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It is impossible to empathise with these mono-dimensional heroes. For half the novel, their lives are nothing short of bliss, which is another way of saying that next to nothing happens. This is exemplary of the dialogue:Scott smiled curiously. “What’s so funny?””I was just wondering what your mam and dad make of us two.””How do you mean?””I mean, ending up with an Aussie bloke and a common-as-muck Geordie for in-laws. That’s seriously bad luck.”Tootsie barked excitedly as Tom and Nat spluttered into laughter. Scott attempted to keep a serious face.”Mum and Dad love you both to bits. You know that.”The two men stopped laughing to look incredulously at Scott.”Okay, Mum loves you both to bits, and Dad loves you … in his very own way.”When Debs walked in through the door, Tom and Nat were helpless with laughter. The dog was yelping, desperate to join in the fun, and Abi sat, merrily bemused by it all.This is revolting. (The dog’s name is Tootsie, for goodness’ sake.) Unfortunately, as I say, it is also representative. The bottom-numbing banalities of married life, even of gay married life, are not the stuff of literature. At most they make for padding. And Ms Lewis-Foster loves her padding like I love my pudding, or as Fred Susskind loved his pad-play.

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