Suburb: Chapter One

Below is the prologue and first chapter of my debut novel, Suburb.

Suburb is the story of Tom Fray, who is desperate to leave the suburbs he’s recently returned home to and go and live a life of adventure . Then he meets Kate, a married neighbour, who he shares a connection with. When the two start an affair, Tom's simple plan to escape becomes a lot more complicated.

The book can be purchased in paperback and e-book from Amazon.

Prologue

Thursday, 20 May 2004

The Suburbs, South Manchester

I returned home from three years at university to find my parents exactly where I’d left them.

I parked on the kerb outside my family home; semi-detached, identical to its neighbour, stuck in the middle of a cul-de-sac. Slowly, I turned my key in the lock of the front door. Inside the familiar floral décor surrounded me, the smell of Thursday night takeaway curry filled the air. I put my head round the living room door. My parents sat separately; Mum on the settee, Dad in his chair, both staring at the television. EastEnders their soap of choice.

‘All right?’ I asked.

‘Hello, Tom,’ my mum said.

‘All right?’ my dad said.

Their eyes didn’t leave the screen.

I unloaded my car, storing boxes and bags temporarily in the hallway. My mum appeared as I finished my last trip and offered to cook something for me. I declined, explaining I’d eaten before driving back. She smiled and disappeared back into the living room.

I carried my boxes and bags up the stairs to my brother’s old room.

Tuesday, 11 September 2001

The day that shook the world. One of those days that you’ll always remember exactly where you were when you heard the news. Like JFK being shot (I wasn’t born), or Princess Diana’s car crash (I was in a swimming pool in Greece with my brother wondering why the sun beds around the pool were empty, and why my mum was crying in our apartment). I was in my bedroom packing when I saw the first images of the twin towers. I watched repeated news footage of the attacks as I sorted out the clothes I was taking to Leeds uni with me. It felt strange to be quietly preparing to completely change my life, to move away from home for the first time, to finally be independent, while on the television in my room an event was unfolding that would shape the modern world. Echoes of the planes crashing into the New York towers would soon be heard in Afghanistan and Iraq.

I also remember that day for a very different reason. After watching the second plane hit for the thousandth time, I left my house. Some neighbours had gathered on the street and were discussing theories of the goings-on in New York. A large removal van was parked on the opposite side of the road, further down towards the open circle of houses at the end of the cul-de-sac. A woman carried a box from the van to the driveway of number 20 and stopped next to a man I didn’t recognise.

I crossed the street and caught the woman’s eye. She smiled and I smiled back. The man stood next to her nodded a ‘hello’. He was her husband, Stuart, I later found out.

That is the other thing I think about when somebody mentions September 11, 2001, now. It was the day I met Kate Young for the first time. There was nothing special about the meeting, nothing that suggested any significance.

Nothing to indicate we’d eventually start an affair.

Chapter One

I left university with a simple plan. Work, save, go travelling.

I woke up on my first morning home to the sound of my mum shouting to my brother, ‘Chris. Get up. It’s eight o’clock.’

‘I’m up.’ His voice matching my mum’s for volume.

I lay in what used to be Chris’s single bed for a few minutes listening to the sounds of the bathroom. The toilet flushing, the cistern starting to refill, the tap running, Chris spitting toothpaste into the sink. The door opened and his heavy footsteps disappeared downstairs. I squeezed past my unpacked boxes onto the landing.

When I walked into the kitchen my fifteen-year-old brother, who was sat at the small pine table, looked up at me and said, ‘All right?’ through a mouthful of chocolate Corn Flakes. His school tie hung over the back of his chair and his crumpled white shirt was still un-tucked.

‘Morning,’ my mum said. She sprayed the kitchen work surface with cleaner, then wiped across the sides, clearing them of toast crumbs and splashes of milk, performing her morning ritual as she had done since I was little. The kitchen always cleaned and tidied before leaving the house; before taking me to nursery, before dropping me at primary school, before I went to secondary school, before taking Chris to primary school, and eventually before she went to work. Clean, tidy, and ready for coming home and starting again.

I bent down in front of the fridge and scanned for orange juice. Standing back up with the carton in my hand I went over to the cupboard with the glasses in. When I opened it a pile of plates and bowls faced me.

‘Where are the glasses? I thought they were in here.’

‘They were. They’re in the next one along now. That one is the bigger cupboard. A couple of plates got chipped when they were being put back in the other one.’ My mum glanced at my brother.

Chris stood up, picked his bowl up and left it on the side by the sink, then silently walked out of the kitchen. I poured a bowl of cereal from the box he had left on the table and covered it with milk.

‘He’s chatty,’ I said, as my mum poured the remainder of Chris’s breakfast into the bin.

‘He’s fifteen. He just sits in his room playing his guitar most of the time. You were the same.’

‘Sorry about that,’ I said, smiling.

My mum began loading the dishwasher. I ate in silence.

***

As I jogged up the stairs a few minutes later, I heard the loud rev of a car engine followed by the screech of tyres. It accelerated through the gears quickly, the noise carrying as it disappeared down the street. I reached the top of the stairs as my mum came out of her bedroom, transformed from housewife to receptionist.

‘That boy is an idiot,’ she said. ‘He’s going to hit someone one day if he’s not careful.’

‘Who?’

‘Paul across the road.’ As she answered, she walked into the bathroom, leaving the door open. ‘He only passed his test about two months ago. He’s already racing down the road every day. No thought for the kids on the road. Only takes one of them to run out of their driveway and that’s it. I should say something to his mum.’ She carefully squeezed toothpaste onto her toothbrush.

‘Don’t,’ I said. ‘You’ll only make him worse. He’s seventeen. He’s not going to listen to his mum, is he? Probably make him go faster.’

‘Well,’ she spat, running water into the sink to chase away the toothpaste. ‘What should I do? Wait until he hits someone?’ Her voice had risen slightly, not liking me challenging her.

‘No. I’ll have a word with him when I see him.’

‘Well, do it soon,’ she said.

***

Feeling claustrophobic and frustrated, I stood surrounded by half empty boxes. My stuff didn’t fit in my brother’s old room. I had more CDs than he had shelf space, more clothes than would fit in his wardrobe, more souvenirs of experiences gained away from this house. I reminded myself that staying in this room was only temporary; a means to an end. There was a single bed that ran the length of the room along one wall. A small wardrobe and chest of drawers fitted along the other, leaving a thin corridor of space between the door and the window. My dorm room in my first year at uni was bigger.

Chris stole my bedroom about three days after I moved out. As the first born, I always had the biggest room and he’d always slept in the box room. The first weekend I came home I faced his victorious smile as I opened the door to what was my room. He lay casually on my bed, waiting, surrounded by his things on my shelves, his posters on my walls.

‘Keep it,’ I said, trying to show I didn’t care. ‘I don’t live here anymore.’

That weekend, and every other time I’d been home since, I’d brought enough stuff to fit in an overnight bag, just to get me by until I went back to Leeds. Now I had everything with me, my life didn’t fit.

I managed to get the necessities into some form of order but had leftover things piled on the bed with nowhere to put them. Annoyed, I refilled some boxes with stuff I didn’t think I’d need and shoved them under the bed.

It’s only temporary, I repeated. Just a means to an end.

***

I heard a key sliding into the front door.

‘Hello,’ I shouted, from my brother’s old room.

I stood up and went down to the kitchen. My dad was filling the kettle.

‘You not working?’

‘Yeah. I’ve got to nip and see a job and I left my book here. Thought I’d have a quick brew. Want one?’

‘Is there any coffee?’

He clicked the kettle on. ‘No. We don’t drink it.’

I sat at the table and turned a tabloid newspaper over to the sports pages. It was full of the next day’s FA Cup Final: Manchester United v Millwall.

‘When did you start drinking coffee?’

‘When I had assignment deadlines to meet.’

There was a short silence, broken by the kettle’s increasing noise. My dad took two mugs out of the cupboard, dropping a teabag in each one. He slid open a draw and picked up a teaspoon.

‘Mum started letting you make it in the cup now?’ I asked, nodding to the teapot on the side.

‘Your mum’s not here.’ He laughed. He heaped three sugars into his mug as the kettle boiled. Steam rose upwards. At the peak of the noise my dad said, ‘You still take two sugars?’

‘One.’

He made the drinks and pushed mine towards me, throwing the spoon into the sink. It bounced around in the bowl and then the noise stopped. Silence again.

‘What you up to today?’

‘Not a lot. I’m just finishing unpacking.’ I glanced at the paper again.

‘You got all your stuff from over there?’ he asked, meaning Leeds.

‘Yeah.’

‘Any word on a job?’

‘Going to the agency on Monday, see if they can get me any temp work.’

Sips of tea. Silence.

‘I should’ve got you an Evening News last night. It’s the job section on a Thursday.’

‘I’ll be all right. I’ll get some temp stuff. See from there.’

More sips. More silence.

‘You busy?’

‘Always.’

There was a brief moment where I contemplated asking for some hours helping him. He’s a landscaper. Long days, hard work. Man’s work. I decided against it. I’d been back from uni one day. It didn’t seem right going straight for the protection of working with my dad. Instead, I asked, ‘You out tonight?’

‘Yeah. Some work’s meal of your mother’s. It’s somebody’s birthday.’

‘Sounds fun,’ I offered sarcastically.

‘Doesn’t it?’ He took another a drink of tea, walked to the sink, and poured the remains away. He turned on the tap, rinsed the mug, and left it upside down on the draining board.

‘Right, back to it then.’ He walked past me into the hall. At the front door, he stopped to put his boots back on. Heavy boots covered in mud. Worker’s boots.

‘You got your book?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ he picked it up from the floor and showed it to me. A black school exercise book, a worn-down pencil sticking out of the end. He opened the door but turned back.

‘Where are you watching the final tomorrow?’

Football, our common ground.

‘Don’t know. Might go out with the lads. You?’

‘Here. Your mother’s got a list of jobs for me.’ He smiled.

I smiled back. ‘I might join you. Save you.’

I spent the rest of the afternoon ticking down the hours until I went out. I did some washing, loaded and unloaded the dishwasher, flicked through television channels. It immediately became obvious that I was missing my house mates from uni. The option to combat boredom by going into Sean, Matt, or John’s room was gone. In Leeds, I could go to the pub and see someone I knew. Back home, everyone was working.

My mum came home, said hello, then settled in front of the television to watch Richard and Judy. I joined her. We asked questions about each other’s days, both of us concentrating more on the television. My dad came in, showered the day away and sat in his chair scanning the paper.

I dressed to go out. T-shirt, jeans, and trainers. Uni standard. I re-thought the trainers, undoing them and kicking them off, exchanging them for shoes. I couldn’t remember the local pub rules on wearing trainers. Shoes were the safer option.

One quick check in the mirror and I bounded down the stairs.

I got to the bottom step and reached for the front door, opened it about half an inch, and shouted, ‘Bye.’

‘Tom,’ my mum’s voice called.

I sighed. ‘What?’

‘Come here a minute please.’

I closed the door and walked back to the living room. My mum sat on the settee in her dressing gown, her hair and make-up done. ‘What?’ I asked sharply.

‘It’s your auntie Linda’s birthday on Sunday. She’s doing a lunch.’

‘OK?’

‘She wants us all there. It’ll be about three o’clock.’

‘Right,’ I said. I was aware my tone was questioning why my mum couldn’t have asked me this earlier. Or waited until tomorrow. Why wait until I had one foot out of the door?

I shut the living room door, walked back down the hallway, opened the front door, and stepped out into my driveway. Walking past the end of it was Kate Young.

***

It’s amazing how one small detail can change everything. If my mum had not shouted for me, pulling me back from the door at that precise moment, none of this story I’m telling you would have happened. I would have been two minutes ahead of Kate, walking the streets to my night out alone. We might never have had the conversation that was the foundation of everything that happened afterwards. We might have said ‘hello’ in the street, or seen each other in a local shop or pub and smiled a smile of neighbours; one of recognition for living on the same street, just a few doors apart, but nothing to cause any impact.

In passing once, the previous summer, her husband had invited me to a barbeque at their house. I called in on my way home from a night out and sat for about three hours, drinking, eating cold burgers, talking football with one of her husband’s mates. Kate and I exchanged a few words; a joke about her husband’s dancing, I think. That night had made us comfortable enough to exchange pleasantries, a nod or a wave when passing in the street.

It made us comfortable enough to say ‘hello’ when she walked past my front gates.

‘Hi,’ she said. ‘How are you?’

‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Where you off to all alone on a Friday night?’

Side by side we walked together.

‘Just local to meet the girls. You?’

‘Same. But to meet the lads. It’s my mate Jordan’s birthday, so we’re just having a few beers.’

‘Can I walk with you? If you don’t mind.’

I laughed when she asked that.

‘What’s so funny?’ she asked.

‘Of course, you can walk with me. It’d be pretty shit of me if I just walked off after you told me we were going to exactly the same place. How bad would you feel if I just walked about five yards in front of you the whole way? I’d feel daft with you just watching me walk all the way.’

She laughed softly, and I was glad she wasn’t offended that I’d laughed at her.

I changed the subject. ‘Is Stuart not out?’

‘He’s in Cardiff for the Cup final.’

‘Nice one. Is he still running the sports company?’

‘Yeah. He’s off to Portugal for the European Championships in a few weeks.’

‘Can’t be bad,’ I said.

We were on the main road now, walking past rectangular grass verges that were embedded in the wider pavements, trees growing from them.

‘Are you going to Portugal?’ I asked.

‘No. I don’t get to go on the trips. He’s working. Plus, I’m not that bothered about spending three weeks with all his drunken clients.’

‘Not fancy sunbathing for a few weeks?’

‘It would be nice, but he has different trips for different parts of the tournament. I think he’s coming home about four times during the three weeks. He picks up another group and flies out with them.’

We walked quietly for a few steps.

‘Where are you going tonight?’ I asked, not wanting the silence to last too long.

‘The Boathouse. You?’

‘Start in the Silver Moon. Might move on later.’

‘Are you back from university now?’

‘Yeah. Drove home last night. I’ve got this last weekend, then I’m officially in the real world.’

‘Rent and bills, etc?’

‘If my dad has got anything to do with it.’

‘Have you got jobs in mind?’

‘Not really. I want to go travelling so I just need something to get some money in. Start saving and go from there, really.’

‘Travelling? Really? Where to?’

‘Everywhere. Thailand, Vietnam – my mate John from uni is in Japan at the moment. He says that’s mint. We wanted to go together, but he landed himself a high-paying job last summer and he wanted to go as soon as he could.’

‘Why didn’t you go?’

‘I didn’t land a well-paid summer job.’

‘Oh. Where else do you want to go?’

‘Australia, New Zealand. The usual path. I want to go away for as long as possible. A year, two years if I can get enough money together.’

Her eyes smiled. ‘That’s brilliant. I wish I’d done it.’

‘Me and three mates went around Europe at the end of the first year. Two months we did. Bumming around. Backpacks and Six-packs, we called it.’

‘I always wanted to do something like that.’

‘Why didn’t you?’

She shrugged. ‘I trained to be an accountant instead.’

‘Rock ‘n’ Roll.’

‘Isn’t it? It was always one of those things that got put off. I was going to go after university, but I needed to get a job because all the good firms snap people up quickly and I didn’t want to miss out. Then I got used to a good salary I suppose. I met Stuart just after university too. Not sure me going away for a year would’ve done us any good.’

‘Where would you have gone?’

‘Europe,’ she answered. ‘Rome, Barcelona, Vienna.’

‘We did those when we went. Rome’s class. The Colosseum blew my mind. My mate. Matt, kept pretending to be in Gladiator. I had to tell him to shut up so I could hear the tour guide. I really wanted to see it, take it all in. And he just kept walking round doing his best Russell Crowe impressions.’

Our walk took me back past the familiar places of home. Past the row of shops that currently housed a fruit and veg shop, Chinese and Indian takeaway places, a cheap booze chain, a Post Office, and a small Spar. Past my old school, its light blue railings that had been painted a deeper dark blue, past the park where we used to play football on the bowling green until the park warden would come and kick us off, past my dad’s local, past rows and rows of houses, the same in design, different in colour.

‘I haven’t seen Gladiator.’

Shocked, I said, ‘You’ve not seen Gladiator?’

‘No. Not really my thing.’

‘It should be everyone’s thing. It’s amazing. Seriously, you’ve not seen it?’

‘Honestly. I wouldn’t lie to you, especially considering it’s so important to you. I don’t think it’d be fair to joke with you about it.’

We laughed.

The conversation turned back to travelling. I recited stories of overnight trains and dodgy hostels from my trip around Europe. She told me about going on a driving holiday in America when she was a child and falling in love with the great open spaces between cities. She wanted to go back and do it again, old enough to understand it all. We agreed how amazing Route 66 would be to drive in an old drop top American car.

I was surprised when our destination appeared in front of us.

We stood outside the Boathouse pub. ‘Thanks for letting me walk with you.’

‘No worries. I might see you later if I come in there. Might even let you buy me a pint for getting you here safely.’

‘No problem.’

She turned and walked into the pub. I went to meet my friends.

***

‘All right?’

Jordan stood at the bar of the Silver Moon with his brother, Sam, and our friend, Neil.

‘Happy birthday, you old twat.’

We shook hands, patted each other’s arms, and smiled at seeing each other for the first time in three months.

‘How are you finding the joys of Manchester? You happier now you’re away from the land of the sheep shaggers?’

I laughed. Jordan always did this – insulted Leeds, tried to reinforce the Lancashire/Yorkshire divide. Leeds was all right for him when he’d come over for a night out.

‘What took you so long?’ he asked.

‘Nothing, just walking with a neighbour. What you having?’

‘Carling.’ Sam and Neil nodded, indicating they wanted the same. I moved to the bar. It wasn’t busy, as it was still early. A girl who was a few years above me at school wrestled with the change in her purse. Julia, I thought her name was. She looked like she’d been drinking since she’d finished work, probably a couple of hours before. She caught my eye and smiled, knowing she knew me but unsure where from. I smiled back but was glad when the barman appeared, helping me avoid an awkward conversation.

I gave him my order and waited, looking around. The pub was a typical glass fronted modern chain pub. It had been refurbished since the last time I’d been home, the second time in the three years since I’d been away. The walls were painted a deep red, the floor a dark varnished wood. Slim television screens were mounted on the wall advertising drinks offers that could be found at the bar that took up the whole left-hand side of the pub. A jukebox stood in one corner, next to a computerised pub game machine and a fruit machine.

Passing the drinks out to their owners, I said to Neil, ‘I’m surprised you’re out. Thought you’d be under lock and key now. How long has she got left?’

‘Four weeks,’ Neil said, referring to his pregnant girlfriend, Lisa. ‘I played the Jordan’s birthday card. She was all right about it. Just kept telling me to not spend too much money. Apparently, this is my last night out. As of tomorrow, I’m on driving duty in case she drops.’

Neil and Lisa had been together about six months when she fell pregnant. Within the last year he’d gone from a twenty-one-year-old joiner whose life revolved around Friday and Saturday nights out and attending as many football matches as possible, to becoming an expectant father living with his girlfriend at her parents’ house, saving as much money as he could. Even before the pregnancy they argued more than any couple I’d ever met. Most of us had said they wouldn’t last. The day Neil told us Lisa was pregnant he looked like the life had been sucked out of him. It was a sad sight to see.

‘How’s she feeling?’

‘Not too bad. She’s tired and struggling to get comfortable in bed.’

‘That’s probably because you’re taking up all the room, you fat bastard,’ Jordan said, laughing at Neil’s sizable frame.

Neil ignored him and said to me, ‘You still looking to go travelling?’

I nodded yes as I drank a large mouthful of lager.

‘When?’

‘Not sure yet. I’m going to work for a bit, save up as much money as possible and just go. The more I save, the longer I can be away.’

‘You going on your own?’

‘Yeah. One of the lads from uni has just gone so I might meet up with him. But I’m not bothered about going on my own. If I’m on my own I’m not tied to anyone else’s plans.’

Jordan finished his drink with one long tilt of the glass. ‘Another?’

We spent the next couple of hours, joined by a couple of other friends, stood in a tight circle talking, laughing, and drinking. It was nice to be back with the lads I grew up with. Seeing them was never difficult. If weeks or months passed between my visits home no one ever questioned why it had been so long. When we met up again everything just went back to how it was the last time we had seen each other, especially with me and Jordan.

‘You out for the Cup final tomorrow?’ Jordan asked me as our eyes followed a blonde girl as she strolled across the pub, aware she had the attention of most of the male eyes in the room.

‘Not sure yet. My dad mentioned about watching it. I might just watch it at home with him.’ I showed him my nearly empty pint glass and said, ‘Fancy having a couple in the Boathouse?’

***

We nodded to the middle-aged doorman and entered the Boathouse. The interior was a complete contrast to the Silver Moon’s modern look. Large leather chairs and couches placed around low oak tables created a more relaxed atmosphere. The main room was lighter and the music played underneath the humming noise of conversation from customers whose average age was higher than the pub we’d just been in.

We walked to the bar and waited to be served. My eyes glanced around for Kate. I noticed her sat with two other women. A bottle of red wine was placed in the middle of the table and each of them had a large, half full glass. Kate sipped on hers when she looked up and spotted me.

I smiled and gave a small wave, then turned back to the bar.

‘Who’s that?’ Jordan said.

‘My neighbour. The one I walked here with.’

‘She is fit.’ He emphasised the last word.

The word I would’ve used is beautiful. Fortunately, the barmaid interrupted us and asked for our order.

Later, as I walked out of the men’s, the door to the ladies’ toilet opened. Stephanie Pearce, my ex-girlfriend’s best friend, walked out and looked at me. Her face broke out into a huge smile.

‘Hiya,’ she shouted. ‘How are you?’ The words were drawn out, and I realised she was drunk. High heels raised her tiny frame. She leant forward and gave me a kiss then wrapped her arms around me and hugged me tightly.

‘What you doing here? I thought you were in Leeds.’

‘I got back yesterday.’

‘For good?’

‘I’ve finished uni, if that’s what you mean.’

‘Have you seen Melissa?’

‘No,’ I said, and to change the subject, added, ‘What are you up to?’

‘Nothing much.’ I tried not to wince at the volume of her voice. Even though I’d known her for years, it had always taken me by surprise. ‘Just getting drunk. I’m out with the girls from work. We’re going into town soon.’ She started describing her plans for the night in detail, explaining about meeting up with one of her colleague’s boyfriend at a new bar, but she wasn’t sure if that was happening because the girl and the boyfriend had had an argument. She started telling me about the argument. She spoke at such speed I struggled to keep up.

Stephanie kept talking for a few more minutes, punctuating her stories with questions about my life. I answered in short responses.

‘Is Melissa out of with you?’ I asked.

‘No. She’s in with her new bloke.’

‘New bloke?’

‘Don’t you know about him?’

I shook my head.

‘He’s called Andy. She’s not been with him long.’

‘What’s he like?’

‘He’s a dick,’ Stephanie said. Her eyes glanced over my shoulder. ‘Sorry,’ she said as she moved herself and me out of the way of the ladies’ toilet door. I turned to see who we were moving for. It was Kate.

‘Hi,’ I said.

‘Hi,’ she said, before disappearing through the door.

‘Who’s that?’ Stephanie asked.

‘My neighbour.’

‘She’s so,’ she held onto the word again, ‘pretty.’

We realised we were blocking part of the small corridor, so walked to the main area of the pub.

‘Why’s Andy a dick?’ I asked.

‘He just is. I can’t take to him.’

‘There must be a reason?’ I pushed.

‘It’s a long story. I’m not going into it.’

At the end of the night, Jordan slung his arm over my shoulder and said, ‘It’s been good to see you dude.’

We were standing in a takeaway waiting for Jordan’s pepperoni pizza to cook. I held a portion of chips, waiting for them to cool down.

‘You too,’ I said.

Jordan was drunk. It was obvious by the way he leant on the counter, watching the staff as they prepared pizza toppings and filled pitta bread with reheated kebab meat and salad.

I faced the other way, watching five lads mock fighting in the taxi queue across the road. They pushed and grabbed at each other’s clothes, trying to force their arms around their friends’ necks and hold them in headlocks. Only their laughter gave away the fact they were joking. The six others in the queue stood statue like.

Kate joined the queue alone. I could see through the backward telephone number advertised on the takeaway window that she was uncomfortable. The dark orange glow from a street lamp highlighted her face. She stared forwards, desperate not to catch the eye of anyone in the fighting group.

Instinct took over me. ‘I’m getting off, mate,’ I said to Jordan. ‘My neighbour’s over there,’ I said, pointing to the outside. ‘You’re walking the other way. Enjoy your pizza.’

Jordan reached out his hand and I shook it. ‘Speak to you tomorrow.’

I walked out into the night, quickly glanced across the street and jogged over the road to the queue of people.

‘Hi,’ I said, snapping Kate’s attention into the present.

She looked surprised to see me at first, but then her face broke out into a smile.

‘You OK?’ I asked.

‘Yeah,’ she said, her voice quiet.

The lads stopped their game and were now straightening shirts and repositioning haircuts.

‘You want someone to walk home with?’

Kate looked unsure. ‘I told Stuart I’d get a taxi.’

‘We could get home before a taxi gets here. And’ – I pushed the white polystyrene container towards her – ‘I’ve got chips.’

‘Go on then,’ she said.

We walked away from the queue as a police car drove past slowly. One of the lads made a wanker sign at it, as one of his mates pushed him onto the road. He stumbled and nearly fell over, regaining his balance enough to run at his mate and half rugby tackle him at waist level. They fell backwards, nearly crashing into a black concrete bin.

‘Pricks,’ I said quietly to Kate, who laughed.

‘How was your night?’ I asked.

‘Good. We had a nice catch-up.’

‘Are they your friends from school?’

‘No. I used to work with them.’

I offered her another chip, which she accepted.

We walked out of the main part of town, leaving the lights of takeaways, the grey shutters of closed shops, and the noise of drunks behind us. We were on a long road with large houses on either side. Lights from sporadic televisions lit up lounges as we passed.

‘Who was the girl you were talking to?’

‘Stephanie. She’s my ex-girlfriend’s best mate.’

‘She didn’t like someone,’ she said, reaching over to take a chip.

‘Yeah,’ I said. ‘My ex’s new boyfriend. Apparently, he’s a dick. She’s didn’t give me a reason why though. She was a bit tipsy.’

‘She didn’t seem it,’ Kate said sarcastically.

We finished the chips and talked about our days. Kate’s had been boring. The most exciting thing to happen was dress down Friday so she could wear jeans.

‘Is your office like The Office?’

‘The programme with Ricky Gervais?’

I nodded.

She paused, thinking through the characters, comparing them with her work colleagues. ‘Elements of it I suppose. Now that you mention it a few of the people have similar traits to some of the characters.’

‘Come on, don’t be shy.’

She looks embarrassed. ‘They’re my friends.’

‘So? They’re not here.’

A few stars were scattered throughout the clear sky above. I noticed, despite the cool night air, our walking pace was slow.

‘Well, there’s one guy who’s a bit like Gareth. He sucks up to the boss a lot. And he’s got a really bad haircut. His hair is dark though, not blonde. But it looks like his mum cuts it.’

‘How old is he?’

‘About my age.’

‘Which is?’ I paused. ‘Sorry, I’m not supposed to ask that, am I?’

‘I don’t mind. I can’t change it can I? I’m thirty-one.’

‘What’s your boss like? Is he like David Brent?’

‘Not really. He doesn’t come around the office trying to impress us with how great he is. He just sits in his office all day. He’s pretty good to us. Lets us finish early if the work’s done. He appreciates us. Takes us on nights out every now and then. Puts money behind the bar and stuff.’

‘Do you like working there?’

‘Yeah. It’s OK. It’s a smaller firm than the one I used to work at, with the girls from tonight. But it’s more money, more responsibility. Career wise it’s been a good move.’ She tucked a bit of her hair that had fallen across her face back behind her ear. ‘What did you do at uni?’

‘Sports Science.’

‘Will you use the degree for work?’

‘When I come back from travelling, yeah. But not now. Just need something to get some money in first. I can’t wait to get away.’

‘Why?’

‘Just the buzz of not being here. No responsibility. Not being tied to anything or anyone for a bit. Freedom to do what I want, go where I want. I’d like to see as much of the world as I can before settling into a job.’

‘Do you think you’ll miss uni?’

‘I already do. Well, I mean, not uni exactly. I’m going to miss my mates, I think. More than I realised. I had a proper boring day today, just hanging around the house. Made me realise I can’t just go to the pub with my mates. Or grab a ball and go and play five-a-side or something.’

‘Did you play five-a-side a lot?’

‘About once a week. Not a regular league or anything.’

‘Stuart plays five-a-side every week. He gets sick of his mates letting him down, ringing him to tell him they can’t play an hour before.’

‘Well, tell him if he wants me to play, I’ll help out.’

We stopped at a crossroads and watched a dark car pass. There was a couple arguing in the front seats. The female driver banged on the steering wheel, turning to face her male passenger, and continued to shout. The car disappeared into the distance as Kate said, ‘Someone’s in trouble.’

‘He probably forgot to buy milk or something.’

Kate laughed out loud, half snorting. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said, covering her mouth with her hand.

‘Don’t apologise for laughing,’ I said, catching her infectious laugh and starting myself. ‘I’m just glad I didn’t have to resort to the David Brent dance.’ I started doing the dance, kicking high in the air, arms outstretched, straight to the elbows then moving left and right. I clapped out of time and moved around Kate, who laughed hysterically.

We approached home. A cat watched us from underneath a parked car as we turned into the quiet of the cul-de-sac. It darted across the road and we watched it scale a fence before disappearing into the night.

‘Well, thanks for walking me home,’ Kate said as we reached my gate.

‘My pleasure,’ I said.

I’m unsure why I did this, but then I put my hand out and said, ‘Firm handshakes.’ She returned the gesture. ‘Firm handshakes.’

‘You going to be OK getting home the rest of the way?’ I asked, nodding towards her house, a short distance across the road.

We let our hands go.

‘Not much of a gentleman, are you? Only walking me part of the way home. Let’s hope that cat doesn’t attack me.’

‘I reckon you can take it.’

She lifted her right arm and pretended to tense her muscles. ‘Do you think?’

‘Well, maybe not with those things. Just run the rest of the way, you’ll be fine.’

‘I think I’ll be OK.’

‘I hope so. I don’t want it on my conscience.’

‘Good night, Tom.’ She smiled a beautiful smile, her white teeth framed by her bright pink lipstick. She walked down the road, passed under a street light and out the other side into the dark. When she turned into her driveway, I took out my keys and let myself in to my house.