Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  She greeted Robin cheerily. “All right there?”

  “Hi. Um, yes, I’m good. How are you? Are you waiting for Archie?” Robin cast a glance at the shop, but couldn’t see a thing through the window, filled as it was with a hopeful display of money-off offers.

  “No, he’s off at a vintage market today. Went with a few of his steampunk mates.” Lyddie hopped off the wall and slipped her arm into Robin’s. “Are you going to the shop? You’re not wearing your nice shoes today. Not that those ones aren’t nice,” she added after a moment.

  Robin looked down at his worn-out trainers, and thanked God he’d put them on instead of coming out in his bunny slippers, as he’d been tempted. Then again, Lyddie was the last person in the world who’d have judged him for that. “Er, yeah. Forgot to get stuff in for breakfast.”

  “You’ve not et yet? Oh, you poor lamb. Tell you what, why don’t you come round mine? I’ll make you something. We’ve definitely got bacon in, cos it fell off the shelf when I got the butter out. Bacon butty? My Archie’s always loved those.” She started to pull him along.

  It was either go with her or literally dig in his heels and cause a scene. “That’s really kind, but I couldn’t possibly—”

  Lyddie dragged him on a few paces—then stopped dead, and Robin almost fell over her. She swung around to face him, her chin up. “You think I can’t cook, don’t you? You’re worried I’m going to give you food poisoning, or burn the house down, or—”

  “No! I mean, I’m sure you’re a great cook. Archie’s turned out all right, hasn’t he? Not a hint of malnutrition. But I wouldn’t want to, um . . .”

  “Don’t be daft, you wouldn’t be,” she said firmly, and started dragging him off again.

  Robin gave in. After all, she was probably lonely with Archie out, and it wasn’t like he’d had anything in particular planned for his day.

  And, well. Bacon.

  She could cook, Robin realised in surprise twenty minutes later, as he bit into fresh white bread, thickly sliced bacon crisped to perfection, and an egg with a gloriously runny yolk. At the very least, she could make a mean breakfast butty. “This is great,” he said enthusiastically if indistinctly around his mouthful of heaven.

  “Told you. Better than your mum used to make?” Lyddie was sitting cross-legged on the floor with her plate on her lap, gazing up at where Robin perched on the sofa with his.

  Robin swallowed. “My mum doesn’t believe in bacon butties.” She didn’t believe in having meals on the sofa, either, and what she’d say about sitting on the floor to eat he didn’t like to think.

  “Well, that’s just daft. I mean, here they are, right on our plates. You can get them in McDonald’s, even, although I’m not sure I would. Not while I’ve got a kitchen of my own. Do you cook?” She took an enormous bite of her bacon butty.

  “Er, sort of.” That was actually a pretty accurate description of Robin’s culinary capabilities.

  “Everyone should cook,” Lyddie said vaguely, her gaze wandering around the room. Then she seemed to recapture her train of thought, and sat up straighter to look him in the eye. “I was thinking, seeing as you seemed so interested in the COC stuff, maybe you’d like to join us?”

  Robin didn’t choke on his mouthful, but it was a close-run thing. “I really don’t think—”

  “You’d be perfect! You work in an office, right? So you could photocopy some flyers for us. And you could be treasurer too—I’m just daft with numbers, me. Mind, we haven’t actually got any funds yet, but we will have. Once people get to know about us.”

  “But—” Robin could imagine the faces of everyone he worked with if they caught him churning out flyers reading Willoughbys: Shame on You on the store’s ancient printer.

  “And it’d be a perfect opportunity to spend more time with my Archie.”

  Oh. Yes, it would, wouldn’t it? Robin wavered. But— “Isn’t Bridge part of it too? I don’t think she likes me.”

  “Oh, she’s a lovely girl. Course she’ll like you. She hasn’t even met you yet, has she? When did you meet her?”

  “Um, yesterday. Properly. But I’ve seen her around before that. At the chippie, and places.”

  “She’ll warm to you. And anyway, she’s not involved with COC. Not yet. I haven’t decided whether to ask her. Don’t want to put too much on her plate. I know how hard it can be, on your own with a baby. Not that she’s on her own. She’s got her mum and dad and Archie does his bit—he’s a great dad, my Archie is—but it’s not the same as having someone to talk to at the end of the day, someone to give you a kiss and a cuddle. Someone who’s always got your back.” She sighed.

  Robin knew how she felt. “Yeah,” he said, and cleared his throat after it came out sounding a bit rough.

  Lyddie gazed into his eyes. “My Archie needs someone like that too.”

  Robin found himself nodding, and coughed again to hide his embarrassment.

  “So anyhow,” Lyddie said brightly. “You eat up and get on with your day, and then you can come back tonight. We’re having a meeting for COC.”

  Robin choked. Did she realise how that sounded? “Um . . .”

  “Go on. Try it? You might like it.” She gave him a winning smile. Robin had a sudden mental image of a younger Lyddie getting baby Archie (dressed in Jerrick’s monocle onesie) to eat his veggies.

  “Can I think about it?” he said desperately.

  “Course you can. No problem. And no need to let me know. You just turn up. Archie’s going to be here. Oh, and you’d better give me your phone. I’ll put my number in for you, all right?” She held out her hand.

  “Er . . .” Robin failed utterly to think of a single reason to refuse that wouldn’t sound rude. And anyway, she hadn’t asked for his number, had she? So she probably wasn’t planning to spam him with calls and texts about COC. He unlocked his phone and handed it over, and she thumbed in the number with a look of concentration.

  “There you go. All done.” She handed it back.

  “Me too,” Robin said, having cleaned his plate. He made to get up, but then realised she hadn’t finished. In fact, she didn’t seem to have eaten more than that first bite. “Sorry—you’re still eating.”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll have it later. Or feed it to the birds. Birds like bacon, and it’s not like they’re going to catch their own pigs, is it? Unless they’re eagles. I think an eagle could carry a piglet.” Lyddie frowned, then beamed. “Archie would know. He’s a bright lad.”

  Funny how it always seemed to come back to Archie.

  Robin walked home with a happy stomach and a mind in turmoil. Should he go to the COC meeting? Okay, so he was diametrically opposed to all they stood for— Well, not all, he totally thought people should look after vulnerable members of the community; he just didn’t think closing down his place of employment was the way to go about it.

  But it’d make Lyddie happy if he went. And he’d see Archie . . .

  Then again, he’d also get to meet all the other COC members, any or all of whom might be regular shoppers in Willoughbys’ menswear department and would therefore recognise him as a traitor in their midst. Robin winced, visualising something akin to a scene from Invasion of the Body Snatchers with everyone pointing and screaming at him. And he was never letting Azrah talk him into watching old horror films at Halloween again despite her “Come on, don’t be a wuss, they’re rated like UU for Utterly Unscary.”

  Of course, the COC members might not recognise him. Robin was used to customers who regularly stopped for a friendly chat in the store, only to blank him completely if they saw him out of context. But could he chance that?

  No, there was no way he could go to the meeting. The risk was too great. They’d probably string him up from the nearest lamp post if they recognised him. Or burn him at the stake, and invite the homeless community to come and toast marshmallows. Would Sheppy’s Mum shed a tear for him?

  But he’d better give Lyddie a ring and let her know
, despite what she’d said. It was only polite. He’d give it a few hours, though. Just to make it vaguely plausible that something might have come up.

  When Robin finally rang Lyddie’s number late that afternoon, he found himself saying, “This is Robin,” before the voice that had picked up with “Hello?” had fully filtered into his brain.

  The male voice.

  “Um, have I got a wrong number?” he said quickly. “I thought this was Lyddie’s phone.”

  “No, this is my phone,” the warm, oddly familiar voice answered. “And I’m not at home now, so I’m sorry, I can’t hand you over. But I can give you her number if you like.”

  Ice-cold water washed over Robin. “Archie?” he squeaked.

  “Yes. It’s Robin, isn’t it? Is everything okay? Only you sound a bit—”

  “I’m fine! Only Lyddie said she’d put her number in my phone, and I wanted to let her know about this evening, and—”

  “What about this evening?”

  “That I can’t come. To the meeting. For COC.” Robin winced. “I mean, Community Over Consumerism. Not . . . cock.”

  Archie chuckled, the warmth of it not only thawing the ice that had enveloped Robin, but threatening to heat it up to dangerous levels. “Uh, you do realise Lyddie knew exactly what she was doing when she came up with that name, right? And this is the first I’ve heard about the meeting. I suppose she must have organised it today while I’ve been out.”

  Robin supposed she must have. Although it was odd—after all, it’d seemed to be already a thing when he’d seen her this morning. Maybe all the members of COC were early risers?

  “Didn’t know you were that into, uh, COC,” Archie went on.

  At least, Robin was fairly sure he was talking about the campaign group. After all, he had already told Archie he was gay. “Um, yes?” he hedged.

  “Don’t let Lyddie dragoon you into doing stuff you don’t want to.”

  “Well, that’s easier said than done,” Robin said without thinking.

  Archie laughed. “So is there anything else I can do for you?”

  Yes. Yes, there was. Quite a lot of things, actually. Many of them X-rated, but also a significant number that would be suitable viewing for tots, open-minded elderly folk, and fluffy bunnies of all ages.

  Oh God, he had it bad. Robin took a deep breath. “Um, I was wondering . . . if you, you know, would like to, um, go out for a drink?”

  There was a pause. “I . . . should probably tell you I’m not really looking for a relationship at the moment. Sorry.”

  The ice water was back, and it had brought along an Arctic wind to keep things extra nippy. “Oh, no problem.” Robin made a wretched attempt at a laugh. “Me neither. I just thought . . . I was planning to go to the pub anyway, after work one day this week. With some friends, I mean. My friends. From work. So if you wanted to join us. After work. When you’ve finished your . . . work.”

  “Oh—I . . . Sorry. Shouldn’t have assumed. Hah. You’ll be thinking the size of my ego is compensating for something. In that case, yeah, why not? Did you have a date in mind?”

  “Tuesday?” That gave Robin two days to persuade Azrah and Heath to back him up. Or find some other friends. That would be enough, wouldn’t it? “At the Millstone? Around six?”

  “Yeah, Tuesday’s good. I’ll look forward to it. Listen, I’ve got to go—I was in the middle of haggling for a table.”

  “See you Tuesday, then.” Robin hung up, feeling warm in parts and shivery in others. So Archie was only in the market for tables, not blokes? That was bad. Beyond bad, particularly after they’d got on so well yesterday. Then again, just because you weren’t looking for something, didn’t mean you wouldn’t find it, did it? And a friendly drink was a good start. They could get to know each other better with no pressure.

  It was only later that he remembered he still hadn’t got Lyddie’s actual phone number, and hadn’t told her he wouldn’t be at the meeting tonight.

  Maybe he should wander over to her house to tell her he couldn’t make it?

  No. No, he really shouldn’t.

  Archie got back from the vintage fair pretty pleased with his day. He’d managed to get hold of a table for the kitchen at a pretty decent price, and it wouldn’t even need repainting. And he’d found a sweet set of vintage Swiss army snow goggles in their original tin—handy for getting them to and from events.

  Not to mention, that phone call from Robin.

  It’d been great to hear from him. All the better for it being so unexpected. If she hadn’t been so staunchly anti-establishment, Lyddie could have had a great career with MI5.

  Of course, there was a significant danger Archie was going to end up in trouble, at least if Bridge heard about him going out for a drink with the bloke. But . . . she couldn’t really expect him to never have another relationship, could she? Just because she was worried someone new in his life would mean he’d be a rubbish dad to Jerrick?

  Archie had had a good, long think about it, and he’d decided he wasn’t going to feel selfish, or like he was neglecting Jerrick, for not closing the door on romance until the kid was eighteen. Bridge and he were in different places right now, emotionally speaking, but that didn’t make either of them wrong. He had to do what was right for him.

  Then again, Bridge probably could expect him not to start going out with Robin, because he’d expressly told her he wasn’t going to, hadn’t he? And the thing was, he’d meant it when he’d said it. But that had been before he’d got to know the bloke. Now . . . although he’d told Robin he wasn’t looking for anything—had felt he had to, at the time, because of what he’d said to Bridge—he’d known while he’d been speaking that it was totally not true.

  But Robin had rolled with it like a star, and they were still going to see each other in a couple of days. So yeah, good day. And anything could happen in a couple of days. Bridge might start feeling better about herself and stop being all doom and gloom about the future. She might meet the love of her life over the counter at the chip shop.

  Archie grinned to himself. He might even man up and tell her what he’d decided.

  It was just as well they’d be meeting in the Millstone, though. Archie had never known Bridge to drink there. She reckoned it was always full of shop workers hogging the seats because they’d been on their feet all day.

  Archie wasn’t planning to keep secrets from her. He simply wanted to choose his time to tell her about him and Robin. If and when there was actually a him and Robin to tell her about.

  He told his conscience to shut up, and walked into the living room. Lyddie had his laptop out on the floor in front of her, which was unusual.

  “Had a good day?” he asked. “You’d better not be getting me flagged by MI5.”

  She grinned. “They’ve had your number since you were in nappies. Good time at the vintage wotsit?”

  “Not bad at all. I’ve got us a table to go in the kitchen with those chairs. The guy’s going to deliver it on Wednesday. And talking of numbers, I got a call from Robin today, but he seemed to think he was ringing you.” Archie gave her a pointed look.

  “Oh, did he really? I must have put the wrong number in his phone. You know what I’m like. Forget my own head if it wasn’t sewn on. When are you seeing him?”

  “Tuesday. And when did you see him?”

  “This morning. He likes bacon sarnies—did I tell you we’re eating meat again? I was in the supermarket and I just thought, ‘Sod it, farmers are people too’—but he calls them butties. Like a Northerner. I blame television. We’ll all be talking the same, soon. Won’t be any dialects left by the time Jerrick grows up.” Her smile twisted. “I miss my little lad. You should tell Bridge we’ll have him for a weekend.”

  “Thought you were busy with the campaign?”

  “You mean COC?” Her eyes were wide and innocent.

  Archie wasn’t fooled. “You know exactly what I mean. Robin said you’d invited him to a meeting tonight. I’d bett
er get dinner on quick. How long have we got until people get here?”

  “No, there’s no meeting tonight. He must have got the wrong end of the stick, bless him.”

  “Only because you handed it to him.” Archie pulled up his trouser legs and squatted down beside her. “You know it could cause problems with Bridge if I go out with Robin. That’s not gonna help you see more of Jerrick.”

  Lyddie pouted. “Oh, she doesn’t have to know. What’s it to do with her? Anyway, you are going out with him.” Her smile was sudden and eager.

  “I’m going out for a drink with him. And his mates from work. I’m not going out with him.”

  Lyddie gave the sort of shrug that seemed to say, Details.

  “What are you looking up, anyway?”

  “Oh, stuff. Demonstrations and the law.”

  “Uh-huh.” Archie let his tone do the talking.

  “You always get upset if I get arrested,” she said distractedly, scrolling down.

  “Funny, that.”

  “Ooh, here’s a good web page. Keeping the Civil in Civil Disobedience—I like it.”

  Archie wasn’t sure he did. “Remember there’s laws on trespass, right?”

  “Do they count for a shop? I mean, it’s not like they don’t want people going in.”

  “They don’t want people going in with placards.” Archie sighed. “You do realise it’s—” He stopped himself from saying never “—unlikely to make a difference to how the place operates, don’t you? People like that don’t change.”

  “Nothing ever changes if nobody tries to change it. Maybe they won’t change, but I’m still not sitting on my backside letting them think no one gives a toss.”

  No, that wouldn’t be like her, would it? Archie gave her shoulder a squeeze, and stood up. “I’ll go make a start on dinner.”

  On Monday, Azrah had another lunchtime meeting with Gail, and Heath was nowhere to be found, so Robin went to lunch on his own. He quite enjoyed the peace and quiet, and ended up getting a cup of tea and a biccy to string it out a bit longer.