Jory’s euphoric haze lasted all the way from the Sea Bell, right up to when he got out of the car at Roscarrock House. That was when he got a text from Mal saying he’d spoken to Dev and arranged for them to go to the cottage at two.
Then the nerves set in.
The trouble was, Jory wasn’t only preparing to meet his long-lost nephew who had no reason to feel kindly towards anyone from his birth family. He was also about to meet one of the most important people in Mal’s life. And despite what Mal had said, Jory didn’t want Dev just to tolerate him for his friend’s sake.
It was probably partly hunger that was making him feel queasy, he told himself, so after a quick shower, he rustled up a hearty brunch of bacon and beans on toast.
Bran wandered into the kitchen as Jory sat down at the table to eat. “You were out last night.”
“Yes.” There didn’t seem to be a lot else to say.
Bran paused. “With . . . the boyfriend.”
“Mal. Yes.” Jory wished Bran would get to the point and let him enjoy his bacon in peace.
“You don’t have to move out,” Bran said abruptly.
Jory put down his fork. He wasn’t quite sure how to take that. As an olive branch? That was most likely how Bran meant it. “Thanks. But would you be happy for me to have my boyfriend over for the night?”
Bran’s jaw tightened. He didn’t say anything.
“Then I do have to move out,” Jory said gently. Not that it was the only reason, but it was the easiest one to make Bran understand without it coming to a shouting match. Then, because he genuinely wanted to know, “Is it because he’s male? Or because I’m technically still married to Kirsty? Both?”
Bran looked away. “I’ll draw up a list of properties that will be convenient for the school,” he said, and walked briskly out of the room.
Christ, he was so bloody frustrating sometimes. Jory jabbed angrily at his bacon, then took a deep breath.
If Bran needed to feel like he was doing something for him, well, maybe Jory should learn to live with it. He didn’t have to take any of the places his brother found. And . . . it was nice that Bran was trying to help, in his own way.
Two o’clock seemed to take an age to arrive—until all at once Jory was panicking he’d be late. He hurried out of the house, only now questioning whether he should be taking a gift of some kind. Why the hell hadn’t he done some baking?
He’d arranged to meet Mal outside the Zelley cottage, and when he half jogged down the cliff path, he saw a familiar lean figure already there. Mal was standing outside the little cottage garden, his phone in his hands. He lifted his head as Jory approached, and smiled. “Hey, I was just texting you.”
“Sorry I’m late.”
“Nah, you’re good. I was early.” Mal shoved his phone in his back pocket. “Didn’t wanna go in without you, though. So it’s lucky Kyle and Dev ain’t looked out the window.”
They walked up to the house, which bore a slate plaque proclaiming it to be Mother Ivey’s Boudoir, and around to the front door. Jory had always thought it a rather saucy name for what was presumably merely a typical, well-kept Cornish cottage. Then again, he’d never been inside it before. Maybe it was all tarted up in red velvet like a Victorian brothel?
“You nervous?” Mal asked.
Jory gave him a twisted smile. “What do you think?”
“Yeah, me too.”
Oh. He hadn’t thought of that, but of course Mal would be nervous. Dev was his best friend. If this went badly . . . Jory made up his mind firmly that it wouldn’t go badly, and tried to be unobtrusive about wiping his palms on his jeans.
Had the jeans been a step too far? Would Dev take them as they were intended, an attempt to be informal and relaxed, or would he think Jory was taking the piss?
Oh God.
The door opened. The slightly ethnic-looking young man Jory remembered from Mal’s photos stood there, his eyes narrowed—until they saw Mal. “Mal! My man.” They clasped hands and hugged, clearly at ease with showing physical affection for one another.
“Dev? This is Jory. My bloke. Well, and your uncle.”
“Yeah, kinda gathered that. Good to meet you.”
Dev held out his hand, and Jory shook it cautiously, both relieved and disappointed when he wasn’t pulled into a hug.
“It’s good to meet you too, Dev. Finally.”
Dev nodded. “Yeah. But, oi, you don’t wanna stand on the doorstep all day. Come on in and say hi to Kyle.”
They followed him through the disappointingly un-brothel-like cottage to where a tall, dark-haired man stood looking out of the window at a breathtaking view of the sea. When he turned, Jory recognised him immediately, and blurted out, “You’re the one I met last summer. Bran got it wrong.” One more thing to add to the list.
Kyle’s expression, if Jory was any judge, was that of someone reminding himself firmly Bran was Jory’s brother and, therefore, any comments along the lines of Quelle surprise might not be appreciated. “Yes,” he said in the end. “We didn’t really speak. Jory? Good to meet you properly.”
“And you. Um. I’m sorry—I don’t suppose I was very welcoming.”
“Not to worry. No doubt you’d already been warned about my drinking problem.”
“Which don’t exist, case you were wondering,” Dev put in forcefully. “Kyle’s got narcolepsy.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Jory said, because what else could you say? From what he’d heard, it was pretty horrible. It was probably all kinds of wrong to be proud of his nephew for not letting Kyle’s condition put him off. But Jory was finding it a struggle not to be.
“If it helps,” Kyle was saying, “I took you for the sort who’d chuck me off the cliff if I caused any trouble.”
Mal winced. “Uh, mate, you might wanna hold off on jokes about cliffs and stuff till you’ve heard about the family history.”
“This something to do with all them pirates in the family tree?” Dev asked, looking interested.
“Bit more recent than that.” Mal turned away, but not so far that Jory couldn’t see him mouthing, Shut up about it.
“My father. Your grandfather. But it was a long time ago. Um. Best not to mention it to Bran or Bea . . .” Jory trailed off awkwardly.
“Yeah, well, shouldn’t worry about that too much.” Dev seemed grimly amused.
“She’s not so bad,” Jory found himself saying in a rush. “I mean, I know what she did to you was—”
“’S okay. She’s your sister. Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna slag her off to you.” Dev cocked his head. “What’s she think about you meeting up with me? Or don’t she know?”
“She knows.” Jory hesitated. “I don’t think it’s going to change anything for her. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay. I got used to it now.”
Looking at the tense line of Dev’s jaw, Jory wasn’t sure how true that was.
“I’ll put the kettle on,” Kyle said. Dev seemed to take it as a timely reminder they’d leap-frogged all the social niceties and invited them to sit down, put their feet up, and call the dog a bastard.
Jory hadn’t even noticed the dog, until she trotted out of the room at Kyle’s heels. She was a chocolate Labrador and seemed a lot less excitable than most dogs of Jory’s acquaintance. Was she a service dog? He didn’t like to ask.
Dev cleared his throat. “So, uh, Mal said you work at the museum?”
“Oh. Yes. But it’s only temporary—after the summer, I’ll be teaching English at a local secondary school.”
Mal leaned forward. “Yeah, Jory used to teach at university. But he packed it in cos he wanted to be near his kid.”
It was nice of Mal to speak up for him, but . . . “I should have done it a long time ago,” Jory admitted.
Dev’s sharp gaze flickered over to Mal, then back again. Jory had the impression he’d been about to speak but decided against it.
“And you’re a mechanic?” Jory asked, desperate to break the awkward silence.
“Yeah. Never was academic.” Dev’s gaze was challenging.
Jory almost laughed. “You mean, you prefer to do something that’s actually useful. One thing I shan’t miss about my former career is the intellectual snobbery.” He hoped it came across as sincerely as he had meant it. He’d hate Dev to think Jory was patronising him.
It seemed to have gone okay, as Dev leaned back in his chair just as Kyle arrived back with their tea. “So go on,” he said, taking a mug with a smile that betrayed his affection, “what have you two been up to around here? Got any tips for a couple of tourists?”
And somehow the conversation seemed to flow, after that. Mal had a gift for retelling their misadventures in a manner that made them seem far more comical than they had been at the time. Jory’s attempts to keep him on the straight and narrow of factual accuracy were, apparently, even funnier.
Jory realised, after the dregs of their tea had long since gone cold, that he was enjoying himself here. There was so much obvious love in the room—between Kyle and Dev, and Dev and Mal, in particular. If the former relationship hadn’t clearly been so strong, Jory might have been jealous of the latter, but as it was, Mal seemed to be going out of his way to make him feel secure.
Jory had thought he was just gaining a boyfriend. Apparently he was getting a whole lot more. And he genuinely liked Dev. There was a wary air about him, certainly, but once he relaxed, he was a good man to be around.
He couldn’t help wishing Bea and Bran knew what they were missing out on. But then, perhaps they did and didn’t care.
Jory wasn’t sure he’d ever understand his family.
Dev’s boyfriend was, in some ways, the easier of the two to get to know, although there was another unfortunate moment right at the start. Jory had been trying to bring him into the conversation. “Mal tells me you’re an artist—you work in ceramics?”
Kyle had looked pleased. “Yes. You might even have seen some of my work on sale, if you’ve been to the pottery—although they’re stretching the definition of ‘local artist’ to the breaking point there. But this place seems to inspire people. I saw some very good driftwood sculptures by a local woman last time I was here. Kirsty Fisher—have you heard of her?”
Jory was horribly aware of Mal stiffening by his side. “Ah. Yes.”
“She’s Jory’s ex,” Mal said, all in a rush.
Dev had raised his eyebrows—then whistled a few bars of a song Jory recognised but couldn’t quite identify.
Mal clearly had no such problem, as he broke into a smile and called Dev a wanker.
“What did I miss?” Jory asked.
Kyle made a sympathetic face. “It’s a song by The Saturdays. Called ‘Issues.’ Sorry to bring up an uncomfortable subject. Again.”
“No, it’s . . .” Jory gave Mal a rueful look. “It’s a little awkward right now, but we’re going to get over it. She’s the mother of my son, Gawen.”
“He’s a great kid,” Mal put in. He nudged Jory. “Show ’em a pic. I know you got like zillions on your phone.”
Jory had dutifully got out his phone—and, of course, the first photo to come up was the one of Mal pouting in bed. Everyone laughed, Mal threatened to show his pictures of Jory, and after that, the conversation had flowed far more smoothly.
It was good. More than good.
Later, Jory and Mal walked down to the Sea Bell together, because Mal was determined to prove that Jory and Jago would get along fine over a pint. Jory still had his doubts about that, but since the meeting with Dev had gone so well, he was prepared to give it a go.
The skies were still cloudy, but there was a lighter feel to the air as they looked out to sea. “Think we’ve had the last of the rain?” Jory asked idly.
“God, I hope so. Had enough the other night to last me a lifetime. Hey, that thing with the seaweed, does that actually work?”
“Thing with the seaweed?”
“You know. You hang it up outside your window, and it tells you the weather.”
“What, if it’s wet it must be raining?”
Mal stuck up a finger. “Git. But it must’ve been well dodgy being a fisherman in the old days if that’s all you had to rely on when you put out to sea.”
“Oh, that reminds me: I found out something about Mary Roscarrock for you. Or rather, Bea did, and she told me. Although I’m not sure it’s what you wanted to know. She didn’t really concentrate on the piracy side. More the, er, family side.”
“Yeah?” Mal’s tone was cautious. Maybe Jory should have left Bea out of the story, but . . . she was still his sister. That wasn’t going to change.
Jory recounted what Bea had told him of Lady Mary’s tale. Leaving out Bea’s reaction to her discovery because, well. It didn’t exactly show her in a good light and he didn’t think she’d thank him for sharing it.
Mal grinned. “Hey, so you’re not the first queer in the family.”
“I’d be amazed if I was.” To be honest, there had been times he’d wondered about Bran. “But anyway, we could try and dig a bit deeper, building on what we know so far. See if there are court records that mention her, that sort of thing. Although if she changed her name, perhaps took a male name, it might be difficult.”
“Yeah, if you want.” Mal didn’t sound all that bothered.
“I thought you wanted to.”
“Nah, it’s just . . . Okay, don’t laugh, but it was just this idea I had, you know? I wanted to find a Roscarrock Dev could, like, relate to or be proud of. Whatever.”
“And you chose a pirate? Is there something I should know about Dev? Latent criminal tendencies? A fetish for tricorn hats?”
“See, I knew you’d laugh. But you know what I mean. Someone who didn’t just do what was expected of ’em. Took their own path and sod the head of the family. Uh. Not literally.”
“I’d hope not. But yes, of course we can still do that.”
“Nah, don’t need to anymore, do we? He’s met you.”
Jory’s heart flipped over at the warmth in Mal’s eyes. “Me? I’m not exactly a role model of rebellion. I’ve spent my life doing what my family wanted.”
“Yeah, and now you ain’t doing it no more.” Mal snaked an arm around Jory’s waist and pulled him close. He leered. “Now you’re just doing me.”
“That was awful,” Jory protested, laughing as he pushed Mal away in mock disgust.
“Nah, you love me really,” Mal said—then he froze, uncertainty in his eyes. “Uh . . .”
Jory pulled Mal in tight again, emotion threatening to overwhelm him. “Yes,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I do.”