Chapter 38

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Early mornings were not Quinn's thing, but he didn't mind when so much relied on the day ahead. Black painted the sky as he showered, and the morning's artist didn't add light until he was wrapped in winter clothing. He peered out of his window at the emerging hazy day, carrying a cardboard placard he'd made the night before that read ‘Queer to stay'.

Christmas Eve arrived much quicker than Quinn expected. When he was a kid, he would shake with excitement, and as he entered adulthood, he still trembled with enthusiasm. He would usually spend the day relaxing, the mounting enthusiasm for the next day building with every second that passed.

Only now anxiety had replaced anticipation, knowing that not only were they making a last bid to get their voices heard, but they were about to disturb the opening of the much-loved Hay Castle. He never thought he would disrupt the opening for a heritage site.

Peering out of his window, he could see a crowd already gathered on Castle Street. It warmed his heart to see banners and signs being held in the air, declaring ‘slay another day' and ‘fuck the patriarchy'. He shivered with excitement, feeling rebellious. Looking at himself in the mirror, he tried to muster his best attitude face. He settled with something that landed between a pissed off rock star and ‘can-I-speak-to-the-manager-Karen', and headed out into the crisp winter morning where the weak sun shimmered on fresh snow.

‘There he is!' Ivy said, wearing a long pink coat and a baby pink scarf. The crowd turned and cheered, Ivy leading the pack like a fairy-type Pokémon. Her pink bobble hat wobbled on her head, black hair falling from underneath. Her cheeks were rosy red and there was an air of excitement in her expression. ‘Are you ready to stick it to the man?'

‘Always ready!'

The three drag queens were what the gays called sickening. Penny wore virgin white robes with a huge white wig. The ghost of Christmas past had never looked so fabulous. Then there was Ebeneezer, floating in green robes and a jolly red beard. Santa Whores came dressed as the ghost of Christmas future in a black PVC boiler suit that would have looked unflattering if it wasn't for the chains that were tied around the waist, making the outfit look more dominatrix than industrial.

‘Werk,' Quinn said.

They all held their own signs, their gloveless hands clutching to wooden poles, braving the weather for the cause. He wanted to hug them, but feared he might ruin their drag if he did so.

He took in the rest of the crowd. Jenny the influencer, already livestreaming on her Instagram. Bookshop owners prepared to lose a day's business on Christmas eve to help him out. The butcher, the baker, the café owner and the market organiser, all of them wrapped against the elements, eager to begin. Then there was Emma the reporter, with her camera guy next to her, and Quinn smiled in time for the photo. Sidling up to Ivy, dressed in a gorgeous blue coat, was Blair. His own camerawoman accompanied him, and Quinn realised this was going to make the news again.

Then, running towards him from the butter market, his mother. Quinn laughed at the sight of her. She wore two coats, a bobble hat that almost covered her eyes, gloves, and a scarf. When she approached Quinn and took in his own outfit, she shook her head.

‘Are you warm enough?' Claire asked.

‘I think my jumper, hoodie and coat will do the trick, Mum.'

She smiled, then looked at the castle. ‘So, we're doing this.'

‘We are,' Quinn said. ‘And how does Harold feel about it?'

‘He doesn't know,' Claire admitted. ‘He thinks I'm going to arrive before opening.'

‘Well, you kind of are.'

He observed the castle, wondering if he imagined the new gleam on the old structure. It would open its doors in an hour, ready to welcome in the locals of Hay who had watched it fall into disrepair over the years. He silently apologised to the castle and the past, then turned to the crowd before him.

‘Are we ready?' His voice was like a battle cry, echoing around Hay.

‘Yes!'

‘I said, are we ready?'

‘YES!'

‘Long live Kings & Queens!' Claire screamed, surprising everyone.

‘Long live Kings & Queens!' the crowd chanted back.

And with that, they turned their back on the castle and made their way down Castle Street, shouting at the tops of their voices. Some people brought whistles, blowing hard into them so that their high-pitched whine disturbed the rural winter setting of peace and serenity. Well, today was about disrupting the status quo. Those who hadn't joined the protest stood at their shop doors or came out onto the street and cheered as they went by, taking photos and videos of the colourful crowd.

Blair handed out books he carried in a red sack to anyone who would take one.

He'd stolen stock?

Quinn peered closer and noticed that each one came with a Kings & Queens bookmark.

I've always loved that Bloody Blair Beckett.

As one book exchanged hands, a flyer tucked into the pages fluttered out, caught in the winter breeze. Quinn saw it land a few feet away, sinking into the snow, and realised it was instructing people where they could donate. Tears welling up, not from the cold, but from the gratitude he felt to the surrounding people, he shouted louder.

It didn't matter that it snowed. Nor did it matter that Quinn's tears threatened to freeze and blind him. It didn't matter that by the time they left Castle Street and walked onto Lion, their feet were wet – except for Claire, of course, who told them off for not wearing thermals and three pairs of socks.

‘And a good shoe!' she added.

All that mattered was raising their voices, lifting their signs, and interacting with those who came to see them pass. With rainbow flags flying, the three drag queens both protesting and acting, it was almost like their own Pride parade.

‘Keep Hay gay!' Ivy chanted, and people followed her lead.

‘Long live Kings & Queens!' they sang. ‘Keep Hay gay!'

They descended onto Belmont Road, where some people came out of their homes sporting pride flags and joined their march. Others waved from windows like this was a jubilee celebration, and the fish and chip shop began handing out portions of chips for those walking by. Quinn waved at familiar faces as they wished him good luck, and Blair made his way swanlike to every person, handing them books and flyers, flashing that charming smile. A red robin flitted by, and Quinn swallowed his sadness.

‘Where is Noah?' someone shouted from the side-lines.

It was like someone had thrown a snowball filled with bricks at Quinn's face. He recoiled, avoiding anyone's eyes, staring ahead and trying not to let his smile falter. This must be how heckled royalty felt.

Only he knew he wasn't being heckled. It was in his mind. Noah was like a ghost haunting him, and only the two of them knew what his absence meant. They shared it across miles, a missing link. Nobody else needed to know that a small part of Quinn was empty without Noah marching alongside him, showing his support.

Shaking Noah off, Quinn led the chants as they walked up a street known as The Pavement, trying not to slip on the snow, and back onto Castle Street. The castle, now open, shone at them, a Christmas tree visible through the open doors.

As they gathered outside the entrance, Ivy held a megaphone and cleared her throat, which made the people nearby cover their ears.

‘We stand outside Hay Castle, the jewel in Hay's crown, the royal palace of the monarchy that never was, celebrating that a historic place is open once more to the public.' Her voice stopped those who were entering the castle. From the castle doors, Quinn saw his stepdad run out. Even from a distance, he could see the anger on his face. His stomach plummeted, but he stood a little taller, refusing to be intimidated.

‘Keep Hay gay!' the audience chanted, their eyes on the castle.

‘In 1977, Richard Booth declared Hay-on-Wye an independent kingdom, calling himself the king. He was the man responsible for turning this town that we see before us into the town of books. He enjoyed the castle before it fell into disrepair, using it as his royal residence, much to the pleasure of those living here.' Ivy turned away from the crowd and looked up at the castle. ‘It's because of Richard, with his insight and flat-out flair, that we could open shops of many shapes and sizes without the need to compete against one another. It gave Gerald Oxford the confidence to open his own bookshop.'

At the mention of his father, Quinn looked to the floor. He hadn't known Ivy was going to make a speech, and now he let those overwhelming tears flow at the thought of his dad. Claire placed an arm around him, and he hugged his mother back.

‘Without that confidence, that guidance, that experience, Kings & Queens wouldn't exist today. By opening Kings & Queens, Quinn Oxford brought Hay into the twenty-first century. He spotted a way to not only sell books and nurture a community, but to help a community that is underrepresented. A community that needed a safe place where they could be themselves, find support, and discover who they were. It's telling that Hay's only queer business is facing closure.'

At that, the audience booed toward Harold. A few people heading towards the castle started retreating.

‘We're here today to make sure that this isn't the final chapter of Kings & Queens. We want to make it known to developers, to businessmen, to people who don't realise the importance of a bookshop like this, that they can't just toss people aside when they feel like it. If there was a legitimate reason to end Quinn's tenancy, we may begrudge such an act, but we would have no choice. But this is pure greed. This is power at play. This is breaking apart the family.'

Ivy's voice, full of passion and the right amount of anger, stirred the crowd. People who hadn't been on their march joined in the protest, while others shook their heads in a very British manner.

‘When Richard Booth transformed this town, he made history. Let's make herstory today!' She said this to the two cameras pointing at her, one for the paper, and one for national news. She performed spectacularly, and Quinn led the round of applause, beaming, his chest raised. Every part of him wanted to reach for Ivy and hug her tight. He looked around at the crowd, his smile getting wider, a rush of adrenaline coursing through his veins.

‘Are you ready for this?' Claire asked.

‘Ready.'

‘To the castle!' Claire called.

‘To the castle!' Ivy bellowed over the megaphone.

This battle cry was enough to strike fear into Harold, who ran down the refurbished stone steps, his eyes wide, his face red. But there was no time for him to stop the crowd getting into the grounds, climbing the steps and meeting him halfway. They were an army coming to conquer.

Harold glared at everyone, but then his eyes found Quinn. ‘What the bloody hell?—'

He stopped. His mouth hung open like he was Jacob Marley.

Claire didn't shy away from her partner. Instead, she walked up to him, apparently used to the anger that he was displaying. ‘I had to.'

‘You joined the protest?'

‘I did.'

‘Why?'

‘Because you can't do this,' Claire said. A hush fell over the crowd, and Blair made his camerawoman stop filming. ‘I've had enough of you not listening to me. I've been telling you for weeks this was wrong. I've made it clear how Quinn has been feeling. You ignored me.'

‘It's my place!' Harold boomed, pointing to the snow-capped rooftop of Kings & Queens. ‘I am within my right to get my place back.'

‘Keep Hay gay!' Penny chanted.

‘Keep Hay gay!'

Harold looked at the crowd, blinked, then turned back to Claire.

‘I know you're within your rights,' Claire said. ‘But that doesn't make you right.'

‘Yes, sister.' Ebeneezer clicked her fingers.

‘He ignored my notices.'

‘And you ignored us,' Claire said. ‘Both of us. Quinn doesn't want London or a new job. He wants Kings & Queens. He wants to stay doing what he's doing. Like Gerald used to do.'

Harold pulled at the neck of his fleece jacket, looking from Quinn to the crowd to Claire again.

‘He never told us that.'

‘No, I didn't,' Quinn said. ‘For too long, I've kept quiet. Afraid of what others would think. Afraid that if I spoke up, I would rock the boat and cause unnecessary stress. Well, by being quiet, I've put stress upon myself, and I've had enough of it.'

Harold stared at Quinn as though he were a mirage in a dry desert. ‘You can't come in.'

‘Yes, we can!' Ivy said, and before Harold could argue, she led the group into the castle.

‘Stop!' Harold screamed, the flush of red returning to his skin. ‘No!'

He left Claire and Quinn standing on the top step, their back to Hay, their eyes on the protestors now inside the castle hall. That brick snowball came back, hitting him hard this time, making him realise Harold would not change his mind.

Quinn wanted to sink into the ground, give up, and disappear. All of this had been pointless.

Claire was in front of him now, and said nothing, only gave him a brisk, no-nonsense look. Quinn understood what it meant.

Until Harold took the keys, until Harold physically removed him, the shop would belong to Quinn. It didn't matter about deeds or true ownership. What mattered was the community that he'd built, the safety of the shop, and what it represented.

The building might be Harold's, but the shop would never be his.

Quinn and Claire headed into the castle where the protestors were sitting in the great hall. They were ready to protest, but the castle's new lease of life had struck each one of them. They'd repaired the castle roof, in keeping with the era. A wooden staircase had been fitted, leading to floors that once crumbled into nothingness. A glass balcony let Quinn see a hallway leading to the room that had been offered as his replacement shop, just off to the left. The windows were repaired, with the graffiti from teenagers somehow scraped off the stone window sills. A log fire burned at one end of the hall, giving warmth that filled the space, despite the open door. Looking up, Quinn could see the blend of the original stonework complimented with new brick, reinforcing the structure. Christmas music played in the background, and an animated video projected on the wall took people through the castle's 900-year history.

Despite it only opening on Christmas eve, Christmas decorations adorned every space. A Christmas tree twinkled in the centre of the room, with book ornaments on the branches. String lights hung over the banister and balcony, with a sign pointing visitors to Santa's grotto. From upstairs, Santa let out a ‘Ho, ho, ho' out of sight, no doubt unaware the place was now full of peaceful protestors.

‘This is incredible.' The last time Quinn had been here, it had mostly been a working site, with dust still covering the floor. ‘You did an amazing job, Harold.'

Harold crossed his arms, not saying a word. Looking at blotchy red skin, Quinn thought he might explode if he did.

Quinn milled around the hall, passing the sitting protestors. He came to a window overlooking the town. They had printed a quote on the glass.

‘"The new book is for the ego",' Quinn read aloud. ‘"The second-hand book is for the intellect." A Richard Booth quote.'

‘That's right.' Gordon, who'd been on the second floor, walked into the main hall. ‘We had to honour him here. That was my idea, that was.'

‘A good one.'

‘And his statue is outside.'

‘Wow.'

‘This is your protest?'

Gordon looked around the room, his eyes lingering on the drag queens, who were keeping quiet but performing an interpretive dance. Notably, it was a greedy businessman stealing from the locals.

‘It is.'

‘Nice.' Gordon looked at Harold. ‘Think I'll join.'

Quinn gasped, and Harold turned in time to see Gordon sit down next to Ivy, who hugged him.

‘What are you doing?' Harold stomped over, causing Emma's cameraman to take a photo, and Blair's camerawoman to direct her filming in their direction.

‘I'm joining the cause,' Gordon said.

‘You are not. Get up.'

Gordon crossed his arms, looking like an overgrown humorous child. ‘Shan't.'

‘ Shan't?' Harold said. ‘ Shan't? Who do you think you are?'

‘You, Harold, are a bully,' Gordon said, and this time, Claire gasped. ‘You bully people. This whole time you've bullied us, and you've been bullying Quinn. The rest of the boys agree with me. You're a bully.'

Had the real three ghosts of Christmas visited Gordon? He looked Harold in the eye, his voice stern, not a hint of fear or worry that he was standing up to the man who kept a roof over his head.

‘A bully?' Harold spat. ‘Say that again.'

‘Bully.'

‘Don't forget who pays your wages.'

‘Oh, right.' Gordon stood, looking crestfallen, and Quinn admired that he'd tried. He'd spoken up, at long last, giving Harold a piece of his mind. Despite everything, men like Harold got their way. Gordon, Quinn and Claire were all pawns in his game.

Harold's angry expression changed to that of a man back in control of at least one half of the situation. Gordon avoided everyone's eyes as he approached Harold, an expression of grief on his face. ‘Thing is, I've found work. Good work. For another firm. Take this as my notice.'

The drag queens erupted into cheers, and Gordon started when those nearest him hugged him, patted him on the back, and congratulated him on the new job. His eyes met Quinn's, and he put his thumb up, and Quinn beamed.