‘Apparently,’ I replied. ‘But most people call me Laura.’
His father looked to Callum, arm firmly wrapped around my shoulders.
‘I thought you said her name was Caroline?’
Callum bit his lip.
‘I did. It is Caroline.’
‘Then why would she say it’s Laura?’
There was so much to not enjoy about the situation. His father’s fingers digging into my non-existent bicep, the way his mother kept raising a hand to her chest as though she was one snide comment from fainting clean away, the fact Callum wasstillnaked, but when he winced and mouthed the word ‘please’ in my direction, I found myself backing him up again.
‘My nameisCaroline,’ I said. ‘I was just having a laugh.’
His father let out an accepting chuckle but his mother held my gaze as I took stock of her, the same way she’d analysed me moments before. Neatly coiffed hair, little silk scarf knotted around her neck, the unmistakable look of a woman who knew beyond a shadow of a doubt there was something fishy going on. But my brand new boyfriend’s shoulders sagged with relief and I shot him a tight smile. At least the people pleaser in me was satisfied, even if his mother wasn’t.
‘She’s trouble, this one,’ his dad said loudly, slapping me on the back so hard I felt the sting through my coat and woolly jumper. ‘Derek McClay, at your service, and this is my good lady wife, Lizzie, although I’m sure you’ve already worked that out for yourself. Pleased to finally meet you, Caroline.’
‘Not nearly as pleased as me,’ I said as I attempted to rise. ‘But I really do have to dash off.’
‘Off to work?’ Derek asked, pulling me right back down.
‘Work? No. I’m not on rotation today.’
From the way Lizzie’s eyebrows snatched together, I could tell it was the wrong answer.
‘The spa she works at rotates massage therapists,’Callum said, filling in some very confusing blanks with even more confusing answers. ‘She’s got training today, in a new kind of massage. Haven’t you … babe?’
I fixed him with a fervent glare.
‘Yes, that’s right. Babe.’
‘Fascinating.’ Lizzie was still hovering near the door, upright and tightly wound, the opposite of her husband’s overly comfortable slouch on the sofa. ‘What kind of new massage is that?’
Every word in my supposedly clever brain dissolved into a mess of incomprehensible shapes and sounds, none of which would pass for English. A new kind of massage. What were the old kinds of massage? Across the room, I spotted a tube of tennis balls tucked down the side of an empty umbrella stand.
‘The Slazenger method,’ I announced with confidence. ‘It’s deep tissue, you do it with … balls.’
His mother spluttered into her hands while Callum closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.
‘Shame you’ve got to work all over Christmas,’ Derek declared. ‘Won’t be much fun for our Cal if you’re at work, playing with your balls.’
‘I’m not working over Christmas.’
As soon as the words were out my mouth, it was obvious I’d said the wrong thing again.
‘You’re not working?’ he replied, more than a touch of confusion and annoyance in his voice. ‘Then what’s the problem? You can both come home after all.’
‘Home?’ I enquired politely, watching as all the blood drained from Callum’s face.
‘Home,’ Derek said. ‘To Braewick. Cal told us you couldn’t come because you had work and he didn’t want to leave you in London on your own.’
Callum’s grip on my pink bobble hat tightened until his knuckles turned white.
‘Right, because I did think I was going to have to work,’ I said quickly. ‘Then the rota changed. But we still can’t come. Sorry.’
‘Why not?’ Lizzie asked.
