In the flat, Gethin put lights on, gas fire, kettle on to boil and then ran up the second flight to the bedroom, where he pulled the skirt suit out and dropped it on the bed. His breathing was fast and sharp, whether from the stairs or from anxiety he didn't really want to know, but the sense of having to do this, and do it now, was growing in him.

Better get it out in the open, where both he and Jonathan could see it. Maybe it would help them see where they were going and, if that ended up being in different directions, better sooner than later.

But he really didn't want that to happen.

He left his shirt on, a green one Jonathan had admired a few weeks before, and which went well with the darker wool of the suit, and pulled on jacket and skirt, discarding his jeans, taking off shoes and socks. He'd managed to find a woven raffia hat in light green and a pair of flat shoes that almost fitted – they were an eight – and as long as he didn't have to walk in them... funny how the shoes made the whole thing seem complete...

He carried a chair in to the second bedroom and put the light on, angling the mirror so when he was sat in the chair he'd be seeing himself, and went to the door.

'Jonathan? If you want to come up...'

'On my way. Bringing the wine...'

Gethin had time to sit, to put the hat squarely on his head and fold his hands on his lap before he heard Jonathan on the landing below.

'Geth? Where are you?'

'Up here. Small bedroom.'

As yet he hadn't looked in the mirror – he'd mastered the art, recently, of not looking in the mirror until he knew he was ready, and took a breath in preparation.

And then, just as he heard the door creak loud as Jonathan pushed it open, he looked.

'Well, fuck me sideways and send for reinforcements!' Jonathan muttered. 'What the bloody hell's going on, Geth?'

'See in the mirror?' Gethin asked, his voice halt, trembling, but still steadier than he'd expected. 'The... the individual in the hat?'

Blurred and out of focus, Jonathan's reflection took a seat on the end of the zedbed, rubbing his hands together, eyes on Gethin's mirrored face.

'Yes, I see. What is it, Geth-love? What – who are you showing me?'

'Why it went wrong, that time I saw myself in your dress. All I could see was her. My mother. But, see... haven't seen her in fifteen years, thereabouts... bit of a shock...'

'I can imagine. And... all the things you must have said to each other, it all came rushing back...'

Gethin nodded, solemn, staring at his own eyes.

'And then... I haven't spoken to her since I left, not a word, in all that time...'

Jonathon got up and stood at Gethin's back, resting his hands on his shoulders and giving him a gentle, reassuring squeeze. He bent to bring his mouth close to Gethin's ear, spoke the words in his heart, even though they didn't really seem to fit, at first.

'God, she was a looker, your mum, wasn't she? Look at those eyes, burning with Welsh fire... must have been hard, looking into those eyes and seeing love there... uncompromising... I suppose sometimes you have to be hard to be safe, to protect the people you love... I see where you get your looks from, though, beautiful, gorgeous Gethin... Dark hair, like you? Finely built, delicate?'

Gethin nodded.

'Short, slim. Hair to her neck, just. Always waves, a set. Always black, never a hint of grey. When I was little, I used to think she was like a lovely picture of a woman, not real at all... Aunty Dilys was more approachable, I think. My Mam – Mum – she... on her own, see. Bringing me up. Never went hungry, mind. But it wasn't easy for her. She sort of got locked into a certain way of thinking and...'

'I know the sort. Strong because she had to be, and that can knock the softness out of you.'

'She gave up so much for me. Put up with so much, to bring me up... and I repaid her by turning out like this...'

'Now, you shouldn't say that about yourself...'

But Gethin was listening to someone else now, a voice louder than Jonathan's so loud, so insistent it burst out of him, the voice sharp and shrill, the accent a pronounced staccato, not a soft lilt.

'What did I ever do to deserve this? Brought you up proper, I did, Church and Chapel and the Good Lord knows you'll burn, burn in Hell, and after all I've done for you, keep you safe, and you turn out like this? Sinful, you are, sinful and damned and it's a judgement on me, that's what it is, shameful...'

Gethin fell silent, his dark eyes tragic and enormous in his face. His mouth fell open as he sucked in a breath, let it out slow and shaking.

'I couldn't keep on hearing it,' he said in low tones. 'Day after day and night on night, when I went out, when I came in... she couldn't cope, couldn't accept it. Me, she couldn't accept me. One minute I was her little boy, apple of her eye, the next I was this demon monster child, a viper she'd harboured in her bosom...'

'Of course, you weren't any different from how you were the day before she knew... and you think, well, it's my mother, she loves me, it's bound to be okay, right...?'

'Knew she wouldn't like it. Didn't think she'd tell me God hated me and would let me burn, though...' Gethin tried to smile. 'Prob'ly didn't help the way it came out...'

'Want to tell me?' Jonathan squeezed Gethin's shoulders gently. 'Had you known long yourself, or was it all still new and scary for you anyway?'

'I'd known for a little while... worked on the fair on the front at Rhyl. Normal to flirt with the girls, get them to stay on the rides, spend more money on the stalls... found I enjoyed flirting more with the boys... one or two flirted back, went from there, really. It was... that first summer, it was great, easy, holiday visitors, day trippers, weekenders... no ties, learning my way around...'

He broke off to sigh.

'Of course, it didn't last... winter, there's no-one. Place is dead, except for residents... but summer comes round again, eventually. Then one year, that year...' He paused again, turned to look up into Jonathan's eyes. 'Did you bring the wine, cariad? Think a glass would help with the next bit...'

'Of course. Won't be a minute.'

Really, Gethin just wanted a moment alone. Well, with his reflection.

Strange how calm he looked, when inside he was shaking and trembling so hard he felt he was on the point of a seizure, when everything was so visceral, when the turmoil swept around him, jumbling up his sense of self so he hardly knew what he was going to say next, whose words were going to fall out of his mouth...

'Here, Gethin-love.'

Jonathan was back with kind, wary eyes, and just a suggestion of a smile on his sympathetic mouth. He handed Gethin a glass of wine, pulled the edge of the folding bed forward so he could sit on it and still be close enough to reach out if Gethin needed him.

'What's the next bit, then? Guessing you didn't find a way to sit down and say, 'Mum, you might have noticed I don't bring girls home and it isn't because the place is never tidy...'...?'

Unable to help himself, Gethin smiled and sipped his wine. Jonathan's remark had broken some of the tension.

'Ah, the place was always tidy! Except my room, and she nagged me enough that I had to keep it reasonable or she'd have been in to clean it herself, and God only knows what she'd have said if she'd looked under the mattress...'

'Cleanliness being next to Godliness, and all that?'

Gethin nodded.

'Yes, that was her. No matter what else was going on, you were never too poor to buy soap, or too busy to use it. Everything scrubbed to within an inch of its life, including my neck, when I was a nipper... it mattered, I suppose, that she seemed to be as good as everyone else, even if they said she was no better than she ought to be...'

'Oh, is that how it was...?'

'I dunno. Never asked, never dared... don't remember my dad, anyway. But he might have just lit out, and the gossip would have been as bad if I'd had a father who left us as if I'd never had one at all. But I got the feeling he didn't stick around when Mum found out she was expecting me.'

'Christ, can't imagine what that's like, not knowing... must have been bloody hard, back then, whichever it was...'

'Yes. I'm not... I'm not saying it wasn't hard, that she didn't try, but... I said some things. When it came out.'

'When you came out.'

'We'd gone out to Llandudno, day trip, Aunty Dilys paid it for us, on the coach for the day. Bus was cheaper, but this made it more of a treat, like. Mam had baked scones, Aunty Dilys brought sandwiches. There was some parade or other, a circus, an end-of-the-pier show thing, a theatrical troop, I don't know now. We watched the parade, me in the middle between them. I'd be...seventeen, maybe. Discovered boys the year before, not legal, of course, but when did that stop anyone who was keen?'

He paused to take a gulp of wine.

'There were all sorts in the parade, obviously, old and young, couples... young men holding hands, open about being gay, enjoying being on show where it was safe... Mum didn't like it. 'Shouldn't be allowed,' she said, 'not in front of decent people!' Aunty Dilys tried to calm her down, saying it wasn't hurting anyone, and these theatrical types, it might not mean anything... and she sort of reached out and gave my arm a squeeze, where Mum couldn't see, and I knew Dilys knew, or suspected, but didn't care, didn't mind... and that might have... might have made me less cautious...'

Another gulp of wine. Jonathan took the empty glass off him and filled it up, handed it back in silence.

'But Mum was unstoppable. She started on about what would their mothers say if they knew, break any mother's heart it would, and Dilys tried to say any mother would still love her child, surely, no matter what they were, what they'd done... I knew she was trying to help, but it didn't, and then Mam answering, saying what were their mothers thinking, had to be their fault, shouldn't be allowed, letting them grow up to be nancy-boys, not teaching them right from wrong... and... and I sort of broke inside...' He stared at the mirror. 'What do you mean, Mum? Do you mean this is your fault, that I'm like this? Or is it still going to be my fault, it is, isn't it, always my fault? I'm a disappointment to you, nothing I do is ever right, and now this, but I can't help it, Mum, don't know if I would if I could, but this is me, I don't like girls, are you saying you did this to me?'

He shook his head and took a breath, hid behind the wineglass again.

'I forget exactly what. A lot of, how dare I talk to her like that, and what was I saying, anything for attention, was it? Dilys trying to calm her, calm me, saying now wasn't the place or the time and Mum saying, it would never be the time, or the place, for me to come out with such filth and she didn't think she could bear to look at me... I pulled away from Dilys, got myself home on the bus, packed a bag, thinking about those men in the parade, holding hands so open and free and brazen and I knew if I stayed it was always ever going to be furtive and dirty and Mum's eyes cold and hard, her arms folded across her chest to keep me out...'

'What did you do, love?'

'It was summer, I was working, knew I could ask my boss for a transfer to Prestatyn, along the road a bit, live cheap and save up a bit and then move on somewhere else for the winter... but before I could leave, Mam and Dilys got back. Bus was slower than the coach, see, even though they left later...Dilys put the kettle on, made us sit down opposite each other at the table, her back to the door so I couldn't run out there and then. 'You didn't mean it,' she said, 'either of you. It was the shock of it coming out like that. Now, if you've got something to tell your mother, Gethin, now is the time, and no need for shouting, right?' And she put a pot of tea down on the table, as if it was a referee.'

He sighed and tipped his head to one side, talking directly to the reflection of his mother in the mirror, going back all those long years to the day it had happened.

i'... I'm a homosexual, Mum. Gay. Don't like girls, it's not illegal any more, it's okay...'

'There is no way on God's good earth, young man, that this is ever going to be 'okay'...'

'It's just how I am. People are, these days. You just have to accept it... I did...'

'It's a sin, Gethin, don't you understand? A sin, and you'll burn in Hell for it! Your immortal soul in danger, and all for what? You can't do this, son...'

'You don't get to choose, Mum. You are how you are and... this is me. How I am.'

'Well, you just have to stop! I am not having a perverted, sinful creature like you under my roof!'

'I'm already packed.'

'You're too young to live alone. You're only seventeen.'

'You won't have me here...'

'No, I said I won't have a pervert here! On Sunday, we'll go to Chapel and we'll pray about this and...'

'No, we won't. You can't pray it out of me, you can't change me...' /i

Gethin shook his head.

'Aunty Dilys took me in. It was hard, getting to work, well, getting back after, mostly. It settled down a bit, Mam not accepting me, me not apologising for it. Moved back home after a few weeks, quiet-like. Just sort of went back to how we were before, only not talking about it. About anything much. Wasn't easy. Got through the summer somehow, swapped from the fair to one of the cafes when the season ended, meant I was home more normal hours, turned eighteen almost without noticing, Mum and I started talking again, but not in a nice way, you know? If I stayed out late, little snide remarks about where'd I been, no don't tell me, don't want to know, town's full of dirty old men, cheapening yourself, even though I might not have done anything but have a drink, go to the pictures... soon she she'd be in full flow, fire and brimstone, judgement on her, all that sort of thing... I don't say I was the perfect son, but I never – never went home drunk, or with a bloke, or stayed out all night, and I never shouted at her again, only ever that once, at Llandudno, and that was only to make her hear me...' He ducked his head down, knowing his voice had tears in it now. 'It was worse than I thought it would be, the sneaking around, feeling wrong and dirty when I hadn't before she knew. Soon as I could get a job away, I moved out, proper. Said goodbye, it flared up into one more row. Tried to say sorry, but the door was shut before I had chance.'

'And you've never spoken since?'

Gethin shook his head.

'That was the worst of it, when I looked in the mirror and saw... I just realised how much I missed her... Still, no more rowing and silences and having to explain to the neighbours that I was 'artistic', as she started calling me... she's better off without a bastard queer disappointing son, going to burn in Hell anyway, right?'

Jonathan's reflected eyes were unsure.

'I don't know about that. If she wanted you enough to keep you after you were born, surely she misses you?'

'I... well, that was before I was gay, wasn't it? I just... wish I could talk to her. Explain.'

'Well, go ahead.' Jonathan nodded towards the mirror. 'There she is. What do you want to say?'

'S... sorry. I want to say sorry, Mum. Not for being what I am, but for not being what you wanted... it's different, see? I... are you okay? You know I love you, right, but I can't... can't...'

He shook his head and turned away. Jonathan crouched down at his side, took his hand and spoke into the mirror.

'Mrs Roberts, you don't know me... but I've got to know your son a little, and I want you to know him like I do. He's kind, and generous, he's thoughtful. Got a temper on him, fights his corner when he has to, but never...he never sets out to hurt anyone. Which is rare in this scene, I can tell you, but... maybe you don't want to know about that. But you do want to know about Gethin, and... well, he's one of the bravest, strongest men I know, he's gentle, but never weak, he's a dynamo of courage and he's... he's full of fire and danger but so beautiful, a fierce and wonderful tiger of a son, the things he's faced... you'd be proud of him, you'd have to be. And if you can't love him as he is, well, I'm sorry; you're the loser there, not him. Because I love him, and if I have to, I'll love him enough for both of us. If he'll let me, after the mess I've made of things...'

Gethin laughed behind the prickle of tears and grabbed hold of Jonathan, pulling him in tight to a hug, shivering and shuddering against him. The hug turned into a cuddle, became a kiss, and Jonathan smiled and wiped a finger across Gethin's cheek.

'Gethin-love, that mascara of yours is making a run for it all the way down your face...'

'Not surprised, really. Help me take it off?'

'Love to. And why stop at the mascara? What about the hat and shoes and the skirt suit – which is terribly aging, darling...?'

'And you, still in your working clothes?'

'Radox bath for two...?'

'Sounds like the perfect way to end the evening.'

'I hate to mention it,' Jonathan said, once they were entwined together in a hot, foam and blue-tinted bath, more wine in their glasses, 'but... it was never about the dress, then?'

'No, never about the dress. I told you it wasn't about the dress! Just about... about the shock of seeing my mother looking back at me. You should see what else I've got in my wardrobe...'

'Really?'

Gethin smiled, felt his face flush.

'Not your size, I'm afraid. Show you later.'

'I'll look forward to that... Geth-love, I'm a mess,' Jonathan said. 'I know it, the world knows it. Even Luke knew it, although he didn't care, didn't see. And that helped me not see it either. Made me feel it didn't matter, I suppose, even if it was only because I didn't matter...'

'Of course you matter, Jonathan...'

'Geth, it sounds daft, but I didn't want to give the dressing-up up. I tried, I really did – but I wasn't over it... I discovered it wasn't just a phase, not for me, it's another bit of my personality...'

'You know what your problem is?'

'Yes, I'm selfish, loud, demanding...'

'Too much bloody personality, that's all. So there's Jonathan Blake, and Jonathan-in-a-Dress Blake, and they're both gorgeous...'

Gethin leaned forwards, making waves, not caring as long as he could reach to kiss Jonathan-naked-in-the-bath Blake.

'Look at you,' he said. 'Even naked in a bath, the brightness of you... like a kite, you are, even now. Perhaps you just need a hand on your kite string, sometimes. Not to control you, or hold you back, cariad.' Gethin kissed him again. 'But to set you free, help you soar.'

'Well, it works both ways; you have to remember I'm the kite at the end of your string, you know. When you're too bogged down by work, I'll fly, and take you with me, tell you all about the view, you'll be there too, flying beside me, head in the clouds, feet on the ground, the perfect partnership. Well?'

'Sounds perfect. We'll need to remember, when you're working you get fractious. Remind me you're stressed, we'll find a way for you to let off steam that doesn't involve us yelling at each other.'

'If you tell me when you've got your own stuff going on; I'm not used to you strong, silent types.'

'All right. My mother...' Gethin paused, realised he'd been about to say something about her that had nothing to do with burning in Hell and being a disappointment. It felt like a breakthrough 'My mother used to bake bread. When she'd fallen out with Mrs Prendergast from down the way about the dog barking.'

'Did she, did she really?'

'Always seemed calmer after it. You could try it, I suppose.'

'Yes, why not?' Jonathan grinned. 'Not tonight, though.'

'No, not tonight. By the way, what you said before... when you were talking to her...to my mother... you said you love me...'

'I did say that. Because it's true, I do love you, Gethin Roberts.'

'Just so you know – I love you too, Jonathan-Cariad-Blake.'

Jonathan grinned and leaned forward in turn to kiss Gethin's beautiful mouth, sloshing water outside the bath to puddle on the worn lino.

'Well, that's all right then,' he said.