James Goss - Almost Perfect

‘And truth to tell,’ said Rhys, bringing over the plates, ‘it’s no hardship.’ He put Ianto’s food down in front of him. ‘But there’s no doubting who wears the trousers in this marriage.’

Gwen lashed out with her foot, but just missed Rhys’s shin. Ianto gazed emptily at his risotto.

‘Lovely,’ he said, quietly. ‘Thank you for going to so much trouble.’

‘Don’t mention it,’ said Rhys, settling down. ‘It’s a pleasure. We’re here for you. Really, mate. It must be a tough time for you.’

Gwen picked at her food. ‘What does that mean? It’s not so bad being a girl, you know.’

Rhys was starting to wear the stricken look of a hunted animal. ‘No. Ah. No, of course not. I just meant that it must be a shock. A bit of a change. You know – when you’ve got used to… well. You know.’ He then began a really ill-advised mime.

‘Bits,’ said Ianto quietly. Gwen dropped her fork. Rhys carried on digging. ‘Yes. Tackle. An inside leg.’

‘My father was a tailor,’ said Ianto.

‘Really? What does he think of your, ah, new outfit, eh?’ asked Rhys, helplessly.

‘I haven’t spoken to him,’ said Ianto. ‘He’s dead, really.’ He smiled a little.

Two hours later, Gwen closed the door with relief and sank down against it. Rhys came up behind her and wrapped his arms round her. She could feel him shaking with laughter.

She turned round and kissed him.

‘You’re in such deep, deep trouble, Mr Williams,’ she said.

‘Was that not the worst dinner party of all time?’ he asked.

‘Probably. We are never cooking for any of my work colleagues ever again.’

‘But you have to admit, my risotto was pretty bloody spectacular.’

‘It was. Oh, Rhys, never change.’

‘There’s precious little danger of that.’

Out in Penarth is an old Victorian pier that stretches out into the Bay. In summer it’s crowded with ice cream and hot dogs and fishermen and laughing children thundering up and down the old planks. But in winter it is a desolate iron ghost. Especially at night, creaking and cracking like a wrecked galleon.

No one was on the pier that night. The rain was too heavy even for walking the dog. So, no one passed by the last little shelter on the pier. No one noticed the figure in the natty suit sat on the bench, staring out to sea, a sad expression on his still face, the tracks of tears frozen on his cheeks.

The figure didn’t move, didn’t feel the cold, didn’t feel the rain which coiled up and down the pier.

Gradually, the fine suit became wetter and wetter, soaked through to the skin, the bone and the bench beneath. And, as the storm poured on, the figure just washed away, a sodden ash that spread out across the boards, trickling down through the cracks and into the sea.

Emma Webster is no longer listed as being in a relationship

Jack swept into the Hub’s boardroom, eyes shining. ‘Ladies! Tonight we’re going speed-dating!’

Ianto will bloody love this, thought Gwen. She looked across at him, all shining in his smart little woman’s business suit, the skirt stopping well above the knee. ‘Marvellous!’ she mouthed, while at the same time thinking, ‘Bit trampy, Ianto.’

Jack coughed. ‘As I was saying. Tonight, according to Patrick Matthew’s Facebook group, his speed-dating group meets. Little Miss Death may well be there. Tonight might even be the night she meets him. So we should be there too.’

Gwen snorted. ‘Come off it, Jack. Have you seen the kind of people who go on these things?’ She pointed towards the list of people who ‘may be attending’. ‘They’re not exactly conventionally attractive are they? I mean, there’s a few I wouldn’t kick out of bed, but you know, they all look a bit… normal.’

Jack leaned over. ‘What are you saying, Mrs Williams ?’

‘Well, I hate to admit it…’ Gwen really hated to admit it. ‘But you and Ianto aren’t exactly speed-dating material. Ianto’s drop dead gorgeous, and you’re-’

‘Too good to be true?’ Jack smiled broadly. ‘It’s the twinkle in my eye.’

‘Not exactly, no,’ said Gwen, carefully. ‘I just don’t think you’d do your best work.’

‘Are you kidding? I’d be brilliant.’

‘I’m sure you would, Jack,’ said Gwen patiently. ‘But I don’t think we’d learn anything. You’d just walk out of there with a pile of phone numbers, some broken hearts and a hickey.’

‘That would be from Ianto,’ sighed Jack. ‘Too much of the teeth.’

Gwen gently stirred her coffee and idly wondered how often the two of them actually had sex. She suspected that most of the time they just stood in a room naked, hands on hips, pouting at each other.

Ianto just looked deeply embarrassed. ‘I think Gwen’s right.’

‘Great,’ said Gwen. ‘I’ll pop home and change.’

Hi, I’m Martin. My friends call me Marty.

OK. Now, I’m gonna pass based purely on the dress sense .

Hello. Hi. I’m Selwyn. I’ve never done this before. I’m with the

Hmm. Can we give him better – is it teeth? Or hair? I dunno.

Hi, I’m William. My friends call me Bill, and I hope you will too.

We can’t fix tosser, can we?

Hi, I’m Harry. I’m

Oh. He looks amazing. Can we make him just a little taller?

Greetings!

No .

Hi, I’m Rhys. I work in haulage.

Yes!

Gwen let herself very quietly into the flat. It was a move she’d practised from back in the days when she still went out, taking her shoes off on the stairs and sneaking in giggling, trying not to wake up Rhys, who’d almost always be sat on the sofa, waiting up for her, passed out among a jungle of pizza and beer bottles. Once she’d even found him and Banana Boat, stretched out, game controls in their hands, as riderless cars zoomed round and round on the screen. How long ago was that? It had been ages. Honestly, you turn thirty, you get married, you vow the party won’t stop, but-

‘Love?’ Rhys was wandering through from the bedroom. Gwen froze, caught quivering on the step. She switched on her best smile. ‘Hiiiiiiii…’ she managed. It never failed.

‘Right,’ said Rhys, folding his arms. Damn.

‘What’re you doing home? I thought you were working tonight.’

‘I am,’ Gwen tried stretching the smile a tiny little bit further, but Rhys just walked closer.

‘You are up to something.’

‘Uh-huh,’ said Gwen, pottering through to the kitchen. He followed her. Bad sign. She turned. ‘Look, it’s undercover work. Nothing dangerous, but I’m just popping in for a change of clothes. You know. Don’t want to stick out.’

Rhys’s gaze continued to stare, pitiless and unblinking, at her jeans, T-shirt and leather jacket. It was at times like this he reminded her of her dad – Gwen could wrap him round her finger, unless he wheeled out the hard stare. Gwen sometimes wondered if Dad had taught it to Rhys.

She took a couple of steps towards the fridge, took out a can, opened it, and started to drink. All the while Rhys stared on.

‘Oh,’ she said, toughing it out, brightly, ‘I don’t suppose the immersion’s on is it? I’ve just got time for a shower, and then I can be all out of your way.’

Rhys tilted his head to one side and smiled. It was a dangerous smile. ‘Normally, if it’s Torchwood, an evening out involves you running through muddy tunnels. Suddenly you’re coming home for new clothes and a shower. Now, I don’t believe Jack’s got classier, has he, love?’