Chapter Twenty-One

I lay my aching head on the pillow and thought about what a stupid idea it was to try to get over emotional traumas by drinking. I’d stopped analysing whether my raving stomach was down to the effect Cal’s eyes had on my psyche or the more prosaic effects of eight vodka shots per hour.

It was, predictably, three in the morning. A time at which all souls are at their lowest and thoughts immediately turn to picking at the biggest scab on the psychological knee. Me, I didn’t even know where to stick the metaphorical fingernail. My mind felt like one huge raw wound now that Jazz, Katie and Ash had all had a good poke around in it. Even Cal had stuck his oar in, although admittedly only to offer his assistance.

Why was it that they all thought they had a say in my life? Did I advise Katie on how to bring up the twins? Give Ash the benefit of my experience of club-drug culture regarding sex and promiscuity? I don’t think so. And yet they’d all given me their own versions of the ditch-the-bastard speech. Everyone had quoted the ‘sunk costs fallacy’ to me, told me that it didn’t matter how much money I’d given him, I should just walk away. But, and I didn’t dare admit it to any of them, there was some tiny part of the back of my head that was listening to everything they said and dismissing it. Okay, so I knew that Luke wasn’t the faithful type, much too good-looking and aware of it, but fidelity wasn’t everything in a relationship, was it? There was trust, and respect and yes, right, I know that trust and respect are difficult if your partner is shagging the length of the street, but there’s affection, too. Luke had explained that as a deserted child he had problems with physical affection, but he could still do sex. And sex is a very important part of any healthy relationship. Just ask someone who isn’t getting any. Katie, come forward.

So, all in all, Luke and I had a lot going for us.

I rolled my head onto a cool part of the pillow – big mistake, because the whole room started rolling, too, and I had to close my eyes to stop it. But, on the plus side, I fell asleep again and woke up at eight feeling only slightly nauseous. Someone was pounding on my bedroom door.

It was Flint. ‘That bloke’s back,’ he said without preamble, sitting on the end of my bed and effectively pinning me down under the covers. At least he wasn’t trying to fart on my head, the intervening twenty-five years having smoothed his social edges somewhat.

‘What bloke?’

‘And I’ve got a letter from the council. Apparently they’re selling off Ganda’s allotment. For building, if you please.’

‘Yes, I did hear something.’

But Flint was off on one. ‘So I thought, what I might do, what I’d really like to do. I’ve been looking for some land to build my own house on, but I didn’t want to go too far out of town. I want to design Modern Urban, do you see?’

I refrained from mentioning that his land was York allotments, not derelict warehouses in inner city Birmingham, but it was obviously Flint’s idea of urban. ‘Sounds like you’ve really thought about it. Excellent. Brilliant idea. Now, for the love of God, what bloke?’

Flint jumped up, his mind once more on steel and chrome. ‘Er. You know. The one that ate all the bread and I had to—’

‘Go to Morrisons in your pyjamas. Yes, I remember. It’s Cal. Where is he “back”?’

‘Downstairs.’ A look of horror crossed Flint’s face. ‘God, I left him alone with the loaf!’ He fled the room while I tried to fix my appearance so that I didn’t look like a vampire porcupine.

‘Morning.’

I don’t know why it annoyed me that Cal sounded bright and breezy, but it did.

‘Why are you here?’

He raised one eyebrow. ‘Don’t you remember? Last night?’

I decided to try for comedy. ‘What, I didn’t sleep with you, did I?’

‘No,’ he said into my eyes. ‘You would remember.’

Whoa, where did that come from? To cover what was quite a large confusion, I started ‘business with kettle and mugs’. Actually, my memories of last night were a bit scattered rather than being absent altogether. I knew I’d rung Luke and called off our date, pleading a sudden onset of flu. I knew that I’d carried on drinking with Cal and Ash after leaving Katie in the bar, that Jazz had gone off to visit Bree, carrying a ridiculous number of fluffy toys (where had he hidden those when we’d been in the Grape and Sprout?) and, er … ‘Humour me.’

‘You’re having the day off and we’re going digging.’

Oh, great. Here I was, feeling as though I’d stubbed my brain, and I was going what? ‘Digging?’

‘You’ll see. Come on.’

An hour later we were up on the moors, parking in the lay-by. The last time I’d been here Luke had parked on this spot and I’d been happy. No thoughts about other women. ‘Look, I’m wasting both our times here. Let’s go back to town. I really should be at work anyway. It’s not fair on Katie.’

But Cal was ignoring me completely, swearing under his breath as he negotiated the trackway down to the house. The mud had dried in the brief hot spell we were enjoying, but this seemed to make things even harder for him. Instead of slipping and losing his balance, he had to contend with ruts and unexpectedly deep potholes.

‘Cal? Did you hear? I said I ought to be going back.’

Cal turned round, resting against one of the old oak trees that lined the path. ‘They said you’d do this. Katie and Ash and Jazz, they told me you’d try to deny anything was wrong, try to smooth things over. I’m looking on this as saving you from yourself, and I’m rather looking forward to it, if you want the truth. So you might as well shut up and go along with it. Right?’ He crouched down suddenly and pushed aside some undergrowth until the trunk of the tree was revealed. Without its accustomed blanket of brambles and nettles, the bark looked nakedly pale. ‘Here. See?’

Intrigued, despite my misery, I bent down next to him. ‘What is it?’

‘I carved this when I was ten. The tree was a bit smaller then. See, those are my initials, CM. Callum Moore. Bloody nearly cut my finger off doing the M and Mary slapped me sideways when she found out I’d used one of her good silver knives.’

‘I didn’t know your name was Callum Moore.’

‘You do now. I was a miserable little guy back then, loner, reckoned no one understood me – hey, look at me now, nothing lasts forever. Right, that’s you distracted, shall we go on?’

‘God, you really are weird, aren’t you?’

‘They told me you’d do that, too.’ Cal turned away and led the way farther on, out into the field.

‘What?’

‘Be rude. It’s what you do, apparently. To keep people at a distance. One thing though, Willow.’ He reached the gate and pushed it open, stood waiting for me to follow him through. ‘It’s a bit too late.’

There were sheep in the field today, cropping down the overlong grasses and watching us in baa-filled distress. They’d eaten all the little white flowers and for some reason this made tears bubble up in my eyes. I scratched them away with a ferocious sleeve and followed Cal down into the yard. Instead of heading into the house, he produced a key and went straight to the locked barn, fiddling about with the padlock for a second. The air was suddenly overflowing with a screaming siren noise. I clamped my hands over my ears but, unconcerned, Cal released the lock and went inside. Two seconds later the noise died.

‘Sorry. Forgot I left the alarm enabled. Come on in.’

Cautiously I crept over the threshold. Inside the barn was all the equipment I’d remembered, plus a few extra pieces that I’d either not noticed, or were new. Cal wandered around throwing random switches, flicking the lights on and generally looking like A Man in Charge. He’d looped his hair back again, too, and tied it up, acquired the focussed and deliberate movements I’d noticed in him before when he’d been working.

‘Let’s roll.’ As before, I sat behind him on the bale of straw, watching as he flicked the tiny headset on, clicked a couple more switches, then settled himself into the oddly shaped chair in front of the keyboard. He looked over at me once and winked. ‘All right,’ he said, into the headset. ‘Come on, bitches, talk to me.’

From somewhere a voice rattled out. ‘Hey, Sandman!’

‘Hey, Fortune. Who else we got?’

‘Dix.’

‘Ratboy.’

‘Zakalwe.’

Different voices, different accents. I could feel the flesh down my spine prickle. ‘Who are they?’

Cal stood up and came over. ‘Boys, I’ve got someone to introduce here. She needs a bit of help and we’re going to give it to her, yeah?’ Dropping his voice, he whispered, ‘Say something. Tell them who you are. It’s okay, they can hear you. Just speak into my mike here.’

‘Oh. Er.’ Like anyone, anywhere, told to ‘say something’, I clammed up completely. ‘What shall I say?’

‘Try, hello.’

‘Um. Hello.’ I had to lean up against him to talk into his headpiece. ‘My name’s Willow.’

‘Hi, Willow.’

‘Yeah, hi there. Glad Sandman’s got some female company at last.’

‘Nice handle.’

‘Why are they calling you Sandman?’ I whispered.

‘It’s my … Look, I’ll explain it all later, all right? Just let me get this underway,’ Cal whispered back. ‘Okay, guys. Dix, can you get me records on that guy, James Fry? Background specific. Business.’

‘On it now, Sandman.’

‘Zakalwe. Another name. Luke Fry. Car imports. Check him out?’

‘On it.’

‘Fortune, Ratboy. Warehouse flats in York, UK. Riverside, Number six. Agents called Cambridge and Simpson.’ A query glanced my way and I nodded. ‘Yeah. Check out the sales records. Find out what glitches there are. Friend of mine’s bought in but can’t move. Need to know what the deal is.’

‘On it.’

‘Stars, all of them.’ Cal whipped off the headset, shut down the computer and whirled out of the barn, sticking his head back through the door a second later to ask, ‘Are you coming then?’ I was still sitting, dazed enough not to notice the straw particles sticking into my bum through my best jeans.

In the fusty kitchen, Cal made a huge pot of coffee, still riding that peculiarly tight-focussed energy beam. I sat at the scrubbed table in silence, sipping and occasionally shaking my head. The film of my life had suddenly stopped being a sedate rom-com and switched to hi-tech thriller. The casting director must be having kittens. ‘All right. I give in. What the hell was that all about?’

Cal refilled his mug. ‘I could tell you,’ he said, watching me over the rim, ‘but then I’d have to kill you.’

I laughed. ‘Oh, come on. Just tell me.’

‘Willow.’ Cal put down his mug. ‘I’m being serious. The stuff you saw in there, what you heard, you must not repeat to anyone. Do you understand?’

The laugh died. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Look. It’s work, all right? It’s what I do. And it’s all stuff that … I’m covered by the Official Secrets Act. Do you know what that means?’

‘Yes, but, God, Cal, you are serious, aren’t you?’

‘Never more so.’

‘Official Secrets. That means you can’t talk about it, even if you want to?’

Cal stared down at the pitted and worn tabletop. ‘I can, if I trust you.’

‘And do you?’ My heart thumped hard against my ribs.

He looked up and his eyes met mine. ‘I want to.’ His voice was so quiet, so soft, that it seemed to hang in the air. ‘I’ve never trusted anyone before. Not with this, not with anything that mattered.’

‘Cal—’

‘Feels weird. Wanting someone else to be part of what I’ve got going on.’ The words were gently spoken, almost inaudible.

‘Well, I promise not to tell. Anyone. Ever. And I’m good at keeping secrets, just ask Katie. Or, don’t ask her because she won’t tell you because it’s a secret. But I know things about her that even Dan doesn’t.’ I was blabbing, trying to break the suddenly sombre mood.

I was worried that I might have gone too far, been too light-hearted about something that was obviously very important to Cal, when he grinned at me. ‘I can tell you some of what I do, but don’t repeat it. I’m part of something called a Tiger Team. Huh, listen to me, Mr False Modesty. I’m team leader. We’re what you’d probably call hackers, if you didn’t know anything about it.’

‘Hackers? You mean, breaking into people’s security systems?’

‘Er, no. We’re what’s known in the trade as “white hats”, the good guys. We check out people’s systems. They pay us to try to break through their security set-ups. Means companies can make sure they’re watertight. If we break in, we get to sell them our security system. All right? Info dump over.’

‘But, why are you telling me? I thought it was all Official Secrets stuff?’

He shrugged, his face hidden for a second by his hair. ‘Too much time on my own?’

‘I thought you were a computer consultant.’

‘Men can multitask, too, you know.’ Cal brought the coffeepot over again, accidentally brushing against my hip as he refilled our mugs. I felt myself shrink into my skin. ‘What I do here. This is what keeps me going. The stuff back at the flat is cover. Yes, I enjoy fixing people’s machines, diagnostic work and troubleshooting and stuff but’ – he looked out of the window over the yard, unconsciously fiddling his hair back into its ponytail – ‘this is me. Fortune and I write the software. The guys all have their own areas of expertise. Together … let’s say we’re the best in the business.’

‘And you’re using all that just to help me?’

A ray of sunlight shot into the kitchen, freezing the moment. ‘Any friend of mine is a friend of theirs,’ Cal said easily, ignoring the atmosphere. ‘Besides, I’m the Sandman. They do as they’re told.’

‘No wonder you don’t want to leave here.’

Cal shook his head. ‘I can set up somewhere else. I like it to be away from the flat. Keeps things separate, if you know what I mean. Compartmentalised. But I’d still like you to buy the house. If you’re sure you’re interested. It’ll be nice to know it’s gone to someone who’ll appreciate the place.’

‘Oh yes, Luke’s got lots of plans,’ I said eagerly.

‘Fine,’ Cal snapped, and we drank the rest of the coffee in silence.

‘Why Sandman?’ I asked, when the distraction factor of watching dust motes whirl in the sunbeam had faded, and I hoped that enough time had elapsed since my mention of Luke for Cal not to start nagging me again.

‘Oh. Graphic novels. By Neil Gaiman. Sandman is the name of his character Dream – coolest thing alive. Or, well, not alive, as such, but, ah, you know what I mean.’

I nodded. ‘Yes. You are pretty cool.’

Suddenly the beam of sunlight was nothing. Cal had smiled. ‘You think? Really? Hey, no one’s ever called me cool! Geeky, yes, spazz, certainly, but not that.’

‘It suits you. You act kind of dreamy, but you’re not really, are you?’ This was the closest thing that I’d ever made to a personal remark about Cal, apart from my foot-in-mouth moments regarding his limp. ‘You just think a lot.’

There was a flicker in his eyes, which could have been a wince. Too close, Willow, back off. But he didn’t say it. ‘Yeah, live in my head, me. Amazing, isn’t it? Brain the size of a planet and here I am worrying about rising damp. There’s a wall on the landing that’s going to need replastering. You’d better come and take a look, since it might be you that ends up having to do it.’ He got to his feet.

Subject changed. I followed him upstairs and pretended to pay attention to the dampness of the plaster. ‘How long do you think it’s going to take for your team to find the information?’ I crouched next to him on the bare floorboards, smelling the dust, noticing how darkly stubbled his cheeks were, trying not to feel his hand occasionally brush against me in the confined space of the landing as he poked at the skirting-board-level plaster.

‘Not long. They’re good, and I’ve put Ratboy and Fortune together on the estate agents. They’ll be trying to outdo each other, so they should be fast.’

My heart was swirling the blood in my ears. ‘It seems a bit underhand.’ I took a half-step away from the wall and there was a crunching sound as a floorboard gave way, splitting into two under my feet, sending my leg down towards the joists of the kitchen ceiling. I staggered and lurched off balance. Cal reached forward and grabbed me by the arms, pulling me towards him so fast that I cannoned into him, driving him against the wall. ‘Ow.’

‘You all right?’ Cal hadn’t moved, still had his back flat against the plaster.

‘Yes, just a bit scraped.’

He had hold of my arms, above my elbows, so I couldn’t move away. His hands were very warm. His whole body was warm. Leaning full-length against him, I was perfectly positioned to know that, yes, he was warm. And hard. No, I don’t mean hard hard, although, all right, yes, I did notice that as well. Slowly I eased myself forward, trying not to put my foot down the significant hole. ‘Cal.’

Cal elbowed himself away from the wall and put his arms around me before I could get any farther. Not that I tried, once I felt his embrace. In fact, I took another tiny step forward and, in an instant, our mouths were on each other and the heat was flooding from him to me so fast that I could feel my cheeks glowing with it.

As he kissed me, deep, exploratory kisses that I could feel in my toes, I let my hands run over him. From his shoulders, down over his chest to his waist, and then I was inside his T-shirt and passing my fingers over a coil of hair in the centre of his chest, sliding down, down … Smooth skin and ridges of bone, a slick trail of hairs leading the way to his belt where he caught my hands and held them. ‘No.’

I didn’t get it. ‘Cal?’ I thought maybe he was playing some game, some delayed-gratification thing, until I met his eyes, where such sadness looked out that it made me catch my breath and pull away.

‘No. I’m sorry.’ And from the way he was panting, I knew he meant it.

Ah, rejection. Well, this is familiar territory. ‘Right,’ I said tightly, but trying not to show how hurt I was. ‘So what is going on? I thought we were … we were … that it was all fine.’

Again, shattered expression in his eyes. ‘I think you’re just offsetting here, Willow. All this crap that’s going on with Luke? You’re looking for something to make you equal. You have sex with someone else, with me, and you’re quits. He’s done it to you, you’ve done it to him. I can’t do that, Willow. I can’t be your revenge.’

‘You felt keen to me. You acted keen enough.’

‘Yes, I’m sorry. I let myself get carried away. Willow, do you have any idea of how lovely you are? I’d have to be stone not to feel something. But not like this.’

I shook my head. ‘I’m not lovely. I’m what I’ve always been – just me.’

‘Yes, I’ve wondered about that.’ In the semidarkness of the landing, it was hard to see any expression on his face, only in his eyes. ‘You’ve never moved away from the house you were born in, you’ve got the same friends, the same job you’ve always had – even though you are patently qualified for something much better – and now you’re going to marry a man you’ve held a torch for, for over a decade, even though you know he’s cheating on you. What’s it all about, Willow, you wanting to keep everything the same?’

‘I don’t.’

‘You do! Look at yourself. You’ve got your life planned out – marry Luke, do as he says. Hello, there’s a big wide world out there. There’s … there are other people who’ll care about you. It doesn’t have to be him.’

‘Stop it.’ Anger was fighting with misery now, and just about winning. ‘You’ve got no right. I mean, what have you ever done with your life?’

I saw the slow, beautiful smile build on his face. ‘I went from being an adopted cripple boy to running the most successful anti-hacking software business in the country, Willow.’ He spoke very softly, so I had to lean forward to hear. ‘And now I’ve made you face up to your life. I think I’m doing pretty well so far, don’t you?’ I slapped him. Hard. Caught him on one cheek and he staggered sideways, unbalanced. ‘Yes! Come on. Hit me again. Let it out, finally. Stop being Miss Goody-Two-Shoes.’

The bastard was laughing at me. I swung my arm back to take another shot at him, bashed my hand against the opposite wall with such force that my knuckles grazed and I let out what can only be described as a bellow of rage. ‘You complete fuck.’

Cal was still laughing. ‘I know, I know exactly what I am. And now, are you beginning to see what you are? That you don’t have to marry some guy you’ve had stuck in your head for years, and work in the same grotty little office selling ad space in a paper no one reads? Think, Willow, think about what you want to do, not what you have to do.’

‘Someone has to keep the house together,’ I yelled at him. ‘Someone has to have a sense of responsibility! Do you have any idea what it was like, growing up with Sophie and Iain? When we could wake up one morning and find that they’d buggered off to sell shell-models on a Greek beach, or joined some travellers to go to Stonehenge for the solstice? And then Ocean or Flint would have to go and fetch Granddad to come over and look after us and … and one time when he was in hospital and we all had to go to foster homes for a week and we all got split up and I was terrified! And I promised, then, that we’d never get split up like that again.’

‘But you don’t have to take that responsibility.’ Cal looked as though he was enjoying himself, apart from the splinter of pain in his eyes. ‘They’re all adults now, Willow. Bree is a solicitor, for God’s sake, your brothers have all made lives for themselves! It doesn’t have to be you. Jeez.’ He ran a hand through his hair. ‘No wonder it took so much therapy for Ash to get out from under – you lot all know how to stick to the roles your parents gave you, don’t you? But the others are trying. Bree’s a mother now and Flint has given up the banking, okay, Ocean is always going to be a bit … different, but he’s got his own place and his own business.’ A gentle hand touched my wrist. ‘It’s just you, Willow, hanging on.’ He smiled again. ‘Well, that was all very cathartic. Now, shall we go and see if any of the team has had a hit?’