Page 45 of Merry & Bright

He was out of savings.

Next month, he’d have to make his loan payment on a credit card.

All of that was bad enough, but there was one more thing and it was the thing that made all of this unbearable: his parents had guaranteed his bank loan against their house—not this tiny, dilapidated holiday cottage he’d been coming to since he was six years old. No, they’d put up the family home, the home they planned to downsize from in a few years to release some capital and pad out their modest pension.

That was the thing that really made Cam’s stomach churn with sick dread.

Cam sat on the shabby sofa for a long time, staring at his knees, not so much thinking as letting his mind go round that same loop, over and over, like a car on a racetrack, endlessly returning to those same cold, hard facts, the same fears and regrets.

It was only, finally, when a phone rang that he looked up, frowning at the sound of the unfamiliar ringtone coming from the kitchen. It was a Christmassy tune he knew well and could fit words to:

“You bet-ter watch out; you bet-ter not cry...”

Eilidh.

He jumped up from the couch and went through to the kitchen where his phone was buzzing on the worktop. Grabbing it, he swiped at the screen with his thumb and lifted it to his ear.

“Eilidh,” he barked, “have you been fucking with my ringtone again?”

Eilidh laughed her gurgling laugh. “You got me,” she admitted, adding without so much as a pause, “So, guess what? I’m coming to see you today. Meet me for lunch.”

“Don’t you have a job to go to?”

“I’m on night shift tonight. I know—let’s meet at that nice café in the village. How does one o’clock sound?”

“Why don’t you just come here if you want to visit me?”

“For a crappy cup-a-soup? No thanks. Besides, I always try to have a proper lunch when I’m working nights.”

Eilidh was an Accident & Emergency nurse and at this time of year there were plenty of booze-fuelled injuries to keep her busy.

Cam paused before answering. “Fair enough, but, um, do you mind if we don’t go to the café?”

“O—kay.” Eilidh sounded puzzled. “Is there somewhere else decent we can go?”

Cam thought desperately. “The pub?” he offered weakly.

“The Stag, you mean? They don’t do food, do they?” Eilidh was beginning to sound suspicious now and the last thing he needed was her asking questions about why he was so keen to avoid the café.

And it wasn’t as if he’d actually beenbanned. Not officially.

Besides, Rob Armstrong wasn’t there every day. Not even most days. It was usually that Val woman who presided over the counter.

“Oh yeah, you’re right—The Stag doesn’t do food,” he said, forcing himself to speak brightly. “Okay, fine, um—I’ll see you at the café then. At one, yeah?”

“Great,” Eilidh replied, sounding pleased. “And I’ve got your Christmas pressie with me, by the way.”

“Oh, I’m getting a proper one now, am I?” he said, trying to inject a teasing note into his voice. Eilidh had turned up at their parents’ for Christmas with a bunch of presents bought from the 24-hour garage, all wrapped up in pages from the festive edition of theRadio Times. Cam had got a box of Maltesers and a copy of the latest edition ofAttitude—both of which he’d enjoyed, to be fair.

“Course you are!” Eilidh replied indignantly. “Told you I had something in mind, didn’t I?”

“Hmmm. Is that why you’re coming to see me on the twenty-ninth of December?”

“Must be. So—one o’clock, at the café.”

“See you there,” Cam confirmed.

He cut the call and stared down at his phone.