Chapter Six: The Phone Not Ringing

By the time Gethin heard footsteps on the stairs, his jeans were just about comfortable again. Not that he'd fully recovered from the shock of the kiss, or Jonathan's parting question, but he had some sort of control once more, and had decided that unless Jonathan mentioned the incident, he was not going to; it had been a joke, obviously. Not the kiss, the kiss hadn't been a joke, that had been a reaching out, a need for comfort, reassurance. The question as he'd been leaving, that hadn't been serious. Couldn't have been. Or it would have been clearer; as it was, no telling if it'd been a request or an offer.

The thought that it might possibly have been serious didn't bear thinking about; Jonathan was going back to Luke to sort things out, no future in it, anyway, the man had said, not his thing, fidelity. Free spirit, and all that.

Making sandwiches for lunch was a good thing to do, keep his hands busy, his back to the door. Normally he didn't like having his back to an open doorway, liked to know what was going on, who was there, but for the moment, it was best, it gave him time to think about how he was going to respond to his guest.

So. Sandwiches. Kettle on again. And he could no longer avoid turning and looking into the living room.

Empty.

He took a moment and switched on the radio, just for background, just so Jonathan didn't have to worry about the silence and was bringing through the food when he heard footsteps on the stairs.

'The only problem with asking someone else to pack for you,' Jonathan's voice said from the doorway. 'They never think it through.'

Gethin looked up. Jonathan actually looked great, salmon coloured button-down, black trousers. And bare feet, which was just impossibly unfair, it made him look like a hippie, an adventurer, a free spirit... accessible. He shoved his hands in his pockets, looked down, and flexed his toes, so obviously Gethin was meant to notice, to realise the bare feet were significant.

'No socks?' Gethin asked.

'No. Nor, more importantly, shoes.'

'That could be a problem.'

'Ha, yes, it could.'

'I'm an 8 ½ myself, being taller, you'll be more?'

'Elevens. So, I go home barefoot, or I go in my Docker Drag Specials... still, I suppose they won't notice too much with these. And at least I've got my wallet, I can get a taxi... Listen, I think it's going to be a couple of hours before I dare show my face at Luke's, is that okay?'

Gethin nodded in the direction of the tray.

'You don't think I made that lot just for me, do you?'

'As I said, perfect host... am I hallucinating, or did you mention beer at one point last night?'

'It's not a total blank, I see?'

'No, it's come back to me a bit... God, did I really stand under your window asking about...?'

'Yes, you did. And you informed me you were musical.'

'Well, I am, of course... except I can't remember that bit... did I sing? I didn't sing, did I? Oh, how many apologies do I owe you...?'

Gethin shook his head, trying not to grin.

'You had a whistle. Very musical, yes.' He opened the fridge and pulled out a couple of cans, found glasses. 'Lager do you?'

'Yes, fine. Thanks.' Johnathan ripped the tab and raised the can, drinking straight from it. 'Cheers. So. Tell me a bit more about Gethin. From Rhyl, got an aunty who lives the good life, runs a book shop – the bookshop, for that matter...?'

'Yes, that's about it, really.' Gethin poured the contents of his can into a glass. 'Lived in London a few years now, elsewhere, took over here five, six months ago. It's going well, making a living but not too much of one... this sort of place, it's a lot more than just selling books.'

'Yes. Yes, I can imagine... there's rescuing drunken drag queens, sourcing out of copyright books with dodgy titles...'

'That, too. But I enjoy it, really. Get to meet a lot of people, too.'

'Without really having to get to know any of them, unless you want to. My job can be a bit like that as well. Of course, when you're touring you band together, you're almost like family... you have to be, you know, make allowances, let things ride you wouldn't otherwise, because you've all got a job to do...'

They were no longer talking about Gethin, of course, but that was fine by him. Anything he could find out about Jonathan was welcome, even if he would be leaving soon to patch things up with a cheap little tart who didn't deserve him...

'…I wonder if that's been what this is all about?' Jonathan went on. 'Luke, I mean. Me being away on tour, him feeling abandoned and then, the family feel of theatre groups… so he's asserting himself, making me know he wants his share of my time, too…'

'I suppose,' Gethin said. 'He's old enough to understand though, you'd think.'

'Well, I'm sure you don't behave like this when Ivan's away.'

'No, because he's not my boyfriend, so what he does and with whom is his business. But even if, no, that's not how I do things.'

'What's he doing at the moment?'

'Ivan? No idea. I can ask my friend Peter who can ask his boyfriend who might know, if you're that interested, but…'

'No. Don't bother. It's just, he sounds perfect for you, it's hard to believe you two aren't...'

Gethin forbore from asking why Jonathan was so interested in Ivan, or in him and Ivan. Instead, he shook his head.

'Why not? Good job, killer looks, so I hear… performing arts isn't that far away from literature… mutual friends in common…'

'No sparks. Oh, I don't know, he's blond…'

A silence frosting the room.

'I see. Blond.'

'As in, the wrong sort of blonde. Get you some tea, wash that lager down?'

And the conversation moved on. Each time Jonathan asked about Gethin, as soon as was polite, Gethin turned the conversation back to Jonathan, until he knew where he'd been brought up, what music he liked, what books he really read, what he wanted from his career, its high points: 'Ice pick, Susannah York… hardly the shower scene from Psycho, but my finest hour so far…' its low points 'Stint as a kissogram when I couldn't turn anything else up, the women loved me, God, it was dire… after that, I decided I'd rather starve… What about you? Always been a bookseller?'

'No, not always. Just do what you can, don't you? Found my way into libraries and from there to this. Few stops along the way, you know. But this is like home now.'

'Not Wales?'

'No. Not Wales.'

Silence settled on the room, heightened by the tinny, banal chatter of the radio.

'Want some more tea?' Gethin offered, although it hadn't been long since the last one.

'Yes, please. Well… actually, no.' Jonathan sighed. 'What I want is an excuse not to leave.'

'You can stay as long as you like,' Gethin said, 'whether you drink my tea or not. But it's not going to get any easier, is it?'

'So let's have that tea, then, and I'll make tracks.'

Half an hour later, Gethin phoned a taxi and wrote down the number of the flat on a scrap of paper.

'If it doesn't work out and you need a refuge,' he said. 'Or if you just want to let me know it's okay.'

'Thank you. If it falls through with Luke, I might take you up on that.'

Presently, a beeping from outside heralded the arrival of the cab. Gethin picked up one of Jonathan's cases, led the way downstairs, listening to the clack of Jonathan's absurd little heels on the steps behind him.

He opened the door and took the case across to the cab, Jonathan following.

'Thank you again, Mr Roberts,' he said, extending a hand.

'Mr Blake, you're welcome,' Gethin said, savouring the handshake. 'Best of luck.'

The flat felt huge, suddenly, empty, as if Gethin was seeing it through new eyes. He cleared away, washed up, went to see if anything needed doing in the spare room or the bathroom, put the used towel to wash, back down to the living room, turning off the radio. No idea how long it would take Jonathan to get to Luke's, how long it would take to make up or fail to make up, no idea if Jonathan would ring, or when, or what to do if he did…

Well. No point moping. He had a Sunday routine just as he had a weekday routine, and he got on with the rest of it, finding it didn't fill the time as much as it usually did.

Evening, and the phone still wasn't ringing, didn't ring, looked as if it would never ring again. He debated calling the flat from the shop, to make sure the line was working, but then realised if he did, that might be the moment when Jonathan called, and so he didn't.

Instead he went down to the back office to file the attendance list from the 'First Quarter' meeting. While there, he went through the other groups' memberships, quickly, looking for a Luke or even a Jonathan, but no. He hadn't expected to find either of them, not really.

After that, he drew the curtains against the early dark, found his old notebook and resurrected his list of book titles, since his original typed list was now presumably forming entertainment for the local beat bobbies; he hadn't got it back from the copper last night. Typing and aligning the list neatly filled an hour or so, and he made a carbon, this time, so he wouldn't have it all to do again.

But he had finished, done, and there was still all the evening reaching out ahead of him to be filled... normally, he'd have a bath, but somehow, he couldn't quite face the thought yet of lying where Jonathan had, resting his arms where his guest's had been...

…if only Jonathan would call, just to say all was well, he could stop worrying. But then, it probably wouldn't go down so well would it? 'Glad we sorted that out, by the way, just want to ring the man I stayed with last night…'

So when the phone kept on not ringing, and not ringing, all evening, Gethin finally decided the only peace he would have would be if he accepted it was Jonathan's way of letting him know all was well.

And when it didn't ring at just before midnight, Gethin knew it wasn't Jonathan.