Of course, once Dev’s head cleared, he felt like a total cock. Christ, what had he even been thinking? It wasn’t like anyone here even knew why he’d come. It was just some weird coincidence, that was all. Kyle hadn’t been making fun of him. How could he even have thought that?
And he was walking the wrong way. Away from Big Guns Cove and Roscarrock House. Sod it.
Dev left the road and picked his way over the scrubby grass to the end of a finger of rock that poked out at the edge of the beach, pointing to the sea. He sat down at the end. The sun was high now, and getting warmer all the time. Blokes below had their shirts off, but there was still a stiff breeze blowing up here. Even in this short time, more people had arrived at the beach. There was a family below him, Dad setting out towels on the sand and weighing the corners down with rocks while the kids ran around getting in his way and Mum unloaded plastic boxes from a cooler bag. It brought back memories of Southend, and Dev could almost taste those plastic ham sandwiches on cheap white bread that always seemed to end up with sand in them somehow. They’d used to crunch when he bit them, and if he got unlucky the sand would grind between his teeth and make him shiver.
It hadn’t been like it was for the family below. Dev had never had a dad to pick him up and dangle him upside down, shrieking with laughter. He’d never had a mum to fuss around him, slapping on sunblock so thick people could barely see what colour the kid’s skin had been to start with. At least, not that he could remember.
Dev stood up. This was all getting him precisely fucking nowhere. He didn’t even know why he’d reacted like he had.
No.
That was bollocks. He knew all right. It’d been that phrase. Roscarrock bastard. Said in that sharp, mocking tone of Kyle’s.
It’d just . . . just done his head in, for a mo. That was all. Dev shoved his hands as far as they’d go in his jeans pockets, which wasn’t all that far seeing as they were well tight. He retraced his steps along the coast road, his pace quickening as he passed Kyle’s house and slowing again once he was a safe distance beyond it. He didn’t know what he was going to do about Kyle, seeing as the bloke probably thought he was a total nutjob now, and he wasn’t sure he could face doing it today anyhow.
So he might as well get something done today, even if it felt like the last thing he wanted to be doing. He wasn’t sure whether to be glad or sorry he’d nicked those cheese sarnies at Kyle’s; his stomach was churning anyhow.
This could be it.
It probably wouldn’t be, mind—after all, just because it said on the website that some of the family still lived there, didn’t mean they all did, now did it?
But it could be.
He pulled his hands out of his pockets and carried on up the hill. Should he have worn a proper shirt, instead of his vintage Bowie T-shirt?
No. No, he was fine.
Roscarrock House was set high on the cliffs right at the end of Mother Ivey’s Bay, where the land jutted out into the sea between this bay and the next. The Roscarrocks must have even better views from their bedroom windows than Kyle had from his living room.
Dev had lived in a few places in his twenty-four years, flats and houses and group homes. The views from his bedrooms had pretty much all had a common theme of brick walls.
He felt like an orphan from some Dickens adaptation on the telly as he looked at the big house through the bars of the iron gates. There wasn’t a big, long, winding driveway like some posh houses had, to stop the family inside from having to see the plebs passing by, so Dev could practically look in the windows from where he was standing. He even thought he caught a glimpse of someone moving around inside.
The house was built of grey stone, with big, rectangular windows and fancy curvy bits on the gables. There was enough ivy growing up the walls to give it a bit of character without you having to worry about nature taking over the place anytime soon. On the lawn sat a couple of bloody great cannons—the Big Guns, Dev guessed—pointing straight at him, as if just setting the dogs on unwanted visitors wasn’t good enough for the Roscarrocks.
Course, they wouldn’t sink a right lot of ships, pointing inland. Maybe they’d moved them, after times had changed and the government didn’t let you shoot bloody great iron balls at foreign shipping anymore? Or maybe there were some more cannons around the other side. Maybe the Roscarrocks just liked the idea of being surrounded on all sides by weapons of mass medieval destruction. Christ, what must it be like living in a house like that? You’d grow up thinking you owned the whole world. Or this part of it, anyhow.
There was a discreet sign on the gate showing when the place was open to the public. Dev scanned it and saw Sunday & Monday: Closed.
Guilty relief broke over him like the waves crashing against the rocks way down below. Reprieved. For the next day or two, at least. All right, so he could still go and knock on the door—but no, that had never been the plan. Scout the place out first before he actually tried talking to anyone; that had been what he’d decided, and he was going to stick to it.
So he’d probably better scarper before anyone inside noticed him and came out to see why some mixed-race yobbo was leaning on their gate and lowering the property value. Dev snapped a quick shot of the opening times with his phone—it’d be quicker than looking it up online later—and headed off.
He kept his eyes pointing straight ahead while going past Kyle’s house on the way down, and for safety’s sake didn’t turn his head until he’d passed the last of the white cottages. The sun was still high, and Dev wondered what to do now. He’d been meaning to get to the museum and check out a bit about the history of the area—with a focus on one family in particular—but bugger that when the weather was so good. He pulled his T-shirt up so he could remind himself what underwear he’d put on this morning. A plain black elastic band showed over the tops of his jeans, with a hint of equally plain black cotton underneath. Result. Yeah, he could get away with these on the beach, as long as no one looked too close, and if they were staring at his dick, they deserved all they got, didn’t they?
Dev found the top of the path that led down to the beach, and made his way along it, his spirits lifting. When he made it to the golden sand, he toed off his trainers and then had to hop around for a mo, doing the sock-stripping dance. Hopefully no one noticed. Well, hopefully Kyle hadn’t been looking out of his window at the wrong time and noticed. Dev didn’t give a monkey’s about anyone else seeing him looking daft.
The sand was faintly warm underfoot, not cold like he remembered it from Southend or baking hot like in Magaluf. Dev looked around. Plenty of space—so which bit to claim for his own?
There were a couple of girls a bit younger than him not far off who looked like they’d settled on their towels for the long haul, bikini straps undone and pale, white backs gleaming with cheap sun lotion that probably wasn’t going to stop them burning.
Yeah, they’d do. Dev sat down on the sand about six feet away from them, and pulled his T-shirt off.
The nearest girl looked over, a bit awkwardly because she had to be careful not to move too far and accidentally flash a tit.
Dev gave her a slow smile. “All right, darling?”
She looked back at her mate and giggled.
Five minutes of the cheeky Cockney charmer act later, Dev was slightly ashamed of himself, but was also on his way down to the water in his skivvies with a promise from Chantal-from-Birmingham that she’d keep an eye out to make sure nobody nicked his phone, his watch, or his wallet while he was swimming.
Of course, he’d feel well daft if she nicked them herself, but she hadn’t seemed the sort. He could usually tell, when he asked someone to look after his stuff, if they were going to be honest about it. Slowing down as he reached the water line, Dev eyed the waves breaking on the shore. It was going to be a bit colder than the Med, round here, wasn’t it? Probably best to run in quick, rather than arse about going in on tiptoe, shivering all the way.
Dev took a deep breath and ran into the sea. It was all right for like half a second—then the temperature registered, and he stopped dead, cursing under his breath. A wave slapped him in the stomach, making him gasp with the icy sting. Christ, that water was a lot colder than the Med. Dev wouldn’t have to worry about giving Chantal-from-Birmingham and her mate an eyeful when he got out of the water again. His balls would have shrunk to fucking grains of sand—if he didn’t lose them to frostbite first. Despite the sun, he was one bloody big goose bump.
Sod it. There was nothing else for it. He braced himself and dived in headfirst.
Fuck, that was cold. Dev broke the water gasping and flailing. It was a different sort of cold, though—too cold to shiver anymore. More like an icy clench around his whole body, but he could already feel it easing as he got used to it. The goose bumps disappeared, and he shook the water out of his eyes and settled into an easy front crawl.
Dev was a good swimmer—his secondary school had been close to the leisure centre, so they’d had lessons there. He’d never been all that great at other sports, but in the pool, he was awesome. His spirits lifted with every strong, even stroke as he swam parallel to the shore, heading towards the Big Guns cliff.
Of course, it was a bit different with waves smacking him in the face all the time, but the salt didn’t sting his eyes half as much as the chlorine in the pool used to, so he didn’t care he hadn’t got his goggles. Remembering the sea had currents and sandbars and stuff, Dev made sure to keep a steady distance from the shore, especially when he ran out of beach and was swimming past cliffs. Nearing Big Guns Point, or whatever they called the bit where the cliffs stuck out into the sea bordering the cove, he stopped and trod water for a bit, looking up. Roscarrock House was up there, although he couldn’t see it from this angle. He could make out some shapes that might be those extra cannons, pointing out to sea—hard to tell from so far below, squinting into the sun. Of course, this was pirate country, wasn’t it? Pirates and smugglers, running their dangerous trade at dead of night.
It was hard to imagine it, in the bright summer sun. Which was daft, when he thought about it, because they’d had plenty of sun in Pirates of the Caribbean, hadn’t they? Dev grinned to himself. That film—and more to the point, Johnny Depp’s Jack Sparrow—had been what first made him realise he was gay, although he hadn’t seen it until a couple of years after it’d come out.
Cornwall’s pirates probably hadn’t been quite like that, though. Shame.
Dev turned and headed back the way he’d come. It was easier, swimming this way, and he wasn’t tired yet so he overshot a bit and then came back again, the current much more noticeable this time. Good thing he hadn’t gone too far.
When he walked up, dripping, to where he’d left his stuff, Chantal and her mate had turned over to do their fronts. Dev wasn’t sure if they’d fallen asleep, but Chantal’s eyes flickered open as his shadow fell over her.
She smiled. “Good swim?”
“Yeah, you should try it. Water’s lovely.”
“Nah, I’d ruin me hair. We’re going clubbing tonight,” she added, maybe worried Dev would think she was being vain for the sake of it. Fair dues, her long, straight blonde hair looked like it’d frizz right up if she got it wet.
Dev gave her a one-shouldered shrug. “Yeah? Didn’t know there were any clubs round here.” It wasn’t strictly true, but once he’d realised there weren’t any gay bars or clubs, he’d sort of lost interest.
“Course there’s clubs. We’re going to Piskies, down by the front—you interested?”
The other girl woke up at that, and there was a furious whispered conversation between them. Dev didn’t catch it all, but he was pretty sure he caught the words Worrabout Cal? from Chantal’s mate, countered by He’s not here, is he? and had to stop himself from smiling.
“I’ll have to see what my mate wants to do,” he said when there was a break in the whispering.
“You got a mate here? What’s he like?” It came with a strong subtext of Reckon he’d fancy my mate? if Dev wasn’t mistaken. He grinned.
“She. Her name’s Ceri. She works in the Square Peg. We’re meeting for drinks tonight.”
“Oh,” Chantal said flatly. “Well, maybe we’ll see you, then.”
She closed her eyes.
“Maybe,” Dev said cheerfully. He hadn’t done it on purpose, but it looked like mentioning Ceri had done a good job of getting him out of having to let Chantal down gently.
Dev sat on the beach gazing out to sea until the hot sun had dried him off enough to get his kit back on. His kecks were still pretty soggy—not to mention sandy, because there was a limit to how long he was prepared to stand there in public dusting off his own arse—but that couldn’t be helped. Anyway, even if a wet patch soaked through onto his jeans, hopefully people would assume he’d been in the sea rather than that he’d peed himself.
Energised by his swim, Dev set off along the path that led up to the cliffs. When he’d reached the top, he cast a glance over at the white cottages. Should he go knock on Kyle’s door and apologise for being a dickhead?
He looked at his watch. Huh. He’d spent more time in the water than he’d thought. It was getting on for four o’clock now, and he was supposed to meet Ceri at five. No, there was no point running up to Kyle’s when he’d have to run off again five minutes later. Particularly not with suspicious wet patches on his jeans. Might as well head back to the B&B for a shower and some dry underwear.
He’d talk to Kyle tomorrow. Explain stuff. Or, well, not. But he’d apologise, anyhow.
He just hoped the bloke would be all right about it.
Ceri was waiting outside the Square Peg again when Dev got there, despite it being only five to by his watch. She was wearing the same skinny jeans and, for all he knew, the same white T-shirt.
“Ain’t they got a problem with you skipping off work early?” he asked, as they fell into step walking away from the seafront.
She shrugged. “Weren’t that busy. It’s Sunday, innit? Everyone has a big lunch, and then they don’t want a cream tea in the afternoon.”
Dev frowned. The café had looked pretty busy to him. Still, none of his business. His stomach rumbled, reminding him he’d only had half a round of cheese sarnies for lunch and a cream tea would’ve gone down a treat, ta very much. “You hungry? Wanna get some fish and chips or something?”
“You can get that at the pub,” she said, offhand like it didn’t matter to her if he did or he didn’t.
“That’s where we’re going, is it? The Bell again?”
“The Sea Bell. The Bell’s down Harlyn way. We’d need a car to get there. You got a car?”
Uh? “No, I ain’t, and I don’t even want to go to Harlyn. Wherever the hell that is. The Sea Bell’s fine, but what if that crowd from last night turn up? You gonna bail on me again?”
“They won’t.” She sounded certain and a bit smug.
“What, chucked ’em all off a cliff, have you?”
She smiled at that, but it wasn’t a nice one. More like she’d be happy to see the lot of them fall screaming to their deaths. Dev started reconsidering that serial killer theory. “Uncle Jago said he told them they were barred. Said they’d never have got served if he hadn’t been called away just before they got there.”
Dodging round a family of five as they dawdled past the posh tea rooms, Dev missed his step and almost fell off the kerb. “The landlord’s your uncle? You never said.”
“Not a real uncle. But him and my grandad were mates since they was lads.”
“So how come we got all them dirty looks when we walked in?”
She stared at him like he’d told her he’d been abducted by aliens or something.
“We did,” he insisted. “Like they was all just two pints away from bashing us over the head and, I dunno, putting us in the pasties or something.”
Her what-are-you-on expression got even worse. “You get too much sun today?”
She was close as fuck to laughing out loud at him. Dev could tell.
“Shut up,” he muttered. “I know what I saw, all right? I was there. It happened.”
Ceri’s face changed and she looked away.
What the hell had he said to upset her? Dev played it back in his mind, but maybe his mental MP3 was fucked, because he still had no clue.
He wasn’t going to push, though. Especially not while they were still walking through packed streets. “So how come we don’t get free drinks, then? If you’re in tight with the management?”
He’d meant it jokingly, but she snapped back at him. “Because I’m not a freeloader, that’s why.”
Christ, at this rate the evening was going to be about as much fun as a trip to the dentist. Dev gave it a break until they’d got past the centre of town, then tried another subject. “I saw that bloke again today. The one from yesterday, you know? What you thought was a drinker. He ain’t. He’s got a condition.” Yeah, and he probably wouldn’t appreciate people spreading it around, Dev realised as soon as he’d said it. “He’s a bit touchy about it,” he finished, trying to get but I shouldn’t have told you that across to her without actually coming out and saying it.
“What, like Parkinson’s or something?”
“Yeah. Sort of.” Dev found himself glancing over his shoulder. “Look, forget I told you, all right? Just . . . don’t go spreading that story about him being a drunk, ’cos it’s all bollocks.”
Ceri was silent for so long Dev thought he’d somehow managed to piss her off again. Then she spoke in a low voice, still not looking at him. “You’re right. I won’t.” There was another pause, then she exploded with, “People are bastards, aren’t they?”
The insult sounded even worse in her accent, all the r’s rolled out to Land’s End and back. A white couple in matching shorts who’d been frowning at a map shot her a worried glance and sped up as they walked away.
“Oi, I hope you mean present company excepted,” Dev said, keeping it light.
“Yeah. You’re all right. So you like him, then, do you? This bloke.”
“Kyle,” Dev said quickly. “That’s his name. And I dunno, all right? Ain’t like it’s going to come to nothing, anyway.”
“Why? You live in London, not the other side of the world.”
“Yeah, but . . . he said something, and I took it the wrong way. So now he thinks I’m, I dunno, some weirdo or something.”
“What did he say?”
“Ah . . . Doesn’t matter. I took it wrong, all right? Stormed out of his house like some bigoted old bat who’d stumbled into a Pride parade on her way home from having tea with the vicar.”
“You were in his house?”
“Yeah . . .” Shit. Dev sighed. At least they were out of the crowds now. He gave her a massively edited version of what had happened on the cliff, leaving out all references to death wishes and the actual phrase he’d been such a fucking idiot about.
All she said afterwards was, “And you still like him?”
Dev frowned. “Maybe. Why not?”
She shrugged. “’Cos most blokes run a mile when they find out the person they’re into’s got something wrong with ’em.”
“Oi, now who’s being sexist?”
“It’s true, though.”
“Yeah, well, I ain’t like that. Don’t matter anyhow. He ain’t interested. He said so.”
Yeah, just like he said he was fine.
Ceri gave him a knowing look, like she could read his mind or something. “Don’t believe him, though, do you? You’re lucky, you are.”
“Why?”
“Both of you’s blokes. Makes it easier.”
Dev gave up trying to work out Ceri’s logic. “Get any good tips today?” he asked instead.
“Maybe. Don’t mean the drinks are on me, mind.”
“You owe me one for last night. I bought you a drink and when you pissed off I had to drink it meself.”
“And how does that mean I owe you? You got both drinks, didn’t you? That means you owe me.”
Dev frowned, not sure himself, now. “Ah, whatever.” He pushed open the door of the Sea Bell. “Usual, then?”
She nodded. “I’ll grab us a table.”
As he walked up to the bar, Dev cast a sharp glance over the drinkers already there. Far as he could tell, it was the same crowd as yesterday—in fact, for all he knew, maybe they’d been here since then—but today none of them were giving him and Ceri a second glance. No, wait—one of them lifted his head and met Dev’s gaze. Then he nodded.
A bit embarrassed, Dev nodded back.
The miserable old git at the bar didn’t seem so bad if Dev thought of him as Ceri’s Uncle Jago. He nodded at Dev too. “Two vodka and Cokes?”
“Cheers, mate.” Then, because he never could leave well enough alone, Dev added, “Ice and a slice, yeah?”
Jago gave Dev a hard stare. “No lemons.”
“No?”
“Ship sank.” He turned to pour the drinks.
Dev was, like, ninety-nine point nine recurring percent sure the bloke was pissing him about.
Probably best not to call him on it, though. Dev waited for his drinks and, when he’d paid, bunged a penny in the tip jar. Just to make a point.
Jago’s face didn’t alter. “Very generous of you,” he said with no inflection whatsoever.
“You’re welcome,” Dev said, and legged it back to Ceri.
They’d just got started on their second round of drinks when a man walked into the pub on his own. He was probably in his forties, of average height, average build, and pretty much average looks. Dev wouldn’t have given him a second glance if it hadn’t been for Ceri’s sharp intake of breath. Oh, and the way he made a beeline for their table, pulled up a stool, and sat down without even asking.
That definitely got Dev’s attention.
“Good day at work, love?” the bloke said.
“What do you want?” Ceri snapped at him.
The newcomer nodded at the bar. “Jago said you’d made a new friend. Thought I’d come and meet him.”
“This is Dev. Now you’ve met him. Bye.”
The bloke turned to Dev. “Here on holiday?”
“I said, bye.” Ceri whipped her head around to Dev. “You don’t have to tell him anything.”
Jago’s mate frowned. “Now wait a minute. If he’s got nothing to be ashamed of, he won’t mind answering a few questions about himself.”
Dev didn’t like his attitude. Or his face, for that matter. “Oi, what’s it to you anyway?”
Ceri stood up. “We’re going to get something to eat.”
“You could—”
“Shut up.” She almost yelled it, and heads turned as she grabbed Dev’s arm and practically dragged him out of his seat. Jago’s mate looked upset, but he didn’t move to stop them.
“So who was that bloke?” Dev asked once they were through the door and back into the open air. He’d done a bit of thinking as they marched out of the pub, and that look on Jago’s mate’s face had seemed pretty familiar. He’d seen Mal’s dad wearing it as he hauled Mal’s drunk arse home for a lecture on not turning out like his uncle. “Is he your dad?”
She didn’t answer.
“Ceri?”
“Yes, all right? He’s my dad.” She stormed down the lane ahead of him, heading for the cliffs as far as he could tell.
Dev ran to catch up. “Did you have to be so hard on him? Don’t you think it’s sorta nice, him wanting to look out for you like that?”
“No.”
“Why not?” There’d been plenty of times Dev wouldn’t have minded having a dad or a mum to look out for him. Plenty of them.
Then again, he’d known one or two girls who’d ended up in the system who could have done with a lot less looking out for from their dad or stepdad or whatever.
Take Tasha, for instance. Dev’s mood darkened. “Oi, he ain’t been doing nothing he shouldn’t, has he?”
She stared at him. “No.”
“Then what’s it all about?”
“Because it’s bollocks, that’s why!”
“What do you mean?”
She spun around, her eyes wild. Dev had to stop in his tracks sharpish so as not to run into her. “Because what’s the point? What’s the fucking point? He can ask you all the questions he likes, can’t he, but it don’t make no difference in the end, ’cos whatever happens, no one’s going to believe me, they’ll say I’m after attention and all that crap, and don’t I know how serious it is, going round making accusations, so why don’t I just fuck off and shut up, ’cos no one wants to listen to me anyhow?”
She was panting after all that, her skinny chest heaving. Dev couldn’t help thinking of a stray dog he and Mal found once, limping from some useless twats giving it a kicking. It’d bitten Mal when he’d tried to pat it, Dev remembered.
“I’ll listen to you,” he said cautiously.
“Don’t you fucking patronise me!”
“I’m not, all right? I know there’s some sick shit goes on in families, so if you wanna tell me stuff, I’ll listen.”
Her dad stepped out of the pub at that mo, and jogged down the lane towards them with a heavy, middle-aged tread. Dev put his arm around Ceri, drawing her back and putting himself between them.
She pushed him away. “Just leave me alone, both of you.”
“Not until you tell me he ain’t done nothing the police oughtta hear about.” Christ, it’d come to something when Dev was threatening to call the filth on someone.
“What?” Her dad’s voice was high and cracked on the word.
Ceri gave a short, incredulous laugh. “Dad?” She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “It’s nothing like that, Dev. Promise.”
“So what is it like?”
She didn’t answer, and her dad stepped up. “Ceri’s been having a difficult year. Found out a few friends weren’t friends at all. Ceri, love, it’d make your mum happy if you came home for tea tonight.” His voice was all thick. Gruff, that was the word.
Ceri looked close to tears. “I’m with Dev,” she said, but it sounded uncertain, and she took a step towards her dad. Like, maybe, despite the way she’d spoken to him, she really wanted him to hug her like she was a little kid.
“You do what you want, all right?” Dev told her. “Don’t worry about me. Look, gimme your phone a mo, yeah?” She handed it over, and Dev tapped his number in quickly before handing it back. “You need anything, you call me, got that?”
Ceri nodded, leaving her head down so her loose hair fell over her face and hid it from view. Dev was pretty sure that was deliberate.
Her dad put his arm around her, and she didn’t push him away. “Come on home, love. It’ll be all right.”
Dev watched them go, Ceri looking even skinnier and more fragile than ever next to her dad. He hoped he’d made the right call, leaving her with him—except, it hadn’t been his call, had it? It’d been hers.
He sighed.
Okay, so what to do now? Dev was hungry, but another night eating fish and chips on his own was about as appealing as walking back into the Sea Bell and asking to see their menu. Christ knew who bloody Uncle Jago would call if Dev showed his face there again, this time without Ceri.
He walked off, not sure where he was heading—away from the pub, yeah, but not back into town. The low whisper of the sea got louder as he walked and, sure enough, when the view opened up in front of him he realised he’d come out above the lifeboat station at Mother Ivey’s Bay.
Not far from Kyle’s place.
It’d still be light for hours yet. And he needed to apologise to the bloke anyway. What would he do if he went back into town now? Meet Chantal and her mate at Piskies?
Dev couldn’t see that ending well. No, he might as well get the apology over with, right?
There were still some people on the beach, but the cool breeze off the sea had picked up and blown most of them back to their holiday homes. Probably all eating their dinners now, Dev thought regretfully, willing his stomach not to rumble.
Heh. Maybe if the apology went really well, he’d be able to cadge another cheese sarnie from Kyle.