Almost Perfect

JACK IS SOFTLY, SOFTLY CATCHEE MONKEY

People came and went across The Hayes. It was the centre of old Cardiff, in some ways. Known as the Hayes Island, a little cobbled area surrounded by department stores and endless building works. In the middle of the Island was a snack bar, pumping out hot, sweet tea and bacon rolls and hot cross buns and cakes to people who were happy to sit in the wintry open air, shivering and blowing on their drinks and passing the time.

It was quiet today. A few lonely old couples sat comparing bargains found and lost. A comical Frenchman from Poland stood, trying to sell onions from the back of an old black bicycle. A tired-looking kid was handing out flyers about God.

Jack sipped his drink and watched the figures two tables away. There was Ianto, and there was Ross Kielty. They looked quiet. There’d been an initial blow-up and he’d thought about crossing over and interceding, but Ianto just averted it, laying a gentle hand on the man’s shoulder. And he’d fallen forward, crying. And Ianto had hugged him. And then they’d spoken for a bit. And now they were running out of things to say. And the man was crying again. Jack realised his drink had gone cold. He went over to the counter and asked for three more. And a Bakewell slice. He took them over to the table and sat down.

Ross sniffed miserably and looked up. ‘Who’s this?’

Ianto smiled. ‘This is my boss, Jack.’

‘Your boss?’

Jack shook his hand, Ross returning it without much enthusiasm. ‘Ianto is my Man Friday. Even at the moment. He keeps me honest and good.’

Ianto sipped his tea. Hot and milky and sweet. He noticed he was leaving a lipstick mark on the cardboard cup and thought, ‘I’m never going to get used to this, am I?’

Jack continued. ‘He was on that ferry because of me. I’m responsible for what’s happened to him. But I could, so easily, make you responsible. For all of it – for the deaths, the destruction, for what’s going on in Cardiff, even now. But really, that’s just routine. What I really want is to know what happened to Ianto, and how I get him back.’

Ianto smiled, and reached over, snapping off a chunk of Bakewell.

Jack gave him a glance. ‘You’ll put on weight.’

Ross laughed. ‘Christine used to think so, too. But no – the body’s perfect. It doesn’t really gain that much weight. It just stays fairly lean and trim and fresh. It doesn’t really age. I should know – since she’s been gone, I’ve been lost. I’ve been pushing this body to the limits – and every day it snaps back to how it was.’

‘Dorian Gray,’ mused Jack.

‘If you like – but there’s no painting in the attic.’

‘Oh there is,’ said Jack grimly. ‘There’s always a picture in the attic. There’s always a bill to be paid. What did you do? What happened?’

‘Well,’ said Ross. ‘We were designers and decorators. You know how it is. We made a lot of money. We made each other very happy. And we had these clients – and they were like friends. And they were the most beautiful couple. I mean, gay, so obviously, looked after themselves, and what have you, but they were really, really wonderful. Great to work for, and somehow you knew just what it was they wanted. It was the easiest job we’d ever worked on. And we could just wander in and out of the flat and they didn’t mind. They were very free and easy and we felt… we were their best friends. Although they had a lot of best friends. Some would be around for a few weeks, some for just one night. But we were there for a while – we had work to do. We had decorating to do. And we felt fulfilled, worthwhile. We were making somewhere suitable for them.

‘And one day, they were out, or in bed or something. And there was this tiny ornament. Christine found it first. She just noticed it on a shelf. She said it was calling out to her. She said it was all forgotten and lonely and it wanted to be taken away. And she said we should do that. And we did.

‘And it told us what to do. Honestly. As soon as we both touched it, it was there in our heads. Christine said it sounded like her dad. For me, it sounded just like Richard bloody Burton. But somehow, that object talked to us. Soothing and strong and lovely.

‘And we left the flat, and we never looked back. It made us beautiful. Oh, we were great before – but it made everything we ever worried about go away. And after it had done that, it asked us if there was anything more we wanted. World Peace, Chris said. It laughed, but I said it would be nice to do something good. And the little stone said that that could be arranged.

‘Took a couple of months, mind. Keeping underground, realising that we could use the ferry service as a cover. Letting word of mouth spread subtly. We lived in Dublin, only took the journey once a week. Kept a low profile. We weren’t sure what we’d done, but we figured it wasn’t best to make a noise. And then… well, the newspaper thing came out, and for some reason I knew we’d gone a step too far. I don’t know if it was the picture with Christine in it, or the cheek that I’d let myself get quoted. But we looked at it, and we worried. But we figured we were doing good. We were making a lot of money, yeah, but we were really making a difference. Certainly a lot more than decorating. You know how it is.’

They all nodded.

‘And then… then it all happened. And I’m sorry – I’m sorry for you, and for all those people – and for Christine. But I dunno. Were we doing the right thing? I’ll always think we were, but I don’t know. I’ve just been sat in Cardiff, waiting for someone to find me, really. To tell me.’

‘OK,’ said Jack.

‘And?’ Ross looked up, his beautiful face somehow tired and stretched and marked. ‘Did I do the right thing?’

Jack shrugged. ‘We feel how we think. There’s a bigger picture here – and it depends how much of it you want to see. On every flea another flea feeds. And what suck’d you first suck’d me. John Donne, maybe. Do you know what will happen to Ianto? Can you cure him?’

Ross shook his head. ‘Only the device can do that. Maybe. You really don’t have it?’ He looked suddenly hopeful.

Ianto smiled. ‘No. And I don’t think we would give it to you if we had it.’

‘It’s a toy of the gods,’ said Jack, his face hardening. ‘Wouldn’t you say?’

Ross looked terribly sad.

Jack scraped his chair back and stood up. ‘Come on, Ianto, we have work to do. Thank you for your time. We shan’t meet again, Mr Kielty. Make the most of your life.’

He strode away.

Ianto turned and shrugged, the movement suddenly all wrong in the body. ‘I’m sorry for your loss,’ he said, and walked off into the rain.

Ross watched the figure of his wife walk down the road, turn a corner, and vanish for ever.