Page 5 of Rivers of Ink
With a shake of his head, he went back to the bathroom. As the hot water cascaded over his skin, Callan’s thoughts went back to the previous evening and his encounter with the beautiful Ali. He usually wasn’t the type of guy to take someone home within hours of meeting them, but life hadn’t exactly been normal for him lately. He had managed to deflect any of her questions about his personal life and in doing so had avoided delving into hers. He had a fleeting thought that he might want to see her again and instantly dismissed it; he wasn’t ready to start a relationship with anyone right now.
Ten minutes later he was perched on the edge of his own sofa, cradling a mug of coffee while his father lounged in the armchair. The collar on his shirt felt too tight, and he wanted to rip off the black tie he wore out of obligation. In fact, his whole outfit felt wrong. Xander wouldn’t have wanted that. He would have ridiculed his brother over his poor choice of clothing, like he would have done on any other normal day in the shop.
“How long before we have to leave?” Callan asked Drew.
Drew checked his watch. “Taxi’s due in about twenty minutes, which you would have known if you’d listened to my message.”
Callan looked around for his phone, trying to recall where he'd left it when he and Ali had arrived back at the flat. He spotted it on the side near the kettle and stood up.
“I’m going to get changed, this doesn’t feel right. I can’t let Xander go looking like this.” He swiped the device and went to his room.
He stripped off the stiff, uncomfortable suit, and white shirt, standing in boxers and socks in front of the open wardrobe. He reached for dark jeans, a black shirt, and a dark-grey suit jacket. As he slid them on, he began to feel more like himself. He stared at his reflection in the mirror: darkened shadows under his eyes with a slightly haunted look, and gaunter than he would like. Grief and stress—plus an almost entirely liquid diet—hadn’t exactly been kind to him over the past couple of weeks.
Callan sank down onto the unmade bed, where he got a brief, light aroma of Ali’s perfume, and picked up his phone. He felt he ought to listen to Drew’s message. He dialled his voicemail and put the phone on speaker as his dad’s tones filled the room.
“Cal, I’ll be over in the morning. We need to do this together. It’s just us now, and we need to be there for each other. I’m going to be around more for you, son. See you at ten.”
Callan pressed a clenched fist against his forehead, trying to ease the tension. He needed to get through the next few hours, no matter how hard and painful they were going to be.
* * *
By the time Callan and Drew arrived at the crematorium, the light drizzle that had begun when they left Oakridge had developed into heavy rain. It mirrored exactly how Callan felt. Aidy and Wren approached him the moment he entered the waiting room. Wren enveloped him in a massive hug, and Callan held on as tightly as he could, needing some of her strength.
“Whatever you need, Callan, let us know.” Wren released him and kissed his cheek, leaving a lipstick mark that she hastily rubbed off.
Callan nodded, not trusting himself to speak. He didn’t know how long he’d be able to keep it together. He glanced around the room and saw the rest of The Unbound Soul staff huddled together, as well as several of Xander’s friends. There were around thirty or so people in attendance. He raised his chin in acknowledgement to those he recognised, as Wren reached for his hand. He heard a noise from outside and saw the funeral car approaching. Drew put a hand on his shoulder.
“It’s time, Cal,” he said.
Callan kept his eyes firmly on the ground as he followed the coffin into the chapel, his dad beside him. If he looked, it had to be true, and he still didn’t want to believe it was happening. The funeral director showed them to their seats at the front. Callan was thankful that everyone was behind him. If he saw anyone else break down, it would finish him off too. If he could keep everything in a bubble around him, he might be able to get through. The service had been kept deliberately short and non-religious, conducted by the funeral director. Despite repeated suggestions that he should, Callan had refused the opportunity to speak. He wouldn’t be able to do it. Wouldn’t be able to get through the speech without breaking down or sounding bitter. Listening to what the funeral director was saying was enough.
As the committal began, he bowed his head and couldn’t stop the tears from flowing.
The funeral director approached Callan and Drew, signalling for them to follow him out into the grounds of the crematorium. While they had been inside, the rain clouds had cleared, and the sun was weakly trying to break through the clouds.
Callan gulped in the fresh air and tried to get his breathing to return to normal.
“Callan?”
The female voice that came from behind him was one he instantly recognised. He didn’t need to turn around to find out who it belonged to. He did so anyway.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
The woman, dressed immaculately in a black skirt suit, blonde hair pulled into a low ponytail, face pale except for a slash of red lipstick, stared back at him. There were dark circles under her eyes and streaks of mascara from where she had been crying.
Isobel. Callan’s ex-girlfriend.
“I invited her. It wasn’t fair for her not to be here.” Drew stood between the pair in an attempt to play peacemaker.
“Fair? It’s her fucking fault that he’s not here anymore!”
“Callan, I’m sorry. What more do you want me to say?” Isobel tried to reach for him, and he pulled as far away as he could.
“I don’t ever want to see you again. I thought I told you that when I found out you’d been shagging my brother?”
Isobel grabbed his arm. “You kicked me out of our flat and made me leave my job at your shop. I was homeless and jobless. What was I meant to do?”
“Seems that wasn’t enough though, was it? You’re still hanging around.” Callan turned his back on her and went to walk away.
