“Cheers, dead guy. Nice one.”
Stupid little bitches needed the drink less than I did. Just as well they didn’t argue the point, neither. Weren’t in the mood for it.
The roof of the multi-storey was higher than I remembered. Leaning out on the railing showed me the whole of fucking East Veil.
“You were right, Jimmy,” I laughed. “They’ll never reach to clean this one off.”
I untied my makeshift hamper, wrapping the rope round my waist. I tied it tight, threading the other end through the railings and looping it into a knot. I checked it once before I set myself over the edge, spray can in one hand and my heart in the other. It creaked like a bitch before it held. I scuffed my heels against the concrete, sending chips flying to the floor below.
This would be my legacy.
The piece of art worth fucking dying for.
I leaned back, arms stretched wide, head dangling into nowhere while I thought of Sophie, and Jimmy, and Vicki, poor Casey too.
They were all gone from me now.
I let the darkness take over.
***
Sophie
No amount of make-up would fix my face. I’d cried myself to hysteria and back again, leaving a pair of panda eyes and blotchy, swollen cheeks in its wake. I hadn’t moved all weekend, didn’t want to. Instead I’d been sitting in the darkness breaking my fucking heart over Callum Jackson.
It hurt so fucking bad.
I dragged myself into the office, sloping to my station without eye contact. Leave me the fuck alone, world. Just leave me the fuck alone.
No such luck.
Christine wasn’t alone when she approached my desk. She had Millie from HR on one side and one of the East Veil community support officers on the other.
“We need to speak with you,” Millie said. “About Callum Jackson.”
“What about Callum Jackson?!” My heart was racing so fast.
“There’s been an incident, in East Veil.”
My mouth was like paper. “An incident?”
“The multi-storey,” Christine said. “You’re aware of it, yes?”
I nodded.
“He was up there, on Friday evening. We found his paints below.”
“Found his paints?! What about him?!” The tears were welling up, I could feel them coming. I breathed slowly in through my nose and out through my mouth.“Are you telling me what I think you’re telling me? Is Callum ...?!”
Three faces stared at me, eyes wide at my reaction.
“No,” Christine said. “Of course he’s not.”
She slammed down a glossy photo and my eyes shot as wide as theirs.
“Callum Jackson isn’t dead,” Christine seethed. “But you’re fucking suspended.”
***
Chapter Fifteen
Sophie
I couldn’t answer Rebecca’s calls, not until I’d signed out of the office. I was still reeling at the image.
There was no point denying it was me. It was too pissing obvious. He’d captured me perfectly, from the point at the end of my nose to the awkward bit of hair that would never stay flat on my head. I guessed it was his heart I’d been eating in the picture, and he’d captured that perfectly, too.
Suspended on full pay, at least they’d granted me that.
It wouldn’t take them long to find the missing articles from the files, or locate Callum’s garage.
My career was screwed.
“Don’t ask how I am, Bex,” I wheezed. “Just don’t fucking ask.”
“Shit, baby, that good, hey?”
“Everything’s fucked,” I cried, no longer giving a shit who could hear me. “I fucked things up with Callum, I fucked things up with work, I fucked things up with my parents.”
“Back up,” she hissed. “Just back the fuck up a second. You fucked things up with Callum, when?!”
“Friday,” I said. “Would have let you known, but I was kinda tied up sobbing my heart out.”
“Where is he now?” she said. “You did give him the money, didn’t you? For the Stoney brothers? Please fucking tell me he’s got the money!”
I froze.
“What fucking money?”
***
Callum
I watched Vicki’s place from the wall across the way, just in case the Stoneys showed up early. She was going to her mam’s for the afternoon.
I was fucking done for.
I’d been heading over with Case when I noticed them at the garages, them people from Sophie’s work. They padlocked it up tight, writing on their stupid pads.
Another dream over.
My phone had been flashing all morning, but I didn’t want to answer. Not until it was time.
It was time now.
“Yeah,” I said. “Where’s the meet?”
But it weren’t Trent Stoney that answered me.