Two Kinds Of Truth(3)

My thoughts are interrupted by a key turning in the lock.

“I’m home,” Callum calls out.

He’s standing by the front door as I rush to greet him.

“Hi,” I say, and give him a kiss on his cheek. “Had a good day?”

I wait for a response as he takes off his coat and hangs it over the bannister, a battered old briefcase in his hand, but he only brushes past me and heads down the narrow hallway.

“Hey, Cal, whatever’s the matter?”

When he doesn’t reply, I quickly follow him to the small reception room he uses as an office. He sits down at his desk and turns the chair around, so he can face me.

“Callum, talk to me. Is everything okay?”

He bites his lower lip. “If I’m honest, no, not really. I lost an important client today. Now my yearly bonus is out the window,” and any hopes of visiting Scotland dissolve before my eyes.

“Seriously, that is bad news,” I agree, and move closer and stand by his side. “What happened?”

Callum slams his briefcase down on the desktop and lets out a deep sigh.

“Bradley O’Conner’s only gone and left us to go and work for Brookers.”

Confused, I move even closer, resting one hip on the side of the desk.

“But that’s not so bad, is it? Only last week you said he was shirking his responsibilities.”

“Yeah, well, that was before I found out he’d been scheming behind my back. The tosser’s screwed me over good and proper, and taken my best client with him in the process.”

I shake my head in disbelief.

“Why, the conniving little runt,” I say. “But don’t worry, you’ll get another client; you always do.”

“Maddie, don’t be so frigging na?ve. Decent clients don’t just wander in off the street. I’ve worked tirelessly for over five years to get Lord Fornhill’s business. Now, everything I’ve done has been flushed down the fucking toilet.”

There’s no talking to him when he’s upset, and to make matters worse, I can see the last chance of us having a holiday fade before my eyes. Inside, I shiver. The last time he lost an important client, he stormed out, got drunk and punched a shop window. Twelve stitches and a Police caution later, he finally came home.

I do my best to change the subject.

“Right, okay, in which case, I think I’d better go and see to dinner. It’s your favourite: lamb stew.” I wait for a response, but he only stares down at the floor. I turn away, and as I leave, I hear what I suspect is his briefcase hitting the wall.

Dashing straight for the kitchen, I open a cupboard door and grab an empty glass, filling it from a bottle of wine already open in the fridge. Taking a large swig, I try to ease my disappointment. I was hoping for a nice evening together, for us to reminisce about Scotland and Callum’s family. Instead, I now realise I’ve been foolish enough to believe everything would simply fall into place.

A door closes. I spin around to see Callum enter the kitchen. His jaw is tense and there’s a strange look in his eyes.

“I guess I’m the cause of yet another ruined evening,” he snaps, but his tone doesn’t hold one note of regret, and I shy away from him. Callum’s nostrils flare, his lips drawing back in a terrible grimace, clearly trying his utmost to pick a fight. He’s been the same ever since the first treatment failed. I close my eyes, determined to blot out the stark image that now flashes before me, but all I see is a river of red pouring from between my legs. I squeeze my eyes tighter shut when phantom labour pains slice across my abdomen. No. I’ll be damned before I let him make me feel it’s all my doing.

With some reluctance, I open my eyes.

He’s staring right at me, and I’ve seen that look before. He’s goading me, hoping I’ll let rip, but I don’t.

“Hey, why don’t you join me?” I say, and snatch another glass from the shelf, pouring him a generous amount of alcohol. I give him what I hope is a peace offering, something that might quench the ominous fire burning behind those luscious green eyes of his.

Callum downs the sparkling white in three large gulps, but I can see the fire still burns.

There’s only one way out of this situation, so I make my move.

“Callum, I understand you’re upset about losing your client, but please, let’s not fight.”

He places the empty wine glass onto the kitchen counter.

I feel myself tense and I bite my lower lip, nervously. I know his tactic. He wants to antagonise me to the point where I’ll explode and then he’ll blame me for the aftermath.

But I’m playing it cool. I won’t let him see that I’m seething inside.

Callum chooses his words carefully.

“Is that what you think? That I’m spoiling for a fight?”

“Well, aren’t you?”

“No.”

“What, then?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just angry with the world tonight.”

“Or maybe you’re just angry with me?”

He pushes his fingers through his head of thick curls.

“You changed us, Maddie. You did this to us.”

“That’s simply not true. We both agreed to go through with the treatment.”

“You said it’s what you wanted.”