‘I didn’t think popping downstairs and asking for a steak knife would be a good look for a vegan,’ I replied, slipping what was left of my dinner back into the double-layered doggy bag Graham had begrudgingly prepared and wiping my hands on the flannel I’d been using as a napkin.
When I got back inside after my chat with Graham, Elsie looked like she was having a great time while Callum and Shiv looked ready to launch themselves directly into the sun, and the moment I mentioned the return of my migraine, the two of them raced each otherto call it a night. It wasn’t even eight when Shiv offered to give us all a ride back to Balmaclay, forcing me to choose between the physical pain of walking home in my too-small boots or the emotional discomfort of spending even more time in her company. As soon as we climbed into the battered old Land Rover, I knew I’d chosen badly. I could put plasters on my heels to cover my blisters but medical science had yet to come up with a reliable way to erase ten minutes of memory. Something for me to work on when I got back to the hospital.
Elsie kept up a constant stream of vaguely insulting chat but Callum could hardly keep his eyes off Shiv while she kept watch over me via the rearview mirror, radiating the kind of disdain I was only used to seeing from the woman who kept watch over the Nando’s soft serve machine. They say it’s bottomless but after your third visit, they really like to let you know you’ve had enough.
The moment we pulled up to the house, before the car had even come to a complete standstill, I was out the back and running (limping) back up to my room where I’d been, on my own, ever since.
‘If you’ve come to apologise again, you don’t have to,’ I said as he settled against the windowsill, back to the glass, rather than committing to the second armchair that looked out onto the late-night loch. ‘And if you want me to share this steak, you’re dreaming.’
‘Understood,’ he replied, warm lamplight stretching his soft shadow across the room.
‘How was the rest of your evening?’
‘You’ll be thrilled to hear Dad isn’t sure if you’re “hardy enough stock” to survive a Scottish winter.’
‘He’s right, I’m not,’ I said. ‘Although, you can never tell him that, obviously.’
‘He didn’t see you take down Elsie in The Clach. I’ve never been more impressed with anyone in my entire life.’
‘Your sister has a gift,’ I said, Callum’s small smile graduating into a fully fledged grin. ‘It’s not nearly as easy as I thought it would be to act like a complete cow, except when it comes to your sister. I’m very anti-violence but she really is begging for someone to punch her right in the tit.’
When he laughed, smothering the sound with a hand over his mouth, I felt a shiver run through me and pulled my feet up onto the chair, tucking the blanket I’d found in the bottom of the wardrobe underneath them.
‘Callum?’
‘Laura.’
‘Why haven’t you told anyone you’re moving to Paris?’
A small sound huffed from the back of his throat.
‘How do you know I haven’t?’ he asked.
I pulled the blanket up to my chin, covering my red tartan shirt-and-short pyjamas.
‘Because I accidentally let it slip to Graham but he promised he would keep it a secret. Sorry.’
Callum waved away my apology, still smiling in my general direction. ‘It’s fine, I was going to tell him tonight if I’d had a chance.’
‘What about your mum and dad?’
‘I was planning to tell them when I was safely on another continent.’ His fingers curled around the windowsill and he ducked his head. ‘Me getting intothis programme means they have to take my career seriously and accept I’m never coming home to run the farm. Me and Shiv ruined last Christmas, I don’t want to ruin this one.’
‘I should think not,’ I replied with a sniff. ‘That’s a job for Caroline.’
The lengths this man had gone to so he could avoid face-to-face confrontation with his family were absurd. But he hadn’t asked for my opinion on the matter so I didn’t comment. And ultimately he was trying to spare their feelings, hardly a bad thing.
He looked at odds with his surroundings again, the cosy antique aesthetic of Balmaclay clashing with his rumpled grey sweatpants and tissue-thin white T-shirt. His hair was a mess, as though he’d been tossing and turning, and even in the low light of the room, I could see shadows underneath his eyes. But he was still breathtakingly beautiful. I saw dozens of different people at work every day, hundreds a week, thousands a year, but I couldn’t remember ever meeting anyone who made me stop and stare the way I was staring at Callum McClay.
‘Mum and Dad still think I’m going to give up and come home,’ he said, echoing Graham’s theory as I tore my eyes away, concentrating on the hem of my blanket. ‘They know I’m not earning much as a cook and they know the money Grandad left me is all gone. As far as my parents are concerned, it’s a waiting game. When I tell them I’m not coming home and am in fact moving to another country to train to be a pastry chef, there’s going to be hell to pay. You don’t want to be here for it.’
‘You meanyoudon’t want to be here for it.’
Our eyes met and I felt as though I’d been pinned to my chair.
‘Are you ever planning to tell them?’ I asked.
A half-smile tugged at one side of his mouth.
