Chapter 23

Chapter Twenty-Three

Quinn found himself in the bright community centre that Ivy had booked, still high on last night's activities. The building was full of familiar faces, all of whom were here to see what they could do to save Quinn and his shop. Blair Beckett, in all his television glory, seemed to strike the locals as royalty. He shook their hands, asked them questions, and seemed to care what they had to say.

It warmed Quinn's heart to see these people here, for him and his shop. Friends of his dad, customers of his shop, and Deb and June. He suspected they might be here more so for the chance of seeing Noah Sage, but he had yet to arrive. Quinn suspected he would not appear.

‘I have invited him,' Ivy said.

‘Who?'

Ivy gave Quinn a look. ‘Noah. I know you're thinking of him. He's invited.'

‘Oh, it doesn't matter,' Quinn dismissed, but he wondered if Ivy genuinely was psychic.

‘You two seemed to have a delightful time last night.'

Quinn tried to fight away the memory of dancing with Noah – so close, yet so far. If Ivy noticed, how many others had?

‘And what about you and Blair?'

‘That is not on the agenda this evening,' Ivy said as she consulted her imaginary list.

Quinn headed to pour a mug of coffee, something that the local café owner had provided, and changed his thoughts to his mother. Would she come tonight? Hay was small, and she'd heard this was going ahead. She had texted him, even tried to call, after seeing the newspaper and BBC article. But she was more concerned about how Harold might be feeling, rather than how Quinn was feeling.

Quinn imagined what he would say if she arrived. ‘I know you're in a tricky situation, Mum, but for god's sake, stop him from selling my shop!'

He added a splash, and then a dash, of milk to his black coffee, stirred with a flimsy stirrer, and then brought it to his lips, feeling calmer now that he had something in his hands and something to distract himself from the eyes of the people in the room. Somehow, Ivy had found them enough seats, and those who couldn't sit on the fold out chairs provided gathered at the back of the room. The hall, with its tall roof and single glazed windows, decorated for Christmas. On the stage stood the set of the nativity play that the local school kids would put on for the community, something they did every year, and something Quinn avoided when the time came. A Christmas tree stood at the back of the room near a serving hatch where there was a kitchen. From the bathrooms to the storage cupboards, tinsel and Christmas lights were strung from the ceiling, hovering above the heads of the town's locals.

‘Ahem, hem, hem,' Ivy trilled from the stage over a PA system that whined and wailed.

Where the hell had she got that?

The warm, welcoming hush of voices, that lovely hum, faltered, fading away, and all eyes were on Ivy. She had tinsel in her hair, and she was wearing a Christmas jumper with a waving Santa.

‘Thank you all so much for being here with us tonight,' Ivy said as yet more people arrived. ‘Yes, there is room at the inn. Come in, come in, get yourself settled. Now, we're here to discuss Kings & Queens , Hay's only LGBTQ+ bookshop. Over the years, Kings & Queens has been a welcoming, safe space, and one that has helped bring Hay into the modern era. Now, it is being threatened with closure. You all already know this from the radio interviews, the magazines, newspapers, and online reports. We've gone viral!'

At that, the room erupted into cheers and applause, and Quinn couldn't help but smile. But as he did so, his eyes kept darting to the back of the room, and then around it. Hoping – hell, praying – Noah might arrive.

‘We're here to discuss what we can do to clarify that we will not stand for it, and that yes, Kings & Queens will still be here ten, twenty, thirty years from now,' Ivy said to the gaggle of Hay's locals. Quinn even wondered if there were more than just locals in attendance. ‘Any suggestions?'

‘Show people how good the shop can be!' a woman Quinn recognised from the town's council said.

‘How can we do that?' Quinn asked.

‘You're the owner. You should know,' Ivy jested, and the room laughed again.

‘Well, my friend here should consider a comedy career after this,' Quinn said, and he walked to the stage and sat on the end. Sitting on the stage felt a lot less daunting than standing on it. Plus, he didn't much fancy glimpsing the nativity's baby Jesus that was at least fifteen years old and was missing an eye. ‘But the whole point is to ask you. What do you think shows how important we are?'

‘Author signings,' a young woman said from somewhere in the room.

‘We actually have one author lined up. Keep an eye out for details on that,' Ivy said.

‘Who?'

‘Me!'

Blair Beckett raised his hand, and a few people in the audience let out half-hearted cheers.

‘And any other author signings?' someone asked. Blair dropped his hand.

‘Not right now,' Quinn said. ‘But we'll keep you posted on Blair's signing.'

‘What about Noah?'

‘Yeah, Noah Sage.'

‘We can talk to him, but I'm not sure we can guarantee that.' Quinn said, wishing more than ever that he could guarantee that.

‘Is he coming tonight?'

‘I wish,' Quinn said, then he realised what he'd said. ‘I wish everyone could come tonight.'

Swallow me up, baby Jesus.

‘Other events,' Ivy said. ‘What else can we do?'

‘How about a Christmas party?'

‘Oh, I love a party!' Ivy exclaimed. ‘Quinn! A party!'

‘When?'

‘Christmas eve,' someone suggested.

‘Um…' Quinn panicked, wondering how he could get enough alcohol, party stuff, and fun events in time for Christmas eve. ‘That's like at the end of this week.'

‘Exactly!' Ivy exclaimed. ‘Plenty of time. We can have drag queens.'

‘I don't know if we'll get any in time.'

‘I'm a drag queen.'

‘Me too.'

‘Me too!'

‘Three drag queens!' Ivy said. ‘And the theme will be ghosts of Christmas past.'

‘Sleigh,' Quinn said.

A hum of activity spread around the room like news spread of the birth of Jesus himself. ‘And what else can we do?'

‘A protest,' Daniel Craig said.

‘Yes, a protest!'

‘Starting where they host the festival and ending outside the shop and the castle.'

Protests?

The idea of a protest scared him. The last thing he wanted was aggravation. He pictured books flying in anger, maybe burning and Santa falling off his sleigh, while the star on top of the Hay Christmas tree fell to the ground and landed on Blair Beckett's head.

‘A peaceful protest,' Ivy said.

‘Yes!'

‘When?'

‘The same day as the Christmas party?' Quinn heard himself suggesting.

‘Why that day?'

‘Gives people an excuse to come to the shop,' Quinn said. ‘Protest and champagne.'

‘Obsessed with that,' Ivy said. ‘Are there any other suggestions?'

‘Are you still looking for another author to sign some books?'

His Welsh-accented voice, angelic, majestic, deep and soulful, rang through the room, bringing the spirit of Christmas with it. And that harmonious feeling shattered when Deb and June screamed like someone had stabbed them in Hay's murder and mystery bookshop.

‘Is it him?'

‘It is him!'

‘Respectfully lust, ladies,' Ivy said. ‘Thank you for joining us, Noah.'

Quinn sought him out. Standing near the back of the room, just a few feet away from the Christmas tree. His blonde, messy hair had one loose, curled strand at his forehead. His glasses were back, giving him that studious look, and he wore a black parka coat with grey trousers, which Quinn noticed were slim fit and clung to him with shapes in all the right places. The image of him, topless, displaying his V-cut body, flashed in Quinn's mind. Fighting to keep his eyes at eye level, Quinn smiled at Noah, trying to feel nonchalant, even though every fibre in his being was vibrating, crying out from the hunger and the desire that ripped through his body.

‘Yes, we can make room for you to sign some books,' Quinn said. ‘I'd be honoured.'

Their eyes met again, and Quinn took a breath, like he'd been plunged into the depths of icy water.

Then Matty No-Face came floating into the ether, and Quinn forced himself to look away from Noah, even though he wanted to study him like he was Michelangelo's David.

Great, now I'm thinking of Noah naked.

That V-line!

‘In the meantime, spread the word about what we are facing,' Ivy said. ‘Let your customers, your friends, your family know that we could lose this shop. We should remind each other of love, acceptance, and pride. Let's make sure that capitalism will not prevail!'

She said these last words like a king leading his army to battle. The people applauded and cheered, getting to their feet, ready to fight.

‘Isn't anyone going to listen to my story?'

Boo. Hiss. Bah humbug.

Harold's voice boomed across the room, and people stopped in their tracks, turning to the Henry VIII figure in the doorway.

Harold found Quinn and walked towards him. Quinn, torn between running away and wanting to stand his ground, felt Harold's hand on his shoulder, gripping tight. Quinn wondered if Harold was trying to hurt him.

‘We're family,' Harold said.

‘You're my stepdad,' Quinn clarified.

‘Family,' Harold barked. ‘And family can be … complicated. Can it not?'

If Harold expected applause at this, he didn't get any. Flustered, he cleared his throat and relinquished his grip on Quinn's shoulder.

‘I offered Quinn a room in the castle. A simple moving of premises. Quinn decided he did not want this room that was offered.'

‘Show them the floor plans,' Quinn said. ‘They'll see how small that offer was.'

‘And businesses these days are online,' Harold said, as if he hadn't heard a word Quinn had said.

‘Most of my custom comes from physical customers,' a bookseller at Clocktower Books said.

‘And our bookshop does better here than it does online,' another added.

‘Mine too,' Quinn said.

Harold turned a horrible red. Quinn almost felt sorry for him.

‘The point is, Hay changes. Business is business. We need a place to display history, and we need an information centre. Quinn's shop is part of the deal.'

‘A deal I haven't signed or agreed to.'

‘You don't have to when the castle wants their chapel back,' Harold fumed, turning wide eyes on Quinn.

‘But I don't understand why they want it back now.'

‘I convinced them it was a good idea,' Harold said to the room. ‘You lot have to agree with me. Why refurb and open the castle and not get back its full heritage with the chapel?'

Quinn, shaking, though determined to stand his ground, got to his feet. He looked down at Harold and his thinning hair. ‘When you got the contract, Harold, I asked you if my shop would be safe. What did you say?'

‘That doesn't matter.'

‘What he said was the shop would still continue to run, untouched, and I had nothing to worry about,' Quinn said to the room. Everyone was glaring at Harold, some people even shaking their heads, and Deb had to hold June back. ‘Harold has owned my shop for years. He helped turn it around into something habitable again. Now, he wants to give it back to the castle and chuck me out on the street.'

‘Business is business.'

‘Yes, it is,' Quinn said. ‘And we're all businessowners here. And we're fighting the man.'

The room applauded, and Quinn was pleased to see Harold speechless. Noah reached the front of the stage, and this time two people had to hold back Deb and June.

‘I think you'll find you're not welcome here, sir,' Noah said to Harold, with an ease that made Harold gasp.

‘An eviction notice is an eviction notice, Quinn,' Harold said. ‘I think you forget that shop is mine.'

‘Can't you sell it to Quinn instead?' Daniel asked.

‘I'm leasing it to the castle, not selling,' Harold said. ‘And there is no way Quinn could raise enough money to buy me out.'

Quinn pinched between his nose as a headache took hold.

‘Please, sir, if you would leave, we would appreciate that,' Noah said, and Harold, realising he didn't have the support of the room, stomped out in a rage.