by C F White
“But our things are in there!” a woman barked over the crowd, waggling an angry finger toward the officer. “Our clothes, our money, our possessions! Where are we meant to go?”
“I understand and we will keep disruption to an absolute minimum.” The man stepped back and hit the desk behind him.
Callum stifled the need to snort. Disruption to a minimum? It was chaos.
“We have to deem the building structurally sound before anyone can go inside.” The man held out his palms, calming the outcry from those who demanded they be let into their homes. “We have to ensure the safety of all our residences as well as determine the cause of the fire. Our forensic team will scan each and every room.”
That jolted Callum from his slump. He swallowed. Hard. Fuck. Leaning forward, he scraped back his hair that had fallen from its knot, and hung his head. His fingers trembled and he couldn’t settle his racing pulse, or the real threat that his insides were gonna burst free to be his outsides at any moment. If he couldn’t get back in his flat, and he didn’t have the egg on him, and the feds were in the Marlyte then…fuck, fuck fuck. He should leave. Like, now.
“We will be re-homing you all as soon as we can find you suitable accommodation.” The man’s voice cracked the more the crowd pushed forward.
Callum knew what that meant. It would be the families with young children re-homed first, followed by the elderly, then the most vulnerable after that. Callum—male, single, twenty-four and with no additional needs—would be too far down on their list to even bother with. If only he had mates to help him, keep him hidden, give him a place to sweat all this out.
He didn’t, so there wasn’t much point dwelling on his life choices now.
“Please, remain here,” the council bloke rattled on despite the continued heckles and indicated the community hall surroundings. “We will get started on re-homing you as soon as we possibly can.”
A portly woman in a bright polo top with the Rescue logo stitched on her ample bosom slapped down a mattress next to Callum’s seat. That was obviously his bed for the foreseeable—on the floor, pushed up against the wall in a dingy, damp community hall. He had no idea what would be better. To stay where he was and at least rely on the food donations, or to fend for myself on the streets? At least he could resort to what he knew best out there, with a limited chance of being traced. Which was his biggest worry, if he was honest. He didn’t think his plea of ‘but I didn’t start the fire’ was going to go down well with his temporary employer when he had to claim that he’d left their meal ticket behind.
What a fucking mess.
The council man exited the community hall with the crowd parting into smaller groups—those resigned to a night within these walls and finding a clear spot, and those angry enough to keep demanding a better explanation from the charity workers. A baby’s wail from the corner brought Callum to the realisation that there were bigger problems he could have than having to figure out whether he should stay, or go.
“Mr. Wright?”
Snapping to, Callum peered up. Mattress lady smiled down at him. He’d forgotten her name. He was shit at that sort of thing on a normal day. But he could be let off, considering he’d been a bit preoccupied when he’d entered. It was an educated guess that she was part of the rescue mission run by the homeless charity—not that Callum was particularly educated.
Scrubbing a hand over his face made the grime and grit entrenched in his skin scratch more than his calloused fingertips would have. Shit. I’m fucking homeless now and all. That had dawned on him a few hours too late. The baby had already figured that one out.
“It is Mr. Wright, right?”
Callum would have normally chuckled at that. It never got old, but he could hardly muster the enthusiasm to say the third ‘right’ in order to break the ice and form a bond. He’d become accustomed to being standoffish anyway.
“Yeah. Call me Callum, though.” He hated formalities. It reminded him too much of the courtroom. Maybe she’d say her name again so he didn’t have to resort to all that ‘love’ and ‘darlin’’ shit. She didn’t look the sort to take too kindly to being patronised—least of all by him.
“Callum, we have a visitor for you, but we wanted to check with you first.”
Callum’s eyes widened and his throat closed up, finding it difficult to swallow. Shit. He couldn’t have been found already? Those from the charity were running the community centre access, forming a desk at the door to prevent any strays and wanderers coming in, and he doubted that the two elderly women at the front would be any decent barrier for anyone wanting to get to him. Is there a back exit? Window in the toilets? He prevented himself from asking those questions out loud.
After a few shuffles from the groups of people still crammed up at the front, the man in question came into view. He caught Callum’s eye, holding his gaze. Then, in the way that Callum had all but forgotten, held up a hand and waved. Awkwardly.
Callum’s heart gave a sudden jolt, as if reminding him it was there. Every moment of every day that organ kept him alive without him even noticing. He’d never had a use for it before, other than to pump the essentials around his stone-cold body. Except now, his skin flushed. Callum didn’t need a mirror to know that was true. He could feel it burning.
“Fuckin’ ’ell.” And he couldn’t keep that under his breath either.
“Sorry.” Charity lady placed a hand on his shoulder. “Could you just mind the language? We do have children here.”
Callum tore his gaze from the man up front to acknowledge the woman with the three kids a few mattresses down—one of her offspring had boa-constricted him a few hours earlier—and he could see her torment through to her frail, quivering bones.
Yeah, there were definitely bigger problems he could have.
He tried an apologetic smile, but was unsure if he even had one. So he turned his attention back to the charity bird. “Yeah. Course. Soz.”
“So, about your visitor.” The woman nodded up ahead, reminding Callum that he hadn’t just seen a ghost. “He says he’s an old friend of yours.”
Callum gazed over to the front desk again, and he might as well have been transported through a time tunnel. The swirling in his mushed stomach certainly made him feel as if he was being ripped through a black hole. Well, today’s been a headfuck all round.
“Would you like me to bring him over?”
Callum stood—a miracle his legs had gotten him that far. His knees knocked together and he couldn’t tell if the ridiculous trembling was due to the fear, the anticipation or something else entirely. Something that he’d ignored for so fucking long. Swallowing made his ears ring and temple pound. This is so fucking stupid! You’re Callum, and he’s just—
“Are you okay?” Charity woman slipped a hand on his shoulder. “You look a little peaky. You could be in shock. You’ve been through a terrible ordeal. Shall I get some help?”
Callum stared at her. Was he in shock? Probably. But not for the reasons that she might think. Shaking his head, he wiped his dust-ridden hands down his just as caked in dirt jeans. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t sure that was true, but what else could he say? That he’d just been slapped in the face by the past? It sounded so lame in comparison to what everyone here had been through a few hours previously.
With a deep breath, he urged his feet to walk forward. He might as well go face this. It wasn’t as if he had anything better to do. On approach, he clenched his fists to the point his nails would leave crescent moon marks indented on his skin.
“Kez?” That came across as rather hostile, but what could the bloke expect? A hug? A kiss? A ‘thank fuck you’re here’?
Callum would offer any of those if he wasn’t doused in five years’ worth of doubt.
“Cal.” Kez stood rigid, and tall. So very tall. Not in stature as such, more in presence. Overbearing presence. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t stood in front of Callum for so long. Kez’d been a mere fleck in the distance. One that had wal
ked away from him.
Unable to look him in the eye, Callum darted his gaze to something else. Anything else. Finding the sights all too much to take right then, he dragged his focus back to the concern flashing across Kez’s flawless features. Callum breathed in, holding the air into his lungs to calm his thrashing heartbeat.
“You…you look, well, shit.” Kez at least winced.
“Yeah?” Callum knew he did. Especially in comparison to the epic change of appearance in front of him. He couldn’t blame it all on his current situation. But he would. “Ain’t the only one.”
Kez narrowed his eyes, and Callum waved a hand indicating the surroundings.
“Right, of course.” Kez shook his head, biting down on his bottom lip.
Callum rammed his hands in his pockets. Well, this is as awkward as fuck. If Kez being here now was to find out if Callum had finally paid his dues—karma come to bite him on the arse good and proper this time—then he could fuck off. Callum didn’t need it. He knew it had. And Callum was pretty sure that the world wasn’t over fucking about with him yet. Especially if this visitor was here to be a witness to the ultimate ‘what comes around.’
“You got somewhere to go?” Kez broke the awkward silence with a calming voice. “I mean, are they finding you somewhere?”
“Er…” Callum untucked one hand from his pocket and flapped it around at the centre. “Ain’t five star, but apparently there’s room service.”
Kez breathed out a laugh, his sharp cheekbones protruding to enhance his boyish features. Callum focused on him, tracing the man against the one he had in his pained memories. After a brief moment of stillness, Callum flared his nostrils through his heady exhalation. He couldn’t hold it back anymore. He had to ask.
“What you doin’ here, Kez?”
“Auntie. She told me.”
“Yeah?” Course she would have, and probably took delight in recounting that Callum had smashed down her door. Once a thug, always a thug. “She all right now?”
“Hospital. But she’ll be out soon. She owes you a big thank you. So do I, for that matter.”
“No worries. No big deal.” Why was he downplaying it? Because it sure as hell was a big deal. A real big fucking deal. He’d just rescued the person who hated him the most in the goddamn fucking world. And the next person down on his list of aggravated acquaintances now stood in front of him. Thanking him.
Funny how the world works like that.
“Are you okay?” Kez tilted his head.
And there was that innocence sparkling behind dark brown eyes that penetrated through into Callum’s soul. The soul he thought he’d left behind in that burning building. Or should have. Whatever.
“Why do you ask?” It was a valid question and Callum had no filter at the best of times.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
There were so many reasons. So. Many. But Callum wasn’t going to list them all here. Not in front of those who were in charge of the current roof over his head. He was already way down on their re-homing list. He’d be knocked off it completely. So he slammed his lips shut and shrugged.
“Look, Cal, if you want, you could…I mean, you don’t have to, but, well, if you haven’t got anywhere else, then…”
Kez’s babbling gave Callum a moment to check the bloke over for any signs that this was a set-up. A really elaborate set-up. Whose side was Kez on? Who would know to send him? Who would know that Callum trusted this man beyond any reasonable doubt, regardless of their five years of separation, and would be willingly led wherever Kez would want to take him? If I do, will I be cuffed on the curb or beaten to a pulp?
Yeah, right. If anything, Kez roamed in different circles from the ones Callum did. He had for a long time. Ever since…
Nope, not going there.
Callum sighed, attempting to clear his mind and focus on what Kez was saying. He was still trying to find the right words and shuffled on his feet, scrubbing fingertips through his cropped hair. Callum smiled. Kez had always been a bit of a bumbling fool, uncomfortable in his skin, perhaps—had made him an easy target back in the day. But five years was a long time, and there was a different Kez in front of Callum right then. Callum wasn’t sure the reverse could be true. Especially considering the current situation.
Kez was taller, stockier, fitter. Kez had been a scrawny kid. So had Callum, really, but that had been down to a lack of any decent nutrition and parental neglect. Things for Kez had been different. Now Kez seemed to fill out the light blue shirt, deeper blue tie and black suit trousers he wore. Smart bastard. Kez had always been smart. Dress for the job you want, not the one you got. That had been Kez’s motto growing up, regardless of how that had fixed the target on his back. The statement seemed a tad ridiculous to Callum. He couldn’t very well turn up on the building site decked out in a football kit.
He couldn’t kick a ball for shit, either.
“Cal?” Kez’s clipped tone snapped Callum from his reverie.
What had Kez been saying? Callum tried to focus on the present and not tumble down ye olde Memory Lane. Not only because the memories weren’t all good ones—that had been his fault, of course, but he’d repented for that. Apparently. But he also couldn’t stomach seeing the transition of the man in front him. That was when something else caught his attention and threw him off guard.
“You got two arms.” Not very tactful, but when had Callum ever been?
Kez adjusted the cuff of his shirt to cover the protruding hand that had not been there the last time Callum had seen the bloke. Many changes. Many, many changes.
“Prosthetic. Got it a couple of years ago. Still getting used to it.”
Callum nodded. “Right. Looks real.”
“Like it to be darker, but beggers can’t be choosers.”
“So, is it, like bionic? Like Bucky? Squeeze a man dead in one grip?” He hoped not, as he would be first on Kez’s list especially after such a flippant jibe that he wasn’t sure he could get away with saying anymore. Shouldn’t jokes only be shared amongst friends? What was he to Kez now then? Barely even strangers anymore.
“Not quite.” Kez gave a shifty look at the women at the desk. Guess jokes are off-limits then. “You’ve grown your hair.”
Callum slipped back the loose strands and tucked them back into the band. “Cheaper, innit? Grow it out and shave underneath. And you’ve cut off your braids.”
Scraping his hand over his now closely cropped black waves, Kez nodded. “Yeah. Sorta did that for work.”
“Right.” Callum sniffed, squaring his shoulders in an attempt to cover how fucking confused he was at Kez being here at all. “Come here to swap fashion tips, did ya?”
“Not quite.” Kez sighed, as if he was psyching himself up to say something else. Perhaps fighting with his inner self. “So, do you want get outta here?”
“And go where?” As much as he could use a pint, his dishevelled appearance might turn a few heads.
“My place. I got a one-bed flat in Stratford. By Westfield. Sofa’s all yours if you want it.”
“Seriously?” Callum’s elevated tone was caught by the ladies at the front desk.
Kez smiled at them, all sweetness and light, just the right amount of eye contact and apologetic lip curl. The bastard could still do it. Tapping Callum’s arm, he ushered him away from the desk and prying ears.
“Course. Cal, look, I know we had our differences, and it’s been a long time—”
“Five years, Kez.” Five, long, soul-destroying years.
“Yeah. Like I said, long time. But this…this puts all that into perspective. I mean, I owe you. For Eve. I’m pretty sure she would have stayed in that flat. Stickler for the rules, isn’t she?”
Didn’t Callum know it?
“Kinda meant you having a flat in Stratford,” Callum replied, cutting off any chance of an emotional reunion. Today wasn’t the day. He couldn’t relive it. He never wanted to. He’d buried the past so deep that he’d made himself believe that Kez had
been his imaginary childhood friend. But now the fella was here. In front of him. Offering him a way out of this hell hole. Callum squared his shoulders. “How d’you wrangle that outta the council?”
“Private let. Like I said, I’ve got a job.”
“So that suit ain’t just for my benefit then?”
There was that twinkle within the deep brown eyes. And that smile. Damn. Callum stepped back, sniffed and glanced around. More people were being led in, sobbing and comforted by that soft, welcoming bosom belonging to Charity woman. Children woke up and asked when they were going home. Two uniformed police officers were talking to the mum with the three kids hanging on to her like fragile limpets and the tears fell from her eyes into the knotted locks of her daughter’s hair.
Shit. It’s here. The street. Or risk it with Kez…
“Fuck it. Let’s go.” Without thinking of all the reasons why he really shouldn’t, Callum leapt around the desk.
“Should you tell them where you’re going?” Kez lifted his prosthetic to point at the ladies at the front desk. “Just in case they need to get in touch with you.”
“Nah. They’re all busy with the kids and elderly right now. I’ll call the council tomorrow, give them your address.”
Like fuck I will.
“Right. Cool.”
Is it?
Guess I’ll find out.
Chapter Four
Journey into the Known
The silence cut into Kez like a scalpel. Callum wasn’t speaking. Neither was he. The whole journey from Branton Town Hall to Stratford felt as awkward as that time he’d caught his ex with his hands in Eve’s savings jar when she’d invited them round after Sunday church. Drake had claimed ingnorance, of course. Said he’d knocked it over and was tucking the escaped notes back in. Kez had wanted to believe him. But that bus ride home had been filled with a stagnant air that had spoken volumes. Slightly different scenario now, but the apprehension ached the same.
He didn’t know whether to small talk to fill the journey with mundane chit-chat. Nothing sprang to mind to ask. All questions would feel loaded. And the various modes of public transport were so crowded that any conversation would be stifled anyway. Even just asking how Callum was could be lost in translation. It had been so long since they’d seen each other that Kez had forgotten how to talk to him. Which was absurd, considering. Callum had been the one that Kez had used to confide everything to. And vice versa. But all parted childhood friends end up like this eventually, don’t they?