Page 25 of Forgiven

7Callum

Callum had just arrived at the Heaven and Hell Club when his phone rang. He was early because he’d been hoping to ask Mac to run through everything with him again, so he didn’t fuck up. He checked his phone, staring at Molly’s name as the ring tone penetrated his skull. It was tempting to let it ring until it stopped, but his sister was persistent and would keep calling. If he turned his phone off, she would know he was trying to avoid her, so he answered it.

“Hi.”

“Hi, stranger.”

Ignoring her jibe, Callum sat down at one of the tables. There were a few people in the club—Mac was talking to a couple of the bouncers. Trisha, one of the other members of the bar staff, had arrived hot on Callum’s heels.

She made a drinking motion with her hand and mouthed, “cuppa?” at him.

He shook his head. She smiled and headed through to the back of the club. Callum had learnt there was a small kitchen area there, as well as the changing room and Michael’s office.

“It’s Dad’s birthday on Sunday,” Molly said.

Callum stiffened and he ground his teeth together.

“Will you visit him?”

Callum didn’t have to think about his answer, but he still hesitated because he knew it would disappoint Molly and his mum. He wondered which would be worse in their eyes—refusing to talk to or visit his dad, or working in a gay bar.

“Well?” Molly asked impatiently.

“No.”

“Cal—”

“I said no, Molly.”

“Call him then.”

“No.”

“You’re a selfish arse, do you know that? He misses you. He talks about you all the time.”

Given that Callum hadn’t seen his dad since he was fourteen, he doubted that was true. Six years. Christ.

“Do you ever stop to think what it’s like for him?” Molly went on.

They’d had this conversation far too many times, although Callum was sure Molly’s tone got more resentful and hateful each time. Whether Molly and his mum could accept his choice to work in a gay bar or not, he wouldneverbe able to heal the vast rift between them until he agreed to see his dad again, which he couldn’t.

“No.” As far as Callum was concerned, he hoped his dad rotted behind bars for the rest of his life. Not that he would.

“Well you should,” Molly snapped. “And you should talk to him.”

“No.”

“Are you capable of saying anything else?”

“Yes.”

“Arse.”

Callum sighed. He wasn’t sure why Molly bothered to keep having this conversation with him.

“How are you?” he asked, partly out of politeness, but mostly to change the subject.

“I’m fine. You?”