James Goss - Almost Perfect

Rhys paused, impressed. ‘Good call. You’re right.’

‘Musical genius, me,’ she admitted. ‘I can name that crap in three notes or less.’

‘That’s quite a skill,’

‘Yeah – utterly useless, but it impresses the boys.’

‘It certainly does.’ Rhys suddenly, genuinely liked her. She seemed relaxed about the whole thing. She was dating and flirting and didn’t remind him at all of a slightly dusty Garfield clinging to a rear windscreen.

‘So what’s on your iPod?’ she asked.

‘Oh, that’s not fair.’ Rhys was stumped. ‘You know I’m going to try and give you a cool answer.’

She shook her head. ‘Absolutely not. I want to know what you listened to when you came here through the rain. I bet you nodded your head.’

‘Actually, er…’ Oh, I’d make such a bad spy. ‘Well, I walked.’

‘And didn’t listen to any music?’

‘Yes, well, er, that is…’ Now Rhys, don’t start this with a lie.

‘Well, actually, I walked down with someone.’

‘Someone?’ Emma, amused, held up her hands and made quote marks.

‘My ex, Gwen. She’s not very happy about me moving on.’

She stroked his hand, just slightly, and Rhys suddenly felt like he’d discovered a new flavour of ice cream. ‘I’m sorry about that, Rhys,’ she said.

‘Oh, it’s not so bad, really. She just can’t accept that it’s over. I’m trying to be gentle, but we weren’t working. It was her job – she saw more of it than she did me, and one day I just got tired of waiting for her to come home.’

‘I’m sorry to hear that,’ she said. ‘Work’s just work, isn’t it?’

‘Yeah,’ said Rhys, warming to the subject, ‘but she didn’t get that – not until I’d moved out. And now she wants me back. But I am saying no.’

‘Good for you.’ Again, a light touch, just a little bit higher up his arm.

‘Thing is, she says she’ll change. Says she’ll be different, you know, just to please me. And that’s not what I want. I’m just me. And work is part of what she is. She shouldn’t try and be what she’s not just to make me happy. I never will.’

The bell rang. Rhys’s face crumpled. ‘Oh, I’m sorry.’

And Emma laughed. ‘Rhys, love. Just a tip – next time, say Simon and Garfunkel.’

‘What?’

‘If you’re asked what you were listening to just say Simon and Garfunkel. They’re safe, make you seem sensitive, and if you’re challenged you can shrug and say it was on shuffle and that you’ve got tickets to the Ting Tings next month. But whatever you do, don’t talk about your ex!’

Rhys spread out his hands, aghast. ‘I am so, so sorry… That is so tragic.’

Emma shook her head. ‘It’s OK. You’ll know for next time.’ And she smiled with all her teeth.

Next time? Rhys walked away, just a little bit of a spring in his step.

‘You were bloody all over her,’ spat Gwen as they stormed down Chippie Alley.

‘Was not.’ Rhys tried lingering meaningfully outside his favourite kebabery, but Gwen was having none of it and didn’t even break her stride.

‘You practically licked the air she breathed.’

‘She was well put-together, I’ll give her that.’

‘You could have been a bit more subtle. I thought you were supposed to be playing it cool?’

‘Heart on my sleeve, me. Always been my trouble. Salt of the earth.’

‘Well, she’s instantly suspect number one.’

‘You’re jealous! Just cos something wonderful steps into my world, you want to taser her and stick her in a cell next to a Weevil.’

‘Next to? She can bloody share a cell.’

‘Gwen, love?’

‘Yes.’

‘You’re bloody magnificent when you’re jealous.’

‘Thank you. Is there any of that lasagne left in the fridge?’

‘A little.’

‘Then you are my perfect man.’

‘I still bet I get more calls than you do.’

Gwen waited until Rhys was asleep, and then slipped out of bed and drove to the Hub. She loved the furtive feeling of wandering across the empty plaza, stepping up to the fountain, and then the click and the cold rush of night air as the invisible lift carried her down.

Sensing her presence, lights flickered gently into action, lighting up each of the storeys that the lift carried her through. Little pathways across the Hub’s floor lit up, and she stepped over to her desk, switched her computer on, then went over to put the kettle on. Ianto wasn’t around, so she figured she could make a cup of instant without getting into trouble. She guiltily kept a tiny jar hidden in her workstation. She’d tried telling him once that instant wasn’t so bad, really, but he’d just stared at her, like she was giving the ‘Rivers of Blood’ speech.

Once into the system, she uploaded the digital pictures she’d taken of the room, along with details of the people on the register. She watched as the complicated alien machinery at the heart of Torchwood’s computer reached out into the internet, cross-matching faces and names and pulling in information – phone numbers, more photos, blog posts, one small criminal record, a wish list from Amazon, a history of dodgy dealings on eBay, some ill-advised beach photos from Facebook, a video of a restored car from YouTube, and proof that Gavin was quite the best player of Warcraft in Cardiff. But there was one name and face that Gwen homed in on. She clicked her mouse, and watched as Emma Webster floated forward, gradually filling the screen. Another click, a slight fumble, a small curse, two right clicks, and more images of her from over the years popped up on several other monitors that flickered into life.

‘She is gorgeous.’

Gwen screamed and jumped.

Bugger.

There, holding out a cup of freshly brewed coffee, was Ianto. He looked a million dollars in a neat little dress with kicky heels, like he’d been to a board meeting, followed swiftly by a cocktail party and an awards ceremony.

Gwen sat there, guilty and dishevelled, in the old sweatpants she sometimes slept in and a baggy T-shirt, her hand still clasped in shock to her breast, waiting for her breath to come back.

‘Ianto! Don’t do that!’ She was furious with herself for being scared.

‘I’m so sorry. I thought you’d like some coffee. I really didn’t mean to scare you.’

‘And what are you doing looking like Grace Kelly?’

Ianto looked a bit blank. ‘Like what?’ He glanced down.

‘Oh this? Oh, it’s nothing, really. Just something I found in the Archive. Turns out there’s tonnes down there. Sometimes it’s nice to wear really good clothes. I’ve always felt comfortable in smart clothes – you know how it is, stick with what makes you feel comfy.’ He glanced at Gwen, and smiled.

Gwen felt herself curling up. Especially when she realised there were still bits of lasagne stuck to her T-shirt.

‘Yeah,’ she said slowly.

Ianto stepped forward and settled the cup down. ‘Truthfully, I didn’t feel much like going to sleep. I’ve not been sleeping well. Nothing really planned. Did a bit of tidying in the vaults.’

‘No Jack?’

Ianto shrugged. ‘Still out trying to track down the cause of his static cloud. You know how he is. So what’s all this, then?’

Reluctantly, Gwen turned her attention back to the screen. ‘Well, Rhys and I went to that speed-dating thing.’

Ianto smiled. ‘Taking your husband speed-dating is so modern.’

‘Yeah. He turned out to be quite useful, actually. More useful than Jack would have been.’

‘I’m always useful!’ Jack strode in from nowhere, flinging his coat onto the sofa. He adopted his big beam. ‘Twenty strangers, some alcohol, and a chance to make small talk? Thirty minutes and we’d all have been in a big naked heap.’