Page 63 of Merry & Bright

“That must’ve been tough.”

“Yeah, it was. But we were together for almost six years before that—it was only the last eighteen months that he was ill.”

Six years. Christ. How long had Cam and Scott lasted? Not even two.

“It’s funny in a way,” Rob continued. “That I’m still here, in this cottage, I mean. It was Andrew who wanted to move here, not me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. I’ve always been a bit of a wanderer—a rolling stone, he used to say. But he’d always had this dream of settling down in the country and eventually I agreed to try out putting down roots—after all, you can be an artist anywhere.”

“You must have liked it here though? I mean, to stay on, afterwards.”

Rob frowned at that. For a few moments he seemed to be thinking about the question, then he said, “I’d’ve been off like a shot after Andrew died, if I’d had any choice in the matter. But we bought this place just before the recession, at the peak of the market, and by the time Andrew died, I was in negative equity. Plus I was stuck with a ten-year lease over the café in my name, so I didn’t have much choice but to make the best of it.”

Cam grimaced. “Sounds stressful.”

“Yup. For about two years it was pretty grim. And then”—Rob paused and shrugged—“and then it got better. That’s the great tragedy of life, you know.”

“What is?”

“That it’s true—about it going on. Life goes on and grief ebbs—even when you want to hang on to it.” Rob’s gaze flicked to the pictures of his dead lover for an instant, then he fastened his attention back on Cam, growing brisk. “Come on, get that coat off. Let’s have a drink. We both deserve it after shoving that monster Volvo of yours up the hill.”

He stepped forward and this time Cam yanked his zip all the way down, pulling his jacket off and handing it to Rob.

Rob didn’t take it immediately. His gaze appeared to be arrested somewhere south of Cam’s waist and his lips twitched.

“Little accident?” he asked, looking up.

For a moment, Cam just stared at him. Rob looked so appealing, smiling like that. And right then, he found himself remembering something he’d noticed about Rob when they’d first met, before they’d argued—that he smiled with his eyes. His mouth never moved much, it was all in the eyes. They’d crinkle at the corners and glint with humour—reallytwinkle, just like they were doing now. Being looked at like that made Cam feel like he was being included in some secret joke. Like he was part of something more than himself. You and me. We. Us.

“Cam?”

“Uh—sorry, what?” He glanced down at himself and saw that his skinny red trousers were filthy, spattered with mud and soaked through. He was way dirtier than he’d realised.

“Oh—I fell over earlier,” he said, adding by way of explanation, “Stupid shoes.”

Rob took the jacket from his hand. “Dancing shoes,” he observed. “Not the best for dealing with car breakdowns.”

“Not really, no,” Cam agreed.

“Have you got something to change into?”

“I’ve got some jeans in my rucksack.”

“Good. If you want to take a shower or a bath while I cook us some dinner, feel free.”

Cam nearly groaned out loud. God, the thought of abath.Ahotbath. “That would be great, if you really don’t mind.”

“Course not. Do you fancy a beer to take up with you?”

Cam did groan at that, a Homer Simpson drool of a groan that made Rob laugh.

“Okay,” Rob said. “Let me hang this up then I’ll grab you a beer from the kitchen. If you want to call your sister in the meantime, the phone’s just over there.” He gestured at a table in the corner of the room and quietly left.

Cam wandered over and picked up the phone handset, staring at it for a minute before he finally sighed and dialled Eilidh’s number.

Kitty answered. The sounds of a party blared in the background, thumping music and shrieks of laughter so loud she could barely make him out. He was just shouting a request to speak to Eilidh when Rob came back into the room. He raised his eyebrows at Cam in an amused way before heading into the kitchen, closing the door tactfully behind him.