North Point

by Thom Collins

  “That’s how I feel too,” Dominic said, filling the kettle. “When I arrived here and joined the crew, I used to spend hours reading the information on those boards. It’s fascinating. An honour too, to play a small part in all of this.” His eyes fell on Arnie’s and lingered just for a second, before his mouth turned into an uncertain smile and he looked away.

  “I’d hardly call what you do small,” Arnie said. “Risking your own life to save others. I don’t think the general public appreciate that. Those tourists outside, enjoying their beers in the sun, they’ll have no idea that if they get into trouble on the water the people who’ll save their lives will be volunteers.”

  “Were you ever in the crew?”

  “No. I was too young. I was eighteen when I left Nyemouth. I always meant to join though. Growing up, I used to dream about going out on rescues.”

  “You got that from your old man?”

  “I guess I did. How about you? What got you involved in the lifeboat? You’re not from around here, are you? Is that a trace of Yorkshire I detect in your accent? It’s subtle, but it’s there. Am I right?”

  Dominic chuckled. “Guilty as charged. We moved around a lot when I was young, but spent more time in Yorkshire than anywhere else. I guess that’s what stuck. But no, there are no prior connections with the lifeboat. I was in the Royal Marines for eight years, and then another six in the Special Boat Service.”

  Arnie’s eyes widened. The physique, the incredible build, the selfless bravery. It all made sense. Dominic was a real-life superman.

  “By the time I left the service, I had the sea in my veins. The lifeboat offered the perfect opportunity to indulge my love of boats and action. You know what it’s like. We do a lot of practice drills and rescues. It fills a space my career left in me.”

  “What do you do for a living?” Arnie asked, intrigued.

  “I’m a writer,” Dominic said, getting two mugs from the cupboard. “Tea or coffee?”

  “Tea, please, with a splash of milk. Skimmed if you have it.”

  “Just semi,” he said, opening the fridge.

  “That’ll do fine. What do you write?”

  “Have you ever heard of Jack Cole?” Dominic asked, dropping tea bags into the mugs and pouring water over.

  Arnie considered the question. The name was indeed familiar. He’d seen it embossed on the front cover of paperbacks. He’d never read Jack Cole, but he was sure, yes, of course—his dad had a couple of his novels on his bookcase. “The thriller author?”

  Dominic grinned. He set the mugs down on the table and sat facing Arnie. “Jack Cole is me.”

  Arnie stared. “You’re kidding? Wow.” Why hadn’t his parents mentioned this? His mother was usually keen to share any old boring trivia about people he might have known at school and had long since forgotten. She’d inform him in great detail about children, marriages, divorces, drinking problems, job successes and failures but he couldn’t recall her ever mentioning this.

  The more he thought about it, the more he realized Jack Cole was a big deal. One of those best-selling thriller writers whose books were given prominent shelf space around Father’s Day and Christmas. Those military action stories had never appealed to him, but he would surely have taken notice if he knew the author lived in Nyemouth and volunteered in the lifeboat.

  And looks like the man of my dreams.

  “So, Jack Cole is a pen name?” he asked. “Because of your military background?”

  “That’s one reason. I write fiction, not those true-life armed forces bio books, but I like to keep a clear distance between my writing and my personal life. I don’t want to be a celebrity author. I don’t want to be recognized.”

  “I understand,” Arnie said. “I often wish I could do what I do without the public recognition.”

  “I’m happy staying out of it. I don’t usually tell people who I am. At least not straight away. I don’t know why I blurted it out to you. It’s not my style.”

  “I’m glad you did. My dad has some of your books. Now I have something to read this summer.”

  Dominic put his elbows on the table. His forearms were thick, nicely tanned and coated with dark, silky hair. Arnie’s gaze drifted to his hands. They were large with thick fingers. The backs of his hands were marred with small cuts and pale scars. The hands of a practical man used to manual work, rather than a writer. He imagined those hands moving over his body, across his chest and stomach, going lower, sliding into his underwear to take him in a firm grip.

  Arnie forced his attention back to Dominic’s face, but those deep bedroom eyes did little to dispel his arousal.

  “Your dad told me you’re here until September,” Dominic said.

  “That’s right. Five weeks is all. Until AJ goes back to school.”

  “You must feel a strong connection to the town. I mean, you could have taken your son anywhere in the world for the summer.”

  “I love it here,” Arnie said. “I’d love to spend even longer, but it’s impossible to maintain an acting career this far north. All my opportunities are in London. But I wanted AJ to experience more of Nyemouth than a couple of weekends a year and a few days at Christmas. It’s a long story, but it’s important for us both to have some stability right now.”

  Dominic sipped his tea. “Last night can’t have helped. How is AJ today?”

  “He seems fine. He was amazing giving his statement to the police this morning. I swear he has a better recollection of it than I do.”

  Dominic laughed. “Kids are like that. Full of surprises.”

  Arnie was desperate to discover more about this sexy hero. He spotted an opening and took it. “Do you have kids?”

  “Me?” He grinned. “No way. We get a lot of kids down here at the station. School trips, special projects, volunteers, that kind of thing. Noel, the lad outside, he’s been helping out around here since he was fifteen or so. The lifeboat is a big draw for the young ones.”

  “I remember. I used to be one of them.” Dominic’s smile might be the sexiest part of him. Arnie couldn’t take his eyes off his mouth. It was wide and mischievous. And flirtatious? Maybe. “You’re not married then?” The question was out the instant it came to mind. He regretted it as soon as he asked.

  Dominic seemed not to mind. “No. I’m not married. I live up on South Bank Terrace. Just me and my dog, Brandy.”

  Sexy and single. But whose team does he play for? Arnie blocked that question before he blurted it out like the last one. He had a good feeling about Dominic, and he was giving out the right vibes. Dominic was into him. Arnie was certain of it. And he was flirting for sure. How could he not be with a smile like that?

  He definitely likes me. A little bit. Maybe.

  Arnie dismissed the idea. So what if he did? Now was not the time to even entertain the idea. He was here for AJ, not to fall for the local action man. The boy’s life was chaotic enough with his mother running around and getting high with her rock-star husband. Arnie had to be better than that.

  Dominic might just be the sexiest, most charismatic man in Nyemouth, but Arnie had to stay immune to him.

  Romance was not on the agenda this summer.

  That was the way it had to be.

  Chapter Five

  Arnie arrived at The Lobster Pot before any of his family. His mother had sent a text to let him know they were on their way but stuck in traffic.

  Aside from a handful of pubs, The Lobster Pot restaurant was one of the oldest joints in town. It had been run by the same family for all of his life. Like other properties on the waterfront, it had benefitted from the vast regeneration of the area. Despite the modern refit, the restaurant kept a first-rate reputation for serving some of the best seafood in the whole North East. It was a hard-earned status, built over decades, and customers traveled from around the UK to enjoy the menu.

  Arnie realized it was probably a little ritzy for the kids, but he’d been looking forward to a meal here since deciding to come home, an
d after last night, he figured they deserved a treat. Besides, it was only five-fifteen. If the others got here soon, they could be finished and gone before the evening crowd came in.

  Rather than hang around the marina and risk being recognized, he went straight inside.

  Gabriel Mayne, owner and manager, came forward as soon as he entered, hand extended. “Arnie, I heard you were back. So good to see you.”

  With a grin, Arnie ignored the offered handshake and took him in a friendly hug instead. “Ah, man, it’s been far too long. How are you?”

  “I’m good,” Gabriel said, a little stiffly.

  Arnie backed off, remembering too late that Gabriel had never been a touchy-feely kind of guy. Not everyone was as comfortable with physical contact as his theatrical friends. Sometimes he forgot that.

  “You’re looking good,” Arnie said. “Really great. I missed you when I came up in December.”

  “Yeah, I took off to the Canary Islands for Christmas and New Year. Got to have some time off.”

  At thirty-four, Gabriel and Arnie were the same age. Growing up in Nyemouth, they had gone to the same schools and had been good friends until university took them in different directions. Afterward, when Arnie had gone to London to pursue his acting dream, Gabriel had returned to Nyemouth to take his place in the family business. He’d accepted full control of the restaurant four years earlier when his parents had retired, and had raised its profile and reputation even further.

  Though they had never gotten back the closeness they had enjoyed as kids, Arnie had always made a point of touching base with Gabriel when he returned to town and was proud of the way he’d modernized the traditional family restaurant and built upon its success.

  Gabriel was looking good too. Six feet tall with an athletic build, his handsome home-boy looks had gotten better with age. His light brown hair was beginning to form a widow’s peak, but it was cut in a short, textured style that suited him. His eyes were golden brown, and Arnie inexplicably compared them to Dominic’s. Gabriel’s were much lighter, less intense.

  Why am I still thinking about Dominic?

  As a gay, closeted teenager, Arnie had always suspected that Gabriel was the same, though they had never discussed it. They would talk with no conviction about fancying girls at school and hot women on TV. For a while, Arnie had even had a crush on his friend and swore he’d often caught Gabriel looking at him in the same way. But as two thirteen-year-old, small-town boys, they hadn’t been able to bring themselves to talk about queer things, let alone admit to having those emotions.

  Even now, as two openly gay men, they never talked about the feelings they’d had as teenagers. Arnie wanted to—they had so much in common, after all—but Gabriel had shut down all previous efforts he’d made to start that conversation.

  So Gabriel didn’t want to talk about it. Arnie was cool with that. They weren’t those kids anymore.

  “This place must be going well,” Arnie said, staying safely on the subject of business. “I read that feature in the Sunday supplement last summer. It made me so proud. I showed it to everyone I know.”

  Gabriel nodded. “Yeah, that was great. We’ve had a couple of food critics in since then. It isn’t easy enticing the big-name reviewers out of the South East, but we’re getting there. We think we might have had a Michelin inspector in recently, but we won’t know until they announce the guide. That would really be the making of us.”

  “Cool,” Arnie said. “I really hope you get it.”

  “What about you? Anything exciting coming up?”

  Arnie shrugged. “This and that. I’m just looking forward to spending the summer with my son.” He was reluctant to talk about upcoming TV and film projects. It was an unpredictable business. Landing a role meant nothing until it was filmed and released. Schedules were altered, forcing a change in cast. Funding could fall through at the last minute, leading to cancelation. And completing a movie was no guarantee that it would ever be seen. Distribution deals were notoriously fragile. He’d starred in a movie three years ago that remained on the shelf to this day. And another picture he’d shot in Europe, he hadn’t known they had released it until he was in a supermarket and had spotted it in the rack of budget DVDs.

  His parents arrived with AJ, his sister Sophie and her kids, Conner and Indina. Conner and AJ were the same age, while Indina was two years younger. Sophie was a partner in a local firm of solicitors. She had come straight from work and still wore her business suit. Sophie was two years Arnie’s senior, and she took him in a warm, protective embrace.

  “How are you doing?” she asked, pressing her head against his. “My God, last night must have been awful.”

  “I’m fine. Don’t worry. We were only witnesses.”

  “Even still. What a thing to see. I still can’t believe that something like that happened here.”

  They asked Gabriel if he could give them a table at the back of the room, out of the way. The kids were high after their trip to the cinema to see a new superhero movie and Arnie didn’t want them spoiling the restaurant experience for other customers. Gabriel obliged, putting them in an obscure alcove.

  “Has anyone heard how the girl is doing?” Arnie asked. “Sandy, I think she’s called.”

  “Sandy Costello,” Sophie said, keeping her voice down, though the kids were engrossed in their own conversation about the movie.

  “Do you know her?” Elizabeth asked.

  Sophie shook her head. “I was at the police station with a client this afternoon. Everyone was talking about it. Sophie is the deputy manager of a hotel in Morpeth. The police are trying to find out more about her. She’s still sedated so hasn’t talked yet. They interviewed her ex-boyfriend this morning, but he has an alibi. I got the impression they were clutching at straws going after him. They’ve no idea why anyone would attack her.”

  “Maybe there was no motive,” Arnie said. “Could be it was a random thing.”

  “Maybe,” Sophie said. “They’re looking into all possibilities at the moment.”

  “That poor girl,” Elizabeth said.

  Though he’d been looking forward to a meal here, Arnie found he had little appetite when the menu arrived. He opted for a loin of cod with curried vegetables and a cod skin crisp. Although it wasn’t on the menu, Gabriel offered to do battered fish goujons with chips for the children.

  “Perfect,” Arnie said. He asked for a bottle of white wine for the adults to share and sodas for the kids. When everyone has placed their orders, he turned to his parents. “I’ve a bone to pick with you two. How come you didn’t tell me about Dominic?”

  “Tell you what?” Martin asked. “I introduced you to him last night, didn’t I?”

  “How about the fact he’s best-selling author Jack Cole?”

  “Oh, he told you, did he?”

  “Dominic doesn’t like to make a thing of it,” Elizabeth said. “That’s why he uses a pen name. To protect his identity. He doesn’t let on to everybody.”

  “I’m hardly anybody. You could have said something. You’re not exactly the souls of discretion with it comes to other people’s business.”

  “It’s up to Dominic who he wants to tell,” Martin said. “He doesn’t like to be treated any differently on the crew, so keeps it to himself.”

  “Have you read his books?”

  Martin nodded. “Sure. He’s a great writer. Pacey and exciting. You should try them. Whenever I start a new one, I can’t put it down.”

  “Does he write about his career in the forces?”

  “Not really. I mean, his background must inform the books, but they’re all fiction. Thrillers. I don’t know how much ex-service people are allowed to write about their work. Not much, I imagine. I could ask, but I don’t think he would tell me. He’s kind of quiet about some things.”

  “And kind of hot too,” Sophie said. “Very.”

  “Sophie.” Elizabeth frowned with disapproval.

  “Well, he is. You’d have to be blind
not to notice. Dominic Melton has got it all going on. And then some.”

  “Sssh,” Elizabeth said, looking at the kids.

  A waitress arrived with their drinks. When she had gone, Arnie asked, “How long have you known him?”

  “I don’t know,” Martin said. “I’m terrible with dates. Seems like maybe five years. Something like that. He joined the crew soon after arriving in Nyemouth.”

  “That sounds about right,” Elizabeth said.

  It seemed strange to Arnie that they had never met before. In five years, he must have come home ten to fifteen times. How was it he’d only found out about Dominic now? Still, it had been an eventful period. He’d had enough going on in his own life to have concerned himself with the local author. The hot local author.

  “What’s his story?” he asked, trying to make his interest sound casual. “What brought him to Nyemouth? Does he have family here?”

  “He never talks about them,” Martin said. “I think he’s pretty much on his own.”

  Elizabeth swept her eyes around the room, checking for eavesdroppers, before saying, “He doesn’t get on with his family. I don’t know why. His dad died about three years ago. I only know this because he told me just before he left for the funeral. It was somewhere in south Yorkshire and he came home straight after. Didn’t even spend the night. His mother is still alive, but he doesn’t seem close to her. And he had a couple of brothers. I don’t think any of them bother with each other. It’s sad, I think, when families don’t get on.”

  “Not everyone is as lucky as us,” Sophie said.

  “You would think they’d be proud of him,” Elizabeth continued. “Having done so well for himself.”

  “The Special Boat Service—that’s a real elite group,” Martin said.

  “Exactly. And with the success of his books.”

  “That alone.” Sophie laughed. “There’s nothing like money for bringing estranged families back together. It’s amazing what people will forgive if there’s a chance of a good handout.”