She handed him a glass of water and a couple of pills. He put the coffee mug down on the table in front of him, anxiously placing the Aspirin on his furry tongue while suppressing his gag reflex.
“I guess it’s a waste of time asking how you feel.”
He gave her a withering look and rolled his shoulders, wincing as his body recalled the fight with Jack outside the church two days ago.
“Sexy, huh?” he quipped, squinting up at her.
“Right now? Not so much.”
She sank down into the chair opposite him, and he peered at her. “How come you don’t look how I feel?”
“Maybe because you drank enough for the both of us last night?” she smiled sweetly. “Besides, someone had to drive us home.”
He stood up, stretching carefully. His stomach churned but he had a feeling it wasn’t only due to the bar he had drained the night before.
“What a night,” he mumbled, running his hand down his face. “What time did we get back?”
“I don’t know, around midnight I think.”
“I have no idea what happened last night, but I’m really sorry,” he said, by way of apology. “Something tells me I wouldn’t have been pleasant company.”
He caught a vague whiff of toast. Could he stomach food yet?
“Why didn’t you tell me before? About Ally?”
He froze. “What about Ally?”
“Oh I don’t know. Maybe the fact that you’re in love with her.”
He turned towards her, intent on denying it. One look at her, though, and he realised that he would be wasting his time. He dragged a chair out from the table nearby and sank into it, a wave of nausea washing over him. That was a no to the food thing, then.
“Ancient history,” he mumbled.
Ally was the strongest, most determined person he had ever known, and some days he was grateful just to be near her. And other days he wished he wasn’t, the ache in his heart was so great.
“It didn’t sound like ancient history last night,” Maggie said, ignoring his dismissive tone. “Does she know how you feel?”
The night he had tentatively spoken to her about the way he felt, he had needed a few beers under his belt, for courage.
“Yeah, she knows,” he said, staring down at his hands.
His chest ached as if it had happened just yesterday, not a couple of months before. Maggie didn’t respond immediately and he was grateful. Reliving the conversation in his head was bad enough, but having to say it out loud was worse. He hadn’t spoken to anyone about it, preferring to just sweep it under the carpet and hope that one day soon, it wouldn’t hurt so much. One day, everything would just go back to normal. With any luck, that day would be sooner rather than later.
“What happened? What did she say?”
“So she didn’t tell you?”
Maggie shook her head. He hesitated, tempted not to elaborate but reluctantly acknowledged there was no turning back now.
“What do you think?” he said, the memory still raw. “She said she was scared. She said she wasn’t ready, that she didn’t want anything to ruin our friendship.”
He reached around to pick up his coffee mug from the table and took a hasty sip. Maggie was sitting on the couch, cradling her coffee cup in her lap, her whole demeanor sympathetic. It would have pissed him off if he wasn’t feeling so vulnerable.
“Did she mention Jack?” she asked.
“Nope, but I did. She denied it – obviously. Said it had nothing to do with him.”
“But you knew she was lying, right?”
“Of course I did,” he snapped. “It was written all over her face.”
His head ached and impatience gnawed at him. This was exactly why he didn’t want to talk about it. What was the point?
“That’s what I thought. She’s been pretty stoic about it up until now, but I always got the feeling she was hiding something. We stopped talking about him after what happened, but I don’t think she stopped thinking about him.”
Callum stared blearily at the floor. He suspected the same thing.
“I’m worried about her,” Maggie said. “You saw how she was at the funeral. What are we gonna do? How are we supposed to help this time?”
“I haven’t seen her this low for a while,” he mumbled. “With the exhibition coming up fast, it’s the last thing she needs. She’s worked so hard for it, she deserves it.”
“I wish Tom were here,” Maggie said. “He’d know what to do.”
“Well, he’s not here, is he? And we have to do something because otherwise it’s all going to go to hell in a hand-cart again.”
He sat forward in his chair, anger pushing aside the headache, the nausea and the general sense of helplessness.
“Maybe your little chat with him did the trick? The sooner we can get back to normal around here, the better – for everyone.”
Callum stared at his hands again, gripping his coffee cup tightly. He remembered what Jack had said last night, through the haze of several beers and a killer hangover.
I’m not going anywhere – not this time.
He shifted uncomfortably in his chair.
“Does Jane know?” Maggie asked. “About you and Ally?”