by C F White
Kez jolted at the curse word too. He’d never heard Rawlings swear before. It somehow made him more human. Things like that had been seeping out the last few months—mannerisms and quirks that filtered out from the once-tense consultant and displaying a real person beneath the professional guise. It was as if someone had popped his soul and it was slowly oozing out. Kez wasn’t sure if that was a good thing or not.
“I can’t bear all these meetings.” The doctor gathered up more of his stuff and headed toward the door. “Bleep me. I can’t promise anything. But one look should tell me if he needs a thorough check-up.”
“Thank you, Doctor.”
Rawlings smiled. With his eyes. Shocker. “First appointment?”
“Jessie Cummings. Lisa booked them down to Echo.”
“Ah. She’ll require a play nurse. Anyone available?”
“I’ll go check.”
“Thank you. Bubbles.”
“Sorry? Bubbles?”
“Jessie’s a sucker for bubbles.”
Rawlings clomped out of the room, leaving Kez staring after him. Amazing the information that man retained. And he had compassion too. Who knew?
Kez left the donuts on the desk. If Rawlings didn’t get home to eat, then at least there was something here that was edible. Right, back to desk work and to convince Callum to get here for lunch. Which, to be honest, was probably going to be as difficult a task as getting five-year-old Jessie Cummings to stay still for her echocardiogram.
Perhaps Rawlings could sedate Callum, too?
Chapter Seven
Back to Work
After Kez had left, Callum remained behind, riddled with unease. It was all sorts of bizarre being surrounded by Kez’s things. Some of them he remembered from back when Kez had lived five doors down from him on the Marlyte Estate, but most were new additions. Shiny new additions. Things that neither he, nor Kez, had had growing up in poor town. African-style ornaments that Callum hadn’t noticed last night and emphasised Kez’s origins were dotted around the flat. Some, Callum hadn’t seen before. Some he recognised from having decorated Eve’s place at the Marlyte and had obviously been given as a gift to make Kez feel at home in his new place. The flat-screen TV mounted to the wall must have cost a fair few ton, and the soft furnishings screamed of a home well-kept. Kez had clearly been doing well for himself. He had a home, not just an accommodation unit.
Leafing through the magazines in the basket beside the sofa, Callum took in what Kez now consumed. Kez had always been a reader, mostly of books that their mates wouldn’t even have heard of let alone borrowed from the library or picked up in charity shops the way Kez had. Kez had tried convincing Callum to read a few, but words had never been Callum’s strong point. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to read, or that he couldn’t—it was just the letters sometimes jumbled up and he got confused where the line ended and the next one began. No one had ever picked up on it. Not his mum, nor his teachers. He was labelled lazy, or trouble. And if he was honest, he’d become both over time.
It was Kez who had known different.
Sighing, Callum pushed back the matted pages of NHS corporate magazine amongst the glossy covers of Enable—the magazine supporting disabled people—and fell back against the sofa, his gaze falling to a mounted certificate of thanks for Kwesi Zakari’s donation to Afrikids hung on the wall. So the bloke still gets himself involved in charity work, huh? And one that appeared to be close to Kez’s heart. Callum smiled, but the mere act made his skull hurt. He felt all sorts of shit. Fuzzy head, itchy eyes, scratchy throat. He didn’t need a doctor to tell him he’d inhaled a bit of smoke. He knew that. He’d been there.
He shuddered.
Stomach growling, he thought he’d better try to eat something and settle the mush curdling at the pit of his gut. So he hefted up and meandered through to the kitchen. It was unexpectedly clean and tidy. Not like Kez’s room had been back at the Marlyte that he’d moaned about having to clean every Sunday. Maybe Eve came round to offer her services once in a while? He always wondered where she went after her Sunday church visits. Not that he kept an eye on her. Bit hard not to notice when she lived five doors down, even if they hadn’t exactly crossed paths, or stairwells, or landings, for quite some time. Callum had always made sure that wouldn’t happen. He couldn’t bear to see her disappointed face. Not after that time when he’d come back to live with his mum and Eve had been there, probably campaigning for him to return to the probation-led housing unit.
He settled on bread and butter. Bland enough to not throw up and sustaining enough to give him the much-needed energy to flee. ’Cause that was what he had to do. Leave. He could not stay here, regardless of what Kez had done for him last night. Who knew doing one good thing in his entire life would lead to so much head-fuckery? The last thing he needed was to bring Kez back into his fucked-up life, especially now he was all graduated, holding down a decent job that provided more than the essentials for him, and had a boyfriend to share his success with. Kez was the exception to the Marlyte Estate rule—he’d got out, he was clean as a whistle and had climbed his way up to his own gaff, regardless that it was situated in Dodge-ville and above a betting shop. It was more than Callum had ever had. Callum had had more possessions when he’d been on the inside.
After shoving down the last bite, he wiped his hands on his jeans and made the decision to run. As he brought his hands to his face, he noted the black dirt under the fingernails and checked out his clothes. He sniffed himself. All right, shower first, nab some gear from Kez’s wardrobe—please have something that don’t scream office worker—then make it somewhere else.
With what, Cal? He had no cash. No possessions. No phone, and no Oyster Card. Kez had bought him a single to Stratford last night, which now felt like a one-way ticket to the past. Fuck! Right, calm. He needed calm. And money. Yeah, that’s what got me into this fucking mess in the first place. Well, not exactly this. He glanced around at Kez’s kitchen and read the inscription on the cork plaque hanging by a golden hook: Strength of character means the ability to overcome resentment, to hide hurt feelings and to forgive.
Callum hung his head. He wasn’t conceited enough to think that was up there because of him, but it shanked him right where it hurt—his smoke-induced lungs. He erupted into a coughing fit, eyes streaming with mucus seeping out from everywhere. He scrabbled around the kitchen for something to wipe himself up with and found a tea towel.
If nothing else had convinced him he had to leave right now, that quote had. He’d never wanted to hurt Kez. Ever. It had never been his intention. But he’d also never had enough foresight to know who he was dragging down into the shit pit with him. Like when he’d agreed to come back here last night. He’d let Kez walk straight into his barrel of crap because the alternative was what? Going it alone?
Man up!
He pushed away from the counter and ran up the stairs, two at a time, heading straight for the bathroom, where he stripped off his clothes. There was an already overflowing washing basket popped up behind the door. Callum was not that much of a bastard. He screwed his ruined jumper, jeans and boxers into a heap and dropped them onto the floor—he’d throw them in the nearest bin on the way out—scraped out his hair from its topknot and stepped into the bath.
The shower wasn’t particularly powerful, more just pissed-out lukewarm water, but it was doable. As Callum scratched the curtain closed, he got a sudden whiff of Kez—his shampoo, his shower gel, his spray-on deodorant. They were all the same brands Kez had used in his teens. But mostly the lingering aroma was all Kez—his skin and his familiar earthy, grounding scent.
Shit. Callum closed his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge how stiff his dick was. He slapped his hand to the tiles, rocking the pole that held all the toiletries, and they all fell into the porcelain bath with a clang. The industrial-sized shampoo landed on Callum’s bare foot, and he sucked in a wince through gritted teeth.
It was a morning thing. Everyone gets a stiffy in the
morning, right? Treat it like any other boner. Callum wrapped his fingers around the flesh and pumped with the mechanics of experience—hard. Fast. Needing the release. He closed his eyes, unwilling to acknowledge whatever it was that was helping him get the necessity done, as he’d had to during his incarceration. He’d never got any privacy to drag these things out in there. Everyone did it, and everyone who was half-decent, for a crimmie, that was, turned a blind eye when their cell-mate bashed one out. Callum had learned to do it in record time and marvelled that he didn’t create fires through the speed alone. Bad choice, Wrighty. Now I’m thinking about the fucking fire!
He peeked down, his sopping wet hair sticking to his cheeks, and slowed the movements of his hand. He focused on his prick, wrapped and hidden in the pink flesh, then when he glided his hand down, the head revealed a knowing wink.
“Traitor.” Whether he was talking to himself, or his dick, he didn’t know, but supposed they were one and the same.
He steadied the slide of his hand, allowing himself to at least feel something before it would all end in a splattering flash of guilt. He almost thought about fondling his balls, really going for it, giving himself a proper go—fuck knew how long it had been—but he sped up, grunting, and his arm ached. With a chesty groan, he released his orgasm into his hand and the waves of pleasure broke the droplets of now-cold water slapping over his back.
The moment passed. Callum shivered. Shaking out his hair, he cleaned his hand of the incriminating contents, discarding them down the plug hole where he should have disposed of everything else he was guilty of. He made light work of scrubbing his hair and body after that, wanting to hurry the fuck up and get out. Leave all this behind like some whirlwind dance into what I could have had, if I hadn’t been a selfish bastard.
Stepping out of the shower, he had to use the only towel available and wiped himself down. He scurried over to the bedroom opposite, trying to focus his attention on the wardrobe and not on Kez’s bedroom belongings. Was it too much to borrow underwear? Could he get away with going commando? Might be better all-round if he did. He found a passable pair of jeans that looked way too small to be Kez’s and, shaking off the creepy feeling that they were Kez’s boyfriend’s, he shoved them on along with a faded denim shirt. Long sleeves, but it’d have to do. As he slipped it on and buttoned it up, he realised it too was slim-fitting on him. Neither of these items could belong to Kez, not now the man was all stocky and broad. Bollocks to it, if they did belong to Mr. P. H. Dick then he’d have to come find Callum to get them back.
Socks, done. Hair shoved up into the elastic band with nothing but a wing and a prayer, much like Callum’s life at the moment, he lurched back downstairs. He didn’t have a plan, just to get as far away from Kez as he could. His heart sank at the thought of not being able to see him again. He’d spent five years coming to terms with that. Now he’d been teased by the thought that their friendship could resume from its pause. This was for the best though. For Kez. With a deep breath, Callum yanked open the front door.
A svelte blond stared back at him, his eyes startled through the lenses of square-rimmed dark glasses. He had a finger raised to the bell on the railings of the metal gate that wrapped around the concrete yard. Callum flinched, gripping onto the door and ready to slam it shut. Could he escape through the living room window to shop level? The bloke didn’t look like one of the men who did the heavy work, but maybe that was the point. Catch me off my guard?
“Sorry, I didn’t realise Kez had a flatmate. I’m Rafferty.” The man waved. “Is he in?”
Fuck a duck.
* * * *
Kez’s phone buzzed on his desk and he shot an apologetic look over the barrier at Lisa. She nodded and waved him off. So he stood, meandering through the waiting area to the corridor outside, and answered the incoming with a thumping heart. “Hey.”
“Hi. So, um, I’m outside your flat…” Rafferty’s voice sounded a mixture between wincing admission and confused irritation. “And there’s a guy here?”
Shit. “Raff—”
“I thought you said you lived alone?”
“I do.” Kez sighed. “Callum’s an old mate, from school. He lived in the same block as my aunt. He needed somewhere to go after the fire. I said he could stay with me for a bit. Until the council rehouse him.” That was all true. Why does it feel and sound like a lie?
“Right. I see. Sorry, I just came over because you sounded upset and I didn’t think you would have gone into work. I brought you pastries…”
“That’s sweet. Thank you. But I had to come in. Rawlings would have gone spare. He’s got back to back today.”
“No problem. I think your friend wants to leave anyway. He’s standing, quite menacingly, by the door.”
“Is he?”
“Yeah, I think he was off out somewhere and I might have startled him. If looks could kill.” Rafferty snorted and Kez suspected that flippant chuckle hid a pang of nerves. Kez knew Callum when he was in street-mode and it could be intimidating when witnessed by the wrong person.
Or the right one.
“Yeah. He’s got that vibe about him. Sorry.” Kez hung his head. Was Callum making a bolt for it? Why would he do that?
“Well, I’ll just bring these pastries on into work. I’m sure my team will be salivating.” Rafferty’s chipper tone snapped Kez from his thoughts.
“You’re headed this way?”
“No point using my time off in lieu for nothing.”
“Couldn’t ask a pretty huge favour of you, could I?”
“Name it.”
Kez winced. “Bring Callum with you?”
“Oh.” There was a pause and a shuffle. “Is he likely to not appreciate my chivalrous company?”
“Yes.” Kez could bet on that, so he had to offer something. Anything to get Callum here. He needed to be checked over. It was simply a matter of ensuring his health. “But if you get him here, I’ll make it worth your while.”
“Right, well, in that case, I’ll put my best manly gruff tone on.”
Kez chuckled.
“Just a quick question. Does he know you’re gay?” Rafferty’s breath whispering down the phone indicated Callum might still be in earshot, probably glaring at him from the open doorway.
Kez sucked in a breath. Callum more than knew. He’d been the one that Kez had discovered it for. He guessed there was a time and place for that conversation, and now wasn’t it. It was too long, for a start. “Yes.” Simple. To the point.
“Good, I wouldn’t want to put my foot in it.”
“Thank you, Raff. I really appreciate this.”
Hanging up, Kez wasn’t sure what he’d let either of them in for. At least now he could relax a little and get on with all the usual tasks that a busy day at the hospital entailed. Back at his desk, his daily routine of pointing anxious parents in the right direction for their appointments, scheduling more appointments and cancelling appointments due to squeezing the doctor into his many other commitments aided the speed of the day and cleared his mind. When the third meeting request came through for Kez to find somewhere within the jam-packed and colour-coded doctor’s diary, Kez paused and leaned back.
“Lisa?” He tapped his pen to his lips.
“Yes?” Lisa didn’t look up over the screen, her own tapping on the keyboard suggesting she was just as behind with the overflow of paperwork.
“Do you think there’s something going on that we’re not in on?”
“How so?”
“Rawlings is being invited to a lot—and I mean a hell of a lot—closed management meetings.”
“It’s part of his job, Kez. He’s senior leadership staff.”
“Yeah, but normally they’re one a month. It’s practically one a week now. Twice in one week.”
Lisa popped her head over the screen. “Are you fishing for gossip?”
“No.” Kez shook his head, denying the blatant fact that he probably was. “No—” He cut himself off from mentionin
g what he’d seen in the doctor’s office and the concern he unexpectedly felt for the man. “It’s just, I’m cancelling overdue appointments for him to sit in a meeting room, sip coffee and eat pastries.”
“You know that’s not all they do in there.”
Kez shrugged. “Yeah, they work the hospital. They change things. Or they do disciplinaries.”
“You think he’s on disciplinary?”
“You tell me. You’re the supervisor.”
“Of you, yes. Rawlings is out of my pay grade and not even on my books.”
“Did you hear what happened on the ward a few months back?” It had never been spoken about in this office. How could they when Rawlings so often dipped his head in without warning?
Lisa peered over her specs. “Yes.”
“You think it’s true?”
“About him having slept with a junior nurse? Probably. The fact that it was a man was the shocker.”
Kez nodded. The rumour mill had it that Dr. Rawlings had been having an illicit—and against policy—affair with one of his staff nurses. Ollie to be exact. That had all come to a head when Ollie had found someone new and broken off their relationship in full view of the night staff and those admitted to the cardiology recovery ward after surgery. Since then, Rawlings had been giving Ollie a wide berth and tasked Kez with keeping the two apart as reasonably possible. Kez had to ensure Rawlings’ rounds on the ward wouldn’t coincide with Ollie’s shift patterns. Which he’d done quite well. Except, Rawlings had been here last night. So had Ollie. Had that been why the doctor had been in such a state this morning? Kez felt sorry for the bloke. He knew what rejection and heartache felt like, especially coming from someone a person was in love with and thought he had a relationship with…
Kez sighed, leaning forward to type. Won’t go there again.
The following hour flew by. A busy, packed schedule of paperwork kept him busy enough not to dwell on the impending incoming. It was why Kez liked the job. It made him feel useful, like he was important and needed in the world. Maybe that had come from having been told from birth to five that he was useless, that he was taboo and had to be hidden away. It was Eve who had taught him otherwise and boosted him up when he’d been so far down. Then when there had been a chance at a graduate-level job, he’d opted for St. Cross because he knew what it was like here for the children who felt different to others. There were children like him there. And he loved being a part of making their lives better.