Almost Perfect

GWEN IS WEARING CORPSE

The skeleton sat looking out over Cardiff Bay, its hand resting on a glass of champagne which was still fizzing slightly.

‘Oh yes, definitely one for us,’ Jack was assuring the restaurant’s owner. Gwen was dividing her attention between the corpse and Ianto.

She was just about used to Ianto being a woman. Well, more or less. The weird thing was it was exactly, completely Ianto. Self-deprecating, quietly ironic, bashful. Only in the body of a woman who looked like she’d stepped from the set of Hotel Babylon.

Ianto was standing, staring at the body, completely entranced. His head was on one side, his mouth slack with unbecoming surprise. ‘Um,’ Ianto said, using lips that had clearly never said anything uncertain before in their lives. ‘This is quite a new thing.’ He bent over the table to examine something.

Gwen caught the manager checking out Ianto’s magnificent arse. Ah well, she thought. And she’d got used to being the pretty one. Poor Ianto – she wondered if he realised the effect he was having on men. Knowing him, probably not. But Gwen was going to have to have a little word about posture. He still moved like a Valleys Boy in a new suit, stiff, slightly afraid, and ever so slightly ungainly. Plus he kept sticking his arse in the air like a duck bobbing for food. It was like presenting a target to the entire restaurant staff. Still, Gwen guessed it distracted everyone, just slightly, from the enormous lump of skeleton sat at the table.

She wondered how Jack was feeling about Ianto. Was he being all sympathetic and reasonable, or just leaping on the poor lamb? She glanced briefly at Jack. He was watching Ianto and grinning. This was just one long sexy party for Jack, she decided.

Gwen went over to the counter where they kept the CCTV and started spooling through it. She’d called Rhys on the way to the restaurant, and tried explaining it all to him, but she’d got no further than ‘Ianto’s now a woman. Ianto. The quiet man who makes the coffee. No. Not in that sense. He’s not a trans-anything. He just came into work this morning as a woman. Yes. No! Of course I haven’t checked! No, Rhys, it’s a completely different body. I absolutely assure you he’s not tucked it up. Well, I guess so. Look-No, look, the point is that he’s gorgeous and I-Shut up. Listen-Well, yes I know about your Canadian cousin. It’s not like that at all.’

The CCTV bore out the manager’s story in time-lapse. Crowded lunchtime in a Cardiff restaurant. Lots of business. Only a few empty tables. People came and went. 3pm: the restaurant started tidying up after lunch. 3.17pm: between one frame and the next, the skeleton appeared. 3.18pm: one of the waiters noticed, and the screaming begins.

Gwen pocketed the disc and went over to the table.

Jack was looking at the skeleton, and standing closer to Ianto than he’d ever stood before. He smiled at Gwen briefly, and then looked back at the corpse. ‘It’s a young skeleton,’ he said.

‘How can you tell?’ asked Ianto. Gwen suddenly realised that he really, really missed having pockets. His hands were patting the top of his skirt nervously. It wasn’t an attractive look.

‘Calcium deposits?’ put in Gwen.

Jack shook his head and pointed to the body. ‘It’s the clothes – they’re very new, they’re trendy without being expensive. We can bother with the scanners in a bit, but I’m going to bet this was a young man.’

‘Out on a date,’ Gwen put in. ‘The table’s set for two, and he’s wearing his finest pulling gear. White shirt for clubbing, stripy shirt for a date. Those are the rules.’

‘Oh those rules,’ sighed Jack. ‘What did the CCTV tell us?’

‘Middle of the afternoon. Blink and he’s there. But the look of the table suggests he’s been there hours.’

Ianto checked a clipboard, happily. ‘Table’s got a good view.’

Jack nodded. ‘See if he’s got a wallet or a phone would you, Gwen?’

Gwen bent over and started rifling through the pockets,

Ianto had spotted something. ‘There’s lipstick on this coffee cup!’ observed Ianto.

‘Excellent work, Ms Jones,’ said Jack.

Gwen sighed, and tried to feel inside the jacket without touching the ribcage or retching. She managed to undo one of the buttons and was just edging her hand in when the body moved slightly and – oh god – she touched it, then jerked back as the body moved. It fell forward and just hit the table and carried on going, and she yelled and shut her eyes.

When she opened them again, she was covered in dust. There was no sign of the skeleton, just a pile of clothes. She gagged.

‘I just touched it and…’

Ianto shook his gorgeous head disapprovingly, and bent over the body. ‘Well, here’s the mobile,’ he said.

Gwen started to brush herself down. ‘Honestly, I just…’

Jack tutted. ‘Complete cellular exhaustion. The only thing holding those molecules together was boredom. Just a tiny nudge and…’

Ianto smiled. ‘Aw, Gwen, it’s made such a mess of your nice trousers.’

Gwen laughed. ‘Look at Ianto Jones, criticising my clothes! Fancy that – your first bitchy comment. Welcome to the sisterhood.’

Jack looked up from sweeping some dust into an envelope.

‘You two aren’t going to gang up on me, are you?’

Gwen’s mobile rang. Inevitably Rhys. No matter how many times she said ‘Please don’t call me at work unless another starliner lands in The Hayes, or there’s a new Heat with Gavin or Charl looking fat.’

‘Hello, lover!’ he said. ‘What’s up? Apart from Ianto’s cup size.’

Gwen stepped out onto the balcony. It was cold and windy, and she watched the wind blow vital crime-scene evidence off her and into the Bay. Ah well. ‘Nothing much. I’m covered in bits of corpse.’

‘Eugh!’ there was a pause. ‘I was eating a doughnut,’ said Rhys reproachfully.

‘I knew you were cheating,’ Gwen smiled. Rhys was on another semi-diet, which gave Gwen hours of innocent pleasure.

‘No… not really. Pastries left over after a meeting. Stolen food doesn’t count.’

‘Really?’

‘You’ve always said so. Anyway, corpse?’

‘Yeah.’ Gwen did a little relationship maths – how much could she tell him against how much would it make her feel better. ‘Yeah. Skeleton turned up at a table-for-two.’

‘You are kidding! Classy!’ Rhys sounded worryingly enthusiastic. ‘Where?’

‘You’ll never believe it – Abalone’s,’ said Gwen. Rhys laughed. ‘Wouldn’t be seen dead in there!’

‘Well quite,’ said Gwen. ‘Poor bugger seemed to be on a date.’

‘Abalone’s. What a way to go. It’s only one up from keeling over at the Chinese Buffet. What’ll you tell the relatives? Died of shame?’

‘Ah,’ said Gwen. ‘We’re still working out who he is. You see, I touched him and he… well, exploded over me…’

There was a dangerous pause, in which Rhys had the chance to say something reassuring. Instead: ‘So you’re seriously wearing skellington?’ Rhys was really amused. More amused than when Gwen had trodden in dog turd. Wearing flip-flops. ‘Well, mind you have a shower before tonight – we’re going round to Darren and Sian’s. They’ve got a new pet.’

‘What did they choose?’ Knowing them it was going to be something fluffy and low maintenance. Their ideal pet would be a spider plant that could purr.

Another laugh from Rhys. ‘A rat.’

Gwen squeaked. ‘Oh this is the best day ever.’