Oh goodness, maybe he was going to change his mind and offer her a job. That would be fantastic.
But Cal pulled her empty glass back to his side of the bar. ‘I have to get on. We open shortly. But all the best with your job search and time in Edinburgh.’
‘Oh yes.’ Bea slid off her bar stool thinking she must have been right about him seeing through to her muse plan. ‘I’m sorry for taking up your time. And thank you. Look … why don’t I leave my contact details in case anything comes up here? I’ve several years’ experience tending bar in New York City.’ She rifled through her bag for a piece of paper. ‘I think I’ve a paper and pen in here somewhere.’
As efficient as he was gorgeous, Cal pushed a small pad across the bar and passed Bea a pen. She scribbled down her name, her US mobile number and email address.
‘Sorry, I don’t have a UK cell yet,’ she said, ‘but I’ve added my email there too.’
‘Thanks.’ Cal glanced at what she’d written but gave nothing away about whether he might be in touch. Although he did ask how long she would be in town, which could mean that he was considering her potential as a member of his staff.
‘My flight home is three months from now, although it’s flexible,’ she told him.
‘Okay dokes,’ said Cal, whatever that meant. If it had a hidden meaning in it, Bea couldn’t work it out.
‘Well, I guess this is goodbye,’ she said.
‘Aye,’ said Cal as if not remotely bothered by the prospect of never seeing Bea again, which she supposed was understandable. ‘Enjoy the rest of your trip in Scotland.’ He walked her to the door, opened it and even let a smile inch onto his lips. She mirrored the expression but had no choice but to bid farewell to the perfect Scottish man without having secured a third meeting.
Chapter 10
Cal
Ten days later, early on Saturday morning, Cal and Eilidh were floating on their surfboards waiting for the waves to pick up.
‘This might have been a waste of time,’ Cal said of the flat waters in front of them. ‘Think the best was before sunrise.’
‘I agree,’ said Eilidh. ‘Which is frustrating because I needed this today.’
‘Bad week at school?’ His sister worked as a teacher in a somewhat notorious inner-city Edinburgh school. Cal was in complete admiration of her tenacity and ability to connect with the most difficult of students.
‘Yeah, work’s been tough. That, on top of worrying about Dad, isn’t helping.’
‘I get it.’ Cal circled his thumb round a lump of wax on his board. ‘I’ve been doing the same. Although we might be doing more worrying than he is; he’s probably cracking on with work.’ Both his parents were hard workers but Jimmy Butler filled each moment and beyond with industry, although he did knowhow to stop intermittently and enjoy the good times with his family. Cal and his siblings remembered with fondness the times from their childhood when their father had brought home a signed football and kicked it around with them in the garden or let himself be buried in freezing sand at the beach or helped with their Halloween make-up. It hadn’t happened loads, but when it had it made them happier than skylarks.
‘Have you spoken to him since Mum called?’ Eilidh asked.
‘Nope because Mum told us he doesn’t want to talk about it on the phone and I don’t suppose an email would be his cup of tea either. I’d go over there but during the festival isn’t a time I can leave the bar.’
‘Same,’ said Eilidh. ‘I’m flat out with tutoring on the weekends now school is back. I guess we’ll see him at his birthday party but I’d like to do something now. I don’t suppose he’d appreciate a surprise visit either.’
‘I don’t think he would,’ agreed Cal. ‘There is something I’m going to try when I get home, though.’
‘Yeah? What’s that?’
‘I’ll tell you after.’ Cal motioned to the incipient ocean swell a few metres away that held promise of morphing into a beautiful wave. ‘Get this one and forget about your worries for a bit.’
An hour later, Cal’s finger was hovering over the call button on his phone. He’d prefaced the number with 141 so it would show up as unknown on his father’s end, guilt gnawing at him for doing so, but his dad would be more likely to answer a number that might be a business contact. Cal had wondered about calling his mother instead – shewould blether away no bother – but it wasn’t her he needed to talk to. He pressed the call icon.
After five rings, his father answered the phone with the greeting ‘Moshi moshi.’ Why was he talking in Japanese?
‘Hey, Dad? It’s Cal. How are you doing?’ Was that a stupid thing to ask someone with a progressive illness? But what else were you meant to ask?Are you feeling betterwasn’t right, was it?
‘Oh hello, Callum.’ Jimmy Butler sounded surprised to hear from his eldest son, as if he didn’t expect him to have time to call. ‘I thought you might be Mr Yamamichi.’
‘Aye, sorry about that. It’s just little old me. How are you?’
‘I’m doing away, thanks,’ said Jimmy. ‘Making the most of life as ever.’
