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There was a couple that would come to Justine's restaurant every third Wednesday of the month. Every time, without fail, ever since she had opened, more than a decade ago.
At first, they met in dark corners, always arriving separately, always staggering their exits. Hushed whispers and papers that would be pulled away the moment she approached with a meal she knew to place in front of the fair-haired one. Justine had thought they were spies, before Maggie from the record shop had told her one of them, the one that always attempted to speak to her in the worst French she had ever heard, was Mr. Fell. He owned the bookshop down the street apparently and was the furthest thing one could find to a spy. She still had her reservations but tried to look like she had accepted the explanation. There was no point in aggravating one of her oldest regulars.
That was, of course, until a few years ago.
It was like a switch flipped, one month they were meeting at their regular table, a bit more surly than usual, sure, and drinking more wine than she thought advisable. But still, the same. And then the next month, September, she remembered that as it was just starting to get chilly and she had closed off the patio, expecting no reasonable person to want to sit outside when they could enjoy the warmth and lack of autumn chill safely from the inside.
Yet, when those two finally arrived, they insisted on being outside. Right there, in the cold and the rain that was about to pour down on them any minute now, judging by the clouds Justine had learnt to read by her second year in England. But they were so happy, giddy really, to be sat on the patio that she let them be.
And then, there was the touching. In all the years she had served them, she had never once seen them touch. Not even as they passed papers back and forth, not even as they leaned so close to whisper things to each other so quietly, she assumed they were reading each other's lips at this point. And yet, that fateful day in September, the red-haired one, Crowley, she had heard Mr. Fell call him. He moved the chair for Mr. Fell, waited for the other man to make himself comfortable, before tucking him closer to the table. And then, if that wasn't enough, he brushed a hand over his shoulder in passing, receiving a wide smile in return.
As she watched them, happy and smiling, staring at one another as if the outside world didn't exist, it dawned on her. The reason for all that secrecy, the hushed tones, their regular table - always at the back, away from everyone. She almost felt stupid for it having taken her a decade to figure them out, but in her defence, she had never felt like such things needed to be hidden. It was the middle of Soho, for goodness' sake, she had more queer couples visit her restaurant than not. But then, the men were obviously older, having grown up during a different time. It was understandable, even if she still found it a bit silly.
She didn't mind seeing them so much afterwards. It was kind of cute, the way they would always try to touch each other, brushing fingers over glasses and menus, the way they had switched to sitting side by side now instead of across one another. They reminded her of a teenage couple on their first date, all giddy excitement, the desire to be close, everything else irrelevant.
So when they failed to appear one Wednesday, she noticed. And when that happened a few months in a row, she got concerned. She tried telling herself it was because they were regulars. And, sure, they always tied up one of her best tables on the patio for hours. But they tipped well, a miracle in itself in this country, and they kept to themselves. Also, and Justine understood this was going to sound crazy and it did, even in her own mind, but she felt like every time they visited, her day would get a little bit better. The dishes would be just a little bit more delicious, the staff a little bit more alert. Her problem customers - a tad less unbearable.
She told herself she missed that. But she knew, in her heart, that wasn't the only reason.
The first people she thought to ask about the disappearance of her oldest regulars were Nina and Maggie. Partly because she vaguely remembered seeing them talk to Mr. Fell and Crowley at that monthly meeting of the shopkeepers, the last time she had seen either of them. And she only said vaguely, as for the life of her she could not remember what had happened during that meeting. The only thing she could recall was feeling extremely nervous and somewhat angry, but that was neither here nor there as that's how she always felt during those meetings. She really needed to stop drinking so much before them.
The other reason as to why she went to them was that, well, she didn't. They came to her. A day after the 4th time in a row the couple had failed to come to her restaurant and her finally deciding something must be done, she spotted Maggie and Nina on one of her tables. She went to greet them, as she always did.
"We are not on a date," Nina exclaimed, unprompted, like any normal person would, who was not on a date with the woman they had been flirting with for months. Justine, who was a professional, only nodded. Could she point out that Maggie was wearing a very nice blouse that complimented her eyes and Nina's hair was far too pretty for this non-date? Of course. Would she do that? Also, of course.
But this time, she was on a mission.
"Sure. Do you know where Mr. Fell and that fellow that hangs around him have gone?" she asked simply and watched as both their faces turned even more scarlet. They shared a look that was a lot more guilty than it had any right to be.
She leant forward. Put on her most charming smile and opened her mouth-
Greg decided now was the perfect time to drop 12 cocktails for a party of 6 on a hen do. One step away from the table. By the time she had dealt with the mess, offered a few cocktails on the house and had scolded the man appropriately, Maggie and Nina were gone.
But her interest had been piqued.
The third person she questioned was, believe it or not, Mr. Brown. Just by virtue of being in front of her in the queue for coffee. Justine knew he liked to give off the vibe that he knew everything about everyone, even though his knowledge was often out of date or entirely wrong. Or based on some wild assumption he had just made up and then decided to run with.
Oh, well, it was a long queue and she had time. Unfortunately, by the time she had made up her mind they were next, so she had to wait for him to order before tapping at his shoulder. He turned around to give her that wide, fake smile that she hated. She worked in a restaurant, she could tell.
"Do you have any idea where Mr. Fell and Crowley are?" she asked, apropos of nothing. No reason to make the conversation longer than it had to be.
The man stared at her, the smile going a little lopsided, much like a sticker a child had stuck on his face.
"You know, Mr. Fell, the man who owns the bookshop right across from here?" She had no idea how Mr. Brown, who was all up in everyone's business, had no idea who Mr. Fell was. But she couldn't really find another explanation for the blank look he was giving her. Mr. Brown blinked at her slowly, once, twice. "And Crowley is the tall ging-"
Then he left.
Just, turned to her fully and then... wordlessly walked out of the cafe. His coffee was still on the counter.
What?
Justine actually sought out Mrs. Sandwich for this. She liked the woman just fine, they shared a fair bit of clients and she had a wicked sense of humour. She also never acted like Justine was slow just because she had the wrong kind of accent. The last one alone put her above a fair few of the other shopkeepers.
"Oh, Justine!" Mrs. Sandwich greeted her like an old friend, which she guessed they were, in a weird sort of way, when Justine made it to her office. "Finally broke down and decided you want to try one of my boys, then?"
Mrs. Sandwich wagged her eyebrows in an exaggerated sort of way, and Justine couldn't not mess with her, "Or one of your girls?"
The other woman burst into laughter while Justine simply smiled. They both knew that although he annoyed the life out of her, she had a husband at home. One that, unfortunately, she wouldn't trade for anything. While Mrs. Sandwich laughed, Justine made herself comfortable on the chair in front of her desk she supposed was reserved for johns. Oh, well.
Mrs. Sandwich tilted her head to the side, a business-like twinkle in her eyes, as she stared at the other woman. It wasn't often that Justine visited her, so she must have guessed it would be something important.
Justine almost felt stupid that she had decided to bother one of the few friends she had for something so silly. While, yes, she was curious, this was very much toeing the line between reasonable concern and stalker-ish tendencies. Well. She had come this far, she decided, and asked the question she had repeated a few too many times for her comfort.
"Do you know what's happened to Mr. Fell and Crowley?"
Mrs. Sandwich continued to smile, so at the very least, she was not creeped out by Justine's very normal concern.
"Finally showing some interest in your neighbourhood, Justine, love?" the other woman drawled with a smirk and she rolled her eyes.
"I figured it was time. After a decade," Justine teased back, almost turning it into a joke even though both of them knew this was far from it. She cocked her head to one side and waited. She knew for all of Mrs. Sandwich's teasing, she would tell her, if she knew anything. Hell, she would tell her if she didn't know anything, either.
She was right. A moment passed and then the woman in front of her was shrugging.
"I have no idea, really. I figured they're gone."
A jolt of panic rushed through her, so sudden and short-lived that she didn't even bother justifying it to herself.
"They are gone?" Damn it, her voice did not tremble as she asked. She was not invested in this. She only cared about all the money she was losing.
"I suppose so? I had that weird one pay me a visit, the one that always wears a police officer costume but dyed so white it makes your eyes sting, you have probably seen them around?" Mrs. Sandwich looked at her and Justine nodded numbly. What did that have to do with anything? "Well, they said Mr. Fell left the bookshop to them as he had needed to leave. And that Crowley had moved out. They probably moved in together, finally. Somewhere warm, I hope, have you seen the way Crowley dresses? That man must be freezing all the time."
Justine almost breathed a sigh of relief. Well, that sounded a lot less sinister than she had initially thought. The other woman had made it sound like one of them had died, for goodness' sake.
"That's all I managed to get out of them. They were far more interested in what I have going on here." Mrs. Sandwich was still talking, apparently undisturbed by the crisis Justine was having. Which was all well and good, since it was her words that managed to snap her out of it.
"You don't think-" Justine started to say in horror, mind flashing to all the interactions she had had with the admittedly bizarre new owner of the bookstore. "Do you suppose they are an actual police officer?"
Mrs. Sandwich snorted. "Them? No way is anyone dressed like that a member of the police force. Not to mention, I tried to recruit them, you know, figured there is no way they are not brimming with kinks and we could certainly use someone like that. And yet, as you can see, I remain uncuffed. Except for, of course, Wednesdays at 3, but that's only with prior arrangement."
Mrs. Sandwich winked at her again and Justine smiled distractedly, mind too preoccupied to appreciate the joke. Well, she hadn't expected this, that was for sure. Still, she supposed it wasn't so bad.
As long as they were together, she guessed she was happy for them.
Possibly thinking along the same lines, Mrs. Sandwich sighed, her smile turning uncharacteristically wishful. "All things considered, I'm glad. It was high time Mr. Fell made an honest man out of Crowley."
"What?"
Ah, and there it was. That wild glint in the other woman's eyes, the same one she always got when she knew something that no one else did. She leant forward and so did Justine.
"Do you really not know? Oh, let me tell you all about-"
Justine didn't know why she went to Mutt next. She finally knew what had happened with Mr. Fell and Crowley, her one goal, and while she did not for one second believe the rumour that Mrs. Sandwich had told her, she... Well, she had her answer now, didn't she? Anything more would be pushing her dangerously close to the role of a stalker she was trying to avoid.
Yet, a few days later, she found herself pushing the door open to the magic shop, shoulders hunched as if she was trying to stay out of view. Which, she guessed she was, but that was besides the point.
"Greetings," Mutt started, in his most booming voice, reserved for customers, before his eyes fell on her.
"Oh, good morning, Justine! Anything I might help you with?" he said, softly this time, before cocking his head to the side, obviously thinking of the last time they had seen each other. "Did Andrew forget their scarf again? I swear, they might forget their own head next!"
There was a soft, indulgent smile on his face, and Justine would have normally teased him about it. And she would, once she got the Question out of the way. She shook her head and approached the counter. There was nobody in the shop, not unusual for a Thursday morning, and the reason why she had chosen this time to come, but she didn't want to risk it.
"Nothing like that, fortunately. I just wanted to ask if you have seen Mr. Fell or his fellow around?"
The smile slid off Mutt's face quicker than it had made its way there. There was a sigh and then he was looking down, at the cards he was still shuffling and Justine leant forward. The man was about to tell her something and she wasn't sure if she was going to like it.
"Yes, I met that Crowley fellow at the pub last week. Horrible thing, what happened, don't you think?"
Justine's mind screeched as it tried to process the new information. What?
"What?"
Mutt shook his head with a grimace. "Well, he didn't say much, but it wasn't exactly hard to guess. Looked like he had been crying for at least a month, poor thing, and shaking, like he was about to burst into tears again. Said he might come visit to pick up a gift for Mr. Fell and he sounded so-" Mutt shut his mouth and looked at her meaningfully. Pathetic, her mind supplied quickly, wretched. Once again, what?
"Can't blame him, though, can you? I know I would be a right mess if Andrew ever decided to leave me."
Justine just continued to stare. She knew that Mutt noticed things that most didn't and she was more inclined to believe him than anyone else. Yet, from what she had seen, she couldn't possibly imagine Mr. Fell just... leaving. That man must be dead to even consider letting Crowley go. She had watched him pine for that man for more than a decade, it just didn't make any sense.
"Are you sure about that?" despite herself, she asked, and Mutt just gave her a look. They had known each other long enough for her to know if he said something, then he was certain of it. But there was dread pooling at the bottom of her stomach that she couldn't quite explain and she didn't want to believe it. She just didn't.
Fine, damn it, she cared. How could she not?
Mutt must have seen something in her grimace, and he smiled at her, his eyes turning soft once again.
"Don't worry, I'm sure it will all turn out okay. Never seen a pair so in love, I can't imagine they would stay away from each other for long."
Justine let her head tilt in assent. The closest she could get to admitting she thought so too.
Here were the facts. Nina and Maggie obviously knew more than they were letting on but they were also avoiding her. Mrs. Sandwich believed that Mr. Fell had needed to leave urgently and Crowley and him had moved in together. But she also thought Mr. Fell had been paying the other man for his company, so Justine wasn't entirely sure if she could believe her. And Mutt, the one person she could always trust without question, thought Mr. Fell had dumped his companion.
Well, there was only one thing left to do. She went to the bookshop.
It was open, which should have been her first clue that something was wrong. And then there was that person, Muriel, their name tag said, greeting her with a smile and a wave. So far, things were not looking so good for the side of normalcy.
"Um, hi," she said, hovering in the doorway. Without Mr. Fell there it felt strange, being in the bookshop. She felt her skin crawl, as if she had just entered someone's tomb and found their body missing.
Despite the very warm welcome, she did not want to be there.
"Hello, there!" Muriel said excitedly and made their way to her. They must have been used to people not wanting to go any further into the shop as they did not look disturbed by Justine's hovering. "Anything I can help you with? Only, I'm not supposed to sell you any of the books, Crowley said, so you can look around if you want? Or not, since I'm not supposed to let anyone inside either. Well, would you like to look from there?"
The words came out quickly and excitedly, like the idea Justine might be happy to just stand by the door and look at the books was a marvellous one. But the new bookshop owner was smiling at her in such a way that she knew the proposition was also a sincere one.
"No, that's okay. I haven't come for a book," she hurried to assure them and then tried to ignore the way their shoulders dropped in relief. Well, at least that was more in line with what she was used to. "I just wanted to see if I could talk to Mr. Fell? It's something to do with the restaurant. The one that I own?"
A lie, but an innocent one. She still hadn't decided what she would do if she was to speak to the man. Yell at him, most probably.
"I'm afraid that wouldn't be possible. Mr. Fell is very busy Upstairs." Muriel pointed a finger up towards the sky, or as it were, the first floor of the bookshop. Justine almost rolled her eyes. That's what she got for listening to rumours.
"Well, can you call him down? It won't take more than a minute."
When Muriel just shook their head, Justine did roll her eyes. Also, decided she was going to get that meeting with the man. Even if she had to enter the shop to do it.
Something that felt harder than she thought possible. Justine had to actually force her body to cross the threshold, the air thick around her, almost pushing her out, with a quality to it she would expect more from a strong gust of wind. She did it, of course, and she was about to climb the stairs to where Mr. Fell was when Muriel decided to stop her.
"Oh, no, you must have misunderstood me!" they exclaimed, that same smile turning gentle in a way Justine couldn't help but find condescending. "I meant Mr. Fell is in Heaven. Not upstairs!"
The only reason Justine was not a ball of limbs and blood at the bottom of the stairs, were the fingers she had curled around the handrail at the last second.
"What?" she asked, voice, she guessed, appropriately high-pitched. "What do you mean, Heaven?"
Muriel nodded, face pulling into a grimace as they tried to help her down the stairs. "Yes, unfortunately. I wish he had been able to stay a bit more, just to show me around, but he said it was his time."
Finally, safely on the ground, Justine had no excuse for the way she was swaying. And yet. Her mind flashed to that feeling she had had initially, of walking into someone's tomb, and she felt like she might be sick. That couldn't be happening! Mr. Fell was so very firmly middle-aged, there was no way he had passed away.
Muriel watched her with curiosity. "Are you his friend too? You shouldn't be sad. I always get sad when I think about it but Crowley says that he is in a better place now. And that I can go visit him one day."
Justine was trembling. She was also pretty sure her legs were giving out and was glad for the hand Muriel had wrapped around her waist. They were surprisingly strong, for someone so lithe.
"Although, I don't think that would be soon," Muriel was still talking absent-mindedly as they were escorting her to the door. "What do you think?"
And they glanced up at her, like it was an actual question during an actual conversation and not one person telling another that the man they had known for more than a decade was dead. She had no idea what to say.
Rather, she didn't, until they finally made it to the door and she saw her chance to escape this madness.
"I need to go," Justine said and she sounded winded and on the brink of a mental breakdown. Nothing out of the ordinary, considering the news she had just received. Muriel was still smiling at her.
"Of course! Please come again soon!" they exclaimed, waving at her again. "To look at the books. I think they get lonely!"
The smile on their face almost made her feel physically sick as she turned away. Without her input, her mind was going over everything she had learnt. Mr. Fell was gone, Crowley had moved out, Crowley had been seen in the pub, looking like he hadn't stopped crying for months. And finally, the one missing piece. Her absolute certainty that Mr. Fell must be dead to leave his companion on his own.
Well, she had been right about that.