‘Don’t worry about me, hen,’ he said through a groan. ‘I’ll muddle through. Not that I’d complain if you twisted my arm, mind.’
‘I don’t have any of my things,’ I replied, scrambling for a decent excuse. ‘I don’t have any, um, oils or those little hot stone things.’
‘Little hot stone things?’ Rory chuckled as he sorted through the biscuit tin for chocolate digestive. ‘She’s a pro.’
‘Mum’s got oils,’ Elsie piped up. ‘Remember, Mum? I bought them for you last Christmas? I know you haven’t used them all, if you’ve even opened the bloody box.’
‘There might be a wee bit left,’ Lizzie hedged, eyes skirting away. ‘A tiny wee bit.’
With a gratified clap, Elsie beamed in my direction.
‘Perfect! It’s so kind of you, Caroline, to take such good care of your boyfriend’s old dad. Who knows, he might be your father-in-law one day, you want to take good care of him.’
It was impossible to say who turned white the fastest, me, Lizzie or Callum.
‘You don’t have to,’ Callum said. ‘If you don’t want to.’
‘Why would she not want to?’ Elsie cut in. ‘Stop being weird, Cal, Rory is right, she’s a professional masseuse. Isn’t there a masseuse code that says you have to help someone when they’re in pain?’
‘We prefer to be called massage therapists,’ I said feebly.
‘Then you’ll do it?’ she asked.
Sometime, the only way out was through.
I nodded my head.
‘You’re sure?’ Callum asked as a suspiciously spritelyDerek leapt to his feet, practically sprinting out the room. I rose slowly, glaring at Elsie and her Cheshire cat grin.
‘Trust me, I’m a masseuse,’ I said through gritted teeth. ‘By the way, if you get a chance, could you get my skirt down from the silver birch by the tower? Long red satin one, you can’t miss it.’
‘Should I ask why your skirt is in a tree?’
‘No,’ I said, yanking my jumper down one more time before following Derek out the kitchen. ‘I wouldn’t bother if I were you.’
Chapter Eighteen
The bedroom was lit for romance. Candles flickered, soft music played from a portable speaker and a tall, broad, auburn-haired man lay face down on the bed, naked except for the pair of white sports socks pulled halfway up his calves and the hand towel draped over his backside. Unfortunately it was the wrong tall, broad, auburn-haired man.
‘Is that you, Caroline?’
Derek’s head popped up from the bed, a cheery grin on his face.
‘For my sins,’ I replied, inching around the edges of the room and pawing at the walls in search of a light switch. ‘It’s a bit dark in here, shall we put some lights on?’
‘I thought you’d feel more comfortable if we recreated the spa experience,’ Elsie’s voice purred from the doorway.
Squinting at a small brass knob jutting out from the wall, I turned it all the way to the right, illuminating more of Derek than I cared to see. Adjusting it back down to halfway, I scowled at Callum’s sister.
‘The thing is, I’m more of a functional massage therapist,’ I informed them both. ‘I don’t go in for all that airy-fairy self-care stuff. I completely understand if that’s not your thing, Mr McClay, I won’t be offended if you’ve changed your mind.’
‘How many times do I have to tell you, call me Derek,’ he cawed from the bed. ‘Don’t you worry about me, hen. I can take whatever you can dish out. I can’t imagine a wee slip of a thing like you could do much damage to an old codger like me.’
I wished I could say the same. The mental anguish alone was likely to take me down.
‘Mind if I stay and watch?’ Elsie asked. ‘I’ve always been curious about massage.’
‘Yes, I do actually,’ I replied and kicked the door shut, her look of surprise as it slammed in her face almost worth the horrors I was about to endure.
