Into the Corner (2/2)
Part One
Cook finally ends up finishing the swingset and hammock. The former being a bit shaky, but still surprisingly sturdy considering he’s never been much of a handyman. She finds him outside one late afternoon lying on the hammock, smoking a spliff, and staring at the sky.
“Lazy arsehole,” she says cheekily, admiring his work.
He turns to her, closing one eye to get a better view. “Back from Eff’s?”
“Yeah.” She sits down on a swing and moves in it slowly, gripping the rough ropes.
Cook turns back to the sky. “I’d visit more often, you know.”
“Yeah. She knows.”
They lie and swing and smoke and sigh.
“What are you going to do once Naomi and Emily leave?” Katie asks cautiously.
“Dunno, love,” he says, “Don’t suppose I could stay here under your watch.”
Katie smirks it off. “Yeah. Have another James in the house stealing knickers and talking about sex all the time.”
He laughs. Hard again. It’s so good to hear him laugh like that. “Fucking hell,” he sighs with a smile. “Don’t flatter yourself, babe.”
“Not your babe.”
Naomi’s voice is clear and loud through the window. “Get in here.”
Katie’s heels dig hard into the ground and Cook’s upright in the hammock immediately. He moves fast, reacts fast. She remembers the first time the coppers got to Naomi’s, and Cook was out the window in a flash before Katie was even properly awake, like he was aware, constantly vigilant of being thrown out, being unwanted.
They head into the living room where Emily’s nervously sitting on the couch, biting her nails, and Naomi’s standing against a corner, almost hiding from the telly.
‘..ostensibly beaten to death with both hands and the aid of a nearby baseball bat. Foster was a convicted malpractitioner and not long after his death, was charged with the murder of eighteen-year old Frederick McClair. Authorities say they are still actively searching for James Cook who is wanted for both justifiable homicide and evasion of a previous court sentence. Captain Kieran Parker responded to a line of questioning just last night:
“Mr. Cook believes he is above the law solely because of his case’s circumstances. Those who are housing him believe him to be free and innocent of punishment due to Mr. Foster’s lifestyle and actions. Let me be perfectly clear: James Cook is not. Above the law. We will find him. We will place him in custody. And he will serve his time.”
Emily shuts it off, and a silence goes through the room.
“Still,” Katie finally breathes out. She turns to Cook, who just stares at the black screen like a comet coming into orbit.
“Could you guys step out for a second?” Naomi asks quietly, moving to sit next to Emily.
“You can’t kick him out.” Katie doesn’t budge.
Naomi sighs and places a hand on Emily’s. “For one second, Katie.”
“He’s your fucking friend. You can’t do that.” Fucking Naomi.
“Katie, please,” Emily says just as quietly as Naomi, because now they’re just this fucking couple, and you can’t even fight with one of them at once anymore.
Katie turns to see Cook’s already out of the living room and closing the door, heading back to his hammock. She huffs a soft sigh. Naomi pleads with her eyes.
She finally gets out back and sits beside Cook on the swingset. He passes her his spliff.
“We’re one and the same, Katie-kins,” he says with a grin, “Loyal. Down to the bone.”
She sneers. “I didn’t do it for you.”
His grin falters and something in her does, too.
“You know, love,” he says slowly, “You ought to play nicer with Naomi.”
“Whatever,” Katie replies, passing the spliff.
“I’m serious,” he says, taking an inhale.
“I know,” Katie says, rolling her eyes. She sighs and arches her neck slowly. “I know,” she repeats quietly.
“You know, we’ll always be angry.” He stretches. “Always. But you can’t always let it control you, you know? Otherwise...you’re not even a person anymore.” He squints at the night sky.
She watches him lick his lips and search for the right words. He never finds them. “I love her,” Katie says instead. I'll always love her more.
He turns to her, nodding understandingly. “There’s a difference between loving and being in love, yknow?”
“I know,” she scoffs too quickly, turning away.
Not really, actually. She’s...
-
Well. If you must fucking know; she’s never been in love.
-
He’s packing his clothes that night, even though no one’s really said anything. She’s just brushed and is heading for bed when she stops in the doorway and watches helplessly as he goes around the room collecting random shirts and deodorant cans. He finally turns to see her and sighs as he zips up the duffel bag.
“Why?” she asks quietly.
He arches his back and sighs again. “Coz I can’t leech forever, can I, love?” He tosses the duffel bag beside his cot and settles in for bed. “I can. But. That isn’t fair, izzit?”
-
He visits Effy with her the next night. She sneaks him in through the emergency exit in the back. It’s probably not very smart, but he needs to.
Effy’s half-asleep when they get up to her room and Cook sighs so heavily upon seeing her Katie’s scared he’ll just faint right in front of her. He grips something on his shirt and watches her sleep for a moment. Katie’s finally about to nudge him softly when he trots over and sits beside her.
“Cook.”
“Yeah, princess.”
“...Cook...”
Katie turns away, deciding instead to stand outside. She forces a smile at the old lady down the hallway who’s taking her hourly walk around the three rooms next to hers, slowly clambering along with her walking stick. The minutes tick by and the muffled words from the room just seem to swim round her head. She does, try that is, move along the wall and arches her ear to better hear, but something bites inside her that makes her move back. Maybe this is their time.
When she finally comes in to get Cook out before it gets too suspicious, Effy’s fully awake and sitting on her bed, hands in Cook’s. He acknowledges Katie’s words. “I’m comin back for you, Eff,” he says, kissing her hands. “No matter what.”
And it’s sickly sweet, Katie thinks, that Effy of all people, needs a prince to save her. But as she watches Cook’s patient hand stroke Effy’s thumb, a heavy weight settles in her stomach.
**
It’s already nearing the beginning of August anyway and Naomi and Emily finally decide to let Katie decide what to do with Cook.
“It’s your place, too,” Naomi ends lamely.
Katie stares open-mouthed at them, and Emily shrugs. “It’s true.”
“Well thanks for that, Ems, real supportive and helpful.”
“Don’t be like that, Katie.” Naomi folds her arms.
“I was talking to my sister.”
“Ladies,” Cook interjects. “It’s fine. I can-”
“You’re not leaving,” Katie says firmly. No fucking way is he going onto the streets, or wherever the fuck he thought he’d run off to.
-
Later, Cook and Katie are heading out for a midnight stroll. They’re putting light jackets just in case when Cook takes a chance glance into the kitchen. He motions Katie to look in with a finger.
Naomi’s resting her back along the counter, her hands on Emily’s hips, nose buried in her hair. They sway very slowly to a song playing on the radio.
“Sweet, aren’t they,” Cook whispers.
Katie scoffs.
“It’s the hair, you know,” Cook decides, and Katie gives him a look. He grins at her, and points at them. Platinum and rosewood. Locks and locks of flammable cherry falling against a sea of soft gold. “See there?” he says, and Katie can.
They continue looking for a bit longer, and she can suddenly feel how close he is, how if she took a tiny step closer, their hands would actually be interlocked. “Don’t you ever wish things were different, Cook?” she asks softly.
He smiles, the kind you can hear, and she wonders what it’d be like to rest against it. He turns to her again. “Ever feel like an intruder, love? Like the rest of the world is paired up, and here you are, invading their space, standing where you don’t belong?”
Her breath catches. “All the time.”
He smirks a playful one. “All the time,” he repeats. There is complete and utter sadness in his eyes.
**
“You’re spending a lot of time with Cook,” Naomi says conversationally one morning over coffee when everyone else is still sleeping.
“Someone’s got to if you two are too busy sucking face.”
“It was just an observation.”
“Observe this.”
“That wasn’t very ladylike.”
“Fuck off.”
**
The reports continue.
“...seventeen year old Shanky three months prior to killing Dr. Foster.”
“...say Cook must have beaten Foster for over twenty minutes...”
“...pride themselves on saying the case is not yet closed and won’t be soon...”
“...reason to believe Cook is being kept safe by friends or family.”
She still can’t bring herself to believe he’s a criminal. A murderer. Dangerous.
They’ve got it wrong.
**
Ems and Naomi pack for London in less than two days. They consider throwing a going-away party. But Naomi doesn’t have anyone to invite. And to be honest, neither does Emily.
Everything’s just ending before it’s even began, and their room is being cleared out, their favourite mugs disappearing into boxes that stack on top of one another in the living room. Katie and Naomi argue over moving companies. And vans. And London train fares. And everything debateable, really.
-
“Katie. You’ve got to let it go. Please. We’re going to be living in fucking London together.”
“I hate you.”
“Please let it go. She did.”
“That’s because she’s fucking stupid.”
“I love her, Katie. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Fuck off. And die.”
She sees a flicker of surprise and hurt in Naomi’s eyes, like a crack and a dam breaking apart.
**
When they leave, it’s just about as hurtful as she thought it’d be. They do that stupid thing where you hold the best for last and Naomi says a curt goodbye to Katie with a stiff but genuine hug as Emily holds and kisses Cook on the cheek, whispering something in his ear.
They switch awkwardly slowly, all four dreading this particular pair of goodbyes.
Naomi breaks first and grabs onto Cook like a lifeline and almost breaks down into tears in his shoulder. “It’s alright, love,” he says with a sad grin, rubbing her back.
Emily grabs her first, too. And it only takes a moment to realize she’s gripping her back just as hard. “I’ll miss you,” Emily crying already.
“Fucking hell,” Katie gasps as her eyes start to sting and the tears start flowing. She holds onto Emily like the centre of the universe, and everything spins around them. The lies, the murder, the love, the late nights and early mornings. She holds on for dear life.
“Emsy wum,” Emily squeaks in her hair, and Katie laughs into a sigh.
“Katie wum too,” she breaks.
**
The next few weeks go by in a blur. She moves into Naomi’s empty room and decorates it with her things so, so slowly, a torturous invasion of privacy and space. The sudden silences in the mornings and evenings take her for a spin. Sometimes she smokes with Cook outside, sometimes they eat in silence. Most of the time he works out and she reads, or they visit Effy after dinner.
“Everyone’s sort of...moved on,” Effy says when she’s looking out the window one morning.
Katie scoffs and sets up the chess board. “Dunno about that. I think we’re all pretty emotionally retarded when it comes to each other.” She has no idea where she’s getting this thought from.
Effy turns to her with a tired smile. “No one stays in Bristol,” she says, picking up the black king and queen. “They follow their heart, and they have to leave.”
Katie drops the white knight onto the floor and has to move her chair to pick it back up.
“Naomi.” Effy’s like...fucking counting on her fingers. “Panda. Sid. Tony.”
“Who’s Sid?”
“Fre-nobody stays.” She places the king and queen back in place and drops her hands back down onto her lap with a sigh. “Everybody has to follow their heart.”
Katie sets the chess board aside and places a hand on Effy’s. “Eff, who’s Sid?”
Effy smiles lightly. “Sid and Cassie.”
Katie rubs her hand. “I don’t know who those people are, Eff.”
“Sid and Cassie. And Panda and Thomas. And Tony and Michelle. And Naomi and Emily.”
“Eff, you’re scaring me.”
“Nobody stays in Bristol.”
“I’m here.”
Effy’s loopy smiles grows serious. Without warning she launches herself into Katie’s arms into a fierce hug. They hold one another for a moment, and Katie caresses her long brown hair. “Not going anywhere, Eff.” How fucking far they have come.
-
“Cook’s leaving soon too,” Effy says quietly that night as Katie’s tucking her in.
**
It comes out angrier than she’d intended it to.
“When the fuck were you going to tell me this?”
“I thought it’d be easier on you, to just pick up and go.”
“Why the fuck would that be easier on me, Cook?” She watches as he goes around the house collecting random objects together and stuffing them into a bag. He hasn’t shaven again, and barely looks like the boy she knew. She stifles a gasp. It’s getting real. He’s really fucking leaving. And he’s worked at changing his face. “Where will you go?” she asks.
“Dunno,” he sniffs, arching his back in place, looking around the room. “And I can’t tell you, love, in case the coppers come by, you don’t need to have information they want.” He finally decides on taking a small compact pillow, managing to stuff that into his bag. He’s walking by her to go upstairs and raid the bathroom if he can when he pecks her on the forehead. “You’ve done enough for me, yeah?”
It feels like they’re stuck in a cyclone, circling around the topic, on the edge of falling in, and never quite losing balance. The mornings have gotten quieter, and Katie’s finding it harder to not stare at his duffel bag by the front door, ready to be picked up and his presence in the house erased completely.
“Will you stay in England?” she asks.
He shakes his head. “Can’t answer that, love.”
She knows he can’t answer any of the questions. But it just seems like nothing of his, not even an answer to a question, belongs to her anymore.
**
She knows because Effy knows. On one particular dreary night, the visit to Effy’s is cut short when he walks out quickly, rubbing his eyes.
“What is it?” she asks, placing a hand on his shoulder which he shakes of.
“Nothing,” he says gruffly, hiccupping even. He shields his face from her and walks down the hallway to the stairs. “Let’s go.”
She glances into Effy’s room quickly and feels her heart beat out of her chest at the sight of the girl clutching the covers up to her mouth.
“You’re leaving,” she says quietly when they get home and Cook’s moving to the kitchen quickly for something to drink.
“In the morning,” he says, grabbing a box of milk and drinking it from the spout.
“Cook.” She rips it away from him in disgust.
He chuckles sadly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“Please don’t go,” she says softly, hating the tenderness, the open-ness, the vulnerability in it.
He halts his actions in the moonlight and stares at her dumbly. “I’ve got to, love,” he says resolutely.
They hug goodbye outside the bathroom, slowly and quietly. He’s humming some tune in her ear and rotating them slowly in place. She can hear his heartbeat, slow yet fast, ready to break out of his hard chest, ready to fight. Ready to protect. “See you around, babe,” he says.
“Not your babe,” she musters out, and she hates that it’s the last thing she says to him before going into her room. But he laughs at it and the noise fills her inside.
Every creak and bump and tiny shifts of movement in the night breaks her eyes open and she wills herself firstly not to cry, then to try to get to sleep. In that order.
When he finally does leave, it is undeniably him. She hears him shifting in the guest room, then the window being slowly wheeled open.
Cook.
She hears his soft grunting as he tracks out of the window, hands gripping the ledge and dragging his bags out with him.
COOK COOK COOK
He lands softly on the ground outside and runs off, the tiny rocks and sand on the floor rubbing loudly against his shoes. It is quiet.
She wills herself firstly not to cry, then to try to get to sleep. In that order.
**
If there’s one thing she...loves about Cook, it’s the way he says love.
luv
in that husky, low, semi-serious way. It wraps around the tongue like a warm glove.
**