Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  “Uh-huh.” Apparently Azrah wasn’t finished with the interrogation. “But you dress like that every day? Don’t you get funny looks at work? Where do you work?”

  “The workhouse.” Archie grinned. “Museum, I mean.”

  “Remember we had that school trip there in primary school?” Robin said, turning to Azrah. “And we all had to dress up as workhouse kids?”

  Azrah snorted. “And George Billings tried to tell me I couldn’t be in a Victorian workhouse because brown people hadn’t been invented yet, or something.”

  “And the museum lady told him to stop talking nonsense as there were plenty of ethnic minorities in Victorian Britain,” Robin continued. “I still think it was totally unfair Miss tried to give you detention. You hardly hit him hard at all.”

  “Yeah, but his nose bled everywhere.” Azrah cackled.

  Archie laughed. “I wondered where those bloodstains on the schoolroom floor had come from. So I guess you two really have known each other a long time.”

  Robin nodded. “Since playgroup. Azrah got me into trouble on my first day for picking Michaelmas daisies outside the church hall.”

  “You were the one who came up with the idea of wearing them in our hair.”

  “Yeah, but I wouldn’t have actually done it if you hadn’t dared me.”

  “Truth or dare, is it?” Heath had returned with the drinks, all four of them held precariously in his large hands.

  “Nah,” Azrah told him. “Just reminiscing about our old schooldays.”

  “Growing weed in the greenhouses, and knocking up incendiary devices in the science department?”

  Azrah’s eyes widened. “What kind of school did you go to?”

  “Small public school outside Stevenage.”

  “Yeah? Why aren’t you posh, then?”

  “Oh, they tried, they tried. It didn’t stick.” Heath grinned. “Good times, those were. The food was crap, but the masters didn’t give a shit about anything so long as the police didn’t get called and you passed an exam or two at the end of the day.”

  “Did you go to school in Hitchworth, Archie?” Robin asked.

  Archie grimaced. “Uh, kinda? There were a few. Not my fondest memories.” He’d been forever getting into trouble for falling asleep in class, or turning up late, unprepared, or not in uniform.

  It hadn’t been Lyddie’s fault. She’d done her best. And it wasn’t like things had got better when she’d had to go away and he’d been taken into care. “So where is it you all work?” he asked, keen to change the subject.

  “Jones and Gunn,” Robin said, just as Azrah chipped in with “Gunn Jones.”

  They exchanged looks that were lost on Archie.

  “Rebranding,” Azrah said quickly. “Robin keeps forgetting.”

  Heath nodded. “Some people can’t handle change.”

  “I can handle change! I moved out of Mum and Dad’s house, didn’t I?”

  “Finally,” Azrah muttered.

  Robin frowned. “You can talk. You’re still living at home.”

  “That’s because I know which side my bread’s buttered. When you were living at home, your bread wasn’t buttered either side. And there wasn’t any bread, for that matter.”

  “Too proud to go to the food bank?” Heath asked sympathetically.

  Azrah let out an exasperated squeal, like an old-fashioned kettle boiling. “It’s a metaphor!”

  Archie sent Robin a quizzical glance.

  “Um, they’re not particularly supportive of me being gay,” Robin explained. “My parents, I mean.”

  “Or of you being you.” Azrah glowered. “Or of me being me, for that matter. I bet if they met Archie, they’d hate him too.”

  Everyone looked at Archie. He tried not to twiddle his moustache self-consciously.

  “I dunno,” Robin said. “I mean, there’s the gay thing—”

  “I’m bi, actually,” Archie put in.

  “Yeah, I don’t think that’s an improvement in Robin’s mum’s eyes,” Azrah said.

  “—but you do dress smartly. Mum likes that. And working in a museum would impress her. She thinks history’s very important.”

  Azrah snorted. “You mean she wants Britain to go back to the 1950s, when men wore the trousers and women lived on Valium, gin, and diet pills.”

  “That’s three of your basic food groups,” Heath said.

  Robin frowned. “Seriously, diet pills?”

  “Well, yeah.” Heath shrugged. “Nineteen-fifties diet pills were mostly amphetamines.”

  “And that’s why women in those days had such stupidly small waists.” Azrah rolled her eyes. “Have you seen actual vintage clothes from the fifties? People go on about Marilyn Monroe being a size 16, but that was in old money. She’d be like a busty size 10 these days.” She shot Heath a sharp look. “What, no comment about her being a real woman, or anything?”

  Heath held up his hands. “Ah, but was she? How much of the woman we think of now is the studio-created fantasy? And if that’s all we remember, does that make the fantasy Marilyn the real one?”

  “No. It doesn’t,” she said flatly.

  Archie grinned. “You’d probably enjoy steampunk,” he said to Heath, then turned to Azrah. “And you’d hate it.”

  “What about our boy wonder?” Heath asked, leaning forward to stare at Robin.

  Robin flushed. “Don’t call me that. And I think it’s great,” he added, smiling at Archie in a way that made his stomach flip over.

  “So what would you dress him in, steampunk-style?” Azrah asked.

  Everyone turned to Robin, who went even redder under their examination.

  Archie shrugged. “Steampunk’s all about the individual. So it’s not for me to say. But you’d look great in a waistcoat,” he added.

  “He does, in fact,” Azrah said. “Except he never wears one.”

  “That’s because when I did, you laughed at me and my three-piece suite.”

  Heath shook his head. “Fashion shaming. Not cool.”

  Azrah glared at him. Archie spoke up hastily before hostilities could kick off. “There’s loads to choose from. A lot of people like to build up a persona, you know? Like, an inventor, or an explorer. Or there’s military outfits. Or occult-based stuff. Anything, really. Some people do steampunk versions of famous characters.”

  “Like Batman?” Azrah’s eyes lit up.

  “No,” Robin said firmly.

  Archie blinked. “Actually, I’ve seen that done—”

  “Yeah, but what she means is, can she use steampunk as an excuse to get me into a pair of tights as Robin the Boy Wonder. So no.”

  “You’re so boring,” Azrah grumped. Then she yelped and glared at Heath again. “Oi, watch what you’re doing with your size-I-don’t-even-want-to-knows.”

  Heath gave her a significant look.

  The penny visibly dropped. Azrah froze. “Ah, when I say boring? That’s just sour grapes. I mean come on, who wouldn’t want to see Robin in tights?”

  Archie tried not to laugh. They weren’t the worst wingmen he’d ever encountered. But they were quite possibly the most obvious. And the fact they were acting this way . . . it had to mean that Robin did still want to be more than friends, didn’t it? Warmth spread through Archie’s chest. “Anything take your fancy? Uh, outfits, I mean?”

  Robin made a cute little thinky-face. “Not military, I think. Inventor sounds cool. Or explorer. Although I’m not sure about the pith helmets. I, um, may have done an internet search on steampunk,” he added. “Just to get a few ideas.”

  Even better. “We need to get you to a market and you can try on some hats, see what suits you.”

  “And remember: pics or it didn’t happen,” Azrah put in. Then she yawned loudly and stretched her arms out wide. “I am sooo tired. Aren’t you tired, Heath?”

  Heath shrugged. “Nah, I’m— Oh. Yeah. Dead knackered, me.” He winced and rubbed the lower part of his leg where, Archie was fairly sure, Azrah h
ad just kicked him.

  Yep, the wingman act definitely needed work. Then again, Robin was doing a pretty good job without them. Archie glanced at his watch. Damn. “Sorry. It’s later than I thought. I’m going to have to get going. Can’t leave Lyddie on her own with Jerrick all night.”

  “Catching the bus?” Robin asked hopefully.

  “Yeah—number 37. You too?” Okay, maybe the evening didn’t have to end right now.

  Robin nodded.

  Robin felt a bit like someone had spiked his drink with 1950s diet pills as he and Archie walked along the street to the bus stop, having said their goodbyes to Azrah and Heath. His senses were hyperalert, his skin tingled with possibly overoptimistic anticipation, and his stomach was faintly queasy. It was a mild night, but with a deceptively strong breeze that ruffled Robin’s hair and even made Archie’s moustache quiver like a startled bird. Was it weird to want to smooth its contours with his fingers?

  Was he getting ahead of himself? Archie probably had firm rules on moustache fondling on a first date. Not that this was a date. Obviously.

  Except that it was starting to feel like one. Their shoulders brushed as they walked, leaving Robin flushed hot and cold all over. “Thanks for coming tonight,” he said as a distraction—both for himself and in case Archie had noticed their proximity. “Hope you didn’t mind Azrah and Heath too much.”

  “No, not at all. They seem like good mates. To you, I mean. I’m still trying to work out what they are to each other. And hey, I’m a steampunk. I’m used to spending time with all kinds of oddballs. Not that your friends are odd,” Archie added hastily.

  “No, I wouldn’t go with odd. Heath, maybe. Actually, Heath, definitely. But Azrah’s, um . . .”

  “She reminds me a bit of Bridge, to be honest.”

  “Really?” Alarm pierced the warm glow that had been pervading Robin’s chest. Did this mean Archie fancied Azrah?

  “Yeah. Well, seeing her with you. You’ve got that brother/sister relationship with her, just like me and Bridge.”

  Robin nodded, relieved. “Except you had a baby with your sister.”

  Archie winced. “Now it sounds creepy.”

  “Er, sorry. Didn’t think that one through.”

  “No, pretty sure that’s on me. But yeah, me and Bridge were never meant to be more than friends.”

  Robin gave a mental fist-pump. Yes! That meant Archie didn’t fancy Azrah. Almost certainly.

  There was a moment’s silence, then Archie spoke again. “I wondered—seeing as you were on board with the tea duelling—if you’d like to come to a convivial at the weekend?”

  Robin swallowed. “A convivial?” he asked, stalling for time. He was chuffed to death that Archie had asked, and of course he wanted to see Archie again, but it wasn’t as simple as that.

  “It’s a sort of organised gathering? There’ll be tea duelling—and no, you don’t have to do it if you don’t want to—and other games, and a small market with traders selling jewellery and hats and stuff. And some bands, and maybe some other acts? It’s going to be in a pub,” he added persuasively, as if he thought the prospect of alcohol might tip the balance for Robin.

  Not that it hurt, but it wasn’t anything like that which was making Robin hesitate. He really, really wanted to go—but what if someone there recognised him from Willoughbys and said something about it? “Is it in Hitchworth?”

  “No. It’s in Ely. About an hour and a quarter on the train—I’m guessing you don’t drive? Normally I’d get a lift up with Bridge, but she’s not going to this one. She’s got an old school friend coming to stay who’s not into steampunk.”

  So no Bridge, and probably not that many people from Hitchworth, either. It was still a risk, though.

  “I can lend you a hat and some goggles so you’ll feel like you fit in.”

  That did it for Robin. How could he not go when Archie wanted him to so much?

  Also, the hat and goggles would be a handy disguise. “Okay,” he said, his mouth dry. Then his heart sank. “Oh. Is it on Saturday or Sunday?”

  “Both days, actually. Which one works best for you?”

  “Sunday,” Robin said with relief. He was down to work Saturday this week, which would have been awkward to explain, given that he was supposed to be an accountant. His conscience twinged at this timely reminder that he hadn’t been entirely honest with Archie.

  He promptly forgot all about it as Archie’s moustache twitched and his face split in a huge, happy smile that had Robin wondering if he even had knees anymore. “Fantastic!”

  Going via Archie’s house wasn’t precisely the quickest way home from the bus stop for Robin. But it was definitely the way that got him more time with Archie. It was funny, though, how Verne Avenue, which Robin normally considered to be quite a lengthy street as they went around Hitchworth, seemed to have shrunk to little longer than your average garden path. Robin found his steps slowing to compensate the closer they got to Archie’s house. If Archie noticed that they’d decelerated so much they were in danger of going backwards, he was too polite to mention it.

  Eventually, though, all the dawdling in the world couldn’t stop them arriving at their destination. Well, Archie’s destination. Could it be Robin’s as well?

  “I’d ask you in, but you probably don’t want to spend your evening babysitting my kid,” Archie said in a perhaps worrying display of telepathy.

  Given the sort of lines Robin’s mind had been running along since they’d got off the bus, there was no perhaps about it.

  “That’s not a problem,” Robin said quickly and maybe just a little too eagerly. “And I’d like to say hi to Lyddie again.”

  As he’d hoped, those seemed to be the magic words. “Well, if you really don’t mind . . .” Archie gestured in invitation. “I’m not sure she’ll have cooked, though. We’ll have to rustle something up ourselves.”

  “That’s fine. I like rustling.” Okay, this time it was definitely too eager.

  Archie laughed. “Cows, sheep, or paper bags?”

  “All of the above. But food, for preference, right now. Um, if you don’t mind me inviting myself round for tea.”

  “That’s okay. I’m pretty sure I invited you. And if I didn’t, Lyddie will. She was very upset you got away without her feeding you on Saturday.”

  “That’s supposed to be a mum thing, isn’t it?” Robin’s shoulders slumped. “My mum pesters me about eating properly, but she never seems all that keen to actually feed me.”

  Archie laughed. “Okay, this has to be the first time I’ve ever known Lyddie to come out top in a stereotypical mum competition.”

  “She’s great, you know. You’re really lucky.”

  “I know. But it hasn’t all been plain sailing.”

  “No, I guess it can’t have been. But . . . at least she accepts you for you.” Robin hoped he didn’t sound too bitter.

  “Yeah. Can’t argue with that one.” Archie’s tone was warm. “If you don’t mind my asking, what’s your mum got against people being bi, particularly?”

  Robin sighed. “You don’t want to know.”

  “Go on, try me. I can take it. I’m a big boy.”

  “She says she can understand how, for some people, being gay isn’t a choice. But if you can choose, why not choose to be normal?”

  “Ouch.”

  “Told you. She’s still praying I’ll find a nice girl. Or even a not particularly nice one. The important word is girl.”

  “You ever tried dating women?”

  Robin shook his head. “It’d be weird, you know? Because there’s nothing there. Which is not a rude Shakespearian joke, by the way. I like being friends with girls, but I just can’t imagine wanting to kiss one.” He stopped, the k-word having totally derailed his train of thought. They were still standing under the lamppost outside Archie’s house, in their own little oasis of light. He couldn’t help glancing at Archie’s lips, which looked plump and soft, surrounded by his beard and that truly sp
lendid moustache. Would it tickle if Robin kissed him? Or would the wax make it scratchy? They were standing very close together. Almost touching. All he’d have to do would be to lean forward—

  Archie coughed and moved back half a step. “We should probably go inside. I told Lyddie I’d only be an hour later than usual.”

  “Oh. Yes, of course.” As he plodded into the house after Archie, Robin tried to console himself that this wasn’t good night. He’d get another chance to kiss Archie—wouldn’t he?

  As Archie hung their coats on the stair rail, Robin cast his gaze around in search of Lyddie—and then stared. The door from the hall through to the kitchen was wide open in front of them, and the kitchen looked like it’d been flour-bombed. Jerrick was sitting in his high chair, covered in the stuff, banging a wooden spoon on the tray and laughing his little head off.

  Lyddie didn’t just have flour in her hair; there were what had to be lumps of raw pastry dotted about in there too. She beamed at them. “Archie, love! And Robin, bless you. Lovely to see you again. We’ve made pie, haven’t we, Jerrick? It’s in the oven right now.”

  “What kind?” was all Archie asked as he walked over to give his mum a hug and a kiss on the cheek, getting flour on his waistcoat in the process. Then he picked up Jerrick from his high chair, wooden spoon and all, and swung him around. “Have you made dinner for your daddy?”

  “It’s steak and kidney on one side, and ratatouille on the other, cos we only had one can of each. So if you have a bit from each side, that’s your meat and your veg.” Lyddie looked proud.

  Could you even do that? Have a pie with two different fillings? It sounded dangerously subversive to Robin. He wanted some. “Can I do anything to help?”

  Lyddie glanced around the kitchen. “Maybe we should clean up?” She didn’t sound all that decided.

  “Probably a good idea,” Archie said. “We can’t ask you to do that, though, Robin. You’re a guest.”

  “I don’t mind,” Robin said quickly, all too aware that if he wasn’t cleaning, he’d undoubtedly end up holding the baby, which had far more potential to go rapidly sideways. “Just point me at the cleaning stuff. You’ll want to have some quality time with your son.”