Chapter 18 of A Net Too Wide To Break His Fall, by Matt Boothman
I wrote this story chapter by chapter, without outlining first. It was an experiment in writing consistently, producing a chapter once a month, without fail, for the Foggy Outline newsletter. So don’t expect something polished or finished; but what it does have is momentum, and a fluidity that came from wanting to change things up enough to keep myself interested enough to write more.
If you’d be interested in a properly edited, fleshed out, finished version of this story, let me know!
Up on the dais, the auctioneer seemed giddy. Her eyes were the eyes of a runaway train’s driver as the words trundled faster and faster from her lips. Maybe it was her first time breaking up the estate of an aristocrat, or of a crime lord, or of someone who’d been both.
At the back of the room, Callum was placid and resolute; he knew what was best; but then–
“I don’t think he’ll ever forgive me for it–” said Marielena to Autumn Wray Benjamin; Lisaveta having just introduced them and explained Mari’s old connection to Vivian Hithercombe, who was not present but whose influence malingered in every auctioned object and around the shoulders of most of the people in the room.
“Mari, what – no, stop–” Dragging her by the arm towards the buffet to work out what she thought she was doing, where the miscommunication between them had happened this time. It started working: Autumn started to turn away, dissociate themself from Mari and her strange dance, one arm flailing, struggling to balance. But–
”–but,” said Mari, “I want to introduce you to my brother, Callum.”
Callum went rigid, forgot Mari, forgot the giddy auctioneer, caring only about one thing: the look on the face of the person who’d given him his way out of the Vivian situation, who’d saved him from Vivian, who he’d helped save, as their perspective shifted to see him suddenly not as an irrelevant object, a background detail, but as a person like themself.
There was someone who’d been there through it all. Through all the tense months of lying, hiding, wondering, hoping. Through the months as a shuttle weaving back and forth, with razored threads on all sides, waiting for the slip that would bring the fatal snip. There was someone who’d been there through it all, but never in the spotlight, always overlooked.
He’d been there on the walkie-talkie that night in the van outside the house on Bronze Street. Saying all the things they’d pinned their hopes on hearing. Confirmation that the big play was going their way, giving them power over Vivian instead of backfiring and giving her even more power over them. The memory of his words over the radio was clear, but the memory of their own reaction didn’t fit; why the bubbling frustration and worry, the repeated complaints to Lisaveta that all they were hearing was irrelevant chatter?
He’d been there, too, at that first face-to-face with Lisaveta, backstage at the convention centre. Bizarre not to have noticed him there at such a clandestine meeting. Hadn’t they and Lisaveta agreed to come alone? But he’d seemed so obviously background, safely ignorable, something about him giving the same impression as a cleaner wearing ear defenders, in no danger of overhearing and in no way invested even if he did. Incredible, in hindsight, that he could have maintained that impression while murmuring in Lisaveta’s ear.
He’d been there when the team reported that they’d failed to apprehend Vivian Hithercombe’s elusive enforcer.
He’d been there – in their flat. That time hadn’t been the first.
A quiet presence in the window seat.
A weight beside them on the sofa. As they fretted and sweated about when Vivian’s enforcer, who could bypass any lock, who could discover any secret, would find out who Autumn really was.
There was someone who’d been there through all of it.
“Callum,” said Autumn. “Yeah, no. I know Callum.”
Autumn’s hand was rising. Callum raised his to meet theirs, to shake. But Autumn’s hand kept rising, still open, still empty, and came down with a crack like the auctioneer’s hammer. It was like they’d summoned their goons again to let off flash grenades in Callum’s face. And for some reason … laughing gas?
“Is something funny?”
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry–” Marielena set her face for a moment, then collapsed back into doubled-over hoots.
Callum covered his cheek with the hand he was still holding out to shake, letting the pink heat bleed into his palm. “I suppose you saw that coming?”
“Nope. That was a surprise,” said Mari. “And I’m just fascinated to see what you do next.”
The door at the back of the auction whuffed as it swung back and forth in Autumn’s wake.
Callum had said an introduction to Autumn was a bad idea. He’d had his mind made up about it. This just proved him right. He knew what it looked like when someone didn’t want to be around you. It was a hard message to mistake. He could take a hint.
Laughter clung in the corners of Mari’s eyes. She was peering at him, patiently amused, waiting for him to work something out.
They’d left it too long, he and Autumn. There’d been an ideal moment to get introduced, for Callum to come into focus, when Autumn’s people had been after him, when they’d both been deep the game with Vivian, when it would all have been easy to explain. Quietly filling the unoccupied corners of other people’s homes was just how he’d always had to live, how he’d got used to living. They’d both been Vivian’s playthings and he’d wanted to be close to someone in the same situation. Autumn had sent a squad of armed mercenaries to his hotel room and surely they couldn’t deny a bit of counter-surveillance was fair play. It all looked so much worse in hindsight. And it looked like all that hindsight had hit Autumn at the speed of Mari’s introduction.
Callum took his hand off his cheek. Let it sting.
He’d left it too long. Autumn hadn’t had a say in it. He’d treated them pretty badly. That it was how he was forced to treat most people didn’t make it better; he was a fleeting shadow in most people’s lives, and he’d made himself a persistent hollow in Autumn’s, making himself a part of their life while keeping himself a secret from them. Because then he could keep on pretending what he’d built with them was a bridge, not just a loose plank, only secured at his end. A slap was the least he deserved.
“Feels like they were really saving that up,” he said.
“Think they got it all out of their system?” said Mari.
“What do you think?”
Callum doubted it.
Mari mirrored him.
“I think … this is absolutely the last time I help you out, little brother. Next time you’re about to make the exact wrong call, I’m just going to let you make it.”
“I’ll believe that when it happens,” said Callum. “‘Boo hoo, I hate helping my brother with his problems.’ You love meddling in my life. You didn’t know what to do with yourself the past five years.”
“I’m sorry, who are you again?”
Mari was older, but Callum had always had an unfair advantage when it came to a playfight in public. He’d escalated their contest of jabs and name-calling and keep-away with personal belongings to the point where the auction’s security guards were just starting to pay attention to her, when Autumn stormed back through the swing doors in a way that drew the whole room’s attention for a moment.
“And another thing,” they said, and then “What’s so funny?”
Because Callum was laughing, because all he’d had to do was not go anywhere.