at me like I was an animal. I liked that, but it was the other times, when she looked at me like I was a man, a somebody, they were the times I loved.
She held up a bag. “I picked up steak for dinner, some for Casey, too.”
My heart sank all over again. “Can’t come over tonight, Soph. Need to go to Vick’s.”
If she was upset it didn’t show. “I’ll make a date with the microwave instead, then. Steak can wait.”
“You could go out,” I said. “See Raven. Or your family. Don’t think I ain’t noticed you’re avoiding them.”
She smiled. “I could... alternatively, I could wait until this Southbank shit’s out the way and resurface when it’s back to business as usual.”
I pulled her into me, breathing in her hair. “Walk your own road. Don’t skulk away in the shadows, not you, Soph. That ain’t your place. Nothing to be scared of.”
She sighed. “I’m not scared, it’s just easier. If you knew my dad you’d know what I mean.”
I wanted to say something. Something stupid like maybe one day I would know him. I didn’t, though. My cheeks burned at the thought. Like we could ever be something. It felt like it, though, sometimes, it felt like we were. That’s the thing I loved most of all.
“I’d better get going,” she said. “Let you get to Vicki’s.”
“See ya tomorrow, then.”
She pulled a face. “Where’s Casey staying?”
“Shed,” I shrugged. “With me.”
Sophie folded her arms, her mouth all stern and pursed. “You’re not staying in a shed, Callum, and neither is Casey. She’s an indoors pooch now, I’m taking her home.”
I looked at Case staring up at Soph like she was the bee’s fucking knees, tongue lolling out all happy, like.
“I dunno, Soph. She might trash everything.”
She rolled her eyes. “She’s already done her worst. Another bin spillage isn’t going to break me.”
Sophie turned on her heels and took off, calling Casey along with her. Big brown eyes stared up at me, waiting for permission. Would be weird, being without her. Would be weird being without both of them.
I shrugged. “Go on, then, Case, go after her. Go find Sophie.”
***
I played with Slay before Vicki put him down for the night. Pencil crayons in front of the TV. I drew him some pictures, of Case, and his mam, and of choo-choo trains, and he scribbled all over them, eyes fixed in concentration like he was a proper little artist.
“That’s great, that is,” I said, holding it up. “Really good, Slay. Clever, you are, sharp little man.”
His smile lit me up.
Vick was quiet when she came back down. She’d changed into her nightie, one of her posh satin things. She sat by me on the sofa, pulling her legs under her.
“He loves you,” she said again. “Thinks you’re the dog’s bloody bollocks, that lad.”
“Love him, Vick, he’s a smashing kid.”
“Better than his real dad. Piece of shit.”
“He’ll get a proper dad one day, someone nice, who can take care of him. Take care of both of you.”
“You take care of us, Cal.” She reached out for my hand, squeezing my fingers.
“Gonna get this Stoney shit sorted, Vicki. Don’t worry about it.”
“Ain’t your problem,” she said. “It should be me sorting it. I’m so sorry, Cal. I know they beat you bad, and it’s my fault, innit? I fucked up.”
I pulled her over, wrapped an arm round her shoulder. “Don’t be daft. Wouldn’t change it. Only a few scratches, anyway.”
“How we gonna get twelve hundred quid together? Ty said next week or they’re gonna skin your arse.”
“I’ll do some deliveries,” I said. “Some bigger ones. The biggest fucking ones.”
“They’ll send you down again and where’ll we be then, eh? Don’t wanna be without you, Cal. Hated it when you were inside.”
My nerves were on edge, sensing danger, but I smiled it all off. “Might not need to do deliveries, anyway. Not now I got the studio.”
“Studio?! What studio?”
I told Vicki all about it. About Sophie setting it up for me, about her mate Raven, and Raven’s art dealer contacts, and all the new paintings I’d done and everything. Vicki listened to the whole lot, wide-eyed like a doll. She didn’t interrupt and didn’t ask questions, just took it all in until I finished.
“Jeez, Callum, that’s some crazy shit.”
“Mental, innit? Me with me own bloody art studio. Maybe I’ll strike lucky, eh? Sell a painting to some posh toff in his manor.”
“Can I come see it? Maybe we could hang out? I could bring some