Page 86 of No Safe Place

Sunday | Afternoon

Callum

They staggered into an alleyway between two houses. Lily was against the wall, and despite the urgency between them, he was careful not to let her head hit the bricks.

It wasn’t lust; it was something else.

Something more desperate and more needy. She needed him and he needed her, and as his hand formed a fist in the hair at the back of her neck Lily pressed closer. It was like they could undo the last few days – kiss away the last year of being apart.

Lily’s knee pushed between his legs.

He knew she was going to bite his lip a second before she did it, and as the pain registered, as she drew blood, he pulled away, his breath ragged.

She was pale, her eyes glassy.

He let go of her hair. ‘You don’t look great, Lil. Are you sure we should be—’

She cut him off with another kiss. She was pressing against him again and the sticky heat of the afternoon welled in his chest, and he was somewhere else.

A bead of sweat slipped down his back, and it made him shiver.

Lily pulled away this time and Callum took a step back, slightly dazed. He looked up and down the alleyway. On either side were the graffiti-covered back fences of semi-detached houses.

Callum clenched his jaw and focused on the pain in his bottom lip. ‘Let’s go home.’

Lily took his hand, and they stumbled up the street. As soon as they were out of the alley Callum saw his red parka, still on the wall.

He fumbled with the lock, struggling to get the key in the door, Lily’s hands were under his T-shirt, her nails raking his chest. She was kissing his neck, down his spine.

‘Stop.’ He laughed, and Lily took a step back, his skin tingling where her hands had been.

The key found its home and he turned it. He fell forward as the door opened.

It smelled of her.

The spell broke. The hallway smelled like Lily, like soap and lavender.

Callum had never noticed it, because he lived in it.

But it was like walking into her room at the Maudsley.

Just like he was fifteen again, knocking for her on their way to dinner.

Popping in to borrow a book or a biro or to bitch about the nurses.

It felt wrong. He took a step backwards.

If he went back in, would he ever come back out?

‘Callum?’ Lily asked, uncertain.

He was frozen on the doorstep.

What were they doing?

Sam was dead. David was dead.

Lily put a hand between his shoulder blades. ‘Cal?’

Doorways. Always a point of OCD, always something to count.

How many times had he been through this door?

Which doors were safe, and which needed to be counted?

Would something awful happen if he went through the same door nine times in one day?

Nine times in one month?

Did you count going in and out as one time or two times?

Why were some doors fine and others significant?

Why was it sometimes okay to lose count and sometimes not?

His ears were buzzing, and his hands were numb.

He turned and looked at Lily. At her heart-shaped face, flushed from the walk.

Callum took a step backwards, through the doorway and into the house. He pulled Lily in after him.