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She handed back the photos. “That figures.”
I looked her dead in the eye, girl to girl. “Shit, Raven, I’m losing the plot. I can’t stop thinking about him.”
“Crushing is hardcore. Maybe that’s all it is.”
“Hope so.” I finished my coffee. “It’s just a sex thing. It has to be. I mean what the hell would we ever have in common? And can you even begin to imagine me taking him home to the family? Parading him around at some property event? Can just imagine Dad’s face if I dragged him along to the Southbank Art Centre opening, pissing on their snobby spectacle and blighting the family name. Alexandra would probably faint. Mum would probably cry.”
“Hey, enough of that. He’d belong there more than they would. That place isn’t just a fucking building, regardless of what your posh-arsed parents invested in it.”
I smiled at Rebecca’s passion. I love her as Raven, but I love her even more as Bex, bohemian art queen, tattoo artist extraordinaire. “Your stuff going to be on display at the opening?”
“Nah. I’m out the game now, don’t get as much time for it now Cara’s moved in.”
“Shame.”
“Not really. The girl’s pussy tastes mighty-fucking-fine. I’d be lying if I said I’d rather be painting. Got the tattoo work anyway, keeps me busy.”
“Cara’s great. You two were made for each other.”
“It was just asexthing, once upon a time. I mean how could she ever take me home to the family, baby?” Rebecca winked, softening her snipe.
“Christ, Bex, I’m sorry. I sound like a real bloody snob.”
“It’s your parents talking through your mouth. Let it go, baby, letthemgo, live for you.”
I changed the subject. “How’s Explicit? How’s Cain?”
“Come back soon, will you? With or without the savage in tow. We’re all missing you.”
“How’s Cain, Bex?” I grinned. “Seriously, spill the beans. I’m cool.”
“He’s giving it another go with Diva. They’ve been on each other like a rash since you left. Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” I laughed. “I’m happy for them. All of them... even Cat and Masque.”
“Even Cat and Masque?!” Raven’s mouth was set in a mischievous line, eyes sparkling as she stared at me. “You weren’t joking, were you, baby? Boy’s got you really fucking good.”
Damn fucking right he had.
***
Callum
I’d never been so glad to offload cash as I’d been to hand that filthy fucking money to the Stoneys. They weren’t happy, of course. Never fucking would be. Not until that debt was fucking done for. Another three hundred, all my fucking work for the week. Diving from here to there with shitty little parcels, handing them over to any fucking low-life skank who was buying. Hated it. Hated my fucking life.
Hated being paid for sex more than any of it.
Didn’t want to take it but the Stoneys had us in a corner with nowhere to fucking move.
Vick was grateful, I know. But there was more to it than that. She was trying too hard again, just like she was before I went inside. Sitting too close, smiling that smile. Telling me how good I was with Slay, how much he fucking loved me. I’d skulked away like a sewer rat, bedding down with Case at the old King’s Road maintenance huts. Licking my wounds with just a twenty left to my name and some loose scraps of change. That and my paints. I’d been painting every fucking night, my only escape. Taking more risks these days too, hanging off the subway by a bit of tatty old rope, heart fucking racing. I had a letter in my pocket, just in case. A note to her, Sophie Harding, asking her to take care of Casey. She could hand her into one of them rescue homes, maybe she’d find a good family after all.
I’d seen Sophie looking for me on her estate visits. Eyes darting around the place, heading down alleys that led to nowhere. Even watched her check around Vicki’s place, sticking a brave head over the fence to the yard. I’d kept out of sight, one step ahead. Just watching. She’d tried calling too, from several different numbers. Hadn’t answered. Too fucking ashamed. Angry too.
The Stoneys would be after me again in a few days, wanting another instalment I didn’t have. I had one-eighty owing from Jack Willis, barely enough to show my face with. I’d come away with a black eye next time, maybe a couple of smashed ribs. Fuck it, who fucking cared anymore.
Friday afternoon hit hard. My paints were in dregs after my latest mural, black clean out and red not far behind. No money to get more, no fucking hope in sight. I stashed my paints in Vicki’s shed when she was out at her mam’s, then broke my twenty on a cheap bottle of vodka and a tin of food for Case. Sophie Harding was a fucking nightmare, charging helter-skelter round my brain. Her soft blonde hair, her pretty eyes. The way she smelt so fucking clean. Her sweet little pussy so wet for me. She’d cried my name like I meant something. Like I wassomeone.She was wrong. So fucking wrong. I’d put paid to that by taking that cash off her. My last tenner bought me an underground day pass, and I headed down Islington way, over to Baker Road. I knew the housing office was based down there. Mam had dragged me enough times when I was little, harping on about rent and benefits and the poxy fucking neighbours. I found it easy enough, pressing myself into the shadow of the shoe shop opposite to keep an eye out. I just wanted to see her, that’s all. Watch her for a little while.
Case settled down, resting at my feet as I drank my way through the vodka. I’d almost finished by the time the housing shut up for the day, staying out of sight as they spilled out the place, suited up so fucking smart. Sophie was amongst them, laughing and smiling as she went. A group of them stopped at the pub down the road, Bay Leaf Inn. I watched her through the window; watched her talk, watched her smile.
