Chapter Eighteen
The bedroom was lit for romance. Candles flickered, soft music played from a portable speaker and a tall, broad, auburn-haired man lay face down on the bed, naked except for the pair of white sports socks pulled halfway up his calves and the hand towel draped over his backside.
Unfortunately it was the wrong tall, broad, auburn-haired man.
‘Is that you, Caroline?’
Derek’s head popped up from the bed, a cheery grin on his face.
‘For my sins,’ I replied, inching around the edges of the room and pawing at the walls in search of a light switch. ‘It’s a bit dark in here, shall we put some lights on?’
‘I thought you’d feel more comfortable if we recreated the spa experience,’ Elsie’s voice purred from the doorway.
Squinting at a small brass knob jutting out from the wall, I turned it all the way to the right, illuminating more of Derek than I cared to see. Adjusting it back down to halfway, I scowled at Callum’s sister.
‘The thing is, I’m more of a functional massage therapist,’ I informed them both. ‘I don’t go in for all that airy-fairy self-care stuff. I completely understand if that’s not your thing, Mr McClay, I won’t be offended if you’ve changed your mind.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, call me Derek,’ he cawed from the bed. ‘Don’t you worry about me, hen. I can take whatever you can dish out. I can’t imagine a wee slip of a thing like you could do much damage to an old codger like me.’
I wished I could say the same. The mental anguish alone was likely to take me down.
‘Mind if I stay and watch?’ Elsie asked. ‘I’ve always been curious about massage.’
‘Yes, I do actually,’ I replied and kicked the door shut, her look of surprise as it slammed in her face almost worth the horrors I was about to endure.
‘Let’s get the music off as well,’ I suggested, fiddling with the speaker, failing to find the off button and shoving it into a drawer instead, Enya’s dulcet tones warbling from within.
‘And you’re sure about this, Mr— Derek? If you’re really in pain you should see a doctor.
Massage is more complicated than people realise, if it’s not done correctly, it can make injuries much worse. ’
If done by someone who had never, ever given a massage in her entire life, for example.
He smiled at me with his big blue eyes then dropped his face into the pillow. ‘Don’t worry, Caroline, I trust you.’
General anatomy and physiology never had been my strong points.
Neurosciences were always my goal, and like all good specialists, I forgot at least half of what I’d learned as soon as I didn’t need it any more.
Could I learn it again? Absolutely. Could I have passed an exam right there in the room?
Absolutely not. But no one was asking me to cut him open and repair a ruptured tendon or torn meniscus, all I had to do was give the man a rub down. A simple, straightforward, non-injury-
inducing massage. I would simply treat it like a patient consult. I’d done hundreds of those, thousands even. Ask him what’s wrong, listen to his symptoms, try not to make the problem worse. The first two parts of the plan would be easier than the third.
‘Ready when you are,’ Derek said, face down in a pillow.
Worst-case scenario, I could always smother him.
With great reluctance, I stepped forward and rolled up my sleeves.
‘Narwhal,’ I whispered under the haunted music that echoed from the drawer. ‘Narwhal, narwhal, narwhal.’
‘What’s that?’
‘Just centring myself with a mantra,’ I replied with forced enthusiasm. ‘Now, Mr— Derek. Can you tell me what seems to be the problem?’
‘It’s my lower back. A few years ago, I took a kick from one of the bulls, right in my bahookie.’
‘Which would be?’
‘Backside,’ he explained helpfully. ‘Got me right in the arse, it did. Put me out of action for a week and the whole left cheek was black and blue. I’ve a photo on my phone, if you’d like to see it?’
‘No, you’re all right.’
The mental picture was more than enough to keep me from sleep for weeks. ‘So, it’s your … backside that’s bothering you?’
‘More my lower back,’ he replied and I had never been more relieved in my life. ‘But also my arse, aye.’
‘Well, let’s start with the hip and go from there.’
I uncapped the bottle of body oil I found on the bedside table and gave it a sniff.
The label said Cranberry Bliss but the scent said year seven changing rooms and I tried not to gag as I poured some out into my hands, immediately splashing it on my mohair jumper.
Two items of clothing destroyed in one day, what a great day’s work.
‘We need to work our way down to the lower back,’ I said, rubbing my hands together and closing my eyes in a silent prayer, although I could not say who or what I was praying to.
The patron saint of idiots seemed most likely.
Palms hovering over Derek’s shoulders, I took a deep breath in and slapped them down on his skin.
‘Help ma Boab, your hands are like ice!’ Derek shrieked but I kept my palms flat on his back, holding him down in place. ‘I wouldn’t call that a healing touch.’
‘It’s all part of the therapy,’ I told him, tapping his skin in a patty-cake motion. ‘Starts cold then gets warmer.’
He shivered, goosebumps breaking out all over his body. ‘And when exactly does it get warmer?’
‘When you shut up and let me do my job.’
‘Aye aye, captain.’
My stern instructions worked for a little while, Derek offering nothing more than the occasional squeak or grunt as I switched from a patting motion to a chop with the sides of my hands.
Quickly checking my watch, I scoffed in disbelief.
Less than two minutes had passed. The longest two minutes of my life.
‘Is there a problem?’ Derek asked in a strained voice.
‘No, not at all,’ I shook my head then paused, hopeful. ‘Unless you’re uncomfortable and want to stop?’
‘No pain, no gain.’ His chuckle turned into a groan when I dug a knuckle under his shoulder blade.
‘You keep on. This can’t be worse than listening to those three kids bickering downstairs.
You’d think they were still wee bairns, not fully grown adults.
It’s always the same when they’re under one roof. ’
‘I thought that was what you wanted?’ I asked, recalling our conversation in Callum’s flat. ‘To have them all home for Christmas?’
‘This is how I know you don’t have children of your own,’ he replied. ‘Even though it drives me doolally, the sound of those three going at each other is a happier tune than that of an empty house, especially one this size. Balmaclay was never meant to be an empty nest.’
I squirted another burst of Cranberry Bliss on his back and he sucked his teeth in at the freezing cold liquid.
‘When me and Lizzie got married, my parents were still with us, God rest their souls. They helped raise all three kids, the way families are supposed to. I thought we’d have the sound of wee ones running through the halls again by now, that’s why Lizzie’s been working so hard to get the house back on its feet, to make room for the kids’ kids when they come. ’
‘Is that right.’
I applied a little more pressure to his rhomboids than necessary.
‘I’m sure your mum and dad feel the same.’
‘I’m sure.’
If there was an Olympic medal for biting your tongue, I deserved gold.
‘That’s the thing about being a parent,’ he went on, blissfully ignorant of my situation.
‘You get to a point where you’re so knackered, you can’t wait for a minute’s peace but by the time it comes, you’re counting down the days to the grandkids.
Me and Lizzie wanted to have kids right away when we got married but it took a while.
Better to have bairns when you’re young enough to keep up with them, that’s what I say.
The sooner Cal moves back home and gets on with it, the better. ’
‘But he doesn’t want to move home,’ I said. ‘He’s already told you that.’
‘He doesn’t know what he wants.’ Derek’s voice turned gruff and he shifted under my touch. ‘This time last year, he wanted to marry Shiv.’
I transferred all my weight into my elbows and pressed down until he squealed.
‘No pain, no gain,’ I reminded him, pulling back before I could cause any damage. ‘Sorry.’
‘It’s fine for now,’ he replied, fidgeting in place.
‘Running around London, playing games in the kitchen, but he has a duty to Balmaclay and I know my son, he won’t let the family down.
You couldn’t possibly understand, love, this house, the farm, the land, they’ve passed from father to son for generations.
Cal isn’t going to be the one who draws a line under that kind of legacy. ’
He was right, I didn’t understand.
‘What about Elsie? She loves the farm, why can’t she inherit Balmaclay?’
Derek let out a laugh so loud, he almost lost his little towel. ‘Elsie will always have a home here but what if she gets married? Am I supposed to hand the keys over to whichever goon from town ends up being fool enough to take her on? She wouldn’t even be a McClay any more!’
And I’d thought Lizzie was the problem. Derek McClay wasn’t quite the happy-go-lucky, laugh-a-minute man he made himself out to be after all. Nope, he was nothing more than a good old-fashioned chauvinist.
‘You’re supposed to realise it’s the twenty-first century,’ I said with distaste. ‘She might not get married. She might get married and not change her name.’
He was still laughing as though I’d said something hilarious.
‘My point is, your children don’t always see what’s best for their long-term future when there’s something bright and shiny right in front of them.
’ He turned his face towards me, pink and creased from the pillow.
‘As the parent, it is your job to point them in the right direction, even if they don’t thank you for it until much later. ’
‘Callum isn’t a child.’ I held his gaze without blinking. ‘And he’s perfectly capable of making his own decisions.’
‘That’s what we all think when we’re your age,’ he replied. ‘Callum wants his freedom, he wants to roam. For now. But Scotland is in his soul. This house isn’t just a home, it’s part of who he is. In the end, he’ll realise what’s best for him and I would hate to see anyone get hurt when he does.’
‘Anyone meaning me,’ I guessed.
It wasn’t too difficult to put together his not-even-slightly subtle clues. I might not be a very good massage therapist but I wasn’t a complete idiot. I was, in fact, a brain surgeon.
‘Don’t take it personal, Caroline. I’m sure you’re a very nice girl—’
‘Then you’re mistaken.’
He blanched, hesitating for a second before he carried on.
‘But I don’t know if you’re cut out for life as a farmer’s wife.’
‘Is there a job description I could have a look at?’ I asked. ‘What’s the salary? What’s the holiday allowance?’
Derek shifted, his towel dangerously close to absconding altogether.
‘That’s the kind of attitude I’m talking about,’ he said. ‘You don’t understand what this place means. Balmaclay isn’t a job, it’s a legacy. Cal will come home and when he does, he’ll have Siobhan waiting for him because she does understand.’
The audacity of the man. Not to mention the brass balls on him, given the fact he was at my absolute mercy and could easily be relieved of his testicles at any second.
Not that I wanted to think about Derek McClay’s testicles but speaking as a surgeon, I was entirely capable of removing them, quickly, cleanly, and just in time to turn them into a pair of earrings to give to his wife for Christmas.
But I didn’t. I breathed in, pulled my shit together and smiled.
‘Shall we carry on with the massage?’
He eyed me carefully but gave something like a nod and lowered his head again.
‘I’m telling you for your own good,’ he said into the pillow.
‘You see that, don’t you, hen? He may run off and sow his wild oats, struggle on with this cooking thing for another year or two but, before all is said and done, he’ll be back home.
Where he belongs. His ties to Balmaclay are too strong. ’
I was annoyed because he was arrogant, I was angry because no one had the right to tell another person how to live their life and I was furious at being referred to as nothing more than a receptacle for Callum’s oats, wild or otherwise.
‘What I see is you driving your son away,’ I told him, pinching the trapezius muscles in his shoulders sharply.
‘What Callum does is entirely up to him. I don’t tell him how to live his life, I trust and respect his choices.
I know you mean well but I strongly suggest you learn to do the same before you lose him altogether. ’
‘This is father and son stuff,’ he muttered. ‘You don’t know what you’re talking about. You barely know the boy.’
Perhaps not but I did understand how to dig my thumbs into the rock solid knots in his shoulders.
‘Too much pressure?’ I asked when he shrieked.
‘I think that’s enough for now,’ he replied tightly. ‘Thank you very much, Caroline, I’m sure that was a great help.’
‘I hope so,’ I replied, closing up the body oil and slamming it down on the bedside table. ‘For your sake.’