As they approached the entrance to The Drunken Sailor, she felt a sudden, overwhelming urge to turn and run. She could just flee to the flat, race up the stairs, lock the door, and never look back. Henry-Hicks could go and get lost. She didn’t run. The Drunken Sailor was full of the happy chatter of a busy evening. Logan led Cally through to the back function room where the chowder event was taking place.
Cally plastered a smile on her face as they made their way over to a table, greeting a few people with forced cheer and enthusiasm. Logan, his usual charming, confident self, made her more and more annoyed. How could he sit there so calmly, so easily, as if nothing was wrong? How could he joke and flirt and charm? Her blood boiled away. She kept squinting at him to see if she could make out any signs of a liar.
Logan had picked up on the fact that she was not herself. 'You seem a bit quiet tonight.'
Cally swallowed. 'I'm fine,' she said again, the words sounding hollow and false even to her own ears. 'Just enjoying the atmosphere. It’s been a busy week.'
'It is a great spot, isn't it?'
Cally nodded, unable to speak past the gigantic lump that had risen in her throat. She’d give him good spot.
As the evening wore on and the drinks flowed, Cally became more and more agitated, more and more restless. She couldn't sit still, couldn't focus on the conversation but couldn’t bring herself to confront him. All she could think about was the wedding certificate and the way it had shattered her but still, she kept mute. As if staying quiet somehow bought her a little bit of time and let her ponder what she was going to do. The races were also on her mind. She’d be damned if she was not going to go after all the effort she’d put in.
She looked at Logan and inside did a very strange, wicked cackle. She’d go to the races, let him think he was so very clever, oh yes. Then she’d pull the rug out from under him quicker than he’d ever known and see how he felt when the boot was on the other foot. Sounded like a plan.
17
Cally certainly didn’t have a spring in her step the next day. The night before, she’d made an excuse not to go back to the manor with Logan because he’d had to get up early for the horses and so she’d gone back to the flat without him. It had more than suited her. She hadn't wanted to look at him for a moment longer. She’d been quiet with the certificate going around and around her head in a horrible fat loop of distress.
Getting on the riverboat, she smiled at Colin as she stepped on, tried to avoid making conversation with him and went and sat up the top. She watched the river path on the other side of the water when the boat pulled away from the jetty and puttered along. As the boat meandered down the calm waters of the River Lovely, Cally did not feel calm at all. Sitting on the upper deck, her eyes fixed on the passing scenery without really seeing it she sighed. The breeze fluffed her hair and warm sun hit her skin, but she barely registered the sensations, too lost in her thoughts and emotions. She felt numb as if her entire being had been hollowed out and replaced with a dense, leaden weight. Absolutely, grimly, awful. The shock of discovering Logan's secret had made her sick to the bone.
Colin came up from below, raised his eyebrows and smiled. ‘Hey, our Cally. How are you?’
‘Great, thanks, really good.’ Cally was definitely quite the little pro at lying. She was far from good. She couldn’t be bothered to converse with Colin but attempted to look interested.
‘How was last night?’
Awful. Dreadful.‘Yeah, fabulous. Did you enjoy it?’
‘Oh, yes. How could one not?’ Colin leaned against the railing. His face creased into a smile. 'That chowder was something else, wasn't it? Don’t tell Birdie I said that, though. They use a special blend of spices in the pub, secret family recipe and all that. They all say that, though, don’t they?’ Colin chuckled. ‘We’ll hear it time and again by the time it gets to the Chowder Festival. Family recipes will be coming out of the woodwork left, right and centre.’
Cally nodded and forced a smile. She really couldn’t be faffed with small talk. She just wanted to retreat in her own head. Colin jarred at her already-irritated edges. 'Yeah, it was delicious. Really tasty and comforting.' She gave him the get-lost vibes. He didn’t take the hint.
'And the music, too. Those guitarist guys really knew how to set the mood, didn't they? Had the whole place swinging and swaying at one point. Nice to be part of it.’
Cally made a noncommittal noise. ‘Yeah.’
Colin cocked his head, a flicker of concern in his eyes. 'You alright there? You seem a bit distracted.'
Cally blinked. That was putting it mildly. She felt as if someone had pushed her out of a plane without a parachute and she was free falling down to a very hard ground. 'Oh, sorry. Just a bit lost in thought, I suppose.'
Lost in a maze of betrayal more like. Taken in by the posh boy.
Colin nodded. 'I know that feeling. Sometimes, the mind just wants to wander, to drift off into its own little world. It’s one of the reasons I like working on the river because it makes it easy to do that.'
Cally tutted inside and wished Colin would bog off. He simply wasn’t getting the memo. Any other time, she loved it when he chatted away with her and made her feel as if she was part of the woodwork. Now, she wanted to be left alone. ‘It does.’
Colin still didn’t seem to have read the room. ‘Such a good speakeasy in that location. One of my favourites. Can't ask for much more than that, can you?'
Cally felt her nostrils flare. 'You're right, Colin. It was a lovely evening, all in all.'
A lovely evening built on the foundation of a big fat lie.
Colin grinned. ‘We've got to take the good moments where we can find them, eh?’
‘Oh yes.’
‘Life's too short to dwell on the bad stuff.'
