Dolphin Dreams

by Jules Jones

  Martin sighed. “And you got more than you bargained for.” At least Simon looked a little better now. “Do you think you can make it up the stairs? We could probably all do with a cup of tea.”

  “And you could do with getting dressed before you get cold,” George said. He got up and went over to where they had left their clothes.

  He was starting to feel cold, although that might be shock as much as anything. “Simon?”

  “Yes. And he’s right. You’re shivering.”

  He hadn’t even noticed, but now that Simon had said it ... He was glad to pull on his clothes when George handed them to him.

  George and Patrick got dressed, and then they all made their way up the stairs and along the passage, back to the cellar. Martin made sure that the door was shut this time. They’d got out of the habit of locking it during the day, but they’d been very careless if they’d actually left it ajar. Too distracted by the thought of what they were about to do.

  As he shut the cellar door behind him, and Patrick went to put the kettle on, Martin felt as if he was shutting the door on some alien world. Simon must have felt the same, because he dropped into one of the chairs, looked at George, and said, “Did I dream it?”

  “Is that what you want to believe?” George said in return.

  “I don’t know.” Simon looked around at the mundane kitchen with the sunlight streaming in through the window. “I look at this, and then I look at you, and I can see two different things. What are you?”

  George shrugged and sat down in the chair across the table from Simon. “We’re just us. There have always been a few of us in each generation. The ones who walk.”

  “You’re dolphins; but not all dolphins are like you.”

  George nodded.

  “How did you get involved with Martin?”

  Testing the story, Martin thought. Cross-checking, seeing where they didn’t say the same things; or where they did say the same thing, so similar that it had to be a prearranged story. Simon wasn’t a journalist, but he’d watched them at work.

  George looked up at Martin, then back at Simon. “One man in a small boat. He wasn’t a threat, and might be good company. And he was. He didn’t believe we could really understand him, but he talked to us anyway. And he didn’t harass us the way some people will. Just treated us as if we were new friends.” He changed tone. “How’s that tea coming, Patrick?”

  “Kettle’s not boiled yet.” Patrick was busy in the cupboard, getting out mugs.

  “Anyway, we talked about changing into human form and casually bumping into him. We already knew he was interested in fossils, so it would have been easy to find something to talk about. Just hang around where we thought he was likely to try next, pretend to be interested in fossils as well, and ask his advice.” George looked at him again. “It wouldn’t have been pretence. I am interested, and that lecture you were preparing told me a lot of useful stuff.”

  “And?” Simon prompted.

  “Then that storm blew up. And it was our fault he got caught in it, because he was too busy reading to us to keep an eye on the weather. It was bad enough when we realised that he wasn’t going to get to shelter in time, and he’d be out in that little boat -- but then the engine wouldn’t start.”

  “I thought it would be enough just to take him round to the next cove where he should be able to drag the boat above the high water line,” Patrick said, “but George was worried that a storm surge would cover that beach. He insisted on taking him to the cave, where we knew he’d be safe.” He came over and put a hand on George’s shoulder. “I know I said you were thinking with your prick. You weren’t, and I’m sorry.”

  They were silent for a moment. The kettle clicked off, and Patrick went to make the tea. Martin went to the fridge to get the milk.

  George shrugged and said. “He’d said something to us that made me think he might be interested in men. So I decided that if we’d given away the cave, we might as well expose it all.” He smiled ruefully. “Except that Martin had had a bang on the head and thought he was dreaming. We hadn’t risked anything.”

  Simon chewed on his lip for a moment. “But you didn’t know that. You thought you were risking exposure to protect him.”

  “It was worth it.” George turned around to look at him. “Never think that it wasn’t worth it. Even now.”

  “And now?” Simon demanded. “You were ready to kill me down there.”

  George spread his hands flat on the table and stared at them. “A dolphin would have killed you. But for all their intelligence, in some ways they’re still just animals. I choose to be a person, not an animal.”

  Humans could be just animals, too. Humans killed, out of fear and out of greed. But being a person meant believing that it was wrong to do so. The ones who walked had obviously learnt more than English with their contact with the human world.

  “Now what?” Simon said after a pause.

  “That’s up to you, isn’t it?” George said.

  “Nobody would believe me.” Simon shook his head and looked around the kitchen again. “I hardly believe it. All right, Martin. If you had told me, I wouldn’t have believed it. Not until I’d seen for myself.”

  “Tea,” Patrick announced, putting a mug each in front of Simon and George. “Anyone for a biscuit?”

  “That’s my little cousin. Food is his first priority.” George smiled up at Patrick in a way that made it clear he was teasing.

  Patrick ruffled George’s hair. “Food and sex, I thought. I’ll leave the deep thinking to you.”

  “Let me get this straight,” Simon said. “When you first thought about coming to him in human form, you weren’t thinking about sex?”

  “Well, sex would have been nice,” Patrick said, “but we can get that at the beach. It’s harder to find people who just want ... well ...”

  “Intellectual conversation,” George said. “Or at least conversation that’s more than casual ‘nice weather today’.”

  “What ... No. I won’t interrogate you.” Simon picked up his tea and sipped at it.

  If curiosity was starting to push out fear, there probably wasn’t a lot to worry about. Simon’s colour was certainly better now.

  George had noticed as well. “Are you feeling a bit better now?”

  “Yes. But it’s going to take me a while to get used to the idea.”

  “Stay for dinner,” Patrick said. “We’ve still got some work to do in the garden, and you haven’t looked around the house yet. There’s fish ...”

  “There’s always fish,” George added.

  “... but we went shopping this morning, so we could do sausages or chicken as well.”

  Simon actually smiled. “Well, now I know where the fresh fish comes from.” He took another mouthful of tea. “And I did come over to look at the house. I’ll have one of those biscuits you offered, Patrick.”

  Patrick put the tin in front of him, saying, “These are from the shop, but I want to try making my own once the kitchen’s rewired and I’m sure I won’t blow up the oven just by trying to use it.”

  “The electrician’s coming next week, isn’t he?”

  They were trying to get back to their previous relationship. The strain was showing, but they were trying. Patrick chattered away about the new plants and about George’s plans for a vegetable garden and about the best place to site a compost heap so that it wouldn’t contaminate the spring. Eventually Simon set down his empty mug and said, “Are you going to show me around, Martin?”

  “There’s not that much to see yet, but yes.” He put down his own mug and showed Simon through into the corridor. George and Patrick made no move to follow them.

  Simon did show an interest in the office, examining the work they’d done. Only when he’d looked at the view through the windows in the front room did he say, “This is for them, isn’t it? You wanted it because of that passage to the cave.”

  “It’s for all of us. I would have wanted it anyway. But we foun
d it because we thought there might be a building above the quarry -- the passage was still blocked then, but we worked out where the cave was on the map and had a look along the clifftop path.”

  “Do you trust them?”

  “I trusted them with my life this afternoon.”

  Simon perched on the broad windowsill and stared out to sea. “They love you. It’s obvious that they do. But is it enough?” He swept an arm around to encompass the room. “You’re paying for this. Why? Because they don’t exist, at least not in the system? What happens to them if they’re caught? Or even if something happens to you?”

  Simon was right to worry about it. He’d worried about it himself. He could have the safest of office jobs and yet be knocked down by a car in front of his office. Just look at Mr Parker. “I don’t know. I’d write a will leaving the house to them, only how are they to claim it? Or pay the bills, unless there was a trust fund, and that has the same problems. They can go back to the sea if they have to. If we don’t get the house at the end of the year, they’ll simply put the rockfall back and keep their cave. But I don’t want them to have to do that.”

  “I can help,” Simon offered. “Someone else to act as their intermediary.”

  “Are you sure, Simon?” He didn’t ask if Simon knew what he’d be taking on. Simon knew very well after this afternoon.

  Simon sighed and stood up. “All I’m sure about is that those two have made you happier than I’ve seen you in a couple of years. They love you, they’re a good match for you in bed, and they don’t get wound up about your job taking you away from home or make unreasonable demands of you. I wasn’t sure when this started if the three of you could make it work, and I’m even less sure now. They’re not even human. But I don’t want you worrying about what happens to them if anything happens to you.” He headed to the door. “Now, let’s have a look at the rest of the house.”

  * * * * *

  Dinner was a success, although as Patrick said, “Really, we were supposed to have Mr Parker to dinner first.”

  “I think we owe Simon several dinners, and hot showers, and a few other things,” George said as he served up the grilled chicken. “And it’s not exactly a formal meal.”

  “You’re doing pretty well considering you’re avoiding using either of the main ovens at the moment,” Simon said as he tucked into his dinner. “You’re going to have him round to dinner next weekend?”

  The weekend had been the safest bet. With any luck, Martin would be here, and the electrician would have finished the kitchen wiring. “Depends on how things are going with the builder, but that’s the plan.”

  “Well, I hope he’s pleased with what you’ve done so far,” Simon said, looking around at the room. “I’m impressed with it.”

  “Thanks,” George said. “It’s been hard work, but it’s worth it. It’s good to have a home like this.”

  The conversation could have skidded into silence there, but Simon simply said, “It’s good to have a home of your own,” and they went on from there.

  After dinner, George said, “We’ll stay here tonight if you’d rather.”

  Simon hesitated for a moment, then said, “No. You’re still welcome. Even when Martin’s away.”

  * * * * *

  When Martin woke up the next morning, Patrick was with him, but George was nowhere to be seen. Probably either gone to the toilet or gone to make a cup of tea, both of which seemed like good ideas.

  He heard voices before he went into the kitchen. Simon and George, still thrashing things out.

  “Martin loves you. And whatever freaky problems you two bring with you, at least you want to build a home together.”

  “We are freaks. We know that.” Pause. “But we wouldn’t hurt you. Even if there was nothing else; he loves you, too. More than us. No, not like that, I know. But you’ve been his friend for years, through all sorts of things. If we forced him to choose, we’d lose.”

  He felt a touch on his arm and turned to see Patrick. Patrick pulled at him. Martin followed him back into the bedroom.

  “Let them get on with it,” Patrick said. “They still need to deal with stuff from yesterday.”

  “He’s not still jealous of Simon, is he?”

  Patrick shook his head. “No. Just realistic. And pessimistic. Simon’s been a big part of your life for years. We’ve only known you a few months.” Patrick sighed and rubbed at his face. “They scared me yesterday.”

  “They?”

  “You didn’t see it. George was ready to kill -- but so was Simon. He didn’t know George was George, not until he changed. What he saw was a dolphin on top of you, he wasn’t sure you were willing, and if he’d had a harpoon he’d have used it. That’s what set George off. I don’t think either of them realised that I saw it.”

  Neither of them had said anything about it. “And that’s what they’re really talking about in there.”

  “They scared themselves. I think they’re reassuring themselves and each other that they’d never behave that way given a chance to think about it.” Patrick plonked himself down on the bed. “And of course they wouldn’t, but they probably won’t appreciate us telling them that.” Patrick held out his arms. “Come and have a cuddle while we wait for them to finish talking around it.”

  He lay down on the bed, and Patrick snuggled up to him, head resting on his shoulder. After a moment, Patrick said, “I always felt that the world would fall in if anyone found out about us, but it wasn’t so bad after all. Simon’s a good bloke. In a way I’m glad he knows. I didn’t like lying to him.”

  Neither did Martin. However traumatic it might have been at the time, he was glad Simon finally knew.

  After ten minutes or so, Patrick said, “Try the kitchen again?”

  This time Simon and George were quietly discussing potential dinner menus for the following weekend. Martin and Patrick smiled at each other, then went in and demanded to know why nobody had brought them a cup of tea.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The final plan for the dinner was a party of five. Mr Parker was quite happy for Simon to join them, especially when Simon volunteered to do the driving so that Martin and Mr Parker could drink as much old wine as they liked without worrying about getting home again afterwards. That left Martin free to stay at the house, in case any last-minute shopping was needed.

  Martin had his suspicions about why Simon had volunteered. Simon and George had managed to talk things through, but he’d still caught Simon watching George thoughtfully on occasion. Not Patrick -- in fact, Patrick and Simon were getting on very well now that Patrick felt he could talk freely without having to cover up his oddly patchy knowledge.

  Most likely Simon didn’t entirely trust George to behave himself if he got edgy about being questioned, and Mr Parker was an old man who didn’t need to deal with George being unintentionally intimidating. Martin didn’t mind -- an extra person to deflect awkward conversation would be no bad thing. And it was certainly useful to be able to stay at the house to supervise the cooking.

  When the doorbell rang, George was down in the cellar with a list of wine to look for, and Patrick was busy at the stove. It was Martin’s job to play host, so he went to open the door and welcome Mr Parker back into his old home.

  Mr Parker stood alone on the doorstep, but Martin could hear the sound of a car engine.

  “Your friend is just parking the car -- he wanted to drop me off right in front of the door, but thought he’d better park out of the way. Let’s take a look, then.”

  Simon could find his own way in. Martin led the way into the house. “We’ve finished two rooms so far. Let’s start in the kitchen, so I can introduce you to George and Patrick.”

  “Hmm. Be good to meet them after all this time. Simon said they were a bit shy, but I suppose they’ve also been busy.”

  “Yes. They’ve been into town with me, but mostly when we were shopping.” He led the way down the hall and into the kitchen. Patrick was still at the stove, stir
ring the contents of a saucepan. “What do you think?”

  Mr Parker looked around. “Very nice. Don’t let me disturb you, young man.”

  “Give me another few seconds ... ah.” Patrick finished what he was doing and turned around. “Let me get you a chair.” He pulled out the big chair with the carved arms, a good chair to support an old man with an old injury.

  “Thank you.” Mr Parker settled himself into it. “Old bones, I’m afraid.” He looked Patrick over. “It’s funny, I could have sworn I’ve seen you somewhere before. You look familiar, somehow. Maybe I’ve seen you in town without knowing who you were.”

  Patrick peered at him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you, sir.”

  “So which one is this?” Mr Parker asked.

  “Patrick.”

  “Simon was right. They are big lads. At least, this one is. Where’s the other one?”

  Patrick went to the cellar door and called, “George!”

  “All right! I’ve found them!” A few seconds later, George emerged, nodded to Mr Parker, and set the bottles he was carrying on the table.

  The old man stared at George. “David?”

  George turned white. Patrick stepped forward, his shoulders tense. “David’s dead and gone years ago.”

  Mr Parker brushed a hand over his face. Martin suspected he was brushing away tears. “I know. Just an old man’s dreams.” He stared at George again. “But you’re the image of him, boy.”

  “Who was David?” Martin asked.

  “My lover.”

  “My grandfather.” George walked over and knelt in front of the old man, looking up at him. “Gran told us about you. But she said you never came again.”

  Mr Parker was crying, one tear rolling down his cheek before he brushed it away. “She came to me when I was expecting David, told me there’d been an accident.” His voice was unsteady. “Told me that there were daughters and he hadn’t gone into the dark leaving nothing behind. But it wasn’t enough.” He jerked his head at Martin. “Does he know about you?”