'Gethin...'

Jeff's light voice was sweetly wheedling, and he could bat his eyelashes very prettily when he chose. That he chose to do so now, in the week before Christmas when the shop was busy and the clientele torn between festive over-exuberance and anti-establishment protest against crass materialism was alarming, annoying, and impossible to ignore.

Blond and pale, Jeff was as pretty a boy as you would find for miles around. Not Gethin's type, but then, very few were, really. At least, not for more than an hour or two, a night at most.

'Bit busy here, Jeff, got some books to shelve. If you want tea, get the kettle on.'

'Mine's milk, two sugars,' a new voice said. It was cultured, refined, lilting at the edges. 'And if there are biscuits, I could just go a custard cream...'

Gethin sighed and pushed away from the bookshelves.

'It's not a bloody café, it's a bookshop,' he muttered.

'Yes, Gethin, but this is my friend, Jonathan...' Jeff said, stressing the word 'friend' in such a way that made him turn and stare at the newcomer.

It was the semi-beatific smile he noticed first, then the warmth in the brown eyes, a sense of having seen more than most. Not a beautiful face, but an appealing one, mobile and friendly, lined and lively. Shaggy hair that would curl if it was shorter, a sort of tawny honey shade. Daft clothes, beret and raincoat, a tired canvas rucksack over his shoulder and in his arms a battered cardboard box which he held against his body with elegant, long-fingered hands.

Duw, what was it about their hands, why did he always notice that...?

'Gethin...' Jeff tried again, actually going so far as to come and pat Gethin's arm, smiling all the while. 'Not quite that sort of friend, he isn't... doesn't seem to... cup of tea, yes?'

'All right, then, yes.'

'Show me again where the teabags are?'

Honestly...!

But once they were in the back room, Jeff put the kettle on and under the noise of its boiling whispered out the story to Gethin. Friend of a friend, had been on the sofa, not any more, not part of the scene, not disapproving, but a bit shocked, maybe...

'Then why's he hanging around it?'

Jeff shrugged. 'Work, or something. Maybe shocked is the wrong word, because he tries to understand, always asking questions... Anyway, there's only so many questions you can answer before it gets awkward, so now he's running out of sofas, and as I happen to know...'

'No.'

'...that you have a spare room...'

'Still no.'

'...but it's Christmas, Gethin...'

Gethin looked out through the partially open door. The man was looking at the titles on the shelves, taking a step back, twisting his head the better to see, raising his eyebrows...

'It's not like he's an up-the-duff homeless girl on the verge of sprogging, there's still be no room at the inn, Jeff. I'm not a charity...'

Jeff pouted, looking adorable, distracting, far too young...

'All right, get that tea brewing, let me check he's not some kind of lunatic... and no promises...'

There was a customer waiting, and Gethin was delayed a moment or two serving. When he looked up, there was a boy, a very young boy, perhaps seventeen at a push, and he was talking earnestly to Jeff's homeless person.

'Really?' Jeff's friend was asking. 'They would do that? They would say that to you? But they're your parents, can't they see it isn't about them, that it isn't like choosing what pair of shoes to put on today...?'

Gethin bit back a sigh and headed over. Could be a sting, send in a youngster, obviously not legal yet, see how the gay bookshop's gay bookshop owner deals with the situation...

The man – Jonathan – saw Gethin approaching and raised his eyebrows.

'I say,' he began. 'This young fellow's in a bit of a pickle... parents... is it something you can help with...? You see,' he said to the lad, lowering his voice. 'I'm not actually gay. Just homeless.'

The lad took a step away, and Gethin took charge.

'He's just browsing,' Gethin said. 'Right, over here, books on coming out to your parents... guess that horse has already bolted? Yeah, never easy, time helps, but you need support now... got a few books on this shelf on coping... and if you see the table over there, all kinds of leaflets about support groups, if you need somewhere to stay – you're under twenty one, right?'

The youngster nodded.

'Okay...' Gethin selected several leaflets. 'Over eighteen...? No? Then you'll want these... and if you tell your parents it's a big bad world out there and if they throw you out before you're eighteen they put you at all kinds of risks whether you're gay or straight... Want any of the books, do you?'

The boy mumbled thanks, shaking his head and accepting the leaflets.

'That's okay. Good luck,' Gethin said, as the bell jangled behind the lad as he left.

'Does that happen a lot?' the man said.

'Does what happen? They leave without buying anything?' Gethin shrugged. 'Sometimes. When it's someone in trouble, I don't mind so much...'

'No, the... that their families just...'

Gethin nodded slowly. 'Too often. You really don't know anything, do you?'

'Well, I know more than I did a week ago... goodness, such a lot to learn, isn't there?'

There was something disarming about the honesty of the man, the genuine interest he had shown for the youngster's situation that Gethin found refreshing.

'Suppose there is, when you put it like that.' Gethin extended his hand. 'Jonathan, isn't it? Gethin, Gethin Roberts.'

'Yes, that's me. Blake, though, that's what they usually call me.'

The handshake was like the man, warm and friendly and the thought of those fine, fine hands...

But not gay, Jeff had said. And, well... if he were, why all the questions?

'Come through, have some tea.' Gethin indicated the box which had been balanced on one hip during the handshake and then carefully repositioned once more.

'What's that you've got there?'

'Oh, just stuff. Mementoes, really.'

In the back room, Jeff had made tea and found the biscuits (intended for the Lesbians Aloud Choral Singers rehearsals tomorrow night, but never mind, enough time to replace them, Connie would never know...) and was looking prettily proud of himself, sitting with one elbow on the table, his curled hand supporting his chin... sooner that one found someone, the better...

'Have a seat, Blake, if you want to put your stuff down somewhere...'

'Thank you, oh, look! A piano... how lovely...'

'Depends who's playing it,' Gethin said, but couldn't help smiling at Blake's enthusiasm.

Jeff drained his mug and conscientiously put it in the sink.

'Well, now that's all settled, I'll just be running along...'

'Jeff?' Gethin queried, and

'Hang on!' Blake said. 'What about... what you said?'

'It'll be fine,' Jeff said from the doorway. 'Oh, and Gethin? Shop!'

It was some time before Gethin had chance to do more than keep a vague eye on Blake; a sudden rush of customers, not all just wanting to pay and go, several wanting leaflets, advice, acknowledgement. He was peripherally aware, though, that Blake had followed him through and was talking to everyone he could, engaging in an open, friendly way, expressing interest.

By closing time, when Gethin finally locked up and turned the 'open' sign around, he was glad to retreat to the back room and the dregs of his now-cold cup of tea.

'Soya milk,' Blake said, coming to join him.

'What?'

'Soya milk. When your tea goes cold, it doesn't get that weird film on top with soya milk. And it doesn't change the taste.' He pondered for a minute. 'Mind you, all that means is it tastes equally foul hot or cold.'

'Are you still here?'

Well, obviously. Blake shrugged and smiled.

'Look at this, three of your customers gave me their phone numbers. Nice chaps. Friendly.'

'Not surprised, seeing someone like you in a place like this.'

'What do you mean?'

'Honestly? You've got to realise you're good looking...' Gorgeous, really, and not just handsome, but with so much of interest in that face. And the hands, of course... 'And they probably thought, since this is a gay bookshop, that you're on the market.'

'Why would they think that means I'm gay?'

'Really? Well, apart from the beret, and the brooch, and the fact that you were chatting to them in, as I said, a gay bookshop, there is the earring...'

'Oh, that? I saw someone else wearing one, I thought it looked nice...'

'It does, it does look nice, it...' Gethin broke off and busied himself with the kettle. Not just beautiful hands, this one, impossible not to warm to the man... 'More tea? Milk, two sugars, was it?'

'Lovely, thank you.'

Gethin brewed up, trying not to take it as significant that he'd remembered how Blake liked his tea.

'So, running out of sofas, Jeff said?'

'Yes, bit odd, really, perfectly nice people, tried to do my bit, washing up, folding up the bedding in the morning, keeping my eyes shut when they get home in the early hours... don't know what happened last time, anything you want, just ask, they said, so I asked, and it seemed to upset them...'

Gethin sighed. Did he want to know what exactly had sparked it off, or was he happier not knowing?'

'...all I wanted was some information, really, and when I saw they had a pet gerbil, I just thought it would be okay to ask if it was true and did the gerbil mind?'

Oh, Duw...!

'Oh, Christ, you didn't...?'

'Well, I...' Blake shrugged. 'Apparently they were looking after it for a niece for the weekend. But is it true?'

'Not to my knowledge,' Gethin said cautiously. 'Not something I would consider, anyway. It's certainly not in any of the literature I keep here...'

'Good. Not that I'm entitled to an opinion, I suppose...'

'Everyone's entitled to an opinion. Just need to be careful of offending, as you would anywhere. So that's why you're homeless?'

'Well, yes, I suppose... still. Nice cup of tea makes up for a lot.'

'Couldn't you, I don't know, a hostel, a hotel, something...? Jeff said you're working, got a job, right?'

'It's more of a volunteer position, really... still, the Lord will provide, as they say... Well, so far, anyway...'

'So, what do you do, exactly?'

'Hm? Oh, I help people. I love it, I really do, that collection of mine...' Blake nodded at the battered cardboard box on top of the piano. 'It's full of things from people I helped out one way or another. Not just this job, of course... but all of them.' Blake sighed. 'I must admit, it isn't what I expected when they told me they needed someone to talk to gay people... I thought it'd perfect...'

He took a mouthful of tea and waved his mug towards Gethin.

'That is, no offence, I thought they meant joyful and happy and carefree people, and, well, just the thing, coming up to Christmas... thought I'd be, you know, organising lifts home from parties, making sure there's enough beer and stuff...'

Gethin shook his head, incredulous, and not nearly as offended as he thought he should probably have been.

'Christ, where have you been? Used to mean that, but not any more. Not these days. Not for ages.'

'Ah. Yes, sort of gathered that. Still, doesn't mean I can't do my job. Just not sure what I need to know to do it well, so I'm trying to find out, but sometimes... well, sometimes I ask about gerbils and things and...'

'Look, as far as it goes, most people will be happy to answer your questions – I saw you today, in the shop, you sound genuine, and it is good when someone takes an interest... but not in public, perhaps, and just... not about their sex lives. I mean, you wouldn't, for instance, ask your mum about hers, would you?'

'Well, it's not really an issue, but... I suppose not... although... there's a shop full of books on the topic back there... can I browse?'

'In the flat, you can look at the books I've got there. Not that I mind, people do browse... there's too much in the shop, confuse you.'

'Okay, I... Oh, does this mean I can come up to your flat? I can stay?'

'Yes, I suppose so. For tonight, see what we can get sorted out for you tomorrow. Besides, never could resist a hard luck story...' Especially not from someone with such promising hands... 'Come on, then.'

'Really? My... thank you, Mr Roberts, thank you...'

'Bring your stuff. And call me Gethin.'