old Mazda, but the piece of shit had been falling apart for years and there didnât seem much point in getting it fixed. The buses were pretty good as it was, and all the shops were within spitting distance.
Didnât really need a car anyway, not how things were going.
That Audi was one sweet whip, though.
Javine stuck her head round the kitchen door and blew a kiss. âA pound says itâs your boyfriend.â
Theo threw his empty beer can at her as he moved to pick up his phone. He looked at the screen. âYou can owe it me.â
When heâd finished talking to his mother, he grabbed his jacket and told Javine he wouldnât be more than a couple of hours. He told her to wait up and squeezed her backside as he kissed her goodbye.
âThis is getting ridiculous,â she said.
âI canât hurt her feelings, man.â
âYou should think about starting. Youâre getting a belly on you.â
Theo turned side on, looked at himself in the mirror by the front door. âThatâs all muscle,â he said, rubbing it. âAnd dick, obviously, all wrapped around.â
Javine grinned and said sheâd do her best to stay awake, but that she was feeling wiped out. Theo watched her walk into the bedroom, heard her murmur something to the baby just before he closed the front door behind him. Then he walked down two flights of stairs to the first floor, and three doors along to his motherâs flat, to eat his second dinner of the evening.
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They sat in a small, crowded pub behind the Oval cricket ground. The conversation competed with quiz and fruit machines, a jukebox that specialised in eighties stadium rock, and a braying bunch of city types on the adjacent table.
âThereâs a decent Indian round the corner,â Paul said.
âAs long as I can have a korma or something.â Helen grinned at the short, blonde woman opposite her. âAnything too spicy, this baby could come a few weeks early.â
Her friend laughed. âYou know, if your waters break in Marks & Spencers, they give you a hamper.â
âThatâs bollocks,â Paul said.
âIf they break in a curry house, maybe you get a yearâs supply of poppadoms, or whatever.â
The man next to her grimaced. âNot too keen on Indian.â
âIâm not fussed,â Helen said.
âSomebody else decide,â Paul said. âIâll get some more drinks in.â It was only supposed to have been a quick one before they ate dinner, but Paul had already put away three pints in twenty minutes. His voice was louder than it needed to be.
âIf we donât go now, we might not get a table,â Helen said.
Paul ignored her and downed what was left of his pint.
Helen looked across at her friend, who shrugged back at her. Helen and Katie had been at school together, and the four of them - Helen, Paul, Katie and her boyfriend Graham - usually got together for a meal out every few months. Paul liked Katie well enough, or said he did, but the boyfriend usually ended up irritating all three of them.
âSays in the paper they might have a serial killer up in Glasgow,â Graham said.
Paul groaned into his glass.
âOh, donât start,â Katie said.
Helen sniggered, reached for her glass of water. This was usually how it kicked off.
âNasty one, by all accounts.â
âArenât too many nice ones,â Paul said.
Graham shuffled forward on his chair, leaned in close to Paul. âI know youâve never had, you know, dealings with one, but youâve met ordinary killers, right? What about that one last week in Essex, got off his tits and cut up his mother? Did you have anything to do with that one?â He waited. âYou must have heard something, surely. Seen the reports or whatever.â
Paul stared at him for a few seconds. âWhy do you get off on this stuff?â
âI donât . . .â
âHave you