by Con Riley
Jude cleared the rest of the study as penance, time passing in a blur of what-ifs and if-onlys that no amount of stripping books from their shelves and carrying boxes to the boatshed could answer, only nodding or shaking his head whenever Rob spoke to him.
There was no point verbalising his regrets, no payoff that could come from wishing he could somehow turn back time to make sure Louise didn’t overhear him. Besides, if turning back time was possible, he’d shove those clock hands back a whole lot farther, put all that muscle he’d earned while crewing for Tom to good use if that meant he got his family back, with no reason for any of them to look at him like Lou just had.
Jude toiled until Rob stopped him with a hand on his shoulder, steering him to the snug where a meal waited, urging him to sit down and eat. He picked up his spoon and stirred a chowder made, he realised dully, from the last of Carl’s catch. Thick, rich, and no doubt delicious, Jude couldn’t make himself take a single mouthful until Rob interceded.
“It’s going to be okay,” he promised as if he had some way to know that for certain. “I’m guessing it doesn’t feel like it will ever be okay, right now, but it will be, Jude. Lou needs some time, that’s all. Some space to wrap her head around the fact—”
“That I’m the reason that Mum and Dad aren’t here.”
There it was, the truth—harsh, unequivocal, and honest.
“No.” Rob pulled out the chair next to Jude and then sat close, tugging at Jude’s chair until they almost faced each other. He scooted even closer until their knees dovetailed, like them sitting close together hadn’t already caused no end of trouble. “No, Jude,” Rob insisted. “No one would ever blame you for that.” He continued before Jude could argue. “She just needs a bit of time to deal with feeling guilty.”
“Guilty?” That was the last word Jude would have chosen. “Why would she feel guilty?”
“Oh, mate.” That crease between Rob’s brows was like catching a sudden glimpse of Rob’s father. “You really didn’t notice?”
“Notice what?”
“Her face, Jude. Her face when she realised that you’ve been blaming yourself all this time without her knowing. Do you think she would have let you carry all of that for this long if she’d had the first idea that you were struggling?”
Jude wasn’t struggling; carrying this particular responsibility was his task alone to shoulder. He almost opened his mouth to say so, but Rob wasn’t done yet.
“And don’t start with any more of that bullshit about it all being on you. I’ve been here for a long time, Jude. There’s a lot I’ve heard about your mum and dad, and I’ve got to say that none of it matches what you told me.” He grasped Jude’s knees, holding him in place. “Listen.” The release of his grip was equally speedy. “No, don’t listen. Look.” He stood, his chair scraping against flagstones. Rob left the snug bar to rummage in a box at the foot of the staircase. He returned with an armful of framed photos. “You know that you and your dad are identical when you smile, don’t you?”
What that had to do with anything, Jude had no clue until Rob showed him, turning one of the photos face up. It almost hurt to see both him and his dad beam out from behind the glass. Rob asked, “Where was this photo taken?”
“Down at the rock pools,” Jude murmured. “The deep ones, not the shallow ones we walked through. I don’t know when exactly.” A much younger Jude crouched next to his dad at the water’s edge, all skinny legs and narrow shoulders. His dad’s hair was Jude’s current sun-bleached blond, he noticed, not even a hint of the grey it had been by the time he’d sailed away for the last time. “I was ten, maybe?” he guessed, caught in the memory of September sun on his shoulders, most of the summer tourists long gone, and of trying so hard to mimic his dad’s brand of silent, stoic patience. A fish had slithered out of his grasp only seconds before that photo was taken. Words slipped out almost as easily as that fish had slid from his hold. “It took me all afternoon to catch one fish. Dad almost died laughing when I dropped it back in the water.”
“It took you all afternoon? And he was with you the whole time?”
Jude nodded. “Yeah. It took forever because we weren’t using rods or tackle.” He unconsciously rubbed his fingertips together, surprised they didn’t feel pruned as he remembered.
“Why?”
“Why what?” Jude looked up from the photo into eyes as dark as the deep crevice that fish had swum to for safety.
“Why didn’t you use a rod?”
“Because…” Why hadn’t they? And like the tide, eventually, the memory washed in, bringing a host of others with it. “There’s a book down at the boatshed that Lou and I read from cover to cover each winter while Dad worked on the One for Luck. It was one of those ‘how-to’ guides for kids. Like how to start a fire without matches, you know?” His fingers strayed to his belt loop out of habit. He unclipped his keyring and showed Rob the tiny, waterproof canister that had hung from it forever. “We all got one of these in our Christmas stocking the year we started reading that book and trying out all of its tips.” He prised the seal open to show the contents. “We tried starting a fire the way the book suggested. It worked, but Dad thought a couple of waterproof matches might be quicker, in case we were ever stranded. Catching a fish with your bare hands was another way to stay alive, the book said.”
Rob said matter-of-factly, “So he helped you try out all of the tips? That doesn’t sound like someone who’d have no time for you, Jude. And then he bought you and Lou a survival kit so you wouldn’t ever have to struggle? That sounds like someone who wanted you to have the best chance of being healthy and happy.” His gaze seemed even darker as he leaned close, holding the photo so Jude couldn’t avoid it. “You dropped the fish, but look at that grin. You messed up, but he loved you. Does that look like someone who’d give you shit for being gay once they wrapped their head around it?”
“I told you how he was. Is,” Jude forced out. “You didn’t see the way he used to look at anyone who might be queer.” Another memory lapped close. “You didn’t see the look on his face the first time he saw Marc.”
Rob was puzzled. “Marc? What’s he got to do with anything?”
“Eyeliner,” Jude said like that was an entire answer. “You know his whole family were artists?” At Rob’s nod, Jude added, “Maybe their teen son wearing eyeliner on his first day at school was normal for them. Creative, or something, but it caused a lot of gossip when he first started.” And hadn’t that been a weight off Jude’s shoulders for a few glorious weeks, thinking that Marc wearing make-up might deflect attention from him and his lack of girlfriends. That relief only lasted until Lou had invited Marc home. “I’m telling you now, Dad looked at him the same way Lou looked at me just before she ran out.”
“Like Lou did?” Rob’s expression shifted too quick for Jude to keep up, settling into something he found hard to look at, so he didn’t. He studied the photo instead until Rob cupped his face first with one hand, then another, those faint lines at the corner of his eyes feathering a little deeper as he said, “That was guilt, Jude. If your dad looked at Marc that way, he must have had a reason.” The pads of his thumbs pressed lightly, as if he wanted to press that idea into his skin.
Jude shook his head. “You didn’t know him,” he insisted as Rob sighed. “He always looked like that around anyone who might be queer. Or he’d outright avoid them.”
Rob ducked his head to maintain eye contact. “A bit like you did each time I tried to talk to you at the meet and greet for the contest?” His eyebrows rose. “What? You think I didn’t notice?” He swallowed before saying, “Turns out that quietly hard-to-get is my type.” That was an admission Jude hadn’t expected. “You avoided me if you could. And if your dad did the same thing to anyone he thought might be gay, all that tells me is that the apple didn’t fall far from the tree. Maybe both of you bottle stuff up instead of sharing.” His next smile was small. “So you’re right in one way.”
“How?” Jud
e asked, his voice gravelly, Rob so close they could have kissed.
Rob whispered, “I didn’t know him, but if he’s anything like Lou, he’d want you to be happy.” He closed the final fraction of distance, lips brushing Jude’s so softly, at first, Jude couldn’t keep from leaning forward. They connected then, mouths slotting together as close as their knees under the table, real and firm and grounding.
This wasn’t the fierce goodbye kiss Rob had given him in the kitchen, or the soft consolation in his father’s study.
It touched so much deeper.
Rob’s mouth moved on his, so warm after Lou’s look had left Jude frozen, giving, now Jude needed to take, slow, in case anything faster might spin Jude’s world off its axis. Rob cupped his face once more, holding Jude still and steady. He gradually pulled back, only a few inches between them, so Jude heard his conviction. “I promise that they’d both hate for you to be unhappy, like this.”
Jude couldn’t listen to that, couldn’t absorb everything Rob had suggested about mistaking reactions that he’d witnessed. Nothing made sense, apart from how good it felt to embrace Rob fully, no need to hide while the pub was empty. He kissed Rob, his mouth open, tongues making electric contact and sliding. He also slid his palms up Rob’s thighs to get closer as he leaned in, brushing a thumb where Rob hardened for him.
Maybe Jude looked as dazed as he felt when Rob eventually withdrew. Rob kissed him once more, fleeting this time on his lips, his next to Jude’s forehead slower and reassuring. He said, “If I thought fucking you would make any of this better, you know I wouldn’t take much persuading, don’t you?”
Sex sounded like a perfect answer to Jude right then. A way out of his head for a while, at least.
Rob didn’t give him time to say so. He kissed him one last time instead. “You’ve no idea of the number of times I’ve thought about it. Only with everything you’ve told me, I’m not sure you’d thank me tomorrow. You need to get your head straight, so stay here, tonight, will you? Sleep in Lou’s room. Things will look better in the morning.”
Then he went, leaving Jude still heartsore, but hopeful.
12
Jude woke the next morning to the shush of the high tide against the sea wall, no footsteps or pots clanking below to suggest Rob was downstairs, or chatter meaning Lou had returned. Jude got up from the trundle, trying hard not to let his gaze land on the still-neat covers of Lou’s bed, holding on, as he had so many times that night while waking, to the idea that maybe Rob was right and she would still want to see him. He paused, before unclipping his keyring from yesterday’s clothes and seeking some clean ones. But what about his dad? Could Rob be right about a man he’d never met but who Jude had grown up with?
Would he ever have been accepting?
No. There was no proof to support that line of thinking.
The idea of a happy ending was fictional, like all those desert island storybooks piled up down at the boatshed, where rescue came in the nick of time, and shipwrecked families always reunited.
That thought at least made him stand a little straighter as he showered. He hadn’t been able to make a storybook ending come true, but he’d be damned if he’d let Louise’s discovery of his secret carry her away from him like a typhoon had their parents. He’d take whatever she threw at him; do his best to weather the storm until she spoke to him again.
Once dressed and full of resolve, he hurried downstairs where he found a note in the kitchen with Morning, sleepyhead as a salutation, certainty ebbing as he read.
Left for Marc’s place to see Lou at eight. Give me an hour before you come along too, okay? If you haven’t heard ambulance sirens by then, she probably hasn’t killed me.
He read the rest through twice more before setting it down. Rob taking a big-brother role with Louise still felt weird, and he might’ve been right about giving Lou space, but only seeing her for himself would loosen the coil of tension that pulled ever tighter inside Jude.
It hadn’t quite been an hour since Rob left his note, but Jude left the pub regardless, taking another narrow street that rose steeply from the harbour, the cottages crowded close together, walking so fast he almost went past his destination, a shopfront full of seascapes. He doubled back just as the front door swung open.
“Marc?” he asked, wary, this broad, dark-haired man very different from the skinny goth he’d gone to school with.
Marc’s French accent confirmed it was the same person. “Jude.” He crossed thick arms, and narrowed eyes devoid of the eyeliner Jude remembered.
“Where’s Lou?”
“I’m here.” Marc stood to one side, and Jude saw her. He stepped towards her only to be stopped when Marc blocked him, one heavy arm dropping like a portcullis. Marc braced against the doorframe and then reluctantly gave Jude just enough space to pass through.
Jude found the next few steps the hardest he’d ever taken.
Lou looked slighter somehow this morning, surrounded by tall canvasses. He barely noticed the paintings that caught the wind-whipped spirit of Porthperrin or the portraits of the people who had lived there. Instead, he focussed on the shadows below Lou’s eyes—a smudged palette of mauve and bruised greys—and the way she hugged herself so tightly. He didn’t even notice Rob until he stepped between them, dividing Jude from his sister as Marc had attempted.
“Lou wants a bit more time,” Rob said, one hand raised as if to catch his elbow to guide him back to the doorway.
“No.” Jude dodged around him on legs that felt like jelly. “Lou, let me explain—” He froze, just a few metres between them, waiting to hear if she would let him. “Please.”
Finally, slowly, she nodded.
Behind him, the bell above the gallery door let out a merry tinkle. If it had done the same when he arrived, the sound hadn’t registered. Maybe that was due to his heart beating like the clappers, far faster than a brisk walk from the Anchor merited, as if he’d sprinted the distance and more. He did hear Rob say, “Come on, Marc,” and the door close again, but he didn’t look back to confirm they’d both gone. Nothing could make him turn away from Lou, not even the fear that she’d blank him.
He started by saying what was most important. “I’m sorry.” He drew in a breath that felt ragged and rough. “I’m truly sorry I didn’t tell you, but I’m not sorry for being the way I am.” He couldn’t be, no matter how often he’d wished it away when he was thirteen or fourteen, closing his eyes each and every night to hope that he’d wake up in a world where it didn’t matter. “I would have told you I was gay if—”
At that, a tear spilt, Lou almost shouting. “If what?”
If he hadn’t thought she’d look at him like he’d physically hurt her. He tried to verbalise that. “Lou, I couldn’t—”
This time she did yell, words sounding about as torn from her as his had felt. “Couldn’t what?”
He told the truth as he knew it, closing his eyes as he said, “Lose you as well, Lou. I couldn’t stand to lose you as well as Mum and Dad.”
“Even before?” she asked, her voice quieter and closer, only a few feet distant when Jude opened his eyes. “Even before they left? You didn’t tell me then either, Jude, did you?”
He shook his head. “I’d already lost them, by then.” He shrugged. “At least that’s what it felt like.” When she didn’t interrupt, he continued, opening up a box crammed full of beliefs that he’d kept locked for so long. “I felt like I lost them as soon as I knew that I was….”
“Gay,” she said, her voice shaky. “When was that, exactly?”
“I don’t know.” He looked anywhere than at her, gaze catching on a painting of Marc’s family cottage. “Probably around the same time Marc’s family moved here.”
“He says you never liked him.”
“Marc? It wasn’t him that I didn’t like.” Although in hindsight the distance he kept at school probably told another story. “Some of the things the other kids said got to me. About make-up meaning he liked boys. It
was stupid, but the idea of anyone saying the same about me scared the crap out of me.”
“Did you fancy him?”
“No.” He glanced up in time to see something close to relief flash across her face. “That’s not how being gay works. Him wearing eyeliner didn’t make him my type. And even back then, something told me that anyone calling him queer was barking up the wrong tree. But I guessed from everyone’s reaction that I couldn’t stay here and be me. That’s when I felt like I lost Mum and Dad the first time,” he said, words almost punched out when Lou flew at him, her arms so tight around his middle. “Lou?”
“I only wish you’d told me. You know that, don’t you?” she said into his chest, dampening the same spot that she had when he’d returned home. “I’ve been up all night thinking about what it must have been like for you.”
That gave him pause. “You were thinking about how I felt?”
“Of course I was.” Lou let go, wiping her eyes. “What do you take me for, Jude?”
What had he taken her for? The same as his parents. He had for as long as he could remember.
“And why do you think being gay meant losing Mum and Dad, in the first place?” Her concern was so familiar, Jude could almost see their mother. “Is that really why you moved away and hardly ever came back?” She deflated at Jude’s nod. “You should have told me.”
The door opened with another tinkle, Rob calling out a warning. “Some tourists are heading this way.”
Of course there were, just when the whole village being deserted would be helpful.
Marc cursed in French before speaking in English. “Go through to my studio. I’ll let you know when they’re gone.”
Rob led the way through a door at the rear of the gallery. “Here,” he said, hesitating until Lou grabbed his hand and pulled him inside with them.
She cut to the chase right away, her eyes still damp but at least no longer leaking. “I still don’t know what I think,” she said, backing farther into a room filled with half-finished canvasses, splashes of rose gold featuring more often than the blue-green of the seascapes for sale. She crossed her arms as Marc had. “I feel like I need to think about everything I knew about Mum and Dad as well. They loved you so much, Jude. Talked about you all the time, so proud of you doing well in London.” And there were the tears again that Jude hated provoking. “What you said about them yesterday doesn’t mesh with that at all.” She hurried to add more. “I’m not saying what you thought doesn’t matter. I just… I can’t stop thinking how awful it must have felt for you to believe they’d ever turn their back on you.” She rubbed at her eyes leaving them even redder. “I’m so tired. I didn’t get a wink of sleep and I think that’s making wrapping my head around it harder.” She did look exhausted.