Page 32 of Crave

“On what?”

“Think the lights stay on for free, do ya? Know how much that baby needs. Life ain’t cheap, y’know.”

I exhaled slow, studying her face for the lie. It was there. Faint, familiar. The one she told herself as much as me. Didn’t matter. I shifted gear years ago for this exact reason. To keep her standing, and Keeley from falling the same way. So I dug into my pocket, peeled off a few notes from last night’s take, and held them out.

“Thanks, love.” Her smile came soft and real. Same one on the faces of users right after a hit. That flash of relief before the crash. “I’ll go get some groceries later.”

“Buy a vegetable.” I tucked the rest of the roll back into my pocket. “Kee needs them if she’s breastfeeding.”

“She ain’t.”

I rolled my eyes.

Keeley appeared then, her hair a wild tangle, wearing one of my old hoodies, the baby clutched tight to her chest. “Mum, did you get the formula?”

“I been working all night, Kee. I’ll have to go later.”

“Fuck’s sake!”

“Cupboard,” I cut in, tilting my head. “Top shelf.”

Keeley squeezed into the kitchen, reaching past me with Maisie balanced precariously on her arm. “When did you buy formula?”

I leant against the sink. “Picked it up the other day.”

She retrieved the carton, then rounded on me. “Can you get her a cot? She’ll grow out that Moses basket soon enough.”

“You know it’s cheaper to breastfeed, yeah?”

“Yeah? You ever had someone hanging off your tits, sucking the life out of you?”

No, but I’d had a few try.

“I also want one of those all-in-one buggy things.” Keeley managed to crack open the carton of baby milk one-handed, whilst delivering her Amazon wishlist. “With a car seat. Saw one used on Marketplace, but I ain’t got the money.”

I snorted. “You ain’t even old enough to drive, Kee.” I kissed Mum on the cheek and pushed off the counter. “I’m hitting the shower.”

“Ain’t working!” Mum yelled after me, the lighter clicking again behind me. “Pissing out dribble. And it’s cold. We all need to wash!”

I shut the door on the noise and leant back against it. She was right. The shower was fucked. Lukewarm dribble, rust choking the head, pipes coughing as if they were on twenty a day habit like my mum. I took one look, unscrewed the head, knocked the worst of the scale out against the sink. Cleared the filter with the end of a key. Twisted the valve a quarter-turn and waited. The water stuttered. Then it came through properly. Not perfect. But hot. Stronger. Usable.

Growing up in a council gaff like this, you don’t ring anyone. You don’t wait. Things break and stay broken unless you sort them yourself. Loose doors. Dead plugs. Leaking taps. You learn early how to make shit work again, even if all you’ve got is guesswork and stubbornness. I weren’t a plumber. Nothing official. But I could fix things. Most of the time.

Steam started to creep up the walls, fogging the cracked mirror. Damp darkened the grout, ran in thin lines down the tiles. The room changed. Warmed. Obeyed. And I stood there a second, watching it, feeling that quiet, stupid satisfaction settle in my chest.

Should’ve got the hotel. One night of something that didn’t need coaxing. Proper pressure. Proper heat. Water hitting my back instead of begging for it.

But then… I was used to broken things.

Couldn’t stop the thought, though. Especially with a pretty boy like the one in the alley on his knees for me while I got all hot and bothered.

Fuck.

I braced a hand against the wall and got myself off quick, water running cold by the end of it.

When I’d scrubbed enough grime and guilt to pass for human, I stepped out, towel slung low and headed for Keeley’s room to find my clothes. Darren was on her bed, half-naked, scrolling through his phone and chewing his thumb raw. Scrawny little scrote. All bone, bad skin, and attitude. Hard to believe that body had managed to knock up my sister. He flinched when I walked in. Good. He should’ve flinched before he ever got his dick wet in Keeley. Some would call him brave for touching my blood. Others would call him fucking stupid. But here was the real kicker, he was smarter than I gave him credit for. Because now he had me. My name. My protection on the estate.

And that part?