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“I can’t.” I half turn away, staring down at the rising vapour. “I’m meeting somebody.”
“Who?” Is that a hint of jealousy I can hear? I’m not sure why but the thought gratifies me.
“My dad.”
I hear his loud inhalation, followed by an ominous silence. He’s still holding my arm, and I’m in no rush to pull away. A hum of conversation comes from the rest of the boardroom as the partners indulge is small talk. None of them seem to notice that I’m standing here in the corner, hemmed in by Callum’s imposing body.
“You’re meeting that man? Alone?”
“In a café,” I correct him. “Surrounded by people.”
He’s staring down at me with a quizzical expression on his face, two vertical lines prominent between his eyebrows. I fight the urge to smooth them, aware that I have my hands full—literally and metaphorically—with him and my coffee cup.
“I don’t like the sound of that.”
“Who are you, my father?” I joke.
Slowly, he shakes his head. “No, Amy, I’m not your dad. I’m not the sort of guy who goes around scaring girls so much that they run into my office almost screaming. I’m just a… friend who’s concerned about your safety.”
I yank my arm out of his grip, and coffee sloshes over the side of my cup. It lands on my white shirt, staining it brown, and I sigh. “You know what, I’m so sick of this. First Alex and then you. I’m not some little kid who needs shielding from the big bad wolf. I’m a grown bloody woman.”
My raised voice causes the room to quieten. Alarmed, I glance over my shoulder to see everybody staring at us. A blush steals its way up my neck, staining my cheeks in the same way the coffee stains my shirt. Perfect.
Callum steps smoothly around me, clearing his throat. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. Of course I trust you to present your findings.” His lips are so close to my ear that I can feel his breath warming my skin. “This isn’t over,” he whispers. “We’ll discuss it later.”
I shrug my shoulders and wrap my jacket around me to cover the stain, knowing that I’ll be at the café long before Callum realises I’ve left the building. That’s one of the good things about being an intern, nobody really notices when you’re not there.
* * *
I spot Digger as soon as I walk into the café. He looks out of place. His jeans and t-shirt stick out like a sore thumb among the sharp suits and tailored dresses of the city workers. He’s sat at a table near the centre of the room, almost as if he knew Alex and Callum would prefer us to be in full view of the surrounding diners. Making my way through the maze of tables and chairs, I step over laptop bags and huge designer purses, finally arriving at the empty chair opposite him.
A shyness descends over me when I get there, my fingers grasping the metallic back of the chair, looking at the scars that pockmark his face. Shrapnel, I remember Mum saying. The debris of a shattered bomb lodged in his skin.
“Amethyst.” He gets up as soon as he sees me. The chair scrapes across the tiled floor. “You’re here.”
“Hello,” I say softly. My voice sounds unfamiliar. It’s tremulous, almost vibrato. We wait for an awkward moment, both mute, both staring. Then he gestures at my chair.
“Do you want to sit down?”
I nod and all but collapse into the seat. Even though the café is full of people there’s a feeling of isolation. I don’t know if it’s fear, or anticipation, or something else entirely that’s making me feel so skittish.
Sitting
in front of me is a man I thought was dead. The man who gave me life. The father who squeezed my tiny bones until they snapped. I’m not sure how I am supposed to feel. Elated or frightened?
“Can I get you something to eat?” he asks. It’s one of those cafés where you order at the counter, no waitress service here. To be honest, it’s little more than a glorified canteen, but for some reason it’s popular among the city crowd. “And a coffee, maybe?”
His voice is quieter than I remember, but then I’ve only actually spoken to him once. Somewhere between that first meeting and this, he’s become larger than life in my mind. A shadow that remains long after the sun goes down.
“Just a coffee please,” I reply. “I’m not very hungry.”
For the first time I see him smile. It takes ten years off his face, making him look almost boyish. That’s when I notice his resemblance to me—or maybe my resemblance to him. He has the same dimple in his cheek, and his eyes crinkle just like mine.
“I’ll grab us a couple of cakes, in case you change your mind.”
While he’s gone I whip out my phone and send a text to Mum to let her know I’m okay. I consider texting Alex, too, but then I remember just how angry he was at the weekend. We haven’t spoken since our argument because I know how long it takes him to calm down. When I slip my phone back into my bag, I notice a movement, as someone comes to claim the recently vacated table behind me.
A second later I realise exactly who that someone is.
