Ben shrugged. He had no idea if Jonah could predict weather, but he wasn’t going to argue. “If there is a storm coming, does anything else need doing outside?”
He and Dora strolled out to assess the exterior. The sun was hot, the air a little close, the wind picking up. Perhaps Jonah was right. Ben looked up at the sound of his lover’s voice and saw him, hanging half off the roof exchanging silly remarks with Agnes as she headed down the road towards Looe and school. He leaned out precariously, waving her goodbye, and Dora sucked in a breath.
“He has very good balance,” Ben said. “Wonderful head for heights.”
“He must do. If he falls off my roof…”
“He won’t.”
She shook her head, taking a pace back to rest her elbows on the fence. “He’s a bucca, that Jonah.”
Ben hoped he’d misheard that. “A what?”
“A bucca. Imp, you might say. You’re a steady man, Ben Spenser, but your Jonah’s a flyaway one if ever there was.”
“You could say that,” Ben agreed without thinking, and could have cursed himself. “That he’s flyaway, I mean. Not—” He stopped himself before he could say Not mine, and wondered if that was better or worse than going on.
Dora was watching his face. “I was thinking. You two, working all the hours here, no pay. Ain’t right.”
“No need to trouble about that. It suits us while it suits you.”
“Aye, but at the least I can make you more comfortable. Now there’s all those the leaks stopped, and so few in the way of sleeping guests, you’ll want another room. Not to stay cramped up together like that.”
“No hurry.” Ben spoke as casually as he could. “It’s comfortable enough for now and there’s more urgent things to be done. Jonah, what’s up there?” he called.
“Blasted seagulls, that’s what,” Jonah yelled down. “Trying to open the place to the elements. Can you bring me up a load more nails?”
Ben was aware of Dora’s gaze on him, but she didn’t add anything more as he went to pick up the box of roofing nails, and after a moment she grunted and went inside, leaving him wondering.
There was too much work to do to fret, as the sky yellowed and the air became heavier. They spent the afternoon on the roof, securing what they could. Jonah was twitching with nervous energy.
“Can you feel it?” Ben asked. “The storm?”
“Can’t you?” Jonah’s smile was almost manic.
Ben remembered a day back in the cottage, in the eye of the storm that passed overhead. It had been twilight at noon, the thunder on the heels of the lightning, and Jonah had gone for him wordlessly, fucking him with wild intensity over the kitchen table. At the time he’d just thought the man had been cooped up too long by the rain, but he could see that look in Jonah’s eyes now.
“Not on this roof, we’ll fall through,” he said, and saw from his smile that the same memory was in his lover’s mind.
The storm finally hit that evening, sweeping in from the sea with terrifying speed. Huge drops of rain were splatting the hot ground when Ben ran to meet Agnes from the carrier’s cart that brought her from school. Dora shook her head when Jonah asked about opening. “We’ll light the fire but folks’ll bide home if they’ve any sense.”
“They should.” Jonah’s eyes were glittering bright, picking up the turmoil in the skies. “It’s a strong one.”
There were no customers. The little family huddled in the parlour after supper. Dora looked ever grimmer as the storm showed no sign of abating.
“The boats went out this morning.” Bethany was chewing her thumbnail.
“I know, girl. You’ve told us often enough.”
“But, Ma, the Dainty Jane went out and she’s not back.”
“Well, and what should I do about it that Harry Penrose can’t?” demanded Dora. “If you want to be a fisherman’s wife, you’ll have to learn to live with storms.”
“What if Aaron gets drownded?” Agnes asked, round-eyed.
Dora’s angry rebuke went unheard in a rolling peal of thunder that sounded just overhead. Agnes squealed piercingly. Bethany clapped her hands over her ears, crying, “Be quiet, you goose!”
“Lord above, don’t squabble,” Dora snapped.
“She’s a stupid child!” Bethany shrieked, and the sisters exploded into furious, high-pitched argument.
“Out! The pair of you! Bethany, you’re a silly miss, not fit to be married if you can’t control your tongue. Agnes, child, get to bed.” Dora hurried the younger girl out as her sister fled the room, and sat heavily, wrapping her apron round her hands, cloth cutting into the thin flesh.