30.

Cullen takes an unexpected turn under the arches. The viaduct looms above us like an ancient monster. Layers of faded gig-posters, and the colourful declarations of love and identity daubed on its walls, seem to be the only things holding it up as a train rattles overhead, shaking century-old dust loose.

He doesn't change his pace, but the change in direction helps me catch on to his destination. My suspicions are confirmed when he turns left, stepping onto the hallowed ground of Shelton. I hesitate, not wanting to be seen under the brighter lights, and almost lose him, but then he makes one final shift in trajectory, surprising me again. He crosses the faded grass that fronts a row of crooked council houses, the teeth at the edge of the estate. Shawbank Row might appear rotten to outsiders, but for locals, they're gold plated. The best accommodation benefits can buy, and home to Sam and his family.

Cullen disappears into their house. I'm confused for a second, until another ticks by and then I'm pissed off. I'm about to storm up and bang on their door but my eyes land on the phone box across the street like grapple hooks, dragging me away from one bad idea to another.

I'm already planning how to play it as I walk over, what to say, how to find out what the hell these two are doing, and to work out why no one thought to tell me about this cozy little friendship. I shove twenty pence in the phone and balance the receiver between my shoulder and ear, punching the numbers in from memory with enough force to leave an ache in my finger as it rings.

I try to ignore the acidic smells wafting around my feet, instead reading an old business card tucked into the door that reads 'Scarlett Sloane. Frisky fun from your wildest dreams. Call me, Big boy.' A sweaty and balding man with a husky voice and a way with words appears in my mind. I shudder as Mrs Uley picks up the phone. She's happy to hear from me but keen to get back to her programmes, so after the obligatory but fake concern for Mum's well-being (the two being from opposing planets) she shouts for Sam. I strain to hear any noises in the background but only the familiar soap theme tune fills the quiet while I wait.

"Bella?" Sam doesn't hide his surprise. I ring him on average about once a year, knowing our paths will cross before the sun goes down without a doubt or a plan. "You alright?"

What the fuck is going on? "Hey Sam." Why the hell is Cullen in your house? "Yeah fine, just wanted to see what you're up to?"

He's speaking too closely to the handset, it muffles his voice but not the confusion. "Um … not much. Are you sure you're okay?"

No. "Yeah honest." Honesty is not the best policy. "Kinda bored. You coming out later?"

"Oh … well, I've got some stuff to do here tonight, so maybe see you tomorrow?"

I lose my cool. "Stuff like what?"

"This thing for Mum … to do with insurance or something, and I've got some homework."

I laugh at this lie. "Really?"

I can imagine him scratching his neck, a habit of nerves he's had since we were six years old and getting told off for breaking or eating stuff we shouldn't. At his house. Not mine. Nothing was off limits at mine. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

A thousand questions hammer against my teeth, but I keep quiet.

He's worried about me, and I should feel bad, but with the image of Cullen next to him, deep in their little secret, I don't at all. I don't respond.

"You still there … Bella?" Five seconds of radio silence. "Shit."

He's muffled again, but this time talking to someone else. I can't make out the words and then they're drowned out by the beeps. Time's up. I replace the handset and push out of the rancid box into the fresh air. I'm over on my side of the estate before I realise Sam will check who called and know I was right outside his house. They'll both know. And then they'll know I know.

But that thought is knocked out of my mind with another altogether nastier reality. Marcus is standing outside our block with a gang of layabouts and thugs around him, ones who are as ingrained in this place as the bird shit and graffiti. I watch for a minute from the cover of a clump of trees, pressed against the trunk of the gnarled oak old enough to remember a time when hell wasn't knocking on our doors. It's clear the gang are familiar with Marcus. His hair is slick and shiny under the lights, his motions shifty, his words holding their attention too easily. Laughter and secretive whispers circle around them, too far away to catch. Marcus raises his hand and gestures to our flat, where no doubt mum is passed out and alone. Five sets of eyes zero in. Unease wraps its fingers around my throat.

A branch snaps making me jump, as I sense someone beside me, too late to dart away. But then my panic is calmed by a quiet voice and the scent of smoke that's still clinging to Cullen. "You know them?"

"Some of them."

"Who's that?" He nods his head toward the group, not needing to differentiate, I know who he means. The shark amongst the minnows.

"Marcus Volturi."

There's no recognition, but he frowns and tips his head to the side, the coin of information dropping down, banked for later on. "You know him?"

I don't answer as I watch him and his new cronies dispersing like ghouls into the night. I don't want to know him, so saying nothing at all is wishful thinking.

I turn to Cullen as he starts to speak again, cutting him off with a shake of my head. Marcus has deflated my anger and my emotions are strung out and tangled up. I don't pretend I don't care where he's been. He doesn't pretend everything okay either. "I'm tired of…" I want to say of you, of this, of everything, but I know they'd be false claims. "I'm just tired."

He rolls his lip between his teeth, scrubbing his hand over the back of his neck. "I'll come back tomorrow then," he says leaving me no room to argue.

I nod and walk away from him, but the farther I get, the higher the my anxiety and curiosity dials so I stop and call back, "You can come over now," turning back away before I see his reaction.

We walk home in silence, his hands in his pockets, mine clutching onto my last shred of composure. Mum, to my surprise, is out, making Marcus' presence more worrying. I lock and bolt the door behind us, drawing the latch across.

I turn and rest my back against it as Cullen waits for me in the darkened hallway. I try to hide the relief that his presence has brought, but it's making my bones weightless, my chest lighter than it's been in weeks.

He eyes the barricaded door, an eyebrow drawing up. "I thought you I told you to stay out of trouble."

I'm torn between throwing a punch and catching a laugh.

The laugh wins out.

AN: LOVE YOU ALL. Thank you for still being here and for asking after me. I'm all good, just spinning one too many plates and some had to give. Smash, Crash, Bang and all that.

Thanks to G for reading this for me.

Unbeta'd again.

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