“You’ve got nothing to apologise for. And of course we’re not carrying on with a journey that’s making you uncomfortable.”
“Might be okay sitting in the back,” Mal said, but he didn’t sound all that certain. “’S what I did on the way from Newquay. Jago came and picked me up. Tasha sat in the back with me.” He gave a bitter laugh. “Like I was a little kid.”
“Or someone who’d had a traumatic experience. Look, we’re probably around an hour’s walk from the Sea Bell. I’m game if you are. I can come back for the car later.”
“You don’t . . . Shit. Cheers. That’d be good. But . . . Not straight back, yeah?”
“You want to go for a drink? Something a bit stronger than sweet tea?”
Mal shook his head. “Nah. Not gonna . . . I just need some fresh air, that’s all.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place for that. It’s an endlessly renewable resource around here. We could bottle it and sell it.” Jory hoped he’d succeeded in keeping his tone light.
“Yeah, how come you don’t?” Mal gave him a weak smile. “They sell cans of Scotch mist up in Scotland.”
“I’ll suggest it to the local enterprise group.” Meaning Bea. Maybe not, then. “Are you sure you don’t want to go and get a drink?”
“No.”
Jory flinched at the unexpected vehemence.
Mal hunched in on himself. “Uh, sorry. Don’t wanna start down that road, that’s all. I’m fine.”
“No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed.”
“Nah, that’s good. Maybe we could go down the beach or something?”
Jory thought about it. “Harlyn Bay is closest, but it’s a surfing beach so it’ll be busy. We could take the cliff path back to Mother Ivey’s Bay, though. That’ll be quieter. Unless busy is what you want.”
“Quiet’s good. Not so many people to worry about. Feel bad, though. That’s gonna take you past your house, innit? Then you’ll have to come all the way back again to get the car . . . Listen, I’ll be fine, okay? I can make it back on my own.”
“Don’t—” Jory stopped himself. Don’t be silly probably wouldn’t go down too well. “Don’t worry about it. I like to walk. And the weather’s perfect for it.” It was: a cool breeze freshened the air, blowing clouds across the sun every now and then to dapple the streets with shade.
Harlyn was a small place—much smaller than Porthkennack—and they were soon out of the town, such as it was, and on to the cliff path that skirted the bay. Mal seemed to breathe more easily once they were away from traffic, thank God. By silent agreement, they cut across the fields to avoid going too close to Roscarrock House, and before long the beach at Mother Ivey’s Bay stretched out before them.
Mal got out his phone and glanced at the display. “Huh. That took less time than I thought.”
Jory nodded. “It’s only about a mile, a mile and a half. It just seems further in the car.”
“Yeah, tell me about it.”
It was high tide, which meant the main beach was cut off from the smaller ones at the lifeboat station end by craggy outcroppings of rock. They kept to the cliff path until they’d reached that point, and then scrambled down the rougher path to the beach.
As Jory had hoped, it was all but deserted. A man, a boy, and a dog scampered around at the water’s edge, and a teenage couple were wrapped up in each other by the cliffs at one end, but nobody paid the slightest attention to Jory and Mal.
Jory bent to pick up a likely-looking stone. “Let’s see if I’ve still got the knack.” He skimmed it at the sea, pleased to see it bounce five, maybe six times before sinking into the water.
“Hey, not bad. Let’s have a go.”
Mal, it turned out, didn’t have the first clue about picking good stones for skimming. His first effort disappeared straight into the water with a scathing plop. “Crap.”
“Try finding flatter ones,” Jory suggested. “And round, if you can. Think of it as the difference between a Frisbee and a ball.”
“Huh. Yeah, that makes sense.” Mal’s next few efforts were much better. “Hah—bet I could beat you with a bit of practice.”
It warmed Jory inside to see him returning to his usual self. “Let’s see you, then.”
Whiling away an hour or so out here in the fresh air, with nothing more immediate to worry about than who could grab the best stones first, was just what the doctor ordered. Jory couldn’t stop continually glancing at Mal, and the warm feeling grew as he saw the colour return to his face and the brightness to his eyes.
By the time his arm started to tire, Mal was rivalling him for number of bounces. “Do you want to sit down for a bit?” Jory asked.
Mal nodded, and they headed up, closer to the bottom of the cliff. The sand here was bone-dry and scattered with broken shells and dried-up seaweed. Jory sat down first, and when Mal joined him, sitting so close their hips touched, it seemed natural to throw an arm around him, as he had up in town.
Jory wondered if he should talk to Mal about what had happened, but he had a feeling that peace was what was needed right now. Just them, the rush of the waves, the calling of the gulls, and the occasional bark from an unseen dog. The silence felt more intimate, somehow, than any words could have been, although Jory couldn’t help a twinge of guilt at relishing a closeness brought about by such appalling circumstances.
After a while, it was Mal who broke the silence between them.
“He died.”
Jory blinked. “What?”
“The bloke who jumped under my train. He died. People always wanna know. So. Thought I’d save you asking.” Mal paused. “He was a young guy. Depression, they reckoned. ’S a bastard.”
“My father killed himself,” Jory blurted out, then hugged himself, too late to stop the words escaping. “Oh
