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“He sent me an email last week,” I tell her. “He’s good.”
Max trips over one of the cats, landing face first on the carpet, and immediately starts to cry. Callum reaches Max first, swinging him into his arms. Maxie buries his face in Callum’s broad shoulder, muffling his sobs in his shirt.
For a moment, I get a tiny glimpse into the future. Callum holding one of our babies, his huge hands rubbing their backs. It’s such a contrast, the big man and a tiny child, and I find myself longing for that day.
We haven’t talked about children yet. We’ve barely mentioned marriage, but we both know our future is together.
“Give him here.” Mum takes Max from Callum and carries him into the kitchen, whispering in his ear that he’s going to be all right. By the time she’s sat him on the counter his tears have stopped, replaced by a lisped request for a band-aid.
“I remember when a plaster solved everything,” Callum smiles. “Especially if it had the Mr Men on it.”
“Some things don’t change.” I step into his embrace. “You’ve always been a big baby.”
“Don’t think I didn’t see you staring,” he whispers, brushing his lips against the shell of my ear. “Did you like what you saw?”
I hide my smile in his chest. “I think you made my ovaries explode.”
A laugh rumbles in his throat. “That sounds painful.”
“Looking at you is always painful,” I lie. “But I consider it my duty.”
Leaning down, he presses his lips to mine. “In that case, consider this an obligation.”
He kisses me softly, and I find myself being very obliging indeed.
* * *
It’s almost midnight, and we end up in a nightclub near Soho, sitting in a cramped booth as the bass pumping out of the speakers makes the entire room vibrate. Beth is at the bar, getting a round in, while the rest of us are pinning condoms and party rings to the veil fixed on Lara’s head.
“I don’t get why I have to wear this,” Lara whines. “It’s not like I’m getting married. I’ve already done that.”
Beth arrives, sliding a tray of shots onto the sticky table. “You know why. Because Alex wants it to be traditional this time. Hen nights and church services and the whole shebang.”
Lara starts to reply, but her grumble is cut off as we make her do the first shot – a non-alcoholic one, of course. Holding her nose, she tips her head back, letting the syrupy green fluid flow into her mouth.
“That’s disgusting.” Screwing her nose up, she puts the glass back on the tray. “What the hell is that anyway?”
“Apple schnapps for us, and some disgusting alcohol-free concoction for you,” Beth replies, “On the house. Apparently hen nights are good for business.”
I see what she means when I look around the dance floor. Men outnumber women by a good percentage, and from the predatory looks some of them are shooting, it’s only a matter of time before they start offering to buy us drinks.
“Ugh,” Sally, one of Lara’s co-workers from the clinic, is the second to take a shot. “They’ll be disappointed when they find out we’re all taken.”
“When has that ever stopped them?” Lara mutters. “I told Alex this was a bad idea.”
While they start discussing the best way to fight off unwanted advances, I sneak a look at my phone. My heart races as soon as I see there’s a message from Callum.
Remind me again why I’m not allowed to come and see you?
I quickly tap out a reply. It’s tradition. The stags and hens should never meet.
Fuck tradition, I want to dance with my girl. Where are you?
I can almost hear the impatient brogue of his voice.
Not telling. ; p
Don’t try and hide from me, babe, you know I’ll always find you.
