by Fiona Glass
'I know.’ It was true. Now that it was safe to speak your mind, vast numbers of the old ruling class had come out against the inequality of the old way of life. It had startled Madoc at first, until he realised that most of them had simply been perpetuating a habit without thinking about it for themselves Others had seen which way things were moving and switched sides before it was too late.
'Anyway,’ Carl was saying, 'Helen asked me to ask you. So there. We both want this, Madoc. You've been a good friend to us both—the best friend a man could have. Lots of non-castes would have turned against me when I took up with Helen, but not you. You stuck by me and supported me even when some of the others were looking at us askance.’
'Well, if you're sure...’ An unpleasant thought occurred to him. 'I suppose you'll want a speech?’
'Yes. And don't tell me you're no good at them. You've been making enough since you started this campaign. All those rallies and processions and charity events.’
'True.’ Fear of the speech wasn’t what was holding him back, but the fact that he’d be there alone. Watching two people you knew dedicate the rest of their lives to each other was hard when you were on your own, however much you valued their happiness. He couldn’t really admit that to Carl, mind you. Although knowing Carl, he probably already knew. 'But I can hardly start one of my political rants at your wedding. Helen would have my balls for stuffing!’
'That'd make two of us then, mate. She had mine years ago.’
∞
'A statue? Pull the other one.’
Carl grinned at him, and then at Helen. 'Told you he’d say that.’
'You did.’ Helen’s smile was the cool one that Madoc used to think made her look superior, until he got to know her better. 'And I said, give it time.’
'No. All the time in the world wouldn’t change my mind on this.’ Madoc knew he was being grumpy but he couldn’t help himself. It was so ridiculous. He got up from his desk and turned to the big window that looked out over the docks. It had rained overnight, but now the sun had come out, striking sparks off the sea and making the quay-sides look unfeasibly clean and fresh. 'Who even came up with the idea, anyway?’
Carl’s grin faded gradually. 'The people. There was a survey on the best way of thanking you and this came top. Well, actually, making you president for life came top, but we knew how you’d feel about that.’
Madoc snorted, but before he could say anything Helen cut in.
'They’ve raised the money, Madoc. Quite a bit of it.’
'Then do something practical with it. Set up a fund to help older homosexuals.’ It was a project close to his own heart. So many blokes left with the mental and physical scars of a lifetime’s worth of thrashings, who even now couldn’t always access the right kind of help.
'Yes, but that’s not visible.’ Carl was pacing, never a good sign. 'People need some kind of reminder. You know as well as anyone there are still pockets of resistance. I don’t— we don’t want everyone slipping back.’
Privately Madoc thought a statue was more likely to create a focal point for the opposition, and would no doubt end up daubed with anti-campaign slogans, or even smashed. He knew when he was beaten, though. 'So where are they suggesting we put this monstrosity? In the main square? On a plinth next to the town hall?’
Helen joined him at the window, staring out at the docks. 'It would be better here,’ she said quietly. 'Where every traveller who arrives can see it, and know what kind of society this is.’
She knew which buttons to press, he thought ruefully. He rested his forehead against the window pane, pretending to think about it, then took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. 'Do I have much choice?’
'Ha! I knew you’d come round.’ Carl punched the air in triumph and shot out of the room, presumably heading for his own office on the floor below, and his phone.
Helen lingered. 'You’re all right with this? He tends to get a bit carried away on his own enthusiasm.’
'This was his idea, then? I did wonder.’ He could feel the beginnings of a headache coming on, something he suffered from more frequently these days. That, and the stiff fingers, and the hearing that wasn’t as sharp as it used to be. He rubbed his eyes. 'If you put the bloody thing out there I’ll be able to see every time I turn round. Not to mention every morning when I open the bedroom curtains.’
'Then find somewhere else to live. Honestly, Madoc, it’s about time you got yourself a proper house out in the suburbs instead of living in some bachelor pad.’
'I like it here.’ It was true, if slightly unbelievable. He’d had the old blockhouse by the dock gates converted a few years ago, with swish offices on most of the floors and a penthouse suite at the top. It felt like home, although he didn’t know why. Maybe it gave him a sense of connection to his old way of life. Maybe he just liked the sea.
'I know you don’t think you deserve all this,’ she said after a pause. 'But you’re wrong. And we’ll keep it dignified. I’ll make sure of that.’
Madoc thought of some of the alternatives. Him on his hands and knees getting another beating from Oates. Him and Josh making out. Oh Lord. His lips twitched in spite of himself. He glanced at Helen to find her eyes dancing, almost as though she could read his thoughts. 'Maybe just a hand, then? Held out in friendship to all. That would be fitting.’
'I’ll suggest it. Can’t promise it’s what you’ll end up with, though.’
'Well, do your best.’ He watched her leave and resisted the urge to bang his head on the plate glass window. Statues, indeed. Next they’d be turning him into some kind of saint. Him of all people. Some skinny kid from the docks with short sight and the wrong kind of hair and a taste for the wrong kind of men. Men who broke his heart and disappeared. One man, anyway. A man he might never find again.
That’s what he’d have said two days ago. Now, though, there was hope. Only a glimmer: a mention of a name in some records he’d just seen. But it was a name that hadn’t been there before. Which told him that something had changed. It was a long shot, but something to follow up. Especially with the anniversary due so soon. Twenty five years to the day that Josh first appeared on the dock. Twenty five years since he fell into the water and changed Madoc’s world. Next week, he thought. He’d tried so often before and never had a result. But he had an odd feeling that this time was different. Something had clicked. A new alignment in the lines that governed time. He’d almost felt it happen, which was why he’d checked those files again. And something told him it was the best chance he would ever get.
Future Perfect
See you at the bar. Josh’s last enigmatic words, mouthed at him over the greasy waters at the dock. But which bar—and when—he’d been left to work out for himself. There were so many now, with new venues springing up every other month. Where did he even start? He’d tried them all at one time or another, dropping in whenever he had a moment to himself. It was so hard, thought. Worse than looking for a needle in a haystack, he sometimes thought. At least you knew the needle was there, whereas he had no idea if Josh was from now, a hundred years from now - or a hundred years after that.
The ripples from Josh’s visit had spread outwards for all of these years. If only he could chuck a stone in the water and have those same ripples lead him back. It wasn’t likely, though. Especially in the dark. Did ripples still work if you couldn’t see them properly? Probably not. He sighed and tapped the railings they’d built to stop other travellers falling in.
'Not thinking of doing anything silly, are you?’
He spun, to find the barman from earlier, who must have locked up and be on his way home. Had it got that late? He hadn’t been watching the time. 'I’m not going to jump if that’s what you mean.’
'Well, good.’ The guy eyed him with a worried frown. 'You sure you're all right, though? I thought you looked sad earlier.’
Madoc didn’t feel like smiling, but tried to anyway. 'I'm fine. Just disappointed.’
'Someone
special, was it?’
'You could say that. I've been waiting a long time to... catch up with him again. But it's no use. I don't think I ever will.’
'Maybe I can help—we get all sorts in the bar.’
It wasn’t likely, but anything was worth a try. 'His name’s Josh. Josh Tanner. According to my calculations he should be here around now... Nice looking guy - about six foot two with dark hair and a goatee beard. At least, he was the last time I saw him.’
The barman smiled. 'Oh, him. One of the time-police, isn't he? I’ve seen him a couple of times, but his mob usually hang out in the Blast from the Past. Can't think why—they must have a warped sense of humour. But you might find him there if you haven't already tried.’
'Really? That’s incredi— I mean, I wasn’t expecting...’ It was all too sudden. The thought that someone knew Josh, that he existed in this time. That he might be here, and not just here but at a bar that was only a few streets away. He cleared his throat. 'Thanks. I’ll head over there tomorrow.’
The barman glanced at his watch. 'Why not try tonight? They keep later hours than me. Should still be open for another hour or so.’
Madoc thanked him again, then kicked a handy stone past the railings into the murky water below. He might have known. The one place Josh might be, and it was the one place he'd been avoiding all these months. Talk about irony. He glanced at his own watch. An hour, the barman had said, until closing time. Less, by the time he’d walked back there. Was it worth going, for that? Even if Josh had been there, wouldn’t he have given up by now? He stood for a moment, pondering. He was already exhausted and slightly drunk, and probably not looking his best. But give up now and he might never get another chance.
'Make up your mind, damn it,’ he muttered, tapping the railings again. The lights of a ship that had just made its blink jumped suddenly on the horizon, casting a glittering path to his feet. Taking it as a sign, he shoved his hands in his pockets and headed for the Blast from the Past.
∞
As soon as he walked in he knew it was a mistake. The heat, the lighting, the sawdust on the floor, all combined to make it look like a watering hole from twenty five years ago. Theme pubs were all the rage just now, and this one obviously took it more seriously than most. There were even two separate rooms, one for caste and one for non-caste. The rule wasn't enforced, of course—he could see a red-haired lad perched on a stool at the caste half of the bar—but it was enough to send chills up the back of his neck. All his worst feelings in one small, crowded, neon-lit room. He’d been right to stay away.
The red-head reminded him of himself in his younger days, although he didn’t think he’d ever managed to look so relaxed. Except, perhaps, in those two weeks with Josh, when they were alone together and he could forget, for a moment or two, about the danger of getting caught. Imagine if that was him perched there now, with Josh just about to slide onto the stool at his side, bringing drinks perhaps—or just his smile. He closed his eyes and used up his anniversary wish, but it didn’t work. There was still no sign of Josh. The calculations—never that accurate anyway—had clearly been wrong. He’d best give up on the twenty-fifth year and look forward to the twenty sixth. He was halfway to the door when he felt a hand on his arm.
'Madoc? Christ, you're the last person I'd have expected to find in here. Old campaigners usually avoid it like the Plague Graves.’
For a brief and glorious second he thought he'd come home at last, but then he saw the face that went with the words, and it was only an old colleague from years ago. He smiled, and accepted a thump on the back, and opened his mouth to reply. And that's when he saw the dark-haired man slumped over a pint at the very back of the room. Could it be? No, surely not. He’d been disappointed too many times before. The likeness was uncanny, though. Elbow on the table, head resting on his hand, looking as though he’d come off a lengthy shift and was nodding off. At this distance his face was little more than a blur. Even so Madoc kicked himself for ever thinking he might have forgotten what it was like. As if you could forget something as important as that.
Abandoning the colleague who’d greeted him with scarcely more than a smile, he shoved through the throng towards the back of the room, then stopped again. Worries followed the euphoria as seagulls followed the wake of a time-ship. Would Josh even recognise him now? He'd been in his twenties back then; now he was an old man of fifty-one, worn out by a lifetime of struggle and strife. His hair was grey, his face gaunt and lined, even his eyes were tired. Even if Josh knew who he was, he'd hardly still be attracted to this worn-out shell of the man he'd once loved. And yet... that was Josh. The man he’d been chasing more than half his life. He couldn’t just turn around and walk away now.
He took a breath, wriggled his shoulders again, and stepped into the man’s line of sight. Watched the vague glance the man gave him. Watched as realisation struck. Watched the sudden warmth that lit up Josh’s eyes. Knew that whatever happened, it might just be all right.
'Madoc? Am I dreaming? I wasn’t... I mean, I didn’t know...’
In that moment Madoc felt every last one of his fifty plus years. Back then, when Josh had dived into his life, he’d been the awkward one. The one with no confidence. The one who’d looked up to Josh for his easy assurance, his maturity, his apparent control. Now the roles had swapped. He smiled, ruefully, letting it reach his eyes. 'Hello Josh. You could say I’ve been looking for you.’
No grand anniversary gesture, then. Just a chance meeting in a seedy dockside bar. It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, except this moment he’d only dreamed about. But dreamed so often it had coloured his whole life. And now it was here. And mature or not, he had no idea what to do.
Josh came to the rescue, as he so often had in the past. Leaping up, he folded Madoc up in a hug, squeezing so tight it was a wonder either of them could breathe. Finally, he let go. 'I never thought... We should celebrate. Let me get you a drink.’
It was all too much. Twenty five years of poise had abandoned him so utterly he could barely even reply. 'Shouldn't really,’ he mumbled. 'I've had more than enough tonight.’ He saw Josh looking at him quizzically and flexed one knotted hand before running it through his greying thatch. 'I'm a lot older than I was back then. You can see that for yourself.’
'Bollocks,’ said Josh. 'You’re what? Fifty? That's nothing these days—now the castes have gone and the bullies have gone and life's a bit easier all round.’
'I don’t know...’ Real life was complex, and painted in ever-changing shades of grey, and the older you grew the darker the shade of grey. He was a fighter, the rest of his life proved that, but there were some things in life you simply couldn't fight, and the endless dreary march of time was one. 'Last time you saw me we were the same age, give or take a year or two. Now I'm old enough to be your dad.’
'I’m a few years older than you were at the time so the gap’s not that huge. And maybe I like older men.’
It wasn’t possible. Dreams didn’t end like this. You woke up sweating with the sheets tied around your throat, or just to the sad realisation that it was another day as lonely as all the rest. This sort of thing only happened in books. Jane Eyre. He still had that, somewhere, on a shelf at home. Took it out every now and then, not to read but just to handle, stroking his thumb over where Josh had touched it last. He gazed into his lover’s eyes, wanting, willing him to close the small distance between them, seal the moment with a kiss.
There was a bang and a clatter from just behind. 'Scuse me, need to get past...’ A cleaner pushed past them, wielding a mop. He’d been so engrossed in Josh he hadn’t noticed the other customers—even his old colleague—melting away. Now the staff were finishing up: stacking chairs, gathering glasses, scrubbing the tables down. Of all the timing, Madoc thought. Wait half his life to meet the man of his dreams and then find it was closing time. 'Want to go outside?’
Josh smiled. 'If we stay here any longer they’ll throw us out anyway. Hang on while I get my c
oat.’
He did as he was told. It was ironic, being told to wait, after waiting so much, so long, for all these years. But this was Josh, and that made it different. He was glad of the darkness, glad there was nobody else in this part of the bar. He'd thought he was prepared, but nothing could prepare you for this, the reality, for seeing someone you'd loved so much and thought you'd never meet. Nothing felt real. Any minute now he'd wake, and find himself in his old box-bed at the docks, alone. Not here, like this, with Josh mere feet away, beaming, heading back from the cloakroom with a jacket slung over his arm. It didn't happen this way. The people in his life were never this reasonable. The bubble would burst soon enough.
But if Josh’s expression was anything to go by, the bubble was safe for now. 'Come on then, let’s go for a walk.’
Outside the rain had stopped but it was dark, and almost as cold as it had been that last morning at the docks. Madoc’s breath steamed in the chilly air every time he breathed out, which he seemed to be doing deeper and more often than usual. They were heading for the docks again, he saw. It seemed to be inevitable. 'So, er, how have you been?’ he said when they’d walked for a while.
'Not bad. But then it’s only been a couple of weeks.’
'Seriously? It’s all right for some. Twenty five years for me.’
'I know. I’m sorry. I had to do what I did. And I did tell you to meet me at the bar.’
Madoc snorted and shoved his hands in his pockets. 'You could have been more specific—it would have saved me hanging round every other bar in town. Why that one, anyway?’
Josh shrugged. 'It seemed appropriate when I got back. Maybe I thought you'd feel more at home.’
'Are you kidding?’ It was a good job his hands were in his pockets, he thought, or he might well have belted Josh. 'I fought for the best part of twenty five years to get rid of this crap, and you thought I'd feel at home? You obviously don't know me as well as you thought.’ Get away, he told himself. Get away now before he did something he’d regret. He took a step, but Josh stopped him with a hand on his arm.
