Page 29 of No Safe Place
He caught her round the waist and held her to him. She felt his solid warmth through his shirt, his hair tickling her cheek.
‘Take this,’ he said, pressing his door key into her hand. ‘I’ve got a spare in my locker. Go to my place tonight, have some time to yourself, and then I’ll see you when I get in.’
‘I can’t,’ she said, into his shoulder. ‘Not today. After the police knocked earlier, he’s stressed – I need to keep an eye on him.’
Scott let go of her and turned to the door. ‘Right. Whatever.’
‘Scott.’ She leaned forward to grab his arm. ‘Don’t be like that.’
‘Like what? Like it bothers me that we’ve been dating for almost a year, and you still live with your ex-boyfriend?’
Scott looked down at her, his jaw set and his eyes cold. He still had one hand on the door.
‘I never pretended the situation wasn’t a mess,’ she answered, keeping her voice even.
Scott dropped his voice to a loud whisper. ‘Have you even told him you’re moving out?’
Lily glanced at the door to the living room. ‘Can we not do this right before you leave?’
Scott turned without speaking and slammed the front door behind him. She was still clutching his key in her fist.
Lily put off seeing Callum for as long as possible.
She attempted to work on some lesson plans. Gave up and cleaned the sides in the kitchen instead, and the bath – anything to avoid the living room.
Finally, gearing herself up to go and talk to him, she had a fag on the front doorstep.
After she closed the front door, Lily leaned against it, standing on the junk mail, hemmed in by dusty coats on hooks. She reached out and held on to the corner of Callum’s red parka, as if it could bring her comfort.
She’d always known Callum to wear a parka. He’d wear it too late into spring, when everyone else was in light jackets and overshirts. You always could see him coming down the street, head down, fur facing forward.
For the last two years it’d hung on the same hook in the hallway. Sometimes with one of her coats over it, sometimes slipping onto the floor, but never worn.
She let the parka go and rapped on the living room door.
After a full day with all the curtains in the house closed tight, Cal had thrown the living room windows wide open.
He’d pushed the sofa right back against the wall and twisted the armchair, so it was facing the window and the street. He had his feet up on the sill, ankles crossed in his thick sports socks.
There were a few candles lit, guttering in the breeze, and the lamp was on in the corner. A Beatles vinyl was playing, the one she’d bought for his birthday a few years ago, crackly from constant use.
‘All right?’
He twisted his head to look at her. ‘Hey.’
‘I like the living room like this.’ She sat on the sofa, stretching her own legs, and following his gaze out of the window, to the orangey sunset beyond. Cal didn’t speak.
‘Are you okay, Cal?’
He drew in a deep breath. ‘Yeah,’ he said, on the exhalation.
Cal’s notebook was on the floor, between them. Lily hadn’t read any of his writing since their break-up. The gold nib of the fountain pen winked at her.
She leaned back into the worn cushions, letting some of the tension in her shoulders melt into them.
A moment of silence in between songs.
The record crackled into life again and they sat, side by side, listening to “Revolution” and the traffic from the main road.
