9Callum
When Callum got back to the narrowboat, he found Ezra sitting at the table, drawing on his tablet.
“Did you have a good evening?” Ezra asked, without looking up from what he was working on.
“It was fun.”
Callum leaned on the back of Ezra’s chair so he could peer over his shoulder at the tablet screen. His uncle was drawing a stylised tiger, which was growling at the viewer.
“Is that for a tattoo?”
“Yeah, a full back one.”
“It’s amazing.”
Ezra shrugged. “It needs a fair bit of work yet. Are you thinking about getting a new tattoo?”
“Not right now.”
“Shame. Well, when you do want a new one, I’d love to design it for you.”
“I’d like that too.” It seemed fitting that the guy who was helping him sort his life out would design the next symbol he put on his body.
Callum moved away and sat on the sofa, clasping his hands between his knees. He’d never been able to draw, so he was in awe of anyone who could, especially his uncle.
“I invited a friend to come with us tomorrow,” he said. “I hope that’s okay?”
Ezra glanced at him. “Of course it is. I’m glad you’re making some friends here. Does that mean you’re going to be sticking around?”
Callum glanced around the narrow space. “Is there room for me to?”
“Of course there is, and for as long as you need, okay?”
Callum nodded. “Thanks.”
Callum rubbed his hands over his thighs and then began to knock his knuckles against his leg. “It was Dad’s birthday today.”
Ezra put the electronic pencil down and twisted in his chair, so he was facing Callum.
“Molly wanted me to go and visit him.”
“You obviously didn’t.”
“She’s been texting me all day, giving me a running report on their journey to the prison, how Dad was, their journey home, that kind of stuff.”
“Shit, Callum, I’m sorry. She’s out of line, you know that don’t you? Neither she, nor your mum, can make you see your Dad.”
Callum clenched his hands together again, squeezing them tight. “They’re always going to pick him over me, aren’t they?” His chest tightened and something sticky clogged his throat. “He gets put away for murder and, in their eyes, the sun shines out of his arse, but I skip school and I’m a ‘crap son’. I spray graffiti on a shop and I’m a ‘useless piece of shit’. I steal a car and it’s not even worth Mum’s time to come and sit with me when the police interview me, because she didn’t want to skip visitinghimeven once.” He hung his head and sniffed back tears. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. It’s been rough for you.”
“Only because I made things hard for myself. I could have towed the line. Could have been the perfect son. Gone to school. Got the grades. Stood by afuckingmurderer.” He dragged his fingers through his hair, grasping hold of the strands and pulling until he felt pain in his scalp. “And I know—Iknowthere was an in-between in there somewhere. I could have kept my nose cleanandrefused to see Dad. And Ididtry that for a while, but it was like I was invisible to Mum and Molly. I had to dosomethingto make them seeme, even if it was for all the wrong reasons.”
He heard Ezra move, and a moment later his uncle was squeezing and rubbing his shoulder. Callum took several deep breaths until he felt calm again, then he dropped his hands onto his knees.
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. You can’t keep all this stuff bottled up.”
