House of Cards Page 7

  “Fuckin’ A. She’s got you where she wants you, eh? She’ll have the shirt off your back next.”

  Calum didn’t fancy admitting that Zelda already slept on the small pile of new not-new clothes he’d bought from the local charity shop. “She’s all right.”

  “No, she ain’t. She’s an arsehole. Always has been. I just love her anyways. She’s a bit like Lena, really. You two make up while I was outside?”

  “We never fell out.”

  “Liar.”

  “Am I?” Calum plucked Zelda from his shoulder, ignoring her grumble. His conversation with Lena had settled some of the disquiet he’d carried since she’d confronted him on Wednesday, but the way Brix was looking at him now made him want to hide behind Dennis’s impressive bulk. What was it about this bloke that made it feel like he was staring into Calum’s soul?

  Fucking Brix and his baby blues.

  But it seemed that, for once, Brix wasn’t oblivious to the effect he was having on Calum. “All right, enough of the angst for one day. I reckon we could do with more beer. Fancy a pint and a shanty sing-along?”

  “A what?”

  Brix grinned. “It’ll make sense when we get there. I need to catch up with my old man, and I reckon you could do with getting out of the house.”

  “I’ve already been out of the house. You dragged me up a cliff, remember? And the studio.”

  “Doesn’t mean you can’t come out again. Besides, you loved the studio.”

  True, though Calum was still getting used to the weird pirate-punk music Brix played at Blood Rush. It was a long way from the painfully cool dubstep crap most places in London favoured. “You don’t really want me to sing, do you?”

  “No. I do want you to come out for a pint, though. It’s no fun on my own.”

  Brix seemed to have no shortage of mates to keep him company, but despite the sanctuary of the cosy cottage, an impromptu trip to the pub was tempting. “Hang on a sec.”

  Calum darted upstairs with Zelda hot on his heels and peeled off his white T-shirt, searching out a black one with faded skulls emblazoned across the back. A noise behind him sounded like Dennis. He turned, expecting to see the giant cat digging through his paltry collection of socks. Instead he found Brix in the doorway, eyes wide, clutching a stack of his own T-shirts.

  “Jesus!” Calum wrapped his arms around his bare torso, wishing the floor would swallow him up.

  “Sorry, mate.” Brix averted his gaze. “Thought you might need to borrow some stuff. Er . . . sorry, I’ll leave these here.”

  He dumped the T-shirts on the bed and disappeared. Calum blinked and let his arms drop, abruptly back in London, clutching a soggy bag of chips outside Rob’s favourite cocktail bar. “Sure you wanna eat them? All those carbs are making you chubby.”

  Embarrassment burned in Calum’s gut, even though Brix was gone. It had been a long time since they’d been half naked in each other’s presence, longer than Calum cared to remember. Or perhaps he did care to remember, and that was the problem, because even without the ink, Brix’s lean body was a work of art. If Calum closed his eyes, he could still picture it—Brix’s slender limbs and sinewy muscles. His strong, lean chest and perfectly flat stomach. Not that shit like that mattered. In the rare moments of peace Calum had ever had from Rob’s games, it hadn’t been Brix’s body he’d imagined. No. It had been his eyes . . . and his voice. Damn. Brix had the best voice.

  Zelda appeared from nowhere, springing onto the bed and making a beeline for Brix’s T-shirts. Calum shook himself slightly and pushed her away. Brix’s clothes wouldn’t fit him in a million years, but that didn’t mean she could nest on them.

  He pulled on his own T-shirt, then scooped up Brix’s pile, taking them across the landing to Brix’s bedroom. Remembering Brix of old, he expected to see a scene of chaos—piles of clothes, sketchbooks, and CDs. Instead, he found a bedroom so neat and tidy it was almost sterile. The only thing out of place was a washbag on the bedside table that looked like it belonged in the bathroom. Were it not for the artwork on the walls that was so Brix, Calum wouldn’t have known it was Brix’s room at all.

  Downstairs, he found Brix with the chickens, turning over the earth in the runs. Calum leaned on the fence and watched, his new favourite pastime. Who knew chickens fighting over worms and grubs could be so entertaining? Not that Bongo often got any; she was too placid to fight—or too lazy. Calum hadn’t quite decided. He stopped Brix as he passed with the spade and snagged her a worm, then bent over the fence and scooped her up, dangling the worm into her beak.

  “Jesus Christ,” Brix muttered.

  “What?”

  “You’re gonna be the fuckin’ death of me.” Brix flung his spade down and stomped into the shed.

  Calum stared after Brix, watching through the tiny window as he shifted sacks of animal feed around with more force than seemed necessary, and his stomach churned uncomfortably. The idea that he’d somehow annoyed Brix made him feel sick, because without Brix, he’d be fucked.

  Maybe Brix had read whatever Rob had written about Calum on the internet. Maybe Lena had lied and shown him anyway, or he’d found it of his own accord. Trashing people online was one of Rob’s favourite things to do. “Come on, Calum. Don’t be soft. It’s only a joke . . .”

  Swallowing bile, Calum recalled every hateful post he’d ever seen Rob leave on his blog, a page that had three thousand followers. The thought of Brix reading—

  “Calum?”

  “What?”

  Brix folded his arms across his chest. “You look like someone just killed your dog.”

  “I don’t have a dog.”

  “Your pops not got that golden retriever anymore?”

  “Skye?” Calum pictured the time his parents had visited him in Camden, bringing with them his father’s hearing dog, who’d quite forgotten herself when they’d happened across Brix. “She died years ago. My dad’s got a Labrador now, a black one, I think. Barney.”

  “You think?”

  Calum shrugged. “I haven’t seen them in a while, and you know my ’rents don’t do technology.”

  He didn’t add that Rob had had a tendency to bin any post that wasn’t of personal interest to him. What was the point? Besides, whatever had driven Brix into the shed seemed to have faded, and Calum wanted to keep it that way.

  “Pub, then?” Brix said.

  Calum nodded and darted back inside to grab his wallet, which was considerably slimmer now he’d cut up and dumped all the useless loyalty cards and receipts that had been stuffed in it before. Carrying just a few quid, a basic card, and his driving license was oddly liberating, though the knowledge that he’d have to deal with his banking situation soon was daunting. If he could pull regular sittings at Blood Rush for a while, he could make the payments on his loans and give Brix rent, but what would happen when his time at Blood Rush was up? Even if he found a studio to take him, where would he live? Brix was only letting him pay a hundred quid a month. His parents would charge him more than that.

  “Calum. Shittin’ hell, mate. Are you coming or not?”

  For the umpteenth time that day, Calum snapped out of his brooding and shot Brix an apologetic grin. “Sorry. Away with the fairies.”

  “Are you fuck. Fairies are fun. You can tell me what’s really bothering you on the way.”

  On the way turned out to be a windy walk inland to the Sea Bell, a dilapidated pub that was packed with ruddy-faced local men, all clutching jugs of ale and singing along with the band of fishermen holding court by the front bar.

  “Nelson’s Shanty Boys,” Brix shouted over the booming folk song. “All the clans have a lad or two that sing. It’s local lore.”

  “It’s what?”

  “Lusmoores, the Gywnns, the Daddows, and the rest. We’re all primordial residents. Been here as long as the sea. Listen.”

  Calum listened to the shanty hymn being sung by men who looked no more like choir singers than Brix did a primary school teacher. The s
ong was loud and rousing, and reminded Calum of the music Brix played at Blood Rush, albeit without the heavy metal and bagpipes. “I like it.”

  “Good. ’Cause you’ll hear a lot of it round these parts. What you drinking?”

  It felt like sacrilege to ask for a lager, and slightly dangerous, if the dark glares being sent his way were anything to go by. Outsider much? Not that the sensation was a new one for Calum. How many times had he walked into a London bar full of Rob’s mates and felt like a prize wanker? Too many. “I’ll have what you’re having.”

  Brix nodded and said something to the surly barmaid. Two mugs of amber ale appeared a moment later. “Doom Bar. Comes from Sharp’s up the road in Rock.”

  Calum took an experimental sip, and then another, deeper swallow. “Ooh, I like that.”

  “Course you do. I remember you drinking Guinness by the bucketload. Always knew there was an ale-swiller in you somewhere.”

  Calum hadn’t drunk much stout in recent years. Rob had preferred fancy cocktail bars with their overpriced bottled lager. Calum had forgotten how warming and soothing a pint of real ale could be. Or perhaps it was the company. The cramped pub had forced Brix to stand almost on top of Calum, their shoulders touching, hips just a hairsbreadth away. If Calum leaned forward, his nose would brush Brix’s cheek.

  Not that he had any intention of leaning forward. Fuck no. Brix was as alluring as he’d always been, but their dynamic wasn’t like that. Brix was one of the best friends he’d ever had, as he’d proved over the last few days by taking Calum in and patching him up enough to function in the real world . . . Brix’s world, at least, which tonight seemed to be all about pirates, ale, and grumpy old men.

  Something warm bumped Calum’s leg. He glanced down to meet the liquid gaze of a border collie. The dog was attached to a bright-red lead. Calum followed it, expecting to see a burly fisherman, but instead, he found himself face-to-face with Lee, the last person he’d expected to see in a pub like this. Though, to be fair, with her Doc Martens and grungy green beanie, she didn’t look out of place.

  Calum scratched the dog’s ears and grinned at Lee. “Who’s your friend?”

  “Rocky. He’s my sister’s. I’ve got him for the weekend.”

  “He’s lovely.”

  “I know. Shame my sister’s a cunt.”

  “Hey.” Brix leaned around Calum and gently punched Lee’s arm. “She’s trying, remember?”

  “Yeah, trying to be annoying.”

  “You’re pretty annoying yourself. Give peace a chance, gal.”

  “Dick.” Lee scowled. Calum wondered if she might storm off as abruptly as she’d arrived, but she didn’t. She remained, her lips set in a stubborn line, though she didn’t look at Brix again for a few minutes.

  Over the past few days, Calum had grown used to the edgy banter between Brix and Lee, but this seemed different, like she’d meant her muttered insult. But Brix’s answering silence spoke a thousand words, and after a protracted moment, she turned back and offered Brix a sheepish grin.

  “Sorry.”

  “Don’t mention it, though you can take care of Calum for me while I go find my dad to make up for it if you want.”

  “I don’t need looking after.” Calum knocked back half of his ale. “I’ll be fine on my own.”

  “I know,” Brix said. “It’s Lee needs watching. Last time she was in here, she throat-punched my uncle Len.”

  Lee’s scowl returned, though it lacked the malevolence of before. “Did not.”

  “Did so. Just stay with Calum and behave yourself.”

  Brix pulled Lee’s hat over her face and walked away, shouldering through the cramped bar until he disappeared entirely.

  Calum looked back at Lee and raised an eyebrow. “Why did you punch Brix’s uncle?”

  “Because he’s a lecherous prick. Don’t be fooled by Brix. He’s the best guy in the world, but the rest of his family are wankers.”

  It wasn’t the first time Calum had heard whispers of Brix’s family being trouble, but an odd urge to defend Brix’s blood swept over him. “My granddad was awful too. Kept calling my sister a slut because her bedroom was untidy.”

  Lee rolled her eyes. “Don’t give me that ‘boys will be boys’ shite. Brix’s uncle isn’t some dozy old man who doesn’t know how to talk to women. That’s the point. He didn’t see me as a woman. He called me a little poof.”

  “What?”

  “I’m trans, knobhead.”

  Calum blinked. “Trans? As in?”

  “Well duh . . . as in, I used to have a bigger dick than you.”

  “Oh.” Calum stared at Lee, taking in her delicate elfin features and youthful skin, all marred by a defensive belligerence that told him she was waiting for him to say something totally fucking stupid. And she didn’t have to wait long. “Erm . . . how do you know how big my dick is?”

  “Because you stand like you’re hung like a wasp.”

  Calum blinked again. Had he been dropped into another world? “That’s not very nice.”

  Lee shrugged. “Just beating you to the punch.”

  “Why? What do you think I’m going to say?”

  “Same as everyone else, probably. That I’m a fucking freak.”

  “Did Brix say that?”

  “No.”

  “Well, I’m not going to say it either.”

  “Why not?”

  Calum shrugged. “Because it’s not true. Besides, fuck anyone else. You don’t think you’re a freak, do you?”

  “As if. Like I said, I was saying it before you did. It’s all anyone ever called me back home.”

  “Sounds like you’ve got a story to tell.” Calum drained his ale. “What are you drinking?”

  “Same as you, and some vodka. I can’t talk about this crap sober.”

  Fair enough. Calum bought three pints of Doom Bar, a handful of vodkas for Lee, and a whiskey for himself with his last twenty-pound note. “Find me somewhere we can talk.”

  Lee clipped Rocky’s lead to her studded belt and relieved Calum’s tray of a few glasses. Then she led him around the bar to a quiet-ish corner he hadn’t seen. She dumped the drinks on a sticky table, then dropped into a tatty leather armchair, tucking her feet beneath her.

  “Right.” Calum necked his whiskey and then pulled a stool to the table, before pinching one of Lee’s vodkas. “Shall we start this again? Without me putting my foot in my mouth?”

  Lee grinned. “You didn’t. I just assumed you would. Sorry.”

  “Don’t be sorry. Being bi isn’t quite the same, but I know what it’s like to have people make bullshit assumptions about you.”

  “That’s what Brix said about being gay.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. I don’t think his family particularly appreciated him coming out, not that he seems to care, lucky fucker.”

  “I doubt it’s that simple.”

  “It isn’t. I’m being an arsehole to make myself feel better. I do that.”

  “Noted.” Though Calum had recognised the trait in Lee before. “Does it work?”

  Lee’s sardonic grin faded. She reached for her vodkas and downed two in a row. “Not really, but it was all I had for a long time, till Brix gave me a tattoo machine.”

  They’d made a considerable dent in their drinks in the short time they’d been sat down. Calum got up and nodded towards the bar. “Hold that thought.”

  He loaded up again and returned to Lee. “Tell me how you met Brix.”

  “How every outsider around here met him—on my arse at the side of the road. Brix is a fucking magnet for waifs and strays. I was sleeping on the beach at Fistral Bay when he bought me a cuppa.”

  That was Brix. Calum had never seen him walk past a London tramp without putting his hand in his pocket.

  “He collects us like his hens,” Lee went on when Calum said nothing. “He gave Lena half the shop when her and Kim were about to go under. Stopped Kim from offing himself, I swear.”

 
; “Lena and Kim are definitely together, then? I get mixed messages from them.”

  “They are together, but I think they both have other people too. They live on that commune out near the farms. Into all that free love and stuff.”

  “Oh.” That explained the vibe Calum hadn’t quite been able to decipher between Kim and Lena. For the most part, they seemed more like siblings than lovers, so Lee’s explanation made a weird kind of sense. “What about Jory? Brix save him too?”

  “Yup, from whatever weird shit he was up to before he came to Blood Rush. Brix saved us all, and I’m glad of it. Means no one looks at me like I’m a skank.”

  “Ah, that’s why none of you looked at me that way either. Used to it, eh?”

  Lee shrugged. “We’re used to Brix taking care of people. I’ve never seen him with anyone quite like you, though.”

  Calum wondered if that meant she’d never seen Brix with a bloke, but pushed his inappropriate curiosity aside. This wasn’t about him, or even about Brix. “How did you end up in . . . Newquay, was it? That’s where Fistral Bay is, right? But you don’t sound Cornish.”

  “I’m from Derby,” Lee said. “Shitty dead-end village near the Peak District. Got run out of town when I told my dad I wanted to transition. It was the last straw for him after I’d been outed as the village gay boy.”

  Calum snorted. “Bet you weren’t the only one.”

  “Yeah, but it was obvious with me. I was never exactly masculine, you know? I might as well have worn a sandwich board and rung a bell. I couldn’t believe how shocked my parents were when I told them. I’d lived with it so long in my head, it didn’t feel weird anymore.”

  “How old were you then?”

  “When I told them I fancied boys?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “I was fourteen when I got caught watching gay porn online. My dad beat the shit out of me and convinced himself it was a phase, and I never admitted to being gay, which made it easier for him to push it under the carpet. I like girls too, though.”