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He chewed his lip anxiously. He probably should have gone to a proper suit shop, except he really didn’t have the money for a proper suit, not even a cheap off-the-rack one. Because ‘cheap’ was relative, and Harry, despite all his Bad Boyfriending, was still a poor uni student. And he’d seen nice suits here before—not often, it was true, because men tended to hold on to their suits until they were buried in them—but he had seen them here, and he hoped today was his lucky day. He’d even made an offering of a coffee scroll at the altar of the eldritch Beryl. Surely that had to count for something?
As if summoned by a thought, Beryl reappeared. She was clutching two dry-cleaning bags and wore an expression of triumph. Thrusting the bags at Harry, she said, “Just in. Deceased estate.”
Harry had zero qualms about wearing a dead man’s suit. He gasped when Beryl unzipped the bags. The first suit was black. The second one was dark blue. And they were both magnificent. Harry wasn’t much of a fashion guy, but even he could tell the suits were quality. None of that polyester sheen like he’d seen on the ones in Target. He reached out a finger to stroke the sleeve of the blue suit.
“They’re wool,” Beryl said proudly. “They’d even make you look good.”
Harry let the veiled insult pass, still entranced. “How much?”
Beryl pursed her lips into the shape of a cat’s bum. “Seventy. Each.”
Harry winced. It was a lot, but at the same time even he could tell it was an absolute bargain for suits as nice as these.
“They’d go for two hundred each in a vintage store,” Beryl snapped defensively.
“Oh, yeah, for sure.” Harry blinked at her. “They’re amazing.”
She looked at him suspiciously, as though she was searching for sarcasm. Harry ran a hand down a lapel and made a mournful sound. “I really can’t. Not if I want to pay rent.”
Beryl’s scowl wavered and her eye darted from side to side before she took a step closer. She smelled a little bit like pickled onions. “A wedding, you say?”
“Yeah. I really want to make a good impression on Jack’s family.”
Something resembling an emotion flitted over Beryl’s face. “Jack’s that nice young man? The one whose father is a minister?”
Harry beamed. “Yeah. He is nice. He bought me a teddy bear when we had a fight. Want to see?” He pulled his phone out of his pocket, and Beryl hummed approvingly when he brought up a picture of the bear. “I’ve never actually had a boyfriend before.”
She looked at the photo, and at the suits, and back at Harry. “My Frank once tried to win me a bear at the Royal Easter Show, but he couldn’t knock any of those bottles down. So he bought me one on the way home instead, the silly bugger.” She smiled fondly.
It was like discovering the Grinch had a heart. And all it had taken was a coffee scroll and a picture of a teddy bear.
“I had that bear for years,” Beryl said pensively. “Then Frank let the greyhounds in one morning and they ripped it to shreds. Oh, you should have seen the kids crying!” She laughed.
Or maybe not.
She turned her gaze back to Harry. “I can let you have the black one for a bit less because the zip’s dodgy and there’s a button missing. Say, fifty.” Her drawn-on eyebrows raised in an expression that clearly said take it or leave it, and Harry knew he wouldn’t get a better offer.
“Done,” he said. “Can I try it on?”
Beryl rolled her eye. “I suppose. But don’t get it dirty, I know you’ve probably still got coffee scroll fingers!”
“I won’t,” Harry promised, and took the bag and hurried to the change rooms before the scrap of humanity Beryl was showing shrivelled up and died and she changed her mind.
He slipped the suit on and let out a gasp when he saw himself. It fitted like a glove, like it was made for him. Harry had never looked this good in his life. Sure, the zip was a bit stiff, but it was nothing that couldn’t be fixed by rubbing a bit of pencil lead on it. He squared his shoulders and looked again, just in case he was imagining it. But no, he definitely looked hot.
“Well?” Beryl’s voice floated through the curtain.
Harry pulled it back and stepped out. Beryl’s mouth dropped open when she saw him, before she closed it with a snap and gave a stiff nod. “You look very nice, Mr Townsend.” It was said without a single trace of sarcasm, and as far as Harry was concerned, that was perhaps a bigger miracle than finding the suit in the first place.
“Thank you,” he said, equally sincere.
“And Mr Townsend?” She raised one terrifying eyebrow. “Your fly’s undone.”
Harry’s face flushed pink and his hands flew to his crotch, only to find his zipper firmly done up. When he looked up, Beryl was cackling loudly. Harry couldn’t even find it in himself to be mad—really, she deserved the win.
He gave her a weak smile, went back into the cubicle and stripped out of the suit, stroking it lovingly. By the time he’d put it carefully on its hanger and made his way to the till, Beryl was serving someone else. There was a trace of coffee icing on her lower lip.
Harry waited until it was his turn then pulled out a twenty, two tens, a five, and a handful of coins that he was pretty sure came to five bucks. Beryl counted the coins out with painstaking slowness before declaring, “Fifty.”
