Chapter Nine #2
‘You’re welcome,’ he says, gaze still pinning me to the spot.
And I know that he’s waiting for an apology in return.
I was about to offer one, for goodness’ sake!
But I cannot do it. I cannot be the bigger person because I’m exhausted from this endless Monday.
The reappearance of the one that got away.
My extremely confusing physical reaction to the presence of Callum Bang, arch nemesis and beautiful human being.
The fact that my brain feels utterly fried as I try to figure a way out of this ridiculous time-loop situation I seem to have got myself into.
Coupled with the knowledge that it doesn’t massively matter, really, if I apologise to Callum or not.
I’ve spent my whole life doing things by the book, pleasing people, and look where it’s got me!
Chances are that I’ll find myself living this day all over again, so maybe just this once I can be stubborn.
I can allow myself to act like a bit of a dick without giving myself too much of a hard time. Just this once.
Callum’s still watching me evidently grappling with his apology. He looks like a hungry man sizing up his lunch options.
This doesn’t help my fragile state of mind. Why, on top of everything, does he have to look so good? It’s all just too much. I decide there and then that today is not the day I put my rivalry with Callum Bang aside via a well-timed apology. I just can’t.
‘Best wishes,’ I say eventually, apparently now reduced down to Schitt’s Creek references.
‘Warmest regards,’ he fires back.
Somewhere in the pit of my stomach, amid all the confusion and stress, a warm ember glows. If there’s one thing to be said in favour of Callum Bang, then his understanding of my kind of film and TV references is it.
We’re eyeing each other a little less warily now. The corners of my mouth have turned up involuntarily.
‘Can I just say, for the record,’ Callum begins, his voice low. ‘I am not who you think I am.’
‘You mean, you’re not Hades himself?’ I pretend to clutch at my chest. It’s probably way too soon to start poking fun at Callum, what with his recent apology and all. But, you know, YOLO. Or in my case, You Only Live One Monday On Repeat. So, YOLOMOR? Don’t blame me, blame both time and Einstein.
‘What will the rest of the gods have to say about this rejection?’ I ask.
‘Hades, the king of the underworld?’ Callum clarifies. ‘That’s real charming of you, Moss. There I was hoping we might have stumbled upon a ceasefire, and here you are, firing shots.’
‘Take cover,’ I reply.
‘Excellent advice. But for some reason, where you’re concerned, I just stand here and take it.’
‘Seems to me like you give as good as you get.’
‘Maybe, but at least I’ve apologized.’
I narrow my eyes at him. He does have a point.
‘You were going to tell me something.’ I change tack.
Callum pushes his hair off his forehead. ‘I just wanted you to know that I’m not the privileged kid you think I am. I don’t walk into jobs without any hassle, I don’t fly business “all the time”.’
He leans forward so his elbows rest on his knees, head tilted sideways as he looks straight at me. It’s all I can do not to stare at those ridiculous forearms.
‘We didn’t have much, growing up,’ Callum says.
‘My mum raised me and my sister alone, working two jobs just so that we could have the heating on in the winter. As soon as I was old enough, I was working too. Turned out I was pretty smart, and not bad at sports, so I got a scholarship to a private school where me and my North London accent stuck out like a sore thumb.’
Callum pauses to glance around the cabin before his gaze finds mine again.
I realise I’m holding my breath as I listen to him.
‘And the whole working for my aunt thing?’ he adds.
‘By the time I joined Kat Moretti at the end of last year, I’d spent years working my way up the career ladder.
Of course it helped that she’s my aunt, I don’t deny that.
But I actually think it makes me work harder, knowing how many other talented designers there are out there who could be doing this job.
I want to prove myself even more. That’s why I stay late, work weekends, whatever it takes.
I am incredibly grateful for this job and the opportunities it’s opened up to me. I wish you could see that, Moss.’
‘I …’ I begin before stumbling over my words.
He casts his gaze down to the floor and I have to physically fight the sudden impulse to wrap myself around him. Offer comfort. I need to keep a clear head, but my already frazzled brain is struggling to assimilate this brand-new information, let alone the way it’s making me feel.
Callum Bang is not the entitled dick I thought he was.
‘I …’ I try again. Words, don’t fail me now!
Callum’s now looking at me appraisingly.
‘I might have misjudged you a bit,’ I grind out.
The look on his face.
‘Sorry, I didn’t quite hear that.’ He cocks a hand around his ear.
‘Oh for God’s sake,’ I mutter. He might not be entitled but he’s definitely still annoying as hell. And let’s not forget his behaviour last Christmas. ‘I might have misjudged you a bit,’ I say it louder this time.
‘Huh. Imagine that.’ He beams. ‘Nina Moss might have misjudged me a bit. I feel all warm and glowy inside.’
I scowl in response.
‘I still haven’t had an apology,’ he adds.
‘Don’t push it.’
‘But I do feel like we’re making progress. Well done, you.’
‘That’s funny, because I feel like you’re a patronizing shit.’
Callum chews his lip, clearly enjoying this. ‘Now it seems like we’re falling back a step.’
‘Please be quiet now.’
We quarrel all the way to Singapore, pausing only to transfer onto our next flight and chat politely to Clio and drunk Brody, before recommencing the patter en route to Perth.
I must admit there’s a strange sense of comfort in it and, at times, I find myself actively amused by Callum.
He has a dry sense of humour not unlike my own and he is, admittedly, extremely engaging.
At one point he tells me a story about how he was browsing bags of salad in the supermarket when an older woman asked for his thoughts on rocket versus lamb’s lettuce and then ended up telling him her life story.
I could picture it happening. He is the type of person who you’d open up to in the vegetable aisle.
Not that I’d admit that to him, obviously.
‘I must have one of those faces,’ he shrugs.
‘Punch-able?’ I offer cheerfully.
‘I was going with lovable but you do you, Moss.’
By the time we land in Perth, I am so tired I’d struggle to tell you my middle name or, indeed, spell it.
I can definitely tell you Callum’s though.
By now I’m so well-practised at today that, as we trot through Perth airport and Callum’s passport falls loose, I reach to catch it before it lands on the floor.
Even Callum looks impressed. I open it up to enjoy another shot of his man-bun era and this time, I clock his full name too.
Callum Aleksander Bang.
Hmm. I was hoping for something a little more tease-worthy. Annoyingly, Callum Aleksander Bang is quite a hot full name? It’s definitely giving Bond.
‘The name’s Bang. Callum Aleksander Bang,’ I say in my deepest voice.
It’s at this point that I realize Callum is looking down at me with a question mark written across his face. Probably because I’m standing right next to him and saying his full name aloud while doing a James Bond impression. It is a bit odd, I must admit.
‘Have you been drinking?’ he asks, taking the passport from me as he continues to march ahead of me through the airport.
‘It’s just the time difference,’ I call out confidently. ‘That and not getting any sleep over the past twenty-plus hours. And don’t even get me started on the time-looping!’
I chuckle to myself before I realize what I’ve said.
Callum screeches to a standstill and I have to put the brakes on hard but it doesn’t stop me from ricocheting into him.
My cheek lands somewhere about his chest and every single one of my senses goes into unwelcome overdrive.
Callum smells clean and fresh, a heady mix of citrus fruits and fabric softener.
His body feels strong and taut against mine.
I can hear him letting out a surprised gasp which seems to rumble out of him.
And then comes the true feeling of déjà vu as I recognize that I’ve experienced all of these things before.
The way he smells, the feel of his body, the soft cotton of his jumper.
It’s a preview of what’s to come and a reminder of what’s been before.
I remember all of these things from when he smashes into me and we start the Monday merry-go-round all over again.
Right before Callum and I meet our untimely end, I am engulfed by him. And right now, as I’m pressed up against his chest, it’s bringing it all back.
In a … sexy way?
My pulse quickens.
‘Did you just say time-looping?’ Callum pulls me out of my thoughts, his broad hands wrapping firmly around the tops of my arms as he steadies me. It is doing terrible things to my ability to think.
‘Oof,’ I reply.
‘Nina?’ he presses, sounding worried.
He used my first name.
‘Nina, are you all right?’ he asks, stepping back, eyes scanning my frame.
‘Huh?’ I blink, my treacherous body now devastated to no longer be pressed right up against my work enemy.
‘You started doing James Bond impressions and then you put it down to the fact that you’re time-looping.’
Concern is etched across his handsome face and I finally realize that I’m going to have to do some instant damage limitation.
‘Nope,’ I shake my head. ‘I mean, yes, I was trying out your name in a Bond style. What can I say, I love a bit of Bond!’ The giggle I add definitely sounds unhinged. ‘Though we all know you’d be the Bond villain.’
Callum does not rise to this.
‘And the time loop thing?’ he presses, easing his hands away from me once he’s certain I can hold myself up.
I briefly consider pretending to faint just to get them back.
But I can’t do that, because I need to apply my already depleted mental faculties to get myself out of the hole I find myself in.
‘The time loop thing?’ I’m now practically cackling, as if Callum has made the best joke ever.
‘You must have misheard, Callum Aleksander Bang. I said time grouping. It’s, erm, another way of talking about jet lag and, you know, flying through time zones.
I’m not surprised you haven’t heard of it because all the cool kids are saying it. ’
Callum assesses me.
‘Are all the cool kids also saying “all the cool kids”?’ he asks provocatively.
‘Yes, actually they are. There’s a whole youth language out there and it’s okay not to be part of it,’ I add with a patronizing pat of his arm.
He looks at my hand, still on his bicep.
And I’d like to pause here just for a brief note on Callum’s bicep. It’s … a lot. Firm. Flexed. Powerful.
I swallow hard.
‘And you are au fait with what “the cool kids” are saying, are you?’ he asks.
I nod knowledgably. ‘Very much so. And we’re not saying “au fait”, that’s for sure.’
‘We? You’re … one of them?’ I do not like the pregnant pause Callum puts in this sentence.
‘Yes, I am,’ I add primly.
‘And here I was thinking we were a similar age,’ he says.
‘It’s not really about age, Callum. It’s more about mindset. I just am in tune with the kids of today.’
‘I believe you. Thousands wouldn’t,’ Callum says, a smile playing on his lips, eyes piercing deep into my soul.
I ball my hands into fists. Why must he tease me like this?
I cast an appraising glance at him as he stands there, watching me.
The epitome of a Bond villain. Just give the man a cat and a lot of gold rings and he’d be perfect.
That thought alone is enough to tip my frazzled brain right over the edge.
For a while, I’d been hoping that today was different enough to mean this loop had somehow broken.
For a while, I thought I might be finally out of this intense eternal Monday.
But as we approach the scene of our imminent demise I realize with a wobble that nothing has really changed.
Time seems to slow right down as the luggage buggy chugs towards us.
It’s happening again.
But why?
Because I keep getting today wrong. Why have I spent all day arguing with Callum when I should have been grasping the obvious get-out hand I’ve been dealt.
It’s Hamish, it has to be. I’ve spent the past decade dreaming of us getting back together.
And when my first love is finally presented to me, I choose to ignore it for the sake of nice-smelling toiletries and some silver service?
Tyres screech somewhere in the distance, but I’m too wrapped up in how blind I’ve been to take much notice.
Of course it’s Hamish!
I just need to make sure that the one that got away comes back next time.
Callum’s still looking at me like a cat eyeing a ball of string.
The buggy is inching closer.
And I’ve had it with his smug Bond villain face and the endless teasing and the fact that I never ever feel still around him. I snap so hard that I positively push him into the oncoming vehicle this time.
I’d burn in hell if I weren’t already in it.
It’s Callum’s fault. He deserved it, for distracting me from my escape route, right? (Don’t answer that.) The look on his face, one of pure shock, is enough to make me instantly regret my decision, but the good news is I don’t have too long to dwell on it.
His body crashes into mine and the light goes out.