a handcart.
‘I’m sorry,’ Trevor said.
‘Sorry about what?’ I said, wheeling the keg along. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Trev?’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t show up at your brother’s funeral, like.’
Trevor’s eyes were downcast. Like I’ve mentioned before, Trevor didn’t show up at the funeral because he didn’t know my brother.
‘It’s OK.’ I backed up the back step with the handcart and slid it out to get anotherkeg when Trevor motioned for a second one.
‘It’s not OK, like.’ Trevor raised his voice. ‘Mates don’t make excuses like that! I didn’t show when you needed me.’
OK, this is new. Trevor’s never been one to open up about – well, anything. He’s a friend, a mate, alright, but don’t expect hugs or crying, even if Newcastle lose to Sunderland.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘I should have been there,’ Trevor said. ‘Even if your olds would have flipped out, and even if I didn’t know your brother. That funeral wasn’t about him, like. At least it wouldn’t have been for me. It would have been about you, me mate, and making sure me mate was OK.’
Trevor hugged me tight, patting me on the back.
‘Um,’ is all I managed to say.
Sometimes, when you think you know your mates, you find out something you never expected. Sometimes, it’s bad: your best mate is dissing you behind your back or trying to steal your girl. Sometimes, it’s good, like your mate is showing you how ace he is and coming through when your life is swirling down the drain. And sometimes, your mate pulls a Trevor, just reminding you what he did wrong.
Friends, parents, girls – even the police sometimes – usually let Trevor coast. I wasn’t going to let him, now that he’d brought the subject up. It made me remember how pissed off I’d been that he hadn’t been there for me.
‘You’re right, you were a dick.’ I shoved him away. He shoved me back.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Trevor said. ‘Don’t mean you gotta remind me, like.’
He shoved me again.
‘You brought it up. No one turned up, you know! I figured
you
would haveshowed up just to tweak my dad!’
‘He’d have just taken it out on you.’ Trevor tumbled me into the side of the shed with a shove against my head. ‘Figured you didn’t need that, like.’
Looking back, this was all pretty silly. My mate apologises for screwing up and I start a fight with him? Not smart, especially since Trevor had a strict training regime of pub brawls and chav-bashing. If they gave A Levels out for Thuggery and Hoodluming, he’d have the grades to get into Oxford. Meanwhile, I’m a damn art student with a track record of lucky punches and hurting my hand.
‘You still should have shown up,’ I spat out.
I wrapped my hand around something nearby and swung it at Trevor. It broke over his head, glass flying everywhere. Trevor stumbled backwards, blood running from where I’d caught him. He fell over flat on his back, grasping his head.
I looked at my hand. I had grabbed a fluorescent bulb out of the bin next to the shed.
Trevor laughed, a chuckle at first but then howls of laughter.
‘Like, I deserved that one, man,’ Trevor said from the ground, still smiling, still bleeding. He pulled a bit of glass out of his scalp – not for the first time in his life.
I stepped towards him. Trevor held his hand up to ward me away.
‘I think that makes us even,’ he said, ‘right?’ He kept his hand up, ready to cover his head.
I still had the broken bulb in my hand. I tossed it back into the trash bin. Trevor relaxed, rising up from the ground. He started laughing again.
‘I normally get glassed with a pint mug, not a lamp.’ Trevor wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘We even?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘we’re even.’
And that’s a mate. He might do you wrong, and it might not come up for months and months, but when it does it gets resolved and it’s all water under the bridge. Even when your mate is a
‘I’m sorry,’ Trevor said.
‘Sorry about what?’ I said, wheeling the keg along. ‘What the fuck are you talking about, Trev?’
‘I’m sorry I didn’t show up at your brother’s funeral, like.’
Trevor’s eyes were downcast. Like I’ve mentioned before, Trevor didn’t show up at the funeral because he didn’t know my brother.
‘It’s OK.’ I backed up the back step with the handcart and slid it out to get anotherkeg when Trevor motioned for a second one.
‘It’s not OK, like.’ Trevor raised his voice. ‘Mates don’t make excuses like that! I didn’t show when you needed me.’
OK, this is new. Trevor’s never been one to open up about – well, anything. He’s a friend, a mate, alright, but don’t expect hugs or crying, even if Newcastle lose to Sunderland.
‘What the hell is wrong with you?’
‘I should have been there,’ Trevor said. ‘Even if your olds would have flipped out, and even if I didn’t know your brother. That funeral wasn’t about him, like. At least it wouldn’t have been for me. It would have been about you, me mate, and making sure me mate was OK.’
Trevor hugged me tight, patting me on the back.
‘Um,’ is all I managed to say.
Sometimes, when you think you know your mates, you find out something you never expected. Sometimes, it’s bad: your best mate is dissing you behind your back or trying to steal your girl. Sometimes, it’s good, like your mate is showing you how ace he is and coming through when your life is swirling down the drain. And sometimes, your mate pulls a Trevor, just reminding you what he did wrong.
Friends, parents, girls – even the police sometimes – usually let Trevor coast. I wasn’t going to let him, now that he’d brought the subject up. It made me remember how pissed off I’d been that he hadn’t been there for me.
‘You’re right, you were a dick.’ I shoved him away. He shoved me back.
‘Yeah, maybe,’ Trevor said. ‘Don’t mean you gotta remind me, like.’
He shoved me again.
‘You brought it up. No one turned up, you know! I figured
you
would haveshowed up just to tweak my dad!’
‘He’d have just taken it out on you.’ Trevor tumbled me into the side of the shed with a shove against my head. ‘Figured you didn’t need that, like.’
Looking back, this was all pretty silly. My mate apologises for screwing up and I start a fight with him? Not smart, especially since Trevor had a strict training regime of pub brawls and chav-bashing. If they gave A Levels out for Thuggery and Hoodluming, he’d have the grades to get into Oxford. Meanwhile, I’m a damn art student with a track record of lucky punches and hurting my hand.
‘You still should have shown up,’ I spat out.
I wrapped my hand around something nearby and swung it at Trevor. It broke over his head, glass flying everywhere. Trevor stumbled backwards, blood running from where I’d caught him. He fell over flat on his back, grasping his head.
I looked at my hand. I had grabbed a fluorescent bulb out of the bin next to the shed.
Trevor laughed, a chuckle at first but then howls of laughter.
‘Like, I deserved that one, man,’ Trevor said from the ground, still smiling, still bleeding. He pulled a bit of glass out of his scalp – not for the first time in his life.
I stepped towards him. Trevor held his hand up to ward me away.
‘I think that makes us even,’ he said, ‘right?’ He kept his hand up, ready to cover his head.
I still had the broken bulb in my hand. I tossed it back into the trash bin. Trevor relaxed, rising up from the ground. He started laughing again.
‘I normally get glassed with a pint mug, not a lamp.’ Trevor wiped the blood from his forehead. ‘We even?’
‘Yeah,’ I said, ‘we’re even.’
And that’s a mate. He might do you wrong, and it might not come up for months and months, but when it does it gets resolved and it’s all water under the bridge. Even when your mate is a
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