‘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.’
