Page 94 of No Safe Place

Sunday | Evening

Callum

He put both hands up. She must have been standing behind the door.

The girl was about a foot shorter than him, vivid dyed-purple hair. Thick make-up circled her dark eyes, and her skin was pale, like she hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. She was standing in the kitchen doorframe, blocking off his access to the rest of the house.

‘What do you want?’ he asked, quietly.

He didn’t want Lily to hear, to come in and startle the girl. Callum took half a step back, so he was leaning against the back door.

Their kitchen was a narrow galley layout, with a row of ancient cabinets on each side. The knife block wasn’t in its usual spot by the sink.

To Callum’s left was the tiny bathroom, always freezing cold in winter. To his right was his nan’s big ancient fridge.

The girl was standing by the oven, at the far end nearest the door to the dining room. They were at a stand-off, at either end.

Even if Callum rushed forward and tried to get the knife, she’d have the advantage. There was no room to get round her or perform some elaborate tackle – the kind he’d seen on telly but never even attempted in a playfight.

He was weirdly calm. A life spent killing yourself with stress over the completely illogical must mean you’ve run out of adrenaline by the time something truly fucked happens.

She tossed her hair over one shoulder, speaking in a half-whisper. ‘What’s wrong, Callum? You don’t recognise me?’

Callum frowned. He didn’t know her – where would he know her from? He hadn’t left the house or used the internet for two years.

His phone was in his jeans, on the living room floor. Callum pulled the edge of his T-shirt down. The girl registered the action and smirked.

Someone was pointing a knife at him, and he was in a T-shirt and his fucking boxers.

He didn’t have many options. He’d just bolted the door to the garden. The lock was stiff, and he’d never undo it fast enough. The chipboard door to the loo wouldn’t keep her out, and while he was cowering behind it, what would she do to Lily?

All his instincts, his gut – everything was screaming the same thing:

Protect Lily.

When Darlings, Obsessed was first published, he got intense fan mail and messages on social media, girls sending photos of themselves. Was it better to lie? Pretend he knew who she was?

‘Let’s call your girlfriend in, shall we?’ the girl hissed. ‘Let’s see if Lily knows who I am.’

The calm feeling, the illusion – fell away at once.

‘Shout for her,’ the girl said, holding the knife higher. The sun caught the tip of it and it glinted gold for a second. A cinematic detail that only added to the unreality of the situation.

‘You can do what you want to me,’ he said, voice urgent. ‘But don’t touch Lily. She’s done nothing wrong.’

The smirk disappeared, and the girl’s expression hardened. She took two steps towards him in the small space.

He could make a grab for the knife, from this close. Even if she ended up fucking stabbing him, he could shout at Lily to get out, to get away.

Before he could stop it, his brain filled with an image of Sam – bleeding to death, choking, begging him with her eyes to save her, to not let her die. The feel of her blood slipping over his fingers, the smell of it—

‘Call her,’ the girl hissed again.

Callum didn’t want to die like that.

‘Lil?’ he shouted, and his voice was strangled, caught in his throat. ‘Lil – come here.’

Lily shouted back, but he couldn’t make out the words.

He was a coward.

But there were two of them – and only one of this crazy bitch. Maybe together they would be able to overpower her.

His last, desperate thought was to grab the toaster as a shield, but even that was too far to reach.

Lily was talking as she came to find him. The girl pointed with the knife, and Callum backed away, hands up again. She stood behind the door, so Lily would walk past her and into the room.

Then Lil was there, in front of him, frowning.

‘Well?’ Lily said, hands on her hips. ‘What?’

Callum reached forward and grabbed her by the forearm, yanking her towards him, away from the blade. Lily’s protest died in her throat as she saw the girl.

Callum’s grip on Lily’s arm tightened, hard enough now to leave bruises, but if he let go of her, if their skin broke contact, then something might happen, and he’d be responsible.

He pushed Lily behind him, putting his body between her and the knife.

‘How fucking sweet,’ she said, her voice a drawl. ‘So protective.’

‘What is your fucking problem?’ Callum snapped.

‘You,’ she said evenly. ‘Both of you. You are my problem.’

Callum didn’t speak. He could feel Lily trembling.

It’s okay , he tried to say to Lil, with his mind. I won’t let anything happen to you.

He would keep her talking, keep the situation calm. The neighbours would hear, or he’d be able to hold her off long enough for Lily to escape.

‘You’re both hypocrites,’ the girl spat, and the knife sliced through the air as she spoke. ‘Hypocrites and liars.’

He could see the pain on her face, and the fear – and it was then that he recognised her. So different to the Paige he’d known, the child in the unit, the girl with the wicked laugh. But at the same time, they were so similar, Callum didn’t know how he hadn’t seen it straight away.

‘I recognise you,’ he said, in a low voice. Lily took his hand. ‘I know who you are.’