchanging a look with Esther, who’s only just holding in her own laughter, they come to a silent agreement to both grab hold of one and haul them up.
They have an unhelpful soundtrack of Margo’s guffaws in the background and when Martha turns, brushing off Humphrey’s jacket easily, it’s to find Margo slumped on a large rock, bending over in laugher.
She wheezes, “I wish I’d caught that on camera.”
“Camera!” Humphrey holds up a finger in a light bulb motion, “we need a photo to commemorate this occasion!”
“What, falling over?” Esther deadpans, finally making Martha laugh aloud.
“Falling over? No!” Humphrey brushes off the fall, too busy with his new idea, “the not-wedding after party!”
“And I pronounce the winner to be…. Ryan!”
A cheer goes up around the group as Humphrey lifts the boy into the air once, twice, three times before setting him down and asking, “Well Ryan, what would you like your prize to be?”
“Hmm, more ice cream?” he asks with his usual quiet hopefulness.
“More ice cream? I think that’s a very good idea,” Humphrey grins, raising his voice to call, “who’s up for ice cream!”
There’s a round of agreement and he winks down at Ryan, “And extra sprinkles for our winner.”
“As far as not-wedding after parties go,” Humphrey accepts a taste of Martha’s ice cream then looks around their little group happily, “I think we hit on a jackpot.”
“Your trousers are wet,” Martha points out.
Nodding, he agrees, “Yes, they are.”
It’s quite uncomfortable but he can’t bring himself to care.
“Your boss nearly got hit in the face with a golf ball.”
Nearly, he wants to point out. It didn’t actually happen.
Instead, he repeats, “Yes, she did.”
“It’s trying to rain.”
He thinks the slight coolness of the occasional spots on his face is quite pleasant after the (probably unnecessary) physical exertion of mini golf.
“Yes, it is.”
Martha leans in to plant a kiss on his lips, intertwining their fingers as she lingers close enough to whisper, “It’s perfect.”