Originally Posted: 2:32 AM - Mar 22, 2012

"There you are, madam," Shirley Brahms chirped as she handed a bag across the counter to a stout middle-aged woman. "Your receipt is inside. If you are not satisfied with the garment don't hesitate to bring it back. We'll gladly exchange it, provided you bring it back within ten days, have the receipt, you haven't worn it, and it isn't creased."
The woman blinked a few times in confusion. "Should I write this all down?"
Miss Brahms smiled even wider now as she took the woman's receipt and wrote everything down for her. With a flourish she slipped the receipt back into her bag and gave a cheery wave as the customer ascended the stairs to the lift. Normally at this point Miss Brahms would abandon her grin and only revive it upon greeting a new customer. Today, however, she could not help smiling continuously. And it was getting on her superior's nerves.
"What are you so bloody cheerful about?" Betty Slocombe demanded.
Miss Brahms tossed her hair back before answering, "Nick and I've been going out for six months now and we celebrated last night with some cheap plonk. It was quite nice, really."
"Has it been six months already?" Mrs Slocombe wondered aloud. "I don't suppose he's even offered you a ring yet, has he?"
"No," Miss Brahms replied, still smiling. "But we're taking things real slow."
"Very wise," Mrs Slocombe said sagely. "You mustn't give away too much in the beginning or he'll start treating you like a doormat." She closed her eyes as fond memories washed over her. "Ooh, I used to dangle myself like a carrot in front of all the boys! But I never let them get so much as a nibble. Well, except one time. And that was Mr Slocombe."
"Let me guess," Miss Brahms giggled. "He bit off more than he could chew?"
Mrs Slocombe narrowed her eyes. "Oh, belt up," she muttered.
A customer approached just then, a young man with blonde hair and a very confused look on his face. Mrs Slocombe abandoned the conversation to approach him, inquiring, "Are you being served, Sir?"
The young man jumped a little, then did a double-take when he saw her bright blue hair. "Er, no," he replied. "I...um..."
"Is there something I can assist Sir with today?" Mrs Slocombe pressed him.
The fellow kept staring at her hair and finally said, in a dull American accent, "Is that a smurf on your head or did you piss someone off at the salon?"
Mrs Slocombe's smile was gone in an instant. "How dare you!" she snarled.
Captain Peacock, sensing trouble, crossed the floor in three strides. "Is there a problem, Mrs Slocombe?"
"I should say so!" she growled. The man reached up slowly in an attempt to touch her hair, as if he couldn't tell if it was real or not. She swatted his hand away. "This...person, has just asked me...OH!" She beckoned the floorwalker closer and whispered in his ear. Captain Peacock's eyebroWs shot upward. He looked at the man, who was still staring at her head.
"I shall take care of this," he said to her quietly. Straightening his tie he gently took the man's arm and steered him away from the ladies' counter and closer to the men's counter. He looked the fellow in the eyes and saw they were quite bloodshot. "Your eyes are very red, young man," he stated. "Would I be right in guessing you have been smoking marijuana?"
The man blinked at him a few times. "Your eyes look a bit glazed, buddy," he replied. "Been eatin' doughnuts?"
Mr Lucas, who had been straining to hear the entire conversation, snorted and smirked with delight. Captain Peacock shot him a dirty look before addressing the fellow again.
"Young man," he said, "We at Grace Brothers do not tolerate the use of illicit substances among our staff or our customers. I suggest you leave the store now or you will be forcibly removed, either by myself or the security guards. Do you understand?"
The man blinked at him a few times. "What?"
Captain Peacock's eyes narrowed in anger. "Leg it, Boy!"
"Oh," the man muttered, comprehension dawning on his face. "Yeah, okay, I'm going. But...like, could you point me to the restaurant? I've got the munchies somethin' awful."
Captain Peacock groaned and pointed to the lift.

Mr Lucas watched the stoned fellow walk up to the lift and waited until Captain Peacock went back to the ladies' counter before nudging Mr Humphries. They moved to the end of the counter, where Mr Humphries found a drawer full of neatly folded vests. He dumped them out on the counter, tossed them around a bit, and motioned for Mr Lucas to help fold them so they could gossip.
"You just missed it," Mr Lucas told him. "While you were in there with that German tourist Peacock threw out a stoner."
"A what?" Mr Humphries said.
"A stoner," Mr Lucas repeated. "You know..." He mimed taking a hit off a joint. "That bloke had to have been hitting the pipe all day."
"Oh!" Mr Humphries grinned appreciatively and a faraway look came over him. "You know, I haven't done that since I was in Tools and Do-It-Yourself. This one fellow I worked with, Mr Baldwin, could make a bong or pipe out of anything. We'd look for the most insane combination of objects and somehow he'd always find a way to smoke something with them. One time I cheated and went to this adult store on my way in to work one morning and got, ah..." He whispered into Mr Lucas' ear. The junior's face turned bright red and his expression became one of utmost shock and fear.
"Why am I not surprised?" he squeaked. "Did you look for the biggest one or...?"
"I shall smack your wrist in a moment," Mr Humphries snapped. "It fit easily in my hand, so I'd say it was normal-sized."
"How many have you held in your hand?" Mr Lucas cheeked.
Mr Humphries smacked his junior's wrist, but was grinning in spite of himself. "Anyway, I kept it in the paper bag and when we went outside for a smoke after lunch I slipped it to him. Do you know, within five minutes he'd whittled some holes in it and was sparking some Columbian Gold. Oh! I wish I'd had my camera with me! I thought we'd all die laughing!"
"Well, between the pot and the dong-bong, I can see why," Mr Lucas laughed.
"You know, that's exactly what we called it!" Mr Humphries cracked up. "We hid it in a skip behind the store until it was time to go home. I was going to take it home and save it for parties. However, when I went to retrieve it that afternoon, it was gone."
"Someone nicked your dick?" Mr Lucas chuckled.
"They copped my cock," Mr Humphries snickered.
"Do you know who did it?" Mr Lucas asked.
"I have a very good idea who might have stolen it," Mr Humphries replied. "But I don't think she realised what had been done to it. All I know is the next day I saw her staggering around, looking very disoriented."
"Who was it?" Mr Lucas demanded eagerly.
"Put it to you this way," Mr Humphries whispered, "for months afterward I used to ask Mrs Slocombe if her pussy was paranoid."
Mr Lucas' grin faded and his eyes became wide with horror. A retching sound issued from the back of his throat and a moment later he was rushing off to the gents' while Mr Humphries shuddered a bit, then returned the vest drawer to the counter.

Back at the ladies' counter Miss Brahms was checking her watch and glancing up at the lifts expectantly. Mrs Slocombe was just finishing with another customer when she caught this. After thanking the woman she turned around and said, "Miss Brahms, are you alright?"
"Yes," Miss Brahms replied. "I'm just eager for lunch. Nick called and said he was comin' to join me. 'E said he's bringing some gyros and bally-clava for us."
"Bonk-lo-va, Miss Brahms," Mrs Slocombe corrected her, although poorly. "That's very sweet of him!"
"Innit?" Miss Brahms grinned. "'E should be 'ere any minute now. It's nearly one."
As if on cue the lift doors dinged and a young man with dark hair strode down the stairs. He saw Miss Brahms and smiled wide. She waved to him and he went toward the ladies' counter.
"Hello my love," he greeted her fondly, with a kiss on her cheek.
"Hello Nick," she giggled. "'Ere, this is Mrs Slocombe." She gestured to her superior, who smiled kindly and offered her hand. Nick took it in his own and bowed respectfully.
"How nice to finally meet you," she simpered. "Miss Brahms has spoke of you often."
"She has told me many stories about you as well," Nick said. "But she did not tell me you were such a tiny thing!"
"Oh, you Greek men," Mrs Slocombe tittered. "You're all the same!"
"Are you ready for lunch, my dear?" Nick asked Miss Brahms.
"In just a minute," she replied. "Captain Peacock always tells us when we can go."
Nick turned around to face the rest of the floor. "Which one is Captain Peacock?" he asked.
"The tall snooty one," Miss Brahms whispered.
"Oh yes," Nick nodded. "With the stupid red flower in his lapel? Yes...you were right. He does look like a pompous ass."
Captain Peacock didn't hear any of this, for he was busy wiping some lint off a mannequin. He straightened up, glanced at his watch, and began calling to his subordinates.
"Mrs Slocombe, Miss Brahms," he called to the ladies. "Mr Grainger, Mr Humphries, Mr Lucas, it is now one o'clock."
"Oh good," Mr Grainger said, removing his tape measure from around his neck. "I'm famished! I wonder if they'll have spaghetti in the Canteen today."
"I don't think I can eat now," Mr Lucas said, still looking a bit pale.
"Try to put it out of your mind," Mr Humphries whispered to him.
Mr Lucas nodded, but as soon as Mrs Slocombe came close he took one look at her, turned green, and raced off to the gents' once more. She watched him go up the stairs and disappear into the restroom, a bewildered look on her face. Mr Humphries shook his head and took her arm.
"Don't mind him," he told her. "He's just feeling a bit queasy. Probably something he didn't eat..."

Mr Lucas eventually joined the others at their regular table, where Nick was seated next to Miss Brahms. While the others picked their way through rollmop herring, halibut, and lentil stew, Nick and Miss Brahms feasted on gyros and seasoned chips. For pudding he offered everyone some of the baklava he'd brought, which was an instant hit. Mr Grainger, however, wasn't too keen on it a moment later when it cemented his teeth together.
"Glass of Polident for Mr Grainger," Mr Humphries sighed.
"Mr Lucas, are you feeling any better?" Mrs Slocombe asked the junior.
"Yes, yes, much better," Mr Lucas squirmed, not meeting her eye. "Thank you for asking."
"Shirley, could I speak to you in private?" Nick whispered.
"There's no privacy 'ere, really," Miss Brahms muttered. She rolled her eyes and glanced around the table. "Anything you say will be heard by someone and by the end of the day the whole store will know abou' it."
"Well..." Nick looked a bit nervous and drummed his fingers on the table. "I suppose I could say it here. I mean, you'll tell your friends, anyway."
"Tell us what, Nick?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
Nick seemed to be searching for words. Finally he shrugged and in one swift movement he slipped his hand into his jacket and went down on one knee in front of Miss Brahms. Her eyes became very large and her jaw dropped as he stammered, "Sh-Shirley, I want you t-to be my wife. W-will you marry me?" He held up a diamond ring to her while grasping her hand in his.
Mrs Slocombe and Mr Humphries both clapped their hands to their mouths. Mr Grainger dropped his teeth, which he'd just removed, into the remnants of his lentil stew. Captain Peacock appeared to be quite surprised while Mr Lucas looked as though someone had just punched him in the stomach.
Miss Brahms began squealing with utter delight. "Oh yes! Yes, Nick!"
Nick laughed out loud and with shaking hands put the ring on her finger. She jumped up from her chair and he rose from his kneeling position to kiss her. She then proceeded to practically dance over to Mrs Slocombe and Mr Humphries, both of whom were also squealing and bouncing on the spot in pure glee.
"Congratulations, Nick," Captain Peacock said pompously, shaking Nick's hand and clapping him on the shoulder.
"Y-yes, well done," Mr Grainger said, rising from his chair. "We're all very fond of Miss Brahms, you know. I trust you will be taking very good care of her?"
"Oh, I shall be very good to her," Nick grinned.
"I really didn't need to hear that," Mr Lucas grumbled to himself.
"Oh, wait til Mrs Axelby hears this!" Mrs Slocombe giggled.
"You'll be one of my bridesmaids, right?" Miss Brahms chirped.
"Of course," Mrs Slocombe replied.
"What about me?" Mr Humphries asked.
"He can be a bridesmaid, too," Mr Lucas snapped.
"You're going the right way for another smacked wrist," Mr Humphries warned him. He walked away from the cackling girls and sat down next to the junior. "What's wrong with you? I'd think you'd be happy for her."
"Oh I am, Mr Humphries," Mr Lucas said, albeit unconvincingly.
"Yes, I can see the joy welling up inside you," Mr Humphries sarked. "Come now! What's going on?"
"Never mind," Mr Lucas said quietly. He rose from his seat, abandoning his coffee. "I'm going back to the department."
"It's only one-thirty," Mr Humphries said.
"Then I'll go down to Tools and Do-It-Yourself," Mr Lucas snapped. "I'll take a pair of flimsy knickers with me, see if Mr Baldwin can make me a thong-bong."
Mr Humphries watched him stalk off toward the lift and sighed heavily.

Miss Brahms was right about the speed of gossip within Grace Brothers. By the end of the day everyone in the store knew she was engaged to Nicodemus Mavros. The next day she was besieged by requests to see the ring, queries about when and where the wedding was to take place, and squeals of delight from every female staff member in the store. Even the men offered their congratulations to her, although a few were somewhat hesitant to do so, as she was considered one of the 'best-looking birds in the store' by so many.
Only Mr Lucas seemed truly unhappy about her forthcoming marriage. In fact he appeared to be downright depressed about it and took to brooding behind his counter. Mr Humphries tried his best to get him to explain his chagrin, but Mr Lucas kept shrugging him off.
"Give over," he growled at the second salesman. "I don't want to talk about it."
"If you'd just tell me why you're so upset..."
"I'm not upset."
"Then why do you keep glaring at her?"
"I'm not glaring at her."
"Yes you are! I just saw you."
Mr Lucas rubbed his temples and sighed. "Look, it's none of your business. There's nothing you can do about it, anyway."
"The way you're going on about I'd almost think you...were..." Mr Humphries' jaw dropped as he realised what was wrong. "NO! Not you!"
Mr Lucas shook his head. "It's not like that..."
"The hell it isn't!" Mr Humphries said. "You've got it bad for her, don't you?"
"Sod off," Mr Lucas snarled under his breath, for Captain Peacock was within earshot. He tried to look busy by picking up his bill pad and pretending to work out his figures.
Mr Humphries waited until Captain Peacock darted toward a nubile young woman then snatched the bill pad from Mr Lucas. "Does she know?"
Mr Lucas looked mutinous now. For a moment he glowered at his superior, then his head dropped to his chest. "No," he muttered. "And fat lot it would do now."
"True," Mr Humphries sighed. He dropped the pad on the counter. "Well, I won't give you the same sad clichés I've been given all my life. You know – there are plenty of fish in the sea. There's someone for everyone. It's better to have loved and lost, et cetera, ad nauseum."
"Nauseum's right," Mr Lucas said, repressing a belch. "Ever since you told me that story about the bong my stomach's been turning."
"Too bad that's the only thing," Mr Humphries muttered under his breath.
"Here it goes again," Mr Lucas grimaced. "Cor! Now I know how ol' Grainger feels when his gastritis starts up." He began hobbling toward the gents' restroom. As he passed Mr Grainger, the senior salesman took a quick look at him then went right to Mr Humphries.
"What's wrong with our Mr Lucas?" he asked. "He looks rather pale and green."
"It's envy," Mr Humphries half-joked.

"So, when is the big day?" Mrs Slocombe demanded.
"Oh, I forgot to tell you," Miss Brahms said. "It's this Saturday."
"That soon?" Mrs Slocombe looked concerned. "You're not in trouble, are you Miss Brahms?"
"No!" Miss Brahms replied. "Nick's just a little impatient, tha's all. Thing is, because it's such short notice we can't do a big fat Greek wedding like his mum wants. But we have 'ired a Greek vicar and 'is family's gonna do the caterin'."
"Ooh, we'll have to look through stock and find you a proper gown," Mrs Slocombe said.
"Oh, my mum's given me 'ers," Miss Brahms smiled. "It's absolutely gorgeous! But we should find you somefing nice. You'll be standing with Mum and my cousin Lisa. Nick's gonna 'ave 'is brother, dad, and uncle wif 'im. I think it's 'is Mum's brother, 'cause 'is name was...oh, what was it? They named Nick after 'im…Kit Mataxis! That's it!"
"You'll never catch me with a wog," Mrs Slocombe sniffed disdainfully.
"Anyway, it's at two o'clock Saturday afternoon," Miss Brahms went on. "I'll have to tell everyone at lunch. Oh, I 'ope they can all make it! Especially Mr Lucas. Course, I don't think 'e's too 'appy abou' all this."
"What do you mean?" Mrs Slocombe asked.
"Well, look at 'im," Miss Brahms said, gesturing toward the mens counter. "'E's been mopin' abou' ever since Nick proposed to me. You don't suppose 'e's jealous, do you?"
Mrs Slocombe laughed and shook her head. "My dear, think of the young man you speak of! He's only ever been interested in one thing and it's certainly not romance."
Miss Brahms glanced across the floor at Mr Lucas. He caught her eye and looked away quickly. She shrugged and said, "Maybe you're right." She sighed and began pricing some dusty crocheted berets she'd found in old stock.
A moment later a shadow fell across her counter and Miss Brahms looked up. She gasped slightly when she saw Mr Lucas staring back at her, a kind smile playing across his lips.
"Alright Shirley?" he said. "Listen, while Peacock's on his coffee break I thought I'd come over and...well, offer my congratulations. I hope you and Nick are very happy together. And if he ever breaks your heart you can be sure I'll break his legs."
Miss Brahms batted her eyelashes at him. "Why, that's the sweetest thing you've ever said to me," she purred. "Thank you, James. That means a lot to me."
"Yeah, well," Mr Lucas looked around and coughed. "Don't go telling everyone I've gone soft on you."
"Promise," Miss Brahms giggled.
"So, er..." he stammered, "have you two set a date yet?"
"Oh yes," she replied. "Saturday at two."
His smile flickered for a split-second. "You're keen, aren't you?"
"Actually, it's Nick's idea," she said. "'E says he can't wait to get started on our life togevver. Isn't he wonderful?"
"Yeah," Mr Lucas said quietly. "Sounds like one hell of a guy." He shifted from one foot to another, obviously very uncomfortable now. "Er, I should get back to my counter now. I, er..." He hesitated for a moment, then making sure Peacock was nowhere near he quickly leaned across the counter and pecked her on the cheek. She blushed and touched her face. Mr Lucas gave her a quick grin before retreating across the floor. As soon as he was behind the counter Mr Humphries was at his side.
"Well?" he demanded. "What happened?"
Mr Lucas leaned on his palms against the counter. "She's already set a date: Saturday. At two."
"What?!" Mr Humphries exclaimed. "That soon?!"
Mr Lucas nodded and hung his head. "If you'll excuse me..." He clutched his abdomen painfully. "I think I may need to visit Sister once Peacock returns." With that he hobbled off to the gents' again.
Mr Humphries watched him and felt horrible for his friend. "Poor lad," he sighed.
"What's wrong with him?" asked Nick.
Mr Humphries jumped and whipped around. "Oh! You gave me such a fright!"
"My apologies," Nick said, flashing a toothy grin. "I wonder if you could help me? I need some measurements for my tuxedo. I have to have it ready by Friday evening. Shirley said you were the best."
Mr Humphries blushed and was just reaching into his pocket for his tape measure when Mr Grainger arrived.
"Can I help you, young man?" he asked, looking up at the slightly taller Greek lad.
"Well, I guess you both can if you like," Nick replied. "I need to be measured for my tuxedo."
"Oh yes, of course," Mr Grainger nodded. "Eh, Mr Humphries? Perhaps you could assist me in taking this young man's measurements."
"Certainly, Mr Grainger," Mr Humphries smiled. He whipped his tape measure from his pocket and held it at the ready. "If you would like to step over this way, we shall begin."
Mr Grainger took out his bill pad and licked his pencil. "Ready when you are, Mr Humphries."
"Right!" Mr Humphries threw the tape around Nick's neck. "Neckline!"
"Neckline," Mr Grainger repeated.
"Fourteen!" Mr Humphries read out.
"Fourteen," Mr Grainger repeated.
"Shoulders!"
"Shoulders."
"Twenty-five!"
"Twenty-five."
"Chest!" "Chest." "Thirty-four!" "Thirty-four." "Waist!" "Waist." "Thirty-two!" "Thirty-two." "Inside leg!"
"Thirty-three," Nick interrupted.
"Fail!" Mr Lucas grunted from behind the cabinet.
"Just as well," Mr Humphries snorted. "My knees are sore today."

Normally the staff worked until noon on Saturdays, but today they were allowed to leave half an hour early due to Shirley's wedding. At eleven-thirty Claybourne had already thrown the covers on the counters and was changing into his three piece day suit. He stepped out of the fitting room and glanced at himself in the mirror. Just as he reached up to straighten his tie he saw Ernest come out as well, followed by his wife, Sandra, who kept fussing over his jacket.
"You've been nibbling pork pies again, haven't you?" she nagged.
"I have not, Woman," he snarled at her.
"Don't lie to me," she snapped. "You've got crumbs all over your jacket. Look!" She brushed some debris from his lapels.
Ernest harrumphed and started pulling on his jacket. "What time are we leaving, Mr Humphries?"
Claybourne began to reply but was momentarily distracted by the sight of James staggering toward them from the gents' toilet. He looked very pale and there were beads of sweat on his brow. Looking very concerned, both Claybourne and Ernest helped him to a chair, where he collapsed into it.
"I...I don't know..." he panted. "I don't know...if I..."
"You probably shouldn't," Claybourne replied. "Glass of water for James." When Ernest merely stood there looking confused Claybourne clicked his tongue in irritation and went to fetch the water himself.

Meanwhile, Shirley and Betty had just finished throwing drop cloths on their counters when a middle-aged woman bustled down from the lift looking very harassed about something.
"Oi!" she shouted as she approached the ladies' counter. "C'mon, Shirley! We 'aven't got much time!"
"It's only eleven-thirty-five, Mum," Shirley replied. "It won't take but a few minutes to do my hair and make-up."
"Oh, my sweet little girl," Mrs Brahms sniffed. "All grown up and about to leave me. What'll I do without my baby?"
Shirley smiled at her mother and took her hands in her own. "You'll have to get Michael to keep you from smashing the telly when M*A*S*H comes on," she grinned. "I'm almost ready. You remember Betty, right?" She gestured toward her supervisor.
"Mrs Slocombe, of course," Mrs Brahms said warmly. "How lovely to see you again."
"And to see you," Betty smiled. "Right, let's get cracking! I've got everything we need right here in this bag." She held up a large elaborately decorated canvas bag that had a photograph of a jellicle cat printed on both sides. "Make-up, hair essentials, everything a bride needs for her big day. Even ginger!"
"Come again?" Claybourne said, whipping around when he heard 'ginger'.
"For nerves," Betty explained. "I had the worst case of nervous stomach when I married Cecil all those years ago. My mother gave me a bit of ginger tea. Cleared it right up! So I did the same for my nieces and cousins when they got married."
"I am a bit nervous," Shirley admitted.
"Don't worry, Love," Betty said, patting her arm. "I'll make you a nice cup of ginger tea when we get to the church."
"Make two," Claybourne told her as he helped James stand up. "This one could use a strong cup. His stomach's been bothering him for a few days now."
"Oh you poor lad," Betty simpered. "Right, well let's get going. I've got my own frock to get on as well as taking care of hair and make-up for everyone. And Mrs Axelby said she would help with the flowers..."
While Betty prattled on Claybourne put an arm around James to steady him. "Don't worry," he whispered. "I'll slip a little brandy into your ginger tea when we get there."
"Thanks," James mumbled shakily.

When they arrived at the church it was just a little after noon. The women dashed off to a spare room to get changed and work their magic on each other. James, however, went right for the toilet along with Ernest. However, the elder salesman left well before his junior.
James emerged from a cubicle some time later and clutched the sink for support. He pulled off his jacket and draped it over the swinging door. After splashing some cool water on his face he felt someone tap his shoulder. Looking up into the mirror he saw Claybourne smiling kindly at him, a cup in his hand and a small bottle of whiskey in the other.
"You're an angel," James said. He took the cup and raised it to his lips. The bite of ginger combined with the burn of whiskey somehow began to soothe his stomach. He drained the cup quickly and set it on the counter. "That's better," he sighed.
"Well, now we've got your gastronomic issues covered," Claybourne said, "what are we going to do about that green-eyed monster you're dealing with?"
James shook his head. "What does it matter? She'll be spoken for in a couple hours. I'll get over it."
"You're not doing a very good job of it at the moment," Claybourne snorted.
James shot him a dirty look. Then he glanced at himself in the mirror and groaned. Sweat was dripping from his face and had soaked the underarms of his shirt.
"That's marvellous," he grumbled. "Simply marvellous. Cor! How'm I supposed to fix this lot?" He raised his arms and winced as he saw how much he'd actually been sweating.
"I have an idea," Claybourne said. "Follow me."
James picked up his jacket, shaking his head, and followed Claybourne out of the toilet and down a corridor. He ducked into a dark room where a clothes rack held some Biblical-looking costumes as well as some robes and vestments. A changing screen had been pushed against the wall while a large fan was plugged in and blowing a cool breeze.
"Here," Claybourne said, pulling the screen away from the wall. "Take your shirt off and get behind here with me."
James' eyes became wide with concern. "Er, Clay..."
"Just do it," Claybourne told him.
James pulled his tie loose, took his shirt off, and stepped behind the screen. Claybourne snatched it from him and draped it over the screen. He moved the fan so it was blowing on James and the shirt, drying both off at the same time.
"Oh that does feel nice," James said, closing his eyes and enjoying the cool air. Any nausea that was still with him after the ginger tea was disappearing quickly now.
"Here, sit down." Claybourne pushed a folding chair behind him, forcing the younger man to plop down on it. "Now wait here while I go get a towel."
"Here, wait a minute," James said. "How'd you know this lot was here? And how do you know they've got towels?"
"A friend of mine is in the choir here," Claybourne replied. "I used to come listen to them practice on Wednesdays. I used to help her get ready for concerts. Her boyfriend used to meet her in here and they'd, er..." Claybourne pressed his lips together and rolled his eyes. "I've said too much already. Let's just say I quickly learned to duck behind this screen and later found out where the towels were kept." He raised an eyebrow at his friend, smiled, and started to leave.
James watched him mince out of sight and peered around the screen as he wondered about his friend. Any thoughts that had begun to form in his mind were interrupted a few seconds later when Claybourne froze at the door. He looked to his left then ran back and ducked behind the screen.
"What are you doing?" James demanded. Then he heard voices and quickly clicked the fan off.
Through the tiny slits that formed the hinges of the screen, Claybourne and James watched as two figures entered the room. They were obviously a young man and woman and both were giggling. James sucked in a breath as he watched the boy kiss the girl's neck and fondle her chest. She smiled appreciatively and reached out to shut the door behind them. Then she pushed him away and took something from her handbag that rattled slightly. A moment later they realized it was a box of matches as she scraped one against the side and the tip burst into flame. She lit a nearly-spent candle and both men clasped a hand over the other's mouth when they saw who the man was.
It was Nicodemus Mavros!
James and Clay both watched, wide-eyed, as the girl turned around. She obviously wasn't Shirley, for she was shorter and had curly black hair that cascaded over her shoulders. She pushed the straps of her dress off and it fell to the ground, revealing that not only had she 'forgotten' her bra, but also her underwear. James heard Claybourne whimper a bit and he almost did the same, but for perhaps different reasons.
"How far along is Agatha?" the girl asked.
"Two months," Nick replied, unzipping his pants.
"I still don't see how this will keep your name clear," the girl said, leaning against the wall.
"Shirley won't suspect a thing," Nick said. "Because by the time the baby is born we'll be living in Yorkshire, far from her family."
"You're a real berk, Nicodemus," the girl purred. "Maybe that's why I want you so bad."
James and Clay watched as Nick began kissing the girl again. Claybourne leaned back from the screen and plugged his ears, but James listened as the two lovers began their tryst. The candle went out a few minutes later but the two still went at it, with Nick hushing the girl occasionally when she began to get loud. Finally James realised what he was seeing and sat back on his haunches. The nausea that he thought had finally gone away was back, but this time it was from rage. How dare he do this to Shirley?
All four jumped when they heard what sounded like a small stampede go by the door. Then they heard small children laughing. James looked through the slit again and saw that the two had broken apart. Nick swore under his breath in Greek and pulled his pants back up.
"Sorry, Katina," he whispered. "We'd better stop here."
Katina swore as well, but began putting her dress back on. Nick waited until she was fully clothed again before opening the door a crack and peering out.
"It's clear," he told her. "I'll go ahead. You come out in a few minutes."
"Hey," she said, grabbing his arm. "When are we gonna finish this?"
Nick smirked at her. "We are finished," he replied. "Sorry, but this was the last time."
Katina looked appalled and started to speak but Nick simply pressed a finger to her lips.
"And if you think about ratting me out," he said, "I'll be only too happy to tell your mother about your sister."
"You wouldn't," Katina snarled. "You're the one who knocked her up!"
"They'd never believe I'd do that," Nick grinned. "I'm Shirley's man, remember?" He pecked her on the cheek and disappeared into the corridor.
Katina looked mutinous. She began muttering to herself in Greek as she paced up and down. James looked over at his friend, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. He had removed his fingers from his ears and looked very shocked and confused. A few seconds later they heard the door open and shut once more. Katina had left. They slipped out from behind the screen and Claybourne crossed the room to lock the door and switch on a proper light.
"Did you hear that?" James growled.
"Every word," Claybourne said quietly. "Wh-what should we do?"
"What?!" James stared at him. "We've got to tell Shirley, that's what!"
"But..." Claybourne wrung his hands as his lip quivered. "But she'd never believe us. She's just so happy and...and..."
"Better to hear it from us than Katina," James said, snatching up his shirt. It wasn't quite dry yet but he didn't care. He put his tie back around his neck but didn't tie it. Instead he pulled his jacket on and went right for the door. "Come on," he said. "We've got a wedding to crash!"

On the other side of the church, Betty was putting the final touches on Shirley's make-up. She spun the chair around and allowed the bride to see the final results, which were a bit disastrous. Had Tammy Faye Bakker been nearby, even she would have face-palmed.
"Er, you might want to cut back a little," Mrs Brahms said politely.
"I'll do it," Shirley said. She began dabbing away the excess with a sponge just as a knock came at the door.
"Oh, who could that be?" Betty growled and opened the door, revealing a very pale James Lucas and his blonde friend, Claybourne Humphries.
"'Ere!" Shirley exclaimed, snatching her dressing gown and tying it properly. "What are you playing at?"
"We need to talk to you, Shirley," James panted. With a glance at Betty, who was glaring at him, he added, "Alone, if you don't mind."
Shirley saw the anxious look on his face and sighed heavily. "Oh, all right. But make it quick. Mum, Betty, could you give us a moment?"
The men stepped inside and Claybourne held the door while Betty and Mrs Brahms reluctantly left the room. James flopped into the chair that Mrs Brahms had abandoned and mopped his face with his handkerchief. Shirley now looked concerned and asked what was wrong.
"He's just seen something very disturbing," Claybourne replied. "And so have I."
"It's Nick," James blurted out. "We just saw him with Katina in another room. They...they were...and her sister's...with his..."
"You're not making much sense," Shirley said, her brow furrowed with worry.
James took a deep breath to calm himself, then said, "We just caught Nick with Katina and overheard him say he put her sister Agatha in the club two months ago."
Shirley blinked at him, then her brow creased in anger. Sensing danger, Claybourne moved toward his friend and said, "I'm afraid it's true, dear. I'm so sor-"
Any kind words he might have had for her were drowned out by the clap of her palm against James' face. He clutched his cheek and stared at her in absolute shock.
"I know what your game is," she snarled. "You're jealous! An' you've talked Clay into going along wif your little story!"
"No, never!" James argued weakly. "I swear on the staff handbook, it's true!"
"An' you," she growled, rounding on Claybourne. "I'd've thought better of you! 'Ow could you go along wif this?"
"No, you don't understand," Claybourne retorted. "We saw them! We heard them!"
"I don't 'ave time for this," Shirley snapped. "Both of you - out!"
"Shirley, please," James pleaded. "We're only thinking of you. You're our friend!"
"You've got a funny way of showin' it," she said nastily. "On your bike, basket, poof!"
"How dare you?!" Claybourne suddenly bellowed, causing both James and Shirley to jump, startled by his raised voice. He glared at her and took a step forward, saying, "We are your friends and we would never voluntarily do or say anything to cause you distress. Now, I realise that you are nervous and looking forward to this event - an event that should be the happiest day of your life, but will be marred in shame the moment you realise that we have been telling the truth."
He pointed out toward the hall in a dramatic gesture. "That bloody wog has been lying to you for months! And if you have any shred of decency, any self-esteem, any trust in those who have called you 'friend' for so many years, you will heed our warning and confront him as well as Katina and Agatha!"
Shirley shrunk back as he glowered at her. Finally she stood straight and went to the door, which she opened as she quietly said, "Please leave. I need some time to think."
Claybourne still scowled at her as he took James by the elbow and steered him out of the room. They heard the door click behind them and both exchanged curious, anxious glances. With a chorused sigh they ambled toward the church hall.

Fifteen minutes later the two friends were seated with the Peacocks, the Graingers, the Rumbolds, Betty, and her friend Mrs Axelby. While the other staff were sharing excited whispers, James and Claybourne simply stared ahead. An organ played light music in the background, drowning out a lot of conversations. Occasionally Claybourne would sniffle and press his handkerchief to his face. James, however, looked too depressed to do anything but keep his gaze fixed on a painting of Christ performing the Sermon on the Mount. Silently, he began to pray, for it was his last hope.
"Hello God," he whispered. "It's me, James Lucas. Look, I realise we don't talk much and I haven't exactly been an angel lately. All right, not for the last ten years. But I need some help. Please! I can't bear to think of Shirley marrying that Nick guy. He doesn't deserve her! He's already lying and cheating on her. What's he gonna be like in five years? Ten? Twenty?"
"Who are you talking to?" Claybourne muttered through the corner of his mouth.
"I'm praying, mate," James replied. "Now butt out! I have to concentrate."
Claybourne poked his tongue in his cheek, as he was wont to do when giving something heavy consideration. Then he nudged his friend and both gazed at the painting as they spoke together.
"God, please don't let her marry that wog!"
"Amen," James said, his voice cracking a bit.
Claybourne sniffled again and started to put his arm around James, although he was not entirely sure it would be welcome, when there was a loud din from the back of the church hall. Heads turned as there was another crash, then raised voices. The doors swung open and Shirley Brahms stamped down the aisle toward Nick and his party. Her dress was gone, replaced by a simple t-shirt, jeans, and trainers. The organ stopped and a small, elderly Greek woman peered over it to ask, most likely in her native tongue, as to what was going on to cause such a racket.
"Shirley!" Nick beamed at her as she came closer. "We're not ready yet. You see..."
Shirley stopped just a few inches away from her fiancé and reached back with her fist. It came forward and collided with his face. Nick stumbled backward, clapping both hands to his nose as blood began to ooze out. His best man caught him under his arms just as the groom nearly fell.
"You," Shirley growled in a voice that sounded almost otherworldly. "How dare you?! How very dare you?!"
"We could ask you the same thing," said the best man, who was helping Nick to his feet.
"Katina told me," Shirley snarled viciously. "She an' Agatha both told me. You've been on the nest wif both of 'em an' 'ave been for months. How bloody well dare you, Nicodemus Mavros?!"
Gasps rang out on both sides of the church hall and Shirley's two friends jumped up to run to her side, shouting a 'hallelujah' as they rushed forward. They were just in time, too, for Nick's family had stood as well and were shouting nasty things at her in both English and Greek. James and Claybourne both laid their hands on her shoulders and were soon joined by the rest of the staff, as well as her family, which was still small compared to Nick's lot. A sudden shrill whistle caught everyone's attention, causing a miracle that is still spoken of in Greek families to this very day: they were all reduced to silence.
"Oh belt up, you bloody wogs!" Betty shrieked, her two fingers ready to be pressed against her teeth in another whistle should the crowd become raucous again. "Shirley Brahms, I'm proud of you. Now come on. Let's do a bunk and find us a proper English pub!"
Shirley's party nodded and mumbled in agreement. Claybourne and James, their hands still on her shoulders, steered her away from the altar and toward the door. She took one final look at Nick and a single tear trickled down her cheek, then she turned away and went away with those whom she knew truly loved her.

Outside the church everyone began filing into their vehicles straight away with only one thought in mind: liqueur and lots of it. Claybourne led the trio to a car he had borrowed from a friend and started to offer the back to James when Shirley threw her arms around his neck and began sobbing.
"I'm sorry, Clay," she wept loudly. "I'm so sorry! I should 'ave known you two would never...ever..."
"Calm down, dear," he said in his most consoling tone. "I understand. I really do."
She released him and immediately grabbed James, who held her close and let her cry into his shoulder. After a moment she let go and he held the back door open so she could slide in the backseat. Just as he was about to close it Mrs Brahms grabbed the door for the front passenger seat, the dress and accessories in her hand and a frustrated look on her face.
"Give us a hand, moosh," she said to Claybourne, and thrusted the clothing into his arms. She opened the door and sat inside, adding, "And while you're at it, give us a lift to the pub."
"Are you by any chance related to Betty Slocombe?" Claybourne asked.
Shirley let out a watery chuckle and beckoned to James to join her in the back. He blinked, then smiled before accepting her silent invitation. Claybourne put the wedding gear in the boot of the car, walked around to the front, got in, and started the engine.
"The Horse and Groom pub, Islington?" he asked his companions.
"As long as they 'ave whiskey," Shirley said, leaning against a somewhat elated James, "I don't care. In fact, d'you know anyone what might be able to score us some green?"
"I do, actually," Claybourne grinned. "And I have the perfect vessel for enjoying it. It was returned to me last night by our dear Betty, who has assured me that it has never been used for anything else."
James, who had been smiling sweetly at Shirley and stroking her hair affectionately, suddenly looked up in horror. The blood drained from his face and he swallowed hard before saying, "Oh God...I hope so..."

Fin.

Disclaimer: Are You Being Served? belongs to the BBC, David Croft, and Jeremy Lloyd. This is just a fan-fiction written for fun. No animals were harmed in the making of this fan-fiction, but Aidan the American Bobtail was irritating. No money was or will be made from the creation of this fan-fiction. A bunch of names were ripped off, but in all honesty, does anyone care?