Chapter Eight
It’s an awkward few minutes’ walk to the church while I try to match my steps with Callum’s, while also avoiding puddles.
It would be much easier if I could stand closer to him.
If he were Nush or Gemma or Harry, I would loop my arm through his and huddle in tight, but with Callum, it’s like a game to see how much distance we can keep between each other without getting wet. A game we’re both really good at.
When we finally reach the church, he leads me to a dark green van near the entrance. It’s chilly inside but dry and clean, and he turns the heater on as soon as we get in.
“Betcha it’ll stop raining now,” I say, as he strips off his coat.
I keep mine on, trying not to be too obvious as I look around.
But if I was secretly hoping for some magical bit of insight into Callum’s psyche, I’d be disappointed.
There’s nothing. Naught. Nada. Zilch. Not even an air freshener hanging from the rearview. Maybe it’s a rental.
I hit the radio button as a last resort, disappointment filling me when it turns to a generic news station.
Callum gives me a knowing look. “Hoping for something embarrassing?”
“There is no such thing as embarrassing music taste,” I say, turning it off again. “But also, yes.”
He doesn’t answer, pulling out from the tight space and steering us toward home. Or my home, at least.
The traffic is slow with the weather, but we’re near the outskirts of the city and, in a matter of minutes, we’re back on country roads with dark green fields on either side of us.
Callum’s wipers work overtime, but I can still barely see through the deluge, only brief glimpses of the tarmac and the lights from the other cars around us.
My chest tightens with a familiar clench of anxiety, and I force myself to breathe evenly, in through the nose and out through the mouth.
I’m not great in cars. Never have been. Not since my parents. But it’s much worse in bad weather. Especially when I have nothing to distract myself with.
“So,” I say. “Do you go on a lot of dates?”
“I’d say a normal amount,” he responds dryly, and I nod.
A normal amount is a normal answer. Even if it makes me feel acutely uncharitable to all the anonymous women I imagine sitting opposite him.
“I got stood up once,” I continue, aware that I’m babbling but preferring it to silence.
“Third date. We were supposed to meet for coffee, but he never showed. I thought he was dead. He wasn’t.
He just didn’t want to see me again and was too chicken to say so.
I think he’s married now. Last time I checked anyway. ”
“You checked?”
“Of course I checked.”
“You always keep tabs on people you’ve dated?”
“Not all of them,” I say, defensive. “Just the ones I have grudges against. Don’t you?”
“No.”
“Well, you should. Sometimes, you find out they’re doing badly and it’s really satisfying.” He doesn’t respond and I sit up, fidgeting with my seatbelt. “Your car is very clean.”
“My—” He shakes his head. “There are no segues with you, are there? You’re just straight in.”
“It’s a compliment!”
“Not when you sound so surprised.”
“I sound surprised because I am surprised.”
“Because I work in construction?”
“Well, yeah.”
“I spend all day in the dirt. I don’t like to bring it home with me.” He peers out the windshield before checking his blind spot, and I relax a little with how careful he’s being.
“I can’t believe you were going to get the bus in this,” he says, back to sounding annoyed.
“There is nothing wrong with the bus.” When it shows up.
“You know, when the hotel is built, the village will be on a direct route to—”
“I know. I’ve read your leaflets.”
“I’m just saying, it’s not all doom and gloom. You’re the one who was going to walk forty minutes from Rossbridge.”
“I like walking.”
“In this?” He gestures out the windshield, and I flinch as he momentarily lets go of the steering wheel. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re stubborn?”
“No,” I say primly. “I’m a delight to everyone else.”
“Well, I’ll try not to take it personally,” he mutters, and we fall quiet as other vehicles speed past us, sending surface spray into the air. I grow restless, my knee shaking with each sweep of the wipers, and I reach for the radio again, needing distraction from my thoughts.
I must have hit a different button this time, though, because it doesn’t turn to the news station, and a little Bluetooth symbol pops up instead as it connects to his phone. Callum glances at me but makes no move to turn it off as a posh English man starts narrating.
It takes me a few seconds of listening before I figure out what it is. “ Frankenstein ? You’re not one of those people who only read books published before 1900, are you?”
“Is that a bad thing?”
“Depends.”
“On?”
“On whether you’re doing it for enjoyment or because you think it makes you look smart.”
“Are you serious?”
“It happens,” I tell him, relieved to be talking again. “I had an ex-boyfriend who carried around Crime and Punishment the entire time we were dating even though I swear I never saw him open it. He even put it by the bed while we—”
“I’m a slow reader,” Callum interrupts with a TMI glance. “But I got into audiobooks a few years ago. I’m trying to catch up. Turns out a lot of people have written a lot of stuff.”
“So I’ve heard.”
Another eye-dart to me, this one a little unsure. “You read?”
“Not as much as I could.” I leave the story on, but Callum doesn’t seem to mind that he might be missing a bit, he just turns it down so that it’s background noise.
“My granny does,” I continue. “I live with her, and she has a lot of books, but I’m looking after her when I’m not working, so I don’t really get the time. ”
“You’re her carer?”
“I’m her granddaughter.”
He frowns at that but doesn’t push it. “And how does she feel about the hotel?”
“She hates it,” I say automatically. That’s kind of a lie, though. “But she didn’t like the nuns either. Now she’s just apathetic about the whole thing. She says there’s no point in her getting annoyed about things changing because she won’t be around long enough to see it.”
“That’sdark.”
“It’s her answer to everything these days. I asked her last year what kind of funeral she wanted, and she said, ‘What do I care? I’ll be dead.’ Then the next day, she said she wanted to be pushed out to sea on a flaming boat.”
“She seems fun.”
“She’s just Granny.”
Though I did spend an entire afternoon looking up the laws for that kind of thing before she told me she was joking.
Callum doesn’t respond, slowing down as he lets another car cut in front. I force myself to concentrate on the book.
“You know you’ve only made it worse for yourself,” he says, just as I start to get into it. Some guy called Victor is having a nightmare and it all seems very intense.
“With what?”
“With Jack.”
The pleasant little mood lift I had drops immediately. And to think we were being so civil.
“I don’t want to talk about him,” I say, but Callum doesn’t seem to hear me.
“I get it, okay? I get that you’re upset about everything that’s going on. But it’s going to happen. The resort, the pub. All of it. This is the biggest project he’s ever taken on and he’s got a lot riding on it. His boss is already watching his every move.”
“His boss?”
“Gerald Cunningham? He’s the chairman of the company.” He looks confused. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard of him. You’ve probably already burned his likeness on a pyre or something.”
“I’m sure he’s on the list,” I deadpan, even as I consider his words. “So he’s the one I need to convince?”
“Good luck with that. He lives in New York.”
“But you’re saying Jack’s just his gopher.”
“Would you—” He breaks off with a dry laugh. “It doesn’t matter what Jack is or who he’s answering to. Just know this is the biggest opportunity he’s had, and he wants to impress. He’ll throw as much money as he needs at any problem to make it go away.”
“And that’s where he’ll lose,” I tell him. “I don’t care about money.”
“Everyone cares about money.”
“Not me,” I say. “Not Adam. He was all set to become some fancy-pants businessman, but gave it all up to take over Kelly’s when his dad died. Do you know why?”
“No, but I have the feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“It’s because he couldn’t bear the thought of it going to someone else. Because that pub is like another family member to him. Another part of him. And even though he’s only breaking even most years, he still gives it his heart and soul.”
“Sounds like a great guy,” Callum says flatly.
“He is.”
Callum’s jaw muscles flex. “And what is he, your boyfriend or something?”
“My what ?” I stare at him in horror. “No. Gross. No.”
His glances over at my immediate, admittedly dramatic refusal. “My mistake.”
“He’s like a brother to me. And sometimes an uncle. And my swim coach. He also helped me with algebra growing up.”
“A real saint.”