Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
“ H arry?”
The knock on the door jolted Harry awake. He blinked for a moment at the unfamiliar ceiling of Ambrose and Liam’s spare room, then croaked out, “Yeah?”
Ambrose opened the door a crack, letting in a shaft of light. “Jack’s here.”
Harry flung the blankets off. “Wha’ time’s it?”
“Almost midnight,” Ambrose said. “Do you want me to buzz him up, or tell him to fuck off?”
“No, let him up.” Harry stood and shuffled to the door. He pulled it open all the way and blinked in the light from the hallway. Then, when everything was still blurry, he went back for his glasses. He tugged his T-shirt straight as he stepped out of the room, and wrinkled his nose at his pyjama pants, which had cartoon monsters on them. He had no idea what was appropriate attire for a middle-of-the-night serious talk with his boyfriend, but probably not this. His heart raced and his chest clenched. What was Jack going to say? Would he want to end things between them because Harry had no idea what he was doing? Maybe Jack was fed up with his naivety. Maybe he wanted a boyfriend who was casual and relaxed instead of weird and needy. Maybe he wanted a boyfriend who knew how to do more than exchange kisses and handjobs and who didn’t run off when he was upset.
Ambrose had returned his phone before they’d gone to bed and Harry had listened to Jack’s voicemails—a string of apologies and weirdly, an offer to get pizza—but he hadn’t replied, because he honestly didn’t know what to say and he’d fallen asleep while he was still figuring it out. Maybe giving Ambrose his phone had been a bad idea, and Jack was here because he was pissed at the lack of response and wanted to tell Harry in person.
There was a knock at the front door and Harry took a deep breath before opening it. At least if Jack was dumping him, he had the decency to do it face to face.
A furry brown face wearing lopsided round glasses greeted him. Harry blinked, confused, and the—bear, it was a giant stuffed bear and it was adorable —was lowered, and Jack’s face came into view. He looked like shit, and at least as miserable as Harry felt. So why was it that just the sight of him made Harry’s mouth curl up into a smile?
Jack broke the silence. “Can I come in?”
“Yeah.” Harry stepped back and Jack thrust the bear at him.
“This is for you. It’s, um. It’s an apology.”
Harry held the bear at arm’s length and examined it. It was definitely an olive branch. A very large, very bear-shaped olive branch. The part of Harry that was romantically inclined wanted to melt, but the more cynical part of him couldn’t help but wonder if the bear was in lieu of an actual apology. And maybe it was because it was late and he had a sugar hangover, but the cynicism won out. “Oh, you get all your one-night stands stuffed toys?” he muttered and felt like an arsehole as soon as he said it.
Jack’s hangdog expression was heartbreaking.
“Excuse me.” Tristan squeezed past Jack. “He tried to make me wait in the car.” He wandered off towards the living room. “Ambrose, hi!”
Ambrose raised his eyebrows. “Hey, Tris. Why are you here again?”
The roar of blood in Harry’s skull as he stared at Jack drowned out whatever Tristan’s answer was.
“Harry,” Jack said, then stopped and swallowed. He cleared his throat and began again. “Harry, would you please be my plus one to Mia and Tate’s wedding this weekend?”
Harry’s jaw dropped.
“Because you’re not a nobody,” Jack said. “You’re somebody. You’re my somebody, and I want you to meet my family as my boyfriend.” He gave a crooked grin but it wavered, as though he wasn’t sure of himself. “Just, maybe don’t tip water over my dad this time?”
Harry stared, mouth open, until a fingertip landed on his chin and snapped his jaw shut and Tristan said, “Just say yes. I can’t take it when my puppies are sad.”
“Fuck off, Tris,” they both said at once.
Tris fucked off.
Jack took a hesitant step forward and cupped Harry’s cheek gently. “I’m so sorry,” he said. “I was a selfish dick and I never should have lied about you. Forgive me?”
Warmth blossomed in Harry’s chest at Jack’s touch, and he felt a flutter of hope that maybe this wasn’t hopeless after all, that maybe Jack was doing the right thing. “I thought your family hated me and we had to wait till after the wedding?”
Jack shrugged. “Is it even a wedding if there isn’t some kind of drama? ”
Harry looked at his toes. “I don’t want to be drama, Jack.”
Jack caught his hands. “It’s okay. Mia’s going to tell Mum and Dad everything beforehand. They’ll know you’re not really a terrible person.”
Harry met his gaze, his heart flip-flopping in his chest. “But, won’t that ruin her wedding?”
Jack gave another lopsided grin. “She doesn’t give a shit. She’s going to tell them about the baby as well. May as well hang for a sheep as for a lamb, right?”
“I’ve never understood that saying,” Tristan said. “Ow!” He glared at Ambrose and rubbed at a spot on his ribs. Ambrose just hooked a hand in his collar and dragged him off in the direction of the kitchen, leaving them alone.
Harry ignored them, too busy searching Jack’s face and finding nothing but sincerity there. “You really did fuck up,” he said, “but so did I. I should have stayed and talked to you, but I was upset and I needed to get it figured out in my head first, or I would have said the wrong thing. But I should have told you that, instead of not saying anything at all.”
“I should have made sure we were okay before I went to work. Hell, I should have chucked a sickie.” Jack bit his lip. “I got worried when you didn’t answer my calls.”
“Ambrose confiscated my phone. I only got it back at bedtime. I was still figuring out how to answer.”
Jack let out a relieved breath. “I was worried all those messages in a row came off stalkerish and scared you off.”
“Well,” Harry admitted, “I’d also fallen asleep. But I meant to answer.”
They smiled at each other cautiously, hopefully. Harry felt his face heat up.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, will you two just kiss?” Tristan interrupted. “Some of us need to get home and get our beauty sleep. ”
“Tris!” Harry complained.
“He’s annoying as fuck,” Jack said, “but he did find that bear, give me surprisingly good advice and convince me to drive over here tonight.”
Harry glanced at Tristan, and at Ambrose who was trying to wrestle him into the kitchen. “Well, I guess…” He bit his lip. “I guess we should give him what he wants then.”
Jack smiled as Harry tugged him into a kiss.
The bells on the door of the op shop jangled merrily as Harry stepped inside.
“Beryl,” he said, nodding and narrowing his eyes at his nemesis.
She narrowed her eye right back at him. He just knew her eyepatch had been over her other eye the last time. He was sure she could tell he knew, and was just daring him to challenge her about it. He didn’t take the bait. He sauntered through the shop instead and slapped the paper bag down on the counter with slightly more force than was necessary.
“No food or drink allowed in the store,” Beryl snapped.
“Oh? So you don’t want this delicious coffee scroll that I’ve brought you then? I guess I’ll put it in the bin outside,” Harry said, reaching for the bag.
Beryl’s eye narrowed further—Harry would be amazed if she could still see daylight—and her hand clamped around his wrist. Her grip was surprisingly strong. “Wait.”
Harry waited, enjoying the internal battle playing across her face as she struggled with the temptation to break one of her most sacred rules. “It’s still warm,” he cajoled. “I’ve had mine, and it was really, really good.”
Beryl’s face scrunched in confusion. “Why…why are you br inging me this?” she asked suspiciously. “Did you drop it?” Her mouth twisted. “Or spit on it?”
“No!” Harry put on his best wide-eyed, innocent expression. “I was trying to be nice!”
A furrow appeared between Beryl’s brows that rivalled the Suez Canal. “You’ve never been nice before. What’s the catch?”
Harry ducked his head. “You’ve got me. I need a favour.”
“Ha!” she cried, triumphant. She snatched up the paper bag and opened it, a look of bliss softening her expression as she inhaled the scent of the coffee scroll. Her good eye twitched, and she slid the paper bag under the counter. “What do you want then?”
“I need a suit—a nice suit,” he said before she could open her mouth. “Jack’s taking me to his sister’s wedding.” Warmth swelled in his chest as he said it.
“And you want me to help you find something?” Beryl tilted her head to the side, like some kind of malevolent chickenhawk.
“Something under fifty bucks,” Harry clarified. He sighed. “I mean you probably don’t have anything nice enough here, but I thought I’d ask anyway. Otherwise there’s the Red Shield shop down the road.”
As he’d suspected, Beryl’s eye blazed with barely suppressed indignation at the implied slight against her stock. “I have plenty of nice suits that’ll do the job. Follow me.” She flounced out from behind the counter, muttering under her breath, and Harry followed her, grinning. Beryl hated the Red Shield shop.
She dug through a rack of suits, pushing them aside violently in her search. “What colour?” she snapped.
“Um, black or grey, I guess? ”
She hummed and prodded at one pin-striped suit before shaking her head. “Wait here.”
Harry inspected the pin-striped suit while she bustled away. It was nice, but he didn’t really want to look like Al Capone at Mia’s wedding, not when he was trying to make a good impression. He hoped he remembered how.
He chewed his lip anxiously. He probably should have gone to a proper suit shop, except he really didn’t have the money for a proper suit, not even a cheap off-the-rack one. Because ‘cheap’ was relative, and Harry, despite all his Bad Boyfriending, was still a poor uni student. And he’d seen nice suits here before—not often, it was true, because men tended to hold on to their suits until they were buried in them—but he had seen them here, and he hoped today was his lucky day. He’d even made an offering of a coffee scroll at the altar of the eldritch Beryl. Surely that had to count for something?
As if summoned by a thought, Beryl reappeared. She was clutching two dry-cleaning bags and wore an expression of triumph. Thrusting the bags at Harry, she said, “Just in. Deceased estate.”
Harry had zero qualms about wearing a dead man’s suit. He gasped when Beryl unzipped the bags. The first suit was black. The second one was dark blue. And they were both magnificent. Harry wasn’t much of a fashion guy, but even he could tell the suits were quality. None of that polyester sheen like he’d seen on the ones in Target. He reached out a finger to stroke the sleeve of the blue suit.
“They’re wool,” Beryl said proudly. “They’d even make you look good.”
Harry let the veiled insult pass, still entranced. “How much?”
Beryl pursed her lips into the shape of a cat’s bum. “Seventy. Each. ”
Harry winced. It was a lot, but at the same time even he could tell it was an absolute bargain for suits as nice as these.
“They’d go for two hundred each in a vintage store,” Beryl snapped defensively.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Harry blinked at her. “They’re amazing .”
She looked at him suspiciously, as though she was searching for sarcasm. Harry ran a hand down a lapel and made a mournful sound. “I really can’t. Not if I want to pay rent.”
Beryl’s scowl wavered and her eye darted from side to side before she took a step closer. She smelled a little bit like pickled onions. “A wedding, you say?”
“Yeah. I really want to make a good impression on Jack’s family.”
Something resembling an emotion flitted over Beryl’s face. “Jack’s that nice young man? The one whose father is a minister?”
Harry beamed. “Yeah. He is nice. He bought me a teddy bear when we had a fight. Want to see?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and Beryl hummed approvingly when he brought up a picture of the bear. “I’ve never actually had a boyfriend before.”
She looked at the photo, and at the suits, and back at Harry. “My Frank once tried to win me a bear at the Royal Easter Show, but he couldn’t knock any of those bottles down. So he bought me one on the way home instead, the silly bugger.” She smiled fondly.
It was like discovering the Grinch had a heart. And all it had taken was a coffee scroll and a picture of a teddy bear.
“I had that bear for years,” Beryl said pensively. “Then Frank let the greyhounds in one morning and they ripped it to shreds. Oh, you should have seen the kids crying!” She laughed.
Or maybe not.
She turned her gaze back to Harry. “I can let you have the black one for a bit less because the zip’s dodgy and there’s a button missing. Say, fifty.” Her drawn-on eyebrows raised in an expression that clearly said take it or leave it, and Harry knew he wouldn’t get a better offer.
“Done,” he said. “Can I try it on?”
Beryl rolled her eye. “I suppose. But don’t get it dirty, I know you’ve probably still got coffee scroll fingers!”
“I won’t,” Harry promised, and took the bag and hurried to the change rooms before the scrap of humanity Beryl was showing shrivelled up and died and she changed her mind.
He slipped the suit on and let out a gasp when he saw himself. It fitted like a glove, like it was made for him. Harry had never looked this good in his life. Sure, the zip was a bit stiff, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by rubbing a bit of pencil lead on it. He squared his shoulders and looked again, just in case he was imagining it. But no, he definitely looked hot.
“Well?” Beryl’s voice floated through the curtain.
Harry pulled it back and stepped out. Beryl’s mouth dropped open when she saw him, before she closed it with a snap and gave a stiff nod. “You look very nice, Mr Townsend.” It was said without a single trace of sarcasm, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was perhaps a bigger miracle than finding the suit in the first place.
“Thank you,” he said, equally sincere.
“And Mr Townsend?” She raised one terrifying eyebrow. “Your fly’s undone.”
Harry’s face flushed pink and his hands flew to his crotch, only to find his zipper firmly done up. When he looked up, Beryl was cackling loudly. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad—really, she deserved the win.
He gave her a weak smile, went back into the cubicle and stripped out of the suit, stroking it lovingly. By the time he’d put it carefully on its hanger and made his way to the till, Beryl was serving someone else. There was a trace of coffee icing on her lower lip.
Harry waited until it was his turn then pulled out a twenty, two tens, a five, and a handful of coins that he was pretty sure came to five bucks. Beryl counted the coins out with painstaking slowness before declaring, “Fifty.”
Harry picked up the suit, but she held up a hand. “Wait one minute. Don’t you want the bag?”
“Bag?”
“It comes with the suit bag. Do you want it or not?”
“Oh! Yeah, yes please!”
Beryl sighed, hauled herself off her stool as if Harry’s very existence were inconveniencing her, and went and fetched the suit bag. She unrolled it and shoved it at him aggressively. “Go on, then. Or are you going to stand there all day holding up the line?”
Harry looked around him at the otherwise empty shop and back at Beryl. She just continued to glare at him until he grabbed the bag and his fancy new suit and scurried out the door, grinning from ear to ear.
Harry wasn’t sure, because with Beryl he could never be sure, but he thought he might actually have won that round.
On the bus on the way home, an old man gave Harry a dirty look for answering his phone. And he wouldn’t have answered it, not usually, except it was a Bad Boyfriend call .
“Hi,” he said.
“Harry, it’s Gino,” said Gino. Gino was weird and anxious and wanted to be left alone for the rest of his life so that he could paint Lord of the Rings miniatures or something. Harry actually liked him a lot. Gino’s family did not like his life plan and wanted him to be more ambitious and dynamic. This involved impressing his grandfather at some business lunch, because his grandfather was head of the family business. Which was making pre-packaged puddings, it turned out, and not the sort of family business Harry had assumed when he’d heard the name ‘Gino Moretti’ and caught a glimpse of Gino’s dark good looks.
“Just checking we’re still on for Saturday,” Gino said. He sounded stressed. “And I need you to be really, really awful.”
“We’re still on,” Harry assured him. “And I’ll be awful, I promise. Your grandfather isn’t going to promote you to the board if he thinks your boyfriend is a gold-digger.”
“God, I hope not!” Gino sighed. “Okay, thanks, Harry. See you there.”
“See you,” Harry said, and ended the call. He stroked his suit bag dreamily, ignored the old man still giving him a dirty look, and smiled out the window the rest of the way home.