JOE STARTED AS something enormous was thrown over the scenery, landing softly in front of him, closely followed by Habs himself.
‘Brought us a mattress and some liquor,’ he breathed. ‘Felt like it might be a long night. And the longer you can be away from everyone else, the better.’
The mattress filled the floor space under them and they returned to their sitting positions against the backdrop. Habs uncorked the bottle and passed it to Joe, who sipped and swallowed. ‘Do you think King Dick knows …?’ he began.
‘King Dick knows everythin’,’ said Habs, taking his turn with the bottle.
‘You told him?’ Joe was alarmed. ‘I should’ve done that.’
‘You should. Tomorrow. I said we had a visitor, tha’s all.’
‘A visitor?’
‘It was enough,’ said Habs. ‘He guessed. He was kinda busy, sendin’ Ned out to relight some of the lamps, but yeah, he guessed.’
‘How do you know?’
‘’Cos he called me over and whispered to me.’
‘Habs, just tell me what he said!’
Habs swigged again. ‘He said, “Act One, Scene Five”.’
Joe allowed himself a small, rueful laugh. ‘Of course he did. I don’t think Will is ever going to accept me doing this play,’ he said. ‘And any mention of this kiss is going to drive him crazy.’
‘And Lord knows there’s a lotta men like Will here. How d’we play it, Joe?’
There was a silence, then Joe reached for the liquor. ‘You should know that I stink,’ he said.
Habs drank some more then wiped his lips on his coat sleeve. ‘Me, too.’
Joe cleared his throat. ‘What’s my line?’
‘Saints do not move …’
‘Oh, yes,’ said Joe. Habs felt him shift against their wooden rest. When he spoke again, it was a tremulous whisper. ‘Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.’
‘Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take,’ said Habs, and he leaned over and kissed Joe. It was brief, chaste, their lips barely touching.
‘You really do stink,’ said Joe, and they both snorted with laughter.
‘You need a shave,’ said Habs.
‘No, that’s not your line. You say, “Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.”’
‘Quite right,’ said Habs. Then added, ‘D’you think this is a sin?’
‘Habs, it’s a play.’
‘But what if it wasn’t?’
‘You mean …’
‘What if … I was kissin’ you … ’cos I wanted to kiss you?’ The cockloft was silent. Habs’s heart was leaping in his chest.
‘It would be an abomination,’ Joe said.
Habs exhaled slowly. ‘That what you really think?’
There was another long pause as Joe shifted uncomfortably. ‘Then have my lips the sin that they have took,’ he said eventually.
‘Give me my sin again.’
‘No, you missed a line, Habs, it’s—’
‘Give me my sin again,’ insisted Habs, and he waited.
Joe’s mind was a tumult, his heart a convulsion. Shocked by his own desire, terrified of the consequences, he dug his nails into his hands and froze, becalmed by confusion and conflict.
Somewhere out in the courtyard, he registered a commotion: raised voices and a brief cry. Habs caught it, too, his head turning briefly to the window.
Joe called him back. ‘Can this just be a rehearsal? he whispered. ‘Please?’
Habs hesitated. Joe’s gaze was intent, watching, he thought, for disappointment or annoyance. He hid them both. ‘It can be a rehearsal, yes,’ he said. ‘’Course it can.’
Outside, again the sound of running footsteps. A whistle. The alarm bell.
‘’Nother time,’ said Habs.