before they hit the main road, as if he was going to say something but decided not to. The woman was looking out of the window, her elbow resting on the sill, her hand over her mouth. She didn’t look happy. When they got to the junction she turned to Sean.
That went well, anyway.
Sean nodded and looked to the left for cars coming down the road.
“What went well?” Callum couldn’t quite believe he’d said it so casual and normal.
“Well, to be honest,” she turned to look at him, “we thought there might be other journalists in the car park. Hiding, you know, waiting for you.”
“Why?” He’d done it again, normal, real.
“They’d be looking for a photo of you. It could be worth a lot of money so there’s going to be a bit of a competition. You should be ready for that in the coming weeks. I don’t think there’s any way of stopping them from getting close to you. Most of them have guessed you’ll be at Sean’s house so they’ll probably stake that out. You should be careful who you talk to.”
She ran out of breath and looked away for a moment. But Callum hadn’t been listening to her. He was still back at the first thing she’d said.
“Other journalists?”
The woman shut her eyes, blinking too long, shuttering him out. She cleared her throat. “Um, aye. Other journalists.” She looked at Sean but he shrugged a shoulder. “I’m a journalist. Don’t you remember, we spoke in the hospital?”
She was Paddy. He had met her before.
“You have a SON,” he said, too loud at the end.
She turned her head quickly towards him, angry.
“PETER.”
She looked furious and turned away.
He swung his head at the window. They were traveling down a wide road, few cars on it, flat fields on either side, a tractor in one of them, a long way away. Sean’s eyes were reflected in the rearview mirror, narrow, hiding something. The skin on his cheek twitched.
Callum looked back at the prison, a speck now on the horizon. Panic rose in his chest. Sean had brought a journalist with him. Was that normal? Was he taking money? Act normal. Behave normal.
My wife made sandwiches.
Still keeping his eyes on the road, Sean leaned over the back of the car seat and showed him a plastic box with bread and an apple in it. Callum lifted it and found a can of fizzy juice on the floor under his feet.
He pulled the tab on the tin of juice and drank it in two gulps, to show that he was grateful, to fill his mouth, stop him shouting or saying anything that would make them turn around and drive him back.
He opened the box, ate the sandwiches, sitting with the empties on his lap, not knowing what else they wanted him to do.
Sean had brought a journalist with him. And who could blame him. Callum supposed there had to be something in it for Sean but he hadn’t expected this. Maybe he should have known, maybe it was obvious. It wasn’t enough just to be family: he’d had a family before and nothing was for nothing, not for him. For children in storybooks, maybe, but not for him, not for him.
I want to live in a loving family unit.
He was shouting, bits of the dry sandwich scattering on his knees.
The woman spun to look at Callum and found him crying, a trickle of red-juice saliva at the side of his mouth. Alarmed, she looked at Sean.
MY DREAM IS TO WORK IN A FACTORY.
His loud voice rang around the hollow inside of the car.
Sean didn’t look at him. He slowed the car, gently easing over to the side of the road and pulling on the handbrake.
He was going to put Callum out, make him get out and leave him there for shouting in the car. And who could blame him.
He’d freeze because of the wind and no walls, moving would be so hard he’d have to wait there until he died. His heart was hammering in his chest. He could feel his pulse on his cheeks, on his nose, in his eyes.
The woman wasn’t looking at him anymore. She had her hand over her mouth again, was turned away from him, looking out of the car at the side where he would be left.
Sean undid his seat belt and turned, taking Callum’s hand in one of his and stroking it with the other. “Pal,” he said as Callum gasped for breath, “we’re going home, where it’s warm. Together. Look at me.”
Callum forced his eyes from the woman’s neck to Sean’s face. He was nodding slowly, like he wanted Callum to nod back. “OK? Are you going to be OK?”
Callum nodded. Sean stroked his hand again. “It’s natural to feel this scared, OK? Perfectly normal.” He let go of his hand and turned, pulled the belt back on and restarted the car, checked to look out of the side window for a car coming and then pulled back out into the road.
They were going home. Where it was warm.
A journalist. The woman’s dark hair pulled up on top of her head, exposing the soft skin on the back of her neck. The necks he saw as the protected prisoners were crocodiled to work or the canteen were always leathered or spotty. Gold chains dangled from her ears, swaying with the motion of the car, never touching her neck.
Exhausted, Callum sat back on the seat, slowed his breathing, and reminded himself of the one thing he knew for certain: everything smells the same when it’s burning.
TEN. BUNTY AND THE MONKEY
I
Sean stopped the car at Glasgow Cross under the railway bridge. “This do you?” he whispered.
Paddy looked at Callum, sleeping in the back. He seemed to have grown during the drive, filling most of the backseat as his hands fell to the side and his knees relaxed and spread out. Although asleep, he remained upright, ready for an attack, like a bear.
Sean whispered again and nodded towards her door. “Can’t drop you any closer in case we’re seen.”
Paddy looked from Callum to Sean. Not wanting to wake him, she made a horrified face at Sean. “How does he know about Pete?”
“I must have mentioned it.”
She hissed at him, “I don’t want him knowing about Pete. I don’t want him knowing anything about him, understand?”
Sean said nothing but tipped his head at her, his eyes liquid disappointment.
“Peter’s your son. He’s five.”
They both turned sharply to look at the bear in the back. Callum hadn’t moved, hadn’t twitched or stretched or done any of the normal things people do when they wake up. He had opened his eyes so that the white showed all around the iris, and was staring at her like an accusing corpse.
She nodded, breathless, wondering whether he had ever been asleep at all. “Yes.”
He sat up, clenching and unclenching his hands. “Why don’t you want me to know about him?”
Sean was watching her. There was nothing he could do to save her from the situation but Paddy sensed that even if there was he probably wouldn’t anyway.
“I, um, my son…”
“Pete,” Callum reminded her.
“Yes, my son Pete has been ill…” She couldn’t think of a single plausible excuse. “He’s been ill…”
