Page 16 of No Safe Place

Wednesday | Evening

Lily

‘Callum,’ she yelled over her shoulder. ‘Callum.’

‘What?’ he shouted back, and the direction of his voice surprised her. He wasn’t in the dining room – he was on the toilet.

There was a flush and she waited impatiently. He sauntered in, drying his hands on a tea towel.

She raised her eyebrows and nodded her head in the direction of the washing-up. ‘Well?’

He looked from her to the sink, and back again.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said with a shrug, and clearly no idea what he was apologising for.

‘You’re not fucking sorry.’ She pulled the towel out of his hands. ‘I’ve asked you so many times, not to leave washing-up soaking in cold, dirty water.’

‘In my defence,’ Cal said, stifling a yawn. ‘When I put the dishes in there, the water was hot and clean.’

It was the sort of conversation they had a hundred times a year, but the mood in the room was wrong.

Callum hadn’t spoken since the policewoman left. His eyes looked shiny, and his skin was red. He might have been crying, but if he had he’d never admit it to her. His anxiety hung in the air between them.

‘Fine,’ Lily snapped. She gritted her teeth and put her hand into the sink, to pull the plug out. ‘Fucking fine.’

Callum sifted through the biscuit tin on the side, coolly unconcerned.

She lifted a plate out of the water and slammed it down on the counter. ‘It’s not enough that I do everything for you, and all I ask is your help with this one thing. Who fucking cares if I don’t want dirty plates sitting in the sink? What do I fucking know?’

He still didn’t react, just extracted a bourbon from the tin.

She pushed past him and stalked out of the kitchen. The house smelt of stale cigarette smoke and sweat.

She took a seat at the dining table, still littered with Callum’s empty cans from last night. There were rings on the polished wood. Dark circles with fainter satellites. Ghosts of yesterday’s poor decisions.

The room was depressing. There was shit everywhere, crap filling up every space. Junk mail, old magazines. The band posters they’d picked out in Greenwich market were wonky in their cheap frames.

She looked up at the yellow ceiling as a creak came from above – Scott moving around her room, getting ready for his shift.

‘Look, Lil.’ Callum followed her into the room. ‘I am sorry, okay? About the washing-up.’

‘It’s okay,’ Lily said, after a pause.

Cal took a seat at the table, put his feet up. The bottoms of his socks were black. ‘Do you want a Mars bar?’

He lifted a multipack out of the fruit bowl.

‘You know they’re mine, right?’ Lily said. ‘You’re literally offering me my own shit.’

He took one from the packet, made direct eye contact, and peeled the wrapper off.

‘Don’t you fucking dare,’ Lily warned, trying not to smile.

He didn’t speak. He took an enormous bite and then let out a bark-like laugh.

‘You’re an arsehole,’ she said with a laugh, flinging a handful of crumpled napkins in his direction. Cal ducked and stood up, chewing with his mouth open, rolling the gummed-up nougat in his mouth.

Lily jumped from her chair, her laughter making her stomach ache worse. She made a snatch for the Mars bar.

Then she tripped, and Cal shot an arm out, catching her round the waist, just before she hit the floor.

Scott entered the room, dressed for work in dark scrubs. He looked at them both. Took in the mess, the ashtray they’d knocked over.

Lily shot away from Callum. She caught Cal’s eyeroll as he stalked off to the kitchen.

‘Have you seen my wallet?’ Scott called, fumbling around for his shoes.

She scanned the dark hallway. ‘No.’

The bulb had blown months ago, and Cal hadn’t bothered to replace it. Lily hadn’t changed it as an experiment, to see how long it would be before he sorted it out. He’d been promising to fix the broken back door for months, too.

‘I must have left it at work. What are you doing tonight?’ Scott asked.

Lily shrugged and passed Scott one of his brogues.

He leaned against a wall as he pulled it on. ‘Bye then.’

‘Have a good shift,’ Lily said, over-bright, standing on tiptoes and planting a kiss on his cheek.

He caught her round the waist and held her to him. She felt his solid warmth through his shirt, his hair tickling her cheek.

‘Take this,’ he said, pressing his door key into her hand. ‘I’ve got a spare in my locker. Go to my place tonight, have some time to yourself, and then I’ll see you when I get in.’

‘I can’t,’ she said, into his shoulder. ‘Not today. After the police knocked earlier, he’s stressed – I need to keep an eye on him.’

Scott let go of her and turned to the door. ‘Right. Whatever.’

‘Scott.’ She leaned forward to grab his arm. ‘Don’t be like that.’

‘Like what? Like it bothers me that we’ve been dating for almost a year, and you still live with your ex-boyfriend?’

Scott looked down at her, his jaw set and his eyes cold. He still had one hand on the door.

‘I never pretended the situation wasn’t a mess,’ she answered, keeping her voice even.

Scott dropped his voice to a loud whisper. ‘Have you even told him you’re moving out?’

Lily glanced at the door to the living room. ‘Can we not do this right before you leave?’

Scott turned without speaking and slammed the front door behind him. She was still clutching his key in her fist.

Lily put off seeing Callum for as long as possible.

She attempted to work on some lesson plans. Gave up and cleaned the sides in the kitchen instead, and the bath – anything to avoid the living room.

Finally, gearing herself up to go and talk to him, she had a fag on the front doorstep.

After she closed the front door, Lily leaned against it, standing on the junk mail, hemmed in by dusty coats on hooks. She reached out and held on to the corner of Callum’s red parka, as if it could bring her comfort.

She’d always known Callum to wear a parka. He’d wear it too late into spring, when everyone else was in light jackets and overshirts. You always could see him coming down the street, head down, fur facing forward.

For the last two years it’d hung on the same hook in the hallway. Sometimes with one of her coats over it, sometimes slipping onto the floor, but never worn.

She let the parka go and rapped on the living room door.

After a full day with all the curtains in the house closed tight, Cal had thrown the living room windows wide open.

He’d pushed the sofa right back against the wall and twisted the armchair, so it was facing the window and the street. He had his feet up on the sill, ankles crossed in his thick sports socks.

There were a few candles lit, guttering in the breeze, and the lamp was on in the corner. A Beatles vinyl was playing, the one she’d bought for his birthday a few years ago, crackly from constant use.

‘All right?’

He twisted his head to look at her. ‘Hey.’

‘I like the living room like this.’ She sat on the sofa, stretching her own legs, and following his gaze out of the window, to the orangey sunset beyond. Cal didn’t speak.

‘Are you okay, Cal?’

He drew in a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, on the exhalation.

Cal’s notebook was on the floor, between them. Lily hadn’t read any of his writing since their break-up. The gold nib of the fountain pen winked at her.

She leaned back into the worn cushions, letting some of the tension in her shoulders melt into them.

A moment of silence in between songs.

The record crackled into life again and they sat, side by side, listening to “Revolution” and the traffic from the main road.

Cal had a flair for the dramatic. A knack for being impulsive in the midst of self-destruction.

When they were younger, finding Callum contemplating an open bay window like it held the meaning of life would have left Lily feeling inspired, by his depth and capacity to feel.

She had been slightly in awe of him once, of his ability to blow up his life and make it look like a lifestyle choice.

Now, it all left her slightly sad.

‘David phoned yesterday,’ he said. ‘They’re taking my disability living allowance away again.’

She didn’t say anything.

‘You knew?’ he asked, still looking dead ahead.

‘I spoke to him on Monday.’ Lily sighed. ‘We can appeal it. I’ve got all the paperwork. There’s that bloke at the helpline that we used last year.’

‘David will write me a statement, won’t he?’ Callum asked.

‘He’s already sent it over.’

Cal nodded. ‘They think I’m fit to go and look for work, apparently. Proper work, they mean.’

Lily reached across the gap between their chairs and took his hand. The skin of his palms was rough, and her hand felt tiny in his. The tips of her fingers barely reached his knuckles when they were palm to palm.

‘We’ll appeal it, Cal,’ she said again. ‘It’ll be fine.’

‘Lil?’ He squeezed her hand and then let it drop. ‘Shall we get really fucking drunk?’