Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  On his way out again, Archie almost trod on a newspaper that’d come through the door sometime after Lyddie left. Huh. The Hitchworth Echo was back to its usual schedule—only two days late. He’d never known it to be delivered this early in the morning, though. He picked it up. He might as well have something to read on the bus—or to hide behind, if Robin got on the same one.

  So far, they’d managed to avoid bumping into each other, but it had to happen eventually.

  Turned out he was spared the pain of an encounter this morning as well. Of course, it was Black Friday, wasn’t it? Robin had probably gone into work early to prepare. Maybe he was even now putting on some other daft costume, although what was appropriate for Black Friday, Archie wasn’t sure. A turkey? They could just reuse the robin for that.

  His gut twisted. That’d been the worst night of Archie’s life, at least since he’d been back living with Lyddie and her bloody parents had agreed to leave them alone. They’d both had nightmares for ages about her being dragged off again.

  Maybe he should swing by Willoughbys on the way to work. Make sure there wasn’t any trouble brewing. The school visit wasn’t until ten, after all. And okay, so he’d been planning to use the time until then to prepare his talk, but he’d simply have to wing it. It’d be okay.

  Lyddie might not be.

  As he flicked through the Echo to distract himself, a headline caught his eye: WILLOUGHBYS TO HELP THE HOMELESS. Incredulous, he read on.

  Independent department store Willoughbys, a much-loved fixture in Hitchworth since 1863, has announced a major initiative to help the homeless of the town. The store plans to donate food and bedding to local shelters. According to Gail Winters, the store manager, “The plan will not only help more vulnerable members of the community, it’ll reduce waste and help the environment. Far too much good food is thrown away, when it could go to those in need. From now on, all surplus food from our café will be donated to local shelters.” According to Ms. Winters, the idea is the brainchild of Robin Christopher (sic), a member of staff on a graduate fast-track. “Robin’s always been keen to bring positive benefits to the community, and Willoughbys is delighted to be part of this endeavour. We’ve always felt our status as an independent department store means a greater connection to the people we serve than can be the case with a centrally run chain store.”

  Dave Endicott from The Anchorage, a homeless shelter on Queen Street, welcomes the initiative. “When Robin came to us with his idea, I was immediately on board with it. It’s great to see a young person, one who’s never experienced the hardship of homelessness, engaging with those less fortunate and wanting to do some good for them.”

  Robin himself was unfortunately unavailable for comment, but a colleague assured us he’s “over the moon and away with the stars” that Willoughbys will be implementing his idea.

  Archie stared at the paper, unseeing and scarcely believing what he’d read. Could this really be the same guy who’d lied to him and Lyddie? Who was literally working for the enemy? Archie hadn’t even truly expected to get an apology—much less what looked like an attempt to make amends.

  But why hadn’t Robin said something to him? What was the point of making a big gesture like this and then keeping quiet about it? If it’d been Bridge in Robin’s shoes, she’d have marched into Archie’s house with a So what? Actions speak louder than words and rubbed his nose right in it, and basically told him to take her back, if that was what she wanted.

  Robin wasn’t like that, though, was he? He didn’t throw things in your face. He just left them where you might pass by, and let you look at them or not as you chose.

  Archie closed his eyes. He missed Robin fiercely, painfully. For days, he’d been telling himself Robin wasn’t who he’d thought he was—and now to find out he might not have been totally wrong about him after all . . . He wanted to go and find Robin right this instant. Have it all out with him, in the middle of Willoughbys’ Black Friday sale—

  Oh God. The sale. The protest. He had to stop Lyddie. He couldn’t let her go ahead with the demo without knowing all the facts. What if she came face-to-face with Robin, and gave him that piece of her mind? She’d feel terrible about it when she found out what he’d done. Lyddie hated it when people were attacked undeservedly. And by then, it might be too late for them ever to get back on good terms again.

  How would Robin react, having made a mistake—okay, more than a mistake, but still—and tried to fix things, only to get a kick in the teeth for his trouble? He’d probably decide being with Archie wasn’t worth the pain, that was how. Archie swallowed. He still wasn’t sure how he felt about Robin—but to slam the door on any chance of reconciliation? He couldn’t let that happen. For Robin’s sake, for Lyddie’s sake—and Christ, for his own.

  Maybe one of the other campaign members would’ve seen the paper? But if everyone had had their copy delivered this morning, chances were they’d all left before it’d arrived. Archie pulled out his phone to call Lyddie, but it went to voice mail, so he sent off a quick text, hoping against hope she hadn’t left her phone at home again. If only he had a number for anyone else in the group.

  He’d stayed out of it, trying not to encourage Lyddie, figuring that the more people who got involved the more enthusiastic she’d get—and the greater the crash when it all came to nothing. Because people like that didn’t change.

  And now, it seemed, they had. Because of Robin.

  Black Friday morning, Robin snagged a copy of the paper from the shop on the corner of his street, relieved it’d gone to press at last. It went against the grain, paying for the Echo when there would be, in all likelihood, a free copy waiting on his doormat when he got back home, but he just couldn’t wait that long.

  He flicked through until he found the article on Willoughbys’ plans to help the homeless. It was on page four, just before the double-page advert for the sale, which Robin really hoped people got to see this morning, or the Black Friday sale was going to be the dampest of all squibs. He read the article, then read it again. And again for good measure.

  Warmth flooded through him. It was far more than he’d hoped for, name-checking him several times and making it clear that the plans were Robin’s idea. If Gail had been there right then, Robin might have been tempted to kiss her, so it was probably just as well she wasn’t.

  But would it be enough? Would Archie think he’d done enough? Robin crossed his fingers, bought another copy of the Echo, and heart in mouth lest he be seen, made his way to Verne Avenue and stealthily slipped it through Archie and Lyddie’s letterbox. Then he ran for the bus.

  He needn’t have worried—he got in so early, he was actually at Willoughbys before Gail and had to hang around for her to come along and open up. Luckily Sheppy’s Mum was huddled in a doorway across the square from the store, so he had someone to chat to. “Thought you were heading somewhere quieter for a bit?” he asked, giving Sheppy a pat.

  “Was going to. Thought I’d stick around and see the fun.” She gave a rare smile.

  Robin bit his tongue on a comment that fun wasn’t exactly how he’d describe it. “Want anything from the shop? Either of you?”

  She shook her head. “We’re okay. John came round and gave me some food for Sheppy last night. Told me what you done for the hostel too. You’re a good lad.”

  Robin flushed. “Depends who you ask. Right, I’m just going to get a sandwich. Skipped breakfast to get in early. Sure you don’t want anything?”

  He couldn’t help noticing, as he made his way to the shop, that Gail’s envisioned queues of people in sleeping bags hadn’t materialised.

  By the time Robin returned with his sausage, egg, and bacon butty, he wasn’t surprised to see that Gail had finally appeared outside Willoughbys. “Oops—boss is here. Looks like I’m not going to have time to eat this. Do you think you could use it?”

  “Aw, cheers, love.” Sheppy’s Mum smiled as she held out a tattooed hand.

  Not without a pang—he re
ally hadn’t had breakfast—Robin handed over his sandwich and headed across the square. Gail looked . . . strangely relaxed. And Heath was with her.

  Had Robin been right about the weed? Had Heath been going back to his old-school gardening habits? Having lived, in many ways, a sheltered life, even at uni, Robin wasn’t entirely sure what weed smelled like, but he still gave a surreptitious sniff when he reached them.

  “Good morning, Robin.” Gail peered at him closely. “I hope you’re not coming down with a cold?”

  Apparently not that surreptitious. “Er, no, I’m fine. Probably early hay fever.”

  “In November?”

  “Pine allergy,” Heath said sagely. “Makes people allergic to Christmas. Terrible affliction. You should eat more honey.”

  “I . . . will,” Robin said instead of asking for an explanation. It was unlikely to make him any less confused. “Um, shame about the paper being late this week.”

  “Oh, well. These things happen.” Gail smiled and turned to go, Heath still eerily by her side.

  Robin stared, then scrambled after her. “Gail, can I have a minute? I wanted to thank you for the newspaper article. For naming me in it, I mean. Or, um, do I need to thank Mr. Willoughby? He did make a point of finding out my full name.”

  Gail snorted. Robin wasn’t sure he’d ever known her do that before. “I wouldn’t bother Mr. Willoughby with your thanks. I doubt he’d know what you were talking about. No, in fact, Heath was very persuasive on your behalf,” she added, a pink tinge colouring her cheek.

  Heath winked at him.

  Robin blinked, but decided that if there was something going on there, he really didn’t want to know about it. Not least for plausible deniability if Azrah asked. He didn’t think she had romantic designs on Heath, but then again, as recent events had proved, Robin was a total moron when it came to romance and shouldn’t aspire to have an opinion on anything ever again.

  “Um, well, thank you.” He tried to address them equally, leaving them to share the gratitude among themselves as appropriate.

  “Anytime, my friend, anytime. Virtue should be rewarded. Credit where credit’s due. Names changed only to protect the innocent.”

  Gail turned to Heath with what looked very nearly like a laugh on her lips.

  Robin shook his head. The day had barely started, and already it was totally surreal.

  When Archie got to Willoughbys, there was no protest group in sight. There was, however, a small queue of customers standing in a patient line, waiting for the store to open. Archie checked the time. The doors should be opening any minute now.

  But where was Lyddie? Where was the rest of her group? He checked his phone. Yes—he’d missed a text from her: wat a turnup gon 2 caff.

  She didn’t specify which café they’d gone to, but it wasn’t hard to spot the neat stack of upside-down placards outside Has Beans, the vegan place on the other side of the market square.

  Passing Sheppy’s Mum on the way, Archie stopped to say hi. “Hey, did you see what happened with the demonstration?”

  She pointed in the direction of the café. “Think the revolution’s been cancelled.”

  “Huh.” It wasn’t very informative, but he could get the story from Lyddie. “Thanks. You need anything?”

  “I’m good. Robin got me this.” She held up a still-wrapped breakfast sandwich.

  Archie stared. “Robin?”

  “From Willoughbys. He’s always been good to me and Sheppy. John likes him. And he’s come up with this scheme to help the hostel. ’S in the paper.” She paused. “Nice lad. Think you’d like him.”

  “I . . . think you might be right. Uh, I’ve got to go. You stay safe, yeah?” Archie gave her a wave, and headed for Has Beans, his head spinning.

  Robin knew Sheppy’s Mum and John? Had always been good to them?

  That meant this scheme he’d come up with to help the homeless wasn’t just a flash in the pan.

  Robin cared. Had always cared, even when he’d been lying about his job.

  Lyddie had been right. The lies hadn’t been cynical, they’d been self-preservation. Robin hadn’t been riding roughshod over Archie’s ideals. He’d embraced them.

  Archie suddenly wanted very much to embrace Robin in turn.

  As he walked through the café door, Archie could see Lyddie sitting in the corner, with about half of COC. He guessed the rest of them either hadn’t turned up or had already gone back to their normal daily routine. Lyddie caught his eye and beamed. “Archie, love! Have you seen the Echo? Your boy done good.”

  Your boy. Archie’s chest felt oddly tight at the thought. “Yeah, that’s why I’m here, to make sure you saw it.”

  “We were just setting up when this tall ginge from the shop brought over a copy to show us. Didn’t I tell you he’s a sweet boy?”

  Archie assumed the last bit was about Robin, not Heath. It had to be Heath who’d brought the paper over, right? He must have realised who they were, and set out to check they’d heard the news.

  “It’s definitely a victory for the campaign,” Shirley-from-down-the-road boomed. “We had them running scared.”

  “That we did, love, that we did.” Lyddie stood up. “So I was thinking, Archie, maybe it’s time we went shopping?”

  “You mean . . . I thought you’d taken a solemn vow not to set foot inside that store?”

  “Oh, vows are made to be broken. And when did I ever do anything solemn in my life? Well, come on, then.” She grabbed his arm. “Cheers for taking care of those placards, Shirl. I’ll see you all later, yeah?”

  As they neared Willoughbys, a taxi stopped outside and an elderly man got out. Archie didn’t pay him any attention at first, but then Lyddie’s grip on his arm tightened painfully.

  She was staring straight at the man, who was frowning down at her—and all at once Archie realised who it was. Even before the old guy took in a sharp breath, and let it out with a censorious, “Lydia.”

  “Hello, Daddy,” Lyddie said, her chin up and a tremble in her voice Archie was pretty sure nobody could hear but him.

  Christ. Archie hadn’t seen his grandfather in well over a decade, and then for no longer than he could avoid. He found himself standing up straighter without consciously deciding to.

  Those hooded eyes flashed to him. “Mars.”

  “It’s Archie, now.” Not that Archie wanted to be on familiar terms with the git, but if anyone got to use the name Lyddie had given him, it wasn’t going to be the bastard who’d left her to fend for herself as a pregnant teen—and then had her locked up when she had trouble coping. “Or you can call me Mr. Levine.”

  “At least you’re looking more respectable these days.” His grandfather’s gaze flickered over Archie for an instant, who experienced a brief but intense urge to go home, shave off his moustache, and spike his hair up like he’d used to.

  The cold eyes returned to Lyddie. “I might have known you’d turn up on an important day like this. I suppose you were behind those letters, were you? Empty threats. I knew it.”

  There had been more than one letter? Archie wondered who’d delivered the others. One of the other members of COC, most likely. Unless dear old Grandad was exaggerating to make Lyddie look worse, which Archie wouldn’t put past him in the least.

  “Empty threats?” Lyddie stepped forward. “Oh, no. We came ready to cause a scene. I can show you a placard if you like. I can tell you where to shove it and all.”

  He stiffened and opened his mouth, but she hadn’t finished.

  “Lucky for you, not everyone who works for you is a cold-hearted bastard. And I’m not one to make a fuss when people are trying their best to help. You’d better make sure you keep your promises, though. That’s all I’m saying. Wouldn’t look good for the store if I went to those journalists from the Echo with all the stories I could tell, now would it?”

  “Lyddie . . .” Archie tugged at her arm. She could get into trouble for making threats.

  “It’s all
right, love. I think I’d like to go and peruse the wares in this fine emporium. If you don’t mind?” She gave her father a fierce glare, and he backed off a pace. “Come along, Archie.”

  She put her arm through his, and they marched past her father and into the store, heads held high.

  Archie wanted to punch the air, but he restrained himself, and just whispered, “You were fantastic,” in Lyddie’s ear.

  She burst out in a peal of laughter. “Oh my God, did you see his face? Stuffy old git. I hope Robin’s plan costs him lots of money.”

  “We’re not actually shopping here, are we?” Archie asked in a low tone.

  “I should bloody think not. I wouldn’t give him a penny.”

  “So what are we—”

  “Going to find Robin, of course! Do you know which department he works in? Oh, well, we can ask someone. Everyone’s going to know your Robin, aren’t they? Him being in the papers and all. ’Scuse me,” she yelled to a woman behind the perfume counter who was already besieged by customers. Archie winced at the sudden increase in volume. “We’re looking for Robin? Lovely lad, wears nice shoes. He’s my Archie’s boyfriend.”

  The perfume woman stared and clearly decided giving Lyddie what she wanted would be the best way to get her to move on and stop shouting. “Menswear,” she said, and pointed to the back of the store.

  “Thank you! Ooh, don’t get that one, love,” Lyddie added to a middle-aged man waiting in line with a box of top-brand perfume whose name Archie vaguely recognised. “My grannie used to wear it. Made her smell like a horse’s arse. After it’d been eating flowers, mind, but still. Horse’s arse. Try the one in the shocking pink wrap, that’s much nicer.”

  “Er . . . thanks?” The man hopped from foot to foot, clearly caught between the twin evils of staying to talk to Lyddie and losing his place in the queue.

  “Lyddie,” Archie chided with a grin and swept her onwards. “Let people make their own mistakes.”