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 was someone. 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.
She looked happy. Pretty. Just a normal woman on a Friday night, oblivious to the freak outside waiting for her. I picked about in the ashtrays, smoking a load of scabby leftovers. My tobacco was down to the crumbs, papers almost out too. I stuffed a couple of skanky fag ends in my pocket for later and left before she did, heading back across the street to watch her leave. It was dark by the time she came out, tottering on down to the tube station. I kept my distance, shushing Casey to stop fucking whining, while I followed her all the way. She got off at Canary Wharf. I’d heard about this place. The buildings were fucking crazy, tall glass space towers of fucking money. So, she was from here. Richer than I’d fucking thought, made of fucking money. The thought made me bitter and I closed the gap in a rage. She heard Casey before she heard me, spinning at the sound of her whining, only to find herself up against me as I grappled for her arms. She recoiled, shocked, squeaking as I yanked her down the side of the nearest building, dog jumping all around us as I smashed her into the wall.
She looked angry, angry and scared.
“What the hell are you doing here?!”
“Followed you,” I grunted.
“Followed me? Why?”
I shrugged. “Dunno.”
“Could have just answered your phone, or, I dunno, stopped fucking avoiding me.” Her mouth was so pretty when she was angry.
I gripped her cheeks in my fingers, squeezing her beautiful lips into a pout. “You should be careful, out on your own.”
“I don’t usually get followed. This isn’t East Veil, Callum.”