“I wish I knew where I stood with you.” Jory hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
But maybe it was time they talked about whatever was going on between them? Really talked, without sex or hurt feelings or near-death experiences getting in the way.
“So, what happened with Kirsty . . . Was it just the drink?” Jory took a deep breath. He should let it go, he knew he should; he was harping on about it too much, but he had to be certain. “What did happen? Exactly?”
“Think you saw it all. I mean, all of that sort of stuff. We had dinner, we had a few drinks, and then she—then it happened. And ten seconds later you walked in.” Mal looked him in the eye. “If I’d known that was gonna happen, I’d never have gone. On me mum’s life. And I tried—I wanted to tell you, it didn’t mean nothing, but you’d already gone. Wasn’t like I could jump in a car and zoom off after you, was it?”
Something twisted unpleasantly in Jory’s chest. No, he’d made absolutely certain Mal had no chance to explain himself. But, damn it, it had hurt seeing Mal with someone else.
“What would you have said if I’d stayed?” he asked in the end.
Mal stared at him, wide-eyed, like a cornered rabbit. Or any other small, rodent-like creature.
Jory met his gaze, and attempted a half smile of reassurance. He wasn’t sure he succeeded—but it seemed to do the trick in any case.
“It’s . . . Shit.” Mal looked away for a moment and ran a hand through his hair, then turned back to Jory, seeming more fragile even than right after the car incident. More fragile than Jory could have imagined. “I like you. Like, a lot.”
Jory’s hand clenched into something resembling a fist without consulting him. It sounded good . . . But Mal hadn’t finished. Jory could tell. “But?” he prompted.
“But . . . I’m scared, okay?”
“‘Scared’?” Jory repeated stupidly.
“Yeah . . . Look, I know this is gonna sound like a really crap ambition to you, but it’s all I ever wanted to do, right? Drive a Tube train like my dad. It’s the only job I ever done, apart from when I started out in customer service cos you have to, cos they only advertise the drivers’ jobs internally. I thought it was gonna be my life, sorted.” He screwed up his face as if he was in pain. “Go on, laugh.”
Jory was too busy wondering exactly what all this had to do with them. And wanting to hold Mal until that pained look had vanished forever. Was touching allowed? Oh, to hell with it. Jory grabbed Mal’s hands where they rested on the kitchen table, folding them both in his own. “I’m not laughing. But I don’t understand . . . What are you afraid of? You mean, that you won’t be able to get over the . . . one under and get back in the driving seat?”
“Yeah. There’s that. But then there’s . . . Oh, shit a fucking brick.” Mal pulled away from him, closing his eyes tight shut. “There’s you.”
“Me?” Jory’s heart appeared to have taken up cliff diving. Did Mal mean . . .?
“Yeah.” Mal looked up at him from under his tousled hair. “All that crap I said about not wanting us to get into anything serious . . . Well, it’s bollocks, innit? Not the wanting. I mean, the actual thing. Ah, shit. It’s too late. I already— You know.”
“You’re . . . serious about me?” Jory’s heart leapt. That was . . . But he could celebrate later. For the rest of his life, if he had his way. Mal was what was important right now. “Then why not?”
“Because I can’t deal, okay? I can’t deal with it ending.”
“Then we won’t let it end.” Jory tried to put all his conviction into his voice.
Mal was shaking his head. “But you got your kid and your new job coming up, so you ain’t gonna want to move to London, even if I did get me old job back, and Christ, I wouldn’t ask you to. But if, well, if you wanted me to stay down here, what the sodding hell would I do? I’ve only ever been good at one thing, and that’s driving trains, and I fucked that up too, didn’t I?”
“You didn’t fuck anything up,” Jory said fiercely. “It wasn’t your fault. There was nothing you could have done.” He was torn between jubilation that Mal had actually got so far as to think about them having a future together, and frustration that Mal had seemingly argued himself out of it before it had even started.
“I don’t just mean . . . See, me dad’s had his share of that sort of shit, and he never . . . never made a big deal of it. Just got back on with the job. And here’s me signed off work for six months and throwing a fucking wobbly every time I sit in a car.”
“That’s not true. You coped when Jago Andrewartha gave you a lift up here, didn’t you?”
“Yeah, but—”
“You’re not your father, Mal. No one ever is—I know for a fact I’m bloody well not mine. You can’t judge yourself like that. You’re not a failure just because something affects you differently than it would him.” Jory leaned forward cautiously, afraid Mal might bolt, and laid his hands gently on Mal’s. “You’re more sensitive than he is, perhaps. Is that supposed to be a bad thing?” He took a deep breath. “From everything you’ve said to me, it’s your mother who’s been the greater influence on you.”
Mal gave a bitter half-laugh, but at least he didn’t pull away again. “Yeah. Proper mummy’s boy, that’s me.”
“Bollocks,” Jory said firmly, startling Mal into looking directly at him. “You’re not exactly hiding behind her skirts by coming here, are you? I was talking about your interest in history and legend. The way they fire your imagination. That’s what I think you get from your mother.” He’d wanted to add, your intelligence, but was wary of seeming to criticise Mal’s father.
“Yeah, well. I let her down, and all.”
“Have you asked her if that’s what she thinks? Because from what you’ve told me about her, I very much doubt it.” Jory drew Mal closer and wrapped his arms around him, wishing he dared pull him all the way onto his lap. “You should think about counselling, you know. It might help.”
Mal shrugged. “Had a bit back in London. Just . . . the woman kept wanting me to talk about it, and that’s the last thing I wanted, innit? Felt like a total wuss, sitting in her office snivelling into a box of tissues for an hour a week.”
“Maybe she wasn’t the right counsellor. You could try again with someone you get on with better . . .” Mal grimaced. Jory frowned. “It doesn’t make you less of a man, you know, accepting help when you need it. You didn’t hesitate last night, did you? You realised you needed help, and you made sure you got it.”
“Yeah, but . . . that’s different, innit? I was stuck in a hole in the ground.” Mal made a face. “And I never said I don’t feel like a stupid prat about it.”
“Good.” Jory almost laughed at Mal’s shocked expression, but an unexpected burst of anger flooded through him, drowning the brief impulse. “For God’s sake, walking on the cliffs in the pouring rain, in the dark, while drunk, in a place where you know the ground’s given way at some point in the past already? That’s pretty much the definition of being a stupid prat.” He took a deep breath. “But calling for help? That was not being a prat. And definitely not stupid. So will you at least think about it? Getting another counsellor?”
“I . . .” Mal hunched into himself for a moment, then straightened in Jory’s arms. “Wanna do a deal? I’ll have another go at seeing someone, and you give the Tintagel trip another try? With, uh, me, I mean. I’ll try not to flip out this time.” Mal gave a weak smile with more than a hint of desperation in his eyes. “Good job we’re both used to me fucking stuff up, innit?”
“Stop putting yourself down.” Jory squeezed him tight. “And remind me to point you to some reading on toxic masculinity.”
“Oi, you ain’t a teacher yet. No handing out homework.” Mal’s smile strengthened and warmed Jory’s heart absurdly.
Then it faltered again. “Yeah, but still . . . how’s it gonna work? You and me living hundreds of miles apart?” Mal studied the surface of the table.
Jory leaned forward and took Mal’s face in his hand, encouraging him to look up. “We don’t have to sort out all the details right now. You’re here for a while longer, aren’t you?”
Mal nodded. “Six weeks was the plan. I’m not even halfway through that.”
“Well, then. We can see how it goes. See what works for us.”
“And if it don’t?”
“We’ll make it work.” To hell with it. Jory pulled Mal onto his lap. “If you go back to London after that, I can still travel to see you. And you’ll get your counselling, or whatever it takes so you can do your job again, and then you’ll be able to travel down here easily. Or we can meet in the middle, or anywhere we want.”
“What if I never get okay to be a Tube driver again? And I keep on being a wuss about getting in cars and stuff?”
“If it comes down to it, there are jobs here. Um, mostly concerned with the tourist industry, but it’d be a start. Something to do while you think about the next step. Or, well, I don’t think the museum has filled the vacancy I’ll be leaving yet.”
“Don’t you have to know stuff to work in a museum?”
“You’d be amazed at the number of serious historical discussions I haven’t had since I started working there. But you could read up on naval history. You’re bright enough—for God’s sake, you’ve read the Morte d’Arthur. Most people take one look at the archaic language and decide to watch the Disney film instead.”
“I ain’t saying it didn’t take me a while.”
“But you did it. And anyway, that was just an idea. If you decide to leave London.” Jory kissed him because he could. “Whatever it takes, we’ll make it work.”
He felt the tension go out of Mal’s body, and wanted to punch the air. He’d done it. He’d convinced him.
Then Mal’s phone rang.