Chapter Twenty-One #2
‘My dad made me paint my room myself before I left for university,’ I said. ‘I even put my own stuff in the loft to save him a job. Thankfully I managed to do it without falling through the ceiling that time.’
‘Doesn’t sound like he was the most hands-on dad ever,’ Callum ventured. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘What’s worse, too hands-on or too hands-off?’
I took in a big gulp of air and exhaled hard.
‘I’m happy to sleep on the floor,’ I said, even though happy was something on an overstatement. ‘If you can give me a pillow and a blanket, I’ll be fine.’
‘If anyone’s sleeping on the floor, it’s me,’ he rolled his eyes as though I’d suggested something ridiculous. ‘Or I could sleep on the sofa downstairs.’
‘And have your parents think there’s trouble in paradise? That would defeat the whole object of why I’m here, wouldn’t it?’
Because there was a the reason, I reminded myself, and I couldn’t risk forgetting it.
‘It’s only for tonight,’ I said. ‘And we’ve shared a bed before.’
Callum looked at the bed and frowned. ‘You’ve seen me naked before as well but we haven’t given that a second go.’
‘Why, are you offering?’
Both of us blushed at once, my entire face beet red, his cheeks flaming.
‘Sorry, it just came out,’ I said, tightening my grip around the straps of my backpack. ‘I don’t know why I said it.’
‘Don’t worry. You make me want to do things I know I shouldn’t as well.’
Face still pink, body still heated, I stayed glued to the spot. ‘Anyone would think you’re starting to regret this whole thing.’
‘Are you?’ he asked. ‘Regretting it?’
Across the room, his eyes burned.
‘I regret seeing your father naked,’ I replied, tossing my hair over my shoulder and marching past him into the bathroom. ‘Pyjama time. Excuse me.’
I’d never been so grateful to bolt a door behind me.
Callum’s bathroom was more modest than mine, a standard shower over a normal bath, rather than the fancy soaking tub and separate shower in the guest suite, but it was clean and tidy, even though a man had been using it for the best part of forty-eight hours.
Impressive. I recognised Callum’s washbag from the train and calmly, quietly, poked through it as I waited for my nerves to settle.
Face wash, moisturiser, toothpaste, floss.
A stick of deodorant sat on the side of the sink and an electric shaver was stashed in its own little pouch on top of a stack of towels.
One used bath sheet was neatly draped over the radiator, almost dry.
Placing my backpack down on the closed toilet lid, I unclipped the top and pulled out my own toiletries and pyjamas.
This was fine. Everything was fine. Except for Desi and Joel showing up.
And the massage. And the fact I was going to have to explain to Desi what had happened to her skirt sooner rather than later.
I looked up into the wall-mounted mirror and sighed.
And the way I felt about Callum.
Yes, he was handsome. Yes, he was thoughtful and kind and funny and when he bit his bottom lip I wanted to do terrible things that not even the smuttiest fantasy novel had thought of yet.
I was only human. Physical responses were not always tied to emotional.
Unless they were. I could lie to my friends and I could lie to his face but if I was going to get through this night without losing my mind completely, I had to stop lying to myself.
You make me want to do things I know I shouldn’t.
‘Stop reading into it,’ I instructed my reflection as I turned on the taps so he wouldn’t hear me talking to myself. ‘He meant this entire stupid enterprise. And inviting Desi and Joel to stay. And … and …’
And what else might I make him want to do?
It didn’t matter. Nothing could ever come of this for myriad reasons.
He was moving to Paris. I didn’t want a relationship.
Shiv. Balmaclay. Vegan Swedish masseuse.
I’d successfully avoided all distractions up until now, I wasn’t about to throw myself at this one and why was I sniffing his deodorant?
I caught sight of myself, stick in one hand, cap in the other, and reared back in horror, dropping them both in the sink.
What was wrong with me? I pulled both pieces out and dabbed them dry.
The goal was to convince Lizzie and Derek they didn’t want to see Caroline again, not to reliably inform Callum that I was a total weirdo.
‘Which is becoming a real problem,’ I told the Laura that looked back at me from the mirror. ‘Because you clearly are.’
The bedroom was quiet when I finally crept back in, freshly scrubbed and moisturised, my red tartan pyjamas buttoned all the way up to the neck, bra still on underneath.
Uncomfortable, yes, but it wasn’t as though I was likely to get any sleep anyway.
The underwiring dug into my ribs, somewhere between armour plating and a cilice.
Callum was already in bed. Callum was wearing a pair of wire-framed glasses. Callum was holding a book.
‘Do you mind if I read for a bit?’ He lowered the frames halfway down his nose and I almost wept. ‘My body hasn’t adjusted to regular hours yet, it still thinks I should be in the kitchen until midnight.’
‘Starting a grease fire foam party?’ I replied, refusing to look at his slutty little glasses. How dare he? ‘Go for it. I’ll …’
He raised an eyebrow waiting for me to finish my sentence.
‘I was going to say check my phone but it’s still in pieces on your driveway.’
Placing my backpack on the chair next to the window, I saw an old, blue Adidas shoebox sitting on a shelf.
It was open, the lid long missing from the looks of the tape holding the corners together, and inside were stacks and stacks of photographs.
It was impossible to mistake the pretty blonde who featured in all the ones I could see.
I turned away to look out the window. The loch was just how I’d left it and the stars had returned to season the sky with light. All was calm, all was bright. And Callum still had a box full of photographs of his ex-girlfriend, Shiv and Cal through the ages.
‘How do you think it’s going so far?’ he asked.
Glancing over my shoulder, I saw the book lying in his lap, face down, pages splayed, his attention on me. I tried a smile and just about managed.
‘I don’t think your parents are going to give me access to the shared family Google calendar any time soon.’
‘You should ask for it anyway, it might push my dad over the edge.’ Callum sat up, curling forward. ‘I’ve been thinking.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘I know,’ he flashed a grin that disappeared as quickly as it arrived. ‘How do you think they’d feel if they found out the truth?’
I ran a hand down the bookcase, pressed my feet into his carpet, just to make sure I was still solid, made of flesh and blood.
‘About Caroline or about you moving to Paris?
‘Either. Both.’
‘They’re your parents,’ I said. ‘How do you think they would feel?’
He reached for his toes, surprisingly and pleasingly flexible for a man his size.
‘I think they’d be confused and upset. And hurt.’
It was a fair assumption and something I did not want to deal with firsthand.
‘Do you think we can still pull it off?’ he asked.
I raised an eyebrow. ‘Are you suggesting the arrival of my crypto millionaire digital nomad adopted sister and her gay husband might raise some questions?’
Callum’s shoulders rose with a silent laugh.
‘There’s nothing to worry about,’ I said, trying to convince myself as much as him. ‘Desi and Joel will behave themselves. If we leave first thing on the twenty-
sixth, it’s only two more days. Maybe we can go somewhere tomorrow, stay out the way.’
Even though the McClays were far from my favourite people, the thought of them finding out the truth made me itchy. Callum was right, they’d be furious but, worse than that, they’d be hurt, and for that, I knew he would punish himself beyond anything his parents could dream up.
I considered his bookshelves, eyeing the options. I needed a distraction.
‘Sorry, they’re all boys’ books,’ he said. ‘Might not be much that interests you.’
‘Unless they’re written in some sort of secret code that only reveals itself to a Y chromosome, I reckon I’ll be OK,’ I assured him. ‘How is The Hobbit a boys’ book?’
‘Just something Shiv used to say. She wasn’t a big fantasy fan, said it was all male wish fulfilment and going on inefficient quests. She said there was nothing in them for women.’
‘Really? I have some recommendations that could change her mind about that.’
I carefully pried the well-read paperback out from the shelf and walked back to the bed.
The fire was dying out and the air was perfectly crisp, the exact right temperature to snuggle under the covers.
Callum pushed his glasses back up his nose and gave me a nod, turning his book over and sitting back against the pillows.
It was a classic mystery, an Agatha Christie I’d seen on lots of bedside tables at the hospital but never read myself.
After puffing up the pillows on my side, I pulled back the covers and slipped into bed, making sure to avoid physical contact.
We were both fully dressed, me in my pyjamas and Callum in his grey sweatpants and white T-shirt, but this close, alone, in bed?
The vice around my heart squeezed harder, and when my trembling fingers managed to open the book, I had to read the first page three times over before any of the words registered.
The room was so quiet. Old, solid walls, sound didn’t travel, even though Callum had said he could hear me moving around the night before.
Side by side, we read in silence, occasionally turning the page at the exact same time, glancing over at each other with a shy smile.
The quiet rustle of paper, his furrowed brow, the way he pushed his glasses up his nose every time they slid down.
When he brought his right hand up to his tongue to moisten his index finger, I almost gasped.
‘Oh!’ I exclaimed when something brushed against me under the covers.
Callum’s toes.
Were touching.
My toes.
‘Sorry. My bad.’
He let his book fall against his chest but he didn’t move his foot away from mine. ‘Your feet are like ice, woman,’ he said, leaning over to his bedside table, opening a little drawer and pulling out a nubby brown ball. ‘I don’t want to be blamed for you getting frostbite in the night.’
Before I could protest, he had scooted down the mattress, pulled back the covers and carefully rolled a pair of socks up over my feet, one at a time.
If Cinderella had lived in the Highlands.
‘There,’ Callum said, resuming his reading position. ‘Is that better?’
‘Yes,’ I squeaked, breathing for the first time in thirty seconds. ‘Thank you.’
It was, without a shadow of a doubt, the most erotic thing that had ever happened to me in my life.
‘I might turn my light off now,’ I added, my voice still too tight and high-pitched. Lying beside him fully conscious was torture. ‘You carry on reading, don’t worry about me. I can—’
‘Sleep through anything, I remember. Goodnight, Laura, sleep tight.’
‘You too.’
I rolled over to face the window, my back to Callum, replaying the shock of him touching my feet over and over and over until the memory felt more like a dream.
When was the last time a man had touched me?
A man who wasn’t Joel or a hairdresser or that overly familiar shoe salesman at the supply store who clearly had a fetish but undercharged for Crocs so no one at the hospital complained about it?
I breathed in through my nose and out through my mouth, slowing down the cycle until I reached a state of homeostasis, even and calm.
The sounds of the last flickering flames in the fire conspired with the soft swish of his book to lull me to sleep and with the covers tucked up around my chin, the ebb and flow of Callum’s measured breathing at my side, I let my heavy eyelids close.
It was easier than I’d thought it would be. I felt so cosy.
I felt so safe.
‘Laura?’
Somewhere, in a faraway world, someone said my name.
‘Hnnf?’ I replied without opening my mouth or my eyes.
‘Nothing,’ the voice said. ‘We can talk in the morning.’
‘Hnnf,’ I replied again, drifting away from it all with a soft smile on my face.