Car Boot Sale

"So," Alfred said, giving an appraisal of the scene with what appeared to be a thoughtful, assured nod, "This is gross."

"You have "yard sales", don't you? Well, this is just like a collection of yard sales on a car park. I can't see what the difference is," Arthur muttered, turning up his collar against the wind then thrusting his hands back in his pockets, eyes scouring the wares on another folding table.

The American, his expression shifting quickly and fluidly between distressed and horrified, paused in his study of a Doctor Who manual from 1986, a pair of worn Only Fools and Horses fuzzy slippers and an old power shower to fix Arthur with a look.

"Some guy on the first row of stalls was selling a can of soup. Just one single ordinary can of soup. Cheap, nasty soup. Gross."

"Stop your whinging," to his dismay the Englishman began to slow down and study one particular "stall" with interest, eyes training in on a cardboard fruit tray filled with odds and ends on one blanket on the tarmac. As Alfred began to fathom what might have caught his lover's eye the man crouched down, pulled out a dull brown check flat cap and gave it a curious study, turning it over and over in his hands, paying particular attention to the peak and the lining. Much like the man had done earlier Alfred predicted and wore a suitably weary expression when Arthur wagged a finger at him, then at the hat.

"Watch and learn kiddo, watch and learn," the Englishman then turned to the stall holder, a middle aged, ruddy faced man with a coffee between his cold, reddened hands and gestured with the hat, "How much mate?"

"Five quid."

Arthur sent Alfred what the American could only assume was meant to be a significant look before looking back to the man with a dubious expression, still wafting the cap back and forth in the air with forced idleness.

"Five quid? I'll give three fifty."

"Nah, five quid. S'a good one that."

"Four," Arthur lowered his head a little and appeared to shoot an imploring look upward at the man, "Come on, you'll be packing up in a bit, if you've not shifted this by now-"

With a sigh the man grasped his coffee with one hand and held out the other, palm up.

"Four then."

"Cheers," Arthur dug into the pocket of his woollen coat and fished out four pound coins from amongst his change. Slapping the hat on his head he gave the American a cocky little wink.

"You're learning from the master here."

"I feel blessed Arthur," the American said, reaching up to tug the cap at a slant over the Englishman's eye. For what wasn't the first time he gave the man's old Tesco carrier bag a curious glance, only to have the man shield it from sight with an air of staged casualness, behind one leg.

As they skirted a boisterous toddler enthusiastically gesturing at an Action Man jeep on one stall table Alfred continued drily.

"If you just tell me what's in there, I'll stop trying to look."

"Al," the Englishman said, equally deadpan, allowing the man to steer him away from the smell of bubbling meat, grease and brown sauce that wafted from a nearby food trailer by an arm about his shoulders, a tickled smile on his lips, "If you keep attempting to look and I keep attempting to keep you from looking does that not perhaps imply that I don't want you to know what I bought, so, bugger off and mind your own business?"

"I guess. It's Christmas lights."

"I'm not saying," the man insisted with a shuffle of the bag handle in his hand.

"But it's Christmas lights right?"

"I'm not saying so I'm not actually going to say you see."

"Definitely Christmas-" to his own alarm Alfred found himself repeating Arthur's actions of a moment earlier – he came slowly to a halt, head turning as he took in the sight of an especially small "stall", eyes darting about the various boxes and displays with undeniable interest.

The Englishman gave a bark of laughter at the reaction, adjusting his cap in a rather smug manner.

"You've actually seen something you like. Admit it."

"Maybe," Alfred conceded, "Look, um, how about you go and put your Christmas lights-" as the other man attempted to override him Alfred gave a wave of his hand, "Yeah yeah your Christmas lights that may not be Christmas lights back in the car and I'll just be a minute, okay? You're finished here, right?"

Dubiously, Arthur shrugged. He fished his keys from his pocket and gave them a jangle, "Alright. I suppose it might be a good idea since-"

"Don'tsaythename-"

"Hector takes a while warming up on cold days. Just a minute you say? If you've caught the 'booting bug, I'll understand," giving the American a fond smile that gave Alfred the impression that, had they not been in public, Arthur might have given him a chaste kiss or a squeeze of the hand before he strode off towards their car, parked up against the kerb of a nearby street.

Once his lover was out of sight Alfred walked up to the small, curious stall he had spotted almost directly next to the car boot exit. It was comprised of one lone wooden table and on it stood boxes of neatly ordered ornaments, tasteful, not tacky, and a box of trinkets and other items, glinting in the weak, washed out winter sunlight.

Carefully Alfred reached into that box and pulled the thing out. He turned it over in his hand but in a rather different manner to that of the Englishman with his cap. His actions were those of deliberation, not a harmless bit of fun resulting in a purchase that would be long forgotten by the next car boot they visited.

"Excuse me," he said, catching the eye of the stall holder, a thin woman with curling white hair wearing a waxed walking jacket, making her too look a rather marked contrast to the majority of the patrons and sellers, "How much is this?"

*

As had come to be somewhat routine in Alfred's one or two week long visits to England, more often than not spent in Arthur's poky little Georgian Terrace in London, the pair's evenings not spent out in the city were quiet ones. Dinner usually consisted of a culinary compromise or, if a coin toss was resorted to, something suitably English with lashings of gravy or American and doused with ketchup. Fed, the pair would migrate to the living room to watch television, one slumped against the other, a hand idly stroking a thigh or resting on a scalp, fingers burrowed in ruffled hair. After this and the duration of several television comedies or dramas and the news having repeated itself one of the two men would pat a head or a chest or turn to give a kiss to a cheek and murmur that they were admitting defeat and heading for bed. It was, therefore, quite easy for Arthur to sense that something was ever-so-slightly amiss this particular night.

It was really very minor details and made the Englishman wonder at first if it wasn't all in his head. Surely it was Sherlockian to notice the way Alfred gave up their customary battle for control of the oven slightly sooner than usual, to eat his steak and kidney pie with mash and lashings of gravy without much fuss and to leave even more than was customary. Likewise, Arthur felt it when he rested against the American on his decrepit old sofa that evening, his own feet propped up against the floral arm inside which he could feel the plyboard skeleton wiggling from side to side. There was a tension in the man's body that couldn't be accounted for by the stresses of work or jet lag.

There was therefore no real surprise when Arthur felt the man rather tenderly push him up and away from himself as the clock struck eleven o'clock, almost as though the man had a meeting or other obligation he had to make. Arthur turned off the vapid television show whispering away to itself on the set and turned his attention expectantly to the man as he blinked the sleep from his eyes.

"Yes? What is it?"

Something about how awkward the man's actions had been all evening leant his next ones a sort of logic Arthur felt they would not have possessed otherwise and it was therefore with only a mild gawp and raise of his eyebrows that he saw the man kneel down in the centre of his living room carpet, a plain golden ring with one small green stone at its very centre caught between his fingertips for Arthur to consider.

Having found no suitable reply in the course of what Arthur presumed to either be a minute or a century (it was quite hard to tell sometimes in awkward situations), the man opted to give the ring and not the man before him a closer perusal. As soon as he did so a bemused smile was quick to snap into place on his face. To Alfred's apparent confusion the Englishman snapped his fingers and nodded.

"Car boot isn't it? That's your "just a minute" thing."

Alfred shifted awkwardly on his now numb knee, sunk as it was into the thick pile of Arthur's old burgundy carpet.

"Um yeah. Look, it's real gold and I cleaned it and-"

"You bought me an engagement ring from a *car boot* sale?"

"I just said I cleaned it! A lot! With chemicals," Alfred gnawed on his lip momentarily before adding, "It was the right one. It was the one I wanted to give you. So, here it is. Yes or no?"

The Englishman proceeded to pull a face that he imagined was vaguely reminiscent to that pulled by the American himself upon seeing the can of soup for sale days before.

"I..." he bit the very centre of his top lip fast and firmly enough to cause himself to flinch at the shock of pain that ran through him, the equivalent of a pinch perhaps, to check he hadn't quite lost the plot.

"No, Alfred. No, I won't."

It was all Arthur could do to force himself to watch how Alfred looked quietly and opened stunned for a moment before, eyes dipping to give the briefest of looks to the ring and then to the carpet, he nodded, shrugged and stood up once more. Waiting for a moment to see whether the man would meet his eye of his own accord, Arthur walked up to him and uncertainly placed a hand on the man's arm.

"I love you," he said, looking right into his eyes as he spoke, "I love you a great, great deal. Noone on earth has more of my love than you, nor shall they ever get more of my love than you have."

"I know," Alfred said distractedly, "It's fine. Whatever."

"Would you mind if I asked why?" Arthur murmured, leading Alfred back to the sofa where they each sat in the centre of a sofa cushion, the Englishman feeling minutely how his cushion sloped towards Alfred's due to his having sat leant in that direction so often.

"Because I love you as well."

"I see. How long have you been planning this?"

Alfred appeared to warm a little to the subject and turned to look Arthur up and down, his smile lingering on his lips.

"Just a while, okay? I love you. I love who you are. I mean I loved you back then but who I am and who you are... that works now. I hope it always will. And, well, marriage? It was just kind of my way of promising that and proving that I will keep trying for us both. It was my way of saying I want to make sure this always works between us. That I love you and you're worth working at."

"I'm a piece of work then?" Arthur smiled. The American gave a slightly hollow but friendly enough laugh.

"Oh you're a piece of work alright. But I'm okay, really," he nodded, "So, um, let's watch some TV and forget I did this okay?"

"But don't forget I love you," Arthur whispered as he got up from the sofa once more. He planted a kiss on the top of the man's head, holding both of his shoulders gently in his hands.

"I'll make you a cup of coffee. For being a bit of a hero just now."

*

"What do you mean "I'm busy"? What are you busy with? Shit, you're changing the locks."

"Al, for the last time could you please stop jumping to conclusions? I said I'm a bit busy and could you wait about half an hour before you come home," the man explained patiently on the other end of the line, "The last time I checked that means precisely what it sounds like it means. I'm not changing locks, nor am I parading around the house nude or baking or both. Nothing odd, everything's above board. I let you have "just a minute" at the car boot the other day without hounding you, do the same for me."

Alfred let his eyes run over the course of the Circle line on the Tube map once more, eyes narrowed as they were.

"Yeah and you were really suspicious about those Christmas lights so we're even. This makes you odd again."

"It makes you odd you daft sod," Arthur chuckled down the line, "Half an hour. Go to Krispy Kreme and get a doughnut or something. Better yet get a boxful, I like their chocolatey ones with the icing, you know the ones I mean."

"I know," lifting up his glasses with his free hand Alfred scratched and rubbed tiredly at the bridge of his nose and the spots where the frames rested, "Fine, okay. But if you're lying I eat all the doughnuts."

"Okay."

"And, and I'll... de-alphabetise your spice rack."

"God you are a brute Al," Arthur deadpanned, "Look, the longer we talk and the longer you have to wait to come home. Speak to you later."

The American gave his phone an irritated looked as it droned out its disconnected tone for a few seconds before jamming it back in his pocket and heading in the direction of the Tube station shops and Krispy Kreme in particular. He purchased his usual order of doughnuts from a member of staff who seemed to recognise him, predicting each of his selections with a pre emptive move of their pastry tongs. Sipping the coffee he'd also bought he considered wandering around the other stores, a newsagent, a florist, a food store, but felt how his legs became weighed down at the thought alone. The Tube it was then. Alfred got on the next train to Arthur's and closed his eyes as the stops were repeated over and again on the tannoy, the slightly electronic woman lulling them every few minutes with her warning to mind the closing doors and the gap between the train and the platform edge.

When he came within a few stops of Arthur's place Alfred stood, weaved his way through the sometimes outstretched legs of those also sat down and squeezed by others standing to hover by the doors in readiness, a hand on the rail. A check of his phone told him he was a few minutes early, according to Arthur's apparent schedule but the very thought of how irritatingly vague the man had been and how amused the man had sounded at his expense made Alfred stiffen his resolve. He heard how the paper handle of the bag of doughnuts crunched with the tightening of his fist. Je brushed past other disembarking with more force than was strictly necessary. Ditching his half-drunk, half-cold coffee into a bin en-route out of the Tube station the American tore down the road headed towards Arthur's and simply let his feet guide him while he rang the man's phone once again.

The phone rang out to itself at length, each peal making Alfred grit his teeth a little more, before the man finally picked up. Even then there was a long pause before Arthur spoke, sounding almost winded when he did.

"Yes? You here?"

"Yeah, I'm here. You done with your secret crap?"

"Delightful turn of phrase. Yes, I'm done. Let yourself in and pop the doughnuts on the kitchen counter or something. See you shortly."

Alfred scarcely let the man finish as he pressed to end the call, striding up the garden path with his keys in his other hand held out almost like a small, rather blunt dagger. The violent approach slowed his attempts at opening the door but, on the third parry at the lock, he slotted the key home, turned it with a yank and pulled the handle hard enough to hear the metal screech against the workings in side.

Childish as it was the man purposefully placed the doughnuts on the doormat beside his toed off sneakers then glanced around the house, anger seeping away as confusion set in. After a quick scan of each room from their doorways Alfred traced the sound of the twanging guitar music echoing through the house to the tiny walled patio that joined onto the kitchen. As he opened the usually locked back door Alfred stopped and simply took in the view that lay before him, his hand going to grip the outside handle while his eyes roved over the scene.

The whole patio – and the American confirmed this by spinning around on the spot to take it all in – was decked out in Christmas lights. He was reminded of Blackpool and looking out over the town as it glittered and twinkled and blinked away, driving passers-by to distraction, forcing people to stop and simply admire its attempts at being beautiful. He felt the heat from the bigger, colourful bulbs that hung down in loops from hooks and hanging baskets connected to the house and garden wall. Stepping further inside the cocoon of light he noticed little skinny white bulbs, giving a continuous, cool glow between the leaves of dying pansies and primary yellow daffodils. He came to a pause, frowning, as he noticed another set of lights criss-crossing the rest but not turned on. To his side he heard a voice mutter.

"They're the car boot ones. Don't bloody work, of course."

Alfred turned to face the sound of the man and the source of the music, a little set of iPod speakers blaring away what he came to place as a White Stripes song, though he forgot which.

"'Cuz if I'm the man that you love the most,
Then you could say "I do" at least" Jack White wailed out and, almost with shyness Alfred turned to consider Arthur.

The man was immaculate. In spite of his penchant for looking spic and span at world meetings, Alfred knew the man was well versed and practiced in throwing a suit on and shaving thoroughly. He knew, in actuality, that it took practically the same length of time for the Englishman to throw on a pair of jeans and a t-shirt that said "Back to the Boozer". The suit the man stood in right now, however, bore no comparison.

It was a navy blue three piece suit, exquisitely tailored with a crisp, starched white shirt and a blue, red and white striped silk tie that was tinged different colours under the glow of the lights over their heads. The man wore the clothes well and looked less thin than he usually did, shoulders held back, posture perfect. Uncertainly, Alfred gave the man's face a little look too and saw how his hair was combed carefully, even his eyebrows looking slightly less wild than usual.

"What," he muttered, in spite of himself. The Englishman gave a shaky smile which appeared to grow shakier still as the iPod turned silent on its stand. Clearly his throat against his balled fist he carefully knelt down onto the stone floor of the patio and put a hand into his breast pocket blindly. Having pulled out a small leather box from his pocket he opened and held it out between his cupped hands as though the item inside was a delicate little animal likely to escape. Alfred let his gaze slide from Arthur to the ring, a plain sliver coloured band.

"How about it?" the Englishman said with what appeared to be an attempt at humour, the waver in his voice belying his true sentiments.

His eyebrows apparently stuck halfway up his forehead, Alfred tilted his head to give the canopy of lights another look, feeling how they burned themselves on his sight. When he glanced back to the Englishman he saw their twinkle still and even began to smell the heat from their plastic and the leaves they scorched.

"You said no."

Arthur pulled a far more characteristic, sheepish expression that was somewhat at odds with his suit and formality of before.

"I wasn't saying "no" forever. Just no to getting engaged to you that night."

"You said no. I was on my knee and I was asking you to marry me, I was laying it all on the line for you stupid, limey, horse faced, British bast-" Alfred caught himself as he heard his breath threaten to choke with a sob. Arthur, he saw, was continuing to smile calmly back at him.

"I was just saying no for then. Not now."

"You didn't say that," Alfred murmured.

"No but if I had that would have been a conditional yes, wouldn't it?" the man explained, still making no attempt to lower the ring, "I... I wanted to do this for you. I had this planned. For ages now. I was gobsmacked when you proposed instead."

"So you're saying my proposal wasn't good enough."

"We were watching a rerun of Snog, Marry or Avoid when you proposed, in fairness."

"But I've been looking for that ring for the last, like, decade. I found it and I got excited, okay? I wanted to ask you. I promised myself I would before that day was out and you'd said you didn't want to do go anywhere that night so what else could I do?"

To his slight consternation the Englishman merely gave his customary lopsided smile. Finally lowering the ring he gestured to the patio floor.

"You got that ring still? On you, I mean."

"Yeah," Alfred said, embarrassedly, "I do - I mean have the ring not marry-"

"Yes, yes," Arthur said, tone warming. The man gave another gesture to the floor, "Come on. On your knee then."

Affronted the American crossed his arms over his chest.

"Don't tell me what to do!"

"Come on, like you'd just happily let me propose to you like this. You're not having any of it," Arthur said, looking up at the man from where he knelt, "So, you join me down here."

With a scowl Alfred settled himself on the cold stone of the patio, expression softening as he saw the undeniable affection in the Englishman's creased eyes.

"Will you marry me Alfred Fitzgerald Jones?"

"Wow, you didn't say "F for fucker" for once."

"I can be nice when I want to," the man murmured, "I'll try to be more often. I would like very much to be your husband if you'd let me."

Alfred felt his face heat up at the words and ducked his head, mouth working silently for a moment before he held out his own ring almost violently towards Arthur's face.

"So yes or no?"

As it appeared to be Arthur's turn for his mouth to work to produce mumbles and silent gulps for air, Alfred held his free hand.

"On three?"

"Okay."

"One, two, three – Yes," the man said, forcing as much vehemence into the word as his hoarsened voice could allow.

"Yes, of course you beautiful fool."

"And you're not horse faced, by the way," Alfred murmured, leaning forward to grasp Arthur about the tops of his arms and stealing a kiss from the man's mouth as he made to answer.

Arthur gave a low chuckle as he replied with a kiss of his own to the very corner of Alfred's lips. His own hand strayed to cup the man's cheek.

"You are a total idiot," he said frankly, "But I find myself loving you all the same Mr Kirkland."

And before the man could squawk in rage the Englishman smothered him in laughing, bubbling kisses.

The End

Car boot sales – As described. Sales taking place in fields and car parks where people sell items ranging from bargains to the quirky to the downright disgusting from their "boots" (trunks to you Americans). The soup incident is a nod to a real life car boot I have attended where I saw a tin of custard being sold.

Hector – Arthur's ever (un)reliable Mini Cooper.

Snog, Marry or Avoid - An awful/spectacular/addictive television show on BBC Three. I can't bring myself to explain.

'Cuz if I'm the man that you love the most then you could say "I do" at least – The song Arthur plays on the patio is Hotel Yorba by the White Stripes. I imagine Arthur fangirled rather when the White Stripes appeared on the music scene. He's always been a bit of an American rhythm and blues fan as can be seen from English bands such as Rolling Stones and other British Invasion bands so a return to blues and stripped down rock music in America would have been very much welcomed by Arthur.