Chapter Thirteen: Contest

Friday morning, Gethin brought the second hand books downstairs to the shop, intending to write out on small cards what they were really about, for display in the window.

Maeve, arriving to cover Gethin's break, and curious, picked one up and turned it in her hands.

'What's this? "Under Two Queens"?' she read aloud. 'Isn't this the sort of thing that you're – we're fighting against?'

Gethin smiled at how Maeve included herself.

'That's the point, see? People make assumptions. I thought, a window display, you can't judge a book by its cover, sort of thing, might make people think twice. Or at least smile.'

'Oh, yes...' Maeve nodded. 'But it's not going to be much of a display with six books, is it?'

'These aren't exactly ten-a-penny, you know,' he said. 'Four hours trawling through shelves and boxes of books yesterday, this is what we came up with. True, lots of second hand bookshops around, not enough time to visit them...'

'Well, why not make it into a contest?' she said. 'Tell all your groups, put a sign on the board, bring in your dodgy books, best ones get included in the display, I don't know, offer a prize, swap an old book for a new one?'

'All right,' Gethin nodded, warming to the idea. 'Award for the group that brings in the weirdest title. Special prize if anyone finds a copy of "Fairies on the Doorstep", that's the one got me thinking about it in the first place.'

'Well, you're on your own time now, so stop thinking about it and go and get your break.'

Not in the flat ten minutes, his tea brewed, his sandwich made, and the phone rang.

'It's Maeve, in the shop. Your friend Peter's here for you...'

'I'll come down.'

He brought his tea and sandwich with him, beckoning Peter through to the back room.

'Kettle's there, if you want a brew,' he said. 'Sorry to eat my lunch at you...'

'Well, I was going to suggest the café round the corner...'

'Mmm. Because toasted cheese sandwiches are much more appealing than the cheese sandwiches you make at home. All right, why not?'

'Well, for you, that's very decisive! Better hurry then, before you change your mind!'

'How's Gordon?' Gethin asked when they were facing hot bacon baps and builder's tea.

'He's fine. As a matter of fact, I've told him he's spending far too much time in the hospital for such a healthy individual, so he's skipping his visiting tonight and we're going to dinner instead.' Peter took an elegant bite of his lunch. 'That was your cue to ask how Ivan is, by the way...'

Gethin took a big mouthful of his bacon bap before he answered.

'Sorry. Suppose I ought to be interested... How is Ivan?'

'Complaining you haven't been to see him. Would it hurt? Really? I think he just wants to apologise...'

Gethin sighed.

'Thing is, I said, that was it, we were done. He got into the fight after I left. So why would I go? How could I? It'd only give him ideas. Besides, I'm seeing someone.'

'Oh, are you, now?' Peter sat a little straighter, eyes brightly curious. 'Do tell?'

Gethin grinned, but shook his head.

'Early days, don't want to jinx it, you know.'

'Can I guess? I bet I could guess...'

'I'm sure you could, rather you didn't...'

'Gethin, the thing is, you were so sweet about Gordon, and I do like him, that's the thing, I really do... he's been Ivan's only visitor...'

'Says a lot about Ivan, doesn't it?'

'I don't want Gordon and me to fall out over him, that's all.'

'Well, go with Gordon to visit, if you're worried. Stake your claim in front of him, let Gordon see you don't mind him being nice, just... not too nice...' Gethin took a mouthful of strong, dark-orange coloured tea. 'Ask Gordon who else Ivan is friends with. Or I can probably get you the number of the mother of the lad he was fighting with, I'm sure she'd have something to say to him...'

Peter winced.

'Ouch! All right, all right, I'll back off... just making sure you're sure.'

'I was always sure, Peter. Besides, new boyfriend, right?'

'What's he like, then? Since you won't tell me who he is, at least tell me what the attraction is...?'

'Everything,' Gethin said.

'Can you be more specific, do you think?'

'If I am, you'll start guessing.' Gethin drained his mug heroically, finished his food. 'I need to be getting back, sorry.'

'I drafted out a couple of cards for you, about the competition,' Maeve said. 'See what you think.'

'Very nice,' he said. 'Exciting prizes. Hmm. Have to give that some thought.'

'Can I enter? Only my mum's got a book, "Radiation Cookery", something like that, I think. I know it's not naughty, but...'

'But it illustrates the point perfectly. Will she want it back, your mum?'

'I'll ask. Didn't your friend say he collects cook books?'

'You remembered that?'

'He's very memorable.'

She gave a little sigh, causing Gethin to smile.

'He is that. So, I'll need to sort out a closing date, choose from the titles they find, then have everyone round with their books for a bit of a party. Announce winners. Give them about a month, what do you think?'

'Sounds great!'

'I'll mention it at the meeting tonight, in fact.'

So when the First Quarter Support Group arrived for their meeting, he asked the secretary for a few moments first, explained the concept, held up a couple of the books as examples.

'You need to find a book, register the title with me or my assistant in the shop, then come along to the prize party with it, winners to be announced there, prizes to be announced nearer the day. Winning books will be used in the window display, more details on the notice board. Thank you.' He nodded to the secretary. 'See you at locking up time.'

He could have stayed for the meeting, for the company, but he wasn't under twenty-five, and he didn't feel the need for support, and the only company he wanted was also not under twenty-five.

Still. He was a whole day closer to Saturday night.

At around quarter to nine, the phone rang in the hall. Not expecting anyone, still, he hoped, and hurried to answer it.

'Hello?'

And the longed-for voice, anxious, stressed.

'Gethin, is that you? Gethin, I don't know what to do...'

'Jonathan? Jonathan, are you all right?'

It sounded as though he was upset. And as if he'd been drinking.

'Yes, yes, fine, it's just... oh, God...'

'Worrying about you, now. What is it, what's happened?'

'I was out. Came back, there's a note under the door, Luke's parents, they're coming back tomorrow...'

'Okay, breathe, now.' Well, it was lovely to hear his voice, horrible to hear the panic... 'What's the problem?'

'The problem? The problem is I've got all my stuff here, I've got about fifteen hours to go from live-in ex-lover, sorry, to flatmate and the place is full of all my... my working gear! Can you imagine how that's going to go down with Mummy? Can you? God, what am I going to do, Gethin?'

'How about make yourself a cup of tea and calm down a bit? Or... better idea – pack up your costumes and stuff and get yourself into a taxi and over here; I'll make you a cup of tea when you get here. How's that sound?'

'Would you? Would you really?'

Gethin bit back a sigh. Work tomorrow, was going to be a late night by the sound of things, he'd be shattered...

'Yes, of course. Got a second bedroom you can leave everything in, not a problem. Just don't get so worked up about it, we can talk it over when you get here, if you want.'

'Your place, yes. I'll get a taxi... shall I ring when I'm on the way?'

'Good idea,' Gethin said.

It was what? Six, seven miles, depending which bit of Clapham Jonathan was in. Traffic not as bad this time of night, but Friday night, could take a while to get a car. And then, half an hour, maybe, at least. Plus, Jonathan would have to pack his... work gear, costumes, whatever. Bags and jewellery. So he wouldn't be here for at least forty minutes.

No point putting the kettle on yet.

And what would he want to do, go back again once he'd dropped everything off?

Stay the night?

Oh, God, stay where? Guest room, sofa?

Or with Gethin?

Rushing it a bit.

Only, why would it be rushing it? Known him for months, off and on, and, anyway, over Christmas, rushed things then, anyway. Well, one-night-stands, it's what you do.

Better tidy up in the bedroom, make the bed, change the sheets.

By the time he'd done that, and made sure there was space in the wardrobe in the guest room, and made up the folding bed in there, just in case, it was time for him to go and sort out the First Quarter, send them on their way, and while he was doing their washing up, he realised he'd been unconsciously waiting, straining to hear if the phone was about to ring, worried he wouldn't be able to hear it, so he abandoned the washing up and went back to his flat.

Ten minutes later, when the phone finally did ring, he jumped.

'Jonathan?'

'Taxi is pulling up outside now. Twenty minutes or so, I think. Ciao!'

Ciao?

'Um... see you soon.'

Twenty minutes later, the kettle was on, the cups waiting, and Gethin staring out of the window into the street, waiting for any sign of Jonathan. Presently, a taxi drew up, and by the time Gethin got downstairs and opened the door, was pulling away, leaving Jonathan and several suitcases and assorted bags on the pavement.

'Gethin, thank you, you're a life-saver...'

'Come on, let's take you up.'

It was only when he saw Jonathan's smirk that he realised what he said could be taken two ways.

'Get you in. Oh, to the flat, I mean. Settled. Can I carry something for you?'

It took two trips, and Jonathan insisted on carrying his old, battered briefcase.

'Security blanket,' he said. 'My life's in here, passport, address book, diary, reviews... everything.'

'I'll make you that tea,' Gethin said, pausing on the first floor landing and setting down the bags; he was happy to help, but Jonathan could carry his own cases up the next flight of stairs. 'You know where the guest room is. Feel free to use the wardrobe if you need to hang the creases out of anything.'

When Jonathan hadn't appeared after the tea had been made long enough to start to cool, Gethin took it up.

'Tea's going cold,' he said from the doorway.

'Thanks.' Jonathan took the mug from him and drank. 'Mmm, yes. Don't suppose you've got any more hangers, have you? I never thought to bring any.'

Every surface of the room now held clothes. Dresses were hanging in the wardrobe, lying on the folding bed like invisible drunks. Bags and wigs on the chair, on top of the dresses on the bed, shoes lined up on the base of the wardrobe. There were elaborate costumes, obviously for pantomime dames, and extravagant gowns, fit to make Danny La Rue look dowdy.

But there were others, too, less dressy, more everyday, and Gethin found himself wondering just how much drag work Jonathan actually did...

Jonathan's question brought him down to the moment.

'Hangers. Um... Let me have a look.'

Gethin left his door open as he went to his own wardrobe to rummage for hangers, glad of the moment to focus on something other than Jonathan's clothes, half-hoping Jonathan would follow and distract him further...

But no.

He found half a dozen hangers, doubling up his own shirts to free up a few more.

'Here,' he said, handing them over.

Jonathan's mouth smiled, but his eyes were serious.

'Have I freaked you out with all this?'

'No. Well, maybe a little. And I don't know why, it doesn't matter. I mean...'

'I know what you mean.' Jonathan picked up a black cross bodice dress with yellow flowers and gave it a shake before easing it onto a hanger and hooking it onto the rail in the wardrobe. 'I'm a bit much, sometimes.'

'Sorry, I... it's not, you're not..., you're just...Jonathan...' Gethin grabbed a hanger, carefully inserted it into the open neck of a teal evening gown, hoping that helping would show what he couldn't find words for, that it was all right if these weren't just work clothes. 'Bet this colour looks great on you.'

Jonathan barked a laugh and took the gown from him.

'Yes, one of my favourites. The skirt has a lovely swish when I'm dancing... was thinking of wearing it tomorrow? For our date? God, are we still going to have a date? I never thought, you seemed so okay about things...'

'Of course we're having a bloody date,' Gethin muttered.

'Maybe we should have this conversation downstairs. Away from the evidence, as it were.'

'All right.'

Back in the warmth of the sitting room, more tea, sitting on the sofa, Jonathan's collection of clothes seemed a world away, and Gethin would have given anything not to have bring the subject up again, but just to pull Jonathan against him and cuddle him in, try that kiss again, now he wasn't being watched by random group secretaries, now there was time. But he kept thinking of the words Luke had hurled like missiles, so many of his insults focussed on Jonathan's drag act... Gethin had no wish to wake up that hurt, to bring painful memories to Jonathan's rich brown eyes.

He was sitting very still, nursing a fresh cup of tea, his face open, smiling slightly, but there was a sort of tension to his stillness, not as if he was relaxed, but as if he was poised in the moment before flight, before being pulled in all directions at once.

'First time you kissed me,' Gethin said abruptly, fracturing the silence, hoping to get it right, make it right. 'First time, on the stairs, you were wearing a dress then. Sorry, I'm being silly, it's just... I'd react the same if you'd turned up with three suitcases full of donkey jackets, but damn it, that's not a working wardrobe, that's a bloody fashion show...'

Jonathan smiled, really smiled, and Gethin took his hand, entwining their fingers.

'...and so you're going to be better dressed than me, you're taller than me, better looking than me...'

'No, I'm not...'

'...you can even say Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch better than I can. I'm hopelessly outclassed before we start. But it doesn't matter, as it's you. And I don't care what you wear, when you wear it, whatever you feel comfortable in. Honest. It was just... damn, if this is the stuff you don't want Luke's mother to see, how many other clothes have you got?'

'I was thinking,' Jonathan said, and his eyes softened, began to smile again. 'Upstairs, how I could explain, these are for panto, I have at least four for the drag act, the others... for my acting roles... but... and yes, there are a few acting roles where I need to cross-dress, not even drag – but... not that many, really. But it wouldn't have been honest. And whatever else, Gethin, I want to be honest with you about this.'

'There's just so much of it,' Gethin said. 'So maybe I was a bit taken aback, at first. If it makes you happy, wear a dress. Or a skirt. Or nothing, I don't care. If you want to go out dancing in that posh blue-green frock, I'll dance with you. Help you out of it after, as well. All right?'

'God, you're amazing,' Jonathan said.

'Well, you're not so bad yourself,' Gethin told him.