Page 70 of Merry & Bright
Cam arched a brow and said drily, “By which I assume you mean one of the unimaginative, uncreative ones.”
“Not at all,” Rob said, laughing. “I just mean you look like the kind of guy who’d’ve been captain of the football team or something.”
“Rugby team actually,” Cam confirmed with a twitch of his lips. “Swimming was my best sport though.”
Rob’s gaze flickered over Cam’s body at that, taking in first the breadth of his shoulders, then the long lines of his lounging body. He didn’t say anything, or even look Cam in the eye, yet Cam felt like there was a sudden, palpable tension between them. He found himself holding his breath, his mind overtaken by a vision of Rob leaning over and reaching for him. The fantasy was so vivid, he was almost surprised when instead, Rob lifted his feet off the table and stood up, reaching for the empty wine bottle on the table.
“I’ll grab another,” he said, and before Cam could answer, he was disappearing into the kitchen.
Cam waited, listening. A drawer opened and closed and then there was the click and grind of a glass bottle on the kitchen worktop. The fat pop of a pulled cork. A minute later, Rob was back with a second bottle—a French red this time. He poured some into Cam’s glass before filling his own, then sat back in his corner of the sofa, carefully maintaining a gap between them.
“So, you were an accountant before you moved here?” Rob said after sipping his wine. “Why the change of direction?”
Cam sighed, leaning his head back and regarding the ceiling. “A year and a half ago, I was made redundant. Then a couple of weeks later, my boyfriend and I broke up. I didn’t want to just make the same choices all over again, so I decided to take some time and think about what I wanted out of life.”
“And what was that?”
Cam gave a harsh laugh. “Apparently, to exist on the poverty line in a remote village where everybody hates me.”
There was a brief silence, then Rob said softly, “I don’t know about how close you are to the poverty line but it’s certainly not the case that everybody hates you.”
Cam just laughed again, a frankly disbelieving sound. “Well, it’s nice of you to pretend but I think we both know that I’ve not exactly made shedloads of friends in Inverbechie.” He paused, then glanced at Rob and shrugged. “The truth is, I’m not really a people person. I just don’t seem to have the knack for making friends.”
“Come on, that’s not true,” Rob said. “When you first came to Inverbechie we got on fine. We were friends—at least, we were heading that way. And you used to speak to quite a few of the regulars in The Stag on Friday nights, before you stopped coming.”
“Yeah, well, that was before we argued—after that everybody hated me.”
“No, they didn’t—”
“Yes. They did. I went in The Stag one time after that and no one spoke to me.”
Rob frowned. “Did you speak tothem?” he asked. When Cam didn’t answer immediately, he added, “I bet you didn’t.”
Cam thought about that. In all honesty, he probablyhadn’tspoken to anyone. He remembered going in, ordering a pint and sitting there at the bar, feeling worse and worse, his beer sitting untouched in front of him. But he couldn’t remember trying to talk to anyone, or being rebuffed by anyone. Maybe, in fairness, he hadn’t even looked very approachable that night.
“Seriously, Cam,” Rob said—he was leaning forward now, resting his elbows on his knees—“people round here don’t hate you. They just think you’re standoffish—that you’re not interested in being part of the community.”
Cam swallowed against the sudden lump that observation brought to his throat. Story of his life, that. People thinking he didn’t feel things, because of his reserved nature. Scott used to complain about Cam’s inability to show affection in public—he always made out like it was some kind of closeted behaviour, but the truth was, Cam just wasn’t very demonstrative in public. He could let go in private, but it had tobeprivate.
“Maybe if you tried speaking to them,” Rob continued gently, “you’d be surprised at how easy it would be. Like with your car. I bet if you justaskedJoe, he’d happily tow it for you tomorrow.”
Cam snorted. “Not if he knew I haven’t got a bean to pay him with.”
“So barter with him,” Rob replied, unfazed. “You’re an accountant and I know for a fact that Joe needs help with his books—he was moaning to me about needing to do his tax return by the end of January and not having a clue where to start.” He paused then added thoughtfully, “There’s actually quite a few people round here who could do with bookkeeping help. Yvonne Marr used to do loads of local businesses’ books but she moved away in the spring when her husband got a new job in Aberdeen.”
“Do you really think Joe might go for that?”
“Yeah, I do.” Rob replied. “And he wouldn’t be the only one. I’d use you too, if the price was right. I hate doing my accounts and don’t even get me started on taxes. I probably don’t claim nearly as much in expenses as I could. It could be a sideline for you, for the quiet months. Most business owners round here do more than one thing.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah—look at me. I couldn’t get by on just the artorjust the café. Same with Val—she manages the café for me most of the time but she picks up a couple of shifts in The Stag each week on top. People do what they need to, to get by.”
“That didn’t occur to me,” Cam admitted. Out loud, that sounded stupid.
Rob didn’t laugh though. “Yeah, the local businesses all help each other out. The Stag doesn’t do food, so if someone wants to have an event there, Kenny gives me or Val a call and we do the catering. We also make up pre-ordered pack-up lunches for the local B&Bs if their guests want them. And we always encourage any tourists that come into the café to go down to the gift shops at the lochside or the distillery in Cardrogan, or to take a boat trip on the loch with Andy—”
And right then, in the middle of his speech, Rob broke off, his smiling expression fading to be replaced by a look of dismay. It took a couple of moments for Cam to realise why. Then understanding hit home.