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Heinz’s buttons. ‘Oh God,’ she said softly, ‘that stupid three button trick, you old hound,’ and her eyes started sparkling.

Blisters
    ‘Look,’ Trevor said, ‘you’ve got to serve from the back, see?’
    Wesley dropped the orange he’d just picked up.
    ‘Put it where it was before,’ Trevor said sniffily. ‘Exactly.’
    Wesley adjusted the placement of the orange. There. Just so. It was neat now. The display looked hunky-dory.
    ‘Let me quickly say something,’ Wesley said, as Trevor turned to go and unload some more boxes from the van.
    ‘What?’
    ‘It’s just that if you serve people from the back of the stall they immediately start thinking that what you’re giving them isn’t as good as what’s on display.’
    Trevor said nothing.
    ‘See what I mean?’
    ‘So what?’
    ‘Well, I’m just saying that if you want to build up customer confidence then it’s a better idea to give them the fruit they can see.’
    ‘It’s more work that way,’ Trevor said, shoving his hands into his pockets.
    ‘Well, I don’t care about that,’ Wesley responded. ‘I’m the one who’ll end up having to do most of the serving while you’re running the deliveries and I don’t mind.’
    Trevor gave Wesley a deep look and then shrugged and walked off to the van.
    Another new job. Selling fruit off a stall on the Roman Road. Wesley was handsome and intelligent and twenty-three years old and he’d had a run of bad luck so now he was working the markets. No references needed. Actually, on the markets a bad temper was considered something of a bonus. Nobody messed you around. If they did, though, then you had to look out for yourself.
    Trevor had red hair and a pierced nose. Wesley looked very strait-laced to him in his clean corduroy trousers and polo-neck jumper, and his hands were soft and he spoke too posh. What Trevor didn’t realize, however, was that Wesley had been spoilt rotten as a child so was used to getting his own way and could manipulate and wheedle like a champion if the urge took him. Wesley had yet to display to Trevor the full and somewhat questionable force of his personality.
    Wesley pulled his weight. That, at least, was something, Trevor decided. After they’d packed up on their first night he invited Wesley to the pub for a drink as a sign of his good faith. Wesley said he wanted something to eat instead. So they went for pie and mash together.
    Trevor had some eels and a mug of tea. Wesley ate a couple of meat pies. Wesley liked the old-fashioned tiles and the tables in the pie and mash shop. He remarked on this to Trevor. Trevor grunted.
    ‘My dad was in the navy,’ Wesley said, out of the blue.
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘He taught me how to box.’
    ‘Yeah?’
    ‘Last job I had, I punched my boss in the face. He was up a ladder. I was on a roof. Broke his collar bone.’
    ‘You’re kidding!’ Trevor was impressed.
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘Fuck.’
    ‘Yeah.’
    ‘What did he do?’
    ‘Tried to prosecute.’
    ‘What!?’
    ‘I buggered off. I live my life,’ Wesley said plainly, ‘by certain rules. I’ll do my whack, but when push comes to shove, I want to be treated decent and to keep my mind free. See?’
    Trevor was mystified. He ate his eels, silently.
    ‘I had a brother,’ Wesley said, ‘and I killed him when I was a kid. An accident and everything. But that’s made me think about things in a different way.’
    ‘Yeah?’ Trevor was hostile now. ‘How did you kill him?’
    ‘Playing.’
    ‘Playing what?’
    ‘None of your fucking business.’
    Trevor’s eyebrows rose and he returned to his meal.
    ‘I want to do the decent thing,’ Wesley said. ‘You know? And sometimes that’ll get you into all kinds of grief.’
    Trevor didn’t say anything.
    ‘Watch this.’
    Trevor looked up. Wesley had hold of one of the meat pies. He opened his mouth as wide as he could and then pushed the pie in whole. Every last crumb. Trevor snorted. He couldn’t help it. Once Wesley had