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‘Much better. Thanks.’
He carried on down.
‘Why wasn’t your dad around?’ she asked, ducking under a low-hanging cobweb.
‘He disappeared back to Jamaica when I was eight. We haven’t seen him since.’
Kate felt for him; she knew what it was like to lose a dad. ‘Didn’t he keep in touch?’
‘Not really. The occasional birthday or Christmas card. The last birthday card he sent me was addressed to my brother, so he’s never going to win dad of the year if he can’t remember whose birthday it is.’
‘I’m sorry.’ She could feel the heat seeping through his hoodie, a contrast to the cold stairwell.
He gave a half-hearted shrug. ‘’Tis what it is.’
They reached the bottom and she was glad to be on firmer ground. A single bulb lit the space, revealing racks of bottles covered in thick dust.
‘He did phone me once, when I signed my first professional contract,’ he said, walking over to one of the racks. ‘Gave me this speech about how proud he was and could I get him tickets formy debut match. He wanted to fly over and take me out for a fancy dinner to celebrate. I was so excited. My dad was going to be at my first game.Maybe he’ll stay, I thought, and we could be a family again. But then he asked for money. Said as I was earning big bucks, could I help him out with some cash, since he’d run up a few debts.’
Kate’s heart sank. ‘And did you?’
‘Sure. I sent him ten grand from my first pay packet, bought him a first-class ticket to visit and rented him a place in Leeds so he could stay for a while.’
Kate bit her lip, fearing what was coming next. ‘He never showed up, did he?’
Calvin shook his head. ‘We never heard from him again.’
Her heart broke for him. ‘That’s awful.’
‘It didn’t matter. The rest of my family came to my first game – that’s all I cared about.’ He rubbed dust away from one of the bottles. ‘Do you know anything about wine?’
‘Not much,’ she admitted, looking at the various vintages. ‘My aunt does, though. She’s a fan of some posh brand that costs a packet. I’ve never had the heart to tell her it tastes the same as the cheap stuff from the supermarket.’
He laughed. ‘Not a connoisseur, huh?’
‘Far from it. You?’
‘More of a beer man.’ He disappeared behind the central racking. ‘You don’t have to wine-and-dine your clients as a solicitor?’
‘Not in my area of law. There is a lot of drinking involved, but it’s usually tea rather than alcohol. People often feel overwhelmed or vulnerable, and client meetings are more about consoling than covering aspects of law. I guess that’s why I like it. I get a sense of satisfaction from helping people.’
‘I imagine you’re very good at it,’ he said, reappearing from behind the wine rack.
‘Why do you say that?’
‘You’re very kind,’ he said, softly. ‘And you take pride in your work. I’ve never known anyone work so hard. You’re relentless.’
‘I have an ulterior motive,’ she said, trying to lighten the moment – his words were threatening to unravel her.
‘I think you’d behave like this even if you didn’t.’
She swallowed awkwardly. ‘Maybe.’
He seemed to study her for a moment, his expression unreadable in the dim light. ‘What’s the worst part about your job?’
‘Oh, that’s easy,’ she said, relieved to change topic. She’d never taken compliments well. ‘Targets. I hate the pressure of having to bill for so many hours a month. Especially as I’m supposed to include the time spent reassuring my clients. It makes it feel a bit mercenary.’
He frowned. ‘I hope you’re keeping track of the hours you work here?’
