Page 16 of Don't Point at the Moon

“What brings you out here?” asked Mitchell. “Beach cleaning? Is it something you do often?”

“Are you kidding? This is a first for me. But my friend roped me in after he was invited by his soon-to-be boyfriend, theone who arranged the event and gave that rousing introductory speech—”

“Oscar.”

“If that’s the name of the guy stood to your left at the welcome table. Is he your friend?”

“Not really a friend. More someone I bump into at these kinds of events.” Mitchell rubbed his chin, clearly finding the information amusing. “But your friend is the one with the blond hair? Up ahead brushing shoulders with Oscar? I was walking behind and heard them discussing various Handover Day marches. I think I overheard your blond friend arguing that protestation is the thief of time. Or maybe I misheard.”

Tommy looked ahead while laughing. Just the kind of saying Devon would misstate. In front, he saw Devon grinning at Oscar, clearly in awe at something he’d said. His friend did not waste any time.

“No, that definitely sounds like Devon.”

“How about you?” asked Mitchell. “Enjoying yourself?”

“You know what? I am. Surprisingly. Can’t believe how much crap gets washed up on the beach. And I must say I like the kind of ‘pay-it-forward’ mentality of the organisers. As in us not just helping out this one time but consciously making an effort to reduce our consumption of plastic and other waste, and spreading the word.”

Tommy noticed people stopping and turning around to stare at them. He wondered what had happened until Mitchell directed him to turn and do the same.

“Look.”

At first glance Tommy didn’t understand what he was supposed to see apart from a pristine-looking beach. Only then did the penny drop. People weren’t looking at something specific but at the absence of the discarded litter, mottled blue plastic and random ugly lumps that had almost become a part ofthe beachscape. Many people enjoying the beach that day had thanked him and asked for details of the subsequent clean-up. For a change, he felt as though he had done something worthwhile with his Sunday.

“We helped do that,” said Mitchell, and even though the remark was spoken plainly enough, Tommy felt a sense of pride inflate his chest.

As they made their way towards the finishing post and the parking lot beyond, Mitchell stopped when his phone pinged with a message.

“That’s my sister,” he said. “We speak every Sunday, but she’s tied up this afternoon.”

Mitchell continued walking, but he appeared distracted.

“I don’t suppose you know anybody who’s involved in the English-speaking theatre scene?”

“Me. Our Head of English and Dramatic Arts directs shows for the local community theatre and I help to stage-manage the productions. Building sets, acquiring props and coordinating lighting and scene changes—that kind of thing. Why? Are you going to tell me you’re an aspiring thespian?”

“Heavens, no. My sister’s son, my nephew, is coming to stay with me for a month in a couple of weeks and I haven’t a clue what to do with him. But my niece texted me to say he’d worked backstage on a number of school plays. I don’t suppose you could use an extra set of hands?”

“Are you kidding? We’re rehearsing the musicalCabaretwith performances in June and we need all the help we can get. Actually, the way the rehearsals are going, Shelly thinks we could use some divine intervention right about now. Recruiting stagehands is the last thing on anyone’s mind. Always is. Then it’s a frantic rush to get everyone up to speed.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. This nephew will understand it’s not paid work, won’t he?”

“Of course. I’d even offer to pay you, if it means keeping him busy.”

“Hang on. How old is he?”

“Nineteen.”

“Okay, that’s fine. We may need to ask him to sign a few forms for insurance, if that’s okay.”

“Brilliant. Thank you. Can I give you my number?”

Tommy blinked for a second but then caught himself. Mitchell simply wanted a favour, nothing more. They stopped walking while Tommy unlocked his phone and asked Mitchell to type in his number. Once finished, Tommy fired off a quick message and heard Mitchell’s pocket ping.

“We’re probably heading to Soho for Sunday afternoon cocktails,” said Tommy. “Or a coffee, if you’d prefer. You’re more than welcome to join.”

Mitchell turned to frown at the horizon. Maybe Tommy wasn’t entirely forgiven yet. They continued strolling towards Devon and Oscar, who stood together by a motorcycle bay in the car park. Devon appeared amused about something, probably assuming Tommy was trying to pull Mitchell.

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