The others had gone out while he sat and went over and over what had happened last night. He needed to get it straight, but he couldn’t remember it all. What he did know, though, was that Rain was entirely culpable for what had happened. What time had he gone to bed? He needed to get that right. Sometime after midnight, he reckoned. Asking Claire was tantamount to admitting he’d had a skinful (which he had), but the booze was only to numb the dull conversation. Why did they insist on dragging up the past continuously?
Whatever the reasons for Rain setting upon him like she did in the night and what happened next, he was certain it was all because of this stupid reunion – not to mention the pressure he was under at the hospital. A job like his didn’t leave room for this kind of thing. He had enough to deal with without teenagers throwing themselves at him.
Callum gathered himself, breathed deeply. He was a good man – a neurosurgeon with a reputation to uphold – and this was just a little blip. Everyone had one from time to time, didn’t they? No stupid girl was going to ruin his life, he was certain of that. He had a family and a career. He was solid. Solid as a fucking rock. She’d come into his room uninvited, made him take her clothes off – pretending to be helpless when she was clearly quite the opposite – and then forced herself upon him, refusing to leave. If it came down to it, it was her word against his.
At least the news of Patrick discharging himself had taken the heat off Rain’s whereabouts last night. How would he explain being taken advantage of by a teenager? No one would believe him. Not that the girl’s irresponsible mother seemed particularly bothered. Maggie was as stupid as her daughter. Always had been.
In fact, the only one he’d ever hit it off with in their group was Claire. From the moment he’d set eyes on her as a kid, he knew there was something about her, something rare and special, something untouchable that he’d… wanted. Had to have. Was it so wrong to notice her uniqueness when she was just a child? Back then their age difference had been too great, he knew that. But now, her at nearly forty, him approaching fifty… a decade was nothing.
Goddam! He thumped the kitchen table.
What had actually woken him? Had he even been asleep? He remembered soft skin and hair brushing the length of his naked body, alerting him to either the best dream he’d ever had, or that someone had actually got into his bed.
It certainly hadn’t felt anything like Claire.
Where had his wife been anyway? Some rubbish about not wanting to leaving Shona alone at the farm…
Callum forced himself to remember, go over all the details. He’d taken a coffee up to bed to help sober up, but the room was still spinning when Rain had come in. She’d not even knocked, had she? No. Of course she hadn’t.
Marcus…?
Seconds later, he’d felt a hand sweeping lightly over his body in the darkness – a hand that couldn’t take him quick enough, he decided. A hand whose delicious movements made him feel like the most desirable man in the world. A hand with the gentlest touch ever. Then he’d reached out and gripped her wrist, hearing her slurred voice.
Do you like me…?
He wasn’t even sure the words had been real or that she was even there, convincing himself that it could still be a dream, that he wasn’t actually doing anything wrong – let alone encouraging her.
You’re beautiful…
He felt himself respond to her touch – any man would react the same – and then he remembered the fullness of her lips on his neck, his ear, his mouth. She was so very sweet, her naked body folding lightly over his like the whisper of a silk sheet. He looked up at her, felt soothed by her in a way that Claire could never make him feel, until her young smile, flashing through the darkness, transformed into something else. A shocked look when she realised… but by then it was way too late.
‘Russ, come!’ Callum yelled. He scraped back the kitchen chair and stood up, whipping the dog’s lead from the hook by the door. Russ skidded to his master’s side. ‘Walk,’ he snapped, thinking it would have to be a bloody long one.
Chapter Thirty-Five
The conversation had wound back to babies and children, understandably so with Greta present, but it was the last thing Nick wanted to hear about.
‘I’m off in search of mussels to cook later,’ he said, getting up off the sand. ‘Anyone coming?’ He’d briefly hoped Claire would join him. He liked the idea of them scrambling about on the rocks together as they’d done as kids, but she glanced up, declining politely before returning to her chat with Jason and Greta.
‘I’d come with you, son,’ Patrick said. ‘But I’d be a liability.’ His eyes flickered with something, as though the hot sun was loosening old memories. Nick couldn’t help noticing the look Jason shot his father when he called him son.
His own father lived in Liverpool now with Nick’s much older sister. He didn’t see them very often. Growing up, his parents had been good to him, but were nowhere near as exciting as Patrick. His father had worked in the council offices and his mother had been a waitress. It was many hours waiting around in the restaurant kitchen for his mother to finish her shift that had sparked his love of food and cooking.
Nick pulled on his T-shirt and started off for the rocky section of beach behind them. The charcoal-coloured slate spotted with barnacles stood out against the fine buff sand. Occasionally, he regretted moving to London, so far away from the coastline that had once made him wonder if his blood was part seawater. So far away from everything he loved.
Nick waved at the teenagers, who’d chosen to sit away from the adults and look after Amy. Earlier, he’d watched as Marcus and several of his friends, plus a rather subdued-looking Rain, had struggled down onto the beach armed with surfboards, a blow-up boat, towels and a cricket bat. He’d stared at Rain too long, he knew that, but he couldn’t help it. She was different in every way to Isobel, but his aching heart made him watch her as she spread out her towel.
Nick’s feet smarted as the hot rocks dug into his soles. But ignoring the pain was easy compared to the far greater pain in his heart. The day he’d discovered his daughter’s body splayed out on the hallway floor was the end of everything good in his life. On top of his and Jess’s grief, the police fleetingly considered a ghastly scenario. That someone had even thought he’d hurt their daughter was horrendous.
He shook open the plastic bag that he’d brought up from the picnic and pulled some mussels off the rocks. The slate cliffs rose imposing and dark behind, and the shingle path that led to the clifftop track was not far to his left. It seemed less daunting than he remembered, although still not an easy climb. As kids, the shale had made it three steps forward, two back. Everything was simple then. Everything linear – black or white, good or bad. These days, his mind was pickled with bereavement, divorce, financial worries, builders, and all the while trying to remain creative with his cooking. It was nibbling at his sanity, eating away at his brain on a daily basis. He wasn’t sure how long it would be before he cracked. He just wanted Isobel back.
‘Hey,’ a voice called out. Nick glanced up, looking around, not knowing where it was coming from. ‘Up here.’ Halfway up the shingle track, he spotted Rain. She was waving at him with a small smile, but then her smile dropped away. She’d put on her shorts but was just wearing a bikini top above. He tried not to see Isobel everywhere he looked.