by C F White
There was no way he could ask Dr. Rawlings. Kez had been right. It had been a stupid idea. But Callum had been desperate. He’d have said anything to get Baz the hell away from Kez. Whether the bloke was brandishing a hammer or not, the git wouldn’t have got near Kez. Callum wouldn’t have let him. He’d have chucked himself in the way.
Just like he had to do now.
He flinched at the raucous banter from a rowdy group jumping on the train at the next stop. Everything was putting him on edge. He gave an eyeful to one of the lads who stepped on his foot. The bloke gave him a squint back then whispered into the ears of his mates. Boisterous laughter bellowed out along the carriage. Callum turned away and looked up at the destination map above the seats and checked which way he was going.
Home.
Where the fuck even was home?
He rode the train to the end of the line—ironically, Branton—sitting on one of the tabled seats. He thought about not getting off and just sitting there until the doors slammed and the train went wherever it did when they weren’t in service. No such luck as the driver stuck his head in and told him to get a move on.
Trudging up the steps, he kept his eye on the security at the top. Branton always seemed to have more of them than any other station. More so now. He waited until they’d turned their backs then, with an energy he didn’t feel, he jumped the turnstiles and legged it out of the station into the street. A few twists and turns later, he was where he needed to be.
The Marlyte housing estate was still cordoned off. Yellow tape stretched out to the playpark, around the double-decker houses and over his tower block. Callum stopped on the other side of the road and hefted in a deep breath. He fell back and perched on the wooden railing aligning the houses that stared upon the tragedy. Floor four was completely caked in black, with the windows smashed out. Five, his floor, had remnants of seared flames up the sides with cut glass and broken debris hanging off the frames. The floors below and above seemed intact, but empty and inhospitable. Apart from his two years at HM Prison Chelsmford, Callum’s home had been in that building. It had been Kez’s for a while too. It had been Eve’s. Their unconventional family had formed in there. Why is it my floor that’s in tatters? He knew the answer to that.
He sat, shivering in the rain that now splatted against his skin, reminding him he had nothing but the clothes on his back. Whether or not the toy egg was still in there, whether it was still intact, whether it had been found and seized, there was no point risking everything to find out. He’d made a vow to start over. And that began here and now.
He stood and walked away from the building that had brought Kez into his life more than once.
* * * *
Kez paced the living room in circles. It wasn’t exactly the biggest room and his strides weren’t exactly small, so it was more twisting around to burn the soles of his feet. Scratching fingernails through his scalp, he was frantic with fear, with worry, with furious, fucking anger. He’d tried to run after Callum. He’d called him back, yelled his name, screamed from the balcony to no avail. When Callum had vanished from view, Kez’d had no idea which way he’d gone. It was pointless to even try to follow. He had to stay home in the hope Callum came to his senses and returned.
Two hours in and he hadn’t.
Kez had to accept it was unlikely that Callum ever would return. If Kez knew one thing about him, it was that he was a stubborn bastard who made stupid mistakes and even stupider decisions. This was all so typically Callum. Do before think. Then when he did think, it was dangerous. How could one man mess up so many times? How could he make the same mistakes again and again? And why did Kez keep falling for it? Why couldn’t he walk away from him? Why did he have to keep hoping, wishing and praying that Callum would sort himself out?
If this had all come to light twenty-four hours ago, there was no way Kez would have rushed into sleeping with him. He wouldn’t have felt everything that he had when he’d been wrapped in Callum’s arms, buried deep in his body and kissing that delicate porcelain skin. He would still be thinking that their brief past encounters hadn’t meant the same to Callum. He would still be just a friend, like he’d promised he would. Instead, he’d thrown himself in, hook, line and sinker, and was now drowning in the aftermath. He needed a lifeline, and it didn’t look like Callum was going to be providing it.
Realising he couldn’t put it off any longer, he fished his phone out of his work bag and hit Call.
“Hello, yes?”
“Grace? It’s Kwesi. Are you okay?” Kez had wanted to keep the concern out of his voice but on hearing the elderly crackle on the other end of the line, he couldn’t have prevented it.
“I’m fine, dear. Did you want to talk to Eve?”
Kez flumped down on the sofa and the knot in his throat dug through his oesophagus as he attempted to fight back tears. At least there was a silver lining in all this and that was that neither Grace or Eve had learned of Callum’s utter foolishness. He wasn’t sure he could handle hearing their disappointment again. “Please.”
“You wait there, dear. I’ll fetch her. She’s having a lie down.”
Kez smiled at Grace thinking he couldn’t move. She didn’t have a mobile. Neither did Eve. They were too set in their ways to learn new technology every three months so they’d both stuck to landlines. Kez tapped his feet on the rug, biting his lip and wanting more than anything to hear his auntie’s voice. Just knowing she was okay had relieved his anxiety. But now he needed more than that. He needed her reassurance.
“Kwesi?” Her voice made the tears tumble down his cheeks without any effort.
He sniffed and tried to compose himself. It was futile. He couldn’t control it and he clutched the phone to his ear, hanging his head as he trembled and cried.
“Kwesi? Kwesi? My darling, Kwesi? Now, now, what is wrong?”
He couldn’t even get the words out.
“Take a deep breath, my love. Deep, even breaths.”
Kez did as she suggested and inhaled then exhaled. He wiped his arm under his nose and sniffed, wiping the tears with the flesh on his elbow.
“There, there,” Eve said, her voice like a soothing lullaby. “Now you tell Auntie what’s upsetting you so much. I hate to hear you like this.”
He hated being like this. And he hated that he had to admit who it was who had made him like this.
“It’s Callum.” He croaked the name with fear and trepidation.
“I see.” There was no judgement in her voice. No ‘I told you so’—nothing to suggest she was doing anything other than listening and waiting. That was her way. It always had been. It had only been her praying where Kez had learned of her disgruntled dislike for what Callum had done to him, to them and to himself. Daily she had prayed for him to be saved, to find his way. Whether or not that way was back to him, Kez doubted it. Eve didn’t wish Callum any ill. But if push came to shove, Kez’s well-being took precedence.
It was a shame it wasn’t like that for Kez.
“I love him, Auntie. I love him.” His chest wanted to burst open and he quivered with the words, and the tears that wouldn’t stop falling. “I always have. I can’t stop it. Why can’t I stop it?”
There was a brief, all-consuming silence down the phone where Kez’s soft sobs would no doubt be heard by whoever might be standing close to his aunt. After a moment, Eve’s voice trailed down the receiver and swathed over Kez like the fleece blanket that he’d wrapped Callum in the other night.
‘“Love bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never ends.”’
Wasn’t that the truth? But Kez didn’t want to hear the Bible quotes. Not this time. He wanted to be resentful. He wanted to be hateful. He wanted to curse the world about the unfairness of it all.
“He lied to me.” Kez hung his head in shame at having to admit how much of a fool he’d been. Again. “He said he was on the straight and narrow. He said his nose was clean. He promised he was changed.”<
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“He told you the things you wanted to hear.”
“Why?” Kez gripped the phone, his knuckles almost slicing out of his skin.
“Because he lost his way, Kwesi. And he needed you to guide him.”
“I’m sick of guiding him. I’m sick of all this. I’m sick of feeling like this.” He scrunched up his imaginary hand into a balled fist, his biceps bulging at the force. “Why me?”
“Because you love him.”
“Are you saying he’s using me? He’s using my feelings for him?”
“I don’t know about that, Kwesi. Does he love you?”
“Does that even matter?”
“Of course that matters. For that can guide you. That can be the truth of what you know. For if he doesn’t love, then he can’t follow your path and we must let him find his true one. We can watch. We can forgive. But we cannot go alongside him. And you must always love, from afar.”
“How do I know how he feels? How do I know if what he says is true?”
“You know it. Deep down. You know it.”
He’d have to dig deeper than he ever had before to find the answer. He wasn’t sure he was even ready for that sort of exploration.
“What should I do?” he asked, clinging on to the guidance of his guardian.
“Exactly what you have been doing. You be there. You wait. You live and you love.”
Kez had wanted more than that. He wanted actual direction. He wanted to be told what to do in practical step-by-step details. But he hadn’t given his aunt much to go on. He wasn’t sure he could. Or should.
“Sometimes the path of true redemption has to be walked alone. For when he is ready, when he is truly absolved, he will return.”
Falling back against the sofa, Kez nodded in idle silence. His aunt didn’t press for more. Her soft shallow breaths were enough to know she was still there, she would still listen and mostly that she was okay.
“How have you been?” he asked after the silence.
“I am happy. Grace is the perfect host. I’ll be sad when the time comes to leave her.”
“I’m glad. You take care, Auntie. I’ll come by tomorrow.”
“Kwesi?”
“Yes?”
“I love you with all my heart. And I know you will always do the right thing.”
Kez sucked in a breath, his chest rising. “You too.”
Hanging up was harder than he thought. But maybe it was for the best. Callum might try to call him. Does he even still know my number?
* * * *
As soon as he walked into the corner newsagents and the man behind the counter peered up from fiddling with the shattered glass on a smartphone, Callum’s apprehension grew tenfold. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t have come back to where people knew him and could trace him. But what choice did he have? The door tinkled shut and the man’s gaze followed him rather than focusing on the tiny screwdriver that he twisted around the smallest hole in a broken mobile. He had a cigarette tucked behind his ear, just noticeable beneath the brown flat cap, and his distressed leather jacket gave off the stench of an ashtray. Callum had a sudden urge to ask the man for a fag, but he didn’t have the money to offer for it. He didn’t even have the cash to be here asking for what he needed either, but that hadn’t stopped him.
Approaching the counter with his hands tucked into his jeans pockets, Callum sniffed.
“Take ’em out.” The man’s voice was as deep as he was dark.
Callum did as he was told, holding up his palms.
“Flick out the rest.”
Pulling out his inner jeans pockets, he displayed the nothing that was within them. With a nod, the man returned his attention to fixing the phone.
“I need a throwaway.” Callum tried to sound authoritative, but next to this guy he was nothing but a squeaking weasel. He felt like one as well.
“Didn’t I sell you one a couple of days ago?”
“Lost it.”
“In the river?”
“In a fire.”
The man nodded. Then without lifting his twisting screwdriver, he reached behind him and yanked off a standard pay-as-you-go phone from the plastic casings hung on the metal hooks. He threw it to the surface. “Fifteen.”
“I can’t pay you.”
The deep, resonating chuckle prickled Callum’s skin as the man scraped back the plastic packaging, causing a grated screech against the counter surface, and returned it to hanging on the wall behind him.
“Come on, bruv,” Callum pleaded with broken eyes.
The man arched an indifferent eyebrow.
“Sorry. Look, mate, I need a phone. I lost everything in that fire. Help a fella out. I have to make a call.”
“I hear there were a ton of donations for your lot. Can’t you get one from them?” The man returned his attention to fixing the dodgy mobile.
“No.” Callum rubbed his brow. “And I think you know why.”
“Exactly. So cash, or no phone.”
Defeated, Callum went to walk away. The man didn’t budge. Why Callum had expected him to would be his first question. Perhaps he’d thought he’d get a bit of sympathy from the guy who worked the corner store at the edge of the Marlyte Estate. Callum had spent more than his fair share of earnings in this place on various gadgets and groceries. That clearly didn’t count for shit. Yanking open the door, Callum resigned himself to another long, cold and lonely walk.
“One phone call?”
Startled, Callum twisted back. The man didn’t look at him, but he nodded anyway. The tip of the screwdriver pointed to the landline phone that sat next to the till. Callum swallowed. That was dangerous. That would be traced if anyone got a whiff.
What choice do I have?
He hurried back and twisted the box phone to face him. Lifting the receiver, he gave the man a second glance. He didn’t look at him. That mobile was either a tricky fix or he was doing his best to avoid having to look Callum in the eye. With a deep breath, Callum dialled the number he’d somehow burned to memory. Probably for the amount of times he’d had to call it. He checked the clock on the wall. It was late. But not too late for him to think it wouldn’t be answered.
It was after the third ring that Callum blew out a desperate breath. “It’s Callum…can I see you? Usual place?” Relief mixed with fear rippled in Callum’s chest before he hung up and nodded his thanks to the man behind the counter.
“You know they’ll find you.”
Callum stopped his exit from the shop. “Yeah. I know.”
He left to make his way to the designated spot. On foot, it was a bastard to get to. He had to use the underpass to cross the main A13 that led into central London, and every step was as if the knife was already stuck in his back. Tension in his body pained every muscle and made it difficult for his legs to scale the derelict building sites, through the grotty industrial estate and pass the fenced-off gateway toward the riverside. With the Thames in sight, he sped up and clambered over the empty yard that was home to the Saturday Market and the occasional car boot sale pitches. The river curved at the end. Not as great a sight as it would be in Central London. Here was more like the brown sludge of the estuary, which was why it had always been the perfect secluded spot.
Leaning on the railing, he peered out over the water. Maybe he should chuck himself in. It wouldn’t be the temperature that killed him, nor the current, but the toxins that he’d no doubt swallow would make for an excruciating death. It wasn’t like he deserved any better. Knowing his luck, he’d be swept off and picked up by the river coppers before that happened.
“You throw yourself in and I’ll kill you.”
Callum shot a look over his shoulder. The man approaching was as he remembered. Tall, stocky, darker skin that even Kez had, with his dreadlocks clipped back into a tail that bounced with his energetic leap over the hill mounds. Errol had always been a comforting sight. Slapping Callum on the back, he joined him to gaze out at the brown ripples of the passing river in sil
ence.
“Callum.” His voice waded through the sloshes in a deep, resonating rumble.
“Errol.”
“I’ve been trying to find you.”
“Yeah. I’ll bet.” Callum hung his head. As if he could have avoided this. Why had he even tried? He wasn’t sure of anything anymore.
“I know it weren’t your fault.” Errol twisted to face him. “The fire, that is. Where you been staying? And don’t say the streets. We’ve checked.”
Callum nodded. Of course they had. Like he could escape anything. He gazed back out at the water and shivered as a gust of riverside windchill nipped at his cheeks. Taking a deep breath, he supposed he had to lay it all on the line. Errol deserved that much.
“Remember I told you about my mate? Kwesi? Kez?” He met with Errol’s gaze with a solemn smile at having to repeat the name that a mere few hours ago had tasted like sweetness on his tongue. “From the estate?”
“Oh, yeah.” Errol nodded and shoved his hands in his jacket pockets. “The one-armed guy?”
Callum snorted. In the end, Kez would always be seen as that guy. Why couldn’t people see beyond it, the way Callum saw him? He guessed, in some way, that was a good thing.
“Yeah. He got back in touch.”
“That’s great, Callum. It’s always a good idea to surround yourself with friends. Good friends.” Errol clamped him on the arm and squeezed. “So can I have his address? To follow up?”
Shameful remorse run its course and Callum dropped his gaze to the mud underneath his sodden trainers. “I left.”
“Of course you did.” Errol tutted. “What for this time?”
Callum swallowed and lifted his head to turn back toward the river, the sporadic sloshing against the stone wall leading out to the dock a welcome distraction from having to answer. He knew he would eventually, though. Errol would wait there forever.
