Dolphin Dreams

by Jules Jones

  “Three of us? But I’m not like that.” Barry looked at him. “I know. I was having an affair with you. But that’s because I fell in love and didn’t know what the hell to do when I was in love with two people at once.”

  “I’m not like that either.” He deliberately looked around at Patrick, then George. “But sometimes you can make it work anyway.”

  “I don’t know ...”

  “This is why you came here,” Simon said briskly. “To talk to people who would listen to you without laughing or lecturing, who might be able to give you advice. Not just Martin. Me. I haven’t found the right woman yet, but I know people who have. Open relationships can work. So can relationships that aren’t open but have more than two people. It’s hard work, but it can be done.”

  Barry’s hand shook, almost hard enough to slop some of the tea over the side. But his voice was firm as he said, “You’re right. I didn’t think about it -- but even if Martin hadn’t been here, you could have given me sensible advice.”

  “Well, my advice right now is that you should finish that food and then go and get some sleep. There’s a spare bedroom here, so you don’t need to go and find a hotel if you don’t feel up to it. But you’re in no state to drive yourself home.”

  Barry didn’t argue, just said, “Thank you,” and went back to eating his food. He seemed to be finding it easier to eat now. When he’d finished, George took the plate from him and said, “Would you like some more?”

  “Yes, please. I’m starting to feel hungry again.”

  George gave Barry a slight smile. “Sometimes if you can manage to eat something, you feel better enough to eat something more. I’ll make you a ham sandwich.”

  “I’d better go and check the spare room,” Simon said. “I don’t suppose you’ve got any luggage with you.”

  Barry shook his head. “Wasn’t thinking. Just got in the car and went.”

  Too upset to think about what he was doing. Martin was very glad he hadn’t slammed the door in Barry’s face. He got up and went out to the kitchen with George.

  “What do you think? I heard one of you ...” He broke off. No talking about that when there were other people around.

  “Oh, you caught that?” George started rummaging in the fridge. “He really is very upset, and I think he’s genuinely worried about his wife’s safety.”

  “Mmm.”

  Simon came in. “What are we going to do with him?”

  George shrugged. “Up to Martin, I think.”

  “You don’t mind me offering him a bed for the night, I hope.”

  Hardly, when he was the one who’d insisted on bringing Barry in because he didn’t want him driving. “Simon, I feel sorry for him. I’m not rushing to forgive him for what he did to me; I just think he’s had a bad time and he’s trying to do the right thing.”

  “And he doesn’t know what the right thing is. Can’t say I blame him -- this is a mess.” Simon rummaged in the drinks cupboard and got out a bottle of brandy. “Think I’ll dose him with this so he gets some sleep.” He poured a small amount of brandy and held it up. “I think Barry’s problem is that he is a very conventional man who followed very conventional patterns of behaviour when he discovered that you can fall in love more than once. And now his script is completely broken, and he’s trying to find a solution that doesn’t cause any more damage.” Simon shrugged. “If he was just feeling sorry for himself, I’d cheerfully chuck him out. But he seems to have done a bit of growing up in the last few months. Have you finished making that sandwich, George?”

  They went back through to the lounge. Barry was leaning against Patrick, his head on Patrick’s shoulder and Patrick’s arm around him, supporting him. Martin found that he didn’t feel jealous or threatened. Patrick was only trying to offer comfort to a man who was in sore need of it.

  “He’s calmed down,” Patrick said. “I think being able to talk it out with someone has helped.”

  Barry opened his eyes and sat up. “I feel such an idiot.”

  Simon handed him the glass of brandy. “You’d have been an idiot if you hadn’t tried to find help, my lad. Drink this; eat the sandwich; then go to bed.”

  There was silence as Barry did as he was told. They watched him go, and then Simon said, “I think I’m ready for bed, after all that.”

  There was a general murmur of agreement. Ten minutes later Martin was lying in bed with George and Patrick.

  “Bloody hell,” Patrick said.

  “I think that sums it up nicely.” He had quite expected to never see Barry again.

  “There are times when I’m very glad I’m not one of you people,” George said. “How did you get involved with him?”

  “You’re not exactly seeing him at his best.”

  “I think I like him better now, though,” Patrick said thoughtfully. “He wasn’t just using you, and he’s learnt from his mistakes. I hope he gets things sorted out with his wife.”

  Martin also liked Barry a lot better now than he had a few months ago. Simon was right -- Barry had been following the script he knew. Get married, fall in love with someone else without falling out of love with your spouse, try to juggle both people by not telling either of them. He’d tried to force his life into a familiar pattern, the mistress a man, but the pattern otherwise the same. Now the pattern had shattered, and Barry’s life with it.

  George said into the darkness, “I’d have thought you’d resent him coming straight to you.”

  “No. He was in the closet. He’s been going to a gay bar since we broke up, but that’s new. He doesn’t have anyone except me that he can talk to about something like this.” Probably not entirely true, but Barry had been too much in shock to think about who he could safely talk to.

  “You don’t want him back?”

  “No.” He could understand George’s worry. “I still care about him, but I don’t want him back. I don’t think I would even if I didn’t have you two.” He needed a partner who was comfortable with his own desires. Or two partners.

  He reached for them, took hold of a hand each. “Thanks for helping.”

  George laughed softly. “If Simon was willing to put up with him, there had to be something worthwhile in there. I’m not the only one who’s protective of you.”

  “Just don’t start getting jealous of Simon again, please.”

  “I’m not.” George squeezed his hand. “He loves you, but not the same way we do.”

  “Can we stop being philosophical and go to sleep now, please?” Patrick muttered. “It’s been a full evening, and I’m tired.”

  So was Martin. He stopped talking and soon went to sleep.

  Barry looked much better when he came into the kitchen the next morning. He was quiet and composed as he sat down at the table with a cup of tea.

  Simon commented, “It’s amazing what a decent night’s sleep can do.”

  Barry had heard. He looked up, and said, “It’s amazing what being able to talk about it can do, as well. Thanks.”

  “What are you going to do?” Patrick asked.

  “Talk to Margaret. Tell her about Martin, and about the bar and what I was doing there, and who else was there.” He stared into the distance. “After that -- I don’t know. If he really was a private detective, maybe she’ll take me back. If he wasn’t, but they want a threesome, maybe I can manage.” He looked back to Martin. “I know it’s a damned cheek, but would you talk to her if she wants to?”

  “I’m not going to lie and say you chucked me,” Martin warned. “But if it will help, I’ll talk to her.”

  “That’s all I want.”

  “Toast?” George offered.

  That got a faint smile from Barry. “Thanks. Thanks for everything.”

  They sent him on his way after he’d had breakfast. Martin watched as Barry drove away, no longer worried about whether he was fit to drive. Patrick and George had gone back into the house, but Simon had stayed outside with him.

  “You really are over him, are
n’t you?” Simon asked.

  “Yes. I think I am.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  As they went back into the house, Simon said, “Well, it’s Monday morning, and I have to work and you don’t. What are you doing?”

  “Work on the house. See Mr Parker, maybe. Phone the agency and chivvy them about possible jobs.”

  Simon laughed and slapped him on the back. “Still worried about that mortgage to feed at the end of the year?”

  “It’s all right for you; you’ve got a steady income.” But he knew he had the money to cover a good-sized deposit, even with the renovation expenses. Years of careful budgeting to cover the times when contracts were thin on the ground had built up a good nest egg. He just wanted to make sure that he had money to cover unexpected expenses -- especially as he was now effectively supporting three people.

  “And I don’t have dependents,” Simon said, reading his thoughts. “They get the odd bit of money from the art and their family, I imagine, but it must be even more erratic than your income.”

  “They’re not exactly expensive to keep, and if George gets his vegetable garden they’ll be even less expensive to keep. But no, they don’t contribute much in the way of actual cash, even if the work they’re doing on the house is saving me a packet.” And they couldn’t, not unless they found the sort of job where you weren’t asked for your National Insurance number. Such jobs tended to be poorly paid and often dangerous. He’d prefer to see them doing quick-draw sketches for tourists.

  “I really must come and have a look at the place,” Simon said. “I haven’t seen it yet. I didn’t even get much of a look at it when I collected them the other night. But I didn’t like to go over there when you weren’t around, not with the way they react to strangers. It didn’t seem fair.”

  “We’ll give Mr Parker his celebration dinner first. It’s his house. But you’re second on the list for dinner invitations. Where are those two?”

  “Out the back waiting in the Land Rover, I think. See you tonight.”

  Simon was right. George and Patrick were already in the Land Rover, eager to get back to the house and start work.

  “We should have your office finished this week,” Patrick said as they bounced down the driveway.

  “Yes, but I can’t move in yet.”

  “No, but if you’ve got work to do at home, like that book review, you can be here during the day instead of having to stay at Simon’s,” George pointed out.

  “Just as long as you understand that I’ll have to work.” It would be difficult to resist the temptation to join in the work on the house -- or to take a recreational break.

  Patrick nodded. “That’s why you need to have an office. Somewhere you can shut the door and ignore what’s going on in the house.” He grinned. “Like last night, when you were cheerfully ignoring the world until you heard Barry’s voice.”

  “Was I really that bad?”

  “Yes,” George said. “But we had books to read, so we didn’t mind. When are we going to get this driveway fixed?”

  “Soon,” he said with feeling. He’d put off doing anything about it, partly as a way of discouraging uninvited visitors, but it was getting to the point where something had to be done. The driveway was basically sound, but a few potholes had developed over the years and were rapidly getting worse now the driveway was in regular use again. “The agent said she’d found someone local who’ll do a decent job at a reasonable price, but we have to wait until he’s got a free day. This week, maybe.” Once again he gave thanks that Mr Parker had taken an interest in the project.

  * * * * *

  With the prospect of having a usable office soon, he set to work on organising the last few things that were necessary. A landline, with DSL if it was feasible this far from the exchange. Getting the potholes in the driveway repaired. Checking that the builder was still scheduled to come and do the roof maintenance. Getting the rewiring done. None of it had to be done now, but it all had to be done before he could move his office and lab equipment in. He spent the afternoon in town talking to people and then went back to collect his workforce.

  “I hope you two are feeling more comfortable with strangers, because there are going to be a lot of them about over the next few weeks.”

  “Oh?” George asked.

  “The drive’s being done on Wednesday, the electrician’s booked for Friday, and the builder says that he’s got an unexpected free slot and can come next week or the week after to do the roof.” Martin had only gone in to check that the work on the roof was still booked in for later in the year, but the builder had generously offered to get it done early, as the good weather had meant he was working ahead of schedule. Mr Parker’s agent, who seemed to know everything that was going on in local real estate, had cynically translated this as, “He was scheduling small jobs around the big subcontractor job he’s got, and that’s stalled for two months. Pity most of his small clients had already organised their plans around the original dates, and aren’t interested in getting things done early.”

  Martin’s own experience with the joys of contracting meant that he was mildly amused rather than annoyed by the change in schedule being dressed up as a favour to him. He was pleased enough to have it done now rather than later, so long as George and Patrick weren’t bothered by the change. “Will you two be all right with having the builders working here? It’s not going to be like the other stuff, where they didn’t spend much time in the house.”

  “As long as they don’t muck up our nice new kitchen,” Patrick said. “And we won’t have to leave that room under the damaged bit of roof until last now.”

  George looked around at the room they were working in. “We can manage, as long as you don’t want us to be here all the time to keep an eye on them. It’s getting easier with practice.” He started packing up his tools for the night. “Biggest problem is going to be if they want to talk to us on their tea break -- asking us who else we’ve worked for, or if we’d fancy a bit of work on the quiet.”

  Big, strong, quiet men who were hard workers, with no qualifications but some experience. Yes, the builder might offer them some cash-in-hand work if business suddenly picked up again. “You’d be too uncomfortable trying to keep up a conversation without giving yourselves away?”

  “Though we can just stick to the remittance men story,” Patrick said. “Say we fell in with you and we’re doing the work on the house because you’ve got a day job and we haven’t. The truth’s always the easiest, if we can get away with it.”

  “It wasn’t so bad when the electricity men came,” George said. “If it gets too much, we can always just say that it’s difficult to concentrate on the fiddly work when they’re in and out, and push off for a bit. We’ve got the keys to the internal doors, so we can lock any of the rooms that they don’t need to go into.”

  “All right. I’ll phone them and confirm it.” All good progress. “Are we eating here or at Simon’s?”

  “Simon’s,” Patrick said. “Seems a bit rude to only ever turn up to sleep there, and we got some fresh fish while you were out, if he’d like some.”

  He phoned to check if Simon was interested in fresh fish. The answer was an enthusiastic yes, so they went down to the sea cave for just long enough to collect the fish. It gave him an odd feeling to walk into the cave and look out over the pool. The last time he’d been here ...

  Patrick walked up behind him and cuddled him. “You don’t have to, you know,” he said quietly.

  “I know.” And if they’d never raised the subject, it would never have occurred to him. But now that it had ... “Simon’s got some snorkelling gear. Maybe I should borrow it.”

  “Later this week, while we’ve still got the house to ourselves.”

  George called to them from the fishpen. “Shall I bring enough for the freezer?”

  He thought about it. “Might as well, if you’ve got more than we’re going to use in the next couple of days.”

  “Right.�
�� George scooped several fish into the bucket, and they went back upstairs.

  * * * * *

  “It’s nice to have really fresh fish,” Simon said. “Where did you catch it?”

  Martin wondered whether that would count as intrusive questioning, but Patrick merely said, “Under the cliffs. There are paths down to some good spots in clean water, if you know where.”

  “And you two would know.” Simon tried a mouthful. “Mmm. This is good. I don’t suppose you’ve seen those dolphins of Martin’s while you’ve been out fishing, have you?”

  George said, very sincerely, “We know the ones you mean. Not for a few days. Why?”

  “I haven’t seen them for a while. I wondered if they’d gone away altogether, or if they’ve just got fed up waiting for Martin to show up.”

  Patrick, quite deadpan, said, “Perhaps if you and Martin go out in the boat this weekend you’ll see them. You ought to go anyway -- it’s a bit unfair of us to move in on you like this but never give you any time with Martin.”

  Simon waved a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. You need to take advantage of the good weather while you’ve got it, and you’re doing your bit by bringing fresh fish and cooking dinner.”

  This was entertaining in a way, but Martin was having trouble keeping a straight face. Time to change the subject slightly. “Are you likely to be around this weekend, Simon?”

  “Yes, but as usual it depends.” Simon started discussing the latest not-news-yet, which led the discussion well away from dolphins.

  It didn’t get back to dolphins until the next morning, when the three of them were on the way to the house and sure of not having an audience. “I hope after that little performance last night that you are going to show up if I go out in the boat with Simon.”