I shook my head. “Nah, you’re alright.”
“Don’t you go slacking off on me now. We’ll be needing more pieces for the exhibition.”
My heart notched up another gear. “What exhibition?”
She smiled so fucking bright. “Only the biggest fucking London exhibition this side of Christmas, baby. Gallery’s got a display, right up with the big boys, finest on the market. Current stuff too, a lot of urban, some modern. You’ll be there, Cal, you mark my words. Jack’s gonna shit a brick when he sees this stuff.”
“Don’t joke,” I said. “Ain’t fucking funny.”
Her red mouth narrowed into a vicious flash. “I never fucking joke about art, kid, and I’d never fucking joke with you.”
“Sorry.” I put my hands in my hair, pacing about the place. “Just dunno what to think.”
“It’s a lot to take in.”
“Aye. Lot on my mind.”
I’d been waiting for it for weeks, but it still landed hard when it arrived. “You did tell Sophie, didn’t you? About the Stoneys?” I didn’t answer, just stared at my feet so I wouldn’t see her face. “Pissing hell, kid. I told you I’d keep my mouth shut, but you have to fucking tell her. She can help, it’s no money to her, Cal, not with parents like hers.”
“I don’t want her money.”
“Yeah, well, we don’t want you fucking dead. She’ll flip her fucking lid when she finds out you didn’t tell her, and I’ll be next in the firing line.”
“I’ll sort it.”
“You’d better, baby, or I’ll fucking tell her for you.”
I guessed she weren’t joking about that, neither.
***
Sophie
I’d been in crappy meetings all morning, itching to get away and make sure the great art collection had gone down without incident. Cal had been brooding to shit over the past few days, nerves kicking in. He wouldn’t say that, of course, just shrugged it off as nothing.
My phone beeped as I stepped off the tube, and I fumbled in my bag for the handset, expecting a berating text from Bex. The reality was worse. So much fucking worse.
I have my sister stored in my phone under her full name. Alexandra Juliette Allison Harding. What the fuck did she want?
The text made it crystal clear.
Four missed Sundays and a complaint letter with your name on it. Tut, tut. Dad going ballistic. Be home at seven, I’m coming over.
I text back instantly.
Complaint letter?? Not convenient tonight. Busy, sorry.
We were having steak, Callum’s favourite. Steak and sex, and probably more sex on the side. My phone pinged again before I could even switch the thing off.
Non negotiable. Call it an official landlord visit. Rather me than Dad, trust me.
My blood froze in my face. Reality knocking so hard I pulled up where I stood, brain spinning. I pictured the apartment; the dog-clawed sofa, the shredded cushions, the lacerated door panels. The dog bowls, the fur everywhere, Callum’s measly belongings on the dresser. Fuck. Serious fucking fuck.
Make it eight, yeah?
I crossed my fucking fingers.
Seven thirty. I won’t be late.
That was the best I was going to pissing get.
***
Only one canvas remained in the garage. Callum’s work in progress was a six foot cityscape. Along the bottom of the image lay a dying man, and a crowd were huddled around him, taking selfies, smiling pretty for the camera.
“Feels like that,” he said. “Round East Veil, anyway.”
He was pensive, sitting on his stool, eyes downcast.
“It’s going to be great,” I smiled. “Better than great. Bex says the dealer really rates your work. He’s going to love this one.”
“Maybe.”
“There’s no maybe about it, Callum Jackson.” I squeezed his muscled shoulders from behind. “You’re a star.”
“Don’t feel much like one.” He reached up for my hands, pulling me forward until I was flat to his back. I folded my arms around his chest, breathing him in. “Just wanna go home.” Home. He called it home. “Need to talk and need to fuck. Need to be where you are.”
“Talk? What about?” The hair on the back of my neck prickled at his tone.
“Just some shit going down. We’ll talk about it later, yeah?”
I let out a sigh, but it didn’t ease the nerves in my gut any. Here goes nothing. “About later,” I said, “something’s come up.”
He spun around on his stool, guiding my hand to the heat of his crotch. “Something’s coming up, alright. Can’t wait to fuck you.”
“I’m serious,” I groaned. “I’m going to have to give this evening a miss. Sorry.”