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‘London,’ Vicki said.

‘London?’ James watched a duck swim past on the canal. It was mid-afternoon and they had been drinking for a while already. He had started at Warwick but was spending a lot of time at home – with the blessing of the university – because of his mum. ‘Why London?’

‘Streets are paved with gold,’ Vicki said.

‘Right.’ James closed his eyes. She was leaving. Moving to the capital. That was fine. She wasn’t his girlfriend.

She was his friend, though.

‘Not really,’ she said. ‘The streets are normal. But I’ve got a mate down there. And so why not?’

‘Yeah,’ James said. ‘Why not?’

‘Are you OK?’

He realized, now she had asked the question, that he wasn’t, but since when had that mattered? Since when had the universe given a flying fuck whether James Cooper was OK or not? Maggie was gone, his mum might be next, and now this. It was the latest in a long line of shithouse treatment that he didn’t deserve.

‘Not really,’ he said. ‘I’ll miss you.’

When he got home Best’s car was parked on the road outside the house. Not again. Why would that fucker not leave them alone? He was a lonely old man, sure, but that didn’t give him the right to show up at the house all the time. Besides, he was creepy. There was something in the way he looked at his mum that turned James’s stomach.

She was blind to it, though. She saw him as a harmless pensioner who wanted to be helpful, and if she needed a lift somewhere and he was free, why not?

He opened the front door and went into the hall. He could hear people talking in the living room; when he closed the door they stopped.

‘James?’ his dad called. ‘Is that you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Come and say hello. Mr Best is here.’

That was the last thing he was going to do. ‘I’m tired.’

He went upstairs and lay on his bed. A few seconds later he heard someone coming upstairs.

His door opened and his dad came in. He stood for a second in the doorway, then came and sat next to him on the bed.

‘That was a bit rude, James.’

‘I don’t care. I don’t like him.’

‘He’s been very good to us. He doesn’t have to ferry your mum around.’

‘Whatever.’

‘James.’ His dad folded his arms. ‘Have you been drinking? Do you think you’re drinking a bit much at the moment?’

‘No.’

‘I think you might be.’

‘I’m not.’

He knew his dad was right; he was drinking too much, and for the wrong reasons. It was one of the things that made the pain go away. No – it was the only thing that made the pain go away.

Anyway, he could stop anytime he wanted. One day he wouldn’t need it. But not today.

‘OK,’ his dad said, his voice quiet. ‘If you feel like it later, come down and say hello.’