Chapter Thirty-Five Zig
The next week passed like a dream. Si was working days, of course, but Zig found ways to occupy himself. He picked up a few extra shifts at the Prince of Wales, as one of the barmaids was off sick, and spent some time in the library or wandering around town. There was some wicked street art around.
Evenings—when Zig wasn’t working—were spent together in the flat, watching old Doctor Who episodes, playing two-player games, or getting frisky on the sofa.
Zig had never been much for cosy evenings in, before.
Turned out he simply hadn’t had the right bloke to share them with.
Who needed to go out when being with Si was enough? More than enough.
More than he deserved. Si had even cut Zig a key to the flat. He’d presented it to him Monday night, on a keychain with a Tardis fob. Zig had felt like he’d won the bloody lottery.
Things weren’t totally perfect. One of the nights Zig was working, Si had gone round to his mum and dad’s, and Zig had been shitting bricks all night that he’d come home and find out Si’s mum had convinced him to break up.
In the end, though, Si had said, “I told ’em we’re together.
It could’ve gone worse.” Then he’d smiled and kissed him.
Zig could tell Si was worried about his friendship with Adam, who hadn’t yet made that call he’d promised.
Still, it was early days. Zig also knew he needed to increase his hours at the pub or get another job, despite Si insisting it didn’t matter that he wasn’t bringing in much money.
He wanted to pay his way. So, he kept an eye on job adverts, but this time of year, it was all short-term gigs in shops and restaurants over the holiday season.
And a lot of it was evening work. Call him selfish, but he wasn’t prepared to sacrifice his time with Si for a few quid more in his pocket. He’d only just got him.
London, Dad, and Trent seemed a world away.
During one of his jaunts around town, Zig saw a poster for an upcoming Yuletide Fayre at the weekend. Si wasn’t working—he had to do some Saturdays, but Sundays were always free as the locksmith’s shop was closed—and so, after a morning spent in bed, they headed into town.
There were stalls all along the high street selling seasonal decorations with a pagan flair. People had dressed up for the event too: there was a higher-than-usual proportion of cloaks, weird headgear, and face paint.
Zig frowned. “Think we’re a bit underdressed.” In both senses of the word—as per usual, he was shivering in his black jeans and leather jacket. Still, it gave him an excuse to keep Si’s warm, solid form close.
He had a feeling Si might be planning to buy him a winter coat for Christmas. Zig hoped not. He’d probably be hurt if Zig kept accidentally leaving it at home so he’d have a reason to snuggle.
“These things are come-as-you-want,” Si said. “Not that you wouldn’t look good dressed up, mind.”
“Reckon I’d suit a cloak?” Zig asked, seeing a particularly swish one in green wool swoop on by.
Si laughed. “You can make anything look good. If I put on a cloak, I’d look like Father bloody Christmas.”
“No way. Santa’s much cooler little brother, maybe.” Zig grinned wickedly. “If I’m good, will you let me sit on your lap tonight and whisper what I want in your ear?”
The few square inches of Si’s face that were bare of beard turned a seasonal red. “Maybe,” he muttered. “But not if being good means you keep on getting me hot and bothered while we’re out in public.”
He walked on briskly. Zig followed, laughing.
There were fire jugglers performing outside St. John’s Church, and further on, a band playing folk music.
Zig watched them for a mo. Then, with a start, recognised the musicians he’d seen up the tor.
Instead of a pom-pom hat, the bearded guitarist was wearing a sort of crown made of holly, with antlers sticking up from it.
And the woman in the shapeless orange coat was transformed: in a flowing, form-fitting dress topped with a woollen cloak and a crown of ivy leaves and flowers, she looked like a medieval dryad.
Next to them, a man in rough clothes of earthen colours used a short, double-ended stick to beat on what looked like a large tambourine without any bells.
Zig nudged Si. “Is that a bodhrán?”
“Yeah, that’s right. How’d you know that?”
“Saw them up on the tor. Hey, we should definitely go up there for the sunrise on solstice day. They’re gonna be there for the celebrations.”
Si smiled fondly. “On the twenty-first? Yeah, we can do that. Anything you want.”
Zig’s heart sang in time to the music as they ambled through the crowd.
As they reached Market Place, Zig tensed.
A couple of uniformed coppers were standing on the corner—the first Zig had seen in Glastonbury.
He told himself furiously that they didn’t know who he was, or what he’d done, and it was all in the past anyway.
They wouldn’t take a blind bit of notice of him walking down the street with his boyfriend.
Then the bloke glanced their way and recognition showed in his face. Zig froze, but Si was striding forward with a grin.
“All right, mate? Haven’t seen you in a while.” He clapped the man on the shoulder.
“Been working county lines the last few months. How are you doing? Broken into any good houses lately?” The copper laughed.
Si laughed too.
Zig looked from one to the other, trying not to show his nerves. At least the young woman officer seemed as baffled as he was.
“Rob, this is Zig,” Si was saying. “He’s from London.”
“Good to meet you.” The copper held out a black-gloved hand.
Zig shook it disbelievingly. “A copper called Rob? That’s like calling a cat ‘Mouse.’”
Rob groaned. “And I’ve never heard that one before. Hope you’ve been keeping our lad here on the straight and narrow.”
“Uh . . .” It was painfully obvious the bloke didn’t know the first thing about Zig.
“Rob here nearly arrested me,” Si said with a grin. “Caught me bang to rights, breaking into a semidetached in broad daylight. And that, by the way, is why all my work shirts have LOCKSMITH on the back of ’em in large, friendly letters.”
Rob nudged his colleague. “Thing is, he was wearing one at the time. And the neighbour still called us in.”
“Well, like she said,” Si added, and they chorused together, “‘Anyone can buy a T-shirt!’”
They all cracked up, even Zig, although it felt a bit surreal. He’d learned from an early age that the filth were the enemy. It didn’t sit right, sharing a joke with them. Better get used to it, he told himself.
“Staying here long?” Rob the Copper asked.
Zig glanced at Si. “Hope so.”
Si sent him a tender look, and the female copper cooed, Aw, bless at them.
Then they went their separate ways and Zig could relax, thank God.
Si leaned in close. “He’s a decent bloke, Rob is. Not one of them racist bastards you hear about. Saw him at Pride this year with rainbow face paint.”
“There’s a Glastonbury Pride?”
“Course there is. We had a brunch this year, with a blessing by a priest of some gay Roman god.”
“There’s gay gods?”
“Blimey, where you been? Course there are. All over the place. Romans, Greeks—especially the Greeks—Egyptians, Hindus, probably a shedload I don’t know about and all.”
“Huh. I need to get back to the library.” Zig huffed a laugh. “All them old British classics I’ve read, they weren’t big on diversity.”
Si grinned. “We gotta broaden your horizons, then.”
Zig reckoned that was happening anyhow, simply by being here.
Funny how he’d always thought London was as broad as it could get, but somehow, Glastonbury was making him think about stuff like he never had before.
Like, London might contain multitudes, but it was easy enough to spend a whole life in one small corner.
Here, they didn’t have the space to separate everything out.
It was all mixed in together, King Arthur legends rubbing up against some gay Roman god. Zig liked it.
Zig kept an eye out for Kai, thinking they might have come to the Fayre.
He didn’t see them, but there were a couple of other rough sleepers tucked discreetly around a corner.
One of the men called out, “Merry Yuletide!” as they passed, and raised a steaming takeaway cup to them.
Zig grinned and crouched down. “Same to you, mate. What are you drinking? Smells good.”
“Mulled wine, from the lovely lady on the stall over there. Go buy some, it’ll warm your cockles.”
“Thanks for the tip. You have a good day, mate.” Zig passed him a fiver, then rose and returned to where Si was standing watching a bloke in medieval gear doing tricks while riding a unicycle. “You up for a mulled wine?”
“Course I am.” Si slung an arm around Zig’s waist and squeezed him.
“Wait here,” Zig said, extricating himself with regret. “I’ll grab us a couple.”
The mulled wine stall was next to one selling German Christmas cookies. Zig stared at the selection, which included Lebkuchen, Spekulatius, and Zimtsterne, and opted for the least pronounceable for the hell of it. “A couple of . . . paffeffernusses, please?”
“Pfeffernuesse,” the young girl corrected him with a smile as she served them.
“Feffernyooser,” Zig repeated dutifully, and turned to go.
Only to find himself looking straight into the eyes of Si’s mate Adam. He swallowed.
“Quick word?” Adam’s face was unreadable.
Zig pasted on a smile. “Course.” He was glad he hadn’t got the wine first, so he still had one hand free. Then again, hot beverages could be a useful makeshift defensive weapon . . .
Get a grip. He’s not gonna deck you in the middle of a family crowd.
Probably.
He followed Adam to the edge of the crowd and couldn’t help noticing they’d moved farther away from Si and out of his sightline.
Pushing down his nerves, Zig decided to get the first shot in. “I’m not messing Si around, all right? And I’m not gonna hurt him. I love him.”
Adam’s eyes narrowed. “Right, cos no one’s ever hurt the one they love.”
“Hurting Si’s the last thing I want.” Zig put every ounce of the sincerity he felt into his voice.
Was that a softening in Adam’s face? He sighed. “It’s not a question of you wanting to. But you and me both know it’s gonna happen. Like it did last time. Because of who you are.”
“And who am I, then?”
“You’re a chancer. You think the rules don’t apply to you.”
And here it came. “Thinking of any rules in particular?”
“Since you ask, yeah. The ones relating to property ownership, for a start. Come on, are you seriously gonna deny you were one of the bastards who did my dad’s site over?”
Part of Zig, the side of him that always came out when he was with Trent, or Dad, or anyone he wanted to impress, wanted to say, Oi, that was six years ago. Let it go, already, can’t ya?
He didn’t like that side of himself very much, so he took a breath before he spoke, and let the honesty come out.
“All right, so I was a bit of a shit when I was a teenager. But for what it’s worth, I didn’t know about the raid on your dad’s until afterwards.
Swear it. On Si’s life, and you know that’s an oath I wouldn’t take in vain. ”
“Do I?” Adam countered, but it sounded like he was going through the motions. He sighed again. “Swear to me you’re not involved in anything illegal anymore.”
“Hand to heart.” Zig smiled wryly, holding his bag of pfeffernuesse to his chest. “Learned me lesson, didn’t I?”
“Did you?”
“God’s truth.” He meant it too, and maybe that came across, as the tension in Adam’s frame relaxed.
“Guess I’ll see you around, then.” Adam turned and walked away.
Zig let out a ragged breath and went back to the mulled wine stall, needing a drink more than ever.
Juggling his purchases in hands that, okay, might have been a little shaky, he returned to Si, who flashed him a fond smile.
“Bit of a queue, was there? Shame. You missed him standing on his head on that thing.”
Zig shot the unicyclist a frankly disbelieving look. “How does that even work? Never mind. Here, have a feffernoose.”
The cookies he’d bought, which were round and covered in an all-over dusting of icing sugar, turned out to be sweet and spicy, with a tart orange flavour, and went well with the mulled wine.
The food and alcohol doing their calming work, Zig glanced over at Si, and huffed a laugh, his breath steaming in the cold air. “You’ve got icing sugar in your beard.”
Si laughed too. “Can’t take me anywhere, can you?”
Zig wanted to take him everywhere. “Come here.” He gently dusted the white specks away from around Si’s lips, and then, because he could, dropped a kiss on them.
There was a soft Awww from a girl standing next to them. Smiling, Zig took Si’s arm and they turned to walk on—only to find themselves faced with Adam, now joined by his bloke, Corin.
Si breathed in audibly.
Nobody spoke. Zig could feel the tension in Si’s body; Corin’s face was twisted in discomfort. Adam looked confused. Zig gave a mental eye roll, guessing they were pretending that little heart-to-heart hadn’t happened. “All right, you two?”
It broke the spell. “Yeah, we’re good,” Adam said, still staring at them oddly. “Uh, you?”
“Never better,” Zig said with a tight smile. “No Sasha tonight?”
“She’s still working. Didn’t want to close the studio early.”
“Nice of her to let you out to play, then.”
Adam nodded. There was a brief silence, and frankly Zig thought he’d done his bit. Up to the rest of them if they wanted to break it.
“Are you working tonight?” Corin asked awkwardly.
Zig nodded. “No rest, and all that. See you in there later?”
Corin brightened. “Maybe. We haven’t really made plans.”
“Uh . . .” Adam’s gaze darted to Si and then back to Zig. “Not tonight. Another time, though. You, uh”—and now he was looking at Si again—“you take care, okay?”
“Right,” Si said. It came out hoarse, maybe cos he’d been silent so long. “You too.”
Adam nodded, and he and Corin walked away.
Zig slipped an arm around Si’s waist. “That wasn’t so bad, was it? You okay?”
“No. I mean, yeah, that could have gone worse. I’m okay.”
“I don’t wanna come between you and your mate,” Zig said, the words like knives in his chest. Because he didn’t, but he was a selfish bastard and he didn’t want Si to leave him, either.
“You ain’t gonna,” Si said firmly. “He’ll come around.”
Zig wished he could be so sure.