Page 69 of No Safe Place

Saturday | Morning

Callum

Maxwell put a coffee down in front of Callum, then took a large gulp of his own, and sat down heavily.

‘How did you sleep?’

‘I should probably say I slept really well,’ Callum said, trying to suppress a yawn. ‘In case you don’t let me out. But to be honest, I had a shit night. I kept seeing – you know. What happened.’

‘That’s a totally normal trauma response,’ Maxwell said. ‘And the fact you’re able to talk to me about it – that’s good. That’s really good, Callum.’

He wanted to shrug off Maxwell’s praise, like it didn’t mean anything to him – but it did.

Callum looked past Maxwell, out the window. The tree outside had yellow leaves, scorched by the sun over the last few weeks.

‘I want us to come up with a plan, before you leave tomorrow,’ the doctor went on. ‘Steps we can take to process what you saw happen to Sam, and what happened to David. Early warning signs that you’re not coping, strategies that might help when the anxiety builds.’

‘Can you speak to Lily? About when I get out?’ Callum picked at the skin around his index finger.

‘Of course.’ Maxwell leaned back in his chair. ‘I have a question, actually. Relating to Lily.’

The flap of skin gave way and a bloom of crimson slid down his nail bed. Callum sucked the blood from his finger and nodded at Maxwell to continue.

‘You said yesterday that you ended it, with Lily. I’m interested to know why.’

Callum went back to examining the leaves, adding up how many were visible in the top-left pane of glass and focusing on the iron taste in his mouth.

‘I hadn’t been well for ages, and then about two years ago, I just stopped going out.

I don’t even know why, or where it came from.

I just knew I couldn’t do it anymore. At first, I thought it would be a few weeks, or a few months, but after a year—’ He had to stop for a second, catch his breath.

‘It was draining her. Working all day, looking after the kids in her class and then coming home to me—’

Every evening the door would slam, and she’d call out to him. Every day she’d try and mask the fear in her voice, the terror that she might find him crying or covered in blood, or in the middle of a full-blown psychotic break.

And some days he didn’t call back. Stayed silent, in his room, letting her panic for those few extra seconds, to remind her that he needed her.

‘It wasn’t fair.’

Maxwell laid his pen down. Waited for more.

Callum sighed. ‘Have you ever read any Edward Thomas?’

‘No,’ Maxwell said. ‘But he features quite heavily in Darlings, Obsessed , doesn’t he?’

Callum nodded. ‘There’s one story, about this guy who is going to kill himself. He says something horrible to his kid, and he feels so guilty that he takes his gun into the woods to, you know—’

‘Seems like an overreaction,’ Maxwell said, and Callum studied his face. It wasn’t said judgementally, or critically. If anything, Maxwell sounded intrigued.

‘There’s a line in the story, where the guy says that he “could not believe they would ever be more unhappy than they often were now.”’

Callum let the quote hang in the air, and he felt the same tug, same pressure on his chest, as he had the first time he’d read it.

‘Because of his depression, he’d made his family so unhappy. And he couldn’t imagine, couldn’t fathom what else it would take to make them more unhappy. Isn’t that the saddest fucking thing you ever heard?’

‘It’s—’ Maxwell trailed off. ‘Is that why you broke up with Lily? Because you felt like the man in the story?’

Callum downed the coffee. ‘I need a shower and a shave. What time is Lily getting here? Do I have time?’

Maxwell looked at his watch, a silver face on a battered leather strap. ‘If you’re quick.’

Callum eased himself up out of the chair and walked the four paces to the door. He turned back to Maxwell, who was already typing away on his laptop.

‘It’s called “The Attempt”, by the way.’

‘What?’ Maxwell said, looking up. ‘What is?’

‘The short story,’ Callum said. ‘It’s called “The Attempt”, and the guy doesn’t shoot himself, in the end. He survives.’