After breakfast, Jonathan found his Frank Spencer disguise and stood fidgeting at the door to the stairs down.

'Gethin, I should have said, about the digs. Sorry. But I didn't want you worrying, and I thought, if I said anything, it'd make it sound like a problem. Which it isn't. It's just digs, near the theatre, cheap, cheaper than travelling across and back every day, it's not that I don't want to be here... Plus, I thought, move stuff this week, during the day, we've got half a chance of a weekend together. Haven't we?'

Gethin sighed and nodded.

'Yes, yes, we have. You've nothing on Friday or Saturday?'

'For you, Geth-love, I'd love to have nothing on...' He winked. 'Be a bit chilly, though, we'll have to huddle together for warmth...'

'Sounds like a plan. Right, in that case, I'll get on to First Quarter, tell them they can have their meeting Saturday afternoon but not evenings this week... I can't shut the shop, but I can keep the nights free.'

'You'd do that for me? For us?'

Gethin nodded and found his head rocking back on his neck as Jonathan dragged him in for a kiss, not just a peck, but a full-on tongues-and groping-hands-delighted embrace.

'I can stay another half hour,' Jonathan said, his breath ragged, fumbling at Gethin's belt. 'I mean, you go downstairs at half eight, you don't actually open 'til nine, do you?'

'All right.'

'All right!'

Ten past nine, someone outside the shop, Gethin and Jonathan looking down from the window above, Gethin fastening his shirt, treading into his shoes.

'Not a regular,' Gethin said.'

'Are you sure?' Jonathan asked.

'Pretty sure.'

'Good, then I go out through the flat door, just a tenant, nothing to do with the flat, you go through the shop, worst commute in the world this morning, right...? You might get away with it!'

The idea of the conspiracy made Gethin laugh, and Jonathan kissed him, reaching for that dreadful coat.

'And,' he added, 'put your jacket on and go to the door taking it off... that'll convince him.'

'It says you open at nine,' the customer grumbled.

'It does indeed, and we usually are open a few minutes before... bad journey in today, sorry about that... how can I help you...?'

The buzz of the stolen half hour lifted Gethin's heart through the morning. In quiet moments, he caught up on the pre-opening checks he hadn't had time to do, looked through the meetings diary and decided he needed to make a proper spreadsheet on a wall calendar, so he could see at a glance what was happening, and tried to decide what he was going to say to the secretary of First Quarter. Sadly, there seemed to be no way to say, you can't have the room tonight, that didn't sound like, you can't have the room tonight...

So that's what he said, once Maeve had arrived and he had a few minutes with the phone.

'Very sorry, I know it's short notice, if you want to meet, you can have the room tomorrow afternoon, but the evenings aren't possible, I'm afraid.'

'Is this because we cancelled last week?'

'No.' Well, yes, it had reminded him that most people had some time to be with their boyfriends at weekends. 'It's just I have more evening commitments these days and can't be around to supervise. And my insurance only covers me for if a member of staff is on the premises. Sorry.'

'But we're not going to damage anything...!'

'No, I know, it's not that, really. But if after you left there was a brick through, or someone gave us a new paint job, insurance would use it as a loophole not to pay out. You can have Saturday afternoon, if you like.'

'Well...'

Gethin took a breath and launched into the only possible justification he'd been able to think up.

'Look, you know, and I know, your membership's started to dwindle. I think the group's a great idea, but let's face it, once everyone's tapped off with someone else, are they going to keep coming? Or if so, don't they have other things to do with their evenings? A move to an afternoon meeting could be just what you're looking for to get interest going again – especially from your very-much-under-twenty-five contingent, the ones whose mums don't like them being out in London after tea time...'

There was a moment of silence; Gethin could almost hear the secretary thinking.

'And we'd still get tea and biscuits?'

'Yes, you can have the room two until four, and you might even benefit from the shop being open, the staff can mention your group to any youngsters visiting the shop...'

'That's a good point... Of course, if we could have the room tonight it'd be so much easier...'

'Sorry. But if they're all over 18, you can go to Stacey's bar round the corner. They're sympathetic. I'll even put a notice in the shop window for you, if you like.'

'Let me see how I get on letting them know; I'll ring you back.'

There was no call, so at five minutes to five, Gethin wrote out a message saying the group was meeting at 2 pm the next day, tonight, try in the bar, and locked up, retreating to his flat determined to ignore any interruptions from outside.

Half six, and Jonathan was back, Gethin almost dragging him into the flat, causing him to laugh.

'Glad to see you, too, Geth, but...'

'No – It's just, I got that meeting cancelled, and I put a notice up, but guaranteed someone's going to start knocking on the door come ten to seven, so either we go out now, straight away, and stay out until after half nine, or we need to sit with the lights low in the front windows so nobody starts yelling up at us... as some persons have been known to do...'

'Little candle-lit supper in the flat, nice, easy evening, lights on low, perfect for dancing round the coffee table... sounds like the perfect night in if you ask me. I even brought in a frozen pizza, well, it was frozen half an hour ago...'

'There's salad in the fridge.'

'Really? How'd we manage that? Wonderful, I'll bang the oven on and we can start getting ready while it's heating up...'

'Um, getting ready...?'

'Did you forget? I thought it was a dress code, 'nothing on at the weekend', although I think maybe that doesn't include accessories, and possibly an apron while I'm cooking, got just the thing for you...'

Ten minutes later, slightly bewildered, Gethin was standing in the bedroom in just his socks while Jonathan swooped around him, discarding clothes as he went.

'You're doing that kite-thing again...'

'Ha! I have the perfect thing somewhere, don't say I packed it... no, here we are.'

He held out a dangling scrap of bright red fabric and winked.

'You're kidding!' Gethin exclaimed.

'No, let me show you... can I?'

Gethin laughed. 'Go on, then.'

He sat on the stool in front of the dressing table and watched Jonathan carefully fasten a scarlet silk bow tie round his neck. The result was startling, the red dramatic against Gethin's dark hair and pale skin.

'Gorgeous,' Jonathan said.

'Looks like I'm being savaged by a bloody butterfly!' Gethin said. 'Mind, I like butterflies. Here, you need something, too.'

He reached out and found a triple strand necklace of plastic beads in the sort of mint green that was popular for 1930s bathrooms.

'Your turn,' he said, getting up and pushing Jonathan down to sit on the bed so he could kneel behind him to fasten the beads around his neck.

The plastic strands nestled in amongst Jonathan's chest hair, looking easy and elegant in a casual sort of way, and Jonathan tilted his head one way and another, his reflection mirroring him, the dimness of the room behind throwing him into sharp focus. Gethin saw him, saw himself and Jonathan almost as strangers, a couple, dressed for going out, glamourous and smart, and somehow looking more naked than without the bow tie and beads.

'Well, will you just look at us?' Jonathan murmured, primping at his hair. 'Mr and Mrs 1958, all dressed up and nowhere to go... Right, oven should be hot enough for the pizza now.'

'And we'd better put the big lights out, just in case any First Quarterers show up.'

There was some echoing noise from downstairs, someone knocking, but not hammering, a couple of times, but nothing Gethin couldn't quite easily ignore, sitting opposite Jonathan at the little table and watching the flattering flicker of candlelight across the handsome, mobile features.

Feeding pizza slices to each other, drinking a young red that still went down well, the music on low, soft, slow tunes for dancing after ('Because, Jonathan, if we put any of your disco on, dressed like this, someone's going to put an eye out...') and the evening slid along until it was late enough not to worry about First Quarterers, to have a last, slow dance and then take it upstairs where the debate about who was going to be Top was solved by Jonathan lying on his back, Gethin astride him and looking down into his eyes as he slowly, deliberately lowered himself onto his erection, riding him in languid rhythm, watching the flow of sensations drift across his face, bending to kiss him, Jonathan pushing up, thrusting, taking over the pace, hurrying them on towards completion.

In a way, it felt as if their Friday night lovemaking set the tone for the rest of the weekend; trying to move slowly, to savour each second, to make the time spool out and last forever, while passion and need and sensation dragged them forward in a rush, so that, impossibly, it was Sunday evening, they were sitting, mostly clothed, on the foot of the bed holding hands and looking at Jonathan's suitcase and briefcase leaning against the wall.

Jonathan sighed, and leaned in to kiss Gethin's cheek.

'Tomorrow,' Gethin said. 'Must it be?'

'Don't think of it as me moving out, Gethin-love,' Jonathan said, his voice rough. 'I mean, really, this wasn't ever me moving in, you see that? This was you, being kind, sheltering me, letting me have your room and because I'm too tall for that bloody zedbed affair in the other room... and then the boyfriends thing happened, so it makes sense to go to bed together in the good bed. But I... I'm still going to be the boyfriend, right? And I'm not moving out.'

'Okay, you're not moving out, I'm still your boyfriend. Got it.'

'Well, that's settled then. And, and I can come and stay next weekend?'

'Of course you bloody can. Whenever you want.'

'It's just suddenly this silly little production's getting attention from some of the less sleazy agents, and the director's getting sniffy, and... Wednesday, I can come from early rehearsal, stop over, okay?'

'Okay, that'd be lovely, Wednesday.'

'It's late rehearsal Thursday, so I don't need to be at the theatre until two...'

'I'll ask Maeve to cover the morning, you can have a lie in and I'll just nip down, open up the shop, then come back and join you.'

'Sounds great.'

'And the weekend...?'

'Yes, the weekend. Thing is, don't know quite how I'm fixed for that yet. Bloody arse of a director. Still, never mind. We still have tonight. It's just a new routine, we'll get used to it. It will be all right. And I'll ring you, every night, after rehearsal. Say goodnight to you. It'll just be like I'm still here.'

'Except for the tidy bathroom and the big cold space in the bed.'

'Well. Let's see what we can do about that cold bed right now, shall we?'