So what was really the problem? The obvious difficulties of a long-distance relationship, or not wanting to lumber Dominic with a boyfriend who might need a carer a couple of years down the line?
Finish off. Zip trousers. Wash hands. Stare into the mirror. Give self a talking to about overthinking things. Keep overthinking them.
When Morgan got back to the lounge, Dominic appeared to be lost in thought.
“Penny for them?” Morgan asked, which was always a risky question.
“They’re overpriced at a penny,” Dominic replied. “I was wishing I’d not been such a wimp over dinner. Should have had that apple pudding.”
“Is that all?” Morgan hoped he didn’t sound too relieved. “That’s soon sorted. Want to go and raid the kitchen?”
He grabbed his guest’s hand and gently pulled him up. If they did share a bed tonight, against all Morgan’s better judgement, he’d have to be careful the bloke didn’t pull that muscle again. They also needed to walk up those stairs sober, knowing exactly the decision they’d made; dessert would help soak up the alcohol too. In the end, while they couldn’t match apple pudding, they put together a decent plateful—toast, jam, strawberries, and some nice chocolate—and took it back to the lounge.
“That was cracking,” Dominic said, when they’d had their fill. Then he smiled, which was fatal for Morgan. Good wine, comfort food, that smile, all the things which had been brewing had bubbled up, and no amount of talking to himself in the mirror was going to keep the lid on them.
He reached over and straightened Dominic’s collar. “This has gone all skew whiff.”
“My collars never behave.” Dominic fiddled with it himself, his lack of the expected reaction frustrating. Morgan’s earlier thought that he wouldn’t be fussed if they didn’t have sex was rapidly becoming irrelevant.
“I met a friend of your ex last week, although friend might be breaking the Trades Descriptions Act.”
“Oh.” Where was this going?
“He told me James was a right bastard.”
“He was.” Morgan wished James wouldn’t keep reappearing, like a spectre at the feast. He had enough apparitions to get his head around. “Water under the bridge.”
“Like the water you drink abroad and end up with Montezuma’s revenge.” Dominic laughed, grabbing Morgan’s hand and bringing it up to his face. “Anyway, you deserve somebody who’ll treat you with honesty and decency.”
Morgan hadn’t misread the situation, then; it sounded like Dominic was applying for the job. Shame it might not be a permanent appointment.
“Blokes like that don’t grow on trees.” Morgan leaned closer, taking the next step in the complex dance they’d seemed to have decided, without conscious agreement, to embark on. “In the meantime, would you compromise?”
“Compromise?” Dominic’s voice had grown huskier, rich velvet tones emerging, as they had last time, up in Morgan’s bed.
“I can’t promise that I’m perfect, because I know I’m not. And I can’t promise you anything, really. I’m too confused about what’s going on in my head for a start. But I like you a lot, and if you don’t mind me vacillating, we—” The state-of-Morgan’s-nation speech got cut off with a kiss.
“Don’t sell yourself short,” Dominic said, once they came up for air. “And please don’t say anything you’re going to regret later. I’ve ordered myself not to fall for you hook, line, and sinker.” He produced yet another devastating smile. “So long as we can stay friends of some sort, I’m happy. And if it’s one in the eye . . .” He stopped, smiling sheepishly.
“One in the eye for who?” Morgan could guess, but it would be fun to hear Dominic say it.
“For James. Is it a problem that I get a kick thinking I’m here with you and he was too blind to see what a great bloke you are?”
“Not at all,” Morgan almost purred, until his catlike contentment was suddenly broken by a horrible thought. “Did he try anything on with you? Kind of thing he does.”
“What, pick up lost waifs like me? Good grief no. He had his eye on this Old-Etonian rugby-player type he had tagging along. I guess that’s why he was spouting the historical stuff. Trying to impress him with his vast knowledge.”
No wonder James had been so keen to make it plain that the Cornwall connection had been severed. And maybe the Old Etonian had been about to be given the obligatory “You might just be Mr. Right” speech. Fat lot of good it would do him.
“Let’s not talk about James. He’ll put a total damper on the evening.” Morgan pulled Dominic close for another kiss, a long, lingering one this time. Forgetting about James took precedence for the moment over any other worries. “You do this bit better than he ever did, anyway.”
“Do I? Well, there’s a turn up.” Dominic returned another kiss, which couldn’t have been easy when Morgan had started to chuckle. “What’s so funny?”
“You.” Morgan stroked Dominic’s cheek.
“I suppose I am. And you’re not much better.” Dominic drew the fingers to his mouth. “When I first spoke to you over the phone, I thought you had a poker up your backside. All that stuff about ‘your first task is to find my address’ and the rest of the crap. That was like a red rag to a bull. I hate being told I can’t do something. It made me twice as determined to get in touch.”
Morgan groaned. “Was I that up myself? You’ll have to forgive me. I’d only that morning received the ‘Dear Morgan’ letter from the bloody rat who doesn’t deserve his name used.”
Dominic slipped his hand round the back of Morgan’s head, caressing his hair. “I like ‘Bloody Rat.’ That suits him down to the ground. Or to his rat hole.”
“Nice one.” Time to forget James, no matter how much he kept wanting to be remembered. Time to cut the words and get into action. “Come on.” Morgan didn’t want to do it here, on what had been his parents’ sofa, in full view of the family portrait on the wall. He eased himself out of his seat, stopping himself grabbing Dominic’s hand again to pull him up. “I’ve got a nice bed upstairs. Trouble is it’s too big and too empty.”
“Is that a clumsy way of asking me if I’d like to fill it? Oh, do grow up.” Dominic grinned at Morgan’s laughter. “Must you find the smut in everything? It’s like being in an episode of Round the Horne.”
“Nothing wrong with that. The repeats were favourite listening in our house.”
Dominic’s grin widened. “I never understood the jokes, not until I was in my teens. They got away with filth.”
“Of course they did. Innocent days, nobody got the slang. The average little old lady listening as she washed up the Sunday-lunch things wasn’t going to get the significance of a cottage upright.”
“Talking of which . . .” Dominic’s hand swept against something which was pretty well upright beneath Morgan’s trousers.
“Come on.” Morgan took Dominic’s hand, edging him towards the door. “We’ve talked too long.”
Dominic wound his arms around Morgan’s waist, pulling him close for another kiss. Morgan enjoyed the sensation of his tongue’s explorations, savouring the sensation when his fingers started exploring the small of Morgan’s back. They progressed towards the door, snogging as they walked backwards in some strange, crablike variation on ballroom dancing that needed mouths as well as arms and legs.
When they reached the stairs, Morgan broke the clinch. “We’ll never get upstairs in one piece if we try to like this.”
“Spoilsport.”
“Don’t blame me—blame gravity.” As soon as they hit the top stair, they went back into the walking hug, Morgan relieved that he’d had the foresight to change his sheets, so the duvet cover, as they rolled onto it, felt smooth and cool. Time to keep it simple: soft and slow and sensual.
Dominic tugged gently at Morgan’s shirt. “This needs to come off. It all needs to come off.”
The view from the window, lights twinkling up the headland, was usually enchanting, but it was wasted on them. Dominic had sl
ipped his hand inside Morgan’s boxer shorts, so even the Mona Lisa, lit up with Christmas lights and dancing the hokey-cokey, would have been wasted on them.
“Ease up—there’s no hurry.”
“That’s not what this is telling me.” Dominic’s hand played havoc down below, having found its target and showing no signs of deceleration. “Does it really have to be ‘Frankie says Relax’?”
“Frankie can go to hell,” Morgan said, giving in.
Despite all Morgan’s misgivings, it was as good as before, and when Dominic came, eyes open wide and looking more ecstatic than Morgan had ever seen him—happier than when he’d been head down over his research, which was saying something—it was the icing on a pretty considerable cake.
“I feel like I want to say thank you,” Dominic said, much later, as he caressed Morgan’s head in the postcoital glow.
“For what?” Morgan stroked Dominic’s chest. Smooth skin, sweet smell of some classy cologne; the bloke got better and better.
“For giving me a second chance. It felt like we’d made a mess of things somehow, last time. Got into a right state the morning after.”
“We had. I had.” Maybe they were still in a bit of a state. But if he was building Dominic up for a fall at some point, he wasn’t going to worry over that now. “Don’t let’s dwell on it.”
“Okay.”
“I have a proposal for tomorrow.” Morgan felt the need to be generous. Maybe it was that after-sex glow talking, or wanting to compensate Dominic in advance for whatever crap he was bound to drop on him later. “I need to go and visit Mum. You could come with me. Say if you think it’s a bloody awful idea.”
“I hate to disappoint you, but I think it’s a great idea.” Dominic smiled, eagerly. “It sounds phony to say ‘been there, done that’ but I have, with my grandmother. I’m under no illusions; I know what to expect. I can’t imagine what it would be like always having to make that trip by yourself.”
“Why do you have to be so bloody reasonable?” Morgan sighed, in contented bewilderment. “Promise I don’t have to pretend I’m brave or that things are okay when they aren’t?”
“Do you really think you have to pretend anything with me?”
Pointless to reply: they both knew the answer.
“Curl up in here tonight, if you want.” The guest bedroom seemed a long way away and Morgan’s bed was going to feel empty without Dominic in it.
“Sounds good to me. Have to use the facilities. Sorry to be so unromantic.”
“You bloody well said sorry again.” Morgan punched his lover’s arm. “I’m going to thump you every time from now on.”
“Not fair! I was brought up to be polite.”
“Then you better learn to be rude or you’ll be black and blue.” Morgan snuggled down again, trying not to think of the mess of food and crockery downstairs that needed tidying away or entertain guilty thoughts about boring matters like not having cleaned his teeth. Or important things like his mental well-being. He wanted to stay nestled here until morning, in a dreamless sleep, with no decisions to make and nothing emotional to mull over. It had been too long since life had felt uncomplicated.
The next morning didn’t prove as awkward as their first morning after had.
They’d found themselves comfy in each other’s arms, excited enough for a brief early-hours bout of what had gone on the night before. Dominic’s muscles had shown no after-effects from his slip, so the cautious edge to their lovemaking could be discarded.
Later, they’d shared the typical small talk that new lovers did, got up to make a pot of tea and a pile of toast, then taken it into the garden, wrapping themselves in blankets against the slight nip in the air. Dominic even managed to get through to draining the last dreg and scooping up the last crumb without once using the word sorry, despite the fact he’d nearly sent the teapot flying.
“Are you sure you want me to come with you this morning? I could make myself scarce if you’re having second thoughts.” Dominic stroked Morgan’s arm. “I wouldn’t be offended.”
“I know you wouldn’t. And I haven’t changed my mind. It’ll do Mum good to see somebody different, and she might remember something about the beams. It happens—some little gem of a fact gets dragged up from the vaults.”
“Fingers crossed for that, then.” Dominic kept his hand on Morgan’s arm, smoothing the skin. “Do you mind clarifying a couple of things for me?”
“Go ahead.”
“I’m sorry to ask, but I’m just trying to understand things better. About your mum.”
“Go on.” Morgan mentally braced himself.
“With Gran, the change came suddenly. Fine one week, next week on the slippery slope. Were there any early warning signs with your mum?”
Morgan should have expected a question like that, but it still felt like a slap to the face. “Are you suggesting I should be keeping an eye out for the same things in me?”
Dominic flinched. “Hey, don’t overreact. I did not mean that—what kind of a bloke do you think I am?”
“Mea culpa.” Morgan rubbed Dominic’s hand, trying to recapture the carefree emotions he’d felt earlier, before the reminder that all wasn’t well. “I try to be grown-up about the situation, but everything’s mixed up in my head.”
“And you think I’m not aware of that fact?” Dominic sighed. “My trying to help doesn’t seem to be working. Ignore the question.”
“No, I’d rather answer. The memory loss came on pretty quickly, like with your gran. There was a family history of it—my grandmother, and her mother before her—although I think we’d swept the whole business under the carpet. Blamed it on one thing or another and never on what it really was. Afterwards, when I thought it through, I wondered if we should have been on the lookout, and caught it as early as we could. There were signs, with hindsight, or at least there might have been.”
Dominic took Morgan’s chin and turned his face towards him. “The only bloody use of hindsight is learning from it. This situation isn’t going to repeat itself with any other family member, so you can’t. And if you’re feeling guilty because you didn’t get help for your mum, that’s no good, either. Even if you had spotted something, what could you have done, apart from throw everyone into a panic? We all have forgetful moments, we all do daft stuff and it doesn’t mean we’re losing our marbles. Overanalyse stuff and we’d all be shit scared that we’re on the slippery slope. How many times do I have to tell you that?”
“Yes, doctor.” Morgan rubbed his cheek on Dominic’s arm. “I like you. You’re such a beacon of sense in a fog of stupidity.”
“You’re not stupid. You’ve had a lot on your plate. It’ll be all right.”
They stayed there, letting the sun kiss their faces until Morgan could put off the inevitable no longer. “We need to get ready. It’s open visiting times at the weekend, so best to get my duty done, then we can enjoy the rest of the day.”
Dominic leaned in to kiss him. “You’re a good bloke, you know. Stop beating yourself up about everything.”
That was easier said than done.
The single part of Cornwall Morgan liked least would always be the drive from his house to the nursing home car park, and he’d never enjoyed forcing himself to leave the car and brave what was to come. He’d anticipated it would prove harder with Dominic in tow, but something about the guy’s presence was surprisingly calming. A living and breathing dose of tranquilisers.
As Morgan took the keys from the ignition, Dominic touched his arm, and said, “Last time I’ll ask this. Are you sure you want me here? Speak now or forever hold your peace.”
“Too right I do. I’ve had to face this alone too often.” A couple of times he’d gone with his brother until they’d decided—by mutual but unspoken consent—that it was too difficult, trying to juggle their own emotions and Mum’s and not snap at each other. She’d seemed to find it harder having them both there too. Please God she reacted well to Dominic.
“
If at any time you want me to leave you two alone, then . . . mention Milton Keynes. I’ll say I have to get something from the car, and I’ll hang around out here for you.”
“That puts a whole new slant on having a safeword.” Morgan smiled, tension easing. “I really do appreciate this.”
“I won’t say it’s my pleasure. But I’ve been in similar places, as you know. It’s not easy.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. And we might be all right, if we catch her at the right time. There’ll be a whole ten minutes when you wouldn’t think anything was wrong. Sharp as a pin. And then all of a sudden she’ll say or do something, and you realise how helpless and vulnerable she is.” Morgan reached into the back for the bouquet he’d brought, took a deep breath, and opened the door.
Dominic leaned against the car while Morgan locked it. “Childhood memories are the clearest for your mum, I suppose?”
“Usually. As if they’re the most securely embedded, or perhaps the easiest to access. I don’t understand why—I’m not sure anyone does.” He’d read up about it, talked to the doctors, but it felt like picking at the edges of comprehension. “Come on. I shouldn’t dawdle here.”
“Yep. You’ll feel better if we take the fence at speed.”
“You’re right.” Morgan stared at the nursing home, felt his arm being taken again, and so was across the gravel and in through the door before he could have second thoughts. Sign in at the desk, say hello to the staff, get through the security doors, walk along the corridor, go up in the lift, walk into the day room—it all felt easier on this occasion.
His mother was sitting in the sunshine, knitting needles and wool at hand but not being employed. Time was she’d been a great knitter, and Christine, the nursing sister, was always encouraging her to take it up once more.
“Hello, love.” She favoured him with a bright smile as he touched her shoulder. “Ooh, how nice.” She reached out with evident pleasure for the bouquet he offered. “They smell beautiful. I’ve always had a soft spot for freesias.” The beam took in Dominic. “Is this your friend?”
Broke Deep (Porthkennack Book 3) Page 12