your way, mate.’
Heather shakes her head. ‘That’s not very respectful.’
‘Fuck ’em,’ Chris says. ‘How respectful are they being anyway? Looking at us like we’re dogshit.’
‘Respectful to Tony, I mean. These are his neighbours.’
‘Maybe he needs to move.’
‘You should tell him,’ Heather says. ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate the housing advice, from someone who sleeps in hostels or on other people’s settees.’
Chris narrows his eyes. ‘Yeah, well, shows how much you know, because I’m getting a flat, aren’t I?’
‘Yeah, you keep saying that.’
‘I swear. Hackney or Haringey or somewhere. I’ve got the letter if you don’t believe me.’
‘When?’
‘The woman from social services says it might be next week.’
‘Nice one.’ Heather punches him gently on the shoulder. ‘That’s really great news.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Chris tosses his own fag-end away. ‘All dependent on me being a good boy and all that, not doing anything stupid.’
‘Which is why you’re here, right?’ She nods towards the front door of Tony’s house. It’s grey, with a large chrome knocker and there is a sign saying NO COLD CALLERS fixed to the wall on one side. The porch has leaded lights and box trees stand on either side in square wooden pots. To the right of the small patch of lawn is a metal gate, outside which a series of recycling bins – blue, green and brown – have been left for collection.
‘Well it’s not for the company, is it?’ Chris says.
‘Cheers.’
‘The sparkling conversation, whatever.’
‘Why were you so horrible to Caroline last week, by the way?’
Chris looks at her and shakes his head like it’s a very stupid question. He takes the tin of pre-rolled cigarettes from his pocket, turns away from the wind and lights up again. He does not bother offering one to Heather.
He pulls hard on the skinny roll-up, then hisses out a thin line of smoke which is instantly whipped away across his shoulder. Now, he’s ready to answer. He says, ‘I was only being honest.’
‘Pull the other one,’ Heather says.
‘We’re supposed to be honest in there, aren’t we?’
‘Not like that.’
‘Right, so you’ve got to be honest, but only up to a point.’
‘You’re pretending to be stupid now,’ Heather says. She watches a Mercedes slow just a fraction as it passes and stares at the woman behind the wheel: blonde hair that kisses a collar as she turns her head; the soft blue glow from the instrument panel and the shining satnav. She looks back to Chris, tries to stay nice and calm. ‘There’s a difference between honesty and insulting someone because you’re a knob.’
Chris smiles. ‘I just think the rest of you are too scared to say what you’re thinking. I haven’t got time for all that fucking… politeness.’
‘We’re supposed to be making connections and supporting each other.’
Chris shrugs.
‘Say what you think if you want, but don’t make it personal.’
‘How can it not be personal?’
‘Fine,’ Heather says. ‘Any idea how personal we could get with you, if we felt like it?’
‘Bring it on,’ Chris says. ‘Like you don’t do it anyway, when I’m not there.’ He looks past Heather. ‘Oh Christ, here it comes…’
Heather turns and they both stand and watch Caroline coming down the hill towards them. Waddling. That’s the word that occurs to each of them. She is wearing a duffel coat and has a transparent umbrella with patterns on it and she lifts a hand to wave as she gets closer.
‘Seriously, though.’ Chris drops what’s left of his roll-up. ‘The state of her. At least smack keeps you nice and thin, right?’ He steps back, looks Heather up and down. ‘You should count yourself lucky. Some women pile it on when they come off the gear.’
Heather nods, like she’s grateful for the observation. ‘Really? Actually, I was just thinking that you were chunking up a little bit.’
‘Piss off, this is all
Heather shakes her head. ‘That’s not very respectful.’
‘Fuck ’em,’ Chris says. ‘How respectful are they being anyway? Looking at us like we’re dogshit.’
‘Respectful to Tony, I mean. These are his neighbours.’
‘Maybe he needs to move.’
‘You should tell him,’ Heather says. ‘I’m sure he’d appreciate the housing advice, from someone who sleeps in hostels or on other people’s settees.’
Chris narrows his eyes. ‘Yeah, well, shows how much you know, because I’m getting a flat, aren’t I?’
‘Yeah, you keep saying that.’
‘I swear. Hackney or Haringey or somewhere. I’ve got the letter if you don’t believe me.’
‘When?’
‘The woman from social services says it might be next week.’
‘Nice one.’ Heather punches him gently on the shoulder. ‘That’s really great news.’
‘Yeah, well.’ Chris tosses his own fag-end away. ‘All dependent on me being a good boy and all that, not doing anything stupid.’
‘Which is why you’re here, right?’ She nods towards the front door of Tony’s house. It’s grey, with a large chrome knocker and there is a sign saying NO COLD CALLERS fixed to the wall on one side. The porch has leaded lights and box trees stand on either side in square wooden pots. To the right of the small patch of lawn is a metal gate, outside which a series of recycling bins – blue, green and brown – have been left for collection.
‘Well it’s not for the company, is it?’ Chris says.
‘Cheers.’
‘The sparkling conversation, whatever.’
‘Why were you so horrible to Caroline last week, by the way?’
Chris looks at her and shakes his head like it’s a very stupid question. He takes the tin of pre-rolled cigarettes from his pocket, turns away from the wind and lights up again. He does not bother offering one to Heather.
He pulls hard on the skinny roll-up, then hisses out a thin line of smoke which is instantly whipped away across his shoulder. Now, he’s ready to answer. He says, ‘I was only being honest.’
‘Pull the other one,’ Heather says.
‘We’re supposed to be honest in there, aren’t we?’
‘Not like that.’
‘Right, so you’ve got to be honest, but only up to a point.’
‘You’re pretending to be stupid now,’ Heather says. She watches a Mercedes slow just a fraction as it passes and stares at the woman behind the wheel: blonde hair that kisses a collar as she turns her head; the soft blue glow from the instrument panel and the shining satnav. She looks back to Chris, tries to stay nice and calm. ‘There’s a difference between honesty and insulting someone because you’re a knob.’
Chris smiles. ‘I just think the rest of you are too scared to say what you’re thinking. I haven’t got time for all that fucking… politeness.’
‘We’re supposed to be making connections and supporting each other.’
Chris shrugs.
‘Say what you think if you want, but don’t make it personal.’
‘How can it not be personal?’
‘Fine,’ Heather says. ‘Any idea how personal we could get with you, if we felt like it?’
‘Bring it on,’ Chris says. ‘Like you don’t do it anyway, when I’m not there.’ He looks past Heather. ‘Oh Christ, here it comes…’
Heather turns and they both stand and watch Caroline coming down the hill towards them. Waddling. That’s the word that occurs to each of them. She is wearing a duffel coat and has a transparent umbrella with patterns on it and she lifts a hand to wave as she gets closer.
‘Seriously, though.’ Chris drops what’s left of his roll-up. ‘The state of her. At least smack keeps you nice and thin, right?’ He steps back, looks Heather up and down. ‘You should count yourself lucky. Some women pile it on when they come off the gear.’
Heather nods, like she’s grateful for the observation. ‘Really? Actually, I was just thinking that you were chunking up a little bit.’
‘Piss off, this is all
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