by Con Riley
This was what it would be like, Jude guessed, if he stopped searching for his parents.
If he spent every day with Rob instead, he’d have twelve months a year of this brand of bullshit; three-hundred and sixty-five days of him living life at full volume, and fuck who might be looking; millions upon millions of moments where Jude couldn’t wallow in fear of guilt by association.
There would be no-one left to judge him.
He stopped stock-still in the middle of a bustling street, Rob walking ahead, still swinging his bag and whistling. Jude couldn’t make himself follow, mired so very deeply between a rock and a hard place.
He wanted both options.
He wanted both so much—to be with Rob, like this, just like this, out and oh-so-happy. And he wanted his parents, alive and safe at home, however unlikely.
“Hey.” Rob backtracked, standing so close that Jude could see fine laugh lines that age would surely deepen. “What do you want, Jude?”
He wanted to see that happen, Jude knew. Wanted to watch those laugh lines deepen, to be around to have Rob annoy and embarrass him where everyone could see it. Wanted to take him back to that hotel suite and hold him, just hold him, for as long as Rob would let him. He opened his mouth to say so, but a gruff, “You know that I’ll still have to leave at the end of the summer, don’t you?” came out instead.
“I meant what did you want to eat,” Rob said quietly as tourists streamed around them. “But yes, I do know.” He nodded, those fine lines not deepening any further. “Of course, I do.” It shouldn’t be possible for eyes to soften, but Jude watched it happen, Rob’s gaze turning limpid—liquid in a way even a strong swimmer like him could drown in. “I’ve always known that about you.”
“I-I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for, next time.”
“For as long as it takes you to get an answer you can live with.” Rob’s nod was slow, his smile barely there, but gentle.
“But if the season goes to plan… If the Anchor gets a good review and does well, you’ll get back your investment and then—” Jude’s you’ll be the one to go was silent.
Perhaps Rob heard it, regardless. He looked somewhere over Jude’s shoulder, for once saying nothing.
Jude pushed even though he didn’t truly want an answer. “Your dad isn’t going to let up about you taking over from him.”
“How about we just think about being here, right now, with each other?”
It was easier to nod than to debate what-ifs, pointless when the summer would end regardless of what each of them wanted. They walked, Rob’s fingers tight around his, his chatter about nothing important a raft that carried them away from troubled waters. “Sit yourself down right here,” Rob ordered once they got close to the beach. He left Jude on a bench facing the sea until he returned with fish and chips wrapped in paper, the scent of vinegar strong and malty. He passed Jude a chip fork and a can of cola. “What?” he asked when Jude was silent.
“When you said you were taking me out for dinner, this isn’t exactly what I expected.” Jude unwrapped his greasy parcel, wry. “You’re spoiling me.”
“I might have an ulterior motive.” Rob sat so close their elbows jostled. “We’re eating somewhere romantic.” He gestured at the sea view, which was stunning. “Pretty sure that makes this our third date.” Rob took a swig of his drink before adding. “I think you know what that means we’ll be doing later.”
“The lube was a clue.”
Rob chuckled, breaking off a piece of battered haddock, crisp and golden. He blew on the steaming fragment, cooling it before changing the subject. Something in his tone switching from glib to serious caught Jude’s full attention. “Talking of clues….” Rob looked his way briefly, the set of his shoulders stiffening as if braced for impact. “Why do you think I kept nipping into the office to look at maps of this place?”
“Of St Ives?” Jude hadn’t thought too hard about it. The last week had been a whirlwind of preparation. All of them had been so busy that Rob spending time alone in the office had hardly registered. Jude was just as inattentive now as he scanned where the sky met the far edge of the sea until Rob said, “Hey. You’re doing that staring thing again. Don’t you remember what I said about you zoning out like that?”
Jude blinked. They’d only had this conversation an hour or so earlier. “Of course I remember.”
“Tell me what I said then.”
“You told me to quit it.”
Rob relaxed, pleased. He next spoke around a huge mouthful, his cheeks bulging in a way that shouldn’t ever be attractive. “And…?”
“And you said that I should look at you instead.”
“Because I’m…?” Good grief; now Rob’s eyes actually twinkled.
“Because you’re my horizon, these days,” Jude said, food forgotten at Rob’s reaction. Surprised into stopping mid-chew, Rob’s eventual swallow came with the slightest shifts in his expression—sweet, and so delighted. Jude would have missed each flicker if he’d still searched the horizon for sails, as had become habitual.
“I didn’t think you were listening.”
“I always listen to you.” Fuck it, Jude thought as he lifted his arm to wrap it around Rob’s shoulder, tugging him until he closed the small distance between them. He wanted more of this; more of Rob smiling at him as though he was the one who hung the evening sun that had him squinting; more of everything—anything—that Rob had to give him. “I have to listen to you,” Jude grumbled. “It’s not like you ever stop talking long enough for me to get a word in.” He stole a chip from Rob’s portion rather than look around to see if anyone was staring. That was another habit he’d work on breaking because leaning in for a kiss shouldn’t stop the world from turning. He did just that, pressing his lips to Rob’s before saying, “So go ahead, chatterbox. Tell me why you googled this place.”
“Oh.” Rob was bizarrely flustered given that he’d raised the subject in the first place. Tourists passed them, teens on skateboards flashing by while smaller kids walked slowly, licking dripping ice cream cones. “It can wait,” he said, his cheeks rosy.
“Or you could just tell me?” Jude said, most of his attention on his dinner. The fish was delicious, the haddock perfectly fresh and the chips just the right mix of crisp and greasy. He speared some more before looking up. That rosiness now extended from Rob’s cheeks to his throat, stain so red it was startling. “What’s up? You’re not allergic to any of this, are you?”
“Allergic? No… I just….” Rob huffed out a small laugh, but he straightened his back, shifting position almost as if he wanted some distance between them, for once. “It’s just that when I started searching online, I was only being nosy. I didn’t think I’d find him.” It was Rob’s turn to stare into the distance, avoiding eye contact.
“Find who?”
Rob turned away from the view of the sea to glance over his shoulder. Across the street behind them, cottages crowded close together, one of them holding his full attention. He turned back to Jude, apologetic, his gaze worried.
“Trevor Mirren.”
26
“Jude!” Rob called out as Jude got up, the last of his chips scattering, to the delight of nearby seagulls. “Wait!” He grabbed the crook of Jude’s elbow with one hand, the other clutching their greasy chip papers and drink can. “Please. Just give me a minute.” His hold was tight, tugging Jude back from the edge of the cobbled street and over to a rubbish bin where he disposed of the remains of their supper. “Let me explain.”
“Explain what?” Jude could hardly hear him right then, not while his heart hammered so loud the whole street must’ve heard it. He shook free, intent on the cottage Rob had stared at. “He lives there?” He glanced at Rob’s nod. “You knew it before we got here?” Fuck, even the cottage nameplate made his chest ache, One for Luck lettered in white over dark slate, a twin of the name painted on the boat his dad had spent years building.
“Were you going to tell me?” He scanned the outs
ide of the cottage before his focus snapped back to Rob. “Wait. Have you been in contact with him?”
“No. No, of course not. I wouldn’t do that.” His hand was on Jude’s elbow again, “Jude. Please, please breathe for me, will you?”
Jude did, hauling in shuddering gasps as if he’d run all the way here from Porthperrin, spots he hadn’t even noticed at the edges of his vision only slowly fading.
Now Rob held his hand, sincere. “Y-you’re kinda scaring me, sweetheart. Can you slow down and take another breath?” That concern quelled Jude’s fight-or-flight reaction, reining him in when bolting seemed a better option. He drew in a few slow breaths before blowing out a long one, aware that he was shaking.
“I… I’m sorry.”
“No.” Rob chided, arm around his waist now. He bumped his forehead against Jude’s. “I am. I had no idea how you’d react. But of course, I was going to tell you. I have been trying to all day, as soon as I realised where you were bringing me. Before that, everyone was so busy. I… I didn’t want to make things more stressful for either you or Louise.”
“What…?” he couldn’t drag his gaze from the cottage, its window-frames painted a pretty periwinkle like the cottage-style front door that he’d have to duck his head to enter. “How did you find him? I don’t understand what made you look him up in the first place.”
“I didn’t plan to. It was when we were reading those online restaurant reviews,” Rob explained. “There was an article in the sidebar of one page. It listed unusual surnames, and one of them was Mirren. That reminded me of when we cleared out your dad’s study. There are only fifty or so Mirrens in the whole country, and, as it turned out, only one of them has Trevor as a first name.” He touched Jude’s face, turning it towards him. “I only knew for sure yesterday when I found a photo of him online linking him to St Ives. I swear, Jude, I was going to tell you the moment Guy Parsons left, and we had some time to talk about it.”
“You found a photo?”
Rob nodded. “On Trevor’s website.” He unlocked his phone and tapped a few times, turning the screen to show Jude a maritime navigation webpage. The smile of the man pictured couldn’t be mistaken, although he was much older than in the photos in his father’s study. The last of Jude’s breath left him and he held the phone much closer, cradling it as he stared. “He still looks really happy.”
“You didn’t expect him to?” Emotion creased Rob’s face. “Jude, I know…. I know your dad had problems buying the Anchor because of what happened, but he got there in the end, didn’t he? Yes, what happened put his plans back by years, but look at what he ended up with…. A life with a wife who loved him enough to sail with him, even though that wasn’t her hobby, and two amazing kids. Neither you or Lou will give up. Both of you will hang on to the Anchor just so they have something to sail back to. That’s one hell of a legacy, surely? A sign your dad must have been happy, even if it was hard for him on the way up. So why wouldn’t Trevor? Be happy, I mean.”
Jude didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
Rob said, “It was a long time ago, Jude. One bad thing happening doesn’t have to define a whole lifetime, does it? It was only a chapter, not a disaster tainting every page of their life stories.”
That wasn’t the message he’d ever been able to parse from his dad’s silence. “I don’t know.” He really didn’t. His vision blurred now that the word disaster had a whole new definition for him. Jude blinked before scrolling through a website that described Trevor’s navigation business, plotting routes for shipping tankers around the Far East. “He….” Swallowing around the lump in his throat wasn’t easy when he read through lists of commendations. “Trevor was successful.” How long had he imagined the struggle of the one man his dad refused to mention, his entire career ended after one night spent in the wrong bunk? He let go when Rob took the phone from him, sighing when he passed it back with a new webpage open.
“Oh, fuck.” The obituary on the screen was another shock. “He was married?”
“Yeah.” Rob’s exhale was also shaky. “Trevor’s husband died last year.” Only a few months before his parents set sail, Jude noticed. “They were together for thirty years. Married as soon as it was legal. He was quite a bit older.” Rob scrolled through an obituary chock-full of achievement. Friends and relatives had commented below, adding to a picture of an extremely happy couple, and there—there—was one from his father.
Jude touched the screen over the name Simon Anstey, then read his brief message of condolence.
Rob spoke when Jude couldn’t. “Seems like I wasn’t the only one who went online to look up Trevor.” His pat on Jude’s shoulder was gentle. “If he read the obituary, he will have known that Trevor had a fantastic life with someone he loved as well. They moved to St Ives during the last few years they had together.” Rob spoke quietly. “Your dad must have looked for him on purpose before he set off, Jude. Don’t you think that says something important?”
Jude didn’t answer again, too busy gazing at the photo on the first website again, searching the face of a man he’d wondered about for so long.
He looked up to see the same face at one of the cottage windows.
Jude couldn’t say how he ended up inside Trevor’s cottage. One moment he saw him through a pane of glass, the next the man stood right in front of him, saying, “Simon?” before shaking his head as if he needed to clear it. Rob stepping in to explain shouldn’t have been a surprise, nor was the way he located the kitchen, the sound of a kettle filling drifting to where Jude now stood in a stranger’s hallway.
Only it wasn’t a stranger who said, “You do look just like him,” almost breathless. This was the same man Jude had scrutinised so closely just as often as he could manage, whenever his dad wasn’t around to notice. The same dimple Jude had seen in every photo deepened as Trevor smiled, laugh lines—like he’d imagined Rob wearing earlier—ploughed deep furrows when Trevor repeated, “Just like Simon. It’s uncanny. Same height, same build, same hair—” his hand rose to Jude’s face before dropping. “Even the same jawline. You’re his spitting image.”
“Everybody says that.”
“You sound like him as well.” He shook his head again and said, “Of course you do.” He drew in a deep breath, his hand extended. They shook as he said, “I’m Trevor Mirren, but I think you know that. And you have to be Jude Anstey. Come in. Come in, properly.” He opened the door to a living room, cosy and cluttered with framed photos along with so many objects Jude recognised from his own travels. “Please sit.”
Jude did just to rise to his feet again. Trevor was suddenly anguished, his “Oh!” as stricken as the sudden shift in his expression. “You’ve come because something happened,” he stated as Jude grasped his elbow, steadying him as Trevor deflated, saying, “That’s why Simon’s postcards stopped coming,” as if he’d solved a puzzle.
It was strange to brace a man he’d only ever imagined meeting. Rob carried in a tray of tea things, set it down, and took over. “Oh, no. Come here,” he said, offering easy embrace that Trevor accepted. “They’re only missing,” Rob said, like he didn’t know just as well as Jude that holding out hope had to be pointless by now, a charade Jude had played out for months while Lou had been much more pragmatic. Rob acting like he still had faith squeezed Jude’s heart. Him saying, “Jude’s going to keep searching for them,” as if he was sure he’d be successful, constricted it even tighter. Rob settled Trevor onto a couch and then crouched next to a side table crowded with framed photos. He touched one and offered his condolence. “I’m sorry for your loss, by the way.” He nodded at Jude. “We saw the obituary online.”
“That was how Simon got back in touch too.” Trevor acknowledged. “And thank you…?”
“It’s Rob. Rob Martin.” He poured tea, doing so much better than Jude at being a functioning human. Jude was glad then to have him with him, and to be already sitting—the wave of gratitude that hit would have knocked him off his feet if he’d still been sta
nding. Rob nodded in Jude’s direction. “His business partner, along with his sister Louise, at their pub the Anchor.”
“He’s my boyfriend,” Jude said aloud for the first time.
“That too.” Rob’s smile was perfect. “For my sins.” He rolled his eyes at Trevor. “I must have been awful in a past life.”
Jude let the words lap around him, the two men interacting easily, just as inquisitive as each other. He sipped milkless tea that tasted perfect and wondered how the hell he’d ended up here, sitting next to a man he didn’t know firsthand, yet who’d played such a huge part in his make-up. It was overwhelming. Almost as overwhelming as when he’d first had to come to terms with being gay, with nothing but his dad’s silence whenever Trevor was mentioned to confirm that was a problem. His head throbbed, headache brewing as he asked, perhaps brusquely, “You said Dad sent you some postcards?”
Trevor didn’t seem offended. Instead, he patted Jude’s knee. “A man of few words, like your dad, I see.” It only took moments for Rob to go where Trevor directed, opening a drawer and returning with a clutch of colourful cards showing the progress of a journey that Jude had later followed—Pyramids and camels came first followed by temples and huge Buddhas—he’d stopped too in all those places. Jude rubbed at his forehead, skull feeling far too small to contain all his questions. Where to start wasn’t an issue. Rob spoke up for him.
“How did he know where to send them?”
“Simon? He added his email address to the end of the message he left online. I replied—just a quick thank you along with my address so we could meet up when I was feeling brighter. I wasn’t in the best place right then to rehash the past.” He paused for a long moment, visibly pulling himself together in a way Jude had done so often when reminded of missing loved ones. Trevor touched the frame of the nearest photo of his husband. “I mean, I wasn’t ready to dwell on why I hadn’t heard from him for so long.” His next glance Jude’s way was quizzical. “Did he ever mention….”
