Chapter Text
There’s nothing like a nice, warm shower to ease the tension of the day and bring back your peace of mind. It’s exactly what Mark needs after what’s happened so far. He can’t believe it hasn’t been a day yet - their shift ain’t even started yet! They’ve got a whole night to get through and judging by the way Gary left earlier in the day, the ice queen won’t be lending them any of his hair spray.
Not like they need it anyway. He hasn’t said anything but Gary still uses that cheap stuff everyone stopped using last year and with him being on the arm of a rich bloke and all, you'd think he’d use some of that money on his prized wig since he insists on touching up his roots each month.
Though, it wouldn’t hurt to get a head start.
“Robbie!” he yells from underneath the shower head. “Spray your wig now!”
No response. That’s strange.
Anyway, Mark rinses himself off, relishing in the last hot droplets hitting his back and turns off the water with a yawn. He’s missed out on his midday nap.
Oh well! No chance of it now and no chance of them kipping in the dressing room either if they stay here for much longer. Might as well slap the thing on now!
“Robbie, did you hear me?”
Still, no response.
He must be getting all huffy in his room, Mark figures, but he’s already decided he won’t be having none of that today. They need to get a move on.
“Rob, I know you’re upset but you can’t avoid me forever—”
The door hasn’t even been closed, it’s barely touching the frame and Robbie’s not in there. He’s not in the closet, trying to turn long dresses into miniskirts, he’s not by the window, daydreaming of being a superstar, he’s not on the bed, sleeping like a baby. He’s nowhere to be found.
“ROBBIE!” he yells out but there’s no reply. Somebody's taken him, ripped him away from home, abducted him and Mark couldn’t save him, couldn’t get to him in time because he was in the shower, tending to himself, tending to his own needs when Robbie needed him most. No one ever tended to Robbie’s needs before and Mark swore to be different, promised to be the first and what did he do? Let him down like everyone else in his life.
He needs to search, get a clue. They must’ve let something behind – like a glove or a note or something, anything to indicate who they are and where they’ve gone.
So Mark turns the place upside down. The bed, the curtains, the closet, the drawers — it’s there he realises that Robbie’s walkman is missing. What kidnappers take a kid’s walkman? It’s only Madonna deepcuts.
That means he must have left of his own accord.
That’s a little better than an abduction but his Robbie is still gone without a trace!
Mark opens the other draw, there must be a note or something, Robbie wouldn’t just up and leave, not just like that! He figures this must be where Robbie “stores” makeup, if you can even call it that. There’s more lipstick stain than a love letter and the mascara’s all dried up despite being brand new, and there’s some book at the bottom…
It seems to be some sort of journal, but Robbie’d never journal. He can’t spell well for starters and lives life in the moment, never stopping a moment to reflect. This couldn’t be his, surely?
There are a bunch of blank pages, random drawings of superheroes, daisies and hearts. Broken hearts, arrowed hearts, beating hearts, hearts getting ripped apart. Then there’s a handful of poems—Mark quite likes the one about angels, he isn’t too fond of the one about no regrets.
But then there’s an entry from a month ago that makes Mark’s eyes go wide.
‘I wish Liam didn’t hit me anymore. It hurts me emoceanally more than fisically. I also wish he stopped calling me thick but everyone does or they think I am. I hate when he pushes me the most. I always land on the table or the floor. I hate it because I’m away from him suddenly. I don’t want to be away from him. I love him. I don’t care. It’s me and him against the world. I don’t care what the rest say. How do they know? I just wish he didn’t slap me. I hate it when he punches me. He always aims for my nose. It hurts. A lot. But sometimes he hugs me and giz us a kiss and it’s all better.’
Mark wants to crumple the pages, rip them out then he wants to cripple Liam, pummel him, rip his sweaty hair out and small cock off while he’s at it and slap him, punch him like he punches Robbie and see how he likes it.
But he can’t—at least not right now and there’s more. A couple pages later, written over a broken heart lays the most recent entry.
‘I think they hate me. Everyone does I think. Howard barely talks to me. It's like he’s embarissed to look at me so he just looks down. Jason’s always having a go at me and Gaz always calls me a slag but I am and I can’t help it. I think I want to stop but everything feels so good like they actually like me. Like somebody likes me. I still have Mark tho. He’s a kind heart. I love him. He’s never not there for me. But I don’t tell him everything. How can I? He would leave me and I don’t want to be alone. I never want to be alone because I can’t be alone.’
Mark instantly shuts the journal and puts it so close to his chest that his heartbeat must send ripples through the pages. How could Robbie think that they hate him? Jason may tell him off from time to time but that’s only because he wants the best for him and Gaz... Well, Gaz is just bitchy but he doesn’t mean what he says and after a couple of years going back and forth you’d think he’d know that by now.
But it’s not about the facts, it’s about how he felt—isolated, shunned, neglected by this new family that had adopted him. He bottled it up, kept it to himself, from everyone else, even from Mark, who he said was always there for him, and now it’s all blown up and he’s ran off, off and away, away from them and away from home.
“Oh, Robbie!” he cries out as if he’ll miraculously hear him and return to him. He needs to return to him, Robbie needs to return home. And return right now.
He needs to tell the others. They need to know everything! But he has to calm down first. He knows he looks a right state! Thank God he didn’t already do his eyeshadow, he would’ve looked like a battered wife! He puts on TV to distract him, letting a BBC documentary play.
“Those with the disorder show symptoms that may come off as intentionally disruptive but are entirely out of their control. Difficulty with following instructions, waiting their turn, sitting still as well as talking noisily and interrupting conversations are all signs of the inattentiveness, hyperactivity and impulsivity that they suffer with.”
“Hmm,” Mark hums to himself as he applies his mascara. “That sounds a lot like our Robbie.”
As the programme shows different interviews with people diagnosed with the condition, Robbie’s behaviour makes more and more sense! The lads will be so glad when he tells them! Jason’s really into this psychology stuff. Then Mark’s heart sinks: he’ll have to tell them
Robbie’s gone too.
ᯓ★
Pop. That’s what it sounds like. The sound that Ivy Keys makes every time she sucks that cheese from in between her teeth. Chewing and swallowing just to do it all again.
Arthur’s brought Gary Parmesan cheese from his trip to the Italian province of Florence. When he first heard that his man was “going to see Florence,” Gary hit the roof, thinking he was going off with some other tart. Turns out it was just a city and for his fierce reaction (one that Arthur found quite sexy), he brought him back perfume, a sundress, 18k Versace earrings and of course, the cheese that’s getting more than him at the moment!
Harmony Dando’s been ogling the earrings for so long that he’s been allowed to borrow — they’re actually pure gold! And Jane O'Range got offered the perfume but she passed, Citrus is her signature scent. Plus, she’s more interested in this dairy product that seems to have made her mate delusional — banging on about this huge wedding where they’ll all be the bridesmaids and church bells will chime louder than Big Ben!
‘Fat chance’ is what they would say if this fantasy wasn’t so bloody funny!
“Chocolate mousse for the cake because that’s royal and all,” he says in between licking his fingers. “You know, ladies, this cheese used to be a sign of wealth since some bloke buried it during the Great Fire of London.”
Jason and Howard are staring at him but they aren’t saying anything, but he knows they want to. Because they’re sniggering like a pair of mean girls behind their victim’s back!
“What?”
“Oh, nothing,” Jason insists whilst Howard shoots a playful look at him.
“Well it ain’t nothing if youse are giggling,” he snaps like the diva he is. “What? Oh I get it, you two bimbos think that Ivy Keys’ as thick as a punter’s wife,” he gets up to peer down at them from his high horse. “But I’ll have you know that I passed with flying colours!”
Howard didn’t quite catch that. Thinks he misheard.
“Don’t you mean you undid the teacher’s fly to get that pass?”
Jane O'Range howls with laughter (how unladylike of her!) and Ivy Keys sits up straighter than she’ll ever be!
“I earned that A!”
They don’t know how many times he was leaned over that desk!
But before he can divulge his risqué revision method, the door flies open and a pale Marie Sophree rushes in.
“You look paler than Queen Elizabeth I,” Gary quips. “Cut out the powder—”
“He’s gone.”
“What?”
“Robbie!” he exclaims, his voice wobbling, cracking and shaking. “He’s gone!”
As his statement echoes through the stagnant silence, Mark begins to shake as if saying the word out loud shocks him — even though it’s been true for the last however many hours.
Jason takes him by the arms and brings him onto his lap. He does this with all the lads whenever they’re in a state, bouncing his leg or rubbing their back to soothe them and help ease the emotions out. He’s found it helps every time if only by solidifying his role as mother hen.
Oh well, it’s a small price to pay if it makes his mates feel better. And Jason figures he’s fine with being the mum, as long as Howard’s the soft-hearted dad.
“Mark, please,” Gary turns around to face him, earning a glare from Jason. “He’s gone off before, hasn’t he? We all remember Glastonbury and that wasn’t even a year ago. He even ran off from home to be with us for fuck’s sake! I don’t know what you’re stressing over when he’s probably sodded off to...”
The door opens and the room falls silent as Nigel saunters in. Nigel’s the owner of the club which means he also doubles as their manager though he doesn’t get a shilling from their endeavours. It’s a funny ordeal, really. After watching Gary’s first performance of his own song, Nigel was dazzled by his talents and even more so by his drag persona afterwards that he made a proposal: If Gary could find 3-4 other lads who could dance, sing and look fabulous in drag, he’d make them the main attraction!
And so, their little group was born.
Mark was already dressed up as Marie Sophree backstage. His sisters had given up their jobs at the bar to him as a final act of courtesy (totally not because they wanted him out of the house) and since he’s more of a slut than a server, he jumped at the opportunity!
Howard and Jason spent so much time at the club that it became a long running joke that they were bodyguards so Nigel let them work the doors — even though Howard lacked qualifications. But when Gary saw them dancing before opening, he made sure they performed with him and Mark later that night.
And as for Robbie, he just kept on coming until the group all but melted around him. To his credit, something Nigel will never give him, he sings great and just has that it factor—you’ll never not be entertained whilst Robbie’s in front of you. He’s just never liked the chap. Too cheeky, too witty for his own good but he’s insecure, naive and charming all at the same time.
He walks around almost like he’s inspecting them, resting his hands on the shoulders of Howard and staring at a shakily breathing Mark on Jason’s lap before looking into Gary’s reflection and glaring at him from behind.
“You’re late.”
It’s the way he says it, like he enjoys putting them all on edge. Jason thinks he’s a prat, or as they say in all those psychology books he reads, a narcissist. Someone who’s self-proclaimed superiority leads them to entitlement and exploiting others without an ounce of empathy. The rest just settle for pompous prat.
Gary puts on a smile, his rouge lips perfectly eclipsing his pearly whites. “We were just about to leave, actually.”
Nigel raises an eyebrow. The absence is felt by everyone, there’s no point in avoiding it.
“Robbie’s gone off... But he’ll be back soon, nothing to worry about,” he reassures. “And when he does I’ll give him a bloody good hiding for all the hassle he’s caused us.”
The last bit’s in his head but he does mean it: Robbie’s really taking the mic this time. And it’s not even funny. It’s annoying, irritating, down right infuriating at this rate!
“The show must go on,” Nigel states. That will always be true. Especially in this business. And they’re on in 2 minutes if they want to keep this job.
They figure he’ll show eventually.
He never does.
Robbie is gone.