Canada Square (Love in London #3) (10 page)

“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 into 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, towering 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?”

Somebody walks out of the office building, brushing past Callum. I watch him pass, relieved when I realise it's nobody I know. In spite of the innocence of our conversation, making small talk with my boss, somehow makes me feel guilty.

Callum swallows, making his Adam's apple bob. His tongue snakes across his dry lips. “I'll be spending the evening fine combing this contract with Daniel Grant and his team, so unless that constitutes a better offer...”

I wrinkle my nose up. “I think I'll stick with dirty nappies and puréed carrots.”

He nods slowly. “A wise choice.”

“Thank you.” I mime a curtsy in a rare bout of playfulness. “I suppose I should go.” I wave my hand in the direction of the bus stop. “Do you need anything else?”

This feels like one of those telephone conversations where neither of you wants to hang up. I linger, not wanting to leave, unable to find an excuse to stay.

Callum takes a step forward and brushes his palm against my arm. Even through two layers of clothing I swear I can feel his fingertips.

“Thank you. I mean it. I know I gave you a hard time when you started, but...” He shrugs. “This was above the call of duty and I appreciate it.”

There isn't the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice; nothing remains of the superiority I heard when we first met. I'm unsure if it's me who has changed or if it's him, but right now all I want to do is step into his arms.

That's why I stagger back, pulling the buggy with me. Because it isn't Callum I don't trust, with his friendly words and kind face, it's me. I've just ended one relationship and it's clear I'm rebounding on to my boss. It would be funny if it wasn't shameful. “It was no problem, honestly. I'll see you on Monday.”

A gust of wind whips around me, brushing my heated cheeks and lifting my hair from my neck. Max's legs move in his sleep; his tiny, sock-covered feet kicking at the blanket. I give Callum a wave and turn the buggy around, walking towards the main road.

By the time I get to the bus stop I'm a big, messy bundle of hormones and desire.

* * *

Max goes to bed nicely, sucking at the tips of his fingers as he bundles up beneath the covers, his breathing rapid and loud. I stand there for a minute and stare, marvelling at the way his tiny eyelids flutter as he dreams. Every now and again he moans softly, wriggling until his covers pool around his ankles, and I lift them up again, draping them across his shoulders, running my fingers across his soft, plump face.

Callum was right; Max is beautiful. His skin is smooth and unmarked, his lips a perfect bow. His eyelashes—dark and thick like Alex's and mine—are so long they almost sweep his rosy cheeks. I hate the thought that one day somebody's going to break his heart. I want to claw their eyes out already.

Closing his door gently, I tiptoe back into the living room, curling up on the sofa and scrolling through my phone. My back twinges and I try to sit up straight, aware that I should have gone to yoga this morning.

I while away the next hour uploading pictures of Max to Instagram and listening to music through one headphone. The other dangles down as I keep an ear free to listen out for his cries.

At nine o’clock Luke adds a photograph to his account. He's standing outside a bar with a goofy grin on his face, his arm around the same girl he swore he wasn't sleeping with. In the background I can see Nick and Sophie, and it makes my chest hurt.