“Brix?”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing today? Do you have appointments?”
Shamefully, Brix had no idea. He focussed on the handwritten book Lena kept up-to-date for his sake. “A consultation and finishing up a half sleeve. Think it’s the Alice in Wonderland one I did last month.”
“Are you sure you’re all right? I’ve got that cover-up coming in soon, but I can stay with you if you need—”
“I’m fine.” Brix scrubbed his hands down his face. “I told you. I just need some grub to soak up all the shite I threw down my neck last night. Do what you gotta do. I’ll be out in a bit.”
Calum stared him down for a long moment, his dark gaze inscrutable, then he let out a barely audible sigh and pushed himself upright. “Fair enough. See you on the other side.”
It was actually a week before Calum’s cover-up finally made it to their twice rescheduled appointment, and by then he’d been staying with Brix for nearly a fortnight. Two weeks that had passed Brix by in a flash. Calum’s quiet presence in his life felt like it had always been there—if he didn’t think about the elephant in the room their drunken snog had become. And he didn’t think about it . . . much. Honest.
Whatever.
Calum’s cover-up arrived at 11 a.m. on Monday morning. The studio was pretty much empty, just Brix, Calum, and Lena drinking tea and eating Lena’s homemade fairing cookies—sweet ginger biscuits that Calum couldn’t seem to get enough of.
Brix met the girl at the door. Tattoo studios were like the womb to him, but he knew that they could be intimidating places for folk who didn’t frequent them much. “Morning, love. You here for Calum?”
The girl nodded. “I’m Fen. My appointment’s at eleven?”
“Right on time. Come on in.” He led Fen to where Calum had his station. “Take a seat. He’s just washing up.”
Calum appeared a few moments later. That was Brix’s cue to get ready for his own appointment, and he usually let his artists get on with their jobs in peace, but he lingered this time, curious as to what the pretty young girl needed covering.
Calum smiled. “You’re here for a cover-up, yeah? What’s the story?”
Fen shifted in her seat. “I’ve got my girlfriend’s name on my chest. I need it covered.”
“Your girlfriend?” Calum looked puzzled. “Are you still together?”
“Yes, she’s just not here at the moment.”
It wasn’t their place to ask too many questions. If a client wanted shit covered, they covered it, but something didn’t add up here. Brix ventured a little closer and sat on the edge of Calum’s workbench. “Where did she go?”
“Harvest House in Bodmin.”
Brix’s heart did an uncomfortable flip. “Oh. How long is she there for?”
“A month, or until she stops wanting to die.”
Calum frowned. “Sorry, Fen. I’m not from round here. What’s Harvest House, Brix?”
“It’s the psychiatric unit at the hospital.”
“The worst one,” Fen said. “Where they send you when you’re proper crazy.”
“Ah now, that’s not quite true,” Brix said. “You don’t have to be crazy to be mentally ill. And it’s not that bad there. Probably the safest place for her if she’s not feeling well.”
Fen shrugged listlessly as Brix sensed Calum’s gaze on him, and took it as his cue to move on. Some days he barely remembered Harvest House had ever existed, but others he could still smell the disinfectant they smeared on the floors every night.
He left Calum and Fen to it and returned to his own station. The half-finished sketch he needed for his first appointment greeted him, reminding him that despite what he preached to his studio crew, he was woefully underprepared for the day ahead. Rectifying that required his full attention, and the next time he glanced up, Calum was well into his own work, covering whatever ink Fen had on her chest.
Calum’s gaze was intense, his tongue caught between his teeth. Brix liked to talk as he etched ink onto his clients. Not Calum. He had a gentle touch with his needle, but his concentration was absolute. No small talk for Fen, not that she looked like she wanted it. Poor girl was in her own world.
Curiosity burned Brix’s soul. Calum specialised in dot work, but his trademark intricate style wouldn’t work here, whatever Fen needed covering. Cover-ups needed dark ink, and lots of it, which made it tricky to create a piece that actually meant something.
