Where the Magic Is

By Giselle Green

Sofia's due to marry the wealthy man of her dreams… only, she's just learnt that her daughter Ida is losing her eyesight. When she proposes one last 'memory trip' for Ida to the Scottish Highlands, Sofia's impoverished family become alarmed. So close to the big wedding, she's forced to keep the real reason for her trip a secret…  

 

Handsome Scotsman Cal's a dream tour guide… but he's got some secrets of his own. Unknown to the others, caring Cal usually works as a male escort… a job which keeps him trapped and compromised, while also keeping any real chance of love at bay. Meeting the girls, Cal is poignantly about to reconnect with the side of him that once longed for more.

 

Meanwhile, Sofia's faced with the impossible dilemma of how best to support Ida whilst keeping her fiancé and family on side. Questioning how 'free' she really is… Sofia's now forced to consider what price she's prepared to pay, to follow her conscience and her heart?  

• Language: English
• Publisher: Giselle Green
• Release date: Nov 21, 2022
• ISBN: 9798215541562

Giselle Green

After gaining a BSc at King's College London and MSc at City University, Giselle worked for British Telecom and Unilever, London. Giselle is now a full-time mum to six boys, including twins, and a part-time astrologer. In 1999 she qualified as an Astrologer with the Faculty of Astrological Studies and now specialises in medieval astrology. Pandora's Box is her debut novel

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Where The Magic Is

First published in 2022 by Yule Press.

Copyright © Giselle Green, 2022

www.gisellegreen.com

Cover Design by Matthew Green

Cover photography: Stocksy United

The moral right of Giselle Green to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

All rights reserved.  No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

This novel is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Except in the case of historical fact, any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

For my dear mum YOLANDA,

Who’s always done exactly what she wanted to do.

Sofia

Should we even be doing this?

‘Come on.’ Hurrying us all arm in arm across the bright, sunlit square in downtown Rio, Rosaria’s grinning, ‘We don’t want to miss it!’

Stout as she is, my sister can move fast enough when she wants to. My three cousins, too. They’ve just been shopping for some very risqué underwear for my nuptials. I was looking forward to sharing good, local coffee, sweet cakes and some inevitable, good-humoured teasing as we sat in a café admiring their purchases but, as soon as the girls spotted this crowd outside the cathedral, there seems to have been a change of plan.

‘We shouldn’t.’ I’m holding my sides, gasping with laughter. ‘The bride’s about to arrive, we can’t simply...’

‘Oh, but we must,’ Rosaria insists, pulling me towards the entrance. ‘Why not take a look?’

‘Sorry, ladies.’ The young man standing guard at the entrance of the cathedral has other ideas.

‘You’re not letting us in?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Not even my sister? She’s getting married in here, very soon.’ 

‘None of you are guests,’ he explains apologetically, ‘and the church is already full.’

My relatives are looking at each other, unimpressed. 

‘The groom’s already in there,’ my cousin comments. ‘Maybe this young man’s worried he’ll catch sight of our Sofia and change his mind?’

Her sister agrees, ‘He might.’

‘He should be so lucky! If one of the wealthiest men in Rio’s already claimed her, what chance has any other poor sod, got?’

‘Stop it, you lot!’ 

The young man who’s just waylaid us is clearly bemused. 

‘My family like to tease,’ I tell him. ‘Please ignore them.’

My cousin Tonita winks at me. Moving away from the entrance, she’s deliberately let her shopping bag slide to the floor. She fusses around now, retrieving the flimsy undergarments that’ve fallen out. Some of the women who’ve stopped outside, waiting for the bride to arrive, bend down helpfully to assist.

‘These are for my cousin who’s also getting married.’ Dangling a frilly crimson thong between her fingertips, Tonita smiles, ‘This wouldn’t fit any of us, would it?’ 

The youth at the door has coloured visibly. If he’s feeling embarrassed, he’s at least being kept entertained. Long enough, for the others to close around me protectively while Rosaria pushes me on through the cathedral doors.

She says smugly, ‘And... we’re in!’

‘We’re in.’ I look around, blinking, an old, familiar excitement hitting me as we flatten ourselves against the marble font at the back, seeing but unseen. I’d forgotten what this lot could be like. Just as well none of Cristian’s people are around to see these antics, no way they’d approve. But for now, the dark, ancient church, lit only by candles after the bright sunlight outside, feels cool. The scent of white roses decorating the aisle is mixed with frankincense, overpowering and sweet. I stifle a laugh as the guardian at the church entrance slips back into his place, none the wiser.

‘I’m not quite sure how we did that, but...’ 

‘Always easier to hunt in a pack, Sofia.’ It’s Rosaria’s version of what our late father used to tell us, We can always achieve more if we stick together. He was right, but with the guests already seated, we should still keep a low profile. Looking around at the tall, stained glass windows letting through ethereal light, Rosaria’s mood changes, becoming more nostalgic now.

‘This old Cathedral is so beautiful. I miss the days when Papa used to bring us up here on a Sunday.’

I nod, remembering, ‘He always regretted that he and Mum couldn’t get married in this place.’ 

‘I know! Me and Manolo couldn’t, either – the church rules required we gave them a year’s notice, remember?’ She looks at me thoughtfully, ‘But, the same rules don’t apply equally to everyone, it seems?’ 

Thankfully, her attention is drawn away as the music changes, the congregation beginning to stir. Someone’s given the signal that the bridal car is drawing up outside. The groom, a dark, faraway figure at the altar, wipes his brow, the sense of excitement building as everyone turns to look towards the entrance.

Rosaria whispers, ‘Never mind.’ She adds generously, ‘You’ll be the one to fulfil the dream for all of us, Sofia.’

I smile with pleasure. Leaning out from our hiding place, we’re just in time to see the procession as the bride makes her entrance on her father’s arm. For a split second, as she glances in our direction, we get a glimpse of her anticipation, her pure and utter joy.

My sister’s saying in a hushed voice, ‘Beautiful!’

‘What’s that?’ I’m not sure what’s just happened but... seeing the look on the bride’s face, something very odd has come over me. An unexpected sensation that I can’t explain. 

My sister nudges my arm. ‘The look of love, eh?’ Rosaria smiles, mistaking my silence for something else. ‘This’ll be you in a few weeks?’

She’s right, this’ll be me walking down that aisle soon – but, will I have that same expression on my face on my special day? Surely, I will do, this is what every bride must feel but – what if I don’t? I look away, aware of a deep sense of panic beginning to envelop me – a panic that threatens to squeeze every last bit of air out of my lungs, like a tiger’s got hold of my throat.

What if the only thing that happens is that I realise I’m making one, big, huge...?

The music halts A murmur of concern circulates amongst the guests. Brushing against the white roses flanking the aisle, the bride’s father just stumbled. He’s paused now, shaking his hand free of a fistful of petals. In the darkness, fluttering quietly and slowly to the ground, they look like dead butterflies to me. They look as if they shouldn’t be there.

Like me and Rosaria shouldn’t. We don’t know these people. What are we even doing here?

‘I think we should leave.’

In the darkness, I can feel my sister turn to face me, ‘What’s up, Sofia?’ She’s laughing softly, ‘What’s this, you’ve got some pre-wedding nerves?’

I don’t answer.

‘If you have, it’s only to be expected! You’ve come so far, but for a girl who once came from the poorest section of the Rocinha favela, how could all this not be overwhelming?’

I don’t know. I can barely even take in what she’s talking about.  Our cousins are still out on the road. I can see them standing there, smiling and waving their shopping bags at us.

Summoning a huge effort, I remind Rosaria, ‘Please... they’re waiting.’

‘Heh!’ She shrugs. ‘This ceremony will take over an hour – I suppose you’re right.’

The young man preparing to shut the doors looks on in astonishment as we stumble past him now, our relatives pulling us back onto the square. My cousins are doubled up in fits of laughter. 

‘You two looked like rats bolting out of a hole...’

My sister shoots back, ‘Better than the ones who stayed outside, and missed the party?’

I cast one last glance backwards.  Seeing the cathedral door, finally closed behind us, all I’m feeling is deep relief. I have no idea what just happened in there. I shudder. I don’t understand it and I don’t want to think about it.   

Besides, listening to the girls’ good-natured arguments over where we should go and have our coffee, it’s all subsiding fast, dissolving in the bright sunlight. I tell myself, it was only a blip, wedding nerves like Rosaria said, it doesn’t matter.

Striding back over the square, linked arm in arm with the others, I stop only once, as – feeling myself slipping – I bend to remove the fallen white rose petals that have somehow stuck to the bottom of my shoe. 

Cal

‘Spotted someone you know, Cal?’

‘Uh...’ Blast, I thought no one could see me, waiting here in this dark corridor for the man to leave. I straighten my bowtie, which has begun to feel as if it’s strangling me. Shoot the pub landlady an unhappy smile, ‘How long can a man take to drink a single whisky?’ I’ve been standing here fifteen minutes already.

‘What, him?’ Shaz peers curiously out at the lone, middle-aged guy sat, hunched over the bar. He looks strangely out of place in this Rochester High Street pub which is teeming with noisy crowds, tonight.  She shakes her head. ‘He’s not one of our regulars. He’s not... waiting for you, is he?’

When I don’t answer, she turns to look me up and down. I can feel her eyes on me for a moment, both appraising and appreciative all at once, before she snaps out of it.

‘Someone’s boyfriend or husband is he? Is he on the lookout to see who’s been out tonight, with his...?’

I can feel myself squirming. ‘He’s not some jealous dude, Shaz, he’s... an old friend. I just want him to leave the bar. So I can leave, see?’ Given the only exit from the restaurant is through the main bar downstairs, there’s no way I can do that without walking past him.

‘Oh.’ Now there’s a sudden grin on her face. ‘It’s that you don’t want him to see you, wearing... that?’ She points to my – admittedly short – clansman’s kilt complete with impressive sporran, her eyes lighting up wickedly.

I take in a breath.  She’s going to ask. They always do.

‘No.’ I answer both her questions in one. ‘I do not.’

Whether she’s realised the full implications of that answer...

‘Well.’ She lifts her shoulders, pragmatic, now, ‘No need to feel ashamed. You use the assets and the talents you’ve got to make an honest living. It’s work, isn’t it?’

‘Problem is, it’s work that’s... very different to the kind of work he knew me from, before.’ I’ve not been troubled by it up to now, but, the thought of walking past my old commanding officer in this get-up makes me cringe. I don’t know why I’m feeling this mortification – maybe it’s a stupid kind of pride, because a job is a job after all like she says, and mine’s a lucrative one. I make a good living. I make my way.

And yet, my ears are burning.

‘Well. Whatever’s up with him, you can’t stand here all night,’ she points out reasonably. ‘And anyways, with him looking straight down, staring into his glass, he’s not even going to see you, is he?’

I catch her eye, feeling hopeful at that.

She nods encouragingly, ‘From experience, I’d say he wouldn’t notice if Marilyn Monroe sprung out of a birthday cake right behind him.’

‘You could be right.’  When I edge out of the doorway a tad, he doesn’t move a muscle, let alone look my way. Walking straight past him, it’s clear I could’ve been on my way a while ago.  Slumped deep in whatever’s eating at him, it’s a certainty that Captain Ray Faulkner would never have even noticed, let alone recognised me.

Pausing to reflect, I feel a stab of sadness at the thought. Captain Faulkner had been more than just my commanding officer, once. He’d been a mentor. The man who’d made me feel that the army was my home, that it was a place I belonged.

It’s how I’d prefer him to remember me. Shaz cuts in front now, giving me a surreptitious, two-thumbs-up sign. She motions towards the main doors. Out you go then lad, home free.  I’d go. With my evening’s work done, I’m keen to be off home only...

Something’s slowing my step. What’s up with the man, anyway? I wrestle with it, for a moment; the thought that, whatever’s going on for him currently is none of my business.

Shaz’s next observation, accompanied by a wry laugh, unintentionally hits home,

‘Pity, really – he looks like a man who could do with a friend tonight?’

Sighing, I’ve already stopped in my tracks. Much as I’d like to get out of here, there’s no way my conscience will let me. Not without first asking the man if he at least needs any assistance.  Ignoring Shaz’s surprise, I’ve turned around and I’m heading back to him at the bar.

Looks like I’ll have to face him, after all.

Sofia

‘So, I freaked out in the cathedral the other day and now the family are convinced I’m suffering from terrible wedding nerves...’

Sheila and I are sitting at the table out the back of her shop. We’re sorting out old, leftover costumes for Ida’s school carnival project, looking for sequins and buttons and all things shiny. My daughter should be in here helping us, but I’m glad she’s left us to chat in peace, gone off to explore.

Taking up a mermaid’s headdress, my straight-talking old boss is pulling off the glue securing the sparkly edges, with an expert hand.

‘Are you having second thoughts, Sofia?’

‘Second thoughts? No! Absolutely not.’ Picking up a pair of small scissors, I’m mirroring her actions on my own piece. ‘It was just after we’d stopped to watch a bride come in. My sister was commenting on how beautiful it all was, and how much I must be looking forward to my own wedding day and I was, but then I got this strange feeling of...’ I look up at her, shaking my head as something of the dread trickles back, catching me in my throat. Again.

‘I didn’t know what it was all about, Sheila. All I knew,’ I admit with some shame, ‘is that I probably shouldn’t be feeling it.’

Sheila points out reasonably, ‘Well, your wedding will be a huge affair. For Cristian’s relatives, that’s business as usual, but for you...? The others could be right about it being wedding nerves, couldn’t they?’ 

If only... I let out a breath,

‘If that’s all it is, then, as soon as this whole, big spectacle of a ceremony’s over and done with, I’ll be fine, won’t I?’

My old friend peers at me over the top of her spectacles, ‘Sofia, are you honestly worried that you won’t be?’

‘I know. I know....’ I smile at her ruefully. ‘I’m worrying about nothing. Rosaria and the others keep telling me so.’

‘Hmmm...’ Sheila’s busy lining up a row of little silver buttons she’s just pulled off her headdress. They’re sparkly and moon-shaped, just what Ida needs for her project, but now, going to pick one up I’ve managed to knock the whole lot over. We watch them for a moment, bouncing and scattering all over the floor. 

‘Ugh! That’s the third time in the last two days I’ve done something like that.’

Retrieving them, I bob up, my hand full of shiny buttons and she goes on,

‘Is that wedding nerves, too?’ 

‘They’re making me crazy, just like the family say...’

She’s shaking her head. ‘I’ve never seen you as crazy. Don’t get me wrong Sofia, your family are good people but, they don’t always get where you’re at, do they?’ She taps my hand. ‘Remember when you were just 17, coming up here to work every day from the favela?’

‘They thought I was crazy then, too?’ My uncle had already offered me an easier job, nearer home, working with him on his market stall.  I nearly hadn’t come to Sheila’s and yet... in the end, I’d gone against everyone’s advice and joined Sheila working in her shop. ‘My family told themselves I was only after a better pay packet than my uncle could offer.’

Sheila laughs. ‘You never told them I couldn’t pay you any more than the market job?’

‘No way!’ 

‘And so...’ she looks around, indicating her dusty shop with all its magical nooks and crannies, ‘you rejected the market to come and work for an eccentric, old Ozzie woman, selling castoff carnival costumes to the tourists?’

I tell her quietly, ‘You’re not eccentric.  You’re authentic.’ It’s what I love about her the most. Sheila always calls it as she sees it. Perhaps it’s even part of the reason I came here, today?

I muse, pouring buttons into a glass jar, ‘I never did know what made you offer me a job on the spot? I’d got Ida in her bassinet, I could hardly speak any English...’ That much is true. My English improved dramatically after I worked in her shop and I’ll always be grateful to her for that.

She smiles softly.  ‘You always had a sparkle about you, that’s why, Sofia.’ Sheila stops what she’s doing for a moment. ‘Your family might’ve thought you crazy for wanting to come and work here but I never thought that. I saw someone who wouldn’t be frightened of hard work or challenge. I saw a young woman who was determined to provide the very best home she could for herself and her child.’  Pausing for a moment, she muses now, ‘I still see it.’ 

I smile at her. ‘Not crazy, then?’

‘Not then, not now.’

After a while, sitting quietly side by side, we’re both getting into our stride, pulling apart unpicked seams. She and I used to do this kind of work all the time, back whenever we had a quiet moment in the shop. I miss those old days.

I sigh, ‘Your shop’s always felt like such a magical place to me, Sheila. I used to love watching customers’ faces when they came here, trying on all these fantastical costumes. How it seemed to transform people, it let them dare to dream of being... something more.’

‘Perhaps they can do more than just dream, Sofia?’ Cutting a ragged thread with her front teeth, Sheila comments, ‘Look at you now – marrying into the de Lorenzo family – who’d have thought?’

‘Not anyone from my family, certainly!’ They don’t always get everything right, do they? I stifle a laugh, ‘Though, you should hear them talking to the neighbours: Our Sofia knew what she was doing! She learned good English at Sheila’s shop, left Rocinha, working for that US diplomat’s wife who introduced her to Cristian and that’s what landed her the prize.’

‘How very clever of you.’

‘...as if I’d somehow planned it all along!’

‘Which would make you a better planner than you ever were when you worked for me.’

I laugh, covering my face with my hands – I’d made my fair share of embarrassing mistakes when I first worked here for Sheila. Like the good friend she later became, she’d still kept me on.

Sheila’s chuckling now, wiping a tear of merriment away from the corner of her eye. ‘Just as well we both enjoy a good laugh!’ 

Ida’s joined us. Catching two old friends in a good mood, reminiscing, she smiles hopefully, waving an old DVD at me.

‘I found this in the bric-a-brac box. Can we buy it, Mum?’

‘Of course!’ I tell Sheila under my breath, ‘Braveheart. I think they played that old film at a friend’s house. Now she’s got a thing for blue-eyed, red-haired Scotsmen...’

Ida mutters, annoyed, ‘I heard that!’

Sheila smiles, ‘She’s nearly thirteen, and growing up fast, what d’you expect?’ Once Ida’s out of earshot, my friend asks quietly, ‘Cristian’s okay, is he, with taking on a child who might one day...?’

‘Yes,’ I tell her quickly. ‘He is.’

She reflects now, ‘He’s a bit... older than you, isn’t he?’

‘Only twelve years – forty-four’s not so old for a man, and he’s still attractive enough.’

‘Busy enough, with all the family business, too, I imagine?’ Sheila observes, ‘It’s a miracle he got in a marriage proposal in such a short time...’

‘He must have been keen,’ I grin, examining my fingernails at arm’s length. ‘He knew a good thing when he saw it.’

‘You’re not kidding!’ She goes on, and I think I can see where she’s going with this. ‘He’s often abroad, too, isn’t he?’ 

I give her what she’s getting at. ‘Listen, Cristian and I don’t always see as much of each other as we’d like. But, when we do...’

A sparkle appears in her eyes. ‘Tell me that he makes you happy – he makes you laugh?’

‘Actually, his family are quite serious people and he’s no exception.’

‘Oh.’ She says, still smiling, ‘Tell me at least there’s nowhere else you feel more at home, other than when you’re in each other’s arms?’

My friend really does remind me of Ida, sometimes...

I put down the headdress I’m working on.

‘Sheila, we make a good team.’ Cristian may not be a laugh a minute but he’s been more supportive of me than any man I’ve ever known. ‘We support each other. I know he’ll make a wonderful father and provider.’

‘In that case, I’m glad for you, because, you know, your true home will always be wherever your heart is, Sofia.’ Sheila’s quiet, working on for a moment, then she says, ‘Listen, about that experience you had in the church the other day, your family might believe it was down to wedding nerves but, if you yourself are not absolutely convinced...?’ 

I just felt my smile fade. Why couldn’t she have just agreed with the rest of them? It’s what I wanted her to do.

‘I am, though!’ 

‘I’m glad to hear it, but... for the record, you don’t sound like a woman who’s just suffering from wedding nerves, Sofia.’

When we go back to picking off sequins, Ida soon joins us, chatting about other things. The conversation takes a different turn but Sheila’s words remain. They aren’t what I wanted to hear and, just like the disturbance I felt in the church the other day, they won’t go away.

I wish she hadn’t said them.

Cal

‘Captain Faulkner?’

When I come to stand by him at the bar, my former army captain looks up, startled at first. Then, recognition dawning, slowly,

‘McGregor?’

‘Yes, Sir. It’s me.’ My heart’s glad to see him but there’s no question this is going to be awkward for both of us. Chances are, whatever’s going on for him, he won’t want me butting in. Especially... not dressed like this, in my please-the-ladies get up.

Still, I stand up a little straighter. Clear my throat. ‘Ach, I’d not have troubled you tonight, but I was passing by and couldn’t help but notice you seemed in a bit of distress?’

‘I’m... yes.’ The captain frowns softly, rubbing gingerly at his lower spine.  ‘I’ve had a little back trouble, meant to go home an hour ago, but...’

He stops, his eyes flickering curiously over my watch, my expensive shoes. And now... we’ve come to it. He’s finally noticed my belted kilt of bright red tartan; the juxtaposition of that with a crisp, formal-wear white dinner shirt and black bow tie. 

‘And you? You’ve come from a – uh – party, of some sort?’

‘A dinner a deux,’ I give him.

‘Ah. Your girlfriend?’

I pause. Then I tell him, ‘No. It’s for my work.’

‘Your work?’ He looks bemused, and I can feel myself fidgeting, wanting this over with. I came over here for a reason. My personal life wasn’t it. But, he may as well know the truth about how I’m earning my crust these days.

‘I’m a male escort, now.’ 

‘Christ.’  His own predicament apparently forgotten, he pauses for a moment, mouth gaping. He looks away quickly but the silence that follows goes on for too long. I’ve truly embarrassed him now, haven’t I? This is mortifying. 

He finds his tongue, ‘So, you... uh, take women out for a living?’

‘That’s about the shape of it.’ 

‘Well. You have the looks.’ He blusters, making a manful attempt to recover the conversation, ‘If you’ve got it, why not...?’ 

‘Flaunt it?’

‘That’s right. These women you escort,’ he says stiffly, ‘I take it they expect...?’

I hold his gaze for a second.

‘They know what to expect.’ I tell him, ‘Most of them, they’re just women on business in another town, yearning for some company over dinner. Someone to talk to, you know. The agency website states clearly what they should and shouldn’t expect.’

He’s keeping his face straight. ‘Yes.’

I didn’t come here to talk about me, though. I put my head to one side, noting his awkward posture. He’s definitely hurt his back. Does he need me to call him someone to help fetch him home, maybe a taxi?

I don’t like to straight-up ask.

‘And you, Sir?’

He leans in and, nursing his glass with big bear hands, volunteers instead,

‘Me? When I’m able, I work as a tour guide these days, looking after people.’ His eyes crinkle in pain, but he’s saying stoically, ‘It keeps me active, and it turns out I’m quite good at selling them nice stories that keep them happy.’

Not so far off what I do, then?  I smile softly.

‘Still – it must take a bit of a physical toll on you at times, I imagine?’

Ray nods, ‘True – I’ve just had to take a few weeks off with my bad back.’ He adds quietly, ‘I’ve already started looking elsewhere but you know how hard it can be to find a job in civvy street, McGregor. We all do what we can.’

My eyes meet his and, somewhat recovered, he pulls a wry smile.

‘Your job’s at least a good place to meet women, I imagine?’

‘You’d think so.’

Returning us gently to his problem, ‘Sir, I was an assistant fitness coach for a while after leaving the army.... with the right treatment you could be back at work, soon enough.’ 

‘Unfortunately, that’s unlikely.’ He puffs, hauling himself about so he can face me again. ‘The GP’s got me on the usual painkillers but they tell me it’ll take a while.’

I nod.

He adds unexpectedly, ‘Also, my boss isn’t waiting around for me to make any recovery, I’m afraid.’ When he averts his gaze, I catch a glimpse of the despair I thought I saw in him earlier.

Ray’s muttering, ‘I suspect I’m done, McGregor. About to be fired.’

‘Sorry to hear it, Sir.’ He’s silent for a moment. I ask, tentatively, ‘The tour company couldn’t offer you some other work in the meantime?’

‘Nobody needs an old fart like me in the office doing admin – they hire all the pretty faces to do that.’ He says unhappily, ‘Even if they can’t spell simple words like Reykjavik or Guadalajara.’

I pull a smile.  ‘I’m not sure I could, either.’

‘You’ve got a pretty face, McGregor.’

I’m about to come back with a smart retort when he adds in a cracked voice, ‘At my age, realistically, I won’t easily find anything else.’

He’s right and we both know it. I’ve made my own compromises in my time. His plight both troubles and saddens me, and yet... it’s getting late. If the captain’s got neither a need nor a desire for assistance in getting himself home, I’d best make tracks, myself. 

‘I’m sure it’ll work out, Sir. We all do what we have to do, as you say.’ I stand, ready to leave. ‘It’s been good to see you again. Would you like me to call you a taxi home before I go?’

He shakes his head. ‘I’m not headed home, tonight, McGregor.’

‘No?’

Now Ray’s the one who’s looking embarrassed. ‘Truth is, with my precarious job situation, we’ve been at risk of losing our home for a while. Only, my wife... she’s just found that out today.’ He clears his throat, admitting, ‘It was only my stupid pride that made me keep it from her but... she didn’t take it well, McGregor.’

I sit back down again, hearing his dismay. For the second time tonight, Ray’s shocked me, stopping me in my tracks. 

This man’s in a lot deeper trouble than I thought.

Cal

Motioning to Shaz to bring us both another drink, I ask Ray tentatively, ‘If you can’t afford the house, where will you live?’ 

‘Oh, Evie’s mum will take her and the kids in, but...’ He just covered his face with his hands, sounding desperately ashamed. It’s painful to see. I loosen the bow tie at my neck. Darn thing feels like it’s choking me, every time I have to put it on.

‘If there’s anything I can do, Sir?’

His eyes turn to mine, resigned.  ‘Not unless you’re offering to take my upcoming tour of elderly people on their annual coach outing to ‘Dairy World’, for me...?’ He pauses, letting it sink in. ‘You’d have to be prepared to masquerade as me, of course?’

He’s being facetious, but could it be that all the captain needs is a bit of time to get his shit together? Some time to recover, and then he’ll be good to go? I could help him get that time. There aren’t many people I’d be prepared to put myself out for this readily but, I slam my palm down on the counter,

‘I’ll do it!’

Ray gives a dry laugh. ‘I don’t think you’ve quite understood...’

‘I’ve understood you perfectly.’ I say quietly: ‘Your boss needs a coach-load of elderly people to be taken on a day trip to Dairy world.’ I pause, ‘What is that, anyway?’

Drinking his whisky, he’s shaking his head, bemusedly. ‘It’s a... call it an adventure playground for older folk, if you will. Our clients love it.’

‘Well then.  If I’ve got this right, as long as your boss believes it’s you taking them, you’ll be off the hook, for this gig at least?’

Ray’s still playing along with me.   ‘It might. For now.’

‘For now, might be all you need. You’d be surprised at how many of these back issues can be resolved if they’re only given the right diagnosis in the first place.’

He’s realising for the first time that I might be serious.

‘I won’t ask you to do that for me, son.’

‘You didn’t ask. I offered.’

He pulls a face. ‘No, McGregor.’ He leans in again, taking the strain off his back, puffing, ‘Besides – why would you even want to do that?’

‘Because... we all need a little help at times if we’re to get back into the fray.’ I go on, ‘My good friend Dirk’s an excellent osteopath. Let me call him.’

Ray’s looking distinctly uncomfortable. Pricey, he’ll be thinking, and he’s strapped for funds.

‘I’d be happy to call in some favours,’ I tell him quietly. ‘Get him to at least assess you? In the meantime, my offer to take the coach tour for you, still stands.’

I can see that his pride’s battling with the chance of the unexpected hope that’s just been thrown his way.

‘You’d really do this, McGregor?’

‘I’d do it, and gladly. If you’re willing, I’ll give Dirk a ring in the morning.’

He gives me a brief nod. I get the sense he can barely believe what he’s just agreed to.

‘What about...’ He clears his throat, looking at me awkwardly. ‘Your own weekend plans, I’m sure you have some?’

Ah. It’s this weekend, the Dairy trip?

I tell him, ‘No worries. Unlike you, I’ve no wife and family to tend to.’

Ray takes a sip of his whisky, considering this revelation. ‘No? I always had you down as a family man. I realise your current job’s probably not conducive to it, but...’ 

‘There’s no woman. Story of my life, Sir.’

He suggests quietly,

‘Time to change the story then, McGregor?’

I’m not sure how he proposes I should do that. Outside, I hail my slightly drunk, doubled-up-in-pain, former commanding officer a taxi. Waving him off into the dank, drizzly night, I’m feeling... an old bond that I once felt with him, rekindled. Despite what my discharge papers say, my army career ended with very little honour and yet... I haven’t forgotten how, once upon a time long ago when I’d lost my way, Ray found me. He was the one who built me up, set me back on the right path again. Even if he’d never take any credit for it, I know that it’s the truth.

Shaz joins me, standing in the doorway. From her sympathetic smile, I’d hazard a guess that she’s been there for a while, listening.

‘So, you’ve agreed to play the tour guide for him?’ I nod and she goes on, grinning wickedly, ‘A man like you, Cal... did you really have no other, more important plans, organised for this weekend?’

‘Nothing that can’t be rearranged.’ I shrug. I have one. With someone who won’t be happy in the slightest. In fact, if I know Melissa at all, she will kick off like crazy. 

‘Kind of you. You’ve given him a little hope, at least.’

That gives me a warm feeling in my belly.

‘It’s the least he deserves.’ Besides, as I should know, a little hope is sometimes all it takes to get a man back on his