Chapter 5: Shoes and Ships and Sealing Wax

Having never been a big fan of nature and meaningless exercise in general, Mallory was surprised to find him enjoying himself. The sea was grey and choppy, the beach grey and rocky, the sky grey and cloudy – nothing like the pristine white sands and cyan waters he had visited in his youth. But there was something real to this place that was lacking in all those stereotypically beautiful sites – the fierce freedom of a soaring gull, the aching loneliness of the wind-swept slopes, the wide expanses of gravel and grass that were free of any sign of human habitation.

The head, as Mr. Wesley had told him, was the western-most point of Cornwall, and possible the most south-western part of England, although neither Mr. Wesley nor Mallory had really learnt much geography in school. And as Mallory watched Mr. Wesley's large black dog gambol in the roaring surf after a stone or a piece of driftwood, and his already tired feet traversed the pathless ground, Mallory felt a sense of something entirely strange to him. Was this peace? Whatever it was, it was pleasant.

Eventually, they made their way to their apparent destination – a large grey boulder, which almost seemed to hang above the ocean, defying the very laws of gravity. But Mr. Wesley seemed fearlessly confident as he climbed the pitted surface and, after only a moment's hesitation, Mallory followed him. Mallory had many flaws, though few which he was prepared to admit, but he had never been a coward.

Smiling slightly at Mallory's discomfort, Mr. Wesley turned his gaze back to the sea before him. He had always felt that the waters symbolised him in some way – the dull and opaque grey surface hiding all that is wild and unique and frightening, even from itself. It was one of the main reasons he had chosen this small town, when logic would suggest somewhere bigger, somewhere further away, somewhere where he wouldn't be known – in a country town, everyone knows everyone else.

But after having waited eighteen years before ever seeing the sea, Mr Wesley simply felt… connected, and after giving up everything else he loved, he needed that connection. After a few minutes of silence, each lost in their private thoughts, he quietly offered, "When I first arrived in this town, I used to come to this rock almost every night. I used to imagine that if I looked hard enough, I would be able to see Ireland on the horizon… though that's impossible, of course, even I know that."

Mallory raised an eyebrow, despite his pleasure at the voluntary communication, something neither man was particularly prone to. "What's so fascinating about Ireland?" he asked, having never had any interest in the place himself

Mr. Wesley laughed slightly. "You know what? I don't actually know. I guess it's just comforting, knowing that no matter who or where you are," or how alone you are, "there's always more to the world."

Mallory made a non-committal sound, and the conversation descended into silence for a few minutes, before he spoke again. "I would have thought that you came to this town to be alone. Why else would you choose such a pokey little place? I know that you could afford better."

Chuckling, Mr. Wesley responded, "I suppose you're right. Although, it was more a search for a place where I could be normal than where I could be alone, and a job, however unpaid, helped with that. The loneliness just sort of… happened." Though he spoke in a joking voice, Mallory could see the sadness in his hazel eyes, a strange mixture of longing and regret.

"So did you always want to end up like this? Somewhere quiet and peaceful, where you could live out the rest of your days in a simple routine?"

Mallory didn't mean to sound derogatory, merely to understand, but it seemed to come out wrong. After little more than a weekend in the town, Mallory couldn't understand why anyone would want this sort of life. And it became clear that his feelings were obvious, when Mr. Wesley replied, "I suppose you were the ambitious sort, then?"

Mallory snorted. You don't know how right you are. "Well, my parents raised me in order to become great, and I suppose you could say they convinced me of it along the line."

"They sound nice," Mr. Wesley replied wistfully, and Mallory was hard-pressed to hold back a laugh.

"Not really," he replied shortly. "They gave me everything I wanted, but everything has its price. Of course, I didn't realise that then… children never do."

"I've had my fair share of experiences with wealthy children," Mr. Wesley replied, "And most of them seemed to be pretty terrible specimens of humanity. It's amazing you turned out so well adjusted, really."

Mallory couldn't hold back the laugh this time. Still chuckling, he said, "Mr. Wesley, trust me, you would have hated me in High School… I was rude, obnoxious, conceited, petty, and made some really bad choices… some of them, I'm still paying for, and if it weren't for some of the people I mistreated as a youth…"

As his voice trailed off, slightly embarrassed, Mr. Wesley granted him one of those amazing smiles, losing easily ten years from his face. "But at least you realised it. Some people never do. "

"Yeah…"

The pair sat in silence for several minutes, as Mr. Wesley threw sticks for his excited dog and Mallory threw rocks into the waves below, his mind on his past mistakes. Noticing his train of thoughts, Mr. Wesley decided to distract him, amusedly asking, "So, if you're so well-endowed and pampered, what on earth brings you to southern Cornwall for your holidays? Couldn't you be in France, or Venice, or Hawaii?"

Mallory smiled, noticing the incredibly unsubtle change of topic, but choosing not to comment. "Well, you see… god, this sounds so stupid… my mother told me to come."

Both of Mr. Wesley's eyebrows shot up, as he confusedly asked, "Your mother? At twenty-four, aren't you a bit old for that?"

"Thirty, actually, but thankyou for the compliment." He hoped to distract him from the real question, and Mr Wesley's surprised look made him think it was working… however, as Mr Wesley continued to stare, he realised he had no choice but to answer the real question. "Oh, alright…," he replied in feigned annoyance, "You see, my father and I had a slight falling-out not long before he died, which led to my disinheritance."

"Ah," Mr. Wesley said, as if it explained everything, which it probably did, his next question being, "And your mother is using it to blackmail you into doing as she says?"

"Exactly," Mallory nearly growled. "She says it would be a 'good learning experience' to spend time with ordinary people… not that I really mind it, of course," he hastily added, not wishing to offend his friend.

"Of course not," Mr. Wesley replied in slightly cynical amusement. "And I suppose that's why you had to get a job as a teacher? And those clothes you wear, too, since you're clearly not comfortable in them."

"Urgh," Mallory replied succinctly, his distaste evident. "The clothes, though, were meant to annoy my mother and make people leave me alone. I'm not a big talker."

"I noticed that," Mr. Wesley replied with a slight smirk. "But speaking of people," he added, slowly getting to his feet, "We need to be getting back to the café, if I'm going to have tea ready for when the fishers come back. Coming?" he asked, offering Mallory his hand – surprisingly soft and clean for someone from a country town, though Mallory supposed he shouldn't be surprised, since Mr Wesley was clearly from somewhere more sophisticated, if he knew wealthy kids – but where?

Embarrassedly realising that he had been staring, Mallory averted his eyes, before muttering, "No, I think I'll stay out here a bit longer."

"Suit yourself," Mr. Wesley replied unconcernedly, retracting his hand before whistling for the dog, which eagerly bounded up to its waiting master. "I guess I'll see you later, then."

"Until then," Mallory replied, and watched as Mr. Wesley's form slowly receded into the distance, his mind stuck firmly on his past. If only…