Chapter Eleven: Book Fair

Thursday morning, Gethin wrote down the contact details for the book fair.

'Now, I'm pretty sure it'll be impossible to get hold of me,' he told Maeve. 'But if something comes up, that's where I'll be. I should be back for quarter to five. Thanks for doing this, it's a real help.'

'I'm glad to, can always use a few more hours, you know how it is.'

A Tube ride and a brisk walk brought him to what had once been a Methodist chapel and which was now serving whatever purpose it could to stave off dereliction; today, tomorrow, Saturday, it was a book fair, not even the sort of book fair he'd go to, usually, but his research into scurrilous book titles had led him into a strange new world of lovers of old, tattered books and old, tattered bookshops. This seemed the perfect place to unwind and forget about Ivan and Luke and all the hassle of recent days, maybe even find a title or two to make him smile.

The large hall was stuffed with trestle tables, books lined up with their spines showing in re-purposed trays, the sort bread vans use, and crates and boxes. Prices were written in permanent marker on corrugated card: Paperbacks, 20P, 6 for £1.00, hardbacks 75p, special displays of appealing coffee-table books, or rarities... he wandered around for ten minutes, just taking in the sights and sounds, the echo of the vendors and customers, the soft, warm smell of old paper mingling with the burn of dust.

Having got an idea of the layout, and knowing the sort of age of the books he was especially interested in, Gethin plunged in.

Dark blue covers with black and gold embossed lettering, Victorian and Edwardian scripting, the musty, speckled smell of old books with titles from the days of Empire, with others, less well-thought through, and it was these he selected, delighting in each rare title...

He found a travel book, "Kinki Tourists' Guide", and since it wasn't expensive, he bought it. A quick look inside told him that Kinki was a region of Kansai, in Japan, of course, but the potential ambiguity made him smile.

Diligent searching brought several more treasures to light. From the Children's Literature stand, he unearthed "Fun With Dick and Jane" and a hardback, still with its dust sleeve in almost-bright covers: "Biggles Takes it Rough..." while mouldering away in a box under the table of the Religious and Spiritual stall, amongst all the moth-eaten family bibles and old, torn hymn books, he found "Flashes From the Welsh Pulpit", and realised this was suddenly the start of a collection, a display, one he could use, perhaps, to make people linger outside the shop, maybe draw them in...

The thought began to take shape and form, and he stepped away from the table with his latest purchases, looking up just at the right moment to make eye-contact across the length of the hall with Jonathan Blake.

Jonathan smiled casually, lifted a hand, and began sauntering along the trestles in a way that might have been him heading over towards Gethin, might have been browsing for books, difficult to say for sure.

But what was certain was that he looked so much better without his Frank Spencer coat; today he was wearing a sheepskin-lined faded denim jacket and snug light jeans. Still had the beret, though, and he was definitely heading Gethin's way.

Might be polite to wander over and say hi.

Who was he kidding? He wanted to jump up and down and yell his name across the hall.

As it was, he couldn't contain his smile, but since Jonathan was grinning, actually grinning, not just that gorgeous, closed-lipped knowing smile, and this was almost better, it didn't seem to matter what his own face was doing.

'Hello, this is a coincidence,' Gethin said, trying to control the laugh, the tremor in his voice.

'Hello yourself. Well, I did tell you I collect books.'

'Some books, you said. Yes. I was hoping to find a copy of "Fairies On The Doorstep" for you.'

'You still remember that!' Jonathan smiled. 'Frankly, I can't imagine you finding much here to put on your shelves.'

'Oh, I dunno.' Gethin held up the Biggles book, and Jonathan laughed.

'And that's another coincidence – My agent's sent me a script to look over, "Hey, There, Fly Boy", roughly based on a Biggles-type hero... don't worry.' Jonathan winked. 'I'll be auditioning for the role of First Sidekick, not Biggles himself... I think I saw a café on the way in, how about a cup of tea?'

'I got your message,' Gethin said, over stewed tea and dried-out scones. 'The Shakespeare.'

'Ah, good. Sadly, the great bard didn't write a play called "Luke's Out Of My Hair And I Don't Mind A Bit", but I hope you get the idea...' Jonathan raised his cup in silent toast.

'What happened? If you don't mind...'

'It doesn't matter, I suppose... there was a bit of a scuffle after you left... Luke spent the night in the cells, I called up his parents – he's got an uncle who fancies himself as a top shot lawyer... in return for a substantial benefit to the Policeman's Ball, I suspect, the uncle sprang Luke on the understanding he be taken straight home to Mummy and not venture into the nasty side of the city to play with the rough boys ever again... and I owe you an apology, I think.' He paused to gather himself, continuing in a very different, singing voice. 'I used a Welsh accent when I rang... you might get the blame...'

Gethin shook his head.

'You don't sound a bit like me!'

'Does it matter? Luke's mother will just say someone with a Welsh accent wanting to let them know he needed rescue... I know, I'm a dreadful, terrible man...'

He sipped tea and played with scone crumbs, all his attention on the plate.

'When I met you,' he went on slowly, 'I'd not long got to know Luke. I so nearly backed away from him, but then... well, things happened. I had some bad news... I'm not saying Luke helped me through it – in fact, he was quite the opposite of helpful, but he did keep me busy until I got sorted out a little. Then work took me away and...'

He sighed, twisting the cup in its saucer.

'Left it too late, didn't I? Always do, so when I got back, you were being touted as Ivan's latest groupie and I was still entangled with Luke...' He looked up suddenly. 'But you were so nice, that night, so damn kind next day...'

'There isn't anyone,' Gethin said. 'Not Ivan, not anyone. I tried to make that plain last night.'

'Yes, you did... I think even Ivan got the message... Sorry to spoil your night.'

'Actually, Phyllis and her stories about aunty were the highlight of the evening.'

'Was she, was she really...?' Jonathan smiled, distracted. 'I wanted to call her Dilys, but it seemed too personal to you, so...'

'I loved how you said the name of the village.'

'Oh, what village might that be?'

Gethin smiled.

'The one in Anglesey, the one where by the time you've finished reading the road sign, you're out the other end of it. You did it perfectly. And you did it twice.'

'Oh, that one, yes. You know, I offered to buy that bloke a pint if he asked me which one, so I'd have to say it again... the second time is always more impressive.'

Gethin had to work his mouth hard to stop himself from smirking.

'So, Luke's gone... does that mean you're homeless?'

'Rent's paid up for another two weeks. I'm bound to be able to find someone to put me up.' He raised his eyebrow at the double-meaning. 'So to speak.'

The tea was cold, the scones inedible. Still Gethin sat, worried that to move would be to break the spell, that to do so would make this strange, wonderful man disappear again.

Gethin sighed, and Jonathan sighed, they both reached for their cups at the same moment, mirroring each other. Meant to mean you were in tune with someone, wasn't it? Well, if Jonathan didn't speak soon, he'd just have to say something...

'I suppose we'd better either get more tea or look at the books again,' Jonathan said. 'You never know, we might just turn up a previously-undiscovered work by Shakespeare. Possibly one called "I've Been Trying To Decide If The Reason You Haven't Asked Me Out Yet Is Because You're Waiting For Me To Ask You Out Or If It's Because You Don't Actually Fancy Me After All". But I don't think there's much hope, is there?'

'Oh, I dunno,' Gethin said. 'There's all kinds in there. There might even be one called "If I Thought That's Why You Were Hanging About I'd Already Have Asked You, So What Are You Doing Tonight, Then?" You never know.'

Jonathan laughed.

'No, you never do, do you?'