Callum swings open the restaurant door and I can’t help but smirk as he acts the perfect gentleman. It’s great seeing this side of him again. It’s been far too long.
We hang about just inside the doorway for a few seconds, until an approaching waiter asks, “Table for two?”
I nod and he shows us to a vacant booth.
“This is nice,” I say, pulling off my hat and gloves. “We should do this more often.” I check out the restaurant as I unzip my coat, pleased to see the other customers are busy devouring their food. There’s a nice atmosphere about this place. It’s homely. A mixture of black and white photographs cover the walls, mostly of movie stars and famous people from the nineteen-fifties and sixties, a particularly striking one of Marilyn Munroe. She’s so beautiful, I note, and she’s placed next to Dean Martin, at whom I smile. They would certainly have made a dashing couple back then.
The smell of fresh garlic fills the air and I breathe in deeply, the delicious aroma making my stomach rumble. Soft music plays in the background, the dulcet tones of Frank Sinatra, and I relax further into the soft leather of my seat.
“It appears we’ve missed the rush,” I say to the waiter as he hands me a menu. He nods as he wipes down the table, then heads off into the direction of the kitchen, but I frown, realising Callum isn’t listening. He’s too busy browsing the back page of the menu.
“Er… What did you say?” he asks, unable to tear his eyes from the list of alcoholic beverages.
I let out an exaggerated sigh and he looks over at me. “I think I’ll have a beer; would you like a glass of wine?”
Inside, I want to scream. He knows full well I don’t drink when I’m working.
“I’ll just have a Diet Coke, thanks.”
“Oh, for Christ sake, Maddie, live a little. Why can’t you just let your hair down once in a while and have a drink with me?”
I’m shocked by his tone and feel my cheeks burn, but I don’t wish to make things worse between us. I don’t want to start a fight like last night. So, I keep it zipped and stay tight-lipped, studying the specials whilst watching Callum out of the corner of my eye, observing him tapping his hand over the table’s laminated surface.
“Excuse me sir; are you ready to order?”
Callum’s gaze shifts from the menu to the waiter.
“Actually, I can’t decide. I either want the bacon double cheese burger or the turkey melt.”
“Shall I give you a few minutes more?” the young man asks.
“Yes, if you wouldn’t mind.”
He nods and heads over to the bar, taking my gaze with him as far as the next booth, where a young couple are sitting together. They’re laughing and joking, completely oblivious to the outside world, absorbed only in one another’s company. The woman’s cheeks dimple with a smile that moves fluidly across her face, her happiness clear to all who care to look, shining like a glorious beacon.
I let out a deep sigh and look away, staring down with unseeing eyes at my menu. I try to recapture a moment when Callum had looked at me in such a way, but I struggle. Perhaps it was the day he asked me to marry him.
Callum clicks his fingers just as the waiter walks by with somebody else’s drinks.
“Hey, what are you doing?” I hiss in despair, sliding a little deeper into the booth. “How rude of you and can’t you see people are staring?”
Callum shrugs. “I don’t care. I’m ready to order, and we were here long before that couple.”
“Well, you damn well should care. You can’t go clicking your fingers at the staff, you’ll get us thrown out.”
“Is that right, little miss perfect,” Callum huffs. “I was only trying to catch his attention.”
The waiter hurries over. I can’t look the man in the eye, and purposely fiddle with one of my gloves.
“Sorry about that,” he says, “only I mixed up their beverages. I gave them sweetened tea instead of unsweetened. The lady’s diabetic.”
I lift my face and smile, but I still can’t meet his gaze.
“Have you decided what you’d both like to drink?”
“Yes. My wife will have a Diet Coke and I’ll have a Coors,” Callum says. “We’re also ready to place our lunch order.”
“Absolutely,” and the waiter lifts his notepad and pen. “What can I get you both?”
“I’ll take the bacon double cheeseburger, and—”
“And I will have the baked lasagne,” I say.
The waiter takes our menus and heads back through the double-doors to the kitchen.
“Callum, what’s wrong with you?” I say firmly. “Lately, you’ve been acting like a Jekyll and Hyde, one minute you’re nice and the next you’re a monster.”
Callum lets out an irritated sigh. “I’m sorry about…you know…earlier. I didn’t mean to offend anyone.”
I take a deep breath. “So, work’s still busy, then?”
“No, not really. Since I lost Lord Fornhill’s account, the business pretty much ticks along without me.”
The waiter returns with our drinks, setting the Coors down next to Callum’s hand and the Diet Coke right in front of me. “Thanks,” I say.
“Your food should be out shortly. Is there anything else you need?”
“No. We’re good,” Callum nods.
I reach for my handbag and dig inside. Within seconds I find a copy of Cycling Weekly. It’s a bit tatty at the corners and rather moth-eaten, but it’s the only issue I have. Callum lifts an eyebrow and points the bottle of beer in my direction.
“What’s with the mag?”
“Oh, it’s just an old copy of an outdoor pursuits magazine I found at the back of the shop. It was mixed in with a couple of floral booklets. I’ve been thinking about getting myself a bike, you know, to try and keep fit.”
Callum shakes his head and chuckles. “Are you serious? You’ve never been one for cycling.”
“Well, that’s just it: I think it’s time I changed all that. A new bike wouldn’t cost too much, and I think I’d enjoy it.”
Callum snatches the rolled-up magazine from my fingers and uses the flat of his hand to smooth out its kinks, then he flips through the pages.
“Hey, look at these photographs,” he says. “The location they’ve used for these shots reminds me a lot of the mountains around Camburgh.” He pushes the magazine that bit closer to me. “Can you see? In fact, the more I look, the more I’m convinced it is Camburgh.”
I do my best impression of being surprised, opening my eyes wide and saying, “Oh. Wow. I’ve never noticed that before.”
I drag the pages to the centre of the table, so we can both see the colourful images, and point to a worn track, almost hidden behind a posing cyclist.
“Yes, I think you’re right. The mountain range reminds me a lot of Loch Durrum and Inverness.”
Callum sighs. “You remember.”
I look up and smile.
“Yes, of course I do; how could I forget? It’s where you gave me my first sprig of lucky heather.”
Callum sits back and takes another swig of beer.
“We had a nice time back then, didn’t we?”
I nod. “Yes, we did. Those few days away were magical.”
Callum stares at me, and for a moment I’m worried he’s seen right through my ruse.
“Maddie, I know I’m not one for being spontaneous, but I’ve a bit of time owed at work and I think the break would do us both good. How do you fancy a wee trip to Scotland?”
I try not to jump up and down, but inside I’m doing backflips. “Well, I’ll have to speak to Keira, but if you’re serious, I can’t see it being a problem.”
“Good. Then it’s settled. I’ll speak to my boss and ring my grandfather tonight and get it all arranged.” He rubs his hands together and his mood lightens as the waiter brings over our meals. I want to jump up and tell the server how happy I am. I want to walk down the aisle between the booths in my husband’s arms and kiss his face.
; Instead, though, I take a mouthful of food and say, “The lasagne is wonderful. How’s your burger?”
***
I watch Keira climb down a set of small stepladders, returning the twinkling set of fairy lights she’s been trying to hang without success onto the floor. She swings the “Closed” sign over the door and pulls down the blind. I find it odd when she comes and sits beside me, behind the counter, where I frown, sensing by her expression that there’s something she wants to get off her chest.
“Is everything okay?” I ask, trying not to panic, convinced she’s changed her mind about running the shop in my absence. I lick my lips and wait for the blow.
Kiera pulls her wooden stool a little closer.
“Maddie, I don’t want you to be angry or upset with me, but I’ve been meaning to give you a small gift.”
My frown deepens, and I shake my head. “Don’t be daft; why would you want to give me a present? It isn’t my birthday or anything.”
Kiera seems a little edgy.
“I know that, silly, but still, I have something here for you.” She reaches inside the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out an envelope with my name on it. I can see it’s full of money.
“Here, this is for you; I want you to have it,” she says, pushing it against my fingertips, but I snatch my hand away.
“What? No way. There must be a couple of hundred pounds in there, possibly more. I know I’m stony broke, but I can’t possibly take your hard-earned cash.”
Keira shakes her head and her eyes narrow.
“Sure, you can. I want you to have it.”
This time she thrust the envelope towards me, but I place my hands on my lap in protest, and Kiera lets out a sigh.
“But you’re missing the point, the reason why I’m offering you this gift.”
I fold my arms and draw my lips tight.
“It might help if you listen for a second and stop being stubborn,” she says. “You see, I’ve been saving for months. You know, in preparation for your, for the arrival of…” and for the first-time, Keira appears lost for words. She falters, but before I can speak, she regains her composure.
“What I’m trying to say is that I was saving the money for when you and Callum had your baby.”
I feel the bottom fall out of my world.
I eventually have to force the words out of my mouth, “But there is no baby, and there never will be.”
“Then make the most of this golden opportunity.”
I stare at her for the longest time, the ache in my breast spiralling slowly but surely into intense pain.
“Why are you always so kind to me?” I begin to cry. “I truly don’t deserve it.”
Kiera pulls me close, wraps her loving arms around me and hugs me tight.
“Because I love you like a sister,” she breathes into my hair, “and I just want you to have enough money so you can make the most of this trip.”
As Keira soothes me, I know I want a child of my own. Her hand strokes my face and she holds me tight, but it brings me little comfort.
I know I will never have children with Callum. I will be forever alone. And now, my marriage is a howling abyss.
Chapter 3
Our car races through the old town square and I take a moment to drink in my surroundings. Camburgh is one of the most medieval places in Scotland. The town has served as a trading hub since twelve-fifty-four, and many of the beautiful buildings date way back to before the clansmen suffered atrocities at the brutal hands of the English.
An unexpected shiver snakes down my spine as we drive past the Scran and Sleekit.
“Didn’t you once say the ringleaders organised the Jacobite rebellion of seventeen-forty-five in there,” I ask, pointing out of the car window.
Callum flicks his gaze towards the local pub.
“Yes. Although historians claim there were many such buildings used in and around this area.”
“And what of Bonnie Prince Charlie? What happened to him?”
“He disappeared after the battle of Culloden.”
“He wasn’t caught and put to death?”
“No. He hid in the heather and escaped.”
“And he didn’t raise another army?”
“He was finished; died an alcohol-sodden death in Florence in seventeen-eighty-eight.”
I close my eyes and visualise what it must have been like back then. I see tall, strapping men dressed in kilts, a sharpened dagger clasped to the side of their hip while they collaborate and scheme to get Charles Edward Stuart onto the throne.
I’m aware it all ends in tears, but I adore the Scottish people and their history. The men are honourable yet fearless, their women dangerous and loyal. Many of those who died fought for what they believed in, and it’s that power, that stubborn determination to win, that sucks me in. The Scottish people have such passion in their blood, they are truly amazing, and I’m lucky enough to be married to a man with that same blood flowing through his veins.
We go over a sharp bump in the road and I’m brought back to reality, opening my eyes to see Callum smile. His perfect jaw is relaxed, not tight. Those frown lines, the one’s which are etched so often onto his face these days, are nowhere to be seen. A contented sigh escapes me as Callum continues to smile, slight creases, tiny lines, forming around his eyes. They make my heart melt.
The bright red hatchback dashes out into open countryside and myriad snowy peaked mountains appear on the horizon. My own excitement grows. It’s been far too long since we visited Callum’s family, and now we’re almost there, I feel an overpowering urge to hug them close, to feel part of a clan again.
The last time we visited, we were invited to the Highland games. It was such a wonderful day. Jamie competed in the caber toss, a traditional Scottish athletic event. It’s a skilled game that sees all competitors show great strength. The competition’s always fierce between the highlanders, and to our delight, Jamie won third prize.
That same day, Callum’s grandfather bought me a classic tartan shawl. It was such a lovely gift and one I will cherish forever. His kindness, his generosity, has no bounds. His genuine openness gave me confidence whenever I was around him. I was never judged and soon became one of the family.
I open my window and enjoy the blast of fresh mountain air that takes my breath away. It’s cold, almost freezing, but the sun is shining on my face, giving a false impression of warmth.
When I close the window, it’s to hear the indicator clicking, and the car swerves gently to the right. We’re going off road, and already the thought of being at the farm makes my stomach tingle.
Within ten minutes we reach our destination.
Balinriach Farm looks just as I remember. Built in the Victorian era, the stone building is surrounded by a pebble-chip driveway and pretty borders. There’s a welcoming atmosphere to the place the minute one drives up to it. I felt it the first time I visited, and I feel it again today.
A warm smile appears on my lips when Alasdair and Jamie come out of the house to greet us. I’m always shocked at just how much Jamie looks like Callum, his twin brother. They’re identical in every way: their strong jaw line, their faces chiselled and striking, and their shared thick and wavy reddish-brown hair.
Both are over six feet tall, broad shouldered and muscular, but for Jamie it’s the hard life he leads on the farm, not the gym Callum attends twice a week that gives him such a powerful physique.
Callum gets out of the car and flings his arms around his grandfather. The old man hugs him tight and then slaps his grandson hard on the back.
“Och, ye took yir time coming home,” he chides, good-naturedly.
“I know, granda. I’m sorry; I’ve no excuse other than work commitments.”
Alasdair shrugs and shakes his head. “City life’ll kill thee, lad, if ye let it, that is.”
His grandfather turns his attention towards me, his arms already open once more, and I throw myself at him. Although he’s in his late seventies, he�
�s still powerful and strong, locking me in a solid embrace. I breathe in deeply. He smells of the farm, of loose tobacco and horses.
“Are ye willing to make an old man happy and stay in the main house?” he asks. I pull away and spot the spark of amusement that lights up his face.
“Well, er… I don’t…” I splutter, but Jamie laughs out loud and interrupts his grandfather's game.
“Nah, granda, she’ll be staying in the Garden House, just like last time.” He gives me a wink and strolls over, hugging me tight in his strong embrace, pulling me so close to his chest I think I might suffocate.
“’Tis guid to see ye again, Maddie,” he says with an endearing smile, the kind Callum hasn’t used in quite a while.
The Garden House is a stone building with a pitched roof of slate. It’s more of a cottage really, and I’m pleased we’ve been allowed to stay there again. It reminds me of a place Beatrix Potter might stay. There’s watercolours hanging from the walls, homemade cushions, and crochet blankets covering the backs of the chairs. The furniture is rich in colour, polished mahogany and dark oak filling the rooms, and a wood burning stove stands in the middle of the hearth. It’s simply perfect, and I love it here.
The house is clinging to the last remnants of a woman’s touch, though. It’s been years since Jamie and Claire lived here. Callum told me once that Claire’s death affected Jamie so badly that even now, after all these years, he still can’t bear to see pictures of her face without crumbling. I feel a pang of guilt at staying in what was once their home.
Callum comes dashing up the stairs with the suitcases. I push open the bedroom door a little wider, to allow him access. He throws the cases onto the bed.
“Do you want to unpack now or wait ’til later?” he asks, “Only granda has something he wants to show us.”
I don’t even have to think about it.
“Let’s go,” I say, loudly, “there’s nothing I need right now,” and I go to touch his hand, but the warmth I saw in his eyes earlier now disappears and he snatches his hand away.
Two Kinds Of Truth Page 3