Chapter 35

Chapter Thirty-Five

‘God, you look terrible,' Daniel said as Quinn walked into the bookshop.

‘Oh, thanks,' Quinn said. Truth be told, Daniel didn't lie. His hair, sometimes combed, stuck up from a night of sleep. He'd rolled out of bed and walked downstairs. ‘I had a restless night.'

‘Is it about Noah?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘Well, word has spread that he left.' Daniel gave Quinn a look of pity. ‘And someone else said that they'd seen him go to yours the night before. Did something happen?'

Great. So now Quinn was the gossip of the town because Noah left in a hurry? Knowing that someone had already whispered about them confirmed Noah's feelings. The sense of community in Hay was strong, but it acted like a double-edged sword. Quinn loved the community aspect, but Noah wouldn't, couldn't. In some ways, Quinn almost wanted to tell Noah that he had validation.

‘It's not like that.'

‘Do you need to go back to sleep?'

‘No, I'm here for the day.'

‘If you're sure.'

Quinn headed to the counter, checking emails and doing the regular daily admin. Daniel flitted between the shelves, organising for the customers. As Quinn headed towards the kitchen at the back to make them a coffee, he heard Daniel cough.

‘So, gay sex.'

Quinn spun around, looking at Daniel. ‘Excuse me?'

Daniel, standing at the counter, placed his hands on his hips. ‘Uh … yeah. I'm thinking about doing it.'

Quinn blinked, realising he had sleep around his eyes. He rubbed at them, wishing he'd woken up earlier so that he could be more alert.

‘You're thinking about having gay sex?'

Daniel cleared his throat. ‘That's right, and I'm wondering if you have any tips.'

‘I…' Quinn paused, looking at his watch. Ten minutes until opening. ‘Daniel, I thought you were straight?'

‘I'm … not not straight. At least I don't know if I'm straight.'

‘Do you want to chat?'

‘I thought that's what I was doing.' Daniel rubbed at his neck.

‘Normally people don't open with "so, gay sex", but I'll let you off,' Quinn said. He leaned against the nearest bookshelf. ‘Tell me what you're thinking.'

‘For a little while now, I've wondered if I might be…' Daniel waved his hands, as if unable to find the word.

‘Gay?' He shook his head. ‘Bi?' Again, a no. ‘Pan?'

‘Something other than straight, I guess,' Daniel said. ‘Um … no offense, but it's why I took the job.'

‘Oh?'

‘I thought maybe I could start working here and, like, I don't know, get whatever I felt out of my system,' Daniel said. ‘Only the more I met people, the more books I put on the shelves, the more I let myself feel what I was feeling. I'm scared.'

‘Absolutely normal.'

‘It is?'

‘Yeah, why wouldn't it be?'

Daniel struggled to find the words. ‘You seem so … confident? Especially with this fight to save your shop. The way you're arguing back with people who tell you what to do. I've never seen that side of you before. It makes me realise how … secure you seem in who you are.'

‘That's how I appear to you?'

‘Yes. Don't you feel that way?'

‘Not enough,' Quinn admitted. ‘But when I first thought about who I'm attracted to, and started facing my actual feelings, I was terrified.'

‘Did you ever feel in denial?'

Quinn laughed. ‘Sorry, but yes, I did. There was a time when I hated myself.'

‘Wow.' Daniel sighed. ‘I can relate to that.'

No matter how many times he heard of similar experiences, hearing that someone hated themselves because of their sexuality always made Quinn disappointed. Society deeming queer people as anomalies because they weren't straight led to people like Daniel, like Quinn, feeling ashamed of themselves.

‘Do you hate yourself?'

‘Sometimes,' Daniel said. ‘I haven't told a soul. Nobody even knows I work here.'

‘Oh.' For the first time, Quinn realised how little he'd been paying attention to his own member of staff. ‘I'm sorry, Daniel. I've been an awful boss.'

‘What? No, you haven't,' Daniel said. ‘You've got a bit more to worry about than whether James Bond over here likes men.'

‘About that. You asked me about sex? You're seriously considering it?'

‘I met this guy,' Daniel said, looking away from Quinn. ‘Couple of weeks back.'

‘Your age?'

‘Yes, my age,' Daniel said. ‘Kind of in a similar situation to me. Both of us are…'

‘Exploring?'

‘I guess,' Daniel said, sighing. ‘Yeah. I suppose you could say that. It would be the first time for both of us.'

‘Is he pressuring you?'

‘No.'

‘Are you pressuring him?'

‘What? God, no.' Daniel looked worried, as if maybe he'd already made mistakes in the world of gay dating and sexuality exploration.

‘And you're sure you want to do it?'

‘Yes.' Daniel coughed. ‘Don't get me wrong. I've had sex before. Girlfriends. Had no complaints.'

‘Oh, well, that's good then.' Quinn was unsure of what else he was meant to say.

‘Yeah, got a pretty big?—'

‘I don't need to know,' Quinn interrupted. ‘It sounds like you're being safe. Here, I've got some flyers about resources for safe sex. Some details about things like PrEP, too, should you want to consider it. Make sure you're wearing protection, that it's consensual, and that you both want it. Know that by having gay sex, it doesn't mean you're gay. People will tell you it does, but it doesn't have to be. What I'm saying is, you won't have sex with a guy and immediately know your sexuality, and that if you still feel confused, that's okay. You don't need to rush in discovering who you are.'

‘But if I like it, and do it, doesn't that mean…?'

‘It could mean a lot of things,' Quinn replied. ‘The fact you're thinking about the same sex, and you're exploring that, is something to go on. You might not believe it, but some people think they might be one thing and never go back to it. Is that to say they're straight or that they're gay? Sexuality is fluid. Have you read any of the books on it?'

‘I'm not ready for those yet,' Daniel admitted, taking flyers from Quinn.

‘All in good time,' Quinn said. ‘Look, do what you think is right. If you think sex is right, go for it. But maybe consider what you feel when you kiss someone. Or how it feels to be intimate with another man that doesn't involve sex. You don't need to have sex straight away to rule out a feeling.'

‘I understand. But I want to. He does, too.'

Quinn nodded, watching Daniel flick through the leaflets on the sexual resources that he'd given him.

‘Does it hurt?' Daniel asked, blushing.

‘Yes, it can hurt. Go slow, lubricate, and only do what makes you feel comfortable. Don't rush it.'

Daniel inhaled, nodding. ‘I wish you could be there to guide me through it.'

‘That would be inappropriate, Daniel.' Quinn laughed, heading to the door to welcome in customers.

‘And what about poppers?'

‘Ah, leaflet in the drawer. I would recommend you don't do those just yet.'

‘People always talk about poppers,' Daniel said.

The bell above the door tinged.

‘I did poppers once.'

Whipping around, Quinn saw his mother standing behind him, wearing a large white coat and a hood over her head that she fought to peer through. She seemed to blend into the background, her hands in her pockets, trying to shield herself from the cold air.

‘You scared me, looking all ghost-like.'

‘I'm sorry.'

‘Poppers, Mum?'

‘I was curious.' Claire shrugged.

‘Straight people can take poppers?' Daniel asked.

‘I sure did.'

Daniel looked like he wished this conversation wasn't happening and excused himself. Quinn watched him go, wondering how else he might help. The only thing he could do was let him know he was there to talk to him. Knowing his bookshop helped Daniel feel confident enough to talk mattered most.

Claire cleared her throat. ‘Listen. Can we go get a drink? I want to talk.'

His mother never did this. She never wanted to ‘talk', preferring instead to brush any potential problems under the carpet and pretend they didn't exist. It wasn't like she wasn't there for him. It was that acknowledging problems meant having to deal with them, and they were too British for such a thing.

So that she wanted to talk right now meant it was serious.

‘Yes, if you want to.'

‘Will Daniel be alright on his own?'

‘Yes, he will be,' Daniel called.

Quinn laughed. ‘Sorry to keep dipping out on you.'

‘You've got lots on,' Daniel said. ‘Go talk.'

As they walked down the high street, Quinn felt as though he saw Noah in every face. He double took when he thought he saw him in the crowd, or when he thought he'd heard his voice, even though Quinn knew he wouldn't see him here.

Claire found them a seat in a cosy restaurant playing Christmas jazz music, a genre Quinn didn't know existed until now. They sat in a bay seat window, looking out through frosted glass at people walking in the snow.

The restaurant, an Italian, smelled of garlic and olive oil, making Quinn's stomach rumble. They ordered two coffees.

‘Have you been here before?' his mother asked.

‘Of course,' Quinn said. ‘There's only so much choice.'

‘Right you are,' Claire agreed. She whispered, making Quinn lean towards her to make sure he could hear her over the din of the diners and the sultry music. ‘I came here on my first date with your father.'

Quinn realised with shame that he'd never asked how his parents met.

‘He knew the owner at the time. Said he had to show me the place.' Claire smiled. ‘I found out later that his friend owed him a favour, so the meal was free.'

She laughed, making Quinn smile.

‘Did that annoy you?'

‘No, it made me laugh,' Claire said. ‘And it made sense why he was so insistent on paying the bill. We had so much food and drink, I felt like I had to pay for something.'

‘And nothing to do with hating sexist tropes?'

‘Of course not.'

The server came back with their drinks, placing them on the wooden table in front of them. Quinn reached for his.

‘You look tired, Quinn.'

‘I am.'

‘Why?'

‘I can't sleep. I've got a lot on my mind right now.'

‘Oh, baby.'

His mother looked apologetic, touching his hand. It was a kind gesture, but Quinn couldn't help the annoyance that rose inside him. His mother had let these worries run amok. She hadn't said a word to Harold, and that hurt him. It was like choosing sides, war camps had been set up, and his mother wasn't there fighting for him. She was Switzerland.

‘What did you want to talk about, Mum?' Quinn moved his hand away. If the move slighted Claire, she didn't show it.

‘What's going on,' Claire said. ‘Harold… He's upset.'

‘Not this again. I can't have you defending him to me.'

‘I know. And I'm not going to,' Claire answered. ‘I donated to your fundraiser.'

Quinn swallowed his drink. He placed his mug back on the table with a force he didn't mean, almost spilling some.

‘You donated?'

‘Yes. I know what this shop means to you.'

‘You haven't shown that.'

‘No, I know.' Claire took the criticism. ‘But Quinn, I am in such a tough place at the moment. Caught between two people I love.'

‘Yeah, your son and husband. Hm, must be a hard choice.'

‘Don't be like that,' Claire shot back. She regained composure by running a hand over the table, dusting away something that wasn't there. ‘Please, Quinn. Listen to me.'

Quinn shrugged, waiting for his mum to talk.

‘I know I haven't been the most supportive of you,' Claire began. ‘Because I didn't know how much it meant to you.'

‘How can you not know how much it means to me?'

‘You've never told me how upset you were.'

‘I have…' Quinn said, then stalled. When he thought back to his shop, to the threatening of closure, he hadn't told his mum how much it scared him. He'd told nobody. Ignoring every letter, hoping it would go away.

Only it hadn't. It'd weighed down on him and crushed him when it was too late to tell his mother, and even Harold, how he felt. How losing his shop would devastate him and rip everything out of him. His passion, his love, his purpose in life would be gone in one transaction, leaving nothing behind but a shell of himself.

‘You never let me in.' Claire's voice betrayed her emotion. ‘I know I should have realised what you were feeling. I understand I'm supposed to pick up on those things. But in all honesty, Quinn, I thought you were fine and coping okay. It wasn't until the newspaper, and then hearing you talk, seeing you fight for it, that I realised how much this was affecting you.'

In all this time, Quinn hadn't stopped to consider how he appeared to others. The lack of agency to tell others his thoughts and feelings held him back. He'd never wanted to burden others. Never wanted his hurt, his anxieties, to worry them. But if he'd spoken up after that first letter, perhaps he wouldn't be in this mess. Perhaps Claire would have told Harold straight up that what he was doing was wrong. Maybe then they wouldn't have drifted apart – not only because of Harold, but also because Quinn never told her how he felt after his dad died. Never considered how Claire would be feeling.

‘This all happened after Dad,' Quinn said. ‘I bottle everything up because I feared being hurt again.'

Claire held Quinn's hand. ‘I know. Your silence about the letters, about Harold taking over… I assumed you were accepting it. That you understood. Don't you remember me calling you? Popping in? You mentioned nothing to me. Why?'

‘I suppose because I thought I'd be causing problems you didn't need to deal with. I'm a grown man. I should be able to deal with my own issues.'

‘I'm your mother. I'm here to deal with your issues.'

The jazz music changed its tune to a slower melody, almost like they were on some bad reality show in real time.

‘When he told me his plans, I told him he couldn't do it. I fought with him and it ended with him agreeing not to.' Claire glanced out of the window. ‘And then the next thing I knew, he told me he'd sent the eviction notice. I panicked, and when I rang you, I couldn't bear to mention it. And then you never brought anything up. And I think perhaps I took the easy way out and thought you knew what you were doing. That you got the letter, and you weren't worried because you had a back-up plan.'

Quinn recalled the first letter that came through. How later that night his mother called him, not once, but twice. How each time he felt like she wanted to say something, and how he wanted to tell her everything, but fear stopped him. At that point, he thought maybe Harold was bluffing. He hoped maybe he could ignore the letters and no more would come. When they did, he panicked and shut down.

To Quinn, there was no need to get his mum involved. It wasn't until Claire started bringing up the job in London again that he'd suspected that his mother knew what was going on.

‘You brought nothing up, either.'

Claire sighed. ‘I wasn't sure I could.'

‘Me too.'

Claire let go of his hand, instead lifting her coffee mug to her lips.

‘This is all because I suffer in silence.'

‘Your father was the same.'

Ironic, then, that Quinn's tendencies to shut others out came after his father's death.

‘The whole time, I told Harold he needed to give it up. He couldn't do this to you. But you know him. When he has an idea in his mind, there's no changing it.'

Quinn supposed his mother would know that best.

‘I donated because I want to help you, but I don't want Harold to become the village villain.'

‘He's doing that himself.'

‘Please, Quinn.' Claire shook her head, her shoulders slumped. Quinn hadn't seen her look like this since Dad died. ‘I don't know what we can do.'

It was Quinn's turn to reach out a hand. She looked close to tears and avoided his gaze, but Quinn spoke to her directly.

‘Everything I have done, I have done to protect my shop and the people who need it.' Quinn's voice wavered, but he fought to keep it steady. ‘He brought himself into it when he went on the radio. As soon as he did that, he became the enemy.'

‘I know,' Claire whispered.

‘And that's on him, Mum. Not me. Not you.' Quinn squeezed her hand. ‘There's nothing else you can do now. To be honest, I don't know if there is enough I can do, either. But we have to do whatever we can to at least try to keep the shop going.'

Claire moved her hand away.

‘Thank you. I needed to hear that.'

‘And I needed to hear you tell me you tried,' Quinn said. ‘For a while, I didn't think you did.'

‘I did.'

‘I know. I don't think I'd considered how hard this might be for you. It's not your fault, Mum. It's me, a small business, against a big firm. We all know who wins in these instances.'

Claire shrunk into her chair, crossing her arms. ‘Don't give up.'

‘I won't.'

They fell quiet, both listening to the jazz music and the happier customers around them. The server appeared, asking if they wanted anything else, though Quinn wondered if she sensed something was wrong at the table.

‘All good here.'

‘Great,' the server said. ‘By the way, my cousin came into your shop. Loved the place.'

‘Thank you.'

‘I'm very proud of him.' Claire beamed.

‘Hope it gets saved,' the server added before heading back to her job.

Quinn traced a finger over the rim of his mug as his mum leaned forwards, resting her elbows on the table.

‘Can I come to the protest?'

Quinn's eyes widened. ‘You want to?'

‘Yes,' Claire said. ‘Maybe if Harold sees me there, it will hit home what he's doing.'

‘Yes, you can come to the protest.' Quinn tilted his head. ‘But is that an excuse to come to the party afterwards?'

‘Absolutely. I've got my dress picked out already.'

They laughed, any tension beginning to dissolve between them. It almost felt like an hour of therapy to Quinn. He knew he could go about the rest of this week feeling a little lighter, knowing that whatever the outcome, his relationship with his mother would not suffer.

Claire raised her mug. ‘To Kings & Queens.'

Quinn clinked his own mug with hers. ‘To Kings & Queens.'