Mike gave him a stern look that he hoped promised retribution later.
Chapter Eight
“WHAT’S ON next?” Mike said as he returned from getting rid of their lunch wrappings. “Graham’s gone, so the rest of the day is ours.”
Jonathon gave Mike a hard stare. “Maybe if you kept hold of the agenda Heather gave you this morning, you’d know without having to keep asking me.”
Mike grinned. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have so much fun bugging you.”
Jonathon had to laugh. “It’s a good thing I love you.” He was ashamed of his earlier hesitation. He’d leaned in to kiss Mike’s cheek, and what had come to mind was some unknown person snapping them together and putting it online.
This is down to my father. Before Mike had come along, Jonathon hadn’t given a flying leap who saw him doing God knows what to whomsoever he wanted. But since Mike’s arrival and his father’s interventions, something had changed. He was less inclined to upset the apple cart, more willing to consider his father’s views.
But why? Where has it got me? Afraid to show affection to my own boyfriend in public. This is not who I am. This is not who I want to be.
“Jonathon?”
He blinked. Mike was staring at him, his forehead slightly scrunched up the way it always was when something concerned or worried him. “You okay?”
Jonathon gave him a hopefully reassuring smile. “I’m fine. Just zoned out for a second there.”
“Where did you go to?” Mike’s hand was gentle on his back.
Jonathon went with a version of the truth. “Thinking about how much I love you.”
Mike’s breathing hitched. “I’d love to show you how much those words mean to me.” His eyes sparkled. “But I think we’d scare the normal people.” He tapped the agenda in Jonathon’s hand. “So how about you tell me where we’re going next instead?”
Something had been niggling Jonathon. “Do we need to go to the pub and retrieve the broken cup pieces from the bin?”
Mike shook his head. “We know where they are. And the bins won’t be emptied for another three days, so they’re not going anywhere.” When Jonathon didn’t respond but simply gave him a hard stare, he sighed and pulled his phone from his pocket. He tapped the keys, then put the phone to his ear. “Hey, Abi? Do me a favor, will you? I know it sounds weird, but go to the bin in the bar and find the pieces of that broken cup from the other night. I put them in a green plastic bag. … Yes, I said it would sound weird. Just do it, okay? Now? I’ll wait.” Mike rolled his eyes. “Can’t believe I’m doing this. It’s not like they could—hello? You found them? Okay. Now put them somewhere safe. … I don’t know, somewhere they can’t be mislaid or lost. … Thank you. See you tonight.” He disconnected the call and gave Jonathon a pointed stare. “Happy now?”
Jonathon gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Very. Thank you.” He scanned the page of the agenda. “There’s a panel on reviews. How authors deal with bad ones, the importance of them…. That might be good.”
Mike smiled. “Okay, that’s the one we’ll go to. Ballroom or music room?”
“Ballroom.”
Mike held out his hand. “Then let’s go.”
Without hesitation, Jonathon laced his fingers through Mike’s, and they walked through the milling crowd toward the ballroom, where attendees were already going in, talking animatedly. Heather stood at the door, smiling.
“It’s going really well,” she said quietly. “I thought everything was ruined after last night, but everyone seems to be enjoying it, and I’ve had people come up to me and say it’s been great so far.”
Jonathon gave her a brief hug. “I’m so happy for you. I know how much effort you put into this.” He smiled broadly. “Looks like there might be a Merrychurch Literary Festival 2019 after all.”
Her eyes widened in obvious alarm. “Don’t jinx it! We’ve got a long way to go yet.” She glanced through the door. “I’d better get in there. I’m emceeing this one.”
“Have I missed much?” Professor Harcourt approached them at a brisk pace as Heather left. “Any more excitement?”
“As in, excitement of the dead body variety?” Mike inquired. “No, thank goodness. Although I hear you got roped in to assist in a postmortem.”
Professor Harcourt nodded. “And before you ask, I can’t share the results with you. That constable of yours would have my guts for garters if you learned them before he did. Official channels and all that.”
Jonathon opened his mouth to protest, but Mike squeezed his hand. “He’s right. Think about it. Graham would never let us see evidence again, and we want to keep Graham sweet. Don’t we?” He gave Jonathon a focused stare.
Jonathon sighed. “You’re right. Although it will be torture having to wait. When will Graham get the results?”
“I have no idea. I expect he won’t be long in telling you, especially as you’re on such good terms with him.” Professor Harcourt smiled. “The coroner was very complimentary. She even asked her assistant to take a photo of us in our scrubs. Not with the body in view, of course. She merely wanted a record of the occasion.”
Mike grinned. “So it’s not just authors who have fans.”
Professor Harcourt waved his hand modestly. “As if I’d refuse her. And I suppose all those high-profile cases do push one into the limelight. My son says he frequently meets people who instantly recognize his name.”
“Your son? What does he do?” Jonathon inquired.
Professor Harcourt’s face glowed with pride. “He’s following in his father’s footsteps. He’s training to be an oncologist, and he has a bright future ahead of him.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, enough about me.” He pulled his agenda from his shoulder bag. “I want to get back into the swing of things. I’m attending the reviews panel.”
Mike gestured to the door. “Then let’s go in and get seats.”
They walked into the ballroom and found most of the rows of chairs already occupied. Apparently, reviews were a popular topic. Jonathon pointed to three chairs toward the rear and rushed over to grab them. By the time they were seated, Heather was at the mic, introducing the panelists. The only author Jonathon recognized was Melody Richards.
“Got room for one more?” Fiona appeared next to Jonathon, carrying a chair. “I wanted to sit near you.” She set it down next to him, then sat.
“That depends.” Jonathon smirked. “Are you going to grill the panelists the way you grilled Phil McCallister?”
Fiona laughed. “Not this time, no.”
It was a lively session, with lots of interaction between authors and readers. Jonathon liked the fact that it was a lighthearted hour, with bouts of laughter as authors shared reviews that had amused them. Toward the end of the session, however, the mood grew more serious.
“Let’s talk about negative reviews,” Heather said, facing the panel. “Can such reviews ever have a benefit? For instance, can they point to something an author missed, or something an author might want to focus on in future books?”