Canada Square (Love in London #3)

by Carrie Elks

  “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.”

  “It's that easy?” There's still a hint of amusement to her voice. “You think you can just turn attraction on and off like a tap?”

  I turn and stare at her. “I don't have a choice. It doesn't matter how much I like him.”

  “There's always a choice, Amy. Don't kid yourself, there's no black and white here.”

  I groan loudly, closing my eyes so tightly I see stars floating behind them. “But I want there to be. Because I've no idea what to do about this.”

  “Do you like him?”

  I picture Callum's handsome face, and his strong body. Just thinking about him is enough to make me feel dizzy.

  “Yes, I like him,” I say, finally. “Much more than I should. I’m not sure there’s anything I can do about that.”

  19

  I manage to avoid Callum until Wednesday morning, when a project review meeting is arranged. Collecting the current data, I rapidly form it into a presentation which I hope will be enough to reassure the partners that everything is going to plan. My desk is cluttered with papers, as well as a vase of flowers that Charlie sent on Monday as some kind of peace offering. Though I reluctantly accepted the roses, I haven't quite accepted his apology yet.

  Glancing at my watch I notice it's almost ten o'clock. The meeting is supposed to last for an hour and a half, which works out well as I'm due to meet Douglas for coffee at one. I can't quite bring myself to call him 'Dad'. I'm not sure I ever will.

  Though Mum offered to come to join us, I turned her down. I figure a busy coffee shop in the middle of Canary Wharf is as safe as it gets, and I'm nervous enough about meeting him. She'd only make things worse with her fussing.

  I'm still thinking about my family when I walk into the conference room. Distracted, I plug my laptop into the audio-visual system, playing around with the mouse until my presentation is on the screen.

  Then I feel my hackles rise.

  Callum walks in, followed by the rest of the technical team, and his eyes immediately catch mine. They're dark and narrowed, the shadows beneath them prominent, and his pale, chiselled beauty is hard to ignore. Flustered, I look away, feeling heat spreading across my face.

  “All right, Amy?” Paul, one of the technical engineers, nods at me. I flash him a weak smile in return. I hate the way I react in Callum's presence.

  When I sneak another glance, he's still staring. My heart stutters in my chest.

  The catering staff come in, wheeling a trolley laden with coffee and biscuits. There's an immediate dash for the sideboard as the team fill white porcelain mugs with coffee, playfully fighting over the chocolate chip cookies.

  When I walk over and take a cup, Callum's immediately beside me. He dwarfs me, his expression unreadable, his lips drawn into a thin, pale line. “You okay?”

  I nod, because I can't find any words. Silently, I pour out two coffees, adding a splash of milk to his before passing it over. His fingers touch mine, warm and rough, and the sensation is enough to make me jump. I'm too damn jittery for my own good.

  “Have lunch with me,” Callum murmurs. “We need to talk.”

  “I can’t.” I half turn away, staring down at the rising vapour. “I’m meeting somebody.”

  “Who?” Is that a hint of jealousy I can hear? I’m not sure why but the thought gratifies me.

  “My dad.”

  I hear his loud inhalation, followed by an ominous silence. He’s still holding my arm, and I’m in no rush to pull away. A hum of conversation comes from the rest of the boardroom as the partners indulge is small talk. None of them seem to notice that I’m standing here in the corner, hemmed in by Callum’s imposing body.

  “You’re meeting that man? Alone?”

  “In a café,” I correct him. “Surrounded by people.”

  He’s staring down at me with a quizzical expression on his face, two vertical lines prominent between his eyebrows. I fight the urge to smooth them, aware that I have my hands full—literally and metaphorically—with him and my coffee cup.

  “I don’t like the sound of that.”

  “Who are you, my father?” I joke.

  Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Amy, I’m not your dad. I’m not the sort of guy who goes around scaring girls so much that they run into my office almost screaming. I’m just a… friend who’s concerned about your safety.”

  I yank my arm out of his grip, and coffee sloshes over the side of my cup. It lands on my white shirt, staining it brown, and I sigh. “You know what, I’m so sick of this. First Alex and then you. I’m not some little kid who needs shielding from the big bad wolf. I’m a grown bloody woman.”

  My raised voice causes the room to quieten. Alarmed, I glance over my shoulder to see everybody staring at us. A blush steals its way up my neck, staining my cheeks in the same way the coffee stains my shirt. Perfect.

  Callum steps smoothly around me, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Of course I trust you to present your findings.” His lips are so close to my ear that I can feel his breath warming my skin. “This isn’t over,” he whispers. “We’ll discuss it later.”

  I shrug my shoulders and wrap my jacket around me to cover the stain, knowing that I’ll be at the café long before Callum realises I’ve left the building. That’s one of the good things about being an intern, nobody really notices when you’re not there.

  * * *

  I spot Digger as soon as I walk into the café. He looks out of place. His jeans and t-shirt stick out like a sore thumb among the sharp suits and tailored dresses of the city workers. He’s sat at a table near the centre of the room, almost as if he knew Alex and Callum would prefer us to be in full view of the surrounding diners. Making my way through the maze of tables and chairs, I step over laptop bags and huge designer purses, finally arriving at the empty chair opposite him.

  A shyness descends over me when I get there, my fingers grasping the metallic back of the chair, looking at the scars that pockmark his face. Shrapnel, I remember Mum saying. The debris of a shattered bomb lodged in his skin.

  “Amethyst.” He gets up as soon as he sees me. The chair scrapes across the tiled floor. “You’re here.”

  “Hello,” I say softly. My voice sounds unfamiliar. It’s tremulous, almost vibrato. We wait for an awkward moment, both mute, both staring. Then he gestures at my chair.

  “Do you want to sit down?”

  I nod and all but collapse into the seat. Even though the café is full of people there’s a feeling of isolation. I don’t know if it’s fear, or anticipation, or something else entirely that’s making me feel so skittish.

  Sitting
in front of me is a man I thought was dead. The man who gave me life. The father who squeezed my tiny bones until they snapped. I’m not sure how I am supposed to feel. Elated or frightened?

  “Can I get you something to eat?” he asks. It’s one of those cafés where you order at the counter, no waitress service here. To be honest, it’s little more than a glorified canteen, but for some reason it’s popular among the city crowd. “And a coffee, maybe?”

  His voice is quieter than I remember, but then I’ve only actually spoken to him once. Somewhere between that first meeting and this, he’s become larger than life in my mind. A shadow that remains long after the sun goes down.

  “Just a coffee please,” I reply. “I’m not very hungry.”

  For the first time I see him smile. It takes ten years off his face, making him look almost boyish. That’s when I notice his resemblance to me—or maybe my resemblance to him. He has the same dimple in his cheek, and his eyes crinkle just like mine.

  “I’ll grab us a couple of cakes, in case you change your mind.”

  While he’s gone I whip out my phone and send a text to Mum to let her know I’m okay. I consider texting Alex, too, but then I remember just how angry he was at the weekend. We haven’t spoken since our argument because I know how long it takes him to calm down. When I slip my phone back into my bag, I notice a movement, as someone comes to claim the recently vacated table behind me.

  A second later I realise exactly who that someone is.

  “What are you doing here?” I whisper urgently.

  Callum shrugs and pulls the plastic lid off his cup of coffee. “I was thirsty.”

  “There’s a coffee shop in our building,” I point out. “You didn’t need to walk all the way over here for a drink.”

  He licks his lips languidly, and I follow the movement of his tongue. Then he raises the Styrofoam cup to his mouth, his eyes on mine. “I like the view better here.”

  “Are you spying on me?” I ask. “Did you follow me here? Because that’s just…” I lose my train of thought. Instead I watch the way he holds his cup, remembering how I felt when he held me. His hands are big and strong, it’s very distracting.