Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  Archie smiled. “You can be nice. Sometimes. I’m sure I’ve seen it happen at least once. Or heard about it. Unless I dreamed it.”

  Bridge held up an eloquent finger, and stood. “Come on. We’d better rescue your nice, not-quite-boyfriend from Jerrick before he gets him hooked on beer and cigarettes.”

  Archie followed her back the way they’d come. “I hope Robin knows enough about babies not to give Jerrick either of those.”

  “Did I say it’d be Jerrick getting hooked? Huh.” Bridge frowned. They’d reached the bar, and Robin and Jerrick were nowhere in sight. “Where do you think he’s gone off to?”

  “Maybe he took Jerrick for a wander?” Archie leaned over the bar to talk to the barmaid. “Have you seen a young lad with a baby?”

  She smiled. “Blond hair, worried expression?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “You’re in luck. Here he comes now.” She nodded, and Archie turned to see Robin approaching, baby in one arm, hat in his hand, and profound relief on his face the moment he saw them. “Here you go,” he said, handing Jerrick back to Bridge.

  She gave him a kiss. “How’s my little man, then? Uncle Robin been taking good care of you?”

  Robin flushed. “I’ve changed his nappy.”

  “Aw, you didn’t have to do that.” Bridge slung Jerrick expertly on her hip, while Archie grabbed the changing bag from Robin’s shoulder.

  Robin’s face was a picture. “Trust me, I did.”

  “Bit of a stinker, was it?” Archie said with sympathy.

  “Oh, you know. Birds dropping from the skies, local towns preparing to evacuate . . .”

  Archie laughed. “And do I want to know why your hair’s wet?”

  “Not in the least,” Robin said fervently. “Just be thankful I didn’t put your hat back on afterwards.”

  Bridge cackled. “We’ve all been there. Gotta watch out for little boys and their pee-pees. Although honestly, I’d have thought you blokes’d be more on your guard. It’s not like you haven’t got one of your own to keep under control.”

  “To be fair, mine hardly ever goes off without warning like that,” Robin said.

  “And I’m happy to say yours is Archie’s problem, not mine. Right. I’m going to go and catch up with Dora. See you later.” She grabbed back the rucksack from Archie and walked off, her skirts swaying as she went.

  Robin goggled after her. “Did she just say . . .” He swallowed. “Never mind.”

  Archie gave a relieved smile. Yep, probably a little early in the relationship for a formal statement on Robin’s penis being Archie’s responsibility.

  And how great was it that he could think about them having a relationship without feeling he’d let Bridge down? He wanted to kiss Robin this instant, pee-soaked hair and all, and had to remind himself to take things a little slower. And preferably a little less public, for a first kiss at least.

  “So . . . everything’s all right, is it?” Robin asked. If tones could tiptoe, his would be very much en pointe. “I mean, between you and her?”

  Archie nodded, his heart light and the immediate future getting brighter all the time. “Yeah, everything’s all right.”

  Robin felt like he hadn’t just dodged a bullet with Bridge, he’d side-stepped an entire nuclear arsenal. “I’m glad things are okay there,” he said fervently.

  Archie was wearing the sweetest smile ever. “You know, even if they hadn’t been, I think you’d have won her over with that nappy change. Have you done that a lot?”

  “Actually that was my first. I’m just hoping it doesn’t fall off or turn out to be inside out.”

  “Seriously? You’d never changed one before? That was definitely going above and beyond, then. And sorry about the, er, shower.”

  “Not the finest moment of my life, no. Can you give me five minutes? It’d be kind of good to clean up a bit, now I’ve got my hands free.” Robin handed Archie his bowler hat, and legged it for the loos. Almost walking into the ladies’ again, he caught himself in time and headed for the gents’. He couldn’t help thinking that gender-free loos would make life a lot simpler.

  He gave his face a quick rinse in the sink. Thankfully only the front of his hair had been, um, affected. The hot air hand dryers were the sort where you could twiddle the nozzley thing to blow the air upwards, so he was able to dry his hair too.

  It left him looking a little more like Tintin than he was comfortable with, not helped by the product he’d put in his hair this morning, but then wasn’t that what hats were invented for? Emerging from the gents’, he found Archie hadn’t moved, although he had picked up a companion who seemed vaguely familiar, and was wearing the most amazing Tardis suit. Four eyes widened as Robin approached, but he didn’t care. “That is so cool! I just love the light on the top hat. Did you make it yourself?”

  “Thanks. Yeah. Had a bit of help from my dad.” They—Robin couldn’t work out if the person was a boy or a girl, and suspected that might be the point—seemed chuffed to bits over the compliments, although their gaze mostly stayed on the floor, only occasionally darting to Robin’s epic quiffage.

  “Robin, this is River, who’s another member of AETHER. Uh, are you happy re-enacting that scene from There’s Something About Mary, or would you like your hat back?” Archie seemed to be struggling to contain laughter.

  “So much yes. Thanks.” Robin took the bowler and jammed it firmly on his head. “Did you make the suit too, like from scratch? Or did you manage to find a suit the right shade of blue and just add the details?”

  “Tailored it myself.” River shifted minutely—was there a button hidden in a pocket?—and the suit began to make actual Tardis-dematerialising noises.

  Robin almost had a nerdgasm. “Okay, I’ve run out of superlatives now. But I am seriously in awe.”

  “Thanks. Um, I’ll catch you later, Archie?”

  Archie nodded, and River scurried off.

  Robin groaned. “Did I chase them away with my overenthusiastic fanboying? I did, didn’t I?”

  “Don’t worry. River was pleased, believe me. They’re kind of an introvert, though? And they’re only seventeen. Still finding their feet, socially.”

  “Me too, honestly. Um, not the seventeen part, in case you were worried. Not that you’d have any reason to worry about that . . . Shall we go and look at some more stalls?”

  They left the convivial early, soon after five o’clock, because of having work the next day. Well, Archie had work, and it was obvious he assumed Robin did too. Robin guiltily didn’t correct him. It felt later than it was as they took the train back in the dark, which was weird because the day had seemed to pass in a flash of outlandish hats, customised goggles, and voluminous skirts. Also boobage. Robin supposed it was only natural that what was squished in at the waist by a corset had to go somewhere, and up was one of the only two possible directions, but how on earth did people who were into that kind of thing know where to look? Even he’d found it a little distracting, although more from the Are those things loaded, and if so please stop pointing them at me perspective than because of any sexual connotations.

  “Penny for them?” Archie asked, smiling.

  “What?” Boobs? Robin hoped not.

  “Your thoughts. Although that’d probably be around £1.50 in new money.”

  “Seriously not worth it.” Which fortunately could be taken either way. It’d take a much larger sum than £1.50 to get Robin to admit he’d been thinking about breasts of the female persuasion. “Just . . . looking back on the day. It was great—really great. I can’t believe there’s been all this going on for years and I never even knew about it. And River, with that Tardis outfit—that was so amazingly cool. It blows me away how you can make anything you love be steampunk.”

  Archie’s smile had grown broader, and somehow softer. “So you think you might come again?”

  “Hey, I’ve got my own goggles now.” He had, too—a customised set in aviator style that looked fabulous w
ith the hat Archie had lent him and which he was hoping to forget to return. “Just try and stop me. When’s the next event?”

  “It slows down a bit this time of year, but we’re having a group visit to the Victorian Market on Thursday. AETHER, that is. In full splendid. Do you fancy coming along?”

  Robin’s heart sank, pausing only to give his conscience a hefty kick en route. That was the date of the Loyal Customers’ Christmas Shopping Evening, which to Robin’s annoyance everyone now seemed to be calling Customas. He might not be organising it anymore, but there was no way he’d be able to get out of working that night. “I, um. Sorry. I mean, I’d love to, I really would, but I’ve got to, um, go round to Mum and Dad’s.”

  “That’s okay. I guess family comes first.”

  “Er, yes. Sorry.” Robin coughed and crossed his fingers. “Is the group just going to the market, or will they be doing general shopping as well? In shops that are open late?”

  Archie shrugged. “People can do what they want. We’ll be meeting up for photos first and maybe a drink after, but we won’t be going around in a group all the time. I’d think most people would stay in the market. I’ve heard there’s a record number of gin stalls this year so yeah, not a lot of incentive to pop into the normal shops. You can do those any time. And sober.” His lopsided, roguish grin made Robin want to tell Willoughbys where to go, and spend Thursday night drinking gin in goggles, but common sense prevailed. Gin wasn’t cheap, so continued employment was pretty much a necessity.

  “Wish I could go. Have a pint of gin for me, yeah?” Robin would still have to keep an eye out for anyone from AETHER who might happen to walk into Willoughbys and recognise him, but steampunks in full splendid would at least be easy to spot.

  They got lucky with the bus after getting off the train—this time on a Sunday evening if you just missed one, it was probably quicker to walk than wait for the next—and were almost home by seven. Well, almost at Archie’s home. Robin’s was a little further away. He dawdled as they neared Verne Avenue, the five-minute walk from there to his own flat looming ahead of him, cold, dark, and dreary. And, more importantly, alone.

  Except . . . did it? “Do you want to have dinner at my place?” Robin asked in a rush, just as Archie came out with, “You’re coming in to say hi to Lyddie, aren’t you?”

  They stopped and stared at each other, faces lit dimly by a flickering streetlamp. Archie seemed to have a hopeful glint in his eye, but maybe it was only a reflection. “How about—”

  “I say hi to Lyddie and then you come round to mine?” Robin’s heart was thumping, probably because the words had once again come out at world-record speed.

  “Yeah. Sounds great.” Archie paused. “Cheers for understanding. She’ll be fine but . . . I just need to check.”

  Robin’s heart went all melty. Maybe he couldn’t exactly relate—his mum always seemed to be aggressively all right—but, well, seeing Archie being so caring was making it very, very difficult not to jump on him right this instant. “No problem.”

  The house, when they entered it, was noisier than Robin had expected. A lot noisier.

  “Is Lyddie having a party?” he whispered as they stepped into the hall, although the chances of anyone in the living room hearing him through the closed door and over the sound of their own voices seemed pretty minimal.

  Archie grimaced. “I hope not. She can be a bit free with the invitations.” He opened the living room door with an air of once bitten, twice shy.

  Inside, there were around half a dozen people of varying age and gender, seated variously on the sofa and on the floor with Lyddie. A tall, vaguely boho lady on the sofa was holding forth about how something shouldn’t be allowed, with emphatic hand gestures. Robin’s heart sank. Of course, it could be just a particularly opinionated book group . . . No. His money was on COC.

  The tall lady fell silent as they entered, and a dozen or so eyes turned their way. Lyddie beamed at Archie and Robin. “Hello, love. You’re home early. Everyone, you know my Archie, don’t you? This is his boyfriend, Robin.”

  Robin flushed, derailed by being described as Archie’s boyfriend. Cart before horse, much? Not that he minded. He could get entirely behind this new sort of carriage-drawn horse.

  “Uh . . . campaign meeting, right?” Archie said. “We’ll leave you to it, then. I’m going over to Robin’s for dinner. Have you eaten?”

  “Pizza,” boomed the tall lady from the sofa. “On the way. Plenty to share if you want to stay and get involved.”

  “We’re good,” Robin said quickly, worried that might prove too tempting for Archie. “But thank you.” He backed out of the room, immensely relieved that Archie followed. “Although now I really fancy pizza,” he added.

  “Have you got anything in at home? We could pick up something on the way.”

  Robin liked how Archie didn’t assume he had a well-stocked fridge, or indeed, any idea what to do with the contents if he’d had them. “Actually, the shop round the corner will still be open. We could get some basic pizza and chuck a load of stuff on top? Uh, unless that’s going to lead to World War Three over the pineapple question?”

  “Sounds good. And no, while pineapple on pizza wouldn’t be my first choice or even my ninety-ninth, I respect everyone’s right to choose.”

  “Oh, thank God.” It came out so heartfelt that Archie laughed. Robin liked his laugh. It was totally worth the prickling embarrassment and the reminder of Ethan. “Um, I had an ex who used to say it made him gag to look at it, which kind of ruined the mood at dinnertime.”

  Archie’s smile was soft. “Yeah, I can see that. Come on then, let’s see what this shop can do us.”

  They ended up with a margherita each, which, once back in Robin’s flat, they piled high with a selection of extra toppings and a shedload of grated cheese before bunging them in the oven. Archie was bigger on the vegetables than on the meat, whereas Robin would’ve been tempted to pile on the entire pack of pepperoni if there hadn’t been any witnesses. Or such a thing as heart disease.

  Having been in Archie’s house and met Lyddie, Robin didn’t feel the slightest bit self-conscious about eating on the sofa in front of the telly. Once he’d divested it of his ukulele and a scribbled note of the chords to “Eleanor Rigby,” that was. Not that they actually watched the . . . crime drama? Soap opera? It was just background noise to the conversation.

  “Hey, isn’t that the box you had in the chippie the other day?” Archie asked idly as they finished off the last slices of pizza. “I was wondering what was inside.”

  “Oh . . . it’s just stuff I haven’t unpacked yet.” Still smarting from Mum’s dismissal of his toys, Robin didn’t like to be more specific.

  Then he remembered this was Archie, who dressed up in top hats with goggles and played Victorian parlour games. “Actually, it’s my Doctor Who figure collection.”

  Archie sat up straight. “Yeah? Cool. Can I take a peek?”

  “Go ahead. And don’t worry about the socks. They’re clean.”

  Archie gave him a sidelong look, and visibly decided not to ask. He knelt by the storage box, opened it up, and pulled out a bright-red Totes Toastie, from which he carefully extracted Rose Tyler. He smiled, the sight doing strange things to Robin’s insides that weren’t all that compatible with a large helping of pizza. “I love Rose. She had a great character arc.”

  “And she ended up with the Doctor. Well, his sort of defective clone. But still good going.” Robin would be happy to go on record that he wouldn’t kick any version of David Tennant out of bed.

  “Not wrong there.” Archie put Rose carefully down on the floor, and pulled one of Robin’s old school football socks out of the box. “What are the chances of me getting the Doctor this time?”

  It suddenly struck Robin that Archie could quite easily fancy both the Doctor and Rose, which was somehow hotter than it ought to be. “Pretty low, actually. I’m fairly sure he’s in blue. You know, like the Tardis”

&nb
sp; Archie laughed and pulled out a Weeping Angel figure. “Sorry, Rose. I’ll try and get your bloke next time. Are you planning to display them?”

  Instead of delving further, he turned to Robin, who nodded.

  “When I get around to buying some shelves. And working out how to get them home on the bus.”

  “Could give you a hand there. I’ve got a mate with a van. Do you want to buy new, or secondhand?”

  “I . . . honestly hadn’t thought that far ahead.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it had only just occurred to him that his mother’s views on secondhand tat no longer needed to be taken into account.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for you.” Archie’s gaze roamed the room. “I can see you’re going for . . . uh, an eclectic look here.”

  “That’s a very polite way of putting it. Actually, most of this stuff came with the flat.” The essentials, like the sofa and his bed, had. The rest, such as the scratched and wobbly nested side tables and the saggy pouffe, had been bits and bobs his mum and her friends no longer wanted. Apparently this didn’t count as secondhand tat because she knew where it’d been.

  There was a pause, and then Archie spoke, his voice hesitant but somehow resolute. “Listen, about Lyddie describing you as my boyfriend . . .”

  Robin waited, his heart inconveniently lodged in his throat, but Archie didn’t continue. “Um, yes?” It might have been a squeak.

  Archie laughed. “Okay, so confession time: I was totally hoping you were going to jump in and say that’s fine.”

  Had he said that? He had, hadn’t he? “It is? I mean, yes. It is. Fine.” Robin attempted to wrestle his wayward tongue under control. “With me. If it is with you? Which you seemed to be saying? So assuming that’s a yes, if you could kiss me now and stop the babbling, I’d appreciate it quite a lot.”

  Archie was still laughing as he leaned over and closed the short distance between them.

  His lips were every bit as soft as they looked, and seemed somehow charged with electricity as they met Robin’s. Probably a steampunk thing, Robin thought crazily, drowning in heady sensation. Archie’s beard tickled gently, while his moustache, although stiff, gave off a pleasing aroma of cinnamon.