by Carrie Elks
So I do.
Man, it feels good.
I look for Ellie, wanting to tell her about the weather in New York in September, hoping it will be enough to persuade her to visit. But when I glance across the room it isn’t my friend I see.
Callum steps into the bar, his shirtsleeves rolled up, and everything turns blank. My muscles stiffen in shock, and the champagne glass I was holding crashes onto the dark wooden floor.
31
The next few minutes are a blur. I’m in a stop-motion scene, standing still while everything around me is on speed. Somebody pushes me away from the broken glass while others fuss and sweep it up, and I think they’re trying to talk to me, but I can’t hear a word. The buzzing reaches a crescendo, and it’s only later that I realise it’s the rush of blood through my ears.
When Callum walks towards me he’s the only thing I can focus on. I see him in high definition, noticing the dark hairs on his forearms, the light tan he’s managed to get on his skin. His sleeves are crumpled where he’s pushed them up, though the rest of his shirt is crisply ironed. A lump forms in my throat as I stare at his chest, remembering the way his body felt under my palms.
When my gaze reaches his face I feel my breath falter. He’s as glorious as ever, his dark red hair curling over his forehead, his eyes bright and sparkling despite the dark smudges beneath them. If anything, he looks even more beautiful than I remember. A shadow of beard growth darkens his jawline, and all I can think of is dragging my lips across it.
I shake my head at my inappropriate thoughts, wishing they’d leave as quickly as they arrived. Then he’s standing in front of me, and his presence is like a shot of heroin to my veins.
“What are you doing here?” I whisper, my breath still short from his proximity.
“I came to congratulate you.”
Frowning, I take a step back. His closeness is too intoxicating. I need space to think, to get some clarity.
“A card would have done.” I don’t know if I’m joking or being petulant.
“Can we talk?” he asks, looking around warily. For the first time the crowd comes into focus, and I realise everyone is staring at us. Lara has an arm around Alex’s waist, successfully stopping him from coming over, but I can tell it’s only a matter of time.
“Here?”
Callum shakes his head. “It’s a beautiful day outside, we could go for a walk, or find a café somewhere.” He’s still staring, and I can’t decide if it’s pissing me off or making me happy.
“Okay.”
A few minutes later we’re walking beside the river, our bodies dwarfed by the imposing warehouses that line the waterway. In spite of the blue skies and the warm sun, the shadows the buildings cast are enough to chill the air.
“Are you cold?” Callum asks. Not waiting for an answer, he drapes his suit jacket across my shoulders, his hands lingering for a moment before letting go. Even though there’s thick fabric between his palms and my bare skin, it makes me shiver.
We’re silent for a while, and the sounds of the river fill the emptiness. Distant engines hum, water crashes against the wooden piers, and the occasional shout of a river man cuts through the quiet. We’re off the beaten track, in the less glamorous part of London, and besides the boatmen, the only people we see are workers having a crafty smoke outside their offices.
“How’ve you been?” Callum finally asks. His question is enough to bring me to a halt. He takes another step and then, realising I’ve stopped, whips around, his brow wrinkled.
“I’ve been shit,” I say honestly. I’m not going to gild the lily; if he wants the truth I’ve got it in spades. “Somebody told me they loved me then two days later he disappeared off the face of the earth.”
There’s anger in my voice neither of us expected. Callum reaches out, trying to touch me, but I move back, dodging his hand.
“Don’t touch me,” I warn. He bites his bottom lip, his torso rising in a slow breath.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I know it’s been shit. It really has.”
“I tried to call you, I tried to message you, but you wouldn’t answer.” I don’t mention the emails. The less said about those, the better.
“I couldn’t,” he whispers. “I wanted to talk to you, I wanted to see you, but I couldn’t.”
“Bullshit.” The ache in my chest that’s been my constant companion for months has disappeared. It’s as if someone has unlocked my ribcage, letting all the emotions out. I want to shout at him, to scream how much he hurt me, to tell him what hell he unleashed when he ran away.
I want to tell him I still love him.
“It was the only way you could keep your job,” he says. “Please let me explain, Amy.”
“You think I cared about my job?” I laugh, but there’s no amusement. “You really think I gave a shit about Richards and Morgan? If you’d have asked me to live with you in a hovel I’d have said yes. I didn’t give a damn about my job, I just wanted you.”
“That’s what you say now,” he replies, running a hand through his thick hair. “But after a while you’d have resented me. You’d have realised that you gave up a job and a degree for nothing.”
“I would have had you,” I tell him.
“I’m not enough.”
The expression on his face is twisted, as if he’s experiencing physical pain. For the first time I realise that he’s being going through the same thing as me, and the aching void of our separation wasn’t only mine to bear.
He’s hurt as much as I am.
“What do you mean you’re not enough?” I ask softly. “You were everything.”
The corner of his lip twitches. “I couldn’t ask you to sacrifice your dreams, not again…”
His voice trails off and suddenly I’m back at his house, comforting him after a bad nightmare. I’m remembering the way he asked his wife to move to Edinburgh, and how the move slowly tore them apart.
“I’m not Jane,” I tell him.
“Don’t you think I can see that?” he asks, his voice harsh. “But I also know how hard you’ve worked for all you’ve achieved. How you’ve fought your way through your degree, how you came to Richards and Morgan even though you knew there were people who’d look down on you. I couldn’t let you give all that up.”
I blink back tears. “Instead you gave up on me.”
He shakes his head slowly. “I never gave up on you, not for a single minute. I’ve spent the last two months thinking of nothing but you. Calling Jonathan at all times of the day just to make sure you were okay. Asking Charlie to do stupid things like buy you a coffee to leave on your desk so you wouldn’t feel so alone.”
“That was Charlie?”
“Did you really believe I’d have left if I didn’t care?”
There’s a sweetness in his words that turns my insides to liquid. “So appearing on graduation day is all part of the plan?”
Callum smiles. “I meant to arrive for the actual ceremony, but my flight was delayed.” He looks down at the pavement. “I’ve spent the last five hours asking every stranger I met—every air steward and pilot and taxi driver—to hurry the hell up.”
I open my mouth but there are no words. I want to explain the conflict that’s raging in my mind, that the need to touch him is as strong as the need to slap him. I want to hate him, but there’s no room for hatred when I’m so full of love.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
“I want whatever you’re willing to give me. I want to be your friend. I want to be the best bloody friend you’ll ever have.”
My heart drops. A friend?
“Don’t look like that,” he cajoles, reaching to me. “You think I don’t want more? I’ve dreamed about you for the last two months.”
“Then why do you want to only be my friend?”
“Because I have no right to ask for more.”
“You have no right not to.” I stare at him defiantly. “What happened to the man who shoved me up against the wal
l, the one who stole my kisses as if they were his dying breath?”
“Amy,” he warns. “Don’t tempt me.”
My smile is a challenge. He glances at my lips, his glorious eyes narrowing. When his mouth falls open, a shallow sigh escaping, I feel as though I’ve already won.
He pulls me towards him and presses my body to his. As he tips my head back, his jacket slides off my shoulders, falling onto the concrete ground.
A moment later his soft lips touch mine. His fingers twist into the hair on the back of my head as he starts to move his mouth. He whispers indecipherable words as he continues to kiss me. Except it doesn’t feel like a kiss, it feels as if he’s devouring me, trying to take every bit of love that exists inside. I’m a willing victim, looping my arms around his neck as I kiss him with needy lips. Desperate to taste, to feel, to love.
That’s how we stay for the next ten minutes, holding each other as if we’re too afraid to let go. My body melts into his, my skin singing as he strokes the nape of my neck, our breaths hot and fast as we part for long enough to gasp for air. Though it’s clear that things aren’t resolved, and I’ve no idea what’s going to happen next, for once, I allow myself to savour the moment.
* * *
That evening we’re sitting on a restaurant terrace by the South Bank, looking across the river to St. Paul’s Cathedral as the evening sun descends below the skyline. This part of London has a continental feel in the summer, as if you could be in sunny Barcelona rather than grey old England, and the vibe is almost contagious. The waitress brings out our dishes—a collection of mezes that Callum chose—and when the aroma of food wafts up from the table I recognise how hungry I am.
Ravenous might be a better description. Callum watches as I shovel food into my mouth, an amused smile playing at his lips. He calls the waitress over and orders another three dishes.
“I’m sorry,” I say, swallowing a mouthful of tabbouleh. “I haven’t eaten all day.”
Callum lifts his beer. “You look like you haven’t eaten for a month.”
I’m about to get offended when I realise he’s talking about my weight, and to be honest he has a point. During those first few weeks after he left I wasn’t able to stomach more than a slice of toast. The pounds fell off me.
“I’m making up for lost time.” I snag the last falafel. “So sue me.”
“Suing you is the last thing on my mind.”
I raise an eyebrow. “That’s very forward of you, Mr Ferguson. I’ll have you know that I’m not that kind of girl.”
He shakes his head slowly. “No, you’re not. You’re the kind of girl I take home to meet my mother. The sort of woman that I want to introduce to all my friends as the one. The only one.”
The intensity of his words ignites me. The atmosphere between us turns serious, the light banter of a few moments ago forgotten. I take a sip of wine to moisten my dry mouth, and try to formulate a reply.
I’m still trying when the waiter leans across, taking my now-empty plate, stacking it on top of the others he’s amassed. Callum’s eyes are fixed on mine, strong and unwavering, and when I look into them all I can see is emotion.
Love.
It’s the kind of passionate stare that you read about in novels. The type that’s likely to pin a girl down. It’s all Heathcliff and Darcy, dark and brooding, and it sends a shiver down to my toes.
“I’m moving to New York,” I blurt out, instantly regretting it. “My flight’s next week.”
I sit back, waiting for him to get angry, but instead a smile flits across his lips.
“I know.”
“You do?” I take another mouthful of wine. “Who told you?”
Callum places his hand over mine, barely missing my wine glass. Then he lifts my palm and kisses it, shocking me into silence.
“I’ve been keeping tabs on you,” he tells me. “Jonathan is the obvious spy, of course, but Daniel Grant has been keeping me up to date with the project. I didn’t stop thinking of you, babe, not even for a second.” He reaches across to pour more wine. “Leaving you was the hardest thing I’ve ever done.”
There’s a significance to his words which resonates. He’s been through hell; marriage, addiction, death. If leaving me was harder than all those things, it says a lot.
It says everything.
“I missed you, too.” I look up at him. “Every day. I couldn’t understand why you wouldn’t contact me.”
“I couldn’t risk it. If the partners heard there was something more going on with us, you’d have lost everything.”
“And now?” I ask, wondering why he’s changed his mind.
“Now you have your degree. Richards and Morgan may have some influence, but they can’t take that away from you.”
“But they can fire you.” I look over at him, alarmed. His expression gives nothing away. “Wait, they haven’t fired you already have they?”
He laughs at my wide-eyed shock. “No. It’s impossible to fire somebody who doesn’t work for you.”
I frown. “I don’t get it.”
“I handed in my notice this morning. They’ve put me on gardening leave for three months. Getting paid to do nothing has a certain ring to it.”
“Why did you do that?” I demand. “You didn’t know if I still wanted you, or if I’d already moved on.”
“I know that, Amy, and though I’d do anything for you, this decision was for me. I don’t want to work there anymore, not in a company that would rather see a young student fail her degree than show some kindness and leniency.” This time, when he reaches for my hand, his fingers curl around mine. “Besides, I’ve already been offered another job.”
“You have?” He’s full of surprises. Not for the first time tonight, I feel confused. “Where?”
“Grant Industries.”
When I try to pull my hand away, he simply holds on tighter. “And before you say it, I had no influence on your internship offer. The first I knew about it was when Daniel started talking about his new project manager during a telephone call yesterday.”
My voice cracks. “Where is it based?”
“I haven’t accepted it yet. If I do, I’ll be travelling a lot, but my home office will be in New York.” He says the last two words slowly, deliberately so, to maximise their impact. “You won’t have to see me if you don’t want to,” he adds hurriedly. “Grant Industries is a big company, and I won’t be in the office very much.”
Our hands are still intertwined. I can feel his warmth leeching into my skin, and the tenderness of his thumb as he strokes it gently against my palm. Callum looks at me expectantly. It isn’t the time for holding back my emotions.
“You hurt me,” I tell him. “By making all these decisions without consulting me first.”
“I know, and that’s why I’ll only accept the job if it’s okay with you. Grant knows that.”
A loud crash comes from the kitchen, and when I look around I see that the restaurant has emptied out. Apart from a group of students in the far corner, Callum and I are the only ones here. The lights have dimmed, leaving the flickering candle in the middle of the table to illuminate us both. He stares at me, face orange from the reflection, waiting for a reply.
“You broke my heart.”
“Let me mend it,” he says softly. “Let me rebuild you, piece by piece, the way you rebuilt me.”
The sweetness of his words touches me. There’s no doubting his sincerity, it’s in the shine of his eyes and the curve of his smile. It’s pouring out of his soul.
In spite of the tears rolling down my face, a huge grin spreads across my lips. I’m nodding and then he’s standing and pulling me into his arms, pressing his mouth against mine. The next moment my arms are around his neck, and I’m kissing him just as hard, laughing as he starts to swing me around.
“New York, baby,” he says, grinning, when he finally puts me down. “We’re going to have a ball.”
“We’re going to work,” I say pointedly, though the s
mile remains.
“You know what they say about all work and no play…”
“It pays the bills?”
“It’ll certainly buy you a lot of coffee,” he replies. “Which is a good thing, as I’ll expect one on my desk every morning just before nine.”
I shoot him a warning glance. “There’s only one place I’ll be shoving your coffee,” I say. “And I don’t think that’s what Starbucks has in mind.”
He leaves some money on the table, waving away my offer of going Dutch. “I’m tempted to say you’ve become mouthier since I first met you, but we both know that’s not true.” With his arm around me, he steers us out of the restaurant door and into the evening air. “You’ve been giving me hell since you walked into my office.”
“I don’t intend to stop.”
He dips his head to kiss me, still smiling. “That’s what I’m counting on.”
EPILOGUE
We leave New York in the middle of a heat wave, arriving at Heathrow on a dismal July morning. As soon as we step out of the terminal I pull my woefully inadequate cotton jacket around me, shivering as a gust of wind lifts up my hair.
“Welcome to London,” Callum says, throwing his arm around my shoulder and holding me close. “Is this what you've been missing?”
It's been months since I last stepped foot on British soil, and I've been hankering for a taste of home for a while. As much as I've loved living in New York, it's felt a bit like an extended holiday.
A black cab drives past, its wheels hitting a puddle. I jump back, narrowly avoiding getting splashed, then have to hide my smile when I realise Callum wasn't quite so fast.
“You've got a little something on your trousers,” I tell him, gesturing at the inky black stains running the length of his jeans. He glances down, rolling his eyes, then reaches for me, trying to manoeuvre me into the puddle.
“Hey! Not fair!” When I try to move back his hold is too strong, but instead of dragging me into the dirty water, he pulls me close, looking down at me with a smile curling his lips.
