Chapter Two: Ivan the Musical

As ever, the New Year brought a fresh rash of activist groups, social clubs, associations, all needing somewhere to meet, all wanting the back room. Of course, Gethin agreed, knowing most of the groups would fizzle out before Easter, become incorporated, amalgamated, subsumed, devoured by other associations, other activities. Gethin joined none, but was present at all, to open up and close down and wash the cups after.

'Want a hand with that?' a known voice said as he was clearing away after one evening's meeting had wound up.

'Peter?' Gethin found he was, actually, delighted to hear the voice; in spite of 'still friends', they hadn't managed to cross each other's paths since the disastrous date before Christmas. 'How are you?'

'Well, thank you. Rubbing along with Gordon. You know, from the pub.'

'Glad it's working out for you.'

'Really?' Peter asked, bringing cups across to the sink. 'Because I felt awful, leaving you like that...'

Gethin shook his head, busy with washing up liquid and hot water.

'No, it's fine.'

'It was a bit... we weren't good enough friends for it not to matter, but we knew each other too well for it not to feel weird.'

'Don't worry about it. Nice to see you again, anyway.'

'At least I know you haven't been moping over the New Year... weren't you just the proverbial good time that was had by all? So I heard...'

Gethin smiled into the washing-up.

'Did more of the having, actually. Not that it matters. Anyway.'

'Anyway.'

They stood in companionable silence, Gethin washing and Peter drying the mugs.

'I saw Jonathan the other day.' Peter broke the silence.

'Who?' Gethin asked, keeping up the old pretence, and Peter sighed in an exaggerated fashion.

'Beret, coat, vibrant scarf... he's been touring. I expect that's why you've not seen him...'

'Or because I've not been looking for him.'

'Of course not. Sorry I spoke!' Peter finished the last of the mugs, dropped the damp tea towel on the sink. 'Just as well, maybe. He's still hanging on to that little trollop from Clapham.' He stressed the first syllable with an arched eyebrow. 'But I'm sure it won't last much longer, fidelity is just not his style...'

A sideways glance to see if any of this mattered. Gethin kept his eyes on his hands, emptying the bowl, rinsing the sink, even though he really wanted to ask if Peter had meant it was the trollop wasn't into fidelity, or his boyfriend who might or might not be a bit like Frank Spencer after Cinderella's Fairy Godmother had finished with her magic wand...

'Well, when you get yourself sorted out with a young man – or a mature one, Gethin love – let me know, and we can double date, some time. Be fun, okay?'

'Yes, okay. Maybe. Perhaps.'

Peter looked at him with a grin and a raised eyebrow.

'Always so enthusiastic!'

'Sorry. It's just with work, and all the meetings... I don't get time for more than the odd night out here and there. Might be a while before I find someone like that.'

'Well, you never will unless you go looking... or is that what all this back room business is about, then?' Peter gestured round the room. 'All these meetings, get to know the talent before every gets off their faces at the pub, right? Find out what really matters to them... or what they think really matters, what they want to be seen to think matters...'

Gethin laughed, shaking his head.

'Thanks for the help, Peter. There's another one tomorrow night, and the night after, if you're not too busy with Gordon... though, he's welcome too.'

'Well, now,' Peter said, smirking. 'Yes, okay. Maybe. Perhaps!'

Another night, another meeting. Peter, bringing Gordon with him, Gordon not quite believing it was okay for him to be there, to talk to Gethin, but happy enough to stay and help with the clearing up. Finally relaxing enough to say, 'You know, I have this friend, he'd be just your type, I'm sure, musical, nice hands... his name is Ivan, he's in town next week, I can give him a call, bring him to a meeting, if you like?'

Gethin hesitated for a fraction of a moment, and Peter gave Gordon a gentle dig in the ribs and winked.

'Wait for it,' he said in a stage whisper. 'Yes, okay. Possibly, maybe...'

Gethin grinned, shaking his head and deciding it would be easier just to give in.

'That would be nice,' he said. 'Mind, I get busy in the shop, you know. Can't promise to show him the sights, anything like that... but bring him along, he'll be welcome.'

'Oh, he knows London,' Gordon said. 'Just he's not here that often. Peter's met him.'

'Yes, I've met him,' Peter confirmed. 'And I'm sure you two will get on like a house on fire. If you give him a chance, that is.'

And Ivan was indeed musical (he played violin in an orchestra), and nice. He was tall, lean, and – unfortunately – blond, but the wrong blond, that pale, icy shade that wasn't a bit like the colour of honey, and he was all Slavic cheekbones and just a hint of an accent. He came with Peter and Gordon to one meeting, and turned up in the shop the following morning, uninvited, unexpected, and waited for Gethin to hand over to his break cover, insisting on taking him for lunch, and then next time for a drink, an early dinner, fitted in between shop closing for the day and opening for the evening. Talkative when Gethin was quiet, attentive and engaged when Gethin could be drawn to express his opinions, Ivan was an interesting companion, and he said so to Peter after Ivan had left on the next leg of his UK concert tour a few weeks later.

'But no sparks?' Peter asked carefully.

'I wasn't looking for sparks,' Gethin said with a shrug. 'And if that's what Ivan wanted, he never said.'

'Are you pining?' Peter asked.

'You get to the point, don't you? No. Like I say, Ivan... good company, no fire there...'

'Oh, but I didn't mean for Ivan... I thought, perhaps for someone you don't know even if it was him, beige coat, beret, scarf...?'

'No. Just busy.'

'Perhaps it's just as well – he's still hanging around with Clapham the common.'

'Anyway, Ivan,' Gethin said. 'He was all right to talk to, though. He'll be welcome again. How's Gordon?'

And the subject had turned, but too late, because now all Gethin could think about was shaggy, honey blond hair and rich, brown, world-weary eyes...

January passed, the little spike of extra business caused by people thinking about Valentine's Day meaning Gethin had even less time than usual, even as he wondered at the relevance, the appropriateness of all this romance stuff for many of his customers... still, he'd sourced some cards aimed at gay couples, they were surprisingly – worryingly popular – and the 'romance' shelves were particularly denuded of their cheap, slashy-slushy fiction. The day itself passed, and Gethin cleared away all the tat with something like relief.

That was the same week that saw the cancellation of two of the groups which had started up in the New Year, and the First Quarter Support Group (strictly under 25s) needing to reorganise their meeting from Friday to Saturday, and wanting to bring it forward from an 8 pm start to 7 pm; it was a nuisance as he tried to keep Saturdays free for if he wanted to go out, but it was a one-off, he was told, and, yes, they'd take responsibility for letting their members know, of course...

...which didn't seem to have happened, since just as he was getting ready to go out on Friday instead when there was a knock down below at the shop – people arriving for the meeting, they not having been told...

In the finish, exasperated, he wrote a note and stuck it inside the window with the new date and time on his way out, resolving to have Words with the group secretary tomorrow...

He had a good night though, home before it got so late as to be early, taxi for once, could have pulled, didn't really fancy the hassle of it and anyway, his heart not really in it, somehow, too many frenetic people, too many disappointed Valentine hopes now seeking desperate solace the weekend after, and he didn't really want to be somebody's better-than-nothing, not when they would only have been his Plan B anyway...

Saturday in the shop staggered by. Gethin was tired, he knew he'd been out too late last night with work today, but just for once he hadn't wanted to be tied to the demands of the clock... and he paid for it with bleary eyes and no appetite for breakfast, but then, the customers, mostly, weren't in a much better state than he was and finally he was able to shut up for the day and retreat to his flat, only to remember he had to open up again in a while for First Quarter's rearranged meeting...

He managed to find an hour after the shop closed to drink coffee, eat toast, and recover a little before opening up downstairs for the First Quarter secretary (apologetic and belligerent at the same time until he remembered no, actually, they didn't pay anything for the room, use of the kettle and the cups was free, and Gethin's time, too, was given freely...

'Well, at least we'll be out of your hair by nine,' he said. 'And the rest of the night's your own.'

'Glad to hear it,' Gethin muttered. 'Let me know when you're done, I'll be down to lock up. And can you sort your own washing up tonight, please?'

'You're not staying tonight? But you always stay.'

'Not tonight, no.'

Of course, he couldn't settle. Wondering if they were behaving themselves, if they'd be messing around with the stock, reading the books instead of buying them, putting them back on the wrong shelves. Wondering because, though none were over twenty five, there were a few under twenty one, and that was always worrying. Wondering if it was going to get rowdy, silly, if they'd stay later than they should...

He started up from a doze when he heard a knocking at his door. Nine fifteen, the meeting finished, the washing up done, after a fashion, cups left draining, not dried or anything, but it was better than he'd expected, really.

'Okay, then,' he said. 'See you Friday. Did you leave a copy of your attendance list? Good. Goodnight, then.'

And he shut the door and retreated back to his flat, glad to be done with everything except himself for the day and with the peace of Sunday stretching like a balm ahead of him.