Canada Square (Love in London #3) (18 page)

“Look, babe, you're tired, you're overwrought, and you need to get some sleep. I can take you home if you want but I'd much rather you stayed here with me.”

There go those biceps again, flexing deliciously. They cage me in—a muscle-bound prison—and it would be so easy to relent.

“I need to get home. My mum will be wondering where I am.”

Callum says nothing, just gets out of bed and starts to pull on his clothes. The intimacy disappears, and we're little more than strangers sharing a dressing room. Though I know it's my fault, there’s nothing else I can do, we're already skating on thin ice.

When we're dressed, I start making his bed, lifting the sheet and billowing it up. Callum stops me.

“You won't say anything?” I ask. “At work, I mean?”

He scowls. “Why the hell are you so afraid, Amy?”

“I don't want to lose my job.” I whip my head around, matching him grimace for grimace. “And if I get thrown out I’ll also flunk my degree and end up at square one.”

“You won't lose your job,” he says calmly. “I wouldn't let that happen.”

He’s so sure of himself I almost cave. But then I remember the contract I signed on my first day at work. There's no way I can risk it.

We walk out into his hallway and I scoop my jacket off the floor. Shrugging it on, I turn to look at him. “Can you call me a cab?”

He reaches for my hand. “Stay.”

I start to waiver. “Callum...”

Scowling, he grabs his phone from the jacket hanging in the entranceway and slides his fingers across the screen. A moment later he's ordering a taxi, his eyes still on me. My mouth tastes of bitterness and regret. Though I try hard to make it disappear, the flavour still lingers.

When the taxi arrives he opens his front door and waves at the driver, before wrapping his arms around me. He holds me tightly, pressing his lips to my hot forehead, and I want to crawl back into bed with him.

“I won't give up on you,” he warns, releasing me outside his front door. “I know you're scared, and I know this has come as a surprise, but I like you, Amy, and I think you like me, too.”

He's right on all counts. I
am
scared and I
do
like him, and that's why it’s so difficult. I'm still a mess of emotion as I climb into the taxi and he gently closes the door behind me, tapping twice on the roof to let the driver know he's good to go. As we accelerate away, I twist in the seat, my eyes seeking Callum as he walks back into his house. At the last second he turns, his gaze meeting mine.

He lifts his hand to wave, and I mirror him, waving back. Then I sit back, closing my eyes, as the taxi driver traverses the late night streets of London.

18

When I wake up in the morning, my mouth is glued together by a mixture of dried-up alcohol and cold hard regret. Through my half-open eyes, the red digits of my alarm clock show it's almost ten in the morning. I sit up, panicking before realising it's Saturday. With a sigh of relief, I allow myself to slump back on the bed. At least I’m not going to be late for work.

There's a blissfully empty moment before the memories begin to take shape in my mind. The feeling is fleeting, replaced by images that flicker in my brain like a Pathé newsreel of my worst moments, as I remember the way I practically crawled all over Callum, stuffing my hands down the front of his trousers.

Groaning, I haul myself out of bed, grabbing my robe and tying the sash around my waist, pausing in the bathroom to splash ice-cold water on my face before I drag myself downstairs. The kitchen light is too bright, the kettle too loud, and the tinny sound of the radio makes my teeth grind.

“Did you have a good night?” Mum glances up from her phone. Mascara is smudged beneath her eyes, blending into the grey that shadows her cheeks. Her skin is sallow without her usual foundation and blusher.

“Mmm.” I take a glass from the cupboard and a carton of orange juice from the fridge.

“You came home late.”

I can tell from the smirk on her face that she knows exactly how late—or how early—I got home this morning. Though I try to ignore it, Callum's face flashes in my mind, and I remember his confused expression as the taxi pulled away from his flat.

Oh God, what have I done?

“It was full on.” I collapse into the plastic chair opposite Mum, my legs refusing to hold my weight any longer. “We partied hard.”

“It looks like it.” She swallows a mouthful of tea. “I'm glad you had fun. You deserve it.”

Surprised, I catch her eye. “Really?”

“Yes, you've been working hard. And after everything that's happened...”

We're quiet for a moment. The DJ introduces another song, and we both sip at our drinks. The orange juice sticks to my teeth, coating them in sugar, and I run my tongue along the enamel, trying to clean them off.

“How was work?” I finally ask in an attempt to change the subject. Mum tends the bar at the local pub on a Friday night. She loves being surrounded by friends and noise.

“Same as usual. At least until your dad came in.”

Alarmed, I look at her. My eyes are dry and wide. “You saw him?”

She picks up the cereal box in front of her, suddenly preoccupied by the text printed on the back. Her eyes dart back and forth, judiciously avoiding mine.

“Yes,” she says slowly, each letter lingering on her tongue. “He came in to ask about you.” Red spots form on the apples of her cheeks, their pinkness a contrast against her pale skin. “He really wants to see you, Amy.”

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him how beautiful you are. How clever. I said how proud I was to have you as a daughter.”

I don't often hear words of praise tumbling from her lips. “What did he say?”

Finally she drags her gaze from the cereal box. “He wants to meet you, he's desperate to. He's changed, I promise you. Digger isn't the angry man he used to be. He's calmer, I don't know, more mature?”

There's something in her voice that both panics and reassures me. A firmness leaving me in no doubt she believes what she's saying, coupled with a lightness that makes me wonder if there was more to last night than just a chat. Her eyes sparkle, lending them a vibrancy that's all too familiar. Mum’s in man-hunting mode, her eyes set firmly on the prize.

She grabs me, the same wrist he once snapped in two. Instinctively, I pull away. Though the pain is long gone, her touch makes me cringe.

“What did I do?” she asks, confused.

“I don't know,” I admit, still rubbing my arm. “He just scares me, that's all.”

“He's sorry for that, too. All he wants to do is talk, nothing else. I promise you, Amy, I wouldn't say anything if I didn't believe him.”

My throat feels congested. “Why do you believe him?”

“Because he's a broken man. He's not the cocky, arrogant sod I first met, and he's not that angry ex-soldier either. He's just a middle-aged man who's desperately sorry for the things he's done, and he wants to find a way to make up for it.”

“He wants atonement?” I ask, softly.

“Something like that.”

I run my finger around the top of my glass. “But why now?”

Mum shrugs, and her robe slips down from her shoulder. “He broke up with his wife and flew back to England after years of being away. I think the things he did are coming back to him, making him feel ashamed. I honestly think he's sorry for it all. Now he wants to meet his only child.”

That's when it finally hits me. This man is part of me, my flesh and blood, the reason I'm alive. Regardless of his actions, he's still replicated in every cell I have.

He's my dad.

“What's his name?” I ask. “His real name, I mean.”

“Douglas Bolt. Doug. That's why he's called Digger, you know, like a spade.”

“Douglas.” I test it out loud. Then I think of saying “dad”, but can't voice it out loud. It feels too alien.

“He's changed,” she repeats. “He really has. You don't have to meet him here, it can be in public, anywhere you feel safe. I can be there too, if you like.”

“Okay,” I say, wavering. “I'll meet him, but I can't promise anything else.”

Her fingers wrap around mine, squeezing tightly. “That's all he wants,” she says.

I hope she's right.

* * *

“No fucking way.” Alex stomps across his living room, scowling. “You're not meeting him and that's final.”

Lara touches his arm, but he twists from her grasp. I haven't seen him this furious in a long while. Although I like this daddy-bear side to him, and the protectiveness he’s showing, the fact he's making decisions on my behalf is also extremely irritating.

“I'm meeting him at the café near work,” I tell Alex. “It’ll be the middle of the day, we'll be surrounded by people, what can possibly happen?”

“You're so fucking naive, Amy,” Alex shouts, coming to a stop in front of me. His muscles vibrate with anger. “People get killed in broad daylight. Kids get abducted, guys get beaten up. Digger's a fucking psychopath. He crushed your bones with his bare hands. There's no way he's coming near you.”

“I want to meet him,” I say quietly. “He's my dad, Alex.”

“He's a bloody sperm donor, not your dad. Just one in a queue of men mum opened her legs for. Are you really going to believe her when she's told so many lies? For fucks sake...”

I open my mouth then shut it again, any words stolen by shock. Alex never talks like this—at least in front of me—and it’s like a slap in the face.

“Alex.” Lara's voice is low. “Calm down. You're overreacting.”

“Overreacting?” He laughs mirthlessly. “I was eight years old when I watched that man crack her bones. I heard it, Lara, heard her wrist break, heard the way she screamed. I'll never fucking forget it.” Tears fill his eyes, and he wipes them away furiously. “And now you want me to be okay with this?”

Lara reaches out again. This time, he doesn't shrug her off. It doesn't calm him, though. He's still as tense as a big cat ready to pounce.

“But this isn't about you. It's about Amy, and what she wants.”

“She doesn't know what she wants.” He faces me. “If you knew what a devious bastard he was you wouldn't do this.”

“He's my dad.”

“Fucking hell!” Alex kicks out at the wall, his boot crashing into the plaster. Flakes of paint stick to the black leather as he pulls his leg away, leaving a dent behind.

“Alex, calm down!” Lara raises her voice. “You're scaring Amy and quite frankly you're scaring me. And Max is asleep.”

Alex drags his hand through his ink-black hair, tugging at the strands. “How can I calm down when she's being so stupid? He's going to ruin her life. Again.”

“He won't,” I say, my voice calm even though I'm shaking inside. “I won't let him.”

“Well, I'm sorry if I don't trust your judgement, but you seem to rebound from one fucking crisis to another. If you do this, don't expect me to be there to mop up your tears this time.”

I step back, offended. “I'm not a little kid, Alex, I know what I'm doing. You need to back off.”

“You're
my
little kid. I'm the one who was there for you, the one who looked after you. Don't expect me not to care.” He grabs his jacket from the arm of the sofa. “I'm going to the pub before I say something I regret.”

With that, he storms out, leaving Lara and me standing with our mouths agape. It takes a few moments for me to find my voice, and when I do it's thin and shaky.

“I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble.”

Lara smiles, then hugs me close. “You haven't. It's not your fault.”

I close my eyes, resting my cheek on her shoulder. “But Alex was so angry...”

“He was.” She leads me to the sofa and we sit down. “But you know what he's like, he blows up and then he calms down. He'll be back full of apologies I expect.”

“Why doesn't he trust me?” I ask, looking up at her. She tucks a lock of hair behind her ear and rests her face on the palm of her hand.

“He's very protective of you,” Lara says. “You've always been his little girl. You have to remember he's used to being the man of the house, he thinks it's his job to look after you.”

“But I can look after myself.”

“I know you can.” She smiles. “It's just going to take Alex a while to realize that. As far as he's concerned, you're still a fifteen-year-old school girl.”

“Ugh.” I rub my face with my hands. “Sometimes I wish I was still at school. Life seemed so much easier then.”

Lara twists around. Through a gap between my fingers I can see her staring at me. “Does this have anything to do with the text I got from your mum last night?” she asks.

“What text?”

“The one asking if I knew where you were, and why you still weren't home at two in the morning.”

“She sent you a text?” I sit up straight, suddenly panicked. “You didn't tell Alex did you?”

Lara laughs. “Not likely. She sent me another one when you got in. Where were you all night, anyway?”

“Umm. A few of us went to a bar.”

“And then?” She looks amused. “Wait, do I need a cup of tea for this? Or something stronger?”

I lick my dry lips. The remnants of my hangover have disappeared, leaving behind an arid taste and an intense thirst. “Tea sounds perfect.”

Ten minutes later I'm clutching a chipped mug that's emblazoned with the Union Flag. Steam escapes from the opening, swirling through the air in a misty haze. Lara listens quietly as I recount the whole sorry tale, her face sympathetic. When I finish, she offers me the packet of biscuits she brought out with the tea. I stuff a chocolate Hobnob into my mouth.

“Wow,” she says. “Now I'm really glad I didn't tell Alex about that text.”

“So am I,” I agree. “I've made him angry enough as it is, I don't need to add sex with my boss into the mix. You won't tell him, will you?”

Lara looks almost affronted. “Of course I won't. I'd never betray your confidence.”

Frowning, I wipe some crumbs from my lips. “But won't keeping secrets from him cause problems?”

“Not half as many problems as telling him the truth would cause. You saw how he was today. Imagine what he'd be like if I told him your boss had taken advantage of you. He'd be running over to Canary Wharf for a fight.”

I think of Callum, and his strong, lean, muscles. “I wouldn't fancy Alex's chances.” Putting my now-empty mug on the coffee table, I try to get that image out of my mind. “Did you say Callum took advantage of me? You don't really believe that, do you?”

Lara tips her head. “Do you?”

Her words make me think.
Really
think. I close my eyes, remembering the events of last night, the way he touched me and held me. His words and his lips were soft, his fingers hard and demanding. But he didn’t take advantage, or assume anything. More than once he asked if that was what I wanted.

And it was what I wanted, very much—at least until reality dawned.

“He didn't take advantage,” I tell her. “If anything, it was the other way round. We had sex then I asked him not to tell anybody. I left him as if it meant nothing.”

“
Did
it mean nothing?”

“Yes... no... Ugh, I don't know.” I rest my elbows on my thighs. “It can't mean anything, can it? Not when I work for him. If anybody found out I'd lose my job, and I can't let that happen.”

“What if you didn't work together?” she asks. “What if he was a guy you met in a bar? How would you feel then?”

“Completely different,” I admit. “Because he's gorgeous and charming and everything I want.” Not to mention the fact he’s amazing in bed. “But I can't, so that's that.”