Broke Deep (Porthkennack Book 3)

by Charlie Cochrane

  “Ah, yes. To ease them home or out of port when the wind isn’t doing what it’s supposed to.” Dominic didn’t sound like he approved.

  “It was a three-masted vessel, a frigate by the shape of it. She appeared to be authentic, although I knew that nothing from the time of Trafalgar could still be afloat. I kept telling myself she was either a charity job or a rich man’s plaything. The ship was foundering, breaking deep and taking on water. Not only that, she was being driven onto the lee shore by the stiff wind, sure to dash on the rocks.”

  “Good God.”

  Neither needed to mention the name Troilus; its presence was almost palpable. Same type of ship. Same time of year. “I ran to dial 999, get out the coastguards or something, but the line was dead, and I never considered using my mobile. Or maybe I did and the battery was flat.” Funny how the practical bits of what happened seemed less clear in his memory than the mental image of the ship foundering.

  “What did your parents do?”

  “Nothing. They weren’t here. They’d gone to a bank do down in Padstow and were staying over. Eddie was staying at a mate’s, so I had the run of the house—I’d thought it was such a treat.” He shivered. “I’ll grab another blanket. Could be a long session.”

  Morgan carried on with the story as he tucked them up. How he’d gone back to his bedroom, able to do nothing other than watch helplessly through the window. “The top of something—I guess it was the main mast—went with a crack almost as loud as the thunder. The ship started, I don’t know how to describe it, flailing about.” He shrugged uncomfortably.

  “It sounds horrific.” Dominic snuggled closer.

  “It was ghastly. I had to go out and see if there was anything I could do. Not sure what I had in mind, but you can’t stand by and do nothing. I nearly got swept off my feet by the wind when I got outside, but I’d had the sense to put on waterproofs. I’ve never known a night like it, before or since.”

  “You were lucky you didn’t go over the cliff. Like you thought I was going to.”

  “I know. That’s the odd thing, though. I didn’t feel in any danger, myself.” Morgan suddenly realised he had Dominic’s hand in his but wasn’t sure how it had got there. “That’s why it must have simply been a dream, or a hallucination or whatever. No matter how real it felt. At least . . .”

  “At least what? You can’t leave me dangling there, like a cliff-hanger in a bad TV series.”

  Morgan managed a laugh. “This is going to sound completely loony. I was awake when I got down to the cliff path—I know it wasn’t a dream from the rollicking I got from my mother when she found all my wet clothes the next day. I pretended I’d been out to help a motorist with a flat tyre. I had to tell a hell of a lot of lies.”

  “I bet she didn’t believe any of them. I guess you never told her the truth?”

  “God, no. You see, when I got down to the cliff that night, not only had the storm eased off into drizzle, there was no ship. And it wasn’t as if she’d just gone down, because there was nothing. No debris, no masts or spars or men in the water.” Nothing except a horrible sickening feeling in his stomach. “I went back to the house and looked at the phone. And I knew that if I picked it up, there’d be a dialling tone. Which I did and there was, all working perfectly and no evidence the lines had ever been down, as I found out subsequently. I did quite a bit of research, over the next few days.”

  “You didn’t ring the coastguard? When you found the line working.”

  “Would you have done? And risk being accused of making nuisance calls, especially if you’d convinced yourself that it had all been a dream? They’d have thought I’d been on the wacky baccy.”

  “And had you? Or the gin? Come on, home alone and all that . . .”

  If Dominic hadn’t been grinning, Morgan might have lumped him one. “I’d had nothing worse than strong coffee. And I was clearheaded enough to make sure I scoured the news and the weather and all the rest of it. There’d not been a shipwreck, nor even a storm as bad as I’d witnessed. But there was the story about Troilus.”

  “I didn’t want to mention that.”

  “I guessed the time of year would ring a bell. And the circumstances.” It had rung a vague bell at the time. Over the days following the dream, he’d researched the exact date of the wreck, found out that Troilus—the beloved Troilus so much a part of the fabric of their lives—had been a fifth-rate frigate, like the one he’d seen. Spookily alike, if the old pictures (pictures he might well have seen as a child and had forgotten about) were to be believed. And she’d been blown onto these very rocks—his rocks, the ones he saw every day from his room—back in 1794.

  “No wonder you’ve winced when I’ve banged on about the wreck. And what a pillock I was asking if the bay was haunted.” Dominic’s face had paled, despite the fire’s glow.

  “You weren’t to know.” Nor was he to know that his arrival had brought that long-buried dream right to the surface.

  “There’ll be a logical reason behind it. The dream. Why you had it in the first place and why it’s come back. Although I’d imagine that the strain of the last few days might account for the recurrence.”

  “True.” Morgan certainly felt run ragged.

  “Although it’s odd.” Dominic frowned. “If it was simply a dream, that first time, how did you end up down by the cliff path?”

  “Buggered if I know. As far as I’m aware, I have no history of sleepwalking.”

  “Which suggests you were awake and having a hallucination, or experiencing some distortion of reality. Or else . . .” Dominic stopped. “This is no conversation for the middle of the night.”

  “You’re right. We should try to get a bit of shut-eye and that isn’t going to happen if we scare ourselves shitless. No talking about nightmares.”

  More to the point, no suggesting he’d seen a ghost ship. Or, worse than that, the faint possibility that this wasn’t just a nightmare; that Morgan had shown signs of losing his marbles at an earlier age than his mother had.

  Maybe his mother had suffered these same worries, been watching for every little sign that she was going the same way as her mother and grandmother; she was an intelligent woman who wouldn’t have buried her head in the sand. If so, to have lived with that torment and never once revealed it to her children must have been doubly agonising. He wished he could ask her about it now, receive some reassurance, but that too was denied to him, itself a form of bereavement and loss. If he was sliding down that same hill, then he’d be sliding alone.

  “Let the thoughts go.” Dominic held him close. “Whatever you’re torturing yourself with, there’s no bloody point. Let’s kip down here; pretend we’re having a sleepover or something.”

  “Sounds good. On all points.”

  Very good. And easier said than done.

  The morning was awkward, albeit not as much as Morgan had anticipated; they’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep in and had found things to talk about other than ships or senile parents over breakfast. But there’d been something—a sense of being tongue-tied—hanging in the air between them. Dominic, as he’d left, had deliberately stroked the ballast stone as they’d gone down the path, like a lover’s last caress. They hadn’t even shared a hug, waking on different settees and not really getting any closer all morning.

  “Have a safe flight. Ring me when you get home.” Morgan smiled brightly as they reached Dominic’s car, forcing back his guilt and confusion. He’d know, when that call came, whether it would generate longing and desire, or just the hope that Dominic would forget about him and that bloody ship. Maybe the bloke wouldn’t ring at all, too disturbed by the revelations of the night before.

  “I’ll do that. Thanks for taking care of me so well.” Dominic fiddled with his car keys, although he seemed reluctant to get going. The “is there going to be another time?” moment had arrived, and neither of them seemed sure how to approach it.

  “Are you planning to come back to carry on your research
?” That was a safe enough question.

  “Planning to, yes. I have to find out more about John Lawson, set things straight. I can use the time in between to work out how and where I’m going to find what I need.” Dominic’s smile leavened another uncomfortable lump of a pause, although there was still no mention of Can I treat you to a proper dinner instead of fish and chips?

  “I was . . .” they both said in unison, then laughed, nervously.

  “Go on, you first,” Morgan said.

  “I was going to propose . . .” Dominic’s suggestion got nipped in the bud, as Morgan’s mobile went off in his pocket. “You answer that—I need to get away. I’ll ring later, I promise.”

  “Yeah.” Morgan fished out the phone. “Now get a move on before I lose a client.”

  Dominic slapped him on the shoulder—maybe that was in lieu of a hug—and got himself into the car just as Morgan went through the whole “Hello, Cadoc Design” routine. Morgan watched through the open door, only half a mind on his customer, as the hire car pulled out onto the road, and his guest disappeared from sight. Would it be safer if that were the last view he ever had of him?

  He finished the call, then got to work on his sadly neglected email inbox, trying to ignore the question of what to do about Dominic. The sound of his mobile insistently announcing the arrival of a message got initially ignored, Morgan habitually avoiding reading texts while he was working, but once bitten was twice shy. He checked the message. Nothing to do with his mum, this time, but the other problem. Dominic. The bloke must have got his phone out to text almost as soon as he’d arrived at the terminal building.

  Dominic: Didn’t finish my sentence earlier. Wanted to offer to buy you a proper meal next time. Still owe you. Don’t feel you have to say yes. I’ll be down here anyway, chasing midshipmen. Dom.

  The words leaped off the screen and into Morgan’s ears, in Dominic’s distinctive, shy tones. He hadn’t the heart to turn the bloke down.

  Morgan: Sounds good to me. What about the next bank holiday? His fingers hovered over the keys, then seemed to take on a life, and mind, of their own. There’s always room for you at the house. Don’t feel obliged to take up the offer. Bloody English reserve—were they always going to be pussyfooting around things? He got his head down over his inbox before any answer could come, ignoring the inevitable text tone until he had dealt with some more of his incoming post.

  Dominic: Late May might work. Have to check no parental three-line whip on for that weekend. Would love to stay again, if that’s okay. Do say if you have second thoughts. I’d understand. Don’t want to cause any more nightmares. Dom. X.

  The sudden appearance of the kiss made Morgan smile. What a pair of pillocks they were. He decided to read the second message before replying to the first.

  Dominic: You can’t tell me off in person for saying sorry so . . . sorry if I flushed out elephants again. Won’t mention the dreams if you don’t want me to. Dom. X.

  There were the get-out clauses, if he needed them. Dominic seemed content to come back here and play at finding two-hundred-year-old midshipmen, while sharing the benefits of a double bed. Or not, if that’s how things panned out. If he was worrying that Morgan was losing his marbles or agonising over the fact that their falling into bed was a mistake, he wasn’t showing it.

  Morgan stared out of the window, unseeing.

  “Do you want to go out with him?” Well, that, to coin a phrase, was the question.

  He liked Dominic, liked him a lot. The bloke was good company and sympathetic, so what wasn’t to like? Last night had been cracking in the bed department, and cathartic in the heart-to-heart section. So why had they been so bloody awkward with each other this morning and why was the thought of seeing him the next bank holiday tinged with a pint or two of dread?

  Morgan left it as long as was decent before answering—about two cups of coffee and a batch of washing—and then he kept his answer light and noncommittal.

  Morgan: Sorry for delay in reply. Was being domestic. Let me know when you have arrangements for the bank holiday sorted. Speak soon.

  That would have to do until he got his head screwed on right. Any hopes that maybe Dominic would stall on his answer were soon blown out of the water.

  Dominic: Will do. Just landed. Now for the fun and games with the baggage carousel. Have had some ideas about getting gen on Lawson. I’ll expand anon.

  Morgan groaned. Was this the way the next three weeks would go, texts flying the breadth of England every five minutes? That’s how it had been with James, the first few days, but this didn’t feel like those mad early stages of a fledgling romance; it felt as though they’d actually known each other for years and somehow the first signs of autumn frost had tinged their relationship’s blossoms.

  The pragmatic approach would be to defer his replies, be friendly but not “in your face,” keeping things simmering but strictly on the back burner, then wait to see if the great healer—time—would also bring a dose of wisdom.

  It didn’t, at least in the short term. Dominic’s phone call came three days later, with apologies, naturally, for the delay in getting in touch. Yes, he was free of commitments for the bank holiday, no his family didn’t mind him jetting off again.

  “To be honest, my mother seems pleased I’ve got myself . . .” there was a short, telling pause, “a sympathetic ear for the ship stuff.”

  “Look . . . Dominic . . .” Morgan hated talking over the phone—there was something about not seeing the other person’s eyes which meant you could never really get across what you were trying to say. Almost as bad as exchanging texts.

  “You don’t have to say anything. It’s all right. I mean, if you only want us to be friends.” He sounded like he was disappointed but trying to put on a brave face. That was horribly poignant.

  “Truth is, I’m confused, mate. Monday night was great, all of it, even the dreams. You’re the first person I’ve been able to talk to about them. You have no idea how good that made me feel.”

  “It made me feel good too.” There was a pause, as though Dominic was weighing up how much of his heart to heave into his mouth. “Is this about Tuesday morning?”

  Morgan gasped, which must have echoed down the phone. “I’ve always said you were a mind reader. Yes, it is. Where did the big dose of awkward come from?”

  “Ah. That would be me, I think. Sorry.”

  “You’re banned from using that word, remember?”

  “Well, how am I to apologise, then? I’ve been worrying I’ve made the situation difficult for you. You were at a low ebb, because of the dreams and everything, and I’ve a feeling I forced your arm. Don’t often get any really nice guys responding to me and I took my chance.” Dominic’s sigh rattled the phone. “If your confusion means you’ve had second thoughts about wanting to be involved with me, tell me now and put me out of my misery. I can handle us being friends.”

  “You didn’t force me to do anything I didn’t want to do. I was worried things were the other way round. Or something.” That something would have to cover all the other whirling thoughts. “Keep in touch, eh? And then, when you come down here, we’ll see how we feel.”

  “That works for me. As long as you remember I’m not good with relationships. Don’t particularly understand what I have to do.”

  “Just be yourself.”

  While they were at it, maybe Morgan could work out what being himself meant. And if that involved a descent like his mother had endured.

  If time was going to bring wisdom, it needed to get its skates on.

  Dominic kept in touch, not too eagerly, and didn’t chance his arm. He said he’d taken an option on a hotel for the days after the bank holiday, so he could progress his research without imposing on Morgan’s hospitality, an arrangement which suited them both. If things took a turn for the better, the hotel could be cancelled.

  Morgan still couldn’t decide whether the fling with Dominic had been a good idea or one of his worst. Irrespective
of the challenges a long-distance relationship might present, the long term was an issue too. He didn’t want to lumber anybody with taking care of him the way he’d had to take care of his mother. James would have legged it at the first sign of illness—perhaps that was what he’d already done—but Dominic was too nice a guy to do that.

  Their reunion took place early on the Friday evening of the bank holiday weekend, Dominic having, literally, got a flyer. He’d rocked up to the door of Cadoc while Morgan was dealing with a local client who’d dropped in unexpectedly to arrange a contract extension. Morgan apologised, asked Dominic to make a cup of tea—and make himself at home—and by the time the lucrative customer transaction had been completed, the potential for awkwardness had dissipated. His guest was ensconced at the kitchen table, looking every inch like he belonged there. Morgan couldn’t take that as a sign.

  “Thanks for putting up with me again. I’ve brought a thank-you present.” Dominic picked up his backpack, then rummaged in it.

  “You didn’t need to, although—” Morgan stopped, gingerly accepting the object he was given. “Um, what is this?”

  “It’s an old toy cannon. Ship’s one, as you can tell from the gun carriage.” Dominic’s eyes danced. “I saw it in the market and thought of you. It’s real copper. Used to fire little cartridges or something, once. In the days before health and safety ruled the world.”

  “It’s lovely.” Morgan meant it. An exquisite item, shined up, surely, by Dominic’s own hands. “I’m not sure ‘thank you’ from me says enough.”

  “Would it ease your conscience if I said it was far less expensive than a hotel room for the weekend?” Dominic suddenly seemed to find his hands the most interesting thing in the world. “I put my bags in the spare room. I didn’t want to presume.”

  “Come on.” Morgan stood, offering his guest his hand. “What will be cracking at the moment is a trip down to the cove. Before the light goes. If you fancy it?”