That warm, wonderful laugh made Quinn laugh too. ‘Well, Santa, I hope that means that my wish will be considered.’
‘Oh, yes, my boy,’ Santa said. ‘Everyone on my good list gets their wish granted!’
And as Quinn saw the twinkle in Santa’s eye, the warm smile, and heard the joyful laugh, he couldn’t help but get lost in the make-believe.
* * *
Quinn left the castle, happy that it was open again and safe from any future attack, displaying Hay’s history with pride and adding that extra magic to Hay’s town. But as he descended the steps and approached his shop, where he saw figures in the window congregating together, he sighed.
It may very well be the last time he enjoyed his shop like this. He knew that this was supposed to be a night of celebration, but he couldn’t help but see this as a send-off. Opening the door, he heard Britney Spears’ ‘My Only Wish This Year’blasting through the speakers that were reserved for meditation music, and saw the drag queens in mid-flow, hyping up the audience. He was so thankful that he’d decorated the night before, and glad to see that Ivy was the perfect host in his absence, offering drinks and nibbles to those in attendance. The party didn’t need him, because it wasn’t him they were celebrating. They were celebrating the spirit of the shop: a safe place where people could come together to be unapologetically themselves, where drag queens could brush shoulders with burly workers like Gordon. Where people talked about their sexuality, and their gender, and made new friends, without fear of prejudice.
‘So, you’re a gay man, but you dress up as a woman? But you’re not transgender?’ Gordon questioned.
‘I’m not a man. I’m non-binary,’ Santa Whores said. ‘Drag is an art form. A staple of queer history…’
Gordon nodded, completely absorbed.
‘And I might be gay,’ Daniel, sloshed on wine, said.
As Quinn stood at the door, seeing Blair kiss Ivy under the mistletoe, watching Jenny pick up a book on transgender activism, and his mother clapping along to the performance, he felt the tears that had been with him all day unleash.
Without Kings & Queens, he was soulless. He couldn’t help people at a corporate job. There would be no educating people on issues that still faced the community. He couldn’t be a modern staple piece on historic Hay. He would just blend into a sea of grey, wishing he could afford to rent a shop somewhere else, knowing that this economy made it nearly impossible.
He felt alone. Despite being in this room, full of friends, old and new. He looked back to the castle, where the orange glow of lights acted as a beacon to Hay. It looked so inviting, so safe. Yet it would always be the reason he had to give everything up.
He found himself in his armchair, behind his desk, still crying but trying to smile. Nobody looked at him. They were all too enthralled with the performance and the people around them. Not that they didn’t care, it was just the magic of this place rubbing off on them.
He opened the drawer, looking solemnly at his eviction letters, thinking he’d put up a good fight. The protest was perfect. They did everything they could do.
Wiping tears from his eyes, he reached for a champagne bottle and a flute, and poured himself a drink. He sipped from the glass, leaning back, trying to force himself to be happy, to enjoy this night. There was no proof that tonight was his last night. Somewhere, there was still a hope that all would be well, that the lead up to this moment had been for nothing.
Harold couldn’t ignore their voices.
He couldn’t disregard their donations.
Harold couldn’t push this aside.
Taking his phone out, he filmed a video of the crowd, all of them happy, and posted it to his Instagram. He left the caption blank, knowing that he would make a longer statement when the time came. Now, he knew he should be in the moment.
He was about to get up and join the party, fixing a smile to his exhausted face, when the door opened. The room fell silent, and Mariah Carey’s opening tones cut short.
Silhouetted by the setting sun, Hermione Sage looked beautiful. Her hair was combed back, sleek and decorated with holly. She wore a red dress with a green shawl. That was not weather appropriate, but in the name of fashion, it worked. Her lips, painted red, were smiling, though she looked uncertain when the silence set in. On her arm was Jerry, her brother.
Quinn couldn’t believe that Hermione Sage, the recluse, the so-called scandal, braved the weather to be here. But it was more than that. It was the fact that she’d left the house and faced the town that had turned her into a myth.
Quinn got to his feet, fearful that the people of the town might turn on her like she was a monster. Her eyes found him, just as people cheered.
‘Hermione Sage!’ Penny Farthing called. ‘Welcome home!’
ChapterForty
Had he owned a red carpet, he would have laid it out. Had the press been notified, they would have shouted Hermione’s name. In place of all that, those in the shop fussed over Hermione like she was royalty. Champagne was thrusted her way, and she took a flute handing one to Jerry, who looked like he did when Quinn had met him: rugged and country-like. He contrasted with Hermione’s neat image, but it worked. Seeing them standing next to each other, Quinn could see their likeness.
The music filled the speakers again, and conversation erupted, no doubt discussing Hermione’s arrival. If she was self-conscious of this, she didn’t show it. The smile that had faltered was now back on, and Quinn saw her film-star quality in action as she oozed confidence and spoke to people as they rather tentatively approached her. She fluttered her eyelashes, gave a hearty laugh in the right places, and asked the right questions. The whole time, she held onto Jerry like he was her life raft. Without him, she would drown in the crowd.
This was far removed from the paranoid woman who locked herself away. She even stopped her conversation with an old bookseller to pose for a photograph and answer questions Emma asked. Her fear of the press was no longer apparent.
‘Did you know about this?’ Quinn asked Ivy.
