Canada Square (Love in London #3)

by Carrie Elks

  “You want another?” Charlie's voice is thickened by intoxication. There's a twitch in his right eye that's becoming more pronounced with every mouthful. I hand him my glass and he upends the bottle, the trickle of bubbles only filling it halfway.

  “Damn, I shall have to order more.” In an attempt to curb his slurring, he over-pronounces every word. He's becoming posher, too. Raising his hand, he hails the cocktail waiter. “Bartender, my good man.”

  “Some people can't take their drink.” Caro rolls her eyes. “Whereas you, Amy, can drink like a soldier.”

  When she looks at me she wrinkles her nose, enough for me to know it isn't a compliment. “Where's that lovely boss of yours anyway? I thought all the partners were here.” Caro scans the room, searching this way and that. For the first time tonight I'm glad Callum isn't here. I don't think I'd be able to watch her flirt with him.

  Just before seven, I get a text from Ellie, saying that Sophie has a headache and can't make our night out. After a rapid exchange of messages, we decide to skip dinner and clubbing in the West End in favour of an evening of free drinks right here in Canary Wharf. Ellie arrives at eight, her slim legs encased in a pair of shiny leggings and her midriff bare, revealing the butterfly she had tattooed on her hip last year. I try not to wince when everybody looks at her as she walks in, eyeing her outfit as if it's some kind of fancy-dress costume.

  “Amy!” she calls, running over in her skyscraper heels, their height making her wobble as she crosses the room.

  I shouldn't be embarrassed by my best friend, especially since she's been so supportive with the Luke situation. I ignore the stares and step forward, throwing my arms around her waist.

  “You look gorgeous,” I say loudly. To be fair she really does. It's just that among the crisp white shirts and wool jackets, she's some kind of exotic bird.

  Out of place. Unexpected.

  “Is this outfit okay?” She tugs at her top, but nothing she does is going to cover her stomach. “I thought people would be a bit more dressed up.”

  “It's perfect. You need to tell me where you got those leggings.”

  Ellie grins. We both know there's no way I'd wear leggings and a crop top, not with the curve in my spine. Tight clothes only make it more obvious; one of the reasons I've always preferred loose and floaty to slinky and fitted.

  I make the introductions, ignoring Caro's smirk and her friend Miranda's wide eyes. Then Charlie saunters back, bottle of champagne in one hand and a tumbler of whisky in the other, his eyes restless and unable to focus.

  “It's a pleasure to meet you,” he says, offering Ellie a glass of champagne. “What department do you work in?”

  Caro coughs a laugh, muttering, “Slut department.” Luckily Ellie doesn't hear. Instead she starts up a conversation with Charlie about the joys of working in administration, and I silently thank him for being so bloody nice.

  As the evening progresses, we all join Charlie in varying states of drunkenness. Miranda manages to spill a whole glass of red wine down the front of her dress, and runs to the bathroom to scrub it off. Caro joins a group of her teammates, flirting and flattering her way to the top, while Charlie, Ellie and I hang around at the bar, moving from champagne to bottled beer in an attempt to stop the room spinning.

  The two of them are getting on famously, enough for me to feel no compunction when I head for the bathroom.

  I'm almost there when somebody grabs my wrist, fingers slipping around me like a bracelet, the touch gentle but firm. I turn, a champagne-fuelled smile painted on my lips, and come face to face with a broad, white-cotton covered chest. I stare at it for a moment, taking in the way the fabric is thin and close to his skin, before my eyes climb past the unbuttoned neck that reveals a covering of light brown hairs, to a jawline that's both familiar yet new.

  “Amy.” Callum says my name quietly, and I have to lean forward to hear him over the music. I'm close enough to feel his warm breath fan against me. It's laced with liquor, the hint of whisky lingering in the air, and I breathe him in unthinkingly, liking the way he smells.

  “Hi.” My smile remains. “I didn't expect to see you here.”

  The pad of his thumb rubs circles into the sensitive underside of my arm, causing goose bumps to break out.

  “Jonathan dragged me out,” he confesses. “This isn't my usual scene. He heard Susan Davies put her card behind the bar and insisted we made an appearance.” His eyes twinkle. “So here I am.”

  He has to stoop to talk to me, leaning down so he can catch my eye. I see him in soft focus, the drink stealing any sharpness from my vision, and I'm not sure if it's only the champagne that's warming my belly.

  “It is Friday night,” I say. “All work and no play makes Callum...” I trail off, not wanting to call him a dull boy.

  “Rich?” he suggests, raising an eyebrow. His response makes me giggle, and I wobble a little, reaching out to steady myself against him. My palm spreads against his shirt, feeling the hard flesh beneath, as his fingers tighten on my wrist.

  “Rich is better than dull,” I agree.

  “That's what they say.” He doesn't pull away. “Although I suspect for a lot of women rich and dull is perfectly acceptable.”

  “Not for me.” I slowly shake my head.

  The corner of his lip twitches. “No, I didn't think so. You don't strike me as the sort to suffer fools.”

  This makes me laugh. “You haven't met my ex.” I think about Luke and the way he treated me for years. I was the biggest fool of all.

  “No I haven't,” Callum murmurs. “I don't think I want to, either. Exes are usually exes for a reason.”

  “Well, Luke's reason is he was a cheating arsehole.” I don't know why I'm saying this, and to my boss of all people. But there's something about the way he's looking at me—and holding me—that makes me soften.

  “Then he's a bloody fool.”

  Somebody barges into me from behind, pushing me closer to Callum. My hand slips, splaying across the middle of his chest, and I can feel his pulse beating rapidly. My own body beats in time, my breathing fast and my blood thick. Somewhere deep inside my subconscious tries to make itself heard. This is my boss and we’re surrounded by work colleagues, but my body doesn't seem to be listening.

  “Your heart is racing,” I whisper.

  “So is yours.” His thumb presses into my vein, and the sensation sends a shiver down my spine. He lowers his head, staring straight into my eyes. “Why is that, do you think?”

  His lips are so close to mine I can almost feel them. I'd only have to roll onto the balls of my feet to close that final inch, and feel the pressure of his kiss. Yet in spite of the alcohol running through my body I hesitate for a moment. My mouth is dry, my breath caught in my throat, yet I still can't pull my stare from his.

  “That took fucking forever.” A voice startles me from behind. “I think Simon Jenkins has set up a coke factory in the men's toilets.”

  I step back, pulling my hand from Callum's chest, and he lets go of my wrist. It falls to my side, my fingers curled into a fist as I try to work out what the hell just happened.

  “Hi Amy.” Jonathan Cooper smiles, his head angled to one side. “I didn't know you were here.”

  I pull at the neck of my blouse and try to look anywhere but at him. “I'm here with some friends. I was just going to the bathroom and...”

  “She took pity on her lonely boss.” This time Callum's smile is tight, painted on for appearance's sake. “Thanks, Amy.”

  “You're welcome,” I murmur. “I'll just... go.” I gesture in the direction of the toilets. “Have a good evening.”

  “You, too.” Callum's voice is low, but it caresses my ears anyway. “I'll see you on Monday.”

  “Monday,” I say.

  I give them a half wave and walk away, feeling the warmth of their gazes on the back of my neck. My heart is still hammering, and the first thing I do when I get to the toilets is splash my face with cold water. Then I walk i
nto a stall, locking it behind me, and lean my head against the brightly painted wall. I'm torn between screaming and laughing, my emotions darting between elation and embarrassment.

  When I think about the way he stared back at me, his eyes soft and warm, elation wins.

  10

  Saturday morning disappears beneath the fog of a hangover that pounds inside my head and curdles the contents of my stomach. I clutch my duvet with shaking hands and turn over, squeezing my eyes tight to ward off the cold light of day. Mum leaves for work at ten, banging the front door closed, and the noise makes me groan and bury myself deeper beneath the bedcovers, unwilling to do anything except go back to sleep.

  At lunchtime my fight against the encroaching day is lost, and I drag my protesting body out of bed, half-crawling to the bathroom. It's then that memories of last night come flooding back, as if somebody's opened up a dam, and I blink as images flash inside my mind, each one somehow more mortifying than the last.

  Charlie dancing on the table, flinging his jacket and tie in Caro's boss's face.

  Ellie joining him, teaching him how to twerk, as a hundred consultants stared at them, open mouthed.

  Miranda throwing up in the corner of the bar, vomit clinging to her hair as she staggered outside, mascara running down her cheeks.

  Then I remember my encounter with Callum, and the rest of the evening pales into insignificance. Groaning, I step into the steaming shower, rubbing my face with the heels of my hands. But even when I press them so hard against my eyes that I see stars, I still can't dispel the images.

  That afternoon I head over to Shoreditch where my brother and his wife live. Climbing the narrow staircase that leads to their floor, I attempt to pull myself together and shake off the final vestiges of my hangover. I don't want Alex and Lara to think I'm irresponsible, especially since they're going out and leaving me in charge of Max. Nor do I want my baby nephew to grow up thinking his Auntie Amy is a lush.

  Alex pulls the door open before I even get a chance to knock. He's wearing a tight-fitting navy suit with a skinny black tie, his dark hair brushed off his face.

  “Thank god you're here, we got the time wrong. We were supposed to be at the church five minutes ago.”

  “Is that Amy?” I hear my sister-in-law shout from the bedroom. “Can you show her where everything is?”

  I roll my eyes. “I think I can cope.” Max is sitting on a blanket in the middle of the floor, playing with some plastic rings. I scoop him up and swing him around high before blowing raspberries on his neck; my reward is a high-pitched squeal.

  A harassed-looking Lara emerges from the bedroom. She's wearing a short floral dress and pretty heels, her hair swept into an updo, enhancing her impossibly high cheeks. She presses her glossy lips to Max's head then kisses the air next to me. “We've got to run, I'm so sorry. I swear the invitation said three o'clock.”

  I laugh, mostly because I'm glad it's not me who's panicking for a change. “It's okay, just go. Max and I will be fine.”

  “If you're sure...” For a moment she looks lost. Then Alex grabs her hand, folding it inside his, and her shoulders visibly relax. I flash her a reassuring smile and help Max wave his hand at her.

  “Say bye bye, Mummy,” I whisper. He babbles incomprehensibly then wriggles in my arms until I put him back on the floor. Alex and Lara leave as I kneel down on the blanket, helping Max put the brightly coloured rings in size order.

  We play for a while until Max gets bored and starts throwing the rings away. Then he crawls to the table and pulls himself up, grabbing the magazine Lara's left open. Grinning broadly, his two front teeth showing, he rips out a page and scrunches it up in his chubby hand.

  “Ba ba ba,” he says.

  “Naughty,” I chide him, gently pulling the rest of the magazine from his grasp. “Leave Mummy's magazine alone.”

  Max grins then dips his head to chew on the wooden table, and I realise it's going to be a long afternoon.

  Twenty minutes later, I'm feeding Max chocolate buttons in an attempt to distract him from his appetite for destruction. Brown goo covers my fingers and drips from his mouth, staining his otherwise clean vest. I'm about to wipe him when my phone buzzes in my pocket, and I reach in with my clean hand to check the caller.

  The number isn't in my contacts, so I let it go through to voicemail. A minute later the screen lights up again, suggesting I may want to retrieve my message.

  I put the phone to my ear, still feeding Max with my other hand. He makes a grab for the bag and pulls it down to his feet, chocolate buttons spilling out across his blanket.

  He looks delighted with himself, but I can't tell him off because that's when the recording begins.

  “Ah, Amy, it's Callum, sorry to call you at the weekend. Look, I really need a favour, so if you could call me back, that would be great. Thanks.”

  I sit there for a moment wondering why he's called. Then Max reaches out and grabs my left boob, smearing half-digested chocolate all over my shirt.

  Once we've both cleaned up and I've given Max a teddy bear to play with, I press redial. Callum picks up before the second ring has finished echoing down the earpiece.

  “Amy?” He sounds breathless.

  “Hi. I got your message, is everything okay?” I think I might sound a little breathless, too.

  “Yeah, I've just done something stupid. I've managed to lose the key to the filing cabinet and I need some papers from it. I want to give Daniel the draft contract before his flight leaves tonight. I don't suppose you have the spare key, do you?”

  I glance over at my bag, which I've put on the bookshelf. Max has a bag fetish and if you leave it within his reach, he'll empty the contents everywhere. The last time he did it, a box of condoms spilled out. Alex wasn't impressed; no man wants the evidence of his sister's sex life thrown in his face. In this case, literally.

  “Yeah, it's on my key ring.”

  “Thank Christ.” He sighs. “Can I come over and pick it up?”

  For some reason, I don't want Callum coming here. His jibes about me coming from the east end of London make me reluctant for him to see where I’m from. “I can bring them over,” I suggest. “Where are you?”

  “I'm at the office. Are you sure you don't mind? I have my car...”

  “It's fine, I'll hop on the bus. I should be there in half an hour.”

  “Great.” He sounds relieved. “I owe you one.”

  Over the next forty minutes I discover that getting a baby ready, strapping him into his pushchair and manoeuvring it onto the bus takes considerably longer than I’d anticipated. By the time I make it to Canary Wharf, I'm harassed, worn out, and regretting agreeing to meet Callum at all. Max fell asleep at some point in the bus journey, and his head lolls against the back of the buggy as I push it across the concrete square.

  Turning the corner, I spot Callum pacing up and down in front of the office building. He looks up and sees me, and shock moulds his expression.

  “Amy?” He doesn't sound so sure.

  “I'm sorry it took so long,” I say, talking quickly to cover my embarrassment. “I know he looks cute but I think Max might actually be the devil in disguise.” I gesture at my sleeping nephew.

  “I didn't realise... I'm sorry. I would never have asked you to come over here if I knew.”

  I shake my head, confused. “He only fell asleep on the journey. He was awake when we left.”

  “No, I meant I wouldn't have expected you to come at all. I didn't know you had a baby.”

  It dawns on me that Callum thinks Max is mine, which makes me blush madly. I open my mouth to put him straight when he drops on his haunches to gaze at Max.

  “He's beautiful,” he says quietly. “He looks just like you.” His eyes flick to me when he says the last bit.

  “Thank you,” I reply, wondering if he realises he just paid me a compliment. “But he's my nephew, not my son.”

  It's Callum's turn to be embarrassed. He laughs and stands up, towe
ring over me. I'm wearing a pair of skinny jeans with a pair of red flat shoes, so I'm a couple of inches shorter than when he usually sees me.

  For some reason, I like the way he makes me feel petite.

  “Well, he still looks like you.”

  “You should have seen him earlier when he was covered in chocolate.” I smile at Callum. “He looked like a monster.”

  “He seems pretty cute now.”

  I reach into the pocket of my handbag. “I have your keys here.” I pull my key ring out and remove the key to the filing cabinet, placing it in his hard, leathery palm. “Go get your contract.”

  “Thank you.” His fingers curl around the metal. “If you wait here while I run upstairs I can give you both a lift home.”

  My eyes widen in alarm. His offer seems too... personal. “It's okay, I bought a return ticket.”

  “I insist. It's the least I can do.” His expression softens. “To say thank you.”

  I'm torn. Part of me wants to take him up on his offer just to spend some more time with him. But then I remember last night and the tension between us, the way I felt when he touched my wrist. This infatuation with him is embarrassing, not to mention dangerous. Especially when I know it's one-sided.

  “You don't have a car seat. It would be illegal.” I shrug in an attempt to feign nonchalance. “We'll be fine.”

  Callum hesitates, his hand opening and closing around the key. “You're right,” he replies, finally. “In that case I owe you a drink. Coffee, tea, gin, the choice is yours.”

  “It wasn't a problem, honestly, so there's no need to buy me anything. It's all in a day’s work.” I grab the buggy's handles. “I suppose I'd better get this little monkey home and give him some tea. Otherwise I won't be his favourite auntie anymore.”

  “I suppose you should.” Callum doesn't move. He's still standing in front of me, as if he's reluctant to let me leave. “Are you babysitting all night?”

  I tip my head to the side. “Why? Do you have a better offer?”