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He didn’t shift, not until Trent slapped him across the side of the head. “D’you fucking hear me, you thick cunt, we’re fucking done here.”
I couldn’t hold back the smile, it swept across my face like a summer’s fucking day.
“I’m coming for you, Jackson,” Tyler spat. “That’s a fucking promise.”
“Not gonna be around much more,” I laughed. “Not now I’m a fucking artist. Got my work in a gallery and everything. What a treat, ain’t it?”
He brandished his bandaged arm, but I no longer gave a shit.
“I’ll be coming soon, Jackson, don’t you worry about that.”
“Address is one two three kiss my fucking arse street,” I said, flipping him the bird.
“I know where your address is,” he barked. “And I’ll be fucking coming.”
I wouldn’t lose any fucking sleep over it. I could take that cunt all day fucking long.
I’d enjoy it, too.
***
Raven left me with a kiss and a shitload of instructions. Where to be, what to say, what to do. She’d meet me in the afternoon next day, she said, all ready for my great gallery opening. I’d be so fucking scared I wouldn’t know what to fucking do with myself. Loads of reporters would be there, celebrities and posh people too. Didn’t know quite how I felt, but it was better than feeling fucking dead about Sophie.
I spotted Vicki and Slay in the distance as they made their way home. They’d left it until evening, enough time to count on the Stoneys being gone again. I ran up the street, shouting Vicki’s name until she spun around gawping, hardly believing her pissing eyes. Casey nearly knocked her off her feet, stopping just shy of sending the pushchair flying.
“Fucking hell!” she screeched. “You’re in one fucking piece!”
I lifted her up in my arms, spinning her around. “The art came through, Vick, fifteen hundred quid’s worth. Stoneys cleaned me out, but it don’t matter. Raven says there’ll be more where that came from.”
“That’s fucking epic, Cal,” she smiled. “Really fucking epic.”
We walked towards her place, talking about the gallery, and the Stoneys and everything but the craziness on Friday night. It suited me just fine.
“Got some bread here,” she said when we got to hers. “I’ll make you a sarnie. Give me a hand with Slay, though, will ya?”
I made Case wait outside, her mouth slavering as Vicki started grating cheese. “You’ll have one too,” I said. “Chill your fucking beans.”
I played drawing with Slay while Vicki made us toasties. She put the cheese on thick this time, too, thicker than I’d ever seen her make it.
“Well, it’s a celebration, innit?” she said. “Callum Jackson the famous artist. It’s so fucking awesome, Cal.”
Yes it was. It really fucking was.
I whistled Case as I stepped outside. “Come on, girl,” I said. “You’re gonna fucking love this one. Got loads of fucking cheese on it.”
She didn’t come, didn’t even move.
“Come on, Casey, don’t be a sulker, it’s cheese, look.”
I stepped closer to notice she was panting. Panting really fucking hard.
“You alright, Case? What’s up with ya?”
My foot kicked into something, something tough and slimy. I grabbed at it, and it felt rank in my hand. A sicked-up piece of meat.
“Jesus, Casey, where the hell’d you find this from, eh? Vicky ain’t even got her bin out here.”
And that’s when I knew.
