Page 56 of Merry & Bright
The wind chimes tinkled then, heralding the arrival of Cathy and Mary, a couple of old dears from the village who came in most afternoons. Mary carolled out a quavery greeting and they headed for their usual table. Val acknowledged them with a wave then pulled her pad and pen out of her apron pocket in readiness to go and take their order.
“Okay,” she said. “Let’s ask him out for a drink next week. I might even be able to bring myself to apologise to him, after a few pints.”
She’d probably try to snog him under the mistletoe too, and decide he was her best friend, and make plans to go on holiday with him—but that was Val.
“It can be your new year resolution,” Rob suggested, only half joking.
“Yeah? And what’s yours going to be?”
“The same?”
“Hey, no copying,” Val teased. “Besides, I’ve got another one for you.”
“What’s that then?”
She patted his shoulder as she walked past him on her way to take Cathy and Mary’s order, leaning in to murmur in his ear, “It’s about time you gave someone new a chance. It’s what Andrew would’ve wanted.”
She sashayed away, skirts swinging, to greet the old ladies with her usual chatty banter while Rob stared after her, chest empty and aching.
A sneaky hit, that one. It was a point she made periodically, lately with increasing frequency.
For the first couple of years after Andrew’s death, Rob had just felt...numb. There had been no one else at all—he couldn’t even have considered it. And since then, well, he hadn’t been entirely celibate, but he’d certainly not formed anything that could be described as a relationship either. These days, he limited himself to carefully selected hook-ups with like-minded men. Men who weren’t looking for anything beyond an emotion-free sexual encounter.
Val disapproved. Not because she had a thing against meaningless sex—on a personal level she was quite a fan—but because she was convinced that Rob was unhappy. And lonely.
And right then, for the first time, Rob began to wonder if she might be right.
Chapter Five
Wednesday, 31st December, “Hogmanay”
Cam chucked his rucksack into the boot of his ancient Volvo Estate and glanced up at the swollen grey clouds mobbing the sky. The weather forecast on the radio had predicted possible snow. Cam had been sceptical at the time but he didn’t like the look of those clouds. It was definitely time to set off. Although it was less than two hours’ drive to Glasgow, the Volvo had been playing up recently and Cam wasn’t sure how well it’d cope in snowy conditions.
There was no way he was going to risk missing this night out. Heneededit. For the last two days, he’d thought of little else. It had been ten months since he’d been out in Glasgow. Ten months since he’d got drunk and danced. Since he’d got laid.
More compelling even than the obvious attraction of getting laid was the thought of just—letting go. Letting someone else take control, if only for a little while. He felt almost giddy at the thought of it, after all these months of being so tightly wound, and so isolated.