Jory was glad when they got caught up in a cluster of meandering tourists who ambled along the side streets and dawdled by every shop window. It made conversation difficult, saving him from any further faux pas.
When they finally broke free from the town crowd and set out upon the coastal path, he felt all the more exposed for it.
Mal stopped to stare far out to sea, hands on his hips like a fishwife. “It’s weird, innit?” he said after a moment. “You live in a city, you forget how fucking big the world is.” He spun to face Jory, eyes bright with sudden enthusiasm in one of his mercurial changes of mood. “If you could, I dunno, teleport or something, anywhere in the world, where would you go?”
“Right now?” Captivated, Jory couldn’t think of anywhere he’d rather be than here, with Mal.
But he could hardly say that.
“I don’t know,” he hedged. “There are so many places I’d like to see. What about you?”
“Petra,” Mal said without hesitation. “You know, that city or temple or whatever in Jordan they carved out of rock like two thousand years ago. I’ve always wanted to go there ever since I saw it in Indiana Jones. And yeah, I know there ain’t actual Grail knights there, but fuck it, that place don’t even need ’em. You been?”
“No, but I’d like to one day.” With you, Jory was careful not to add. “Um. Shall we get on?”
They walked along the path, their hair blown by the sea breeze and the sun hot on their shoulders. At least, Jory walked. Mal seemed to alternate between a relaxed amble and a sudden lunge as his attention was caught—by a view, a flower, or a spot where the cliff edge had crumbled, as might be. For the latter, he’d sidle towards it with a sort of nervous bravado, stay an instant, then dart back to the path, pride apparently satisfied. As if he’d fought the cliff and won.
When they came to the Round Hole, one of the local sights, Jory expected a lengthy detour, but Mal made as if to walk straight past, ignoring it.
“Don’t you want to take a look?” Jory asked.
“Seen it. Twice. Dev’s got a thing about that hole.” Mal grinned. “Dunno if it’s the size”—the hole was easily a hundred feet across—“or the way you get seawater spurting out. Either way, I reckon it’s a metaphor.”
“I can’t imagine what for.” Jory answered Mal’s smile with one of his own.
For a moment their gaze held and seemed to communicate something shared. Something intimate. Then Mal’s expression faltered, and he stared out to sea once more. “Can I ask you a question?” He went on without waiting for permission. “Earlier, when we were in the caff, you said you were, like, ashamed of yourself?”
Technically, that wasn’t a question, but it still dropped a lead weight into Jory’s stomach. The silence lengthened as he tried to muster an answer that wouldn’t show him in a bad light.
Then he thought, To hell with it, and just told the truth. “I had this stupid idea that if I could sleep with Kirsty, I could be straight. Or, you know, straight enough.” He wasn’t going to admit the most embarrassing part—that he’d have slept with her anyway, simply because she’d so clearly wanted him, and he’d been so desperately unused to that.
Mal gave him a baffled look. “What’s the big deal about being straight?”
Jory felt a stab of envy so sharp it was a physical pain in his chest. “Being gay . . . It was just another way I was different.”
“From who?”
“From everyone. Oh . . .” Jory turned away, completely unable to meet Mal’s gaze as he spoke. “The usual teenage angst, really. School was . . . difficult. I wasn’t sporty, and I wasn’t loud, or confident.”
“Yeah, but you’re, what, six one? Six two? Can’t see a bloke your size getting picked on.” Mal’s tone was soft. Sympathetic, despite his words.
“You didn’t see me at age seven. I was the shortest boy in the class until I was fourteen. Apart from Clemens, who had dwarfism. And still managed to be about twice my weight. And better at rugby.”
Mal laughed. “Bastard. So what happened? You just shot up one summer? That must’ve been well cool.”
Not as much as you’d think. Jory didn’t answer.
“What?” Mal prompted. “No, seriously, didn’t you go back and they were all like, ‘Whoa, easy dude, you keep your lunch money’?”
“We didn’t have lunch money. It was a boarding school.” One glance at Mal, and Jory could hear him thinking, Oi, mate, stop stalling me. “It . . . didn’t make it easier at home.”
“Why not?”
“You haven’t met Bran, have you? He and Bea take after Father—dark haired, and on the short side. I’m a bit of a throwback to an earlier generation.” Jory caught Mal’s look and shrugged. “Suddenly his little brother was towering over him. Who’s going to like that? And later on . . . Bran’s always had a strong sense of responsibility.”
“What, he felt like you being taller was threatening his authority or something? Jeez, issues, much?”
“I don’t know, really. Maybe it wasn’t that at all. We never have got on particularly well. And I’m sure he was only doing what he thought was best for the family.” Jory tried, but couldn’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.
“Meaning, not what was best for you, right?”
“He had a point, though. Gay people face discrimination, even nowadays. Even in this country.”
“Yeah, but you still gotta live your life. The only reason things are as good as they are now is cos of people who stood up for themselves and didn’t hide in the closet.”
“Oh, I know that now. Back when I was in my teens . . .” Jory closed his eyes briefly. Christ, he’d been so young. “Would you believe, I actually suggested to Kirsty that we
