Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

Okay, so he didn't have a what's next. He didn't have a plan. He didn't have a Scooby, though he wished he could call on the gang to unmask Harold and reveal his true character. But he knew he needed to do something. Fear held him back from telling everyone in the bookshop that the shop was facing closure, but a small idea formed in his head.

Inside his shop, he fixed a smile on his face and served every customer, including Deb and June who came by to pay their respects to him after his ‘festival ordeal', like he had died. He tried his best not to think about the letters in his drawer.

‘I'm looking for a book on gender,' a woman said, not quite meeting his eye.

‘Sure. We have a lot in stock. Can I ask what it is you're looking for?'

The woman, who he didn't recognise, looked around the shop. She'd chosen a moment of quietness, of serenity after a rush of people. Quinn had spotted her earlier, lingering at the shelves, waiting for the right time.

‘It's my daughter. Well, son.' She winced, and Quinn wanted to tell her it was okay. ‘Um… sorry.'

‘Don't apologise,' Quinn said. He encountered people like this often. Parents wanting the best for their child, even when they weren't sure what was happening themselves. ‘Your son?'

‘This will sound awful,' the woman said, stepping closer to Quinn. ‘She's a teenager. He's a teenager. He's always felt like something was different. When he was a kid, he'd hate me putting him in dresses or feminine clothes. I thought it was just a phase, you know? Anyway, he's asked me to refer to him as he and him, and he thinks … he thinks he's trans.'

Her eyes met Quinn's, and he smiled, hoping he reassured her.

‘I'm going to recommend a book targeted at teens, but it might be worth you reading it, too,' Quinn said, motioning for the mother to follow him. ‘Do you mind me saying something?'

‘No, of course not,' the mother said, though she sounded like she wished for anything but.

‘Talk to him,' Quinn said. ‘Don't tread around it like it is something secretive.'

‘But I don't know what to say.'

‘And that's absolutely fine,' Quinn said, coming to the section of his shelves labelled ‘gender and identity'. ‘The main thing is that you are there for him to speak to, and you help him figure things out. He'll need someone he can trust right now.'

The mother nodded, taking a deep breath. ‘I feel like I'm doing everything wrong.'

‘You're not,' Quinn said. ‘What's important is you speak to him. Don't worry about making mistakes. Just make sure that when he corrects you, you learn from it. Don't see it as something to be angry about. Don't take his own anger, if there is any, personally. Instead, open, honest, healthy communication is needed right now.'

She looked at the shelves of books, her mouth dropping open at the vast array of titles.

‘Here.' Quinn handed her a copy of What's the T? ‘Juno Dawson. She's very knowledgeable about the subject. Then this one, Gender Euphoria . Shared stories from trans, non-binary and other queer writers on their own experiences.'

The woman took the book, inspecting the covers with a mild sense of fascination.

‘Often, we overlook how the parents might feel,' Quinn said. ‘So, two things. We offer a support group on Wednesday evenings. It's not run by me, but it's run by an LGBTQ+ charity in the local community hub. If you want me to, I can put your name forward to join. Your son is, of course, more than welcome to join, too.'

‘Yes, please.'

‘And then this book.' Quinn reached for a book on the top shelf, hardbacked. He handed it over to her. ‘Have a look. It's for parents and how they can help their children through this process.'

‘I'll take them,' the woman said, glancing at the blurb. ‘Anything you can recommend, I'll take.'

‘Okay, if you're sure,' Quinn said. ‘Also, if you or your son ever want to come in for a chat, or just somewhere to be, then please do so. We have a place where you can sit and chat, without fear of judgement. Like I say, I'm no medical professional. I'm not qualified to offer any sort of therapy or advice. But I am here to sell books on the topic, to be a place for people to come to, and a person you can talk to about anything.'

The woman looked like she wanted to cry as she handed the books over to Quinn at the till. As she took the bag, she placed a hand on his arm.

‘Thank you,' she said. ‘Honestly.'

As she left, Quinn sighed. It was moments like these when he feared the loss of his shop. Here in Hay, he was the only place people could come to without fearing what the person they were talking to might think. He wanted to help people, craved helping people. He might not be a doctor, a psychologist, or the owner of a charity with valuable resources, but if he could help in other ways, that was a purposeful day to Quinn.

Losing that ability to be there for others was a hard prospect to face.

As he re-ordered copies of the books he'd sold, he rested his head against the nearest bookshelf. Harold was not only taking this away from him, but from everyone else that wanted advice, education, and a good queer read.

‘Busy day?' Ivy strolled into Kings & Queens wearing a bright pink raincoat and fluffy earmuffs. She took off her gloves, still wearing her plentiful rings, and leaned against the counter.

‘I was just about to close,' Quinn said, checking the time. ‘It's been busy, but I think most people are enjoying the snow or staying indoors.'

Ivy nodded, as if all-knowing. She seemed to float across the shop, looking up and down the shelves. The snow continued to fall, like it had all day, burying the festival hype underneath it.

He got to his feet and headed to the door, turning the open sign to closed.

‘We need to talk.'

Ivy's eyebrows knitted together. ‘What's the matter?'

An idea had formed in Quinn's head when he saw Ivy swan into the room. Propelled by the woman seeking advice, and his own chat with Harold, he knew he needed to do something. Time was running out.

Quinn pointed to the back of the shop, and they headed there together, coming to the church's old altar, which had kept its original features. To the side of the altar were two confessional booths. Quinn pulled one of the purple curtains back, revealing boxes of stock. He slid in and looked at Ivy.

‘You want me to hear you confess your sins?'

‘Just get in the other one,' Quinn pleaded.

‘I love this.'

Ivy did as she was told, climbing into the second booth. ‘There are so many boxes in here.'

‘Got to keep the shop stocked.'

‘I've never done this before. Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned.' Ivy giggled. ‘Oh, this is wonderful.'

‘Ivy, please, I need you to listen to me.'

Quinn leaned his head against the solid oak wall behind him. Drawing the curtain, he put himself in darkness.

‘I am all ears, Father.'

‘Wait, you're the father.'

‘Oh, yes.' Ivy cleared her throat. ‘I am all ears, child.'

Quinn rolled his eyes. ‘Ivy, something is wrong and I don't know what to do.'

‘Go on,' Ivy said. ‘There is no judgement in the eyes of God.'

Quinn adjusted where he sat, shifting a box of books with his foot. ‘I think I'm going to lose everything.'

Those words, spoken so openly, scared him. Speaking them aloud felt like it was a done deal. It felt real. He tasted them, so sharp, like citrus on an ulcer.

‘I've had a letter. Multiple letters. I've ignored every single one of them. But I can't ignore them anymore.' Quinn closed his eyes as tears welled, letting them trickle down his freckled cheeks. He didn't bother to wipe them away, even when the salty taste brushed past his lips. ‘Eviction notices, Ivy. I'm being evicted.'

The curtain ripped back, and Ivy stood before him.

‘What the hell is going on?'

‘No blasphemy in this church.'

‘Enough.' Ivy shook her head. ‘You're being evicted? How long have you known?'

‘A couple of months.'

‘A couple of… A couple of months?' Ivy's voice raised to a shriek, the necklaces she wore jangling together. ‘What? Why?'

‘It was easier to talk when I couldn't see you.'

Ivy drew the curtain, disappearing from view, and Quinn heard her stomp back into the second confessional booth.

Quinn sighed, feeling lighter now that some of the burden was unloaded.

‘The castle wants this as an information centre. That's what I've been told,' Quinn said. ‘Because it's right opposite. They want this to be a place where people can buy tickets, learn a bit about the history, and then cross the street to the castle.'

‘Why this church?' Ivy asked.

‘I don't know. Maybe because it used to belong to the castle. I know they want the church to be the hub.' Quinn saw Ivy's shadow move behind the slatted opening in the wall between them. ‘They want me out.'

‘Wait a minute…' Ivy said. ‘Isn't your stepdad the one rebuilding that castle?'

‘Did I tell you that?'

‘God knows all.'

Quinn laughed, but it was hollow.

‘You're being evicted by your own stepfather?'

‘Yes. Well, his firm. He owns this church.'

‘Your stepfather,' Ivy said. ‘And what's the alternative?'

Quinn chuckled, remembering the offer Harold had given him. ‘He told me I could instead have the shop in the castle. But the room is a box. I could only get one shelf of books there. There is no way I could live like that.'

‘And what about another shop?'

‘There aren't any.' Quinn groaned. Shops don't come up for rent in Hay, and when they did, they were beyond his budget. ‘And also, this is my shop. I wouldn't want to be anywhere else.'

‘No, I understand,' Ivy said. ‘We can't have this.'

‘There's nothing else I can do, Ivy,' Quinn said. ‘Do you think it's too late to do something?'

Quinn heard a commotion next to him, and Ivy screamed. Stumbling out of his own booth, he saw Ivy had tripped over some stock and landed on the altar floor.

Quinn gasped. ‘Please don't sue me.'

‘Would it help you if I did?'

Quinn thought for a moment. ‘No.'

‘It is never too late,' Ivy said, dusting herself off. ‘That is what I was rushing to tell you, but here we are. Who have you told about this?'

‘No one.'

Ivy got to her feet. She crossed her arms like a teacher who didn't like a student's attitude. It was not the first time he felt like a student with her. ‘No one?'

Quinn shook his head.

‘Mum knew, but seems to think I didn't care about being evicted because I didn't say anything. I thought she might talk some sense into Harold, but it doesn't seem to be that way,' Quinn said. ‘I haven't told anyone else because I didn't think Harold would go through with it. This is home. I can't lose this.'

‘And you won't, my dear boy, you won't,' Ivy said. ‘Now, do you know who I am?'

It was Quinn's turn to knit his eyebrows together. ‘Sorry?'

‘Do you know who I am?'

Quinn couldn't tell if she was joking or not. ‘Um … Ivy Heart.'

‘That's right.' Ivy smiled. ‘And Ivy Heart knows everyone. And knowing everyone means I know everything about them. I know the ins and outs of this town, whether or not people want me to. I've often thought about setting up a blog, like Gossip Girl, only it's called?—'

‘Where is this going?'

The sound of people laughing outside broke the stillness of the shop. A thud on the windowpane followed by shrieks of delight told them a snowball fight had broken out. The sun, the brief glimmer of light through the thick clouds, gone. It was dark already – the height of winter.

‘Knowing everyone means I have connections,' Ivy said. ‘You know the Hay Herald, don't you?'

‘Of course.'

The Hay Herald was a staple piece on Hay's culture. A local newspaper, as old as time itself, it seemed, with offices just around the corner.

‘We start there,' Ivy said. ‘We get this story out there. You are not having your shop taken from you.'

‘There isn't time.'

‘Why isn't there?'

‘They want me out by Christmas.'

Ivy's mouth dropped open. ‘They're kicking you out over Christmas? Holy Mary. No, no, no, no, no. This won't happen. Not on my watch.'

‘Ivy…'

‘No,' Ivy said. ‘I have connections everywhere, and I'm not letting this go without a fight. You can sit here and mope around, but I'm taking action.'

‘I'm not moping?—'

‘Quinn, with all due respect, you're a moper. And mopers never get things done.'

Quinn couldn't help but smile. In the darkest time of his career, there was a shining light in front of him, like Rudolph guiding a sleigh. Quinn realised that all this time he'd needed a friend, but had let no one in. Ivy had come at the right time, a messiah or an angel, or something else Christmassy. Whatever. All Quinn knew was that he needed her.

‘I don't want to be a moper anymore.'

‘Progress.'

‘What do I need to do?'

‘We show why people need this place,' Ivy said.

‘I've got some ideas on how we can do that.'

Ivy thought for a moment. ‘We need someone to bring the crowd in. We need to show that this is the place to be. My god, it's a shame you didn't tell me sooner. I would have got Noah Sage in here.'

Quinn's eyes widened, an idea forming in his head. ‘Can you get him in here?'

‘No, I'm not that well connected.'

The bell over the door jingled.

‘Oh, I must have forgotten to lock the door.' Quinn sighed.

They both headed to the front of the shop, Quinn fixing an apologetic look on his face.

‘Jesus Christ,' Ivy said. She grabbed Quinn by the hand, a regular occurrence in their relationship.

There he was, all six feet of him. He wore a black jumper and grey joggers, something Quinn forced himself to not look down at. His messy blond hair tangled on his head, and he wore glasses.

I didn't know he wore glasses.

It gave him a professor look. If your professor was young and insanely attractive.

‘Hi,' Noah Sage said, looking at the two people before him.

Quinn didn't say a word. He looked at Ivy, wishing the rush of stinging blood to his cheeks would stop giving him away.

‘Talk of the devil.'

‘Blasphemy,' Quinn whispered.

Noah blinked.

‘Noah Sage?'

Of course it was Noah Sage. What was she playing at?

‘Yes.'

Oh, no. He sounded annoyed.

‘I'm Ivy. Ivy Heart. I'm here on behalf of my friend, Quinn.'

She pointed to him, and their eyes met. Once again, they stared at one another, Quinn rooted to the spot.

‘Hi, Quinn,' Noah said. ‘We meet again.'

Please God. Help me.

Ivy looked at him as if to say, ‘Why am I only now finding out about this?'

‘Yes, we do,' Quinn managed.

‘Quinn owns this shop.'

‘The gay shop,' Noah stated. ‘I love that Hay has that.'

‘Well, good,' Ivy said.

But Quinn had to fight to hear what she had to say next. He loved it? Noah Sage knew about his shop? His shop? And he loved it? What was going on here? Had the fall earlier knocked him unconscious? Was he dreaming? Of course he knew about it. He was in it. But he knew about it?

‘Because we need your help with the shop.'

‘I don't know what you mean,' Noah said.

‘I'm being evicted,' Quinn blurted. There was silence, and Quinn realised he needed to say more. ‘I'm being evicted from my shop by my stepdad and my cousin. I know what you might be thinking. It's not a big deal. But it is. Our shop is a community for the community. People flock from all over to support us. We not only stock the bestsellers, but we have a vast section of LGBTQ+ books and books by LGBTQ+ authors.' He knew he was rambling, but he couldn't help himself. ‘We offer a safe space for those who need it, offering help for anyone that might need it. We are a lifeline here, something different in the town of books, and my stepdad wants me evicted so he can turn it into an information centre for the castle that he's redeveloping. It's just business, apparently. So…'

Quinn faltered. What was he asking? There was that familiar feeling of stumbling over his words, making no sense as his heart beat with anxiety.

‘So, we're trying to make people aware that this is happening,' Ivy said, saving Quinn. ‘That Hay is about to lose something very important. And we need as much help as possible to raise the publicity. We're talking newspapers, TV spots, radio spots, and we know we can get that with you involved. You'll be helping a cause.'

There was silence. Quinn looked at Noah, willing him to speak.

‘It sounds dreadful,' Noah said with a careful tone. ‘And I understand. But there isn't much I can do.'

‘We want you to do a book signing,' Ivy said. ‘You can bring in the crowds and we can get the press attention, and we can put the pressure on.'

‘I can't,' Noah said.

‘Excuse me?'

‘I'm going tomorrow. I won't be here.'

‘You're not going anywhere,' Ivy said. ‘Have you seen the snow?'

‘I…' Noah looked behind him, and Quinn thought he was trying to think of an excuse. ‘I just… There's… I won't be available.'

‘But you see…' Ivy began.

Noah stepped backwards, his hand finding the door handle. He was about to leave, but Ivy placed a hand on his arm. ‘Please, Noah. You would be an immense help.'

For a moment, Quinn thought he would say yes, that the three of them could come together and with his influence, they could save his shop.

‘I'm sorry,' Noah said. ‘You can always try Blair Beckett. I hear he's still in town.'

He closed the door, leaving Quinn and Ivy stood feeling dumbfounded.

‘Bloody Blair Beckett?' Quinn choked.