![\"\"](\"https:\/\/www.themanchesterreview.co.uk\/wp-content\/uploads\/2012\/10\/JKimRichJim-1024x768.jpg\" "\\"\u00a9")
<\/p>\n<\/p>\n
Karen starts it.<\/p>\n
\u2018Tell you who\u2019s got loads of money,\u2019 she says, \u2018that Jim. Hasn\u2019t he, Des? Bloody minted he is.\u2019<\/p>\n
Lorraine, Karen\u2019s mother, pipes up next. \u2018Who\u2019s Jim?\u2019 she asks. \u2018He one of your mates, Des?\u2019<\/p>\n
They are in Des and Karen\u2019s kitchen. The women are sat close, crossed legs, elbows on the table, a bottle of Blossom Hill between them. Des is at the sink moisturising his knuckles. Eczema flare-up. His hands are raw and flaky, skin like cracked pavement.<\/p>\n
\u2018They grew up together, didn\u2019t you babe?\u2019 Karen says. \u2018You known him what \u2013 fifty years?\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Forty,\u2019 Des corrects her. \u2018We were at school together.\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018Rich man is he?\u2019 Lorraine asks. Then, pretending to look nonchalantly at her nails, adds, \u2018Married\u2026?\u2019<\/p>\n
The women fall about themselves laughing, necks floppy like nodding dogs. Des says over the top of them, \u2018Yes he is. Same wife he\u2019s always had.\u2019<\/p>\n
He leans across the sink, pushes open the window. The room is warm, has the claggy stench of leisure centre swimming pool.<\/p>\n
Earlier Lorraine bleached Karen\u2019s hair. Karen had sat on a foldout chair on the patio facing the garden fence, patch of dry earth in front of it. Lorraine stood behind her, transparent gloves on hands, holding a small bowl and using a toothbrush on her daughter\u2019s head.<\/p>\n
Des watched from the bathroom window upstairs. He noticed how much his wife used her hands to speak. Her hands moved in circles, they opened and they closed, they pointed and spread stiff, jewellery winking in the sunlight, gold bracelets jangling up and down her wrists. He wondered what she was speaking about. He wondered if he could open the window to listen. The index finger of her right hand pushed against the pinkie of her left, then her wedding finger, then her middle finger. Was she making a list? One, two, three. Three strikes and you\u2019re out<\/em>. Was she talking about him?<\/p>\n The bathroom was cold, still, just the dull burr of extractor fan. Des felt strange standing there alone, peering down on his wife and her mother like he was spying on a neighbour.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Now, Karen\u2019s in her dressing gown, pink towel round her shoulders. Featherweight boxer. Her hair – short, damp, spiky – looks white against her tanned skin.<\/p>\n It\u2019s early evening and they\u2019re waiting for Chinese.<\/p>\n \u2018She\u2019s got a funny name though, his wife,\u2019 Karen tells Lorraine.<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s short for Harriet,\u2019 Des says.<\/p>\n \u2018But they call her Harry<\/em>!\u2019 Karen says, pulling a face.<\/p>\n Lorraine smiles, lights a cigarette. \u2018So what\u2019s he do then Des?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Internet,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018He\u2019s got, like, a website, doesn\u2019t he Des?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I forget what it\u2019s called,\u2019 Des says. \u2018One of them sites you use to look at prices of stuff.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Oh yeah?\u2019 Lorraine waves a limp hand in front of her face, wafting away the first fog of smoke.<\/p>\n Des goes to the fridge and takes out a bottle of beer. His fingers leave greasy smears on the green glass and he has to put the bottle between his thighs to open it, wipes his palms on his jeans.<\/p>\n \u2018So how comes I\u2019ve not heard of this rich Jim before?\u2019 Lorraine asks.<\/p>\n \u2018Well he never came to the wedding,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018To be fair though,\u2019 she taps a cigarette from the packet, \u2018we never actually invited him.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Why not?\u2019 Lorraine asks, eyes bright, looking from Karen to Des to Karen. Karen gives her a look. \u2018Oh\u2026\u2019 Lorraine says. And then, \u2018So they went to your first one Des?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Harry and Des\u2019 ex are very close,\u2019 Karen tells her mother, talking slowly, raising her eyebrows.<\/p>\n \u2018They used<\/em> to be close,\u2019 Des interrupts. \u2018I\u2019m not sure they still are. Besides, I was closer to Jim back in them days.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018They were mods together weren\u2019t you, Des?\u2019 Karen smiles. \u2018Tell Mum. Show her that photo.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Your mum knows all about mods, she don\u2019t need to see a picture of me dressed as one.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I was a bit of a mod myself I\u2019ll have you know,\u2019 Lorraine says. \u2018I was one the first time round. Sixties. Proper mod.\u2019 She rests her cigarette on the ashtray and walks to the fridge. Her sandals make a hard clip-clop on the vinyl floorboards. \u2018So he\u2019s done well for himself then,\u2019 she says, pouring a tumbler from the water filter.<\/p>\n \u2018He has now<\/em>,\u2019 Des says, scratching his elbow. \u2018That\u2019s recent really. Last ten, fifteen years. Reckon I made more than him when we were thirty.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Ha!\u2019 Lorraine says, \u2018How things change!\u2019 And she pokes Des in the ribs, winks at him as she returns to her seat.<\/p>\n It doesn\u2019t hurt, and it does.<\/p>\n \u2018So was he there last night?\u2019 Lorraine asks. \u2018At the party?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yeah,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018You couldn\u2019t tear them apart!\u2019<\/p>\n Des goes back to the sink. He puts his beer down and brings the bottle of moisturiser he\u2019s been prescribed closer to his face; reads the ingredients. Hydrocortisone. Urea. Lactic acid. He squeezes more out onto his knuckles, pats it gently into the skin, enough to ease some itching.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n He knew Jim would be there \u2013 everybody would be there \u2013 but it still surprised him.<\/p>\n \u2018Not seen you round these parts for a while,\u2019 Des said to him, cowboy-style, as they stood shoulder to shoulder, elbows on the bar.<\/p>\n \u2018Not since the funeral,\u2019 Jim said. \u2018Trying to stay out of trouble.\u2019<\/p>\n They laughed. Des ironed out a tenner between two fingers.<\/p>\n \u2018You get down here much yourself nowadays?\u2019 Jim asked.<\/p>\n \u2018Not since I did my ankle in,\u2019 Des said. They both looked down at his ankle, as if his strain would be visible \u2013 bright red, or scarred. \u2018Better players than me now. I\u2019m an old man, even for the Veterans.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Wouldn\u2019t know it,\u2019 Jim said, and he slapped Des on the back \u2013 once, twice \u2013 his hand resting there a small moment.<\/p>\n The bar was busy. Only two young girls were serving, teenagers really. They were having trouble with the till. Des noticed green tinsel dangling like long hair around the plastic clock positioned on the wall at the back of the the bar. He wondered if it had always been there. They wouldn\u2019t have put tinsel up for a memorial party, would they?<\/p>\n \u2018Karen\u2019s looking well, mate,\u2019 Jim said.<\/p>\n \u2018As does Harry, mate.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yeah. Yeah no, she\u2019s good.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Good. Good,\u2019 Des nodded his head. \u2018We should do something really. Get together, the four of us.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Yeah,\u2019 Jim nodded. \u2018Yeah, that\u2019d be nice.\u2019<\/p>\n For a moment both men were quiet. Then Des gave Jim a nudge, asked, \u2018What you drinking?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018No, I\u2019ve got it, my round.\u2019 Jim said, straightening himself up, hand going to back pocket.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019ve got it,\u2019 Des said. \u2018What you having?\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Karen is telling Lorraine where Jim and Harry live.<\/p>\n \u2018They\u2019re North London now,\u2019 she says. \u2018Something-hill didn\u2019t they say?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Muswell,\u2019 Des says.<\/p>\n Lorraine scoffs. \u2018Well that don\u2019t sound that nice! You think he\u2019d get a place in Sevenoaks or something if he was that <\/em>rich.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018He\u2019s got about three houses Mum!\u2019 Karen says. \u2018Villa in Cannes. Mansion near Hastings\u2013 \u2019 She starts to do the list with her fingers again. Pinky, ring finger. \u2018\u2013 Harry was telling me,\u2019 she says, clasping both hands together.<\/p>\n \u2018You<\/em> were asking,\u2019 Des says.<\/p>\n \u2018Alright! I\u2019m not saying she was bragging. Thought they were very down to earth, considering. Well. He was anyway. Still talks like he\u2019s from round here. Still supports Millwall doesn\u2019t he?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Hardly a true fan,\u2019 Des says.<\/p>\n \u2018Now you\u2019re being mean,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018You loved seeing him really, admit it.\u2019<\/p>\n Des slides his wedding band off his finger, rinses it under the tap. \u2018He was my best mate,\u2019 he says. \u2018Course it was good to see him.\u2019<\/p>\n Karen tips her head to one side, scrunches her nose and gazes at Des with a smile.<\/p>\n Des changes the subject. \u2018Longest day of the year today,\u2019 he says.<\/p>\n The three of them turn, stare out the window. The sky is still blue \u2013 just a stripe of white contrail streaked across it.<\/p>\n Lorraine sighs. \u2018Sounds like he\u2019s a clever one though. That Jim, if you know what I mean.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018What do you mean?\u2019 Des asks.<\/p>\n \u2018Well not that it was your fault,\u2019 she says, \u2018going into property, you weren\u2019t to know. But websites, Internet, all that. That\u2019s where the money is nowadays.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Mum,\u2019 Karen says, and she looks at Des.<\/p>\n Des necks the end of his beer, gets another out. He looks at the clock hung on the wall above the table. It\u2019s a gold clock, Roman numerals instead of numbers, bought from a shop called Abracadabra on Telham High Street. Karen calls it \u2018antiquey\u2019. Des has to check it against his watch every time.<\/p>\n \u2018When did we order this food?\u2019 he says, one hand scratching the other. \u2018I\u2019m gonna go past hunger soon, won\u2019t want anything. Waste.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s Saturday night babe,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018It\u2019s busy. Come sit down.\u2019<\/p>\n Des remains standing. \u2018I\u2019ll get out the plates.\u2019<\/p>\n Lorraine leans forward, lights one cigarette for Karen, one for herself.<\/p>\n \u2018So it was actually a memorial, this party you went to?\u2019 She asks her daughter. \u2018One of Des\u2019 mates, yeah?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018His mate Tony. From the football club,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018Cancer. I forget which kind.\u2019<\/p>\n Lorraine bites down on her lip. \u2018He die recently?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Last September. Didn\u2019t I tell you about the funeral? Sad, wasn\u2019t it Des?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018They do tend to be,\u2019 Des says.<\/p>\n \u2018Anyway,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018his wife and daughters organised the party last night. One of them was my age actually wasn\u2019t she Des? One of his daughters. Think she said she was thirty-six.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You lost your stepdad when you was twenty-five,\u2019 Lorraine says, pointing her cigarette at Karen. \u2018And he was basically your dad.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I told her that,\u2019 Karen says. She blows her smoke upward toward the chandelier, shakes her head. \u2018I\u2019m not sure she appreciated it.\u2019<\/p>\n Des clunks the plates down between them on the table. He moves the ashtray and bottle of wine to the kitchen counter.<\/p>\n \u2018So. Was it a heavy night?\u2019 Lorraine asks, eyes following ashtray. \u2018Any tears?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Not really. More of a fun night weren\u2019t it Des?\u2019 Karen says. \u2018Mostly dancing and that. I didn\u2019t see anyone look upset. There was a raffle. Raised some money.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018What for the family?\u2019 Lorraine says.<\/p>\n \u2018They were raising money for charity, Lorraine,\u2019 Des says. \u2018Cancer Research.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018His family didn\u2019t keep any of it?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018The night was a charity fundraiser,\u2019 Des says. \u2018You raise money for a charity.\u2019<\/p>\n Lorraine pulls a face. \u2018People <\/em>can be charities.\u2019<\/p>\n Des drops the cutlery. Knives and forks and serving spoons scuttle across the floor.<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s alright!\u2019 Karen says, quickly up and over, squatting down to gather them up. Karen puts the cutlery in the sink and picks out a clean handful from the dishwasher.<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s these slippery hands,\u2019 Des says, \u2018This bloody cream.\u2019<\/p>\n Lorraine is standing. She moves to the kitchen counter, flicks her cigarette in the ashtray. \u2018Sit down Des,\u2019 she says, watching him. \u2018I forgot you wasn\u2019t well.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m fine,\u2019 Des says. He\u2019s wiping his hands on a tea towel.<\/p>\n \u2018Sign of stress, eczema,\u2019 Lorraine says. \u2018Yous two need a holiday.\u2019<\/p>\n Karen rests the cutlery on top of the plates then walks back to Des, folds her arms round his waist. She is silky and soft and her hair smells of clean bathrooms. He can\u2019t help but hold her.<\/p>\n \u2018We do,\u2019 she says, cheek on his chest, mouth next to his armpit. \u2018Talked about going Sharm-El-Sheikh in September, didn\u2019t we?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Or go and stay in Jim\u2019s villa,\u2019 Lorraine says, and she tops up her wine, sits back at the table.<\/p>\n Karen looks up at Des and sighs, \u2018Imagine!\u2019<\/p>\n Des meets his wife\u2019s gaze with a look of bewilderment, brow furrowed, eyes squinted. \u2018I\u2019m not asking Jim if we can stay in his bleedin\u2019 villa,\u2019 he says, and he moves Karen off him, walks back to the sink.<\/p>\n \u2018Course we won\u2019t ask<\/em>,\u2019 Karen says.<\/p>\n \u2018Course you won\u2019t ask<\/em>,\u2019 Lorraine repeats. \u2018You\u2019ve just gotta hint. I mean what? He\u2019s got three, four houses? How much of the time do you think he\u2019s in all of them? I bet they\u2019re looking<\/em> for people to stay in them. Keep \u2018em tidy, keep the cobwebs away.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018You know where she said it\u2019s not far from?\u2019 Karen says. \u2018St Tropez. Imagine who\u2019d you spot, Mum.\u2019<\/p>\n Des pours himself a tumbler of water, downs it in one, tipping it back so it barely touches his gums. He interrupts Lorraine as she lists the celebrities she expects will be there. \u2018How much have you drunk?\u2019 he asks, wiping his mouth against his forearm. \u2018You\u2019re being ridiculous.\u2019<\/p>\n Lorraine rolls her eyes, picks something out of her tooth. Karen goes back to the table. \u2018I just thought you\u2019d like to stay in touch with him,\u2019 she shrugs.<\/p>\n \u2018I would,\u2019 Des says. \u2018But I\u2019m not asking for his holiday home. Not when I\u2019ve not seen him in years.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018We saw him at the funeral. You saw him last night.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s not the same.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Fine,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018But unless we book something soon we won\u2019t be going anywhere this year.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Fine.\u2019<\/p>\n Karen takes a sip of wine, swallows, purses her lips together. Her eyes glint and she sniffs, blinks quickly, moves her tongue over her teeth.<\/p>\n Des is leaning against the sink. He looks at the floor where he dropped the cutlery, wishes it were beer he\u2019d spilt so he could mop it up now, have something to do.<\/p>\n The doorbell chimes.<\/p>\n \u2018Finally,\u2019 Des says, \u2018I\u2019ve got it.\u2019 He pats his pockets. \u2018Where\u2019s my wallet?\u2019 he asks.<\/p>\n \u2018Here, in my bag still,\u2019 Karen says, and she stands, fingers through her bag, passes Des his wallet.<\/p>\n Des takes out three notes, holds Karen\u2019s eye. \u2018Cheers babe,\u2019 he says.<\/p>\n He goes to the front door. The Chinese deliveryman is older than Des expects him to be. Old enough to be the manager.<\/p>\n \u2018Cheers very much mate,\u2019 Des says, and they swap the carrier bag of takeaway for the notes in his hand. \u2018That\u2019s thirty,\u2019 he says, \u2018twenty-six fifty I think your lady said.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Twenty-six fifty,\u2019 the man repeats, and he takes from the inside pocket of his jacket a purple silk purse, opens it and shakes it about. He pours coins into his palm, lips moving silently as he counts, as he moves the coins from one hand to the other, rooting around in the purse a little more. Des stares down at the purse. It\u2019s the shape of a tiny envelope, a cluster of flowers sewn in on the front, gold tassle fastened to the fold. He thinks suddenly of the porcelain dolls his mother used to keep. Pictures them lined up on a shelf in the spare room.<\/p>\n \u2018That\u2019s fine mate,\u2019 Des says, \u2018whatever\u2019s there, that\u2019s fine.\u2019<\/p>\n The deliveryman looks up at him, confused. \u2018You want three fifty? I got two and ten here.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Two pound ten, that\u2019s fine, that\u2019s fine,\u2019 Des says, avoiding the old man\u2019s eyes, opening his hand. His fingers twitch, quiver, like legs of a spider. As soon as the change is in his palm, he clamps it shut, nods a thanks and closes the front door. He pushes the coins into the pocket of his jeans and for a moment he waits, still facing the frosted glass panel of the door. His breathing feels short, heavy. He drops his head, shuts his eyes.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n \u2018How much?\u2019 Jim asked.<\/p>\n They\u2019d moved outside, to the car park, stood in a dark shadow between a silver Saab and a silver Golf. The raffle was over and a conga line danced briefly out of the clubhouse, bringing with it the abrupt sound of Rod Stewart singing \u2018Do Ya Think I\u2019m Sexy?\u2019 The line had threatened to do a round of the football pitch but a few women \u2013 bare-foot and blistered \u2013 forced it back inside, screeches of pain and laughter.<\/p>\n \u2018Forty. No \u2013 fifty,\u2019 Des said, swallowing hard. His shoulders were hunched, fists dug deep inside his jacket pockets. He looked down at the gravel, ground a cigarette butt back and forth with his foot. \u2018Fifty grand. Just to get out the mess. And that\u2019s all it is. A bit of mess.\u2019<\/p>\n Jim was staring out, across the football pitch. The sky above it was orange and pink, as though something faraway was on fire.<\/p>\n \u2018What is it?\u2019 Jim asked. \u2018Horses? The pools? William Hill on the High Street or you doing it all online now?\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018No. I promise you Jim,\u2019 Des said, looking back down to the ground. \u2018It\u2019s these cards. These bloody credit cards, you know what they\u2019re like. The interest!\u2019<\/p>\n Jim rubbed a hand over his face. \u2018Things change, Des. I\u2019ve got three teenagers now, mate. You got any idea how much the schools cost that Harry sends them to? Kelly\u2019s about to start her first year of uni at Edinburgh. Edinburgh<\/em>, Des.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018All I\u2019m asking for is a loan, Jim. Just a rope. A ladder. Just to get me on my feet again. I\u2019ll get it back to you by Christmas, you know I will. I\u2019ll get half of it back by September. I wouldn\u2019t ask if -\u2019 Something got caught in Des\u2019 throat. He swallowed. \u2018I wouldn\u2019t ask you mate, if I didn\u2019t need it.\u2019<\/p>\n Jim said nothing. His hand was covering his mouth. Des kept his eyes to the ground, rolled his shoe over the cigarette butt again and again. The sound of the A2 grumbled in the distance. Finally, Jim placed his hand on Des\u2019 shoulder, squeezed it.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n When Des walks back to the kitchen the women are beaming.<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m sorry,\u2019 Karen says, \u2018It was in the drawer, I had to show Mum!\u2019<\/p>\n Des puts the takeaway bag on the counter and looks down at what they\u2019re smiling at. It\u2019s a small yellow-tinged photograph of two boys on a scooter. Jim is the one at the front, standing, chest puffed out, hands on the steering. Des is on the back, sat rigid, feet up, ready to go. They are outside Des\u2019 old house. His mother\u2019s net curtains are in the background. Jim has come to collect him, to give him a ride. Their v-necks are slim on their skinny frames, collars of polo shirts poking out. Des\u2019 bony ankles can be seen between his trousers and boots. He is trying to look serious but Jim has a grin. \u2018Get another once we\u2019re up the street,\u2019 he\u2019d said to Des\u2019 father, \u2018Try and get it of the neighbours watching.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018He\u2019s a looker that Jim,\u2019 Lorraine says, \u2018Wish I\u2019d known him when I was a girl.\u2019<\/p>\n Karen snorts, slaps her mum\u2019s knee. \u2018Give him a call Des,\u2019 she says. \u2018I know you\u2019ve missed him.\u2019<\/p>\n Des clears his throat, moves the photograph to the kitchen counter, starts unpacking the plastic containers of food onto the table. \u2018Not now,\u2019 he says.<\/p>\n \u2018Why not?\u2019 Karen asks.<\/p>\n \u2018We\u2019re eating.\u2019<\/p>\n One of the containers \u2013 sweet and sour chicken \u2013 has leaked luminous, sticky jam all over Des\u2019 fingers. He holds his hands out, palms to ceiling as though waiting to catch something, for something to fall.<\/p>\n \u2018You don\u2019t have to chat,\u2019 Karen says, \u2018Just invite them over. Invite them round to ours sometime. We can have a barbecue or something.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Good idea,\u2019 Lorraine says, pointing with her fork.<\/p>\n \u2018It\u2019s Saturday night,\u2019 Des shrugs, pulling off a sheet of kitchen towel and blotting his fingers. \u2018He\u2019s probably out. Busy.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018Just try him,\u2019 Karen says. \u2018Or you never will. You\u2019ll put it off, I know you. You\u2019re always talking about \u2018me and Jim done this,\u2019 \u2018me and Jim done that\u2019. Now you could do it all again. Get bikes out even, you know, hire them.\u2019 Karen and Lorraine are looking at each other, nodding, \u2018Drive to Brighton or wherever it was you went.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018I\u2019m not doing that,\u2019 Des says. He goes to the sink, collects his beer.<\/p>\n \u2018Oh go on Des,\u2019 Karen says, sinking her shoulders, sticking her bottom lip out, childish pout. \u2018If for nothing else, do it for me? Or else\u2026\u2019 she says, \u2018I could give Harry a call?\u2019<\/p>\n That does it.<\/p>\n \u2018No. No, no. No,\u2019 Des says. He puts his beer down, spreads two hands in the air. \u2018Listen. I\u2019ll call him, I\u2019ll do it.\u2019<\/p>\n \u2018When?\u2019 Lorraine asks, opening the box of seaweed and spilling it onto her plate.<\/p>\n Des is no longer hungry. His stomach feels empty, wobbly, like the waterbed he\u2019d struggled to sleep in on honeymoon with Karen two years before.<\/p>\n \u2018Now?\u2019 Karen asks, and she smiles up at him hopefully.<\/p>\n Des licks a tense tongue over his bottom lip, takes the phone from the cradle, opens the address book on the kitchen counter. \u2018He\u2019s probably changed his number,\u2019 he says, \u2018I didn\u2019t get his new one last night.\u2019<\/p>\n He finds the name easily. Jones, Jim and Harry. His fingers, his hands, feel like they\u2019re crawling with insects. Ants. Spiders. Blue-bottles. He wants to smack them, scratch them, peel the skin off, shed it all, like a snake.<\/p>\n \u2018Always good to have friends in high places,\u2019 Lorraine says, dunking a spring roll into a polystyrene pot of sauce.<\/p>\n Des dials the number, his thumb leaving a waxy blur over each digit. Karen sits forward in her chair, smiling, hands clasped together under her chin. Des looks at her. What blue eyes she\u2019s got. He calls them Honeymoon Blue: the colour of the sky in Turkey, the hotel pool she\u2019d dived into. Who knew girls from Woolwich could dive?<\/p>\n He listens. There\u2019s a moment\u2019s pause then it starts to ring. Through the sound of the ringing, he hears the thumping of his heart, feels it in his chest, his stomach, the tips of his fingers. The ringing stops, clicks, and a man\u2019s voice answers.<\/p>\n \u2018Hello?\u2019<\/p>\n Quickly, the phone still pressed against his red hot ear, Des turns away from the women, hangs up, hears the dead hum of dialing tone, looks down into the sink at the scattered knives and forks, leans on it for support. Says, \u2018Jim! It\u2019s me. It\u2019s Des.\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Karen starts it. \u2018Tell you who\u2019s got loads of money,\u2019 she says, \u2018that Jim. Hasn\u2019t he, Des? Bloody minted he is.\u2019<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":3,"featured_media":301,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"jetpack_publicize_message":"","jetpack_is_tweetstorm":false,"jetpack_publicize_feature_enabled":true,"jetpack_social_post_already_shared":false,"jetpack_social_options":[]},"categories":[7,1],"tags":[],"jetpack_publicize_connections":[],"yoast_head":"\n