Counter Culture

by JL Merrow

  “There’s a woman in his life who’ll be thanking me, come Christmas.”

  “He might have been buying it for a man. Or himself.”

  “If it’s for him, everyone in his life will be thanking me. Ooh, we’re here, aren’t we? Menswear. Can you see him?”

  Archie stopped. Now he was here, about to see Robin again, his palms were feeling uncomfortably moist. What was he going to say?

  What would Robin say? It had better include an apology to Lyddie. She hadn’t deserved to be lied to. He looked around until he spotted Robin’s blond head, the rest of him hidden by a crowd of customers. “Okay, so I’m thinking, coming to see the guy at work on the busiest day of the year might not have been the best plan.”

  Robin seemed to be even more snowed-under than the perfume lady. His customers were a lot older than hers, and mostly female. They were all clutching packets of . . . Y-fronts? Huh. Well, you couldn’t beat an old lady for an eye for a bargain. And underwear was a traditional Christmas gift for a man, or so he’d heard. Lyddie had never bought him underpants for Christmas—she said they were way too boring—but she had once bought him six pairs of rainbow-coloured toe socks.

  “Oh, they won’t mind. Go on and give him a kiss!” Lyddie seemed to have forgotten the lies already. “They’ll love it.”

  Archie gave her a sidelong look. “Because old folk never have old-fashioned views about same-sex relationships.”

  “If they do, they’re wrong, so who gives a toss?”

  “Robin, maybe?” Archie would have laid money on Robin being unable to hear them over the hubbub, but at the very moment he said his name, Robin glanced up from his customer and their eyes met.

  Archie’s heart clenched at the raw, naked hope he saw in Robin’s gaze. Without even thinking, he took a step forward, then another. “Excuse me, ladies,” he said to the grannies in his way. “I need to talk to Robin.”

  Miraculously, they melted out of his way. He barely registered mutterings of There’s a proper young gentleman and Did you see his moustache? as he stepped up to the counter, and tried to tune out the lady who said something like I wonder if it’s the only thing that’s long and stiff? and then cackled loudly. “Hey,” he said, when he got to the counter, his heart pounding.

  “Hey.” Robin swallowed.

  There was a heavy pause. Even the old ladies seemed to be holding their breath. The lone man started to say, “Excuse me, but—” and was roundly shushed.

  “So, I, uh, I saw the paper,” Archie managed to get out.

  “Me too. Um, I mean—” Robin’s face was a little pink, and he was twisting a packet of Y-fronts in his hands. “I’m sorry!” he blurted. “For . . . you know.”

  There was an Oooh from the ladies, overshadowed by a loud, “What did he say? What’s he sorry for?” that was shushed as ruthlessly as the guy had been.

  The counter between them ought to vanish, Archie thought vaguely. It ought to shimmer into nothing, and then he’d be able to take Robin in his arms. “It’s . . . it’s okay,” he said instead. “I mean, I’m still not happy about . . . But what you did was, well.” Great, Archie. Really eloquent.

  “Nobody speaks clearly anymore,” the old lady from before grumbled, and was shushed again.

  Lyddie was saying in a proud stage whisper, “That’s my son, Archie. Him and his bloke had a bit of a spat, but they’re all right now.” Then she shouted, “Go on, give him a kiss!”

  Robin looked briefly scandalised. Then his face firmed, and he hopped up to sit on the counter. “Can I?” he asked Archie breathlessly. “I mean, are we . . .?”

  Yes. Yes, they totally were. Somehow all the rottenness that had cankered Archie’s soul for the past week crumbled away, leaving his heart fresh, clean, and fit to burst. He took Robin’s face in his hands, and kissed him. Robin’s mouth was soft and yielding, and tasted sweeter than Archie could ever have imagined.

  There was a general Awww, marred only by a loud, “Well, I think it’s rather exhibitionist if you ask me, but then nobody ever does these days. And we never did find out what he was sorry for.” It sounded like the last bit was what had really got her goat.

  “Excuse me,” the man from before said in a long-suffering tone. “But can I pay for those pants before you turn them into dishrags?”

  Robin froze and broke from the kiss to look down at his left hand which, yes, was still clutching a now extremely crumpled pack of Y-fronts. Archie couldn’t help it. He burst out laughing, and was swiftly joined by an adorably dishevelled Robin.

  “I’m so sorry,” Robin gasped, as he slipped back off the counter to stand behind it once again. “I’ll get you another pack.”

  The man shook his head. “Don’t worry, it’ll all come out in the wash.”

  Robin rang up the sale, smiling like it was Christmas already. Archie was pretty sure they made a matched pair.

  “I’ll see you after work?” Archie said, because he couldn’t stand here all day grinning at his boyfriend. No matter how much he might like to.

  “Meet in the Millstone and then go to yours?” Robin gave him a sheepish glance. “Can’t promise not to fall asleep if it carries on like this.”

  “Sounds good. Uh, not the falling asleep bit. Although that’d be good too.”

  The nearest old lady elbowed past Archie. “Stop being spoony and sell me these pants, will you? He’ll keep, but the rest of us may not.”

  Archie feasted his eyes on Robin a moment longer, and left to a chorus of Speak for yourself and at least one I’ll keep him for you.

  Lyddie was waiting for him, chatting with the male customer who looked worryingly smitten. Archie took her arm. Best get her out of there before she offered to iron the guy’s undies. “Come on, we need to get you on a bus. Unless your lift’s hung around? And then I need to get to work.”

  “If you need a ride, I’m parked in the car park,” the man said hopefully. He was a bit older than Lyddie, and soft around the edges with a hint of middle-aged spread. His collar was turned up on one side, and he’d missed a bit shaving.

  Lyddie gave him a smile. “That’s lovely of you, but my Archie’s always told me not to get into cars with strange men.”

  “Oh—right. Better give you my card, then.” The man rummaged in a pocket and pulled out a card case. Opening it, he dropped several on the shop floor.

  Lyddie squatted down to pick them up. “All right, Colin Cotton, Freelance IT services. Maybe I’ll give you a call.”

  He flushed bright red. “That’d . . . that’d be lovely.”

  She linked her arm in Archie’s once more, and swept him out of the department in aristocratic fashion. Halfway through perfumes, she giggled. “Cotton. Like his Y-fronts.”

  “And that is the last time you’re seeing them,” Archie said sternly.

  “That’s what you think. I’ll make my own mind up whose knickers I’m going to see.”

  Archie groaned. “I can’t believe you’re seriously considering dating a man who wears Y-fronts.” Time for some intensive internet stalking of Mr. Cotton. But the guy looked like a decent sort.

  Or maybe Archie was just in a mood to believe the best of everyone. Yeah, that could be it.

  The rest of Black Friday passed in a blur of customers, cash, and credit cards. The menswear department sold completely out of store-brand Y-fronts, and Robin had to resort to all his most cunning sales tactics to persuade disappointed customers to buy the more expensive boxer briefs. He resolutely didn’t feel guilty. He was doing them and their loved ones a service, wasn’t he?

  Lunch was a wolfed-down sandwich, and he barely got to speak to Azrah or find out how the other departments had been doing. Heath wandered past during the afternoon and told him there had been a run on stockings and aviator shades were flying out of the store, but Robin was fairly sure that was just a windup.

  Gail wasn’t much in evidence, which was surprising. Robin had thought she’d be keeping a stern eye on proceedings. Or at least, a serene,
drugged-up eye. Still, if he’d had a nice little office to escape to from all the mayhem, he’d probably have been tempted to use it too.

  It was a weary crew of Robin, Heath, and Azrah who trooped down to the Millstone after closing time. Robin wasn’t entirely certain why the other two were there—he’d made a point of telling them he was going to meet Archie—but in the end he was glad they’d tagged along, as Archie wasn’t there.

  Robin ruthlessly squished any worries that dared to raise their heads above the parapet of his heart. Archie would not have had second thoughts during the day. Nevertheless, he pulled out his phone.

  They all slumped against the bar. “So where’s this bloke of yours?” Azrah asked as Robin checked his messages. “Hasn’t had second thoughts, has he?”

  Robin hoped this telepathy of hers wasn’t going to be an ongoing thing. It could be all kinds of embarrassing. “No. He’s texted. He’s going to be a bit late. Something about ‘unrly kidz’?”

  “Ah, well,” Heath nodded gnomically. “It’s an ill wind that gathers no moss. Got a couple of things to get off my chest.”

  Robin gave him a tired look. “Oh?”

  Azrah narrowed her eyes. “I knew it. You’re shagging the boss, aren’t you?”

  Robin winced. “Please tell me you mean Gail and not Mr. Willoughby.”

  “One rum and Coke, one Diet Coke, and a pint of Old Peculier, cheers,” Heath said to the barmaid, who turned to get the drinks before Robin’s eyes could focus on tonight’s T-shirt. “And no, I wasn’t about to tell you I’m shagging the boss. It’s about Archie.”

  Azrah’s eyes were like saucers. “You’re shagging Archie?”

  “Oi!” Robin didn’t feel that was a subject that should be joked about.

  She had been joking, right?

  “Shagging? No. Strictly a ladies’ man here. But me and Archie are . . . kinda closer than I’ve let on. Friends, you might say.”

  Robin frowned. “But how come he didn’t tell me that?”

  “Because he—oh salty winter’s child—didn’t know. Cheers.” The barmaid had returned with their drinks, and accepted Heath’s twenty-pound note with a smile. “Bottoms up and the last one to drink is a bargain-bin reject.”

  “Hang on.” Robin clutched his drink like the only sure thing in an uncertain world. “How could he not know you’re friends?”

  “Because I . . .” Heath drew himself up to his full height, and there was a long pause, presumably for dramatic effect. It might have worked if Robin had been anything other than too exhausted to care. “. . . am the plague doctor.”

  Robin blinked. Okay, he hadn’t expected that. “Hang on, what about ‘I’ve seen him lots of times’?” And they’d met at the convivial, and Heath hadn’t let on. That was deception, that was. Almost like lying, and . . . and Robin didn’t have a leg to stand on there, so he wisely shut up.

  “Well, I have, ain’t I?” Heath winked and took a sip of his pint.

  “Yeah, but you didn’t mention it was in the mirror.” Robin gulped down half his rum and Coke in one.

  Azrah glared. “So how come Archie didn’t recognise you?”

  Heath gave her a pitying look. Robin pitied her too, but in his case it was because she had to deal with all this without benefit of alcohol. He gave her a withering look instead. “Have you seen what a plague doctor wears? You wouldn’t recognise your own mother under that getup.”

  “What about the way you speak, then? Or did you only communicate in mime or interpretive dance or something?”

  Heath smirked and perched on a barstool before declaiming in a voice several tones lower and umpteen social classes higher than his usual, “This pestilence, sir, is sent upon us by God, a judgement for your wicked ways.” He slumped back down into his usual hunchbacked prawn shape. “Wodger think?”

  Robin shook his head. “I think if you talk like that all the time when you’re being steampunk you must get a terrible sore throat. And why is it my wicked ways that have brought down the wrath of God? Sounds a bit homophobic if you ask me.”

  “I was thinking more of you lying to your boyfriend’s mum, but who knows with the big dude in the sky? Or dudess, naturally. I was reading how they’ve proved angels don’t have gender, but the jury’s still out on the boss.”

  “How can anyone prove angels don’t have . . . never mind. Archie’s here.” Robin beamed.

  Nothing else was of any importance whatsoever.

  Robin looked tired, but his face lit up when their eyes met. Archie found himself grinning back as he joined them at the bar, sliding his arms around Robin from behind and craning his neck so they could kiss. The barmaid gave them a wink.

  “Busy day?” Archie murmured.

  “Don’t even ask. How was yours? With the unrly kidz?”

  Archie laughed. “It was . . . a day. And this particular school only visits once a year, thank God. It’s the teachers I feel sorry for.”

  “Hear you caused quite a scene in Menswear this morning,” Azrah said archly.

  Robin grinned. “You’re just mad cos you missed it.”

  “And this,” Heath put in, “is why the good Lord gave us CCTV.”

  “We don’t have CCTV inside the store, do we? Do we?” Robin sounded genuinely worried.

  “Never mind that, what’s she doing here?” Azrah hissed.

  Archie turned to see a slim, white woman in her midthirties making her way over to the bar. She was wearing a businesslike skirt suit, but she’d swapped the heels for a pair of bright Converse.

  “Gail!” Robin hopped off his barstool and out of Archie’s arms as though he felt the need to stand to attention. “Um, this is my boyfriend, Archie? Er, Gail’s our manager.”

  “But not for much longer.” She smiled and slipped an arm around Heath.

  Robin and Azrah goggled.

  Archie wondered if it was what she’d said that’d stunned them, or what she’d done.

  “I’ll be making an announcement on Monday, but I’ve handed in my notice. I’ll be leaving in the New Year. So there will be a vacancy for manager.” Gail gave a pointed look at Robin, then smiled up at Heath, who gave her a peck on the nose.

  “That’s, um . . . We’ll be sorry to see you go?” The questioning tone was all too clear in Robin’s voice, and he winced as though he knew it.

  Heath jumped in. “Gail’s officially free of cancer as of yesterday, so me and her, we’re off around the world to celebrate.”

  “You’ve had cancer?” Robin stared at her. “I’m so sorry— I should have realised— I mean, I thought you were just stressed . . .”

  Trust him to feel it was a personal failing he hadn’t known. Archie moved to get his arms around him once more.

  Gail patted her hair. “I must admit, I thought everyone knew. What with the wig . . .”

  “That’s a wig?” If Azrah’s eyebrows flew any higher, they could have a nifty sideline delivering Amazon packages.

  “Oh, ye of little observational skills.” Heath shook his head sadly. “Although it’s true she rocks it. You go, girl. Rrr.”

  “Shall we go and grab that table?” Gail said, slipping coyly out from Heath’s arms and striding over to where a group of women were leaving.

  Azrah grabbed Heath’s arm as he made to follow. “You said you weren’t shagging the boss!” she snapped in a low voice.

  “No, I said I wasn’t about to tell you I was shagging the boss. Thought I’d wait until Her Magnificent Authoritativeness got here.” Heath cocked his head. “And making assumptions, much? How do you know she’s not shagging me?” With that, he loped off to join Gail.

  “Too much information,” Robin blurted out, grabbing Archie’s hand. “Um, I think we need to go? To be back on time for Bridge and Jerrick?”

  “Oh, fine,” Azrah snarled. “Just leave me to be all green and hairy, why don’t you?”

  Robin froze. “Uh . . . you’re not upset about Heath and Gail, are you?”

  She rolled her eyes. “
What did I tell you about him?”

  “I thought maybe you were protesting too much?”

  “No, I was protesting exactly the right amount. Because that’s what people do.” Her face turned speculative. “I s’pose if nothing else I should be able to get the goss on how they got together. And what they’ve been up to in Gail’s office. Go on, sod off then, you two.”

  Robin let go of Archie’s hand and gave her a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay with it.”

  She mock-shuddered. “Ugh. Go maul your boyfriend, will you?”

  Smiling, Archie grabbed Robin’s hand back and let his boyfriend lead him out of the pub.

  Half an hour later they were walking back from the bus stop hand in hand, cocooned in darkness, the evening air cold but still around them. There were few people on the street. Everyone else was at home getting their tea ready, Archie reckoned.

  It was the first time he and Robin had been alone together since the morning. No, since the night after the convivial. Crazy. They’d been broken up, and now they were back together, all without a single conversation in private.

  Was it possible to sort out relationship issues properly with the eyes of the world upon them? If Archie knew one thing, it was that they needed to be honest with each other. Could anyone be totally honest with an audience?

  Maybe Robin’s thoughts were running along the same lines. “I really am sorry I lied to you,” he said, squeezing Archie’s hand almost painfully. “I just . . . Look, I know now your mum’s totally not scary, but there were all these placards everywhere, and she had a knife—for the cake, but I didn’t know that—and I panicked? And then it kind of snowballed.”

  “Yeah, Lyddie reckoned that was what had happened. It’s okay. I . . .” Archie took a deep breath. “All the bad stuff that happened to her years ago, I never got to make anyone pay for that, you know? So I think maybe sometimes I overreact to anyone who doesn’t do right by her now.”

  “Yeah. I get that. I mean, I don’t blame you. She . . . she’s very quick to forgive, isn’t she?”

  Archie nodded. “Yeah. Way quicker than me. But it’s not always a good thing.”