Glasgow Grace (2 page)

He wouldn’t get out of this conversation so easy. Maybe if he just kept quiet, she would, too.

“Ah’ve seen the posters, tae, at the Clyde. Did a double-take when ah seen hur name an face. Mightn’t be the face oh a sixteen-year old lassie enymair, but ah’d knaw hur enywherr. Spent enuff time ’tween these walls, she did.”

No. Keeping quiet would not get him out of this.

“We’ll just have to wait and see, won’t we, Ma? I’m guessing she won’t be here until the New Year when their rehearsals start.”

Mary gave Callum the how-do-you-know look.

He wrapped his arm around his mother’s shoulder, dwarfing her. “I asked at the Armadillo.”

“Humph.” She elbowed him out of her way and headed for the next table. “Ah’ll bet it wis when yi bought yir tickets.” She turned and eyed him. “Just dinnae go gettin’ yir heart broken agin. Not noo that yiv finally started tae build a life fur yirself. Dinnae mess things up, Callum Robert McGuire.”

Whenever she used his full name and surname, Callum knew he’d be in serious trouble if he didn’t listen. Even at age thirty-three.

“Ma, you’ve nothing to worry about.”

Mary pursed her lips and narrowed her eyes. She shook her head then continued with her chores.

She didn’t believe him. Not for one second.

~*~

With the theatrics of a true prima donna, Skye threw back the covers. She’d tossed and turned long enough. Might as well get up and do something—she’d get her beauty sleep tonight.

She should call home. Caught up earlier in her memories and the wonder of her surroundings, then bathing and trying to sleep, she’d forgotten all about her mother.

Skye padded across to the desk and retrieved her cellphone from her handbag, realizing as she unlocked the screen that calling home wasn’t the only thing she’d forgotten. She changed the phone from silent, and then viewed the long list of missed calls. All from Mother.

Clenching her jaw, she pressed redial. As she paced the floor, the phone buzzed in her ear. Once. Twice.

“Skye,” her mother’s anxious voice boomed. Skye held the instrument away from her ear. “Why have you taken so long to call? I’ve been trying to get you for hours. You had me beyond worried.”

She rolled her eyes. “No need to notify the Coast Guard yet, Mother. I’m sorry I haven’t called. The flight was exhausting. As soon as I checked in, I had a bath and climbed into bed.” No way would she confess to sleeplessness.

“Well, at least one of us is getting some sleep.”

Shoot. “What time is it there?”

“Three-thirty in the morning. So you see, Skye, I’ve been unable to sleep for hours. I called the hotel, but they said you had a ‘Do Not Disturb’ alert on your room phone and on the door.”

“I’m so sorry. I should’ve remembered the time difference before calling.”

“If you’d called when you got in, you wouldn’t have had to worry about the time difference.”

“You’re right. Wait a minute…you sent them up to my room to check on me? Really, you have to stop babying me, Mother. I’m thirty-two—I can take care of myself.” Skye cleared her throat, then coughed, hoping the wretched frog that had been lodged there for weeks would jump right out.

“Are you ill? Why are you coughing? Why do you sound hoarse? How many times have I told you that you have to take care of your voice? You can’t afford to get sick. Probably that ghastly Glasgow weather getting its hooks into you already.”

Her throat did hurt.

“Mother, stop it. Except for getting in and out of a taxi, I haven’t been outside since I arrived.” If Mother had her way, she’d have Skye wrapped in cotton wool and hibernating until rehearsals began. “I’m not coming down with anything. Even if I was, I do know how to doctor myself.” She’d been doing it secretly for weeks. It hadn’t seemed to help to rid her throat of the soreness. If her mother knew, it would’ve been just the excuse she needed to come with Skye to Scotland.

“Have you eaten yet, Skye? Airplane food is not substantial enough. You need a balanced diet. You know that. I never should have let you travel clear across the globe without me. I should’ve come with you.”

I rest my case. Any excuse.

A low sound warbled from Skye’s stomach. The mention of food made her realize how hungry she was. She glanced at the time on her phone as she opened the hotel room’s curtains. Four-thirty. Hard to believe with the darkness outside that it was still afternoon. She should get an early dinner. And she knew just the place.

McGuire’s.

“Mother, you have to be with Ted. He needs you far more than I do.” Truth was, she didn’t need her mother, at least, not in the manner that Rita Robinson availed herself. Not that she’d wished any ill on her stepfather, but Ted’s illness was the only reason she’d enjoy those cotton sheets in a room of her own.

A twinge of guilt joined forces with the hunger prickling her insides. “I have to go. I need to get ready for dinner. Give Ted a kiss from me.”

Without waiting for her mother to launch into another diatribe of reasons why she should have come with her, Skye aimed two pecks at the phone and cut the call. She dropped the device into her bag and licked her lips. She could almost taste Mary McGuire’s shepherd’s pie—a home-style stew of meat and root vegetables simmered in a rich stock, topped with a browned layer of mashed, redskin potatoes. Her father had loved to take her there. He, too, believed there was nothing quite like Mary McGuire’s shepherd’s pie. Mother never joined them. If Mother only knew what she’d missed out on all those years.

Skye hurried into her clothes. Brown boots hid her denim skinny jeans to the knees, while a white Aran sweater with a vertical cable pattern covered her from neck to thighs. She ran her fingers through her hair and fluffed the thick strands across her shoulder. Her flaming tresses stood in stark contrast to the soft white wool. Fire and ice.

After applying light makeup and a spray of perfume, Skye wrapped her father’s tartan scarf around her neck, the Hunter plaid of red, blue, green, and white deepening her feelings of being home. She donned her coat and headed out the door, her mind alive with anticipation of what waited.

Outside the hotel, she hailed a taxi.

“McGuire’s, please.” Wouldn’t her mother just have a fit if she knew where Skye planned to have dinner?

The driver turned around. “On Anderston Quay?”

“That’s the one.” She smiled. “I would’ve walked, but the weather…”

“It’s dreich.”

“Aye, that it is.” She laughed, surprised at how easily she’d slipped into the old ways. She hadn’t said “aye” in years.

As they drove, the words of her opening song drifted into her mind, and she hummed: “Think of Me.” Did Callum ever? Did he remember her at least once in a while? For a long time she used to dream of him, could sense him when she sang. But the memory of him faded with time.

“Yiva awfy fine voice furra chantin’.” The driver pulled up in front of McGuire’s.

“Thank you.”

Skye paid the fare and the taxi pulled away, leaving her alone on the snow-covered sidewalk. She stepped up to the familiar wooden door and stood rooted beneath the black awning. Would Callum still be there?

~*~

After the brush with his mother, Callum had returned to his guitar. Soon a steady stream of patrons drifted into McGuire’s—some for a drink after work, others for an early dinner. Friday nights were always crazy at their pub. Tonight, the night before Christmas Eve, promised to be worse.

The place reverberated with chatter and laughter. Callum sat on the edge of the stool—one leg stretched out, the other bent—his guitar resting on his thigh. He felt a little delinquent not waiting on tables. The staff seemed stretched tonight. But he’d done his time at the tables—it was how he’d paid for his studies in Edinburgh. He was here purely to entertain. Voluntarily. What he did tonight at McGuire’s was for enjoyment alone, not recompense. Dr. McGuire no longer had need of small change. But he did need to be among his kind, his family.

Callum played a combination of lively jigs, and slow, soothing ballads, easing from “Gypsy Rover,” to “Donald, Where’s Your Trousers?” to “Coorie Doon,” to “Skye Boat Song.” His mind returned to the girl who’d stolen his heart a lifetime ago. If he ever saw her again, he’d hold her tight and never let her go.

When Skye’s father was alive, their relationship had stood a chance. That chance died along with Dr. Hunter. What would happen now that she was a grown woman, able to make her own choices? Skye’s father had liked him, but her mother…the woman had treated him with disdain his entire life, determined to come between him and the girl he’d loved—and won. Would she still stand so vehemently in the way now that his life was different?

2

Tinsel strips hung between the wooden crossbeams above Skye like a silver lining to the dark clouds of all those lost years. Time slipped away the moment she’d stepped through the familiar door.

Unbelievable. A girlish giddiness filled her.
Pinch me, quick. I’m sitting inside McGuire’s, eating Mary’s shepherd’s pie, listening to Callum sing. Can life get any better?
Being here—seeing, smelling, tasting, touching, and hearing her childhood days, her teenage years—was almost too much to take in. Every one of her senses begged to explode like the shooting star ornaments that adorned the tall Christmas tree behind Callum.

Two things had prevented Skye from rushing over to him the moment the pub door closed behind her: he was in the middle of a song, and her legs would only carry her as far as the nearest open table. The seat was a good one though. Dim lighting, and an uninterrupted view of Callum. She could remain anonymous while she composed herself. Maybe when he took a break, she’d be able to catch his attention and say hello.

She’d spotted his father between the faces that lined the bar. After all these years, Robert McGuire still made patrons laugh with his jokes while he served drinks. Some things hadn’t changed.

She filled her fork and took another bite.
Hmm, just as I remembered.
Only one person could make a shepherd’s pie like this. Mary McGuire had to be busy in the kitchen.

On the opposite side of the room, Callum’s brother, Tavish, waited on tables. Younger than Callum by five years, the gawkish lad she remembered had turned out to be a fine-looking man. But nowhere near as fine as his sibling. Callum had grown into a handsome, rugged man. She loved the way stubble darkened his jawline. Had he forgotten to shave today? Perhaps he always wore a five o’clock shadow.

Skye burned to take her place beside Callum and join in his song, as she’d done a thousand times before. Did he ever think of her when he sang of the Isle of Skye?

She resisted the urge to dash across to the bar, run to the other side of the room, and then burst into the kitchen to greet every one of the McGuires. What if they didn’t feel the same excitement as her? After Da died, Mother caused a scene every time she found Skye at McGuire’s. The last time was the worst. Skye barely had time to say goodbye before their belongings were packed and Mother had whisked her away to her native Australia. Was that why Callum had never answered the endless letters she’d written?

She’d been stupid to come here, and only by God’s providence had she found a secluded table. She should leave, before she was seen. Probably no one would recognize her, but she couldn’t take that chance.

Her meal finished, Skye wiped her mouth and stood. Callum had set down his guitar and disappeared into the crowded room. Although she had enjoyed her dinner and the music, this hadn’t been a good idea to come here tonight. Could one really go back in time? Things changed. People changed.

Skye dropped a twenty pound note on the table to cover the bill and a tip. She slipped on her coat and draped the scarf around her neck. Bag slung over her shoulder, she turned to leave and bumped into the back of someone.

The man swung around as she lost her balance and grabbed Skye to steady her.

“I’m so sorry.” Her legs weakened as she looked up.

“Skye?” Callum stood rooted and wide-eyed for a moment before he wrapped her in his arms. “Is it really you?”

~*~

Could she feel his heart beating inside his chest? Not ten minutes before, he’d declared if he ever saw Skye again, he’d hold her tight and never let her go, yet Callum released her and held her at arms’ length. He had to get a good look. She was even more alluring than her poster, and more beautiful as a woman than she’d been as a lass.

“I can’t believe it. Skye Hunter.” Nothing could wipe the grin from his face.

She smiled. “Yes, Callum. It’s me.”

“What are you doing here? Now? I thought you’d only be here after New Year’s.” Forgetting everything but her, he drew Skye close again. So what if she felt his heart thumping.

She pulled her head back slightly, her eyes searching his. “You knew I was coming to Glasgow?”

“I saw the posters at the Clyde Auditorium—your face, and then your name. I inquired and was told that rehearsals would begin in January.”

She cupped his cheek, her hand soft and warm. “You recognized me? After all these years?”

“Are you kidding? How could I forget the face I’d gazed into for half my life?” He resisted the urge to turn and brush his lips across her fingers. She could be in a relationship. She could be married. She could have children. He’d found little personal information online. Only one photo of Skye with Mrs. Rita Robinson. Her mother had remarried. He needed to find out Skye’s marital status. Fast.

Callum glanced at her coat, the scarf around her neck, the bag on her shoulder. Disappointment shoved a bayonet through his gut. “You were leaving? Without saying hello?”

She lowered her gaze. “I-I wasn’t sure you or your family would want to see me.”

“Not want to—how could you think we wouldn’t want to see you? Ma and I were just talking about you this morning, wondering if you’d come to McGuire’s when you got to Glasgow. I can’t wait to show you off to them. But first, I want you all to myself.” Callum pulled the chair out for her. “Sit back down and tell me what you’ve been up to these past sixteen years.” He removed her coat and draped it over the back of her chair.