Gethin stared down the street long after Jonathan had turned the corner.

He'd gone.

Jonathan, he'd really gone. Left his keys.

And his dressing table, though. He'd said, 'I love you', that he didn't want to break up.

But he'd still gone.

Three weeks.

Three weeks, when the time between Thursday morning and Saturday night had felt like forever?

How the hell was he going to get through that, alone?

Hadn't split up, though. Still boyfriends, just... like he was working away.

Except... if your boyfriend's working away, you should be allowed to ring him, right?

Cold, in the doorway, the wind blowing.

Gethin shivered, shutting and locking the street door and going back up to the flat with reluctant feet. So very empty without Jonathan, with weeks ahead without Jonathan...

Compartmentalise, internalise, that was what he did, how he coped.

Well, how he claimed to cope.

Anyway, Jonathan would get back to his digs, unpack, find the dresses and the brooch... couldn't just leave it, could he? He'd want to ring, say thank you, at least...

Wouldn't he?

Except the phone didn't ring and finally Gethin gave up and went to bed, to lie staring through the darkness at the shape of the dressing table, holding Jonathan's pillow close, and hoping that as time passed he would feel better.

It hadn't happened by the time Maeve arrived on Monday, though.

'Gethin! What's happened?' she asked, staring at his sleep-deprived face.

'You know how you said Jonathan's like... like a kite?'

'Yes?'

'Dropped the string.' He shrugged, tried to smile. 'We've not split up, or anything, just... until the play's over. That's all. Feels a bit odd. But they start, Saturday. Not long really, three weeks.'

Maeve raised her eyebrows.

'Yeah, so, it's three weeks. I can do three weeks.'

'Of course you can. But without scaring the customers...?'

'Do I look that bad?'

'I'm going to make you a cup of tea,' she said. 'Try not to look at anyone until I come back.'

It made him smile, a little, and when Maeve came back, she nodded.

'That's a bit better. So what exactly...?'

'You know actors, superstitious. Because his other relationships failed when he was working up to a show, this way, we don't see each other, we can't split up, I suppose.'

'That's a bit extreme, isn't it?'

'What he wanted; seemed like the best way, at least we've got a chance. Only three weeks...'

'Yes, well. Keep reminding yourself. Only one thing,' she said. 'Wasn't he going to do the announcing at our book title thing?'

'Yes, he was...' Gethin shook his head, checked the calendar. 'Damn, it's the last night of the production, that Friday... we'll just have to muddle through, I suppose.'

And that just about summed it up, the first week; muddling through. Getting used to no phone calls, no visits. Using his Thursday morning off just to get away from the shop, go somewhere they hadn't been together. Coming back to be quietly cheerful in front of Maeve, going back up to the flat at the end of the working day, falling into the routine he'd had before Jonathan... Thursday night, a group in, Friday, a vast stretch of time, empty and heart-breaking. First Quarterers group on Saturday afternoon, he did his duty and mentioned the play's opening night, nodding towards the handbill he'd stuck on the noticeboard for Jonathan weeks before.

'Promises to be good,' he said. 'Get yourselves along one night.'

'Are you going?' someone asked.

'Yeah, you've got a thing going with Jonathan Blake, haven't you?'

'Yes,' he said, not sure which question he was answering. 'Not sure when I'll go yet. Bit difficult with all you lot in the shop every night...'

Sunday was the worst.

So used to having Jonathan there, he spent the day half-expecting him to turn up, and then remembering, realising with disappointment like gall that it wasn't going to happen, forgetting again, repeating the process...

And in and around and behind all this, there was a green skirt suit hanging in his wardrobe. It held no fear for him now, missing Jonathan so much that anything else was minor. He'd get it out, put it on, not caring any more what his reflection looked like, instead listening to the internal monologue, dealing with it, processing, moving into a fuller understanding.

It should have been a breakthrough; but now it was just something to do to stop him missing Jonathan quite so much...

Almost in the middle of the hiatus, ten days or so after Gethin had watched Jonathan walk away, a parcel arrived with his name on it. Recognising the handwriting, he tightened his grip on it, could hardly wait until he was alone in the shop to rip open the brown paper. Inside...

A copy of 'Twelfth Night', and tucked into the cover two tickets for Jonathan's play, dated for the following Wednesday, and a note: 'I know you don't have a group on Wednesdays, please come to the show, bring Maeve, I miss you. J'

'What do you reckon?' he asked her, showing her the tickets, if not the note. 'Want to come see a show with me next week?'

'Sounds like just the thing,' she said. 'Best seats in the house, too!'

'Yes, not sure I like that... bit visible, if you ask me.'

'Isn't that the point? He wants you there, he wants to know where to look for you.'

'Well... suppose so. Just I've never liked being front and centre.'

A solution presented itself when Peter turned up Friday, late morning; Gethin was with a customer and so had to half-listen in as Maeve expounded on how much she was looking forward to seeing Jonathan's play with Gethin and was Peter going?

By the time Gethin had sorted out the customer, run the book through the till and was free to say hello, Maeve and Peter seemed to have the workings of a plan sorted out.

'So, Gethin, Maeve thinks Gordon and I would love Jonathan's play and we're going to double date you two on Wednesday...'

'Oh, we are? I mean, we are...'

'And Maeve was saying you didn't like your seats...?'

'Well...'

'So, how about, if I see whether we can get two together on your row, or the one behind...'

'I suppose...'

'That's settled, then. I'll ring and let you know how we get on. So, I'd heard a story that something was rotten in the state of Denmark...?'

'Couldn't tell you... Ivan was from the Netherlands after all, wasn't he? What's Denmark got to do with it...?'

'I meant, Gethin, dear, things with you and the luscious Leading Man... or is that Leading Lady...?'

'Jonathan's doing the two roles on different nights,' Gethin said quietly to Maeve. 'Impresses the hell out of the critics.'

'Oh, I wonder which we'll get?' she said. 'Still, it'll be a nice surprise, I'm sure.'

'A surprise, certainly,' Gethin said.

The thought of seeing Jonathan again lifted Gethin's spirits over the weekend. It did occur to him that Jonathan was breaking his own rules – the play wouldn't be over until the Friday following the Wednesday show, after all – or perhaps it was near enough to the end of the run, in Jonathan's eyes, to be thinking about the time beyond...

It seemed unfair; as hard as it had been, Gethin hadn't been the one sending stuff through the post... if he'd known Jonathan would send him a parcel, that he'd see him before the end of the three-week break, it would have been so much easier to cope...

Although...

He'd sent that brooch, the dresses home with Jonathan. True, he hadn't known, when he'd put them in Jonathan's overnight bag, that they'd be agreeing not to see each other for a while. So had he broken the rules first? No, he was being daft, there hadn't been rules at that point.

Anyway.

Wednesday evening, Gethin and Maeve waited for Peter and Gordon at the station where he'd previously met Jonathan; it seemed wrong, somehow, to be there with someone else, even if it was Maeve, and waiting for someone else, even if it was an established couple...

'Gethin, dear!' Peter's cultured voice, air kisses all around, ignoring the looks of other travellers. 'I was able to get seats for the row behind you, slightly to the left , about as good as it gets... for a small production, it seems to have been doing well for itself, have you seen any of the reviews?'

'Managed to miss those,' Gethin said, nodding a greeting to Gordon in the background. 'Don't want to colour my expectations too much.'

'Well, it's gone down a storm, there's even talk of extending the run, taking it somewhere else...'

'Great,' Gethin said, worried it might mean longer without seeing Jonathan but trying not to mind if it did. 'As long as he's doing well, that's what matters.'

Maeve linked arms with him, 'Just for the look of things,' she said, and he led the way through the streets towards the theatre; they were in good time, but Gethin slowed their steps as he got near the street with Jonathan's digs, glancing along it, even though he knew all the actors would have been at the theatre for at least an hour already...

'Down there, one of the tall houses, that's where his digs are,' he told Maeve.

'You have missed him, haven't you?' she said softly. 'Looking forward to this?'

'Of course.' He smiled. 'Seen him rehearsing, not actually acting, though.'

Gethin felt almost furtive as he entered the theatre, had his and Maeve's tickets checked and waited to swap with Gordon and Peter. He made sure he was on the outer seat, furthest away from the centre, and settled back to watch the show.

One programme, two cast lists and a line to say that on even dates, the part of Fly Boy would be played by Pip someone, and Gloria by Jonathan Blake...

'Oh, wow!' Maeve said excitedly. 'It'll be real acting, then!'

'Yes... real acting...'

It was fair to say Gethin didn't follow the plot, the adventures of a flying ace and his chums after the war; he was more interested in following Jonathan in his role as Gloria, wearing a familiar charcoal geometric fifties dress, fake pearls, and a huge, glittery brooch in the shape of a tied bow.

Deliberately over-made up, in teetering heels to emphasise the difference in height between Gloria and the diminutive Fly Boy ace, hamming it up at every turn and seeming to stare into the audience rather more than was necessary, Jonathan was magnificent, every gesture elegant and flirty, every word beautifully enunciated, and Gethin found a stupid grin on his face that had nothing to do with the comedy. Jonathan was there, he was okay, word-prefect... no, just perfect...

It was in Act Two that it happened, towards the end. Thing seemed to be going well for the Fly Boy, misunderstanding with his 'girl' almost sorted out, and the scene was leading towards them kissing and making up...

Suddenly, in what seemed to be an unrehearsed move, Jonathan dropped the Gloria voice and held his hands up, backing away from the leading man.

'Now, hold on a minute,' he said in a deeper-than-usual, butcher-than-usual voice. 'Need to get something straight before we do any of that soppy stuff...'

'What?' Pip, as Fly Boy, demanded.

'Need to ask my boyfriend if kissing you counts as cheating...' Jonathan lifted a hand to cue someone off stage, and a spotlight swooped down...

...Duw! Jonathan'd only gone and made him part of the act...

The spot came to rest on the seats holding Gordon and Peter.

'Well, Gethin-love...' Jonathan's face fell and he stared, motioning the spot to circle. 'You're not my Gethin, either of you...'

He looked devastated and without thinking, Gethin got to his feet and took a breath.

'Here,' he shouted. 'I'm here! And no, it's not cheating if it's in the script. As long as neither of you are bloody enjoying it!'

'Well, I don't know about him, but I certainly wasn't going to...' Jonathan said, recovering quickly and primping his hair. 'Ladies and Gentleman, a big hand, and you'll need one, for a very good sport... Gethin Roberts, book shop proprietor extraordinaire...'

Applause, and Gethin sat down hastily, blushing now, glad the spot was off him.

'Well done, you!' Maeve said. 'Did you see his face when you weren't in your seat? Poor thing! Mind you, he looks happy enough now...'

On the stage, Fly Boy and Gloria air-kissed, and Jonathan stage whispered behind his hand to the audience in general and Gethin in particular: 'No. Didn't enjoy it.' It got a laugh and a round of applause, and Gethin went through the rest of the show with a grin on his face so wide his cheeks ached by the end of the show.

After the applause had died down, the cast had taken their curtain calls and left the stage, the house lights came up and people began to disperse. Being near the centre of the row, it was a few minutes before Gethin and Maeve could get out and regroup with Gordon and Peter.

'Look at you, star of the show!' Peter said. 'You might have warned us.'

'I'd no idea,' Gethin said. 'Good performance though, wasn't it?'

Peter and Gordon exchanged glances.

'You obviously don't go to many of these things,' Gordon said.

'Well, no... but it was still a good show... wasn't it?'

'It was smashing,' Maeve said firmly, glaring at Gordon. 'Gethin... there's a chap waving at you...'

'Is there? Where? Oh, right. That's Trevor, has digs in the same house as Jonathan...' He went across. 'Great show, compliments to the cast...'

'Our Leading Lady requests the honour and all that,' Trevor said. 'This way, come on.'

With a glance over his shoulders at the others, Gethin followed Trevor through several narrow corridors to a room with several mirrors and chairs, all occupied by actors in the throes of removing their make-up. From a corner, Jonathan waved.

'It's my Gethin! Hello, Gethin-love!'

Duw, everyone pausing to call hello, everyone looking... and, Heaven help him, Maeve, Gordon and Peter following. Distantly, he thought he heard Maeve complimenting the Leading Man, and then Jonathan, half his face clean, the other still smeary, grinning.

'Thank you for coming. But, fuck me! When you weren't in your seat...'

'You know me, never did like the limelight...'

'True, true.' Jonathan leaned an arm over the back of his chair, and the sweet, fond smile was back. 'Sight for sore eyes you are, Geth. And... thank you. I didn't get chance to say, things got...weird. The brooch, and the outfit.' He paused to indicate the dress. 'Very clever of you, just the thing. And... well, you know.'

Yes, Gethin nodded, he knew.

'It's okay, you know,' he said. 'Really.'

'You know, after tonight...' Jonathan cleared his throat. 'And there's darling Maeve, chatting up our Pip. Do him the world of good, an admirer. Not blessed in the height department, got this idea in his head women don't go for that. Think it's why he's an actor, he looks taller on the stage...'

There was a little silence while Jonathan pretended to be taking off more of the make-up, but really looking at Gethin's reflection in the mirror. Gethin smiled.

'Looks like we've been offered another run,' Jonathan said. 'Few days off and then – if it all goes well – little place in Islington for two weeks... it'll mean a change of digs...'

'Not all that far from my place,' Gethin said quickly. 'If you don't fancy that.'

'Gethin, love, that's really sweet of you...'

'No need to say now. Two more nights here, then?'

'Yes, I have one more go as Gloria... you know, if you could come back on Friday, we could do that little inset again...'

'I can't, cariad,' Gethin said quietly. 'It's the book title contest Friday. Bit of an evening happening.'

'The... Oh, fuck, and I said I'd compere it for you! I'm sorry; I thought it was the Saturday or...'

'Don't worry about it; Maeve and I will cope. Let you know if your book wins.'

'I'm free Saturday... if you're not busy... could I ring you?'

Yes, Duw, yes...!

'If you like, of course you can.'

Jonathan turned to smile at him again.

'Er... Gethin...?' Peter said from the far side of the room. 'Do you know the way back to the station?'

'Yes, sorry...' Gethin turned back to Jonathan with a shrug. 'Sorry, have to go. Need to get Maeve back home safe, of course.'

'Of course.' Jonathan reached out to shake hands with him. 'Like on the corner, remember?'

'I remember.'

'And thank you for coming. I'll call you. I really will.'

'I'll look forward to it.'

'Gethin!' Peter and Gordon chorused.

'Goodnight, Geth-love.'

'Jonathan-cariad, don't forget to call.'