Chapter Three #2
Callum didn’t look convinced. His smile disappeared, replaced by a frown that stole all the light from his eyes, the easy vibes in the room vanishing with it.
‘A neurosurgeon,’ he said in a rapidly thickening voice. ‘Your mum and dad must be really proud of you.’
‘I suppose so. We don’t really talk about it,’ I replied quietly. ‘Why, you don’t think yours are proud of you?’
A pause.
‘I know they aren’t.’
‘They seemed awfully keen to have you home for Christmas.’
‘Aye, where they can keep an eye on me,’ he replied. ‘My parents won’t be happy until I get married, knock out a couple of grandkids and move back to Braewick.’
‘The most magnificent place on God’s green earth,’ I snapped my fingers and shot him with a finger gun and a wry smile. ‘I totally remember, babe.’
He almost smiled back. ‘Aye, Dad was right about one thing, it is beautiful. Scottish Highlands, about an hour north of Inverness. It’s also the arse end of nowhere. More sheep than people.’
‘Not many opportunities for a pastry chef,’ I guessed. ‘So, what happened exactly? You invented a girlfriend to get them off your back?’
‘That’s the short version.’
‘And the long version?’ When he gave me an uncertain look, I shrugged and leaned against the wall. ‘Go on, I’ve got nowhere better to be.’
‘Fine.’ Callum took a deep breath in and settled onto his sofa. ‘I suppose I owe you an explanation.’
‘At least as to how you chose her job. Massage therapist? Really?’
Pulling at a loose thread on the cuff of his sweatshirt, he leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, looking as though he couldn’t believe he’d got himself into such a mess.
‘I was on my way for a massage, on the phone with Mum when she asked what Caroline did for a living.’ He held up his hands to acknowledge the lack of creativity.
‘There was no nefarious plan or anything, mostly I didn’t want to hurt their feelings.
They never understand why I can’t cancel work stuff to go back and visit at the drop of a hat, but when I said I was seeing someone, they seemed more understanding. ’
‘Your job keeps you away from Braewick but a girlfriend gets them one step closer to grandkids,’ I reasoned. ‘Emotional mathematics, the equations don’t always make sense but there’s usually a pattern.’
‘And that’s why you’re the brain surgeon and I’m not. You’re a genius.’
I waved a hand to reject the notion but I wasn’t exactly mad about it. The pieces of a very confusing puzzle started to slot into place. Annoying parents, fake girlfriend, easy answer.
‘But why tell them I’m Caroline instead of explaining I’m renting the flat from you?’ I asked.
‘Because I’m an idiot?’
It was hard to argue against it.
‘They assumed, I panicked,’ he said with an apologetic glance in my direction. ‘Sorry I dragged you into it.’
‘Don’t be, it’s not your fault. Like you said, you’re an idiot.’
We smiled at each other, Callum wringing his hands while I squeezed the earbuds in my pocket.
‘What are you going to do now?’ I asked. ‘They’re expecting both of us.’
His reply was a long, low groan that sent an unexpected shiver running all the way down my spine and I had to bite my lip to stop it from ricocheting all the way back up again.
‘I don’t know,’ he admitted, combing a hand through his hair, breaking up the waves from the back to the front. ‘I’m not desperate to be alone on Christmas but if I show up in Braewick without you after they’ve bought both our train tickets? Nightmare material.’
‘Then call them right now!’ I ordered, pointing at the phone he produced from the pocket of his jeans. ‘Tell them not to buy me a ticket!’
His eyes scanned the screen from left and right until he landed on something and turned it around for me to see.
‘Too late.’
A receipt. A QR code. Two tickets booked on the Caledonian Sleeper.
Two incredibly expensive, non-refundable tickets booked on the Caledonian Sleeper. As someone who grew up without any money, who was mired in student debt, the number on the screen made me feel sick to my stomach.
‘Don’t worry about it, this isn’t your problem,’ Callum said when he saw the look on my face. ‘I made my bed, I’ll hide underneath it until my parents stop shouting at me. I’ll call them, explain we’re not coming, stick it out here on my own.’
On his own. Even a self-professed Grinch like me couldn’t stand the thought of him skulking around alone all Christmas, it was too depressing.
‘What if you tell them I dumped you after they left?’ I suggested. ‘Then they’d have to be nice to you?’
‘If I break up with Caroline, I lose my get-out-of-going-
home card and I’m not ready to part with that just yet and if I show up at home without you, they’ll probably lock me up in the tower to keep me there, and I really wish I was joking.’
‘OK, Rapunzel,’ I muttered. ‘Your hair isn’t that nice.’
‘It’s not your problem,’ he said again. ‘Worry about the hot water tap in the bathroom, don’t stress yourself out about me.’
He was right, it wasn’t my problem, but I hated the thought of him hanging around this empty, tree-less flat all Christmas and I really hated the thought of his parents wasting so much money.
It all seemed so unnecessary, especially when there was an alternative.
Even if it was a deeply, deeply stupid alternative …
‘What if I did come with you?’ I said. ‘I don’t have any big plans and, you never know, it might be fun. I could be Caroline.’
Callum stared right through me, two lines bracketing his mouth as he pursed his lips. I squeezed the tape measure in my pocket until the edges bit into my palm and stared right back. For some reason, whenever he looked at me, I couldn’t quite work out what to do with my hands.
‘You’re joking,’ he said. ‘Of course you’re joking.’
Was I? Of course I was. Unless I wasn’t.
‘It’s only an idea,’ I replied. ‘I mean, how difficult could it be? Nice train ride, couple of days in Scotland, smile and nod at your family. Would it be so ridiculous?’
‘Yes,’ Callum answered without hesitation.
‘Right,’ I agreed. ‘Completely.’
‘And it wouldn’t really solve the problem in the long term,’ he added. ‘What are you going to do, come with me every time I have to visit my parents for the next ten years?’
‘Or,’ I said, a concept of a plan forming in my mind, ‘we make Caroline so unbelievably awful they beg you to never bring her back to Braewick ever again.’
The creases between Callum’s eyebrows smoothed out slowly as his eyebrows crept up his forehead.
‘Really and truly heinous,’ I added. ‘I’m talking tracks mud all over the house, talks on her phone at the dinner table, puts empty After Eight wrappers back in the box horrible. We could really make them hate her.’
‘I may have led my parents to believe Caroline isn’t especially social,’ he muttered, more to himself than to me. ‘All you’d have to do is show up then avoid them for the rest of the trip.’
‘For how long?’
‘The train leaves tomorrow night, gets into Inverness on the twenty-second and we’d travel back to London on the twenty-sixth.’
‘Show up, be rude, hide in my bedroom for four days,’ I surmised. ‘Yes, that sounds like a proper family Christmas.’
‘It’s such a lot to ask.’ Callum glanced at me from underneath his very long eyelashes and I could tell he was tempted. ‘We don’t even know each other, I can’t expect you to give up your Christmas to help me out of my own stupid mess.’
‘There’s really nothing to give up,’ I assured him. ‘It’s just me and my two friends eating an entire Chocolate Orange each and watching A Muppet Christmas Carol on a loop.’
‘That sounds like more fun than hanging out with my family … What about work? Surely you don’t get much time off?’
‘I’ve been saving up my holidays, I don’t go back until the twenty-ninth.’
The not-quite-a-lie sailed smoothly through my lips.
No need to tell him I’d been politely forced to take the whole week off because I hadn’t used any of my holiday allowance for the last two years.
I was always happier when I was busy, when I had a project to keep me occupied, like researching the roles of pericytes and neighbouring cells in ischaemia and dementia patients, catching up on the latest developments in remyelination, or pretending to be a masseuse named Caroline.
‘OK, don’t take this the wrong way,’ Callum said, almost guaranteeing there was only one way to take it. ‘But what’s in it for you? Why would you even want to help me?’
I had a hundred ready answers. Because his family Christmas in Scotland sounded more appealing than another non-Christmas on Desi’s sofa.
Because I’d never been to the Highlands and I had a pair of Grenson Nanette boots still in their box that I impulse purchased more than three years ago.
Because I was tired and burned out and felt like doing something stupid.
Because nothing about the entire season had felt the same since I lost my mum and I didn’t want to spend another December twenty-fifth steeped in sad memories.
‘It’s Christmas, isn’t it? You’re supposed to help the needy,’ I said instead, tossing away the words as though they meant nothing. ‘You’re doing me a massive favour letting me rent the flat. Pretending to be someone else for a few days really isn’t that big a deal in the greater scheme of things.’
He looked at me, chin lowered, cheeks sucked in while he considered the proposal.
‘You’re serious?’
I swallowed and nodded. I was serious. Seriously certifiable. But now I had a vision of myself wandering through fields of heather in my box-fresh hiking boots, wind blowing through my hair, deep-fried Mars bar in my mouth, I was more invested than ever.
‘I’m not twisting your arm, you can say no,’ I said. ‘You can stay here on your tod and eat a microwave dinner on Christmas Day—’
‘Laura, I literally cook for a living.’
‘—or you can say yes and get a life-long pass from parental hassle. It’s entirely up to you.’
Callum wrapped his hands around the back of his neck, eyes closed as if he couldn’t believe what he was about to say. ‘If you’re serious, I could give you a month’s free rent. As a thank you.’
And just like the Grinch before me, my heart grew three sizes at the thought of going into the New Year with a non-negative bank balance for once.
‘So we have a deal?’ I asked.
‘We have a deal,’ he replied.
I held out my hand and he took it, his handshake firm and professional, but the way his thumb trailed over my skin when I pulled away made my breath hitch in my chest.
‘To Caroline, the antisocial masseuse,’ he said with a smile.
‘To Caroline,’ I repeated. ‘And a very merry McClay Christmas to all.’