The last evening in Porthcawl…

CHAPTER SIX

La Rochelle Brasserie was on a side street and specialised in fish dishes. There were a few other early diners already seated when Ianto and Jack were shown to a good table towards the back of the medium sized restaurant. Both ordered beers while they perused the menu which was full of interesting options. They discussed what they would eat, finding it difficult to make up their minds. In the end they both decided on melon and Parma ham for a starter. For the main courses, Jack opted for lobster and Ianto for grilled sea bass.

"It is so good to sit at a table with a table cloth and decent cutlery," said Ianto sipping his beer. "And to eat something that doesn't come out of a box. Takeaways are so boring after a while."

"I remember when the first proper Chinese restaurant opened in Cardiff. There was such a fuss about eating 'foreign muck'. Now curry is the national dish!" Jack shook his head. "You people."

"What was it like when you were growing up?"

"Everyone ate at home, too dangerous to be out. Food was blander, not so many spices for some reason. Don't how I survived without chillies. Loads of fish." They had been good meals, taken with his family and neighbours. Children had been encouraged to join in the conversation and there had been some lively debates between his parents who had not always seen eye to eye on how their community should act in the face of the alien menace. "What about you?" Jack asked.

"Mum was a lousy cook, still is, so we ate whatever was quick and easy. Mostly frozen meals we could stick in the microwave when we were hungry. I always craved the sort of family meals I read about in books. You know, the whole family sitting down to a home cooked meal and talking about their day. Never happened in our house."

"Is that why you like cooking now?" Jack watched him with interest. Ianto rarely opened up about his early family life. Jack knew it had been a happy one while Ianto's father was alive. His death had shattered the family for a while but he thought Ianto and his mother and sister got on reasonably well now.

"Yeah. I took evening classes when I was at university. And I learnt from everyone who could cook. Student fare is never very good but I enjoyed the challenge of making something a bit more tasty and a bit different on a budget. Got quite good at one-pot cooking."

"What's that?"

"Where you throw everything in and leave it to cook. I'd buy cheap meat and vegetables coming to the end of their shelf life, the stuff the supermarkets sell off at the end of the day, and make some tasty stuff." Ianto smiled, remembering long evenings when he and his mates camped out in his bed-sit and argued about politics and environmental issues. They had been very political then, some of the group had been real activists attending protests and one or two had been arrested. Ianto had not. He was a listener who was content to use his vote to express his views. His one brush with the law when he was fifteen had been enough to keep him on the straight and narrow ever since.

"Not much opportunity for cooking in the Hub," said Jack, taking a swig of the beer. "Though you can try a one pot thingy on me if you like."

Ianto laughed. "I may just do that."

Their starters arrived and they ordered some water. Neither man wanted wine; it would have made them too drowsy for the theatre. The melon was fresh and tangy against the saltiness of the ham and they ate with real enjoyment having skipped lunch. Ianto told Jack some more about his student days and his early months in London before he and Lisa had moved in together. Ianto had enjoyed those years and marvelled how carefree he had been then. Only after he had joined Torchwood One and suffered through the Battle of Canary Wharf had he withdrawn into himself. He realised how different he was now.

With the arrival of their main courses, talk ceased for a while as Jack battled with the lobster. He was actually pretty skilled but no matter how experienced, eating lobster is a messy business. Ianto looked on and was grateful he had stuck to sea bass which was simple to eat and very tasty. He finished before Jack which was unusual, the older man usually bolted his food and sat watching Ianto. This time, Ianto had the leisure to do the same and smiled at the mess Jack was making.

"That," said Jack, "was wonderful." He lay down the cutlery and grinned. "How was yours?"

"Excellent. Want dessert?" Ianto wondered why he asked; Jack always wanted dessert.

"Of course." He looked at his fingers and grimaced. "I'll just go and wash my hands. Won't be long."

Ianto stayed at the table and finished his beer. The restaurant was filling up with more diners. It was obviously a popular spot for locals and tourists alike. Most people were having fish but at the table next to theirs, which Ianto could see now Jack had moved, the couple were digging into the largest steaks Ianto had seen in a long time. It would have been enough to keep him going for a week! The plates were removed and the waiter left dessert menus. Ianto glanced at his and wondered what Jack would choose. He thought it would be either bread and butter pudding or banoffee pie, probably the later; the man had a thing about bananas. Ianto thought something lighter would suit him and settled on a lemon sorbet.

"That's better, all clean again." Jack was back and he snatched up the dessert menu and read it avidly. "Gosh, what shall I choose?" he muttered. "What are you having?"

"Sorbet."

"Okay. I think I shall have … banoffee pie." He looked up to see Ianto grinning. "What?"

"I thought that's what you'd pick. You're a sucker for anything sweet and gooey."

"Like you this morning."

"Jack, you promised." Ianto looked round hoping no one was near enough to overhear them. Public references to their sex life, however coded, embarrassed him utterly.

"I promised not to touch. Didn't say anything about talking." He grinned wolfishly taking a sip of his water.

"Please don't embarrass me, Jack." Ianto really hoped Jack would behave himself.

"You spoil all my fun," he complained as the waiter appeared to take their order.

To Ianto's relief, Jack behaved for the rest of the meal. The desserts were delicious and ended a very enjoyable meal. Neither man wanted coffee so they paid the bill and left the restaurant with time for a stroll along the front until they had to get to the Grand Pavilion for the performance. The evening was sunny and warm and a lot of people were also wandering around while others were sitting and admiring the view out over the harbour. The two men found an empty bench and sat down until it was time to go to the theatre.

-ooOoo-

The auditorium was about three quarters full and Jack and Ianto had good seats in the fourth row of the stalls. Jack sat back and watched the performance, comparing it to the first one he has seen all those years ago. This cast was good, the actors conveyed real feeling as well as the fun of the songs, but it didn't have the buzz of that very first night when everything was fresh and new. And it would be hard for anyone to match Ron Moody and Georgia Brown's performances in the leading roles. Also, back then, no one knew the songs nor where they would come in the performance. Now the audience was anticipating their arrival and humming along.

Jack thought fondly of Lionel Bart, a wonderful companion full of cockney wit and a love of life. He did so much with his life, had highs and lows, been rich and poor and through it all he had had a wicked sense of humour. He and Jack had met by chance at a party of a mutual friend with whom they had both served in the RAF, Jack during the Second World War and Lionel on National Service. They had hit it off immediately and had remained friends for many years, not seeing one another often but able to reconnect immediately when they did. Lionel never commented on Jack's continuing youthful looks, seeming to just accept it as part of the man. Jack missed him still.

"Isn't Fagin good," said Ianto during the interval. They were in the crowded bar, Ianto drinking red wine and Jack some water. The Welshman was humming and Jack recognised the song, Consider Yourself.

"Not bad."

"Talk about damned with faint praise." Ianto was shaking his head at Jack's lack of enthusiasm.

"Sorry. He is good, they all are. I just can't help remembering the first time I saw the show and … well, that was so special I guess nothing will live up to it."

"Was it really?" asked Ianto. "Tell me."

And Jack did. He told him about the crowd of friends Lionel Bart had gathered together and how they had filled the first rows of the stalls. The audience's amazed and rapturous reception of all the songs; the applause had stopped the show more than once. And then, of course, the twenty three curtain calls at the end. An amazing and unforgettable night which had been completed by a lavish and wild party that had gone on until the small hours when the rave reviews had been read.

Ianto listened and marvelled. Jack had to have been there to speak with such detail and passion. He wasn't name dropping, he really had attended the performance all those years ago. Back in their seats for the second half, Ianto took Jack's hand and held it until the end of the show, pleased to be with such a unique and wonderful man. To be loved by him. Jack may not have said it outright in those exact words but Ianto knew and was proud to have been chosen by him to share this part of his life.

The applause at the end of the performance was loud and long and the audience was reluctant to leave. Gradually the theatre emptied and the two men stood and wandered out into the night. There was a chill wind and they walked briskly along the road to the bungalow, discussing the performance and their day. It was almost the end of their weekend together and both were sad that the next day they would be catapulted back into the hustle and bustle of Cardiff and Torchwood. Alerts and Weevil sightings would take all their attention and in a very short time these precious days together would be just a memory.

Sitting on the couch with mugs of coffee, Jack wrapped his spare arm round Ianto and held him close. These were the moments he treasured, moments stolen from a hectic and dangerous life and therefore doubly precious. With Ianto's head on his shoulder and a CD playing softly in the background, Jack felt at peace. There had not been many such moments in his long life, a few with Estelle before war had separated them perhaps, but he could count all these times on the fingers of one hand. He pondered, as he sipped his drink, if that would be the pattern for the rest of his life. One or two moments experienced with someone special among years of loneliness. A depressing thought and one he banished to a corner of his mind. But he wanted to remember these special moments and resolved to start a record of them so that when he was alone again, in those barren years to come, he could relive them and possibly recapture the feelings and the peace.

Beside him, Ianto smiled as he thought back over the weekend. Such a wonderful two days doing very little when all was said and done but a weekend doing nothing with Jack was better than a month with anyone else. He'd only been seriously involved with two people – Lisa and Jack – in his life. Lisa had been energetic, even on holiday, and their time had been spent walking, playing sports and even on one terrifying occasion, rock climbing. She had tried to get him to join her in a bungee jump but there he had drawn the line. While she had fearlessly jumped off a bridge over the River Severn he had watched, dry mouthed in terror for her. She had hated doing nothing and he could not recall any moments of simple togetherness like the one he and Jack were sharing at that moment. Strange that the exuberant and outgoing Jack could be so quiet and companionable.

"What's that?" asked Ianto when they had been sitting for some time, coffee long since drunk. Jack was humming very softly.

"One of the songs. It kinda fits how I feel about you." He smiled when Ianto turned his head up to look at him. "I'd do anything, for you, Ianto, anything, for you mean everything to me," Jack sang quietly. Scrabbling round, Ianto knelt and kissed the other man. "What was that for?" asked Jack smiling. "Not that I'm complaining."

"For being you." Ianto moved and straddled Jack's lap, kissing him again. "I've got one too. As long as he needs me. Oh, yes, he does need me. In spite of what you see, I'm sure that he needs me," he sang.

"Too true." Jack put both hands round Ianto's face and kissed him gently then with increasing passion and need. When they finally broke apart, he said, "Let's take this into the bedroom."

-ooOoo-

In the early hours of the morning, Jack stood by the patio windows of the living room. He didn't want to disturb Ianto who was asleep after another long and energetic session of love making. The Welshman would have another crop of bruises to match the ones he already sported on his supple body. Jack smiled. It was hard to believe they had gone without sex for over a week. And it was so much better for not being in a rush, for being able to take their time and indulge themselves.

Outside, the sea was being whipped into white horses by a brisk offshore wind. It looked as if the warm weather was on the way out and they would have rain tomorrow. They had been so lucky. Not only had the sun shone every day but they had not been called back to Cardiff. Earlier, Jack had called the Hub and found Tosh on duty. After assuring Jack that was all well, Tosh had listened to Jack's account of the weekend; Ianto was not the only one who confided in her. Telling her of the things he and Ianto had done made it even more real than actually living through the events. And that had galvanised him into action.

Jack turned and sat down at the dining table where he had left a notebook. It lay open with jottings on the first few pages, details of times of his life he did not want to forget. He had started with this weekend, recording all the details while they were still fresh in his mind. Then he had gone back to others, notes on random events in whatever order he had dragged them from his memory. He had tried to remember dates but a year was as close as he could get in most cases and for some it had been only a decade. Writing down the events had jogged his memory and he now took up his pen and amended some already recorded and added others filling nearly a quarter of the small book. At five o'clock he felt tired again and went back to bed, curling up next to Ianto who was still sleeping heavily.

Coming next, their final day and it's back to the Hub …