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I am of course aware of the unpleasant history between our families, however, as this will be a purely working arrangement, I see no harm in applying thus.
Yours sincerely,
Rhona Lamond
Seriously? Calum switched off his phone and pushed it under his leg. Had he just read that? Was it a joke? It was so ridiculously formal it sounded like she was applying to be lady-in-waiting to the queen.
He glanced up half-expecting Ron to be glowering over him with his hands on his hips warning him never to trust the Lamonds. Or his mother cracking her knuckles and offering to sort them out on his behalf. But Ron was still flipping burgers and whistling to himself and Anne was at the gate chatting to Joyce and Neil who’d just arrived.
Nothing needed done about it immediately and no way was he mentioning it. It could stick to the wall and he’d deal with it when he was back in the office, but he couldn’t shake it. It bored into him as he sipped his cordial. Alister Lamond was behind this. He had to be. As well as being Arran’s dad, he’d been the teacher from hell at school. Strict and unforgiving. Now he was a sharp and nasty thorn in Calum’s side. Was this his latest move in his catalogue of smear campaigns? Get his daughter to work on the project and have her fabricate a whole number of things so Calum would never get the planning consent? It reeked of a set-up.
Joyce parked her large backside onto a deckchair next to Calum and almost toppled it. He leapt up ready to help if things went amiss but she steadied it. He sagged back, letting out a sigh. He didn’t fancy hauling her off the ground.
‘These things aren’t built for people like me,’ she said. ‘I don’t think I’ll ever get out of it now I’m in it.’
Calum attempted a smile. Had it registered on his face? His mind was still milling over the Lamonds.
‘Happy birthday,’ Joyce said.
‘Thanks.’
Joyce’s husband, Neil, took one of the more practical metal garden chairs and Anne pulled up another one.
‘Right, who’s for burgers?’ Ron scraped one up, balancing it on the end of the flipper and wafting it around like a stocky chef in a tacky street café. ‘No need to get up, Joyce, I’ll bring them over. Just say what you want in it.’
‘Where’s your girlfriend today?’ Joyce asked. ‘I was hoping to meet her at last.’
‘What girlfriend?’ Calum took a burger on a paper plate from Ron and set it on the low wall surrounding a flower bed.
‘Rebekah, is it?’ Joyce smiled at Anne who shook her head.
‘I told you they split up last year,’ Anne said.
‘I must have forgotten.’
Calum smoothed his palm down his thigh over his best Italian, velvet-soft denim jeans. ‘We weren’t really together. We only had a couple of dates.’ Why had he let slip to his mum they’d dated at all? Always the wish to be ‘normal’, but he couldn’t deliver. Maybe his mum was right and he was too fussy.
‘Pity.’ Anne squinted at him. ‘I’ve met her now. She’s been into the shop a couple of times with her new boyfriend, Blair.’
Calum clenched his fists. The bunting flapped in the breeze and a soft trail of smoke plumed from the barbecue. He turned away to avoid it going up his nose. Could they talk about something else now?
‘Do you know him?’ Anne asked Joyce. ‘The lad with the blond dreadlocks.’
‘Oh, him. Very nice. If I was thirty years younger… Well...’ She winked.
Ron sniggered from behind the barbecue.
‘Calum missed a trick there,’ Anne said.
‘I’m right here,’ he muttered.
Anne and Joyce gave each other a commiserating look.
‘How do you fancy a date with my daughter?’ Joyce dusted crumbs from her voluptuous cleavage. ‘She’s a bit younger than you but she’s always between men.’
‘I, er… don’t think so.’
Anne cocked her head. ‘Oh, son. You’re such a good boy. I just wish you could be happy.’
