Chapter 25

Chapter Twenty-Five

Quinn had almost finished perfecting his invites for the party when the door to the shop opened and Gordon strolled in. He closed the invite design so quickly that scientists would need to study him. Some people were not invited, and his cousin Gordon was one of them.

‘Quinn,' Gordon said, as if they were about to enter a very formal meeting indeed.

‘Gordon.' Quinn matched the tone. ‘Can I help?'

‘To be honest, I needed a break.'

The incense on Quinn's desk floated between them, a lavender scent in the air. The Lo-Fi music playing on the shop speakers at a discreet volume clashed with Gordon's plastered stained high-vis jacket, his work slacks, and his black boots covered in dust.

‘A break from what?'

‘Harold!' Gordon said, his hand darting out and gesturing at the castle on the hill. ‘He is on one, and has been on one, for three days now.'

Quinn dusted off his clean clothes. ‘I don't know what you mean.'

‘Yes, you do,' Gordon said. ‘He's pissed.'

‘Shame. Daniel, do you mind if I just…?'

Daniel, stocking the shelves, nodded. ‘Go for it.'

‘Hiya, mate,' Gordon said.

‘Yeah. Hi. Hiya, bro … ski.' Daniel blushed at his own words.

Gordon moved aside as Quinn came from behind the table and walked to the back of the shop towards the kitchen. ‘Tea? Coffee?'

‘Mate, I'd love one.'

Quinn paused. ‘Tea? Or coffee?'

‘I'm a builder,' Gordon said, as if that meant something.

Quinn, juggling a 50/50 crisis of making the right drink, left Gordon standing in the back of the shop at the altar, like he was waiting to get married on his lunch break. Here in the kitchen, where two monstera plants caught the weak winter sunlight from two small windows, he exhaled. He could stay here, listening to the kettle's water boiling, and hope that Gordon would leave.

‘He's ranting about last night.' Gordon's voice echoed from the shop. ‘Said he's never felt so humiliated in his life.'

‘He didn't have to come.' Quinn added one tea bag to a Roald Dahl-inspired mug, and then coffee to his own Penguin Classics mug. ‘He could have saved himself the embarrassment.'

Emerging into the shop again, Quinn was on one hand relieved to see no customers, but annoyed to still see Gordon, even though he'd offered hospitality.

‘Lush colour, mate.' Gordon sipped his tea. ‘Got any bickies?'

Quinn found the biscuit tin in the kitchen. ‘You want to talk.'

‘Aye, well, I want a break,' Gordon said.

‘Confessional?' Quinn gestured to his booth, and Gordon, after pausing for just a little too long, shrugged and got in.

‘So, what am I meant to do here?' Gordon asked.

‘Rant away.'

Gordon sipped his tea, a loud sucking sound. ‘Ahhh. Well, you know what Harold can be like. Got a temper on him, that man has. Keeps the boys in order with his jibes and his outbursts. Only I've never seen him like this before. Fuming. Absolutely tamping. Says he won't let this slide.'

Quinn tugged at his jumper, hoping to cool his rising temperature. The last thing he wanted to do was to make any family member an enemy. He knew it would cause aggravation, maybe even come between him and his mother, but would it get so bad? It seemed almost as if Harold couldn't see any solution other than to burn bridges.

He glanced at the grate between him and Gordon, relieved that his cousin couldn't see him biting his lip.

‘He thought that by going on the radio he could get the narrative straight,' Gordon said. ‘Get the press back on the castle. But now he thinks the restoration is being overshadowed and tainted. He's worried people won't want the castle open again.'

‘Well, that's not true,' Quinn said. ‘People love the castle.'

‘That's what I said,' Gordon said through a mouthful of biscuits. ‘Only Harold won't listen. He reckons now that they're going to come for him.'

‘Who?'

‘The locals.'

‘Well, they will,' Quinn said. ‘Gordon, look, I know you work for him, but come on. You've got to see my point of view here.'

Quinn waited for Gordon's response. He was quiet, and Quinn hoped he was self-reflecting, thinking about his own role in threatening Quinn's future, his shop, and his dreams.

An almighty belch came out from the other side of the partition, and Quinn rolled his eyes.

‘Pardon me,' Gordon said. ‘Too many biscuits. Nah, Quinn mate, I hear you. You think I'm evil, don't you?'

‘Not at all,' Quinn said. ‘I just wish people on the inside would stick up for me.'

‘Hard to do when he's paying my bills.'

‘You're his immediate family. You have influence.'

‘So are you, and so do you.'

Quinn laughed. Influence over Harold? Yeah, right. Harold came into the family and accepted Quinn, sure, but they hadn't bonded. Quinn didn't need to bond with him. Quinn was already in his twenties, and both men knew Harold could never replace Quinn's father. An unspoken truth linked them together, and they always remained friendly. Harold was a new partner for his mother. They would share family events together, and that would be that. Some people got to know and develop a bond with their stepparents, but Quinn hadn't, and that was okay.

It wasn't like Harold was the wicked stepfather, if that was even a thing. Until now, Harold had been nothing but supportive. Casual questions about the shop, a feigned interest in the life of a gay bookseller. Harold was cut from a different cloth, and so the pair sometimes talked business, with Harold trying to relate it back to his own.

Not once had Harold ever given Quinn the idea that he would lose his shop.

‘I have mouths to feed. That's why I haven't left,' Gordon said from the other side of the wall. ‘Six of them.'

Six? Gordon had been busy! Quinn cleared his throat, imagining the horrors of a house full of six kids. ‘I didn't know you had six kids.'

‘No, well, we don't do the family thing, do we?'

‘You're barely my cousin,' Quinn said. ‘Like, stepcousin.'

‘That doesn't mean that we can't meet up for Christmas.'

‘Six kids? That's crazy.'

‘My missus always wanted a big family.'

‘I didn't even know you were married.'

‘We're not.'

And it reminded Quinn of how Welsh people seemed to call their female partners their missus with affection. Quinn realised Gordon hadn't attended family gatherings – not that there had been many of them.

‘He wants me to work Christmas day. Did you know that?'

‘Harold does?'

‘That's right,' Gordon said. ‘Says we have to get the finishing touches in.'

‘But it's already opening to the public before Christmas?'

‘Aye, well, to the public eye it will look perfect,' Gordon said. ‘Bit of leccy left to do in the offices.'

Quinn finished his coffee and stretched out his legs, his feet dipping underneath the curtain that acted as the door. He had never spoken to Gordon like this. Barely three words ever passed between them. He realised now that maybe he'd judged Gordon too harshly. The man he stereotyped to be brash and loud was someone who seemed to work for others, working hard to get by, and doing what he had to do to survive. As he listened to Gordon recount tales of his so-called missus and his kids, it struck him how much affection and love Gordon had for his life and his family.

‘You love her, don't you?'

‘Her and the kids,' Gordon said. ‘We don't have much money, but I wouldn't change a thing.'

‘That's nice, Gord.'

‘You know Harold doesn't want to turn this into a ticket booth, don't you?'

Quinn's gratitude for the partition increased. ‘How do you know that?'

‘He told me,' Gordon said. ‘Said that he's been sitting on a gold mine for years, and now with this castle opportunity, he's seen another way to make even more money. You remember Harold was broke before this, don't you?'

‘Yes, I do,' Quinn said.

‘He would often say he regretted ever letting the shop out. Said he should have sold it the moment he bought it.'

So that was why Harold tore away the safety of his shop: money. When his mother met Harold, he'd been doing the odd job here and there. He wasn't raking it in. ‘Maybe he held on to it because the value would keep going up?'

‘More than likely,' Gordon said. ‘Desirable area and all that.'

Quinn didn't know how much Harold earned from the castle, but since getting the contract, he'd employed more people. Oh, and bought a new Mercedes. And went to the Maldives with his mum. He certainly didn't earn enough from Quinn's rent for all of that. Somewhere along the line, when doing the castle, Harold must have realised the opportunity he had to sell up. And if he sold up, he'd net quite a large profit.

They clambered out of the confessional booth when Gordon realised he'd run over his lunch break. He seemed to avert Quinn's eye, as if seeing him made him realise he'd said too much. Oh, the power of a confessional booth.

As they approached the door, Quinn had one more question for his stepcousin.

‘Are you going to work on Christmas day?'

‘I don't have a choice,' Gordon said. ‘I'll have to miss the kids opening their presents, and the Christmas dinner, but there's always next year, isn't there?'

Quinn let Gordon go, watching him disappear through the archway and into the castle grounds. He had a newfound respect for the stepcousin who was also under Harold's thumb. Heading back to the computer, he pulled up the invite list and added Gordon's name.