Mal was an idiot. A total, gormless prick-led idiot.
He lay on his bed, hot and sweaty from practically running back to the Sea Bell, and screamed into his pillow. Really quietly, so Tash wouldn’t hear and want to know what was up.
That look on Jory’s face, when they’d been sat down together . . . Mal had been this close to leaning in and kissing him, and that would’ve arsed things up good and proper, wouldn’t it? Imagine explaining that one to Dev. Yeah, mate, I met your uncle. And fucked him.
Yeah, that’d go down so well. Especially when Mal mentioned what’d happened next, what would have to happen next, which would be Jory finding out what a fuckup Mal was these days, ever since the thing at work, and backing off so far he’d be halfway to America to join his ex. There was literally no good way Mal could explain himself. Oh, yeah, soz mate, turns out I’m a total head case and I lied about my job, but you still wanna go out with me, right? Right?
Jory would decide he should’ve listened to his brother all along, and tell Mal and Dev to piss off.
Except . . . Mal stood up and stared out of his window at that spot he’d seen Jory only this morning. He couldn’t believe Jory would be like that. Yeah, not wanting Mal once he knew the truth, that was a given . . . but punishing Dev for it too? He wouldn’t do that.
Jory was a decent bloke. So he hadn’t mentioned the missus and the kid, so what? He’d have got round to it eventually, most like.
Which was more than Mal could say for his own nasty little secret . . .
Shit.
Mal threw himself back down on the bed. He should never have agreed to go out tomorrow with Jory. Maybe he should call and cancel . . . Bollocks. They hadn’t even swapped phone numbers. Of course, he could always call directory enquiries and get the number for Roscarrock House. Mal laughed bitterly, imagining how that conversation would go. Hi, is that Bran Roscarrock? Yeah, I’m Dev’s mate, calling for your bruv . . . Hello? Hello?
Was it going to happen anyhow, them meeting up? They hadn’t said when, or where. That See you tomorrow was a fucking classic, that was.
Mal sat up, bolt upright. Jesus, how could he have been so stupid, leaving it like that? At this rate, he was never going to see Jory again . . .
But hadn’t that been what he’d wanted like thirty seconds ago? Mal slumped back down on the pillows, except he misjudged the angle and banged his head on the headboard on the way down. And that was just aces, wasn’t it?
At least the throbbing headache took his mind off the dull pain in his chest.
There was a thundering knock on the door, and Mal sat up again, startled.
“Oi, Mal? You all right?”
Shit. Tasha. “’M fine. What do you want?”
“Nothing. ’Cept, there was this really loud bang, and before that your bed was creaking. Like, a lot. Oi, you’re not shagging someone in there, are you?”
Christ, chance’d be a fine thing. “No! I . . . Didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Maybe you should try doing a bit of work, then. Tire you out for tonight. Instead of buggering off all day without telling anyone where you were going.” Even muffled by the closed bedroom door, that last bit sounded narked.
Mal sighed. “Who died and made you my mum? I’ll be out in a mo, and I’ll come and give you a hand downstairs.”
There was a pause. “You don’t have to. Not if you’re feeling—”
“I’m fine. See you in a mo.”
Mal unloaded and reloaded the dishwasher, wiped down tables, and restocked the fridges, and he actually felt a little better afterwards. Which was kind of depressing, cos no offence to Tash but he really hoped that working in a pub wasn’t going to turn out to be his vocation. His mum and dad would be paranoid that he’d end up like his uncle Bob.
“So what did you get up to today?” Tasha asked during a quiet spot at the bar.
“Got breakfast in a caff, then checked out the castle.”
“Yeah? Bit boring, innit? Just a load of old stones.”
“Just a ‘load of old stones’? Lemme guess, if you’d been in charge of planning, they’d have run the A303 right through the middle of Stonehenge.”
Tasha grinned. “Well, yeah. All they’d have to do is widen a couple of the arches, and you could literally drive through it. It’d be dead cool.” She squealed and ducked as Mal threw a bar towel at her.
“Now then, we’ll have none of that,” old Jago rumbled from his stool down the other end of the bar, where he’d been holding court again.
“Sorry.” Mal shrugged. “What can you do? She’s got no respect for ancient monuments, this girl.”
Jago frowned. “Now, that’s not true. She always speaks very politely to Charlie here.” He nodded to one of the locals, a toothless old geezer who always made a pint last out the night.
Charlie looked up and smiled. “That’s right. Lovely girl.”
How Jago kept his face straight Mal would never know, cos him and Tash were pissing themselves laughing.
Of course, as soon as Mal got in bed that night, the doubts returned. Shit. What was he going to do tomorrow?
One thing was for certain—it’d be too risky to wait in for Jory to turn up here. They’d got away with it once, but twice would be chancing it. No, he’d have to . . . What? Turn up at Roscarrock House?
Bollocks. Maybe he could, like, camp out on the cliff just outside? In disguise? Maybe there was an army surplus store around here where he could get some camo gear? Mal grinned into his pillow. Full-body armour would be pretty handy and all, in case Bran saw him. And a rocket launcher.
But what was he going to even say to Jory?
Shit. Mal stuck his head under his pillow and desperately hoped that his subconscious was on the case.