Page 69 of No Safe Place
Lil. Lil. Lil.She’d spent the past two days lurching from one crisis to another, and Scott was always there, right behind her, calling her in that confused little-boy voice.
‘I need some air,’ she said, stumbling and putting a hand out to catch herself.
‘You shouldn’t go out, the police said. Did I do something wrong?’ Scott grabbed her arm as she reached for her shoes. ‘I wanted to show I wasn’t bothered about the food thing. That we can fight it together.’
‘It’s not a “food thing”—’ Lily wrenched her arm from his grip. ‘And I don’t need you to fight it. This – this stuff – it’s too much. You’ve only just found out, and your first reaction is to do a big shop? What the actual fuck?’
He looked hurt and confused, and it made Lily angrier.
‘Do I not have enough going on? The man who got me better is in hospital, and I’m processing the fact that my—’
Scott’s concerned expression hardened into something ugly.
‘ThatCallumhas been sectioned,’ Lily corrected. But the fight was over.
‘I was doing a nice thing,’ Scott said, his voice hard. ‘I thought we could cook together. It hasn’t escaped my notice that you’ve barely eaten today.’
He took a step towards her, and Lily shrank back, another painful wrench in her abdomen making her double over.
It wasn’t just anxiety. Scott’s bathroom was by the front door, and she lurched into it, making it to the toilet as the first heave hit her.
Scott was behind her, trying to hold her hair back. Lily pushed him away. She’d rather get sick in her hair.
‘You’re not well, Lil. You need to rest, drink some water. I’ve got rehydration sachets.’
She turned, wiping her mouth on her sleeve. She never did get into her bath. The bubbles were slowly dying in the cooling water, leaving a ring of scum around the edge.
She flushed the toilet. ‘I want to go to bed. I want to be on my own.’
Chapter 44
Thursday | Evening
Field
Her house was in darkness, when she got back.
When she was married to Chris, they’d had a four-bed semi-detached on a sleepy street in Kidbrooke. It was boring, but the schools were good, and the commute wasn’t bad.
After the divorce she wanted a complete change, along with her downsize. Toby was nearly eighteen by the time the house sale went through.
Her little house on Market Street was perfect. A row of tiny Grade 2 listed Victorian houses, probably built for munitions workers in the Arsenal. It looked like a shoebox from the outside, but inside it was plenty big enough for the two of them. Cosy, that’s what they called it, that first day they unpacked.
Field stood on the step, key in hand.
Each of the five houses had its doors and wooden window frames painted a different colour. Hers were aquamarine blue, the paint now beginning to fade.
Inside it was hot. The windows and doors had been shut tight all day. She turned the fan on with the remote, and then went to open the back door for a minute.
Her galley kitchen wasn’t dissimilar to Callum’s in shape. Cabinets on either side, barely room for two people to pass each other. Back door at the far end, next to the fridge. Field’s kitchen was always spotless and gleaming, from lack of use rather than effort.
Not today, though. Pans were piled in the sink, a dribble of milk on the counter. In two strides she was by the open microwave, pulling the door back.
A dinner plate was inside. Three sausages, a mound of mash, and some peas. Gravy poured over the top, thick and congealed. A note in Toby’s handwriting read,Don’t forget to eat x.
It was thoughtful, and it shouldn’t have pissed her off, but it did.
She scraped the cold food into the bin, and stepped out into the backyard for her first cigarette in months.
