Xion Island Zero ... The Final Chapter.

The sky above Lake Windermere was an impossible blue, a colour that was too beautiful for grief. But grief and joy twisted around each other as the Beech Hill Hotel prepared to host a Christmas Eve wedding that had almost been cancelled more times than Nash could count.

Nothing’s going to spoil today, Max said from his comfy chair in Nash’s head. You can’t let it, Si.

Nash stood at the window, adjusting his tie with trembling fingers. He was torn over whether he should marry Kelvin under these circumstances. He’d stared at his phone, hovering over Kelvin’s name and wondering if calling the wedding off would be the respectful thing to do.

The wound in his side ached, reminding him how close he’d come to not seeing this day. He watched the guests gathering in the garden. The lake sparkled just beyond, and a band of sunlight glanced off its surface. They would move indoors for the service, but the weather was doing him proud.

Earlier, he’d stopped at one of the chairs in the front row to pay his respects. It would remain empty throughout the ceremony, but it was laid with a traditional British standard as a mark of respect to a fallen officer. And the cap to PC Bowes' dress uniform sat on top of the flag—pride of place. His fingers lingered on Jay’s cap, brushing away an invisible speck, the way a father might smooth his boy’s hair before a school photo.

Kelvin came in quietly, straightening his cufflinks. God, he was handsome. If Kelvin noticed Nash’s tie was crooked, he wisely decided not to die on that hill. He didn’t speak immediately, and Nash was used to that now. The new shared silences said more than words and were something they’d have to get over. Nash caught his eye in the mirror, and any vestige of doubt flew away on the winter breeze. He loved this man with every fibre of his being.

‘You know it’s not you, don’t you?’ he said. He didn’t need to explain.

‘I’d still like to hear you say it, Si.’

‘I’m going to make you my husband today, and there isn’t a thing on this earth that can stop me. Is that good enough for you?’ He smiled.

‘It’ll do, until you say “I do” at the altar.’

‘Still no word from Imani?’ Nash asked.

Kelvin shook his head. ‘She sent a message this morning. Said she hopes we’re happy, but she’s not ready to play happy families.’

Nash reached for him, and their fingers linked. ‘Give her time.’

Downstairs, rows of white chairs lined the terrace overlooking the garden, with its doors thrown open. A wooden arbour dressed in winter florals of snowdrops, white roses, thistle, and silver-tinged eucalyptus had been erected to bring the outdoors inside. The effect was stunning.

The lake shimmered like the silk of the bridesmaids’ dresses, and their mother, Zola, was radiant in blue. She sat beside her husband as their daughters clutched velvet bags of petals, ready to line the aisle as the grooms walked in procession behind Kelvin’s granddaughters. Taraji looked proud, and Molly, in a silver-grey wrap dress, was uncharacteristically poised.

For all of its sorrow, the day had not forgotten to be beautiful.

Before the ceremony started, Nash stepped aside. He needed a moment alone.

Conrad Snow intercepted him near the hotel’s quiet reading room. ‘He’s here,’ Conrad said.

Nash raised an eyebrow. He didn’t know if he was talking about Max or Jay Bowes. They should both have been there. Alive and strong to share in his perfect day. But it couldn’t be that—not perfect.

‘Max,’ Conrad said. ‘He’s here. Just differently.’

Nash didn’t trust himself to speak. And as Conrad touched his arm and went to take his seat, Nash walked outside and stood under a cedar tree near the ceremony arch. Soft white petals drifted over him, but it was wildly out of season for cherry blossom, and there was nobody nearby to throw it. The petals spiralled down in a flourish—dramatic enough to be Max’s idea of subtle. They fluttered impossibly, settling on the grass around him. A chill ran through him, but he smiled.

‘That’s so corny, Max. Even for you,’ he whispered. ‘Message received.’

The ceremony was beautiful. Kelvin stood in the arbour in a suit; he was saving his ceremonial robes for the reception. His smile was calm and certain, and it put Nash at his ease. Kelvin knew he hated being the centre of attention.

They exchanged vows under a canopy of winter flowers and whispered blessings. ‘I promise to love you,’ Nash said, ‘even during the difficult days.’ His eyes filled with tears. ‘I changed my vows when I realised I couldn’t keep my promise within them. I originally said that I’d always keep you safe. I can’t do that, Kelvin. All I can do is stand by your side and always do my best.’

Kelvin’s eyes shone. ‘I’ll stand right beside you, and together, nothing can ever harm us, Si. You have to believe that. I’ll trust in us for now—just until we can face the mornings with joy again. This pain in your heart will ease, and while today isn’t exactly what we’d have wished for,’ he glanced at the empty chair in the front row, and Nash followed his eyes before looking back at him, ‘I’ll love you until there’s nothing left to hurt about. ’ They kissed to applause and the timely call of a heron on the lake.

As the guests gathered for the reception, two white roses were delivered to the grooms by the hotel doorman. The card read. I can’t be there. But I wish you both my blessing, peace, and one day—maybe—my understanding.

—Imani

After the traditional speeches and an excellent meal, Molly stood up and tapped a spoon to her glass. ‘The serious crimes team have agreed that we couldn’t think of a better time or place to do this. We have a surprise for you, boss.’

Renshaw wheeled out a small plinth with a black velvet curtain drawn across it. Nash was invited to pull the curtain back, and behind it, a plaque bearing the police crest and a photo of Jay Bowes in uniform gleamed under a spotlight. The grin in the photo was so full of mischief that Nash’s knees buckled, and he had to grab onto Kelvin to steady him.

‘Police Constable Jason Bowes,’ Molly read. Her voice was thick and cracked. ‘A loyal officer, good friend and irreplaceable colleague. Raise your glasses, please, to Jay Bowes, a special man, who always made us laugh. After today, this plaque will hang in the main hallway of the station he called home.’

A wave of emotion swept the room.

Nash rose from his seat, smiled at Kelvin and took the mic. A wad of unreleased tears collected in a cannonball in his throat. ‘To absent friends,’ he said. The chanted response was reverent as everybody stood and glasses were raised.

Nash nodded to the DJ.  It was time.

The unmistakable intro to the Macarena blasted through the speakers.

Nash looked around, and then he walked onto the dance floor alone. His lips pressed in a grimace of dread. Everybody could see how excruciating this was for him, and his face was flushed scarlet.

Molly moved to follow him, but Phil Renshaw held her back with a shake of his head and a hand on her arm. ‘Not yet,’ he said. ‘He needs to do this.’  

Nash stretched out his arms and began the dance. One move at a time. Clunky. Awkward. Heartbreaking. He imagined Jay’s voice laughing at him. ‘Boss, even your left foot is flat.’

Tears streamed down his face as he went through the routine. The cheesy sequence that should be danced by many people in formation was performed by one man alone for the first verse and chorus.

Then Kelvin stood and offered his hand to Keeley Norton. She smiled at him through a torrent of tears as he led her onto the floor, and they stood on either side of Nash and danced.

Then the rest of the team came forward. Even Patel and Renshaw joined in, their matching head nods sealing the unspoken agreement. Patel’s Macarena looked more like an arrest in progress than a dance, but nobody cared as the dance floor filled with officers and regular guests.

Jay’s ghost danced with them.

Afterwards, Nash went outside and leaned on the terrace railing, watching the lake glow pink under the sinking sun. Swans swam majestically, and on the shoreline, a gaggle of geese bickered.

After a while, Kelvin joined him and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. He’d changed and looked like a prince in his flowing orange robes.

‘I didn’t expect our first dance to look like that,’ Nash said.

Kelvin grinned. ‘That was just the prelude. The real one is still to come.’

They stood together in the sunset as a discreet photographer captured the tender moment.

‘Do you think he’d have liked it?’ Nash asked.

‘He’d have laughed himself sick,’ Kelvin said.

Nash looked at the lake. ‘I hope he knew what he meant to us.’

Kelvin squeezed his hand. ‘He did. They all do. They love you, Si.’

As laughter drifted from inside, Nash knew the ghosts would never truly leave them. But neither would the love surrounding them.

It was time to heal.