Page 37 of From Scotland with Love

“But you followed my instructions exactly - and calmly!” He waved to the others who were now packing up and one by one, getting onto a bus. “Come on – want the window seat?”

Once reunited with Callum’s van, they sat on a woollen rug that Gran had helpfully packed, with a straw basket between them. Callum pulled out the picnic inside, placing down sandwiches, pastries and cakes.

“This is incredible!” Lori beamed at him as he handed her an Irn-Bru. “Oh my god, I haven’t had one of these in ages!” She opened the can and let the neon-orange fizzy sweetness hit her. “Wow!”

“Classic drink for a classic bird!” He opened one himself and lay back looking at her.

“Ew, you did not just say that...!” Lori shook her head, giggling from the caffeine hit.

“You sound so American sometimes!” Callum bit into a ham and mustard sandwich.

“Well I do live there!”

“But sometimes you start talking and I swear you are American, then after a while your accent changes again, and I think, the local lass is back.”

Lori shrugged. “I’m still adapting to being home, I’ve been in New York a long time.”

The sun had finally managed to pierce the clouds, and a sharp shard of light spilled onto the beach next to them. The water was a dark murky green, and white waves lapped the shoreline. They were the only people on the beach, which still amazed Lori even now. If she had been anywhere else in the world, this beach would have been mobbed with people – dog-walkers, swimmers, sunbathers, anybody. But here, it lay untouched and unpopulated, and the peace that environment engendered was just heavenly. Lori lay her head back onto the soft blanket, feeling her eyes grow heavy. She had spent yet another day with Callum, without argument or awkwardness, and apart from the brief moments of anxiety near the cliff edge, she felt elated. The excitement she still felt around him was intense, but on the other hand she was so comfortable in his company that no words needed to be spoken. Before Lori could think of anything else, her body gave in to the rhythmic swell of the water, and soon fell into a light and delicious sleep.

21

Michael had been invited to his parents for dinner, a tradition he had tried to keep up every week, but had let slip once too often of late. His mother’s tone on the phone had been a little more passive aggressive than usual, so Michael had accepted the invite graciously, though in truth the last thing he wanted was to go there this evening. It had been a long week already, and he had had an argument with a client earlier, and was convinced it was due to how he felt about Lori rather than anything to do with the case, or his workload. He had been undeniably out of sorts, and as he drove up the driveway to the lit up house he told himself sternly to perk up and enjoy the night. His parents wouldn’t appreciate him moping, so he cast aside any negative thoughts and made his way in at the front door. The door opened and he was greeted by Marcie, his parent’s maid. The old woman smiled warmly at Michael and touched his face, a gesture he was used to, and now fond of. He had known Marcie since he was a boy. She would allow him to sit in the warm kitchen with her as she cooked. He would play with his toys, making noises and voices to himself as she scrubbed, chopped and stirred the pots and pans. Those evenings were cosy, with a quiet sense of safety and love, and Michael closely guarded them in his collection of fuzzy childhood memories. One of the few real happy periods in his life. No matter where his mother was, which was on most occasions some college fundraiser or committee meeting, Marcie was always there in the kitchen, ready for a hug, a cookie and a kind smile. Without her, the house would have been cold and empty.

“Mio Caro, Michele!” Marcie clasped her hands, beaming at Michael like a proud mother.

“Hello Marcie!” Michael patted her shoulder warmly, and took her hand in his. It had been a couple of months since he had seen her but the old lady had changed even in that short space of time. Her hair was now entirely grey, and Michael found himself almost worried at her appearance. “How are you? How is the family?”

“Good, good.” She nodded. Even after all the years working for his parents, she still spoke very little English, but she understood everything, particularly the things that were impossible to put into words, and her wonderful Italian accent was still as strong as ever. She led him through to the dining room with its large candelabras in a line over the table, and lights that twinkled all around, from the table, to the crystal chandelier suspended above.

“Michael, lovely to see you my dear!” His mother walked into the room welcoming him, wearing her usual designer two-piece. Her blonde hair pulled back in a French roll, the same style she had kept for years: if it’s not broken, darling, then don’t fix it. His father soon joined them, holding a glass of bourbon as he looked his son up and down.

“Michael.” They shook hands, and stood awkwardly for a moment. Michael had a fairly good relationship with his parents, and they were proud of him, so he would make the effort to see them from time to time…although the occasions ended up more as informal business meetings than laughing reunions. They had never been one of those families who embraced every time they saw one another either, but that was fine by Michael. He hated those over-the-top people who couldn’t end a conversation without saying, “I love you!” It made him cringe just thinking about it. No, a bit of familial indifference never did anyone any harm, he was sure of that.

“How’s the firm?” His father poured him a glass of the dark liquid and Michael accepted.

“Very well, father. I’ve had a meeting with Daniel O’Brien this week. He’s been happy with my work and sees a future for me there. He’s going to start introducing me to the other partners in the fall.”

“I know Daniel, he’s a good man, head screwed on right.” His father nodded, and refilled his own glass. “In fact, I was at the club the other day and Daniel was there. You should really think about coming along next week, I’ll introduce you to more contacts. Good way to make connections.”

Michael nodded. He had put off playing golf for some time, specifically wanting to make it on his own, without too much help from his father. But it was where all the CEO’s and Directors played, and perhaps now was the time to accept some back-up, and start attending.

His mother sat down at one end of the table and gestured for the men to sit also. Marcie came out with a silver tray carrying a heavy deep dish, she walked around to his mother and stood as she helped herself to the meal. The old maid looked tired; Michael could see she was unsteady and watched anxiously as she shuffled over to his father with the tray. After a few more moments he decided he couldn’t watch her struggle anymore. It was bad enough that she looked an old lady, but now to be walking like one, it was too much.

He stood up abruptly and took the tray from her. “Marcie, let me.” He took the tray, which wasn’t as heavy as he had thought, but a look of relief spread over the old lady’s face, and he could see she had been struggling more than he had suspected. “If there’s anything heavy tell me, and I’ll bring it out,” he smiled kindly, and offered the dish to his father. His mother was quiet at the head of the table, but she gently tutted when Marcie was out of the room and out of earshot.

“She is getting a bit old now,” she whispered. “The Hudsons next-door have said their new Mexican housekeeper is very good. And cheap in comparison.”

Michael gently put a finger to his lips as Marcie walked in again.

“Michele, you help please?”

Michael went through to see a large bowl of potato salad and a whole roast chicken ready to be carried through; much more than any of them would eat, but Marcie had always cooked for a large family, which his was not.

“Marcie, you don’t need to cook this much. It’s just us three!” Michael felt less than comfortable about this evening already. Now, seeing Marcie like this, her beaming smile broke his heart. He hoped his feelings were nothing more than unfounded concern, and that old Marcie would continue living at the house for a while longer, though perhaps with lighter duties. No matter how much he tried to avoid coming home, Marcie had always made it warm and welcoming, but he couldn’t ignore the fact that the old woman would need to retire soon. He walked back to his parents, carrying the chicken, to find them looking at each other bewildered. “I’ve told Marcie to go and rest, we can manage ourselves mother”.

“That wasn’t your place to tell her that, Michael.” His mother drank her wine, but remained on the edge of her seat, as if at any moment she was going to stand up and fetch Marcie out from her room to put her back in the kitchen where she belonged.

“It’s fine, mother.” Silence fell upon them and they began to eat. Michael didn’t want the evening to end sourly, and tried to think of something lighthearted to talk about. His mother coughed and he continued looking at his food, aware that his parents were exchanging looks between them.