Stuff (The Bristol Collection) (31 page)

Perry stalked over, the expression on his face letting Mas know he’d succeeded in distracting him from the horror of mismatched glassware. That predatory gaze made Mas’s insides melt. “Ooh, stop it. You’ll make me come in my pants if you look at me like that.”

“You’re an infernal tease,” Perry whispered before grabbing hold of Mas’s braces. “I should just leave you to stew in your own juices, shouldn’t I?”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Mas waited for the ping of elastic against his chest, but Perry just released his hold carefully and then smoothed down Mas’s shirt.

“You can wait. Fun later, after you’ve cashed up.”

“Did I hear you right? You’re letting me cash up?” Perry had always claimed that job for himself.

Perry’s eyes crinkled. “You’re a partner in the business, so you should do your fair share of the boring stuff. You know what to do, don’t you?”

“I’ve only watched you do it, like, a thousand times.”

“Can’t be more than thirty. You’ve only worked here for five weeks.”

“Thirty, a thousand, whatever! Does it matter?” Mas thought a moment. “Hang on a minute. Did you say I was an official partner in the business? Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It means I’ve spoken to my solicitor, and he’s drawing up the papers. We’ll head over there next week to sign them, and then half of all this will be yours.”

“Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Mas bounced up and down on the spot before throwing his arms around Perry and giving him a lavish kiss on the tip of his nose. “You won’t regret it. I’ll do the best cashing-up job ever, I promise. You can leave everything to me. I’ll close up and let you get on with your special project. I won’t even drill a hole through the wall to spy on you, I promise.”

“I must be insane.” Perry shook his head, a bemused smile on his face, before heading back upstairs.

Mas gazed around the shop. Perry was going to give half of this to him? It blew his mind. That was as big a commitment as getting married, surely? It was just a shame Perry couldn’t throw that into the mix too, but hey-ho. Pointless getting maudlin about stuff he’d never change. At least this way they’d be partners officially, and what could be a better occupation for a gay couple than running a vintage clothes boutique together? Yes, this definitely would make them an established couple in everyone’s eyes. That’d show people like Tyler, who didn’t believe Mas had it in him for long-term commitment.

Mas hummed to himself as he sorted out the bow ties. Things were definitely looking up.

The day was moderately busy, and when he finally turned the door sign over to CLOSED, Mas could barely wait to start totting up the final takings. He had a fairly good idea how much it would be already from having counted all the notes earlier on, but he wouldn’t know for sure if he’d beaten the previous Tuesday’s takings until he got it all added up.

He was halfway through counting the pound coins when his phone started playing “You’re So Vain”. Fuck. That was Mr. Married’s ring tone. Mas contemplated not answering at all, but he knew the man wouldn’t give up that easily.

“’Lo?” he answered, aiming for breezy casual. “What’s up?”

“Nothing much until I heard your voice, honeycakes.” Grant chuckled in a way that just a few weeks before would have had Mas unzipping his trousers and assuming his best phone-sex voice. Now he just thought Grant sounded smarmy.

“I’m a bit busy right now,” he said, “so if you’re back in town, don’t go expecting a date tonight or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I’m still in New York. I just wondered if you’d had any more time to think about my offer. I e-mailed the estate agents’ details of a few places to you last week, but I haven’t heard back.”

“Been having a few problems getting online.”

“You need me to get you a new phone?”

“I don’t need anything. Really, I don’t. I’ve been getting things sorted all by myself.”

“Well, aren’t you a clever little thing?”

“I’m not little. Or a thing.”

“Hey, sweetheart, relax. I didn’t mean anything by it. Just a figure of speech.”

“Yeah, well, I don’t like being patronised.”

Grant was silent for a few moments, and when he spoke again, his voice was low and seductive. “I can tell you’re stressed, and I know I’ve been away a long time, but let me make it up to you. I won’t be able to stay for long, but next week I’ll be flying back for the weekend, and I could come up with a sudden emergency needing me to spend the night in Bristol. How about it, sweetness?”

“Are you sure your wife won’t want to see you instead?”

Grant gave a wry chuckle. “I doubt it. I’m hardly flavour of the month back at home. Besides, she’s too absorbed in some tedious gymkhana thing the girls are both competing in. Costing me a bloody fortune, but at least it keeps them busy. So, Friday it is.”

Mas was about to agree, because it would be better to tell Grant about Perry face-to-face. He owed him that much, surely? Dumping someone over the phone was just plain cowardly. But then he realised. “Friday? I can’t do Friday. Got something very important on.”

“More important than meeting me? Come on, babycakes, I haven’t seen you in almost six weeks.”

“And whose fault is that? And yes, it is more important than meeting you. I’m hosting a party.”

“Then I’ll come along to it. It’s about time I met some of your friends.” Grant was starting to sound desperate. Why now? He’d never shown the slightest sign of giving a shit about Mas’s life outside of the bedroom
before
he met Perry. Too little, too late.

“I’ll be hosting it with my boyfriend.”

“Your boyfriend? What the fuck? I thought I was your boyfriend!”

“So did I for a while, but it turns out you were just my fuck-buddy. And now you’re not even that, so I really don’t think coming along to the party will be appropriate. And besides, I’m not going to tell you where it is, so you’ll never find it. Bye, Grant. Have a nice life.”

“You little fuck—”

Mas took great pleasure in hanging up on Grant in mid rant, then promptly turned his phone off. He couldn’t deal with another call like that. In fact, his hands were shaking. What he needed was a quick walk around the block to calm him down and clear his head. He shoved the till drawer under the counter. He could finish counting the coins when he got back.

He let himself out of the front door. A lone teenager was spraying a design on the building opposite, and it got Mas thinking. What about a painted sign on the upper storey walls of the shop? They could make it like one of those vintage advertisements you still sometimes saw on old buildings, with the paint all flaking off. There was a place up on Stokes Croft that did murals, but it would be cheaper to do it themselves. Could Mas handle painting a mural? And could he get it done by Friday?

Did the Pope shit in the woods?

Yep. He was full of good ideas today. All he needed now was a bit of visual inspiration to persuade Perry around to his vision of how the shop could look. He headed up to Stokes Croft, phone at the ready to take some pictures.

Forty minutes later, and Mas was heading back with a set of photos that were going to blow Perry’s mind. He had in mind something simple and monochromatic, with all the interest in the font. He’d always been good at fancy handwriting, so it would be a doddle. All he’d need would be a ladder, a few cans of black paint, a couple of ochre, and he could do the whole thing himself. Best just to keep it simple.

He saw a familiar redheaded figure at the door of the shop and waved. Hard to tell if Perry had seen him yet from that distance. He certainly wasn’t waving back. As Mas jogged closer, uneasiness rose up inside him. Perry definitely wasn’t looking happy. In fact, he looked pretty bloody panicky, what with the way he was hugging himself and pacing around in the doorway.

“Perry?” he called. “What’s the matter?”

Perry whirled around, shock quickly obliterated by a relieved smile. “You’re all right! Thank God for that.”

Mas was enveloped in a tight hug, like Perry wanted to make sure he was really there by squeezing the life out of him. “Whoa! It’s okay. I just went for a little walk. What are you so worked up about?”

Perry’s arms slackened. “You went for a walk? Are you serious? Leaving the shop unlocked?”

“I locked up behind me. I’m sure I did.”

“One-hundred percent sure? Because when I got down here, I found the front door open and no one in sight. So unless you know someone else who’s got a copy of the key, I’m pretty sure you didn’t lock it.”

“Oh shit. The money.”

“What do you mean?”

Mas pushed past Perry in his hurry to get to the counter. Please God, let it all still be there, and he’d never do anything so stupid ever again. He’d even go back to church once in a while. Christmas and Easter, at any rate. They wouldn’t be coming around again for ages.

He stared down at the empty till tray. “God’s a total fucking bastard.” He groaned and dropped his head to rest on the counter, then head-butted it a few times for good measure. “I’m such a stupid fucking idiot. I thought I’d locked it. I was just distracted by all these amazing ideas. Shit, Perry, I’m so sorry. I’ll pay it all back out of my wages, I promise.”

“I don’t care about the money.”

“You should! We had another good day. Took over three hundred in notes. Think there was another fifty odd quid in coins too. I’d almost finished counting them when I left.”

“Why didn’t you finish first? Why didn’t you finish and lock all the money safely away upstairs like you told me you would?”

Mas stole a quick glance at Perry, then wished he hadn’t. Shit. The poor bloke looked shattered. Mas knew his views on shoplifters and the like. This must feel like he’d been physically violated. “I’m so sorry. I had a phone call that caught me off guard. Had to get some fresh air. I wasn’t thinking straight.”

“You’re bloody well right you’re not thinking straight. That’s not what you told me a minute ago. You said you’d been thinking about painting the outside of the shop!”

“Right. I was, as soon as I got outdoors. Saw this kid over the road… Hey, he might have seen who did it. We could ask him.” Mas turned to the window, but the kid was no longer there. “Little bastard, I bet it was him. We should call the police. I could give a description, sort of. He might have been picked up on CCTV somewhere, anyway.”

“There’s no point.”

“But don’t you want him to be caught? Get your money back?”

“It’s not about that. It’s about trust. Me being able to trust you, specifically.”

“All I can say is I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

“Yes, well, that’s not good enough.”

Bloody buggering fucknuts.
Mas watched as Perry picked up the tray and stomped over to the door to upstairs. “Wait a minute. We can work this out.”

“I don’t want to speak to you right now. You can sleep down here tonight.”

The door slammed shut behind Perry, leaving Mas all by himself. He glanced around at the shop. Nothing else had been taken or damaged. That was something. And like Perry said, it was only money, and that didn’t really matter.

What mattered was the way his heart had been chewed up and spat out.

“Not gonna cry,” he told himself, as the tears began rolling down his face. “I’m not going to cry. Oh fuck.”

He texted Jasper.

Chapter Thirty-Four

After the second burn from his soldering iron, Perry had a change of heart. It was no use. He couldn’t actually work in this state, and there wasn’t anything else he wanted to do other than spend time with Mas. They needed to kiss and make up. Half an hour of fuming was more than enough for him, as he didn’t actually do anger all that well. Resigned sadness was more his style.

And yes, he was still annoyed that Mas had gone out without locking up properly behind him, but perhaps that was just the sort of man he was. Easily distractible. In future, Perry would just have to make sure he didn’t leave Mas in charge of anything where that tendency could be a liability.

He headed downstairs to find Mas and make everything better.

The shop was empty.

This time, fortunately, the door was firmly locked and the security shutters had been padlocked down outside. Mas had even left him a note on the counter in his quirky, spidery script. “I’ve gone to spend some time with my mates. Don’t wait up. XOXO”

“What’s a zozo?” he asked the empty room. Perry assumed that was how it was pronounced, anyway. Was this some kind of cryptic insult? But Mas didn’t seem like the kind of person to leave snide notes like Perry’s father used to. Mas was more the kind of person who’d tell you honestly what he thought, to your face, even if it came out buried in a torrent of other words. It was just separating out the real Mas from the excess verbiage that was the real challenge, and it wasn’t one Perry could rise to if Mas wasn’t talking at him.

For the first time ever, he wished he had a mobile phone. Bloody hell, even a landline would do. Perhaps he should look into getting it reconnected.

But at seven o’clock on a Sunday evening, there wasn’t a great deal he could do in terms of sourcing either a landline or a mobile.