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Jack raised his hands in surrender. “In my defence, you did wear the Hawaiian thing home from the hospital. In broad daylight.”
“Because my other one was ruined, and I didn’t want to get my tits out on the bus!”
Jack grimaced, and Harry hoped he didn’t apologise again—it was wearing thin after a month—but instead he sighed and ran a hand through his scruffy blond hair. “Okay, fair. And it does sound like I might need to see this Beryl in action.”
“Oh, you do,” Harry assured him. “Beryl’s the worst. She hates people. I’m pretty sure the only reason she still has a job there is that you can’t sack volunteers.”
“In that case, it’s a deal,” Jack said. “Saturday, we meet the great and terrible Beryl, I buy you the tackiest thing we can find and you let me buy you lunch after.”
“It’s a date,” Harry said, and wondered why, exactly, his heart thundered in his chest at that.
“Don’t stare at the eyepatch but do maintain eye contact. Don’t let her know you’re afraid but also don’t turn your back.”
Jack laughed. “She’s a person, not a Rottweiler, Harry. You’re being dramatic.”
“You don’t understand,” Harry said. “Beryl is a mysterious eldritch figure with unknown powers who exists to make my life miserable.” Okay so he was being dramatic, but it was making Jack smile, and he was quickly becoming addicted to Jack’s smile. It made his blue eyes sparkle, and his whole face lit up in a way Harry didn’t think he’d ever noticed on anyone else. It was mesmerizing.
Jack parked the ute outside the op shop, and they got out. He tilted his head back in the weak sunshine and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath. Harry couldn’t help but notice the way the light breeze ruffled his blond hair, making tendrils dance around the tops of his ears. Other people’s hair didn’t dance, Harry was pretty sure. Or perhaps it did, and he’d never bothered to notice.
Jack turned to Harry and nodded. “I’m ready,” he intoned.
Harry squared his shoulders and pushed down the impulse to take Jack’s hand. Just for moral support, of course. No other reason. He pulled open the door of the shop, and the bell over the door tinkled merrily. Beryl spun on her heel, and her expression darkened when she saw Harry.
“Any trouble and you’re out,” she growled.
Harry raised his hands in surrender. “Just browsing, same as always.” He paused and peered at Beryl, momentarily confused. Was that…he could have sworn her eyepatch had been on the other eye last week. He shook his head. No. Impossible. It had always been the left eye. He was certain of it.
Well, almost certain. He dragged his attention away from Beryl and to the rack of new arrivals. Latest Men’s Fashions! the handwritten sign lied boldly.
Beside him, Jack looked around, eyes wide. “Wow,” he breathed. “It’s like a time warp.”
“Right? Nothing past the nineties allowed.” Harry sorted through the rack and pulled out a dirt-brown corduroy vest with sparkly gold fringing along the lower hem and held it up against himself. “What do you think?” Jack pursed his lips and Harry could see he was struggling to find words. “It’s okay, you’re allowed to say it’s ugly. That's the point.”
“Oh, thank fuck, because that’s really awful,” Jack blurted.
Harry hummed. “Oh, I don’t know. I think we can do better. Or worse.” He draped the vest over one arm and kept looking.
“Do you have any sort of criteria?” Jack asked, wandering over to the suit rack.
“Not really,” Harry said. “I work on gut reaction.”
Jack laughed and pulled out a deep blue velvet blazer with wide, silver-sequinned lapels. “This?”
“Ooh, yes.” Harry added it to the vest. He found a putrid green skivvy that looked like it belonged to a Wiggles reject and hung it over his forearm, as well as a short-sleeved button down with a pattern of hot pink piglets on a purple background.
It was then that he glanced up and saw it—the most tasteless suit known to man. He grabbed Jack’s arm without thinking.
“Look!” he gasped. “Oh my God, it’s awful! I love it!”
Harry grabbed the suit off the rack and held it up to better appreciate its unabashed ugliness. It was made of some sort of velour, had a background of deep teal green and was covered with a garish pattern of giant peacock feathers. The lapels and pockets were trimmed in a dark blue satin that matched the peacock print, and there was even a matching tie. Harry couldn’t decide if it was high fashion or a bad joke. He only knew he needed it, desperately.
“Wow,” Jack said, awed. “It’s really something.”
Harry noticed he was still holding Jack’s arm and let go hastily to add The Suit to his stash.
“Only two items allowed at a time,” a voice snapped in his ear. Harry yelped in shock and swung round to find a familiar baleful eye glaring at him from three inches away. He stepped back and bumped into Jack, whose hand landed on his shoulder, steadying him. Beryl looked between them, lips pursed. “Two items,” she repeated, arms folded across her chest.
Harry drew himself up to his full height. “Beryl.”
