Canada Square (Love in London #3) (28 page)

Do you remember saying you loved me and you’d never let me go? Yet at the first sign of trouble you’ve run away to Scotland and left me facing everything on my own.

You can’t go around playing with people's emotions like this. You can’t simply decide what’s best for me without consulting me first. You can’t send me a message through your friend like a fourteen-year-old schoolboy and expect me to do what you say.

I LOVE YOU, you arsehole. I love you and I care for you and I want to be with you. I want to be with you more than I want this job. More than I want my degree. As far as I’m concerned, the whole of Richards and Morgan can go and take a running jump.

You told me that I made you breathe again. Well, I’m the one who’s suffocating now. I’m scared and I’m alone and I can’t believe you’ve left me without a word. What kind of man does that to the woman he’s supposed to love? What sort of person ignores her when she calls him in tears?

The type of man I’ve fallen in love with, I suppose.

Before you say it, I know sending this through the IT network could put my job in danger, and maybe I’m hoping that it will. Because if I can’t have you, I don’t want this job either, so I hope IT read it and report me to every single director. Right now, I couldn’t care less.

I know you’re not going to reply, and I can promise that I’m not going to email you again. Somewhere deep inside me, I still have a shred of dignity left.

Did I tell you you’re an arsehole?

Amy.

I hit send before I can persuade myself out of it, then lean heavily back in my chair, weariness overtaking my body. My anger slowly dissipates until I feel nothing but numb, not even regretful at the tone of my message.

Later that afternoon, when I come back from a meeting, I get a reply. It’s short, sour and it’s everything I need to know. It breaks my heart with seven letters.

Goodbye.

30

“Your lipstick’s smudged.” Ellie reaches out with a tissue, wiping red from the corner of my mouth. Chucking the balled-up paper into the bin, she reaches out to hug me, her yoga-toned arms wrapping around mine.

“What’s that for?” I ask.

“Because you only went and bloody did it. You’re about to graduate with a first class degree and I’m scared stupid that you’re not going to want to be my best friend any more.”

“Don’t be silly.” I squeeze her tight. “You’ll always be my best friend. I won’t forget everything you’ve done for me.”

Her eyes glisten when she steps back. “I’m going to miss you so much.”

“It’s only for six months,” I tell her. “Anyway, you’re going to come and see me, right? Even if I have to buy your air ticket.”

“An all-expenses paid trip to New York? Let me think about it…” Ellie scratches her chin with her forefinger. “Um, okay, if I have to.”

The smile I give her is genuine, and warmth floods my chest when I look at her. If it wasn’t for her support over these past two months I don’t know if I’d have survived. “Your sacrifice won’t go unnoticed,” I tell her.

She’s about to say something when a voice comes over the tannoy, announcing the start of the ceremony.

I shout a hasty goodbye and run back to my chair in the auditorium, my navy-blue graduation gown billowing behind me. As I sit down I tuck my hair into the matching mortarboard that we’ve hired for the day.

A good thing about having a surname near the beginning of the alphabet is that I’m one of the first to be called. Of course, everything is relative, and there are still hundreds of ‘As’ and ‘Bs’ before me, but in a fairly short time I find myself crossing the stage to be handed my degree.

I’m no longer a student, but a graduate. I have a degree that nobody can take away. And this qualification has led to an offer of six months in New York, working for Daniel Grant.

When I climb down the steps on the other side of the stage, I scan the audience for my family. Mum, Alex, Andie and Lara are clapping madly, and when my brother catches my eye, he waves, pride written all over his face.

I don’t know how he managed to get a ticket, when the allocation was strictly two per graduate. A couple of weeks ago he called to tell me he had managed to secure another two, and that he and Lara would be accompanying Mum and Andie. I hate to think what he did to get them—knowing Alex it was probably highly immoral or costly—but I’m so glad he’s here.

After all, it was their love and support that got me here.

With my rolled-up certificate firmly in my hand, I make my way back to my seat. In spite of the warm day outside, there’s a chill breeze in the auditorium, and I can feel goose bumps break out across my skin. My mind wanders as I sit and shiver, barely noticing as names are called out, and friends and strangers alike walk across the stage.

Instead I wonder why I’m not feeling more victorious, and why this achievement doesn’t taste as sweet as it should. After all, I’ve crossed off two steps in my plan; I’ve got my degree and I’ve secured a placement in New York, enough to get me the hell out of Plaistow.

It doesn’t take long for my thoughts to turn to
him.
Like a compass, the needle always points north. To Edinburgh.

In the months since I last saw Callum, I’ve had no contact. Nothing at all. Every now and then, when I was feeling particularly masochistic, I looked his name up on the messaging system at Richards and Morgan. Seeing the online icon lit up next to his name always made my heart speed, the same way it did when he used to smile at me.

I don’t know how I got through that first month. Each day was a struggle. Getting out of bed felt like wading through tar. The pain was physical as well as emotional. My chest ached, my stomach turned, and my muscles felt as though I’d been through ten rounds in the boxing ring. Sleep led me an elusive dance—always beyond my reach.

In the final few weeks of my placement, things were no better at Richards and Morgan. Half of the interns ostracized me—on Caro Hawes’ instructions, I assumed—and the others just looked at me with pity. Gossip followed me around the office like vultures around a carcass, but whether their suppositions came close to the truth I never found out.

I simply didn’t care.

The nights were the worst. In the daytime, even when I was at my lowest, I could be distracted by work, conversation and the lure of bitter coffee. But when I went to bed there was nothing but darkness and the twisting spirals of my depressive thoughts. Each memory would be like a hand crushing my heart, reminding me of all I had, and of everything I lost.

The second month was better. Though the pain remained, my placement coming to an end was a balm to my troubled soul. I’d loved my work but I hated the office, and I especially despised the memories that seemed pasted to the walls like paper. I couldn’t wait to leave, working in the same company as him was stopping me from moving on. That’s why I jumped at the offer of a job in New York. Leaving London was the only thing I had to look forward to.

“Amy?” I look up to see Alex standing in front of me. Before I can say anything he pulls me out of my chair and against his chest, his tattooed, muscled arms wrapping around my slight frame. “I’m so proud of you,” he whispers into my hair. “The first Cartwright to get a degree.”

Before I know it my family are surrounding me, and we’re a tangled mess of hugs and tears. My mum sobs loudly, enough for people around us to stare, and Andie suggests we head to the pub. I say goodbye to the few friends I made on the course, and let my family lead me out of the hall. As always, everybody is talking at once.

We’ve hired the function room at a local pub; a small, wood-panelled room with high, vaulted ceilings and dusty windows that block out the sun. Alex and Andie clubbed together to pay for the buffet, and Mum has laid on the Prosecco. Shortly after we arrive, the room fills with family and friends. They hug me and ask me to model my mortarboard for them. In the end I cave in and let them take photos, all too aware that these embarrassing pictures will follow me around for the rest of my life.

Digger walks in about twenty minutes later, and comes over to congratulate me. He presses a card into my hand, his fingers rough from years of hard work, his eyes wary when Alex approaches us. Though neither of them says a word to each other, I count the lack of punches as a victory. Today is my day, and for now an armistice has been called.

A few of the interns and managers from Richards and Morgan—those who are still talking to me—pop in during their lunch breaks from work. Although they’re still on Company time, it doesn't seem to phase them as they accept glasses of sparkling wine and stuff their mouths with sausage rolls. A few months ago I’d have been mortified for them to meet my family, but now I introduce them to Mum, Andie and Alex with pride.

“Pleased to meet you.” Charlie reaches out to shake my brother’s hand. He looks alarmed at all the tattoos and the muscles that define Alex’s arms but he manages to keep his calm.

Jonathan runs in for ten minutes between meetings. I’ve already had my leaving presentation at work, when he said lovely things before gifting me a Mont Blanc pen and £300 worth of Amazon vouchers. He takes the time to introduce himself to my mum, making sure to tell her how well I’ve done, and how sad Richards and Morgan are to see me go.

For the first time in months I find myself feeling content. There are fifty people in this room, and the fact that they've come out on a sunny Friday afternoon to join in the celebration is heart warming. A shaft of sunlight breaks its way through the window; dust dancing in its spotlight. When it hits my face, spreading warmth across my skin, it makes me want to smile.

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 wall, 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?”