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"Today would have been my wedding anniversary."
There is a rustle, a quiet huff, from under the covers. Geoffrey stretches and yawns and looks out of the window. Grey seas meet his eye, scudding white-topped waves showing distantly from a horizon that joins the sky in a barely discernable line. He cocks his head back at the lump in the bed.
"Do you remember? Do you remember Janet?"
He stares out into the bay as winter-chilled rain begins to spit against the pane.
"She was so happy when I let her set the date." His voice is thready, nearly drowned by the rattle of water. "I was… I was happy for her."
He continues, almost in a whisper, "She'd pushed for it for so long, and we had enough money, and she had a good job at last. There was nothing to stop us any more."
He leans down and rests his head against the glass.
"Mrs Wainthropp said we weren't too young, if we loved one another."
The wood of the sill is painted, and Geoffrey picks at a curling leaf of loosened white. His hands are pink with cold, a little white themselves around the knuckle.
"I thought I loved her. I thought…"
There is a silence now. A listening one perhaps.
"We drove up to Scotland for a bit of a break. A celebration, like. We found a little hotel that took guests sometimes, and Janet was very persuasive, and it was very cheap. She always liked a bargain."
The silence stretches this time. Geoffrey feels his mouth becoming dry, and his forehead chills as he stands there. His tongue feels heavy in his mouth. He coughs a little.
"Janet didn't know it, but there were pirates on that shore. All ready and waiting to carry off their plunder. Do you remember? You showed me pictures."
There is the slither of blankets, softly moving. Geoffrey blinks, his lashes almost scraping the glass.
"I might have been married a year ago today."
He shivers as warmth presses up against his chilled back. Small neat hands flutter against his sides, not quite landing, not quite leaving.
"Cold. Geoffrey." Jamie's voice is soft with sleep. Geoffrey waits, stuck watching the never-changing horizon.
"She shouted at me," Jamie says eventually.
Geoffrey laughs then, a little sputtering rumble, and the hovering hands come to rest against his arms.
"She did. And then I shouted back."
"Am I really a pirate, Geoffrey?" There is pride there, but also a thread of worry.
"You are. Fearless and bold. You carried me away."
"Like treasure."
"That's right."
The sound of gulls echoes distantly outside, and closer at hand, the clock ticks by the bed. The alarm won't sound for hours yet.
"Geoffrey?" He waits for Jamie to continue, not thinking, his mind numb. "Did you mind?"
It jerks him awake. It makes him aware. His forehead knocks against the window he turns so fast, but he barely feels it.
"Christ, no!"
Jamie skitters back, looking at the floor. His fingers flutter near his neck and then away again. Geoffrey holds up his hands, where Jamie can see them, an old game. He waits and then brings them closer, then closer still. Jamie allows himself to be folded into an embrace.
Geoffrey whispers now into warm blond hair, the cold of the window a distant memory.
"I didn't realise it, but I was only waiting. You know that, Jamie, don't you? Don't you?"
"Lost treasure is only waiting to be found."