Mal still wasn’t sure about it all when he got up next day, had a stretch and a scratch, and wandered over to the bedroom window to see what the weather was doing. It was midmorning, cos he’d had a rough night. Bad dreams. Really bad dreams, but he wasn’t going to think about them, and he didn’t need to anyhow, cos he had to sort out what he was going to do about Jory sodding Roscarrock.
On the one hand, he was a bit pissed off about being made a fool of, but on the other, the bloke had had a point about nobody ever bringing up surnames. And on the other other hand, Mal hadn’t finished all he’d wanted to do at the museum, cos of being interrupted by Mum’s phone call, which he also wasn’t going to think about, so he could do with going back there. And on the other other other hand—seriously, people should have more hands, it’d make all this a lot simpler— Sod it, he’d forgotten what he was thinking about now.
But anyhow. The bloke had seemed pretty decent, up until Dev’s name had been mentioned, when he’d denied all knowledge. Mal wasn’t sure what he thought about that. He’d assumed the bloke was telling porkies, because how could he not know about Dev? But if he had been lying, he’d been doing a bloody good job of it. Mal could have sworn that look of total bewilderment had been genuine, which meant Jory was blameless, didn’t it? Course, there was the Roscarrock thing, but it wasn’t like he could help that any more than Mal could help his name, and—
—and Jory was right there, over the road and leaning on the wall, which Mal could see from the window, and shit, he probably ought to put some clothes on cos if Jory looked up now, he was going to get a proper eyefull. Mal yanked the curtain back into place, stumbled across the room, and pulled on his jeans from yesterday. T-shirt, T-shirt . . . did he have any clean T-shirts? Oh yeah, there. Pile on the dresser. Ironed and everything. Tasha was still being nice to him, bless her. Mal pulled one over his head, grabbed a couple of socks at random from the heap next to the shirts, and put them on too.
Then he jammed his feet into his trainers and was down the back stairs and halfway across the lane before his brain caught up and asked him what the bloody hell he thought he was doing.
Jory gave him a nervous smile as he approached. “Hi.”
“What are you doing back here?” Mal asked. “Uh, don’t mean to be rude, but, yeah. ’Sup, bruv?”
“I didn’t know,” Jory said earnestly.
“What, that Dev’s me mate? Yeah, I kinda got that.”
“No, I mean . . . I’m aware this is going to sound incredible, but I honestly didn’t know about . . . Dev, you called him? Not Devan? They never told me.”
Mal gave him a sidelong look. “Seriously, mate? Cos my sister’s up the duff right now, and trust me, it’s the sort of thing you notice.”
“I wasn’t here. Boarding school from the age of seven, remember? They kept me away from it all.” Jory took a deep breath. “I want to meet him.”
Yeah, right. “No, you don’t.”
Jory frowned. “Yes, I do.”
“Yeah? What about your brother telling Dev he’d have the law on him if he kept hanging round the family?”
“He what? Oh God. I’m so sorry about Bran. He gets very, um, concerned about the family’s reputation.”
“Wasn’t only him, though, was it? How do you think Dev felt when his own mum—your sister—told him to fuck off?”
Jory closed his eyes briefly. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine it. I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”
“See, that’s where I don’t get it. I asked about you. You’re their brother, aintcha? So how come?”
“We’ve never been close. There’s nine years between us and, well, they’re twins.”
“But you live with them, right? In that big house?”
“I do now. Last year, when Devan came to see her, I was only visiting.”
“But you were there?”
“Yes, but I didn’t know anything about it. Bran just said . . . Honestly, I can’t remember what he said. Probably something about it being a business matter. Bea’s very involved with various local enterprise initiatives.” Jory rubbed the back of his neck. “If I’d known Dev was my nephew . . . I can’t believe I opened the door to him and I didn’t even know.”
Yeah, Mal was having trouble believing it and all. “You must’ve heard them talking. I don’t care how thick the walls are in that old pile.”
“I didn’t, I swear. Have you got a picture of him?”
“On my phone.” Which was upstairs on his bedside table. Mal hesitated. “Look, you can come in, all right, but keep the noise down or you’re gonna have Jago and Tasha to deal with, and it ain’t gonna be pretty.”
He led Jory up the back stairs, desperately hoping Tasha wouldn’t choose this precise minute to stumble out of bed, and breathed a sigh of relief when they made it to the box room Jago had cleared out for him.
It felt weird, having Jory in his bedroom, standing six inches away from his unmade bed. And yesterday’s kecks, which he’d stripped off last night and let fall on the floor. Mal managed to kick them under the bed when he went to grab his phone.
He turned back to Jory, who was standing around looking awkward and way too big for the room, and scrolled through his photos until he found a picture of Dev and Tasha. “There you go.” He handed Jory the phone.
“That’s him?” Jory shook his head slowly. “I . . . It seems awful, but I don’t remember him at all.”
He gave the phone back. Mal didn’t know why he did it—maybe cos the bloke seemed so sad—but he flicked through until he found another shot of Dev, this one with Kyle. “That’s him and his bloke.”
“He’s gay?”
Mal nodded, and Jory smiled, like he was pleased about it. Mal’s stomach did a weird thing, sort of fluttered. He needed to get some breakfast down him. “That’s . . .” Jory trailed off, and just as Mal was about ask what he’d been going to say, he spoke again. “It’s odd . . . the other man seems more familiar, somehow.”
“Yeah?” Mal shrugged. “You probably saw him around last year. He was renting one of them cottages down the cliff from your gaff.”
Jory’s frown cleared. “Yes! I remember now. He came to introduce himself as a neighbour. I’d just had a godawful row with Bran about— And I wasn’t feeling very sociable right then. And, well, I wasn’t living here at the time, so I let Bran deal with him. He must have thought I was terribly unwelcoming.” The frown was back.
“Where were you then?”
“Edinburgh. Up at the university.”
“Bloody hell, couldn’t you find one any further away?”
Jory screwed up his face. “It was just a few years . . . Can you give me his number?”
“What, Dev’s?” Mal managed to bite back the Fuck, no that had been on the tip of his tongue. “I’d have to ask him about that first, mate.”
“Would you?”
Mal slumped down on the bed and ran a hand through his hair. Christ knew what he looked like. It was way too early for all this. “Yeah, see, it really fucked him up, what your sister did. I mean, he said he didn’t give a shit, but he’s my best mate, right? I know him.”
Jory seemed a shedload more oversized and awkward from this angle. “I’m sorry,” he said. And yeah, he sounded like he meant it, but Christ, how could he have been there all along last summer and not known?
Trouble was, Mal was going to have to say something to Dev, wasn’t he? He’d be here in a week, and what were the chances of him and Kyle flying under Uncle Jory’s radar then? Only a crap mate wouldn’t warn him.
Even if it meant him and Kyle might change their plans and not come here after all, and fuck, Mal really didn’t want that to happen.
He wasn’t sure he could face it if Dev didn’t come down.
Sod it. “Listen mate, if I ask you for a favour, will you do it?”
“I, ah, well. Depending what it is.”
Mal couldn’t blame him for being cautious. “Stay away from Dev until I give you the go-ahead, right? You gotta promise me you’ll do that.”
“But—” Jory looked well confused.
“Yeah, I know you ain’t got his number or his address or anything. But you could get it, couldn’t you? She’s got it. Your sister. But I’m saying, you leave him alone until I tell you.”
Jory nodded. “Fine. Of course. But—”
“See, the thing is, he’s coming here. In a week. So you’re gonna see him around. But you keep your distance, or I’ll . . . I’ll let Tasha post dog turds through your letterbox.”
Mal wasn’t expecting Jory’s laugh at that, and maybe Jory hadn’t been either—he sort of snorted, then looked embarrassed about it, as if he’d farted or something. “I, ah, sorry. Rough night.”
“Yeah, you and me both.” Mal found himself smiling. A week was a long time. Plenty long enough to find out a bit more about this Jory bloke, and whether Dev was going to want to know him. Mal patted the mattress, about to make some crack about Tasha having stuffed it with rocks, but Jory must’ve misunderstood, cos he sat down next to Mal.
Okaaayyy. This wasn’t awkward at all, him and Jory sitting on his bed with the duvet still rucked up from last night. “So, yeah, you lived here all your life?”
Jory nodded. “Apart from when I was at school. And university. And doing postgraduate work.”
Mal had to laugh. “So basically, you just come here every summer like a bloody grackle?”
Jory’s face screwed up in a frown. It was well cute. “I think you mean grockle? A tourist? Isn’t a grackle some kind of bird?”
“Fuck if I know. And there was me thinking I was speaking fluent Cornish.”
“Grockle isn’t even a Cornish word. It’s general southwest dialect. Emmet is more specifically Cornish.” He went a bit pink. “But you probably don’t want the whole lecture.”
“That what you used to do in Edinburgh? Lectures and stuff.”
Jory nodded seriously. “Particularly the stuff. An essential part of any university curriculum, stuff.”
Mal grinned. “Fuck off. I coulda gone to uni if I’d wanted to, you know.” He could have and all. He’d had the grades. Straight As, and fuck you very much to all the teachers who’d predicted him Ds just cos he liked to have a bit of a laugh in lessons. He hadn’t fancied the crippling debt, that was all.
Okay, so there might have been a bit of peer pressure in there too. His mates would’ve thought he was totally up himself if he’d gone to uni, especially seeing as he hadn’t needed a degree for the job he’d wanted.
“I’m sure you could have,” Jory said politely, which wasn’t most people’s reaction when he told them that. “Academia isn’t for everyone.”
“That why you left and came back here?”
“I . . .” Jory gave a weird, awkward shrug. “Family. Are you staying here long?”
Mal could take a hint. “Not sure. Gonna see how it goes.”
“Between jobs at the moment?”
Jory’s tone was sympathetic, which made Mal feel worse about lying to him, but he wasn’t ready to go there. “Something like that. Old Jago said I can stay as long as I want, long as I pull me weight and don’t leave the place looking like a pigsty.”
“Kind of him.”
“Course, if he finds me hanging about with you . . .”
Jory swallowed. “It’s not just about Devan?”
“Nah. Your big bruv screwed his mate’s family over some property or other—I didn’t get the details. Chucked ’em all out when the old bloke died, was it? Tasha’s mate’s grandad, that was. Used to be on the lifeboats. So yeah, Roscarrock’s a bit of a dirty word round here.”
“Sorry.”
“Hey, it ain’t your fault.” Mal sent him a sharp look. “Least, far as I know.”
“God, no. I’ve never had anything to do with all that. Bran inherited the family interests. Father was something of a traditionalist—primogeniture, and all that.” He flushed. “The eldest child inheriting—”
“I know what it means,” Mal cut him off, a bit narked. “Just cos I never had a public-school education don’t mean I never read books.”
“Sorry. But you’d be amazed how many students I’ve known with frighteningly limited knowledge outside their own field.” Jory paused. “So what is your field? You never said.”
“Customer service.” Mal didn’t even feel bad about the lie. People who put you on the spot like that shouldn’t expect the truth, right? He stood up. It was good, yeah, getting to talk to Jory, but if they hung around any longer, Tasha might come bursting in, and Mal really couldn’t face having World War III kicking off in his bedroom. “Listen, it’s been great, and all”—fuck, he sounded like he was trying to ditch last night’s one-night stand, and Jory still sitting on his unmade bed wasn’t helping—“but I ain’t had me breakfast yet and I’m starving.”
Jory scrambled to his feet. “I could take you out somewhere? If—if you’re willing to give me another chance?”