addendum, “Customer’s request, make them decent sized potatoes, please!”

“Let me guess,” Matt said. “Dee, Glen, and Ash?”

Fizz nodded, too nervous to speak.

“Hmf,” Matt huffed, then cast his eye at Fizz with a meaningful glare.

Fizz was confused. Was Matt annoyed with him? What had he done? Matt went back to his work,

and Fizz decided maybe he’d better wait out in the hall.

When the dinners were ready, Matt came downstairs with him to carry the third dinner, and the

gravy pots. As the plates were set on the boys’ table, they all broke into laughter over the comedy

shaped Yorkshire pudding Matt had given Dee.

“It looks like a chuff!” Dee guffawed.

“Yeah, thought you’d like it,” Matt said. “Easily amused.”

While they were distracted, Fizz managed to slip away.

Half an hour later, he was behind the bar, piling up dirty plates. Like the used glasses that were

collected, the used plates were stacked, then placed on the back bar. It was a handy place to dump

things when collecting dirties, walking from one end of the pub to the other. Ryan and Pete went

around collecting glasses and plates, stacking them at the back bar for Fizz to deal with.

That was fine by Fizz. Even though it was cramped, he liked being in the back bar. There were big

boxes of wires stashed behind the bar – used for the live music nights – and a box of promotional St.

Patrick’s Day items from Guinness. The rest of the bar was empty, not having been used for a while.

The beer pumps here didn’t work. Everyone knew drinks were served from the front bar only, so Fizz

was safe at this end.

The rain had gotten worse throughout the day. Through the windows, Fizz could see black clouds in

the sky, and the rain showed no sign of letting up. All the lights inside the pub had been switched on,

yet it still managed to look gloomy. A mixture of dim and green-tinted bulbs did not make for good

lighting.

Fizz loaded the dirty glasses into the glass washer, and put clean ones up on the shelves. He took

plates back up to the kitchen, four at a time. On his second trip down, he shuffled into the bar quietly.

His hands reached around the last stack of plates, counting how many were left. Seven. Could he carry

seven? Maybe two trips would be best. He didn’t want to drop any halfway up the stairs.

Fizz was concentrating so hard on his task, that he didn’t notice a figure appear on the other side of

the bar. “I’ll help you take those up,” Ash offered. Fizz jumped in surprise, then felt silly for doing so.

Ash smiled at him.

“I – I’m okay,” Fizz said weakly.

“It’s no problem.” Ash darted a look round. Pete had disappeared into the cellar to change a barrel,

and Ryan was busy talking to a customer, with his back to them. No one was looking. Ash reached up

to hold onto the wooden overhang, then eased himself up. He swung first one leg, then the other over

the bar, landing fluidly on the ground Fizz’s side. Fizz realised he must have done that before. Either

that, or he was naturally graceful. If Fizz ever tried something like, that he’d fall flat on his face.

He blinked up at Ash. Now what? What was he supposed to do? The back bar – quiet and gloomy as

it was – was his little sanctuary. Having Ash here, right next to him, threw him off balance.

Ash grinned at him, then grabbed half the stack of plates. “Okay?”

Fizz felt like a fool. The icy tingle stroked his neck, and he tried to suppress the shudder that

followed. Keeping his eyes lowered, he nodded. Fizz picked up the remaining plates, and followed Ash

upstairs.

Ash hummed as they walked. Fizz was grateful for that, as it meant he didn’t have to think of

something to say. The look Matt gave them when they entered the kitchen was genuine surprise,

followed by another of those meaningful glares. Fizz got the impression that Matt didn’t approve of

him being friends with Ash.

What had he done? His mind raced away with the possibilities, as he walked back along the hall

with Ash at his side. Before they reached the stairs, Ash stopped.

“Have you seen the function room yet?”

“Huh?”

“The function room,” Ash said with smile. “It’s well cool. I helped paint it. Come look.”

Fizz watched him stride off. Where’s he going? Ash ignored the door that led to upstairs, and went

to a second door. Fizz hadn’t noticed it before. It was heavy, with a security lock like all the other

doors had. Ash punched in a code, then twisted the lock, heaving open the door. It creaked ominously.

Inside was dark. There were heavy, thick curtains on large windows. Ash slapped his hand on the wall,

flicking a switch several times.

“No one’s fixed the lights, I take it. They blew last time we were up here. Help me open the

curtains.”

“Are we allowed in here?” Fizz asked tentatively.

“Ryan won’t mind.” Ash grabbed the curtain nearest to him. “The view’s great, but not as good as

the top of the building. In Pete’s room, you can see the whole of the pier, and even out to sea.”

Ash pulled hard, drawing the curtain back. Light flooded the room, and Fizz followed him inside.

It was a large, high ceilinged room, with a tiny bar on the far right. That left the rest of the space

open. There were five big, old windows here, just like the ones upstairs in the staff flats. But instead of

faded magnolia, these walls looked fantastic.

They’d been painted dark blue with smatterings of glittery blobs at various intervals. Fizz thought

maybe they were stars. On the lower half of the wall was a frieze of black and red flames, rising up

from the floor. The floor itself was bare floorboards, covered in the centre with a large, mankylooking

rug. There were some tattered streamers dotted about, the remnants of a party, perhaps.

On the far side of the room was a built-in bench section that ran under the windows. Ash jumped

onto it, and tried to pull the curtain back. “Can you give me a hand?”

Fizz carefully stepped onto the ledge. He tugged at the section of curtain that wouldn’t come free,

and together they managed to get it open. Fizz found himself gazing out on a perfect view of the Old

Steine, and Victoria Gardens. The plaster cast statues of the pub’s own king and queen were just

visible on either side of the window.

“Oh, wow.” Fizz leaned into the glass for a better look. He loved the figurines, the way they stood

guard over the building.

“Cool, huh?” Ash said, standing next to him. “It’s a shame you weren’t here in August. We watched

the Pride parade from up here. Best seats in the house.”

Fizz breathed in sharply. The flutterings of panic rose in his stomach, but it wasn’t the usual,

trembling sort of panic he was used to. No, this was much lighter; a feeling tinged with anticipation.

This special blend of panic only seemed to appear when he was with Ash. Fizz barely noticed the icy

tingle on his neck, but he heard the voice.

“Ask him.”

“Are – are you gay?” The words tumbled out of Fizz’s mouth before he realised what he was

saying. Ash didn’t seem offended. He shrugged, gazing out of the window. “Maybe half. I guess some

people would call that bi, but I don’t like labels. You just like who you like, right?”

Fizz swallowed. “Do – do your parents...?”

“I think my dad’s guessed by now. It’s not really an issue with him. He went against an arranged

marriage to be with my mum, and they went through all sorts of shit for that. He knows he’s not in a

position to judge me, so I guess I’m lucky that way.”

“Oh.” Fizz glanced at Ash’s face; the burnished skin, the blacker than black hair. “Where’s your