Page 130 of No Safe Place
Callum wanted to rush, run into the kitchen before the ninth time the door hit the wall. But that was irrational, because he would get there before the ninth time anyway, and it didn’tmatterif there was a ninth time.
The evening sun was streaming into the narrow kitchen. The grass needed sorting. Callum hadn’t been out into their little garden for over a year.
He’d go out there tomorrow and cut the grass. He lovedthe smell, and he wasn’t going to waste the ability to get out, now he had it.
As he closed the door and slid the top bolt across, a shadow fell across his arms.
He turned, expecting to see Lily, but all he saw was the knife.
Chapter 93
Sunday | Evening
Callum
He put both hands up. She must have been standing behind the door.
The girl was about a foot shorter than him, vivid dyed-purple hair. Thick make-up circled her dark eyes, and her skin was pale, like she hadn’t seen the sun for a long time. She was standing in the kitchen doorframe, blocking off his access to the rest of the house.
‘What do you want?’ he asked, quietly.
He didn’t want Lily to hear, to come in and startle the girl. Callum took half a step back, so he was leaning against the back door.
Their kitchen was a narrow galley layout, with a row of ancient cabinets on each side. The knife block wasn’t in its usual spot by the sink.
To Callum’s left was the tiny bathroom, always freezing cold in winter. To his right was his nan’s big ancient fridge.
The girl was standing by the oven, at the far end nearest the door to the dining room. They were at a stand-off, at either end.
Even if Callum rushed forward and tried to get the knife, she’d have the advantage. There was no room to get round her or perform some elaborate tackle – the kind he’d seen on telly but never even attempted in a playfight.
He was weirdly calm. A life spent killing yourself with stress over the completely illogical must mean you’ve run out of adrenaline by the time something truly fucked happens.
She tossed her hair over one shoulder, speaking in a half-whisper. ‘What’s wrong, Callum? You don’t recognise me?’
Callum frowned. He didn’t know her – where would he know her from? He hadn’t left the house or used the internet for two years.
His phone was in his jeans, on the living room floor. Callum pulled the edge of his T-shirt down. The girl registered the action and smirked.
Someone was pointing a knife at him, and he was in a T-shirt and his fucking boxers.
He didn’t have many options. He’d just bolted the door to the garden. The lock was stiff, and he’d never undo it fast enough. The chipboard door to the loo wouldn’t keep her out, and while he was cowering behind it, what would she do to Lily?
All his instincts, his gut – everything was screaming the same thing:
Protect Lily.
WhenDarlings, Obsessedwas first published, he got intense fan mail and messages on social media, girls sending photos of themselves. Was it better to lie? Pretend he knew who she was?
‘Let’s call your girlfriend in, shall we?’ the girl hissed. ‘Let’s see if Lily knows who I am.’
The calm feeling, the illusion – fell away at once.
‘Shout for her,’ the girl said, holding the knife higher. The sun caught the tip of it and it glinted gold for a second. A cinematic detail that only added to the unreality of the situation.
‘You can do what you want to me,’ he said, voice urgent. ‘But don’t touch Lily. She’s done nothing wrong.’
The smirk disappeared, and the girl’s expression hardened. She took two steps towards him in the small space.
