He understands why men his age are enticed by younger women: he can still remember dipping his hands into the inverted question marks of Danielle’s waist, and the taut skin around her neck where his lips had met the sweetness of her skin. But as a married man, these memories are the kind that sour fast, and reliving those moments of weakness brings bitterness to his tongue and sets off an angry itch to his skin that he is desperate to relieve.
The station had been deserted by the time it had happened, so at least he is sure no one had seen them. Earlier in the evening the police had been in touch with the unit about a walker who hadn’t reported in to his hotel, and Callum had sent out an alert to the team. However, by the time people began arriving at the rescue station, the missing man had been found drinking in one of the local pubs, having forgotten to let anyone know he was back. Most went home again straightaway, but Danielle had stayed to do a stocktake of some of the equipment. Callum had gone to help her, and Les Pickering, the rescue team coordinator, had looked in on them at one point. At the time, Callum hadn’t noticed anything remiss, but now he replayed the memory it seemed as though Les had given him a strange look – and he had closed the door quickly. Had Les sensed something was going on, even before things got physical?
Callum cannot stop thinking in confessional clichés this morning. I didn’t mean it to happen. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. And it will never happen again, because in the cold light of day . . . Oh yes, the reality of daylight is stark and frigid and leaves nowhere to hide.
He has been lost in these thoughts as Danielle stands in front of him without a word. When he comes back to his surroundings he is forced to speak first. ‘I was hoping I’d catch you before you headed to work. Can I come in?’
She moves aside so he can get past, and he hovers in the hallway until she has closed the door. ‘I’ve come to apologise,’ he says, feeling as though he is reciting formal lines from some well-known rule book of transgression. ‘It – we – last night – I’m so sorry, it should never have happened.’
All pleasure vanishes from Danielle’s face. She folds her arms and her look runs right through him. ‘Why am I not surprised? You’d better come in.’
He follows her into the lounge room. He has never been here before and the interior is surprisingly old-fashioned. Her furniture belongs in a charity shop, but then he couldn’t imagine outdoorsy Danielle browsing through the home catalogues. Still, somehow this place feels far cosier than his sister-in-law’s carefully laid out Laura Ashley interior. Or his own practically furnished home, for that matter.
‘Take a seat, then,’ she gestures to the sofa. ‘Do you want a coffee?’
He perches uncomfortably on the edge of a cushion, unsettled by her formal civility. His mind flashes back to her excited, uneven breaths as she straddled him less than twelve hours ago. He’s aware of stirrings in his groin. He feels like a teenager.
‘I don’t think I should stay.’ He wants to stand up but he can’t bring himself to, yet. ‘Like I said, I just needed to tell you that I’m sorry. Last night, it was a mistake . . .’
‘A mistake.’ She repeats the words so quietly that he is unsure he heard them. She takes the seat opposite him, and stares at the floor.
An uncomfortable tangle of emotions begins to rise in him – embarrassment, confusion and fear. ‘Please help me out, Danielle. You know what I’m saying.’
She catches his eye and whatever she reads there spurs her into action. She comes and kneels in front of him, putting her hands on his knees. He looks down at her touch, studies her soft, smooth skin, so different to his rough weather-beaten fingers. ‘Callum, this is your guilt talking. Whatever it is that we’ve started, it’s been building up between us for months. Or are you going to lie now, and tell me differently?’
Callum can’t meet her eye.
‘I heard about the accident,’ Danielle says, the change of tack surprising him. ‘I’m so glad that Georgia’s okay. She is okay, isn’t she?’
‘Yes, she’s fine . . . well, kind of. The thing is, Dani, there’s just far too much wrong with this scenario . . .’ He waves his hands between them, trying to think of ways he might persuade her to draw a line under this indiscretion on amicable terms. ‘I’m way too old for you.’ He holds a hand up, forestalling her objections, ‘And what happened last night was beyond selfish on my part. I let everybody down, most of all myself. I’m not about to live two separate lives; I just can’t do it. This has to stop now, I’m sorry.’
‘Callum, you’re forty-five, not sixty-five,’ Danielle replies, sitting back on her heels, her hands resting on her own thighs now. ‘And do you realise that you didn’t even mention your wife in that little speech?’