by Annie Dyer
“The café where we had cake, tomorrow at one?” he said quietly.
I nodded. “Definitely. I’ll see you there.”
And so, it began. For the next few weeks we met, ate, talked, held hands and exchanged chaste kisses when no one was watching, both aware of the impossibility of us. He and Max socialised with me and the friends I made and I settled in to university life, all the time aware that I was starting to drown in a feeling I hadn’t been familiar with before.
Chapter Three
Killian
“Beer? Or whisky?” Max asked, nursing a bottle of what looked like home brew. Given that Grant Callaghan had just bought a winery in Ontario I wouldn’t have been surprised if he had starting brewing his own as well. The man was a legend and I’d been lucky enough to have him around since I was eighteen, courtesy of being friends with his eldest son.
“The beer has no label,” I said, narrowing my eyes. Before I was drinking anything in this house I was going to find out exactly what it was.
Max grinned slightly, the secretive smile that had women eating out of his hands since freshers’ week. “Dad’s friend, Dave, has started brewing his own. It’s worthy of having a bottle or two. Just to be polite.”
I eyed him suspiciously. “I’ll be polite then.”
“Jacks, get a beer for Killian,” Max said, elbowing his brother hard in the ribs.
“For fucks’ sake, I’m not your fucking slave,” Jackson said, surprisingly not booting Max. Jackson had started at the same university the year after us so we’d spent a lot of time together, in the gym, drinking, playing rugby and more drinking.
“I’ll get them,” I said, which had probably been Max’s plan all along. “Are they in the kitchen?”
Max nodded. “You could always bring the whisky bottle that’s on the side,” he said. “Jackson has limited nights of freedom left. He needs to make the most of them.”
Jackson scowled. “I’m not going to be pussy whipped,” he said, quickly glancing around the room, probably to check that Vanessa wasn’t there.
“You’re right,” Max said. “You’re not going to be pussy whipped. Because you already are.”
I laughed, bolting for the kitchen while they bickered. The house was huge, an old farmhouse that had been extended and groomed into something interior decorators dreamed of. The kitchen was open planned with bi-fold doors looking out into the garden. A corner of it was a seating area, comfy chairs that I had fallen asleep on more than once and an oversized TV that was great for watching sport.
“What’s amused you so much?”
I turned and saw Claire at the fridge, pouring an orange juice. Over the past three years I had realised that when she had a big case she drank very little alcohol. “Your brothers,” I said, my eyes trying not to trail over her again.
She half smiled and I wished I could make her face brighten fully like I used to be able to. “I don’t think Max has come to terms with the idea of Jackson getting married yet, so we’re all in for a weekend of them annoying each other. I feel for Vanessa. I hope it doesn’t put her off Jacks – he’s even grumpier than usual when they’re not together,” she said, glugging the juice.
“I think it’ll take a lot more than Max annoying Jackson to scare Vanessa,” I said. “What about you? Are you seeing anyone?” I braced myself for both the answer and the biting way it would be given.
Claire held my gaze, putting the glass down on the worktop and biting her lips together. “No,” she said. “But you know that, so why ask?”
“Why would I know?”
“My brothers would have said something at some point. You know they’ve never liked anyone I dated,” she said, her voice cold and toneless.
It was true; anyone that had ever got to the stage of meeting them they’d found fault with. In fact, Claire’s short-term boyfriends had become a standing joke when she wasn’t there and quite often when she was. “You could be seeing someone they don’t know about,” I said, knowing that she would think about us and how we kept that secret for nearly a year.
She looked away from me, doe eyes hiding behind her hair. “You were the only dirty secret, Killian,” she said, now pouring more juice.
“I wish we hadn’t kept it secret,” I said, the room starting to feel small and claustrophobic. “We should’ve told Max from the start, when we knew it was serious.”
“So they could’ve criticised you?”
“No,” I said, picking up two bottles of the home brew and tucking the whisky under my arm. “So they would understand now why I don’t do serious relationships.”
She looked at me, surprised at the response. “I didn’t want you to have a phobia about being in a relationship…”
“I don’t have a phobia, Claire. It’s just no other woman is you.”
She bit her lip again, eyes wide, making her look like she was nineteen again.
“You brewing that beer yourself, K?” Jackson’s voice boomed through. “I need something to drink before I miss my wedding because I’m in prison for murder.”
“Coming through!” I left her in the kitchen, looking at the wall behind where I was stood and feeling like a total bastard for causing her to look upset. She was stressed with the case – I remembered how she would become so focused before exams at college and I remembered how I used to make her feel better.
“You seen Claire?” Jackson said as I passed him a beer. Grant had joined us, nursing a whisky and a wide smile. Vanessa had disappeared elsewhere, but Seph, the youngest brother in the Callaghan family, was now there, still wearing a shirt and suit trousers.
“Claire’s in the kitchen,” I said. “Seph can say hi when he goes to get more beers.”
“Seriously?” Seph said, standing at the same time so there wasn’t going to be any argument. “I’ve spent god knows how long stuck in traffic and no fucker can get me a beer?” He shook his head, looking dramatically sad.
“May as well as bring in another couple of bottles,” Max said. “Save you getting up again in a few minutes.”
“Fuckers,” Seph said, half under his breath, flipping Max the bird.
“He seems much better,” I said, knowing that a few months ago they’d been worried about him drinking too much and pushing himself to every extreme after his childhood sweetheart had finished their relationship.
“Yeah,” Jackson said. “He’s back to being his irritating-as-itching-powder self. Maybe we could send him up to Manchester for a few weeks.”
“Absolutely not,” Marie’s faintly tinged American accent announced at the doorway. “For the first time in years I’ve got all my children in the same area. It’s staying that way for at least a few months.”
“Manchester’s not that far,” Jackson said. “You survived Payton being there for a few months. We can all cope with Seph being away for a bit. I can especially.”
Marie shook her head, sitting down next to her husband. “You need something sorted at that office, Jackson Callaghan, get someone who is based there to sort it and leave your brother here where I can keep an eye on him.”
“Speaking of eyes, where’s the family eye candy?” Max said, glaring at Marie. “How come Callum’s gotten out of this pre-wedding party?”
“Are you saying you’ve got somewhere else you’d rather be than in the bosom of your family. Maxwell…” Jackson shook his head mockingly. “I’ll have to reconsider choices for my best man…”
“I’m not passing up on my chance to give a speech in public where I can embarrass the fuck out of you. No way,” Max looked up as Vanessa and a couple of her friends entered, Claire just behind them. I hitched up on my seat so someone could squash on, preferably Claire.
“Now this type of planning I could enjoy,” Claire said, staring at the space next to me but not moving from the doorway, other than to let Seph pass, his arms full of bottles. “I can think of at least three really good stories to tell about Jackson on his wedding day. At least two could stop him from having a
wedding night though…”
Jackson looked at Vanessa who had sat on the arm of the sofa next to him. “You need to defend me,” he said. “You know how bad it can be when they gang up on me.”
Vanessa laughed and softly smacked his shoulder. “Absolutely not. You can defend yourself, Jackson Callaghan. Besides, maybe I should hear these stories.” Jackson turned his head into her neck and she let out a yelp, probably from a tender bite.
“Where is Callum? How exactly did he get out of this?” Max said, opening another beer.
Marie smiled. “He’s in surgery, operating on one of the lions. He’ll be here tomorrow, possibly the early hours of the morning if he drives over once he’s finished.”
“Mum, this is Callum. The only thing he’ll be driving tonight is his co…” Seph was interrupted by a tirade of abuse and a cushion launched at his head.
Claire finally took the seat next to me.
“What Joseph was trying to say is that Callum is probably going to have some sort of date planned with some poor unfortunate girl who believes she she’ll be staring in his Instagram story and will be his date for Jackson’s wedding.”
Marie shook her head. “That boy. He’ll be here before lunch, he’s assured me. And even though he is a manwhore – and yes, I do know what that means – he is generally more reliable than the rest of you.”
“He’s always been your favourite,” Seph said, halfway through a beer already. “We know our places.”
“To be fair, he’s been away for the last couple of years so no one’s been able to report back on everything he’s done wrong,” Claire said. “Now he’s in London again, I’m sure we can start feeding back his misdeeds.”
I felt the heat from her leg next to mine and watched Jackson touch Vanessa, his hand possessive on her thigh. We hadn’t had the opportunity to be a couple in front of others, not unless you counted the days away from Oxford where no one knew us and we had been so young.
“Callum is not my favourite,” Marie stated, punctuating it with a swig of what looked like a gin and tonic. “I don’t have favourites, although at the moment Ava would not be near the top of the most preferred list.”
I felt Claire chuckle and I relaxed back against the overly cushioned sofa. She had taken off whatever make up she’d had on and it made her look younger, softer. Her hair was mussed and she looked tired. I wished I could put my arm around her shoulders and pull her into me, but if I tried I’ve probably end up scarred.
There were words of protest around the room about her denying Callum being the favourite child. I laughed, watching Grant, who looked mildly amused as he nursed his whisky, keeping out of the conversation, as he often did, letting Marie hold court.
“Actually my favourites are none of you lot,” Marie said. “I prefer my honorary children, like the friends you bring home.”
She glanced at the tiny blonde called Amelie who sat on the floor next to Max’s spot on the sofa and then at me, smiling softly. When I’d started university my parents had moved to Ireland, back to near my mother’s home town. Max and I had been friends from the outset and I’d ended up being a regular visitor to the house for weekends and some holidays. Marie was from a big Irish-New York family and liked having the house full and feeding people. She was also a proven mind reader and knew something was the matter when her children avoided speaking to her. Then she honed in like a truth-seeking missile and there was no getting away without confessing all. I had wondered if she knew about Claire and I, and the year we had spent getting to know each other in ways Grant certainly wouldn’t have approved.
“And my soon to be daughter.” Marie smiled at Vanessa. “Just think, if the rest of you can hypnotise someone into marrying you, I could end up with fourteen children. Think of all the grandchildren!”
There was a collective groan from everyone apart from Jackson and Vanessa, who were back to gazing at each other, Jackson twirling a strand of her hair around his fingers. He’d been a changed man since meeting her a few months ago, no longer working constantly or snapping at anyone for the slightest thing. Since I’d left the marines we’d had regular poker nights at Jackson’s and frequently met for food and drinks. He’d been happier, and I couldn’t be more pleased that he’d found Vanessa, although seeing them together made me regret that the only time I had that it had been with Claire, too many years ago.
“How many shops are we being dragged to tomorrow?” Claire asked, breaking Vanessa’s gaze at Jackson.
“Two,” she said. “They have different stockists but we don’t have to pick something tomorrow, just get an idea of what you like. We’ll take photos so Ava and Payton can have some sort of say. Apart from colour, where I want you in the same, you can have different styles so there are no huge arguments.”
“What’s planned for us men?” Seph said, making Max snort silently, probably at the fact he was describing himself as a man.
“We’re leaving you at home with a baby sitter,” Jackson said. “We’re going to Oxford too, getting measurements taken at some suit shop and then beer tasting.”
“And meeting for dinner,” Vanessa said. “We are meeting for dinner. If you’re too drunk to manage that then I’ll rethink the wedding.”
Jackson stiffened, his hand on her thigh now still. “We’ll be fine. It’s just a few drinks.”
I snorted. “It was just a few drinks last Saturday. A few drinks that had you on your ass before we got you home.”
“My point exactly,” Vanessa said. “This isn’t your stag do. You’re getting suit fittings. That’s your priority.”
Max turned to Jackson. “Did you remember to pack your balls or are they still in the presentation case from when you gave them to Vanessa?”
Vanessa smashed a cushion into Max’s face. “His balls are working just fine. And they’re attached. Unlike yours will be if you carry on. Or if you all end up too drunk to be coherent tomorrow. Or Seph ends up streaking through Oxford because I believe that’s not happened before,” she said sarcastically.
All eyes went to Seph.
“It was Fresher’s Week. And I wasn’t the only one,” he said, holding both hands up in surrender.
“I thought I recognised you when I saw the article in the local newspaper,” Marie said.
“But my head wasn’t on it,” Seph said.
Marie smirked. “I wouldn’t need your head to recognise you,” she said.
Seph began to quietly curse.
“Save the cutting for if Seph ever gets married,” Jackson said, Vanessa now resting her head on his shoulder, eyes half closed.
“What do you mean, ‘if’?” Seph said. “You’ve managed to get someone to agree to put up with all your shit and I’m by far a better proposition than you.”
“There’s always mail order,” Claire said. “Or we could re-establish the idea of a dowry and just make it something that is attached to the male in return for taking him off the family’s hands.”
We all laughed, including Seph, who was fairly used to being the target for the banter that usually flowed. Then the conversations continued, along with the beer and the whisky and the wine. Jackson and Vanessa slipped off to bed before midnight, claiming tiredness. Max pulled out the cards and decided to teach Claire’s friend, Sophie, poker of the non-strip variety, which became fairly serious once Sophie and Amelie claimed an early start and went to bed, leaving just me, Claire, Max and Seph, after Grant and Marie had disappeared.
My phone vibrated in my pocket, unusual for this time of night as I had it set so that it would only alert me if it was from certain people. I checked it, knowing that Claire would comment and saw a text from Nick.
Nick: We need to talk re: Katie’s situation in the morning and get more security set up here and at the big house. I don’t think she’s been paranoid having seen her emails and some anonymous texts.
I exhaled a long sigh and glanced at Claire who was laughing at something Max had said.
Me: You still happy to h
ave her there with the kids?
Nick: Think she’s better here than anywhere else. Moved her into the room next to mine rather than the one one the other side of cottage. Garry’s coming over tomorrow to help install cameras, sensors and alarms. Will speak to Grant in the morning about doing the same on that place.
Me: If you’re sure?
Nick: If I didn’t think I could protect her and the girls I’d sort out a safe house. Did a bit of intelligence on the ex and called in a couple of favours. This guy’s all nice and charitable on the surface but there’s a fuck ton of crap beneath him.
Me: Okay. Give me the details tomorrow. I’ll be over early.
Nick: Don’t bring Claire. Not yet.
Me: Why?
Nick: There’s some stuff Katie’s told me that she doesn’t want Claire to know yet. See you in the morning.
I put my phone away seeing Claire glaring at me, the game of cards over. “It was Nick,” I said, holding her eyes with mine.
“Is everything okay?” she said. “You sure it wasn’t your latest hook-up asking for a booty call?”
“Unfortunately no,” I said, noticing the slight scowl that appeared on her face and enjoying it immensely. “Nick’s having one of our employees bring some extra alarms over for the cottage tomorrow.”
Max stacked the cards and stood up. “Okay. Whatever you do to the cottage replicate at Claire’s apartment and mine. Jackson’s too. We’ll discuss it further on Monday. I’m off to bed – practice stag day to prepare for.”
“Don’t let Vanessa hear you say that, otherwise it won’t just be Jackson’s balls she’s got in a cabinet,” Seph said, looking from me to Claire and back. “I’m off to bed too.”
“You mean you’re off to watch porn,” Max said, leaving the room. “Just keep the volume down. The wall between your room and mine isn’t that thick.”
