by C F White
Do they?
On the Central Line and squeezed into the carriage, Kez opened his mouth to force himself to ask something. Anything. Until the front page of the evening paper that all the commuters had their heads buried within were filled with the images of the burning building. He shut his mouth. He doubted Callum wanted to relive it. Kez certainly didn’t. That had been his home too, once. Those pictures, and Kez’s presence, would be aiding Callum with an ever-present reminder that he’d just lost everything he ever owned.
Or so Kez assumed, anyway. He didn’t have the balls to ask. He was scared of the answer.
The doors dinged open, and more people shuffled on, making Kez have to squash closer to Callum. The man’s subtle scent danced along Kez’s nostrils. Beneath the stale smoke, Kez could make out the distinct aroma of something vaguely familiar, as if he’d just wrapped himself in the old dressing gown he’d had to leave at Eve’s when the fibres had crusted.
Callum didn’t look at him and instead focused on the advertising above the seats. Kez hadn’t been wrong—Callum did look like shit. Not that he’d fared any better the last time that Kez had seen him. But Callum’s appearance was to be expected after what he’d been though that day, and not, hopefully this time, down to his own reckless stupidity.
His dark blond hair, now scraped into a topknot, had flecks of black running through it and made him look less striking than he’d used to be. Never a full-on platinum, Callum had always had a bit of hazel scattered through the hair—dirty blond, he supposed—but the tousled locks looked like they hadn’t been washed in a while even before gathering the remnants of smoke. His clothes were hanging off him too, as if they didn’t belong to him, or he’d lost a significant amount of weight since buying the jeans and hoody. Callum had always been an avid follower of fashion back in the day. Ripped jeans, the latest trend, trainers that he’d gotten from Kez didn’t want to ask where. He’d had the slender body of a clothes model and the striking face to go with it. It pained Kez to see him reduced to throwaway garments and heavy-duty work boots.
Not so much a fall from grace, as a casual decline from ground level to basement. Kez hated himself for even thinking that. He’d used to think so differently. So very differently.
Inhaling a deep breath he hoped Callum wouldn’t pick up on, Kez wondered, not for the first time that afternoon, if what he had just done had been the best idea. He’d meant what he’d said, that grudges should be buried in times of true crisis. That their friendship, once so precious, was worth more than letting the man waste away in a dreary community centre after having lost his worldly possessions in a fire. Especially considering Callum had risked his life to save Kez’s aunt and Callum didn’t have much family to lean on. Not that he had been able to rely on his mum when she’d been in his life. It wasn’t exactly a wonder how Callum had turned out. Not really. But perhaps he’d made new friends? Better friends? But for some reason, Kez doubted it. The fact that Callum had come with him so willingly had to mean that Kez was right—Callum hadn’t recovered the way Kez had been able to from that night five years ago.
“We getting off here?” Callum nodded toward the screeching open doors of the train.
He’d been so wrapped up in his thoughts Kez hadn’t realised they’d reached their destination. He nodded and clambered off the Tube with the several other million or so people who swapped Tube lines at Stratford or used the station for the shopping centre and ample night facilities. Having moved here when he’d been a student and remained ever since as it was close enough to work, Kez still hadn’t got a handle on how popular the place had become. It was nothing like where they’d grown up, on the streets of Branton. Well, certainly not now, anyway. Kez shuddered.
“Just need to stop at the twenty-four hour, grab some food,” Kez said, rushing toward the exit turnstiles. “I’m not sure I have much in.” He was sure. He didn’t have much in. Living alone, he rarely worried too much about it. He had fruit for breakfast, then scoffed his lunch from the staff canteen, which usually set him up for the rest of the day, so dinners were whatever he had in the way of snacks. Or what leftovers his aunt palmed off on him after her Sunday visits.
“Listen, mate, don’t go to any trouble, yeah?” Callum slotted the single ticket that Kez had purchased for him into the turnstiles and walked through. “I’ll just kip on your sofa tonight. Tomorrow’s a new day and all that.”
Kez had so many questions to ask, but that had to wait until they were alone, or away from the crowd at least. As they emerged out of Stratford station, the usual hustle and bustle made it difficult for any conversation to take place, anyway. Hordes of people were heading up to the late-night haunts in Westfield, or coming out with bags upon bags of shopping while schoolkids, still in uniform, cluttered the bus station. Kez angled his head, taking the left turn out of the station that curved new Stratford—Stratford City as it had been renamed when it’d been designed and built to welcome the Olympic park in 2012.
“Don’t ’spose you took up smoking, did ya?” Callum asked once they’d made it past the High Street and into the more subdued residential parts—where Kez always had to walk a bit quicker, just in case.
“No. But I can buy you some, if you need it?” Stopping his march, Kez nodded up to the petrol station across the road, home to the mini-convenience store with its illuminating sign an indicator that twenty-four-seven wasn’t just a big three-chain supermarket concept.
“Actually, yeah. Would ya? Might take the edge off a bit.” Callum shivered, his lips quivering.
Kez nodded. Things really didn’t change. But cigarettes? Those he could handle. Or more that Callum could handle them. Kez had too many health worries as it was to indulge in anything more than an occasional beer every now and then. And even that was scarce these days.
“I’ll pay you back.” Callum’s snap suggested he’d seen the look Kez must have had displayed across his face.
“No, it’s fine.” Why does this feel so awkward? So forced? Once upon a time, it had been quite the opposite for the both of them. “You just lost everything. Least I can do is spend a fiver on a pack of fags.”
“They’re a tenner now, mate.”
“Rip-off Britain.” Kez winked, attempting to lighten the mood and recapture something they’d clearly both lost. Can’t blame the fire for that, though. Maybe just the proverbial one. “It’s fine. I’ll grab some now, then why don’t you spark up out here while I go get some food?”
“Yeah. All right, ta.”
Kez rushed into the shop, bought a twenty-pack and a lighter, just in case, and hurried outside. He held them in an outstretched hand and Callum scooped them up, his fingertips brushing Kez’s palm. Even though it was Callum with the noticeably shaking fingers, it was Kez who shivered from the light tingle that unexpectedly warmed his skin.
Danger zone. Clearing his throat, Kez shuffled away.
“Cheers.” Callum lit up a cigarette. “You remembered the right brand.”
“It’s ingrained here.” Kez tapped his forehead. “From all those times I had to buy your fags ’cause you looked too young. Some things never change.” He smiled.
“Some things do.” Blowing out a lungful of smoke, Callum closed his eyes to wave away the trailing grey fumes.
Kez dropped his smile. He wanted to ask what had, how Callum had been doing since his release, how he’d coped inside and how he’d ended up back where it all started. But he didn’t. He just rushed into the shop, biting down on his natural instincts. Because what if he heard something he didn’t want to? Or can’t bear to?
Hanging a basket on his arm, he wandered up each aisle without checking what produce was even on offer. He was too busy giving himself a stern talking-to. Had he just made the dumbest decision of his life? Well, no, that was long past. But had he just made it for a second time? He could hear Eve’s animated tone bursting through his temple now as if she were his overriding conscience. And she’d be right. Won’t she?
He pe
ered over the shelf, out of the window where Callum stood with his back to the shop, blowing out smoke into the night sky. His head bowed, his shoulders tense, Callum appeared every bit the vulnerable yet face-value tough guy he’d always been. So distant. So vague. So nonchalant. If Kez had been through what Callum had, he’d be a quivering wreck, rocking back and forth in a padded room.
A banging on glass startled Kez, followed by a stern bark from the Tannoy system blasting out to the forecourt. “No smoking, please.” The man behind the serving desk spoke directly into his microphone whilst glaring at Callum through the window.
Callum swivelled, eyes narrowed, then held up his middle finger.
“Move away, or put it out.” The squeal of feedback from the speakers pained Kez’s ears.
Drawing in a long drag, Callum stared back, unfazed. He then blew the smoke at the window, distorting the view through the glass, and strutted out of sight.
Kez sighed. Better make this quick. After a dash around the limited offerings, he settled on the usual snacks. Tortilla chips, frozen single pizzas with extra spicy pepperoni—shit, is Callum a veggie? He’d been talking about it back then, animal welfare and all that. Helping the most vulnerable in society. Shoving the meat option back, he settled on a plain pizza and chucked in a couple of packs of cooked meats, just in case. He paid swiftly, offering an apologetic smile to the man behind the counter then, his goods bagged, left the shop to find Callum pacing the path up ahead.
“Hey.” Kez approached him with the caution of tempering a feral beast. “You all right?”
“Yeah.” Callum threw the butt of his cigarette to the floor and stamped it out. “Can we get outta here?”
“Sure. Not far.” Kez would have squeezed Callum’s arm, but the only hand that worked currently clung on to a thin plastic bag that threatened to tear. “Come on.”
Kez lived above a parade of shops a short walk from the petrol garage—a newsagents, a bookies and an electrical store. Not the best place in the world to be housed, but beggars can’t be choosers. And in Stratford City, this was luxury living. He suspected Callum wouldn’t care anyway. At least Kez had a home.
He climbed the back steps located at the side of the stretch of shops and along the concrete balcony to his gated yard. He had to drop the bag to type in the code to the lock, then shoved the gate open with his shoulder. Allowing Callum to walk in first, Kez picked up the shopping and slammed the gate shut behind him. Callum was jogging on the spot. Antsy. Kez couldn’t expect much less, could he? What an ordeal the bloke must have been though. He doubted Callum would have expected to be here, at Kez’s ‘gaff’ as Callum would call it, when he’d opened his eyes that morning to go—where did he go? Work? Does he work?
So many questions.
Callum grabbed the bag from the floor. “Sorry, should have remembered.”
“I’ve dealt before, y’know.” Kez fiddled the key into the lock and opened his front door.
“Yeah. Course. Just, well, can that thing do anything useful?” Callum nodded to the prosthetic.
“That thing?” Kez arched an amused eyebrow.
“Sorry. What do you call it?”
“My arm?”
Callum snorted a laugh. “Can your arm do anything? Is it, like, a robotic thing? Can you control it with your mind?”
“Nah. It’s just aesthetic. All the NHS gave me at the time.”
“Shame. Do you get an upgrade when your contract’s up? Like a phone? Or a car?”
Kez stepped through into his house, Callum following behind a little reluctantly.
“Maybe.” Kez shut the door and wandered through into the kitchen on his left. “But the working types don’t look as realistic.”
“You bothered by all that?” Callum dropped the bag of stuff onto the kitchen counter.
Kez knew he was asking all those questions to try to keep up a conversation that wasn’t based around what had happened that morning, or what had happened five years ago. Kez didn’t mind. He didn’t want to relive any of those events either. Mundane chit-chat focusing on Kez’s most significant change was probably better all around. At least for this evening.
Callum had always been Kez’s biggest advocate for his disability, so Kez didn’t mind him firing questions that might otherwise seem…contrite, conceited? Insensitive? Having been born without a left forearm and growing up with a residual limb—or stump as most people referred to it as—just below the elbow hadn’t been easy on him. The stares, the disappointment…the abandonment. But Callum, at their first meeting at the tender age of seven, hadn’t been fazed by it. He’d been the first one who hadn’t. He’d asked a ton of questions back then, too. Then, satisfied that Kez wasn’t a freak or that his congenital defect couldn’t be catching, Callum had treated Kez like any of his other mates. And if anyone had had a problem with it, it’d been Callum who’d made them feel sorry for it.
“I just wanted the kids to stop gawking at me, y’know?” Kez filled the kettle. Tea, he definitely needed tea. Shit, he didn’t have coffee. No one he knew drank it. Callum had.
“Kids?”
“I work at the children’s hospital. Adults mostly ignore it, but kids, they’re the ones that point and stare. This”—Kez held up his arm and rapped his knuckles on the silicone to produce a hollow tap—“is lifelike enough not to have them notice all too often.”
Nodding, Callum leaned against the counter. “You’d think it wouldn’t bother people anymore. What with the Paralympics and all that. Now those fellas have got it goin’ on. Why didn’t you get one of those blades?”
Kez laughed. “’Cause they’re for legs. Not forearms.”
“Right. Course.”
“I only got tea. That all right?”
“Could do with something stronger, bruv. But sure. Whatevs.”
“Go on, take a seat in the living room. Easily found, it’s the next room along. Up the stairs is a bathroom and a bedroom. That’s it, I’m afraid.”
“More than I have.” Callum pushed away from the counter and said the rest to the floor. “Had.”
Kez watched Callum leave, then stared out of the kitchen window at his gated yard. He was doing the right thing. He was. This time. This was just an old friend helping out an old friend in times of need. Nothing more, nothing less.
I won’t be fooled again. And repeat mantra.
The kettle choosing to reach its whistling climax at that moment was not an argument to the contrary. He hoped.
Callum relieved himself upstairs in the bathroom first, checking his reflection in the mirror of the cupboard. He really did look like crap. His face was peppered with grit and his skin was tight and crusty with bloodshot and itchy eyes. He splashed cold water over himself, wiped down his neck and redid his hair into some sort of style. Now he was here, with Kez, he thought he should at least try to show him some decency by being somewhat presentable.
Kez had changed so much. And it wasn’t just the addition of the arm. He was all confident strides—a grown man now comfortable with himself. He’d always been a bit awkward, a bit cautious and a bit fearful. Callum had taken him under his wing and shown him how not to be afraid. Now here was Callum taking hand-outs. He winced, flushed the chain and slunk back down the stairs. His hoody and jeans wafted smoke, and it wasn’t all from the earlier cigarette.
Shuddering, Callum coughed. The burning charcoal clung to his nostrils and scorched his throat. Shouldn’t have had that fag. He needed a shower, and a rest. But that would have been taking things a tad too far after this cosy little reunion thing they had going on.
When he shuffled into the living room, Kez was already there, and the mug of tea on the coffee table an inviting prospect to wash out his throat and warm his insides. Kez closed the floor-length curtains, shutting out the street lamps outside, then settled down into the armchair in the corner. Callum parked his arse on the three-seater sofa to the side and had a proper look around. It was a relatively large room, considering. It managed to fit
in a dining table at the back behind the sofa, the table holding an open laptop. The only other furniture was the television on a dark-oak stand. The flooring was wood, laminate probably, with a red shag-pile rug underneath the legs of the coffee table.
The mantlepiece above the mock fireplace housed an array of framed photographs, the people within them Callum just about recognised. Except the one of Kez in a graduation outfit, clutching a scroll. So the geezer had made it through university. Wow. Eve stood behind him, hand on his shoulder, beaming like a proud parent should. Or how Callum would expect a parent should. He wasn’t exactly an expert on happy families, having been brought up without a dad, and by a mum who hadn’t been any sort of a modern-day Mary Poppins when she’d been around at all. The spoonful of white stuff to get her going hadn’t been sugar.
“So you went to uni?” Callum pointed up at the photo, leaning forward to grab his mug and swallowing down an invigorating amount.
“Yeah.”
“And you work with kids? At the hospital?”
A vibrating bleep from within Kez’s pocket captured Kez’s attention for a brief moment, but he ignored it to sip from his mug. “That’s right.”
“Are you a doctor?” Callum widened scratchy eyes, the air having dried them out completely. Rubbing them again, he yawned.
Kez laughed. “No.”
“Oh, right. Nurse, then?” Yeah, Kez could be a nurse. He had that soft, nurturing side. Look at what he was doing now. The fool.
“No. I’m admin. Support staff. I’m a secretary—assistant—for a couple of cardiology paediatricians.”
