Chapter Ten: Aftermath

Left to himself, Gethin would have preferred to hide for a few days, but the following morning found him opening the shop next morning as usual, even though he really wasn't looking forward to; left to himself he would have preferred to hide.

That wasn't possible, of course, had to get on with routine, open up, business as usual, and there would be the back room groups to service, too, so he'd better take a breath and just get on with it.

There was always the outside chance that Ivan would say nothing to Gordon, that Jonathan would have been able to quieten, or distract Luke from spreading the tale all through the community like a bad rash... and then, really, what happened? There'd been a scene, a small, very small, incident, and all that had really happened was Luke had done some drunken shouting and Gethin had told Ivan to get lost, and there was nothing there he needed hide from, surely?

And it seemed to be the case, for the morning passed without incident, without comments from any of the customers, and he began to hope that the previous evening's fallout had remained comparatively private. After all, he wasn't under any illusion that he mattered, or was important in any way. Just, running the bookshop, he was visible, public, a focus, perhaps. In the spotlight.

When Maeve came in at half eleven, he asked if she could do a full day Thursday, there was a book fair he wanted to go to, it wasn't skiving off, and she agreed.

'It's got nothing to do with last night, honest,' he added, and then realised, stupid, if he hadn't said that, it would have been okay, but now she was looking to him for an explanation of exactly what it had to do with last night...

He sighed. Perhaps he knew, deep down, that he needed to confide in someone.

'Put the "Back in 10" sign up,' he said, 'shoot the lock, I'll get the kettle on...'

'Wow,' she said when he'd finished. 'So you lot get blokes like that, too? Think they're God's gift, can't see what you can't see in them...? Pity he's not straight, I'd bring him down a peg or two... I mean, it's the 80s, for God's sake...'

'It's not just the trying to take over, or the showing me up. I fight my own battles, always have, always will, I know if you react to a little... to someone like Luke, you're never shut of it. Best to ignore it, really. Anyway, Ivan. Turns out to be bigoted as the rest, judgemental sort. Can't tell his saints apart either.'

'Pity it wasn't St Andrew's Day. You could have worn a kilt then really worried him. I reckon it'd suit you, a kilt.'

'There's a thought. Kilts, the acceptable face of transvestism. Though there's a few Scots you wouldn't want to say that to.'

'I can do a few more extra hours, as well as Thursday, if you don't want to be on your own in the shop,' Maven offered, once she had stopped laughing. 'If you're expecting trouble...'

'No, expecting embarrassment more than anything. It won't kill me, though.'

Oddly enough, he felt better after talking to Maeve. Maybe because she was outside the community, it was easier to open up. Or maybe she was just a good listener.

'Right, then. Better get the shop open again, coming up on 12 o'clock...'

'I can do that for you, you take your break,' Maeve said. 'If anyone asks for you...?'

'Not in. Unless it's someone called Peter, I suppose.'

Gethin's break passed uneventfully, however, and he returned to the counter a little easier in his mind for the busy hour.

'I had someone ask about the meetings you have here,' Maeve said. 'I told them to look on the board near the leaflets for information.'

He nodded and thanked her, but it was an unwelcome reminder, because of course there was a meeting tonight.

And, of course, it would have to be the one Peter attended with Gordon...

The shop getting busy, Maeve stayed until the rush had finished, so the rest of the afternoon went fast, perhaps too fast, Gethin following his routine, lock up at five, go through the till, tidy away, up to his flat until it was time to prep the back room for the group, trying not to wonder and worry about Ivan having given the wrong story to Gordon and he passing it to Peter, so the thought of facing Gordon, Ivan's friend, became increasingly worrying as the time of the meeting approached...

Except when he opened the door for them all to come in, Peter was alone and Gethin, nodded a silent greeting as his friend caught his eye. Peter gave him a small, tight smile in return.

Gethin retreated to a corner with his arms folded across his chest to watch proceedings without himself being too visible. Under cover of everyone shedding their coats and taking their seats Peter made his way round to Gethin's corner of the room.

'Evening, Gethin. You're looking well, considering.'

'Evening. No Gordon tonight?'

'No, and there's a reason for that... oh, don't worry, we're fine... can't say the same for a mutual friend though, or should that be a mutual former friend...?'

'Ah.'

'Really, Gethin Roberts, why is it every conversation I have with you is like pulling teeth!'

'Your meeting's about to start, we can't exactly get into this right now, can we?'

'Later, then.'

Later arrived a lot sooner than Gethin was hoping, and too soon he was saying goodnight to everyone, taking the attendance sheet for filing.

'Gethin?' the secretary said. 'Don't like to ask, but... what happened last night?'

'I dunno,' Gethin said. 'You tell me.'

Peter inserted himself between them.

'Adam, you get off, you'll miss your bus... I'll help Gethin with the clearing up.'

'Thank you, maybe,' Gethin said, the door fastened, the two of them in the kitchen at the sink, washing and drying.

'It never fails to surprise me,' Peter said. 'How a nice, quiet boy like you manages to find the time to get into trouble...'

'What trouble?' Gethin asked, but Peter's eyes were kind. 'What is it now?'

'None of my business, lovely, but I've been hearing about fighting and arrests...'

'What? No, nothing like that, just a row in a restaurant and...'

'Oh, dear... you really don't know, do you...?' Peter put down his tea towel, shaking his head. 'Come on, leave that and sit down. You can tell me your version first, then I'll tell you the rest... were you really not there for it...?'

'I don't see why I should tell you anything,' Gethin said, taking a chair and hunching a shoulder defensively, even though there was a part of him knew it was better this came out with Peter than anyone else. 'No-one did any fighting. No arrests.'

'And no ambulances either?'

'What? No?' Gethin swallowed, frightened, suddenly, the fear clawing at him. 'Is Jonathan all right?'

Peter nodded slowly.

'So that's how it is... I did wonder... Yes, Jonathan Blake is fine. That is, he wasn't the one – one of the ones – hauled off in either a meat or a paddy wagon.'

Gethin exhaled, stupidly relieved.

'Look, Peter, it isn't how it is, there isn't anything with Jonathan. I just... you said once, he makes an impression...'

'Oh, he does that, all right!'

'Who was hurt?'

'A few random strangers, amongst others... what happened, Gethin? Your side of things, I know you won't colour it to make yourself look good.'

'Started out... I dunno, St David's Day, Ivan wanted to talk about things. You were right, he thought there was going to be more than a friendship and there just... isn't anything, now. Can't be, I don't think. So we had it out over supper, I went to get drinks... didn't say, Jonathan was at the bar, did his comedy act earlier, and we spoke, just, hello, you know the sort of thing... Luke saw and came over, got upset, Ivan thought I needed help, told him I didn't, I wasn't with him, I grabbed my coat and walked out. Half expected to be followed, to be honest with you, glad I wasn't... came home and shut the door. Sorry if Ivan's feelings got hurt, he wouldn't listen, and it's not just that, he's got this... this twisted vision of me that I'm some pretty boy wants looking after, let him be the man and...'

'To take up the story, as I heard it,' Peter said. 'And I can see where you're coming from with that, really, I can... Ivan... well, after you left, Luke said something, and Ivan defended your honour, whatever that means, and there were words exchanged... someone threw a punch, and somebody else caught it, and when the dust settled, Luke was arrested, and Ivan taken to the local accident and emergency...'

'Oh, God... '

'...under police escort. He's broken his hand.'

'On Luke's face?'

'Ha, there's a thought... no, I think he missed and hit a pillar or a wall... anyway, Gordon went to visit him this afternoon, the police had taken statements and retreated, he said, probably don't want to get involved just yet, so poor Ivan, he won't be playing that fiddle of his for a while.'

'Oh. That's not good. With that big tour coming up and all.'

'Hmm. Between you and me, there wasn't a tour.'

'What?'

'Well, there is, but he isn't being considered for it. He wanted to make you think about how much you'd miss him... then he was going to say he'd declined, so he could be near you.'

Gethin dropped his head in his hands with a groan.

'Don't worry, I think he's got the idea now.'

'What will he do if he can't play?'

'Oh, he'll be fine. He's not short of money, you know, he can afford to go wherever he wants to recuperate... will you be going to visit? Gordon's gone tonight as well, just to he isn't alone.'

'How can I?' Gethin said with a shrug. 'He's bound to get the wrong idea. Don't like hospitals, though.'

'I'd go with you, if it would help?'

'Meetings every night until Saturday, though.'

'What about an afternoon? Get that girl of yours to fill in for you?'

'Let me think about it. I'll let you know.'

And he did, he really did think about it, that night, during work next morning, over his lunch, but however he approached the subject, he couldn't imagine any way he could visit Ivan without getting the fellow's hopes up again, and that wasn't fair to either of them.

'Quite busy today,' Maeve said when Gethin returned from his break. 'Those new magazines are popular, and the romance paperbacks are going well, sold a few of those for you. Oh, and that chap was in that brought you that parcel the other day... wandered all around the shop like a kite that you've dropped the string of, you know, all over the place, a bit lost... I even asked if I could help, but he said no, and waited until there was nobody else in before he came to the counter... he left something for you...'

Jonathan.

'How long ago?'

Please, just now, surely he only left a minute ago, please, God, catch him up if I leave now...

'Not long after you went for lunch... Sorry, he didn't ask if you were around or anything, just gave me this for you...'

'Never mind, Maeve.' He took the packet she held out for him. 'Thank you.'

This time, he took note of the numbering system: more Shakespeare – "Much Ado About Nothing" preceding "The Tempest". It spoke for itself, really, so he was surprised that a bookmark slid out when he riffled the pages. It held just one word:

'Sorry.'

Which at least gave him something to think about through the afternoon, after Maeve had left.

And he didn't mind nearly as much, thinking about Jonathan Blake, as he minded thinking about Ivan.