Going Clutch by Dave Capreolus

Chapter One: Wheeling and Dealing

Cold light began to spill into the workshop as the corrugated red shutters clanked their way open in the early summer morning. With the steady, grinding rise of the corroded aluminium, the sunlight lazily illuminated the dirty-blue struts of the shop lifts and matte-black bodies of the two large, spotlessly clean, stacked toolboxes. Lewis ducked through the entrance and flicked on the halogens; the flickering light revealed the oil streaked floor and unearthed the dirt smattered wheel arches and metallic-maroon paint of the 2004 model Vauxhall Corsa which Lewis had been preforming a clutch change on. Having done much of the preparation the previous night, Lewis knew his first job shouldn’t be too difficult.

The pale mechanic had no choice but to patiently wait until the shutters were fully retracted before he could take his thumb off the switch and enter his place of work. The breeze on the air ruffled his mid-length, dark brown hair that was getting to the point where Lewis couldn’t put off a trip to Toni. With the dazzling sunlight of the morning, Lewis had driven in some rather hideous square, tortoiseshell sunglasses. He now removed them and blinked as his eyes adjusted, his pupils shrinking in their lime green irises. Tucking the shades into his pocket, he reached up with his free hand and scratched the shortish stubble that was so far past a five o’clock shadow that it was threatening to become what could be classed as a beard. At this length, it emphasised his attractive cheek bones and strong jaw. Lewis licked his thin, carnation pink lips to restore some moisture to them; he discovered a minty blot of rogue toothpaste in his left oral commissure. Finally, the shutter came to a halt. The mouth of the workshop was at its fullest and Lewis gratefully released the switch.

Entering the nicotine and grease marked office, Lewis filled the kettle for his ritually strong, black coffee. Internally, he began going through the work he had done yesterday afternoon: Disconnect battery. Remove battery, plus housing. Check gearbox. Remove retaining clip that holds the hydraulic connector pipe into the concentric slave cylinder. Kettle’s boiled. Disconnect and clamp off the flexy pipe. Take mug from sink. Remove the upper bell housing bolts. Two tea spoons of instant. Disconnect gear link arm. Install engine support beam. Remove the top mount and bracket from the gearbox. Pour in the water. He took his coffee into the workshop and stared at the vehicle.

When doing the work, Lewis just let the memory in his muscles drive him on, but he liked to retrace his prior work mentally, just to test himself and to ensure his work was going in the right direction. He took some timid sips of his coffee, blowing short, sharp jets of air after each boiling mouth full. He raised the vehicle on the lift and quickly removed the front wheels with his eighteen- volt impact wrench, followed by stripping the nearside wheel arch liner. He’d unbolted and disconnect both drive shafts, carefully separating them from their home in the wheel hub assembly, before unbolting and splitting the bottom ball joints on both sides. This left him in the best position to drain the transmission oil from the gearbox by removing the sump. The clotted oil flowed from the hole like black caramel into the cheap, orange plastic washing-up tub that Lewis had found amongst some of the debris that had been fly-tipped on the empty lot opposite the garage.

Tucked away in the maze of roads that formed the crumbling end of the industrial estate, Under-the-Dash Auto’s cul-de-sac made a favourite spot for those who wanted a quiet place to dispose of their unwanted waste. Over the years that Lewis had been with UTD, he had seen all kinds of waste and refuse dumped on the empty lot adjacent to the garage. Once upon a time, that unit had housed a hydroponics shop. They were the go-to-guys if you wanted to set up a cannabis grow. Tents, lights, fans, carbon filters, nutrients, irrigation systems, the whole lot. They were the one-stop-shop for the prospective cannabis cropper. Their business had been good for a number of years, until one of the green fingered owners had sold some defective, industrial-size carbon filters to a middle hitter on the North-East cannabis farming circuit known as Barney. His commercial venture had ended as soon as his five-hundred plant crop entered the flowering stages and the whole residential street where the farm was located, tucked nicely into a two- bedroom terrace, was drenched in the distinctively pungent fragrance of freshly budding Stardawg.

The police, alerted to its presence by concerned neighbours, soon took their Big Red Key to the front of the property. Facing the prospect of some heavy jail time and missing out on somewhere just shy of half a million sterling, Barney held the owners of Hydrogrow responsible for his arrest. Although it was never proven, rumour had it that Barney ordered the overnight raid on their store. Windows smashed, thousands of pounds worth of damage to their stock, more in missing equipment. They’d left the place utterly ransacked. Now boarded up, while the bank, owners, and insurance companies squabble over pay-outs, the rest of the dubious characters had taken advantage and made the front carpark their own personal tip.

Tyres, toppled over washing machines, bikes, a plastic play house, a bathtub with a crack through the base, every brand of fizzy drinks bottle, big bags of empty cans, a couple of mattresses, and a decomposing stray cat made up the exterior decoration of the abandoned husk of Hydrogro. Small mounds of rubble adding to the hilly landscape, refuse sacks of household rubbish peppered here and there, adding some diversity to the concrete, PVC, and aluminium terrain that bordered the rubber skid-marked tarmac of Under-the- Dash.

Suddenly, the low humming and grumbling of an IVECO Daily broke the stillness of the cul-de-sac. Lewis smiled and shook his head. He knew who it was. Bringing the white van to a gentle stop in front of the garage, a broad and ruddy faced man clambered from the cab. Lewis, who had been leaning against the blackened brick wall of the office, flicked his cigarette into the empty Kilner jar by his feet, and strode out of the battered entrance, towards the man who was now sliding open the side panel of his van.
“Ay up Snappy,” Lewis mumbled, then cleared his throat, “What shite are ya tryin t’ flog me today?”
“Shite?! You want to watch your mouth lad, before I knock ya front two out,” Snappy retorted, turning his red, stubbled face to glare up at Lewis; his wrinkles accentuated in morning sun. “Anyway, I ‘av got you sumit you’ll like.” He rummaged in the van and pulled out a violently neon green hammer. “You know you were saying you fucked your ball peen?”
“Well aye,” Lewis said, acknowledging his interest. “
I’ve found you this. Second hand but great condition. 24oz, ball peen, soft grips, and it’s a dead blow. No more bouncing like a fat lass on Saturday night. Optimum force delivery. These things do alright on Ebay you know? Well, it’s all yours for only forty-five quid,” Snappy pitched. “
Thirty,” Lewis countered.
“Forty.”
“Thirty-five.”
“Sold,” Snappy decided, offering Lewis his firm handshake. The deal was done.
Lewis reached into his torn up, oil caked, overall slit to grab his wallet that was safely in the back pocket of his work trousers. He took out two twenties and handed them to Snappy.
“Got no change,” Snappy admitted.
“Alright mate, Get us a burger from the pit stop after you’ve done the morning rounds,” Lewis told him.
“Aye, can do, mate.” Lewis, wielding the hammer, “Good this like, nice balance” He shook the hammer beside his head to hear the ball bearings shake inside the green casing. He took a couple of swings through the air, satisfied he grinned at Snappy. “Corse, I could just brain you with it now and take my money back.”
“Fuck off, grease monkey. Me head’s too thick even for that to crack,” said Snappy, using the knuckles of his right hand to tap on his short, wiry hair.
Lewis laughed, “Haven’t you got other suckers to bother?”
“Only your mam, but I’ll see her after work, lad”
“Dirty old fuck! You best get in that van quick before I ram this hammer up ya shitter!”
“Don’t threaten me with a good time, you limp dicked freak”
“Fuck off Snappy. See you Friday”
“I’d rather not see you mate, ugly fuck, but your credits due ain’t it?”
“Don’t worry, you’ll have it.”
“Fucking better had. Right, catch you later Lewis, give my love to Mel.”
“Aye, she said you should pop in for a cupper sometime.”
“Only if you’re not in.”
Lewis raised the hammer high and bared his off-white teeth. Snappy hid behind the passenger door and began, inelegantly, to hoist himself up into the seat. “Always were a touchy lad, weren’t you Lewis? See you later for that burger!” And, with a door slam, Snappy shuffled over to the driver’s side, reversed, and sped off down the road, leaving Lewis and his new hammer to get on with the day.
Lewis went back to the garage and finished off his now drinkable coffee. He took the mug into the office and tossed it into the sink where it made a metallic thunk. He was looking at the jobs list and noticed a fresh addition that his boss, Graham, must have added last night, after Lewis had left. The job read: White Mercedes-Benz E Class – E250 CDI BlueEfficency; Fuel: Diesel; Reg: LO55 REE; Owner: Loraine Mitchell – Full service.

Lewis felt his heart sink and his fists clenched in reflex. It was a name he knew only too well. They had to deal with Loraine Mitchell far more than he would have preferred. Lewis felt uneasy being in the same room as her. He’d gone to the same school as Loraine for a few years were they’d had a couple of encounters. She had also brutally bullied his now girlfriend Mel. Lewis knew then that as an adult Lorraine would be a difficult customer. She was a ruthless personality with an addiction to designer branding. Loraine liked her Versace velvet tracksuits soft and her men as hard as the diamonds in her ears with a Rottweiler’s mentality.

Lewis remembered an incident at school when one of Loraine’s boyfriends had beaten the living shit out of a perfectly nice kid just because Loraine said he was staring at her while she was taking her jumper off on the field. He probably had been, but Lewis didn’t think that really warranted a black and blue beating that had the lad off school for months. Loraine and the other plastic troopers were always the popular crowd. Most of the male population would’ve said they were the most attractive group of females in the school, if you’re into multiple layers of fake tan, impractical nails and hair extensions that don’t try to hide the fact that they are extensions. In the present, not much had changed for Loraine.

Nice cars, sun-soaked holidays, and high-end cocktail restaurants filled her Instagram. Her more recent boyfriends were into steroids now, were much scarier and even more unhinged than those of her school years. Her attendance at the garage usually brought one of these troglodyte types out of his cocaine fuelled bender to ensure the mechanics weren’t messing her about. Lewis couldn’t wait to meet this quarter’s man mountain. He was glad that it would be Graham that handled the business with Loraine. He didn’t mind her car at least, just what might happen if she wasn’t happy with the work. It was at this point that Graham, Lewis’s mentor, surrogate father, and chronic pain in the neck strode into the office.
“Put kettle on mate,” Graham instructed. “
Morning Graham,” Lewis responded, flicking the switch on the dirty white kettle. The orange light snapped on and the water began to slowly bubble up to temperature. “Seen we’ve got Lorrie coming in today,” Lewis said, unable to hide the disappointment in his voice.
“Aye,” responded Graham, arms folded, “It’ll be fine lad. Just a service. I’ll sort all the stuff for ya. Anyway, we don’t have to deal with her until this afty. You finished on the Corsa?”
“Won’t be long now. Just about to take the gearbox out,” Lewis replied.
“I’ll give you a hand with that mate. Want that lift freed up pronto.”
The kettle rumbled and clicked off. Lewis heaped some instant into Graham’s mug, followed by small sweetener pills. Fresh brew in hand, they both headed for the workshop.

***

Lewis reattached both front wheels and lowered the Corsa to the ground. He kicked the lift arms out from under the chassis and wiped the sweat from his forehead with his sleeve, leaving a black oily streak in its place. They’d discovered that the pilot bearing on the flywheel had failed so they’d spent longer than Graham was prepared to stay in a good mood trying to track down the extra part they needed. However, Lewis managed to collect it, fit it and rebuild the car before Graham could go full conniption.

Climbing into the drab fabric driver’s seat, Lewis closed the door. The interior material was a shabby grey colour with hints of spilled MacDonald’s milkshake and the pressure of a body landing on the seat chucked up a dust that gave off the unmistakable aroma of stale smoke mixed with the sweeter, earthier undertones of cannabis. Lewis put one hand of the scuffed, scratched and peeling faux-leather steering wheel, depressed the clutch, and with his free hand turned the keys in the stiff ignition. The little banger spluttered into life. Carefully easing the clutch up, Lewis comfortably caught the biting point and, feeling the engine pulling eagerly at the driveshaft, brought the vehicle out of the lift bay, off the garage forecourt, and drove headed out of Under-The-Dash’s Cul-De-sac.

The strong desire for nicotine drifted into Lewis’s mind as he sped the Corsa around the quiet roads of the industrial estate. Reaching behind his ear, he retrieved the Sterling Duo from its resting place and slipped it into the side of his mouth. Glancing about the car, he searched for a lighter. Near the handbrake was: a half-eaten packet of airwaves gum, strong, good for hiding the smell of smoke on the breath; some loose change, a couple of quids, probably left out to see if they’d go missing; MacDonald’s Monopoly stickers, one free Big Mac, Lewis stuffed that into his top pocket; and a micro USB charger cable. No lighter. In the driver’s side door were a few scratched CDs in battered cases, a crushed up can of Monster Energy, and the plastic pink corner of a disposable lighter. Lewis’s hand dived passed the dubstep mixtapes and Prodigy albums to retrieve it. Clicking it twice before the gas burst into flame, Lewis delivered the fire carefully to the end of his cigarette. He inhaled the first drag with relief and exhaled the smoke through his nose. Leaving it lit in his mouth, he quickly wound down the window and tapped off the first crown of ash.

He felt good, the Corsa was behaving itself, he’d bought a new hammer, and indulging his unhealthy smoking and driving habit always gave him a good vibe.

After the next corner, he’d be on the home straight of the industrial estate circuit. Drawing the smoke deeply into his lungs with satisfaction, he took in the blue morning skies, thought longingly about going home to Mel that evening, kicked the Corsa into third gear and accelerated down the straight that would lead him back to work.

***

Leaving the Corsa parked outside, Lewis strode back to the office, returned the keys to the key safe, and gave his hands a quick wash in the sink. Graham was in the workshop, changing the brake disks on a glossy black Skoda Octavia that had failed its MOT.
“When’s lad comin’ ta pay fer that?” Graham quizzed, hardly looking up from his place in the wheel arch.
“I’ll message him now,” Lewis said as he walked over to his spotless matte- black aluminium Snap-On toolboxes, carefully slid his fingers over the lovingly polished, bronze trims and pulled out the top draw of his four tier heritage model treasure chest that was perched atop the impressive 35″, seven tiered, single bank, Masters Series Roll Cab.

Lewis’s tool box was, without a doubt, his prize possession. He’d owned it for almost a good two years now but from the outside it looked as if it was brand new. Since the day Snappy had shown him the custom tool box, when he was still an apprentice, Lewis had started saving up the £5000 that he needed to make the set his. After six years, and other essential spends causing him setbacks, he’d managed to put enough away to justify buying the tool chest; a payment plan to cover the deficit had been agreed with Snappy for £110 a month for the two years. And in just four days’ time, he’d have paid it all off.

Inside the open draw was Lewis’s work phone; a basic Blackberry Curve that had its fair share of scuffs and scratches adorning the case and screen. He navigated the contacts until he found Pongo and hit the dial button. The crackly line rang. Derr Derr.

Lewis sat down on the grotty old office chair that they kept in the garage; they affectional called it ‘The Veteran’. It had no backrest from when Lewis and Callum had been wrestling one another and Callum pushed Lewis over it, snapping the cushioned back support from the seat and obliterating two of its six swivel wheels. It was because of this incident that Lewis had to get three stitches in his left cheek, leaving a notable scar. The throw caused him to face plant off the chair and into the bottom shelf of a work bench, gashing it open dramatically and bleeding profusely. Graham was livid with them both and had almost fired Callum on the spot. It wasn’t the first, or last time an ambulance had been called to Under-the-Dash.

Phone pressed to his ear in one hand, he ran the fingers of his other hand over his cheek scar and wondered if Callum would be coming in later. Tuesday was his day off but sometimes he’d come in to say hello. The phone rang on. Derr Derr. Lewis swapped the phone to his left hand, picked up his new hammer in the right, and impatiently started bashing one of the dead tyres that was nearby. It made a satisfying thunking noise. The green beast was nicely balanced. He could feel the ball bearings inside as they rushed forward upon impact. The grip was satisfying too, soothing almost in his rough, callused hand. The phone rang on. Derr Derr. Thunk. Derr Derr. Thunk. Derr Derr. Then the answer phone kicked in.
“Steven Richards,” the awkwardly pre-recorded voice of Pongo said. Followed by “is unavailable to take you call,” in the professional tones of the stock, female answer machine.
“Alright Pongo, it’s Lew. Corsa is back up and running mate, so come down to the garage today and we’ll settle up.” Lewis hung up. He longingly wondered when Snappy would bring him his lunch. Finding Snappy in his contacts he quickly text: Whn u comin bk ere with me burger? He tucked the phone into his trousers through his overalls and returned to Graham, who was sitting on top of the two tyres he’d stacked after he’d taken them off the Skoda.
“Hold this calliper while I connect the new sensor,” Graham barked.
“How about I connect the sensor and you keep holding the calliper?” Lewis said, as he got shoulder to shoulder with Graham and carefully attached the cable to its receiver.
“How about you do t’other side fer me then?” Graham bit back in a grumbling tone. He didn’t like being disobeyed, even when Lewis or Cal offered a slightly better solution that his. The lifelong mechanic liked them both a great deal. They were top grafters and he knew that but he liked to remind them that he was the boss, usually by being petty and spiteful. However, Lewis and Cal played along and rarely did the three of them fall out properly.
“Aye, I’ll finish it off for you,” Lewis confirmed. Without a thank you, Graham tightened up the side pins on the calliper and grumpily disappeared into the office, leaving Lewis to finish the job.

Turning his attention to the driver’s side, Lewis removed the mid-value alloy wheel in order to access the pads and disks that needed to come off. Lewis assessed the scene. No wonder this one had failed its Motor Ordinance Test. Lewis could see the pads had been reduced to almost nothing and that the metal components had begun to scratch and bite at the disk; they were almost as bad as Pongo’s brakes. Taking his favourite little ratchet from the bottom draw of his top cab, he loosened the stiff locking side pins that held the break calliper in place.

Having removed and refitted thousands of these pieces of standard kit in his time, Lewis let his mind wander to other things as he now used his new hammer to dislodge the well oxidised calliper. He wondered how Mel was and what she’d been doing with her morning. Probably tidying their already neat house. It was a struggle to keep pace with her level of tidiness. Mel was on the go all the time, as soon as her head left the pillow she was working at something: Improving the house, yoga in the garden, getting through all the laundry, going to the gym, making some strange knickknack that she’d seen and been inspired by on Pintrest. Mel was relentless; her good heart and passionate soul went into everything she did. Lewis’s admiration and adoration for her knew no bounds. Maybe she’d be on a walk with the dog, he pondered. Lewis considered getting the dog something on his way home, that little guy loved a good chew.

With the calliper loose and the old pads in the scrap bin, Lewis set about removing the disk from the hub, the trusty ratchet making short work of the nuts. Once they were all out, a few whacks of gentle encouragement were all it took to bring the rotor disk off. Lewis grabbed his wire brush and began to clean up the hub that had built up plenty of rust. The irony clouds whipped up into a tiny sandstorm that left a metallic taste on his lips as he scrubbed furiously to get it clean. Breaking open the crisp red cardboard box, revealed the new pristine disk. A full moon of metal. Lewis wasted no time getting this lubricated and fitted to the scrubbed-up hub before retrieving the nice and thick, new pads from their box. Grabbing his piston rewind tool, he began the hardest part. The tool cranked open the reluctant calliper, putting up a fair bit of resistance, but ultimately Lewis immerged victorious. He greased up the receiver and firmly inserted the two fresh pads into their new home.

***

Lewis was just reattaching the driver’s side wheel to the Octavia when the Blackberry buzzed in his pocket. It was Pongo. “Hello,” Lewis answered, propping the phone on his shoulder to keep his hands free. Pongo’s jovial tones came through the crackly speaker.
“Now then Lewis Lad. All sorted then?”
“Two ticks man,” Lewis halted him, quickly securing the wheel with his impact wrench.
“That was fucking loud” Pongo exclaimed, on the end on the line.
“Sorry man” Lewis laughed,
“So about the Corsa.”
“All ready?”
“Yeah mate it is, only thing though is once we got the gear box out we found the pilot bearing was fucked in the flywheel. Unfortunately that had to come out as well and I’ve put a new one on.” Lewis informed him, sympathetically.
“Aww man ya joking? Fuck. Oh well, what’s the damage then?” Lewis hesitated. “For all that mate,” he did some calculating in his head, “I’ll say £300.”
“£300…” Lewis heard Pongo suck air in through his teeth.
“Yeah mate ok, I won’t be able to get you it all today.”
“Right, what can you get me today?” Lewis said, rolling his eyes.
“£100?” Pongo put forward. Lewis exhaled loudly in disbelief. “Can’t you make it £150? That at least covers the parts, then you’ll just owe me labour,” Lewis reasoned.
“Alright mate, I’ll see what I can do. Cheers anyway, man.”
“Yeah Pongo no worries, just pay me soon won’t you? I’ve got bills too.”
“I will mate no sweat!” Pongo’s tone had returned to its usual upbeat nature. “I’ll get a lift down with Sammy now. Won’t be long mate.”
“Alright mate, see you in a bit,” Lewis said, ending the call. He saw he had two messages. The first one was from Snappy. It read: B at urs abot 12. Only an hour Lewis thought. The second message was from Mel: Heyy you, hope work is ok. Give me a call on your break yeah? Miss you. Xx. Lewis smiled. His long term girlfriend was still as wonderful to him now as she had been when they first got together. Lewis loved her fiercely. He typed: Hey Beautiful. Work’s good. Finished Pongo’s Corsa but he’s only paying for the parts today. I’ll give you a ring about 12:30 Miss ya too. Xx Almost instantly he got a reply: Arsehole. Him not you. Luv ya! Xxx. Lewis put his work phone back into the top draw of the chest and went through the painted chipboard door that separated the garage from the office.

Graham was constructing a rollie. Red Rizla in hand, he heaped a clotted lump of Drum tobacco into it, grabbed a filter from the table and began to smush the components together between his short and stubby, oil blackened fingers. He brought the crinkled cylinder of paper and baccy to his lips and licked the gum. Lewis had never known someone roll uglier cigarettes than Graham, but they still somehow smoked. Although he couldn’t stand to smoke the heavy Drum tobacco, Lewis always thought that it smelled incredibly nice. Its distinctive dense and complicated scent reminded him of the old violins his grandfather used to own. Graham took a lighter out of the desk as Lewis retrieved his Sterlings from his pocket. Graham lit up and threw the lighter at Lewis, hitting him in the chest.
“Ah bastard,” Lewis said flinching but managing to catch the lighter as it bounced off him. Graham chuckled. Lewis lit his cigarette and leaned against the wall. “Skoda’s finished. We just waiting for Lorrie to come in after lunch?” Lewis asked.
“Aye,” Graham said, “We’re supposed to have someone drop off a Vectra about now as well. Dunno where they’re at.”
“We know them?” Lewis put his cigarette to his mouth and inhaled deeply. “Errr,” Graham pondered “Abdul Husain it says here. You recognise it?”
“Nah, not heard that one before. Could be one of Mo’s mate?”
“Just because Mohammed is a Muslim doesn’t mean he knows everyone with an Asian sounding name.” Graham gave Lewis a knowing look.
“Yeah, I know that but Mo said he’d send some more UBER drivers our way.” “You’ve got a point there. Five quid says he’s one of Mo’s mates,” Graham declared, rocking back on the black faux leather office chair and putting his boot clad feel up on the corner of the desk wearing a smug expression on his face.
“You can’t bet he knows Mohammed when you just called me out!” Lewis exclaimed stifling laughter.
“Your argument was just so persuasive mate.”
“Fuck off,” Lewis smirked and knocked Graham’s feet off the desk. “Well, if he ever shows up, I’ll ask him”
“Too right you do. Here, it’s your Mel’s birthday next week ain’t it?”
“How’d you remember that? Didn’t think you knew what year it was, let alone remember another person’s birthday.”
“How wouldn’t I remember her birthday!? She’s a corker is Mel. Knew she would sort you right out, give you some direction. Of course, I remember when her birthday is.” Graham expressed his disbelief through exaggerated gesticulations. Standing up from the office chair and prodding Lewis hard in the arm. Lewis brushed him off and figured it out.
“It’s written on the calendar isn’t it?” he said in satisfaction, turning to look at the year planner. Sure enough, in Mel’s careful and unmistakably neat handwriting were the words “Mel’s birthday/Lewis off” Graham chuckled.
“You got me.” He put his hands up in mock surrender.
“Still though, what you getting her?”
“Got her a few bits. Gonna take her to that new Caribbean place in town.” “That’s nice lad, anything special though? You know, a ring maybe?” Lewis snorted.
“Not for her birthday. Getting engaged to me, what kinda shitty present is that?” “Don’t knock yourself lad, I’m sure she’d love it if you did.”
“Well, maybe in another year. When I can take her away. I have got her something good though.”
“Oh yeah, what?” Graham asked with a glint in his eye.
“I’m gonna get her a new kitchen”
“Well, well. Traditional rolls in your house is it?”
“Nah, we’ve been on about it for ages! I’ve just been waiting to pay off the toolboxes and my last payment is Friday. I know she’ll be buzzing. It’s gonna be smart as fuck.”
“That’s a top idea Lew. Good on ya lad.”
“Cheers Graham.”
“You know for a moment I thought you were gonna say something like you’d got her a new dildo” Lewis jabbed his insolent boss in the arm.
“Ouchh.” Graham held his arm, “had that coming I suppose.”

Lewis tossed his cigarette into the Kilner jar and walked back out into the workshop. He got the Skoda Octavia off the lift and took it out for a spin. The interior was much nicer than the Corsa, with only a few curated personal items to see. Lewis couldn’t imagine the Octavia serving other purpose but a taxi, that’s just what they are. Owning one for personal use just seemed surreal. This personal taxi belonged to a long running client of Grahams. Mrs. Alderson was her name, she was a teacher, and a good one at that, a right battle axe though if you stepped out of line, so Graham said. She’d been using Under- The-Dash for a long time. Lewis liked her. She was proper, pleasant and kind. She’d send a Christmas card and a box of chocolates to the garage every year. She kept her car spotless on the inside, with a lavender air freshener that dangled from the rear-view mirror. Lewis noted that the only thing near her handbrake was a rather nice-looking pen. Glossy black with gold ringlets encircling it on the lid and near the butt of the writing implement. Lewis just knew it would be a fountain pen. He looked both ways at the deserted T- junction of the cul-de-sac and set off comfortably. He’d be sure to check the brakes well on the return straight.

***

Lewis had parked the Octavia outside of the garage, ready for Mrs. Alderson to collect. He was just securing the keys back in the key-safe when he heard the sound of an engine approaching from the T-Junction, this was quickly followed by what Lewis recognised as the bass from a grime track. It had to be Pongo and Sammy.
“That’ll be for you mate,” Graham sighed.

Stepping out onto the forecourt, Lewis saw the Silver Golf come riding up the curb with a bump that made his eye twitch. The Golf careered forwards towards Lewis dangerously. It pulled suddenly to the right, in what Lewis assumed Sammy thought was a drift.

From the passenger side window appeared, to Lewis’s shock and amazement, Pongo’s freshly shaved head bearing an intimidating Cheshire cat grin. Lewis wasn’t surprised at the maniacal smile as he was quite use to this from Pongo, but it was the shine from his freshly hardboiled egg that caught Lewis off guard. The Pongo that had dropped off the car last night wasn’t a skinhead. He’d had fairly long, lank, blonde hair that fell about his face.
“What the fuck” Lewis mouthed leaving his jaw hanging slightly.
“Waazzupp, Ya fuckin druggoo” Pongo shouted from his open window. Lewis burst into uncontrollable laughter. The combination of the extreme head makeover and the appalling attempt at an Australian accent was too much to handle.
“When the fuck,” Lewis managed to say, after recomposing himself. “When the fuck did this happen?”
“Dunno what you’re talkin about mate” Pongo said, grinning and running his fingers through pretend hair as if to sweep back the curtains that were no longer there.“No changes at all, just the wonderful Pongo, Pong Dawg, got the pongiest kushy and he hounds the pussy.” With which he produced two wolf-like howls that the ever-loyal Sammy gleefully echoed.
“You know he’s called Pongo because he used to be a spotty fuck, right?” Lewis quipped. Pongo looked hurt but quickly shrugged it off. Getting out of the car, he embraced Lewis in a bearhug and squeezed tightly, patting Lewis on the back as he released his from the winding tackle.
“Good to see you mate.” Pongo said. He meant it.

***

Sammy, Pongo and Lewis sat on the bonnet of the Golf.
“Want a tab mate?” Pongo offered.
“Cheers mate, but I’ve smoked a few already today” was Lewis’s first response. “Well, what’s one more?” Pongo propositioned.
“Oh, alright then,” said Lewis, caving immediately.
“Give him a tab Sammy,” Instructed Pongo. Sammy complied immediately. “There yar Lewis,” Sammy said as he passed the Marlborough Gold over to him. “And one for me, if you would” Pongo pressed. Sammy slipped another out of the deck and passed it to him.
“You got a lighter?” Pongo added. ”Bloody hell, you gonna ask him to smoke it for you as well?” snorted Lewis. Pongo gave Lewis a withering look but knew the comment was well deserved.

Lewis returned his attention to Pongo’s head. He couldn’t help but reach out and place his hand on the sandpapery surface of the skin that had once been covered by Cobain inspired strands of buttery golden hair. The hair was already beginning to grow back and had the texture of silk when stroked forward but fine grain sanding paper when traced back over.
“What you think then mate?” Pongo posed.
“I mean, it’s a change. I think I’m getting used to it now but fucking hell mate, when did you decide to do that?”
“Last night, at a sesh,” Grinned Pongo.
“You shaved your head at a sesh?” Lewis chortled, “You’re mad.”
“Yeah mate! Sammy and me went to a Monday sesh at Toni and Harvey’s new gaff. Well smart like, their new build. Anyway, we were on the gear and having a good laugh. I was getting real hot and sweaty though, you know sniff sweats, and my head was roasting. So, I just thought fuck it, and got Toni to shave my head” “You were on it last night? You and Toni? You let Toni shave your head when you were both sniffed up?” Lewis asked, flabbergasted.
“well aye,” Pongo grinned, his Cheshire Cat smile returning.
“It was funny as fuck, Lewis,” Sammy interjected, “Here look at some of these pictures.”

Sammy took his IPhone X out and passed it to Lewis. Lewis began to side scroll through the pictures that Sammy had. There was Pongo with his greasy mosher hair, grinning from ear to ear, giving a double thumbs up. Behind him was Toni, a skinny lad with obvious contoured make, up featuring a dash of glitter that gave off a shine for the camera a professional model would have died for.

Toni always looked sharp; he couldn’t go anywhere without bumping into a client or another local socialite, so he was always glammed. Lewis didn’t know how he had the time. He was a hairdressing wizard through the week and magnificent party animal by the weekends. Lewis skipped on. The next picture saw Toni going straight in for the kill. Toni started at the front; No way for Pongo to back out that way. Toni shaved a straight line right to the spot a high man-bun would have sat. No more of those for Pongo. The next photo was just as amazing. Toni appeared to have given Pongo the classic monk-cut. The sides of his head were neatly crimped to form a tubular looking band around the perimeter while the top was as bare as a plucked chicken. The clincher was that Pongo had his hands clasped together in prayer with what was trying to be a wistful and ponderous look upon his face. In the background Toni appeared to be hunched over a counter top. Tears of hilarity rolling down his face. Lewis howled with laughter at this image.
“You should have left it like that mate! Can imagine you as a man of the cloth.” “Fuck off. The only time I touch cloth is when I’m busting for a shit!” Pongo said, creasing up at his own toilet humour. Lewis handed the phone back to Sammy.
“Right mate, I’ve gotta get back to work really. You got that money for me?” “About that mate,” Pongo said, taking a step away from Lewis and putting both hands on the back of his head, elbows splayed to the sides of his face.
“I’ve got you one-bar like I said, but I can’t get you that other bit until the weekend. But he’s my offer, I’ve got a fat quarter right here for you mate, if you let me off until the weekend. Then I’ll defo have the rest for you”
Lewis put both hands up to his cheeks and exhaled.
“It’s not really alright mate but what choice do I have?”
“Honest to god, you’ll get it by the weekend” Pongo professed, his hands returning to the pious prayer position.
“You’ve just said you only touch cloth when…” Lewis began, disheartened. “Yeah, yeah I know. Mam’s life then. On my honour.” Pongo cut in, tapping his chest twice with his index and middle fingers then holding them up in a strange mimic of the Scout salute.
“So, a hundred now and a Q? With the last 150 at the weekend?”
“Yeah mate, easy,” Pongo said, ducking into the Golf to recover his wallet and pulling out a fist sized ball of tinfoil. He handed over the quarter and pulled five twenties out of his wallet.
“Some beautiful kush that mate,” he added, “Give it a sniff.”

Lewis held a flap of the foil open and let his nose enjoy the sweet fragrance of the perfectly cured cannabis. Pongo did always have nice weed; his one redeeming feature, if you can say that. Lewis tucked the weed away in this pocket and secured the cash in his wallet.
“Alright mate, but I need that by then for sure”
“And you’ll give me that £50 you borrowed yeah?” Sammy interjected.
“You’ll both get paid lads! As soon as I get paid, you get paid. Got a fair bit of tic due and it’s payday. It’ll all be sorted.”
“Best be mate, best be,” Lewis said, seriously.
“Right.” Lewis declared, breaking the tension before it could become too awkward.
“Here’s the keys. Maybe don’t rag the clutch as much. You’ve also got hardly any brake pads left, so don’t be slamming them on too much. That’s a job for next time.”

Lewis tossed the keys through the air and Pongo caught them by the bottle opener that had his lawyers branding and number on; what a marketing tool, Lewis thought, a keyring bottle opener. They really know their clients. Pongo crossed to his Corsa and Sammy jumped back into the Golf.
“See you soon mate!” Pongo yelled.
“This weekend?” Lewis yelled back.
“Oh shit yeah mate, forgot to tell you. Party at Toni and Harvey’s place on Saturday. Little house warming shindig, they told me to ask you and Mel. It’s Mel’s birthday next week isn’t it? Saw it on Facey B.”
“Yeah it is. Errm, I mean yeah, I’m game. I think Mel will be too, I’ll check with her and let them know.”
“Alright mate, I’ll have your money by the party. Stay sexy ya, grease monkey!” Pongo finished, climbing into his car, starting and unnecessarily revving his engine hard.

With a jerky start he peeled out of the parking bay, beeped his horn twice and speed off, quickly followed by Sammy who joined in the horn chorus. As they reached the T- Junction, Pongo went to pull out and was about half-way over the road when a the horn blast from an IVECO daily caused him to slam on the brakes, as did Sammy, whose car had been brown nosing Pongo’s. The goliath van swerved to avoid colliding with the small maroon disaster and Lewis saw Snappy’s hand extend from the driver’s window, middle finger raised in rage at Pongo. Snappy turned into the cul- de-sac mouthing expletives and Pongo shot off with Sammy in close pursuit.

***

“What a fuckin bell-end,” Snappy stressed, “Could have bloody killed the lad, fuckin arsehole.” Snappy’s already ruddy face was even rosier after the near accident. His barrel chest rose and fell causing his beer belly to swell and deflate under his black, extra-large, Snap-On polo shirt as he tried to rid his body of the unexpected adrenaline shot that was coursing through it. “Close call that. The lads an idiot, I’m sorry about that Snappy,” Lewis said, slightly flustered. He was amazed the two hadn’t collided and they weren’t scraping Pongo off the road like a lump of human jam. “Come inside and have a sit down Snappy. I’ll make you a brew,” Lewis insisted.
“Cheers, Lewis mate, you’re a good lad.” They both headed, still slightly dazed, into the office. Sitting on the office chair, Snappy let his considerable weight be supported by the squeaking and gasping leather. Lewis washed out the two mugs and began to make coffee. “Shit,” Snappy sighed. “I’ve left your burger on the seat.”
“No worries mate, I’ll go grab it if you give me the key,” Lewis offered.
“Don’t be nicking ‘out you,” Snappy slighted, regaining some of his usual composure. Lewis took the key from his outstretched arm and stepped out to retrieve his lunch from the van. When he returned with the two double cheese burgers that Snappy had collected from his favourite greasy-spoon, pit-stop café, he discovered Snappy retelling the incident to Graham as he was ham-fistedly rolling up.

Lewis put one burger in front of Snappy on the desk. “Daft bastard that Pongo. He’ll do himself a mischief. He pay you then?” he said, turning to Lewis. “Some,” Lewis shrugged. He placed his burger down and removed the hundred pounds from his wallet and handed it to Graham. Graham stored the money in the office safe.
“Shocking that, when’s the rest coming?”
“At the weekend,” Lewis told him.
“Yeah right,” said both Snappy and Graham in unison. They all laughed and groaned.

Lewis took his burger off the desk and unwrapped the folded paper to reveal the seeded discs of plump bread, the unnaturally yellow streams of melted cheese, and the tender meaty patties of his cardiac inducing lunch. Graham went over to the fridge and removed his couscous and tuna salad. The three men ate in appreciative silence.

***

Lewis tossed his after-lunch cigarette into the jar and went to sit in his favourite place, the front seat of his car. The sight of it always made him feel proud. After Mel, the dog, and his toolboxes, he loved his car as if it was his own beautiful baby. Not only did he love how it looked, sounded, and felt, his car held a special place in his heart because it had once been his grandads; It had undergone some changes the old management wouldn’t have approved, but Lewis knew he’d made all the right decisions.

As a young lad, Lewis helped clean and care for the vehicle alongside the old man. It had been his Grandad Ian that had helped him change his first spark plug and swap his first tyre. Thanks to the invaluable time he’d spent with his wonderful man, he’d learned the skills and passion that made him the fantastic mechanic he was today. His Grandad had been the one to introduce him to Graham when he was only ten years old and Graham had always welcomed them both when the car was in for some serious work that couldn’t be done at home. Graham had taken keen Lewis under his wing and, as soon as he’d finished school and turned sixteen, gave him an apprenticeship at the garage.

The low-riding, sleek, 1987 model, BMW E28 Custom sat like a black panther basking in the warm, mid-day sun. The sparkling chrome, custom-built, eighteen-inch rims of the monster gleamed and glinted. The beautifully crafted faces of the alloys consisted of twenty interconnected spokes that had been painstakingly diamond-cut to resemble a hypnotic, radial pattern around the edges. Behind the spokes had been dressed with a powder coat in gloss black that served to emphasise the metallic silver network. The colourful centre caps were perfect replicas of the original 80’s Compomotive logo. Individual quarters of the circular cap were filled up with the unmistakable Union Jack, black and white racing grid, a medieval yellow lion with the solid red backdrop and solid black bars on white that made up the company’s old branding. The four works of automotive art were tucked snuggly into the arches that slightly covered the slick wheel tops. The whole car sat no more than three inches of the floor due to its uprated suspension. The bonnet was a vast, glossy black-liquorice prow that seamlessly sat above the chrome trimmed, dragon-like nostrils of the vents that provided the access for the beast’s air intake. Along the grill lines lurked the four, white- eyed headlamps that looked out over the plough shaped front bumper. Beneath the iconic BMW badge, which resided at the figurehead of the bonnet, was the monstrous six-cylinder, 3.5litre, petrol-guzzling engine that boasted a disgusting two-hundred-and-fifty-nine horsepower.

The beast had been lovingly cared for since it was purchased, fresh off the line, by Lewis’s Grandad. The only physical damage was a small, hardly noticeable dent in the back bumper from when a careless customer had reversed their VW Beetle into it, much to Lewis’s not so disguised distress; the customer in question had not returned in the two years since the incident.

In torrential rain, the boot would pool water, but with the heatwave forecast, Lewis didn’t think he had much to worry about. After inserting his key into the lock, Lewis tugged the handle flap of the driver’s door open carefully, and dropped himself onto the blue fabric seat. Out of habit, he firmly gripped the aftermarket, rich Italian-leather steering wheel with his left hand and propped up his right on the window. He loved everything about this machine. Lewis unplugged his phone from the charger in the cigarette lighter port, safely stowed the quarter that Pongo had given him in his backpack that was lounging in the passenger seat, and called Mel.

Mel answered so quickly Lewis wasn’t sure if it had even rung at all. “Heyyy,” she greeted him with her usual warm voice and Lewis shifted in the seat so his body could be as content as his heart.
“Hey lovely, how’s your day going?”
“Not bad,” she replied with additional emphasis on the last vowel. “I’ve just been tidying the kitchen. Folding the laundry. House bits. I did watch a documentary about a serial killer this morning, really interesting!”
“oh yeah,” Lewis replied, “I hope it hasn’t given you any ideas!”
“Oh, it did. I want my bookshelf to be as organised as his”
“as the serial killer’s?”
“Yeahhh, it looked so nice and ordered with loads of cool looking books” “You’re nuts. I love you.”
“I love you!” Mel blurted down the phone with resounding honesty. “How’s your day? Did Pongo come and pay you?”
“Oh my god, yeah he did babe and he almost got taken out by Snappy.”
“What?! How?!”
“The twat didn’t look both ways after he pulled out from here, thought I’d be picking his brains out the van’s radiator. Well, what little brain he’s got anyway” “Fucking numpty! Is Snappy ok?”
“Yeah, he’s fine now, thought he might have had a heart attack but he came round quick.”
“eeh my god. Did he pay you then?”
“Only one-hundred in cash, but he has sorted me a quarter too.”
“Oh well, at least we’re stocked up now! Shame I’m on nights tonight.”
“Yeah it is, I’ll miss you. How long you on nights?”
“Tonight, Wednesday, Thursday, off Friday, Saturday, Sunday back to normal on Monday. I’ll miss you too,” she reeled off without hesitation.
“Aww wicked. Here yeah, Pongo invited us to Toni and Harvey’s for a house warming on Saturday. Said I’d ask you if you’re game.”
“Oh hell yes, I’m game! We having Friday night just for us though?”
“Of course, beautiful” “Yay! What should we take to the party? Should we get some sniff?”
“Could do I suppose”
“Well, we can’t go mad for my birthday because I’m working all next weekend. Might as well celebrate a bit this one?”
“Yeah, you’re right. Yeah. Let’s get some in. Want me to sort it?”
“If you wouldn’t mind,” Mel said, sweetening her tone. Lewis imagined she was fluttering her eyelashes at the other end of the phone.
“Not a problem my love.”
“Great! Well, I’ll see you for a bit when your home! What time will you be back?”
“Half six, I hope. We’ve got Lorrie coming in.” There was silence on the end of the phone. “Mel? You there?”
“Yeah sorry, I was just thinking about how much I’d love to smash her face in!” Lewis laughed. “I know people change and everything but she still makes me so angry. She used to be so horrible in school. Actually, I did have to speak to her at work last year didn’t I? Remember, when she came in with that guy who’d obviously been glassed but they said he’d fallen through a window?”
“Oh yeah, I remember you saying,” Lewis recalled.
“Yeah, I remember saying to the guy that it’s really strange because you don’t often see green glass windows!” They both began to belly laugh.
“Okay then, I’d better let you get back to the grind,” Mel said, with a touch of the melancholic.
“Yeah, I suppose you should. Love you, see you later.”
“Love you too, you oily beast,” and with that she hung up. Feeling content and looking forward to the evening and weekend, Lewis carefully exited his handsome vintage Beemer and locked it up.

“Excuse me?” came the polite but firm sound of a woman’s voice. Lewis looked up from locking his car with a start as he hadn’t heard anyone approach.
“Ah Mrs. Alderson,” he greeted her, “your Octavia is all sorted for you. We just have to settle up the paperwork and payment. I’ll go get Graham.”
“Thank you very much, young man.” She said smiling at him, tilting her head in an acknowledging rightward nod. Her smart purple cardigan hung down her sides over the plain white Marks & Spencer’s top that accompanied the sensible black suit trousers. Her stylish yet simple sunglasses hid the crow’s feet that had been establishing themselves for several years, no longer combatable by even the strongest of anti-aging voodoo creams. Her thick, slivery grey hair with platinum highlights sat in a neat bob about her ears.
“If you just want to wait by your car he’ll be right over”
“No problem” she obliged and headed to the parking bay as Lewis made off in a light jog the short distance to the office.

***

“Mrs. Alderson is here, Graham” Lewis called as he came through the door that lead from the forecourt to the office.
“Oh, right. Good. Yeah,” Graham blurted getting flustered and jumping into action. He grabbed the clipboard with her paperwork out of the grey, eggshell filing cabinet and hurried out of the office. Lewis, realising Graham hadn’t grabbed the key, removed it from its hook in the cupboard and followed his boss’s path out onto the forecourt.

Mrs. Alderson and Graham we’re laughing over something Lewis hadn’t heard. He twirled the keys around his finger, held them up and gave them a little rattle to indicate to Graham his mistake, before handing the keys over to Mrs. Alderson who stretched out her hand and plucked them out of the air. “Now for payment” Mrs. Alderson declared. She took out her check book and pulled out the pre-written check, signed in her incredibly looping and swooping handwriting, and handed it to Graham.
“Just one more thing, Julie,” Graham said, as he flicked through the papers on the clipboard. “Just need a signature fer key, if you would.”
“Have you got a pen?” Mrs. Alderson enquired. There was some umming and arring as both men tapped their pockets, hoping to find a stray ballpoint.
“Don’t worry lads.” Mrs. Alderson rescued. “I have a motto: if you don’t know where your pen is, then it isn’t expensive enough” and with that, she reached into the Octavia and retrieved the beautiful fountain pen from inside. She delicately removed the lid and held it carefully in her mouth as she elegantly impressed the engraved golden nib onto Graham’s clipboard.
“Well, I guess that makes my motto: if you don’t know where your tool box is then it isn’t expensive enough” Lewis declared “and I know there is a pen in it.” The three of them chuckled.
“Well Lewis, I think that’s a super motto. They say a bad craftsman blames his tools, Well, I am certain that a good one always knows where his are.”
“I’ll drink to that,” said Graham, “We’ll let you get off anyway, Julie. It looks like we’ve got another customer arriving.” The three of them turned to see the White Mercedes cruise into the mouth of the cul-de-sac.

***

A pointed foot and a leather clad leg, tipped with a black Vivian Westwood Jelly shoe, extended purposefully out of the open driver’s door onto the tarmac, quickly followed by its counterpart. If it hadn’t of been for the unmistakeable hue of the distinctive St. Tropez-bronze ankle, the spindly black leather legs could have been mistaken for those of an enormous false widow spider. Emerging fully from the Mercedes, the top half was seen to be wearing a soft-pink blouse of a floaty, transparent material that drew attention to the pierced belly button, and yet tapered to become opaque as to conceal the surgically enhanced bosom beneath. The big-roller curls of dyed-jet hair fell about her shoulders like cool, shimmering waterfalls in the afternoon light. To her overly plumped and glossed pink lips, she held a Vogue Super Slim cigarette and small blue Cricket lighter. Lorraine Mitchell was mesmerizingly beautiful, in a terrifying, council-estate way. She took a relished drag and flashed her perfectly white, but not perfectly straight teeth at the three lesser beings standing around a taxi and a disgusting old BMW.

Lewis, Graham and Mrs. Alderson raised their hands in awkward greeting, after which Mrs. Alderson sharply muttered something about modern tastes, took a deep breath of empathy, and wished Lewis and Graham good luck. She slipped into the safety of her Skoda and made her escape. The two men waved Mrs. Alderson off enthusiastically while each desperately thought of some way to break the ice with Lorraine. Neither of them managed to get there before Lorraine shattered it with her social sledgehammer.
“That old cow used to teach me at St. Mathews. You boys been ripping the poor bitch off?” She cackled girlishly before taking another drag of her cigarette; propping the elbow of her smoking hand on the back of her left, the fingers of which formed a blade of acrylic stiletto-tipped candyfloss pink nails. Neither Lewis, nor Graham could find an answer to her rhetorical remark.

It was at this point that the passenger door of the Mercedes swung open and a shaved gorilla clambered out. The enormous arms were decorated with faded blue tattoos, which also swirled and licked the broad and bulging, acne-speckled shoulders of what Lewis assumed must be an AWOL prisoner from HMP Durham. Mounted upon the boulders of shoulders was a head, with a neck that’s trapezii were so muscular they could have belonged to the New Zealand All Blacks. From their current position, Lewis and Graham couldn’t see this monsters face. The hulking man, easily six feet and more in stature, placed his plate like hands on the small of his back and gave his spine a flex, this position caused his thigh-sized biceps to be accentuated against his impressive latissimus dorsi. In doing this, his white, deliberately too small, low-cut vest was pulled up to reveal further tattoos that seemed to outline the chiselled obliques that added to the overall picture of a formidable human wall. Graham was the first to offer a verbal response.
“Good afternoon, Lorrie,” he said, in his best customer service voice.
“Hiya, Lorrie,” Lewis managed in his most civil tones.
“I hope you two are well,” she sneered and minced forward.

Her talons closed lightly on the Merc’s open door, producing three light taps from the glass, before swinging it shut. Inhaling her imported nicotine, she pursed her lips into a kiss as the smoke fled her lungs and fixed Lewis with her heavy mascara-decked eyes. The look lasted no more than a second before the emerald eyes fluttered and butterflied around the garage; she took in the dirty interior of the workshop through the open shutters and the scarred, peeling paintwork of Under-the-dash’s exterior walls, before glancing unimpressed at the old fashioned sign that bore the garages name. It read: ‘Under-the-Dash Autos,’ in a bold, capitalised font, the colour and texture of which was close to that of a sun roast tomato. The brand was anchored in a white trapezoid background that was rimmed with a crumbling, faded navy- blue frame of paint that formed the perimeter of the sign. All over, the sign was perforated with a multitude of rusted brown holes.
“Are you ever going to replace that piece of junk?” Lorrie aimed at Graham. “The vintage look is dead and gross; this garage is an Instagram disaster. You know you’d have way more customers if you refurbished, got yourself on social media, and had like, a coffee machine for your loyal clients, like me,” she scoffed, brimming with confidence in her improvement recommendations. Her accent was oddly blended and leaned towards some strange mutation of impersonated American and townie Teessider; she was raised near enough by the TV for her primary years and the care system for the latter.
“we have got a kettle,” Graham said, a confused expression forming on his face. “Not quite the same,” she smirked, her patronising tone accompanied with two equally condescending, left-handed pats to Graham’s face, in the area between his flushed, grubby cheek and stubble adorned jaw line; the acrylic nails pressing on his wrinkled skin in the same way a cat’s claws do as they make themselves comfortable while settling into someone’s lap.

Switching her attention to Lewis, Lorrie pointed her pink-crowned index at him, her thumb cocked skywards.
“You’ll have to help this old feller drag this place out of the past if you want to keep it open much longer,” Lorrie informed him, sneering matter-of-factly. “Sure, it could do with a bit of a sort out, but people don’t come for the views, they come for Graham’s experience,” Lewis defended; his comment replaced the confusion on Grahams face with an air of pride.
“Oh, we know Graham is the best,” countered Lorrie, “No question. My dad, god rest his soul, wouldn’t go to anyone else would he?”
“No, he’d always come here,” agreed Graham. “So yes, we know you’re good, but just like dear old daddy, the people who know about this place will start to die off and if you don’t do something to change your image, you’ll have no one left to keep this dump open.” Graham and Lewis shared a glance and a thought: what did this bitch know about running a garage? Nevertheless, her words had cut nerves and both men quickly looked to change the subject away from their future prosperity, or lack of.

The three of them had been facing the contentious garage sign during the business-management tip-exchange and had almost forgotten the fourth member of the congregation, who now made his presence known as his loud and harsh voice echoed around their part of industrial estate.
“Good shop that were,” boomed the huge man, indicating to the vacant shell of HydroGrow. He turned to face Lewis, Lorrie, and Graham. Lewis thought he’d have been quite handsome at one point, rich hazel eyes with an attractive nose and defined cheek bones. However, his face almost looked too small and out of place on top of the gigantic mass of gym and steroid boosted muscles. His dark hair, a military buzz cut, and there were two shaved lines in his right eyebrow. The eyes had a wild fire about them and were ringed with dark bags. On his neck was emblazoned a thorny rose that seemed to be from the same ink garden as the one on his left hand, on his right, a skull emerging from vapour swirls. “Now ‘En,” he grunted, “I’m Kellen, but everyone calls us Ripper.”

Ripper’s hand slid nonchalantly into the elastic waist band of his grey tracksuit trouser and came to rest well bellow the belt.
“Do yaz smoke?”
“Yeah mate,” Lewis replied, cautiously.
“Can I crash a fag?” Retrieving one from his packet, Lewis handed over the white stick to Ripper. Removing his hand from his trouser packet, he graciously took the cigarette and lit it with a Clipper lighter that was patterned in psychedelic cannabis leaves, after which he promptly handed it over to Lewis.
Lewis’s brain, flying on autopilot, accepted the new lighter and pocketed it without a second thought.
“You finish that here, babe. I’ll go start on the paperwork.” Lorrie said, and ran her fingers over one of his immense bicep. She passed the keys that were attached to a pink pompom to Lewis and Graham took her into the office.

***

After putting paper liners in the foot-wells and some fresh protective gloves on his hands, Lewis began the service. The first thing he checked was the driver’s sun-visor, first folding it down, and then to the side to check mobility and whether it holds in position; no problems. Then the rear-view mirror, mobile but hold position; perfect. Wing mirrors next, both adjust and hold position; check. After this, Lewis cycled through the electrical devices and their functions, including the wipers and waterjets; all were perfectly functional. Horns and Hazards; check. Lewis clipped the seatbelt into its receiver and checked that it held tension before he carefully reversed the Mercedes into the workshop and aligned it with the lift in his bay. Lewis ran through all the lights in sequence: Indicator left, indicator right, headlights, high-beams, fogs, brakes, reverse lights; all fine. Next up was the seat functions: head rest, recline and raise, forward and backward manoeuvrability; great. He was now all finished with the internal safety checks. From his position inside, he popped the bonnet catch. Recovering his trusty washing-up bowl from behind the waste oil drum, Lewis dropped it on the floor next to the Merc. Raising and securing the bonnet, Lewis removed the oil cap and put it safely into his magnetic tray that resided on top of toolbox. Next was the filter housing. Lewis opened this up, using the aptly named seventy-four millimetre oil filter socket on his medium sized wrench. Checking that the lift struts were positioned for optimum support, Lewis sent the E250 up into the rafters so he could access the undercarriage. Kicking the plastic orange tub under the raised vehicle, Lewis used his powerful, air-powered mini ratchet to undo the stopper that held in the old oil. A river of dark lubricant began to piss onto the floor, splashing his leg slightly before he nudged the tub into the path of the spout. As it began to form a reservoir, Lewis went to evaluate the condition of the front wheel components using his pocket Maglite: ball joints, no tears; brake pads, worn but within tolerance; no sign of leaky brake fluid on the wheel area; front shocks, no blow outs. Both front wheels were in perfect order, and there was no sign of any fuel escaping from underneath the vehicle. The open drain- plug was just shaking out the last dribbles into the tub as Lewis turned his attention to the backend of the Merc. No blow outs on the shock absorbers, no leaks. Everything was in fine, working order. The flow of oil had completely stopped now, and Lewis went to collect the new washer that would sit between the drain-plug and the stopper; using the air wrench, Lewis secured the plug, ready for fresh oil. Suspension checks next. Ducking out from under the hoisted car, Lewis firmly gripped the seventeen- inch, black alloy wheels by the sides of the tyre. He rocked it back and forth in order to check the function of the air suspension bellows, the mobility of the ball joints, and the suppleness of the idler arms that provide the pivoting support for the steering linkage; no issues. He clasped the tyre from the top and bottom, repeating the action to check the wheel bearing; no concerns. Lewis repeated the necessary checks on all the wheels; no concerns.

Ripper’s voice came through the open shutters,
“Now ‘en mate, listen here right” Lewis looked up, assuming Ripper was talking to him. He was mistaken. Ripper was on the phone, rather than pacing, he seemed to be bouncing around the forecourt while this exchange took place.
“I need some more time yeah, still got a bit to sell off, ya know. It’s only Tuesday man, I’ll be cleared out by the weekend no worries.” He paused, listening. “Yeah, safe mate, have I ever let ya down?” He looked at his phone as if it had spat in his face, then tucked it into his trackies and strode into the workshop. “How’s it going?” Ripper questioned.
“Yeah, errm, fine,” Lewis summarised.
“You been here long?”
“The past eight years.”
“Nice, nice. Course, I’m in construction me. Know a fair bit about cars mind. I work around a lot of diggers, you know JCB and Caterpillar. Big boy toys. Think I could fix any problem that came up with one of those and I ain’t a mechanic. No offence.” Lewis might have been offended if he believed that Ripper could tell an adjustable wrench from a pipe wrench. “Yeah, I’m labouring at that new site over the river, near that college. I’m mainly scaffolding but I do all sorts as I say, basically run the site some days,” he announced, laughing at his own completely believable lie about his self- appointed importance.
“Oh, great,” Lewis agreed, trying to look busy.
“I do other stuff though, if you get me, gotta kept the money coming in you know what I’m saying. Gotta be bringing in the cheddar if you want to keep a lass like Lorrie. The price of good pussy.” Ripper seemed to swell up even more with the enjoyment of discussing his sexual achievement. Lewis didn’t quite know how to respond to this. “You checked out her arse?” Ripper teased.
Lewis felt as if he had just walked onto a foggy minefield with shoes three sizes too big.
“Errrm,” He hesitated, “Yeah, great ass. You’ve got a beauer there.” Lewis hoped he’d navigated the question in a way that wouldn’t see Ripper explode.
“Yeah mate,” Ripper said, becoming almost giddy and giving Lewis a rather hard but playful jab in the kidney that caused him to wince and hold his side. “You got a fit lass?” Ripper quizzed, seemingly hopefully for some laddish banter. Lewis really didn’t feel like discussing his personal life with the drooling troll in the replica Burberry shoes but couldn’t see anyway around it.
“Yeah, my lass is great.”
“Fitter than Lorrie?”
Seriously? Lewis thought.
“She’s great but their, errm, just different ya know. I couldn’t say.” Lewis was biting back the truth that he didn’t think physical attractiveness was the only quality to judge a girlfriend on, but he managed to settle for “She’s a nurse, our Mel. Works in A&E”
“Love a lass in uniform, do you?” Ripper leered, unable to change his sexually charged perspective.
“When it isn’t covered in blood and puke, yeah,” Lewis laughed, nervously. That seemed to kill his horn.
“Oh right, yeah, must be a tough job like.”
“She’s real smart like. In her uniform and in her head.” Lewis added proudly. “Sounds like a keeper mate,” Ripper said, laying off the interrogation. There was a silence between the two men as Lewis returned his attention to work and began checking the tyre pressures. Ripper occupied himself with his phone.

Lewis had checked and repressured the tyres on the flawless alloys to 29PSI and 31PSI for the front and back wheels respectively, enough to perfectly support the near two-ton executive beauty, before lowering it back down to the floor. No sooner had the rubber kissed the concrete when Ripper suddenly piped up with, “Can I get in for a second there, mate?”
“Sure man, just hop in.” Lewis said, graciously stepping way from the car to allow Ripper to crack the door and ease himself into the passenger side. Lewis returned the grubby blue, 90Litre air compressor to its usual resting place beside the drum of engine oil and wiped his hand on his overalls. A sharp whistle cut through the air. Lewis looked towards the source and saw Ripper, jerking his head to the right in a manner that said come here. Lewis obliged the enormous man that seemed to fill the considerably spacious passenger side of the E250. Leaning into the open door, Lewis was greeted with a wink from Ripper, who proceeded to ease the sliding cover of the central console open with his formidable right hand. This revealed a small, bricklike object that was secured in brown, shiny parcel tape and, next to this, a playing card chase. Ripper took the deck of cards and with a nodding smile looked up at Lewis as he opened up the packet.
“Wanna see a magic trick?” Ripper grinned and offered the deck up. Lewis couldn’t believe he was about to see a magic trick from this bruiser and was apprehensive. “Pick a card, any card,” Ripper ordered. Lewis pulled out a card from somewhere in the middle of the deck. He flipped it over, concealed from Ripper and glanced at it’s face. It was the Ace of Diamonds, and taped to the centre of it was a snappy bag of white powder. Lewis stared at it in amusement for a second before the penny dropped that this was the trick.
“Got ya,” Ripper laughed, rocking back in the luxurious cream leather seat. “This coke?” Lewis enquired, biting his lip.
“Yeah mate. Purest power in the North East, mate. Won’t get any better than that stuff. Ya could say every card in the deck is an ace.” Ripper was very pleased with himself as he made his sales pitch. Lewis stared down at the lumpy powdered rock, its distinctive paraffin perfume slightly penetrating the must and grease of the garage air.
“How much?”
“Hundred a gram usually, but because I like you, mate, eighty quid,” Ripper enticed. Lewis, being a customer in this market, thought about the weekend. He considered his options: Go through Pongo, to whoever he gets it off. Go through Toni, to whoever he gets it off, or get it right here and now off this chavvy Magic Mike.
“How much for two?” Lewis pondered. “I’ll do you a deal on three mate. Two-bar.” This guy knows how to sell Lewis thought. “Alright mate, yeah. Yeah, I’ll take three, mate. Cheers. I don’t have enough on me right now like.”
“You got online banking?”
“Yeah mate”
“You can transfer us it,” Ripper reassured him.
“Won’t that look a bit dodgy, a two-hundred-pound transfer?” Lewis said, puzzled.
“Mate its fine, been doing it for years. I sell supplements online, yeah? Ripper gets you Ripped. Perfect cover. You’re just buying two-hundred quid of protein, amino acid, and creatine.” Lewis thought this through while Ripper chewed his cheek smugly.
“Have a test bump,” He offered.
“Oh no mate, I can’t, I save it all for the weekends.
“What, you gonna get in trouble with that old fart?”
“Yeah, for starts. Nah man I’m good for that bump. I know it looks good.”
“Too right it does, don’t it?”
Lewis took a closer look at the cocaine, bringing the card right up to his face. He saw the rough surface of the biggest lump, its ridges and slopes like an iceberg floating around white sea ice and suspended in clear plastic water. It looked pure. The shine of the flaky scales sparkled under the garage halogens.
“Alright mate. What are your bank details?”
“Ah shit, hang on.” Ripper pulled a business card out of the central console before opening, checking, and promptly slamming the glove compartment that was full of Now That’s What I call Music Albums, starting at Volume 75.
“Got a pen mate?”
“Hang on.” Lewis walked over to his tool box and slid open the top draw. Next to his Blackberry, box of black latex gloves, adessive strips, spare side-light bulbs, and some sheets of fine-grain sandpaper were seven fresh blue ball-point pens. Selecting one, he returned to Ripper, who had his bank card on his knee, and gave him the pen. Ripper plucked off the lid, instructed, “Grab those out the pack then mate, take ‘em off the cards.” And then popped the lid securely between his teeth. Lewis took the deck and withdrew two more cards. Ace of Spades and Ace of diamonds. Lewis looked at his original card. Ripper looked up to see Lewis’s bewilderment.
“Told you every card’s an ace mate.”
Lewis nodded with a laugh.
“Right, mate, there’s the deets.”
Lewis took the business card from Ripper.
“Give us the bags, I’ll get the cards off.”
“Cheers mate” Lewis said, handing over his flush of aces. “Need to run to my car mate”
“Yeah, mate. No bother.”
Lewis side stepped the open door of the Merc and exited through the open shutters into the warm midday sun. Lewis jumped into the seat of the E28 and grabbed his phone. He saw a message from Mel and fifty-six messages from something called, ‘New House Partyy group-chat’. He scanned this first. The screen told him that Sixteen people had been added to this group. He knew most of them.

The first message was from Harvey. It read, ‘Hey fuckerrs, so yes, as you’ve most definitely heard we are having our first, legendary house party in our new place this Saturday and you guys are ALL welcome. Plus-ones must be confirmed though, alright? Inner circle only please, thank you, ok. Xoxo. P.s BYOBAD.’

Lewis rolled his eyes at the addition to the acronym. The rest of the chat was mostly party themed memes and gifs from the excited party goers. Two people that Lewis didn’t know made their apologies and left the group. He closed the overcrowded chat and opened Mel’s message. The message was a picture of their dog sleeping cutely on the arm of their sofa. Lewis smiled and replied with, ‘Cute little shit. Sorted that btw, this guy called Ripper did me 3 for 200. I saw that Steph is going on Saturday. See if she wants some of this. Xx.’ He then opened his banking app and turned his attention to the business card in his left hand. The card Ripper had given him was bright, in-your-face yellow. His motto, ‘Ripper Gets You Ripped,’ was printed in the same font as Grand-theft-Auto, in the top left corner. Printed in ugly contrast was, ‘Supplements and Personal Training.’ In the bottom left was his mobile telephone number and email address, ‘rippergetsyouripped69@hotmail.co.uk’. There was also an Intagram and Twitter account handle, ‘@RipperGymSups’.

Rippers full name also appeared on the card. ‘Kellen H. Sweeting’. Lewis was taken aback by the incongruous surname. In the middle, in hastily and heavily-scrawled blue ink, were the details Lewis wanted. He quickly inputted the numbers and referenced the transaction as: ProteinSups. In an instant the money and been paid for his Class-A, A-Class narcotics.

Mel had messaged back, ‘What kind of a name is Ripper? Was he with Lorrie?? Are you sure its coke? Xx.’ Lewis felt his heart jump a little; he hadn’t even considered Lorrie’s role in this. He’d been too distracted by his work and the aggressive interrogation/sales techniques of the jacked up Del-Boy to consider his girlfriend’s opinion on the source of her weekend highs. His thumbs speedily worked to reassure her that his decision had been completely based on quality and cost effectiveness that she could verify upon his return. She replied, ‘Hmm, ok. I have made some chilli and garlic bread for when you get back. Love you xx’.

Lewis breathed a sigh of relief that he’d successful defused a possible, minor marital catastrophe. He put the business card in his wallet, put his phone on the passenger seat and stepped out of the uncomfortable heat of the BMW to be greeted by a pleasant breeze that cooled the sweat on his face and chest. “Everything alright with’ car?” Graham shouted across the forecourt from the office. “Yeah mate, just, errrm, checking something on the Mercedes Website. I did get the right tyre pressure.” This was the best excuse he could think of.

As cool as Graham was with most things, Lewis was sure that cocaine dealing on his property wasn’t one of those things.
“Could have told you that me’self.“ Graham jeered. Lewis scoffed and went back into the workshop. Ripper was still sitting in the Mercedes. In the baggy crotch of his soft grey joggers sat Lewis’s cocaine and what he assumed must be Rippers house key. Ripper himself was scrolling on his phone, Lewis noticed his Intragram feed was made up solely of squat-loving, female fitness models in suggestive workout positions.
“I’ve sent that over for you mate”
“Phwwa, thanks mate. Sorted.” Ripper scooped up all three bags in his shovel like hand and passed them up too Lewis. Lewis clocked the white tell-tale marks on Ripper’s philtrum.
“I got some on my nose like?” Ripper checked, rubbing his nostril and mouth, dispersing the powder so that it was no longer noticeable. “Just a cheeky bump,” he laughed wildly, “from my own, not yours mate don’t worry! I ain’t taxing.” He indicated to the central console tray where the brown package had been disturbed and Lewis registered what he suspected was probably the single largest packet of cocaine he had ever seen, outside of his forty-seven- inch Sony Bravia on Border Force.

Ripper gave a mighty sniff to clear the remaining coke that might have been trapped in his mucus. Lewis took his newly acquired drugs and stowed them in the top draw of the soft close toolbox, under the box of protective latex gloves. “Much left to do on this then mate?” Ripper asked. Lewis looked at the ceiling in thought.
“Lube the hinges. Dust filter change. Check the spare and jack. Need to put fresh oil and a new filter in. Then check the other fluids and reset the maintenance counter. After that we’re all good to go.” Lewis confirmed. “Champion,” Ripper nodded, his mouth pouting with approval.

***

Lewis was just pouring the waste oil into the drum when Lorrie emerged from the office, shortly followed by Graham.
“How’s it looking?” she enquired of Lewis.
“Yeah, it’s looking in great condition. Changed your plugs, filters, and oil. Tyres are pressurized correctly now. We’re all done. Emissions are a little high, but nothing to be worried about yet. We’ll check again next time you’re in.
“Nout wrong with being a little high, is there?” Ripper piped up with a chuckle. “Well, I’ve just had Ms. Mitchell give me a masterclass in sales and interior design,” Graham said with a smile on his face but a harrowed expression in his eyes.
“I think you’re going to see some real change around here Lew. Now Graham has heard my vision,” Lorrie informed Lewis.
“We can only hope” Lewis grinned, with a knowing look at Graham.
“Right, Babe,” Ripper called from his passenger seat, “We’ve gotta get off. Wanna get in the gym before its gets rammed. If you want some personal training,” turning to Lewis, “or some supplements, or out, mate, just give us a bell. You’ve got me card don’t ya?”
“Yeah, cheers mate.”
“One favour mate, can I crash another cig?” Lewis removed two cigarettes from his sleeve and gave one to Ripper. “You’re not smoking it in my car” Lorrie snapped.
“Yeah babe, I know, chilli out man” Ripper reassured and climbed out of the Merc.

***

Standing at the mouth of the garage and looking out onto the sunny tarmac of the forecourt, Lewis and Ripper breathed in the fresh air. A flock of starlings flew overhead, swooping and diving, falling and gliding in flawless synchronisation.
“Where the fucks my lighter gone?” Ripper mumbled as he delved deep into his tracksuit to no avail. Lewis felt his hand close on the cylindrical bottom of the funky Clipper lighter Ripper had given him on his arrival.
“Oh, here mate” Lewis said apologetically.
“You one of them cunts that always nicks lighters?” Ripper said, his annoyance turning to relief as he said this.
“Didn’t even realise I even had it mate sorry.” Lewis lit his cigarette and returned the lighter.
“I really like this one and an all,” Ripper said, before sparking it.
“I am bad for nicking lighters,” Lewis admitted, “Just seem to find there way into my pockets.”
“Aye and I bet other stuff does too don’t it?” Ripper challenged.
“What, no. No, mate. I’m no thief. I’m just a bit of a moron sometimes. Don’t think.”
“Ya daft fuck, I’m only a playin’,” Ripper teased, clapping Lewis hard on the shoulder. Lewis was relieved, Rippers tone hadn’t sat well with him. They both laughed and returned back to smoking and enjoying the unusually nice weather.

***

As Lorrie and Ripper left Under-the-Dash, the four cylinder diesel purring like a Siberian tiger, Lewis raised his hand in goodbye and Graham stood, arms folded, beside him. Ripper’s hand came out of the window in a thumbs up before the car and the arm disappeared out of view.
“How were that fer you?” Graham sighed, yawning slightly.
“Yeah, he wasn’t that bad you know.”
“Fuckin big lad. He must be on the roids. No way he’s got all that naturally.” “Aye” Lewis agreed.
“Well, Lorrie was happy with the work. Really happy. Think the soft spot for our cutest mechanic might have helped.”
“Piss off,” Lewis scoffed.
“Nah. I’m serious, she was chewing my ear off about you in’t office.” Graham protested. “Asking if I paid you well. Asking if you were still with Mel. I’m convinced she’s got you in her crosshair.”
“That’s the last thing I need” Lewis groaned.
“Glad you’ve got your priorities sorted right then.” Graham said. “If you’d have been keener I’d have been kickin’ your arse.”
“Mel doesn’t have any competition in my eyes. Especially not from Lorraine fucking Mitchell.” Lewis declared adamantly.
“Good to know lad. Lorraine is a nice lass, deep-down, just rough around the edges,” Graham accepted. “You never met her dad did ya? He wasn’t to be messed with like, but that family have always served this place with good custom.”
“Maybe. I’m not sure. She’s been pretty fucking awful in the past.”
“Well, people change don’t they lad?”
“I guess. Well, at least that’s her out of here for a while.”
“I’m not so sure of that,” Graham winked.
“What you mean?”
“Oh nothing, just she was on about you for a bit like. ‘School Lewis’ she’d say. ‘He was always cute’. Here, she mentioned something about the last time you properly hung out was a night at the beach?”
“Oh what?!” Lewis said, the shock of the desperately-buried memory catching him off guard; Graham being the one that brought it to the front of his mind added to the surprise.
“Something about meeting you on a beach a few years ago.” Lewis swallowed hard.
“Ermm yeah. Yeah, we were having a beach party down the dunes. Loads of people were there.”

***

Lewis remembered it now as clear as if it was last night. The sand had been so warm under their feet. Him, Alfie, Chris, Pongo, and Big Robo had built a huge bonfire out of drift wood and stuff they’d brought from the forest in Big Robo’s Nissan Navara pickup. Big Robo was Pongo’s cousin and a few years older than the rest of the lads. It was the summer after exams Lewis remembered, the summer that seemed to last forever at the time but finished so quickly, a time anomaly. So much had happened over those two months, between his last day at Longwood Academy and his first day as apprentice at Under-the-Dash. It was the start of his introduction to ‘The Sesh’. He’d tried his first ecstasy tablet in the woods for Pongo’s 16th. He’d moved out of his mum’s toxic house to live with his Grandfather. Lewis even recalled that he passed his level five violin assessment with his Grandad’s close supervision; Lewis had not taken a music exam since that summer. Then, of course, there was what happened with Lorrie.

The bonfire was built and burning. The pickup had brought down enough dry logs to keep it going all night. Word had spread that there was a gathering that the big dunes and that there would be plenty of drink for all. This of course wasn’t strictly true, but sixteen-year olds aren’t the hardest to get drunk. Lewis’s favourite poison from these days was a sub two-pound bottle of the local’s finest chemical cider that is friends affectionally called tramp juice. The evening had been drawing in as the fire burnt on, filthy house-beats boomed from the Nissan and people had started arriving in droves; by its peak attendance there must have been nearly seventy tipsy to pissed teenagers dancing, singing, fighting, and snogging on the beach. Lewis had spent most of the night messing about with Pongo, rolling one skin joints that side burned all the way down, much to Big Robo’s amusement as he smoked his own two-skin, pearl smooth spliffs. Swigging the last of the irony orange liquid from the conical bottle before tossing it only to fire, Lewis watched fixatedly as the plastic bubbled and melted, spreading quickly over the glowing embers of the mighty logs Robo had been so proud to lift into the flatbed. It was at this point that Chelsea Payne had arrived, flung herself on Big Robo, and proceed to eat his face.

Pongo successfully pinched a bit more weed from Robo’s glove box in the Navara while the big man was engaged in some sandy foreplay. Pongo managed to roll them a half decent two-skin to share and they sat on the other side of the fire from Chelsea and Robo so as to enjoy it in peace. They were about halfway through their spliff, occasionally coughing and choking on the harsh smoke as their young lungs became accustomed to filtering the THC, when Lorrie had entered the firelight; she was looking for Chelsea. Upon realising that Chelsea wasn’t interested in keeping her company, she had joined Lewis and Pongo. Sitting confidently down between them in her tight denim mini skirt and soft black cotton boob tube, she took the spliff from Pongo’s mouth and took a trio of deep hits before passing it too Lewis. The three of them had spoken about weed, about work after summer, about Lorraine’s loud and aggressive walkout from her Math exam the previous week, and shared a touching moment about absent and dead fathers. They also laughed about the various times they had each been excluded or placed in isolation for their wildest rebellious antics.

The night got darker and, with the aid of Lorrie’s little bottle of Russian vodka, they all got drunker. After a quick fire round of ‘never-have-I-ever’, Pongo became unable to fend off the need anymore and had to disappear into the dunes to find a quiet place to take a dump. It was during Pongo’s absence that the drunken Lorrie made her move on the wasted Lewis. She looked into his eyes through her spidery lashes and right into his virgin soul. She kissed him with such passion Lewis couldn’t help but reciprocate. Within a second, they were all over each other. Lorrie climbed onto Lewis and placed his hands on her breasts. The unlikely young couple forgot the world and let things take their course as the bonfire burnt down to glowing remains beside them.

***

“With her?” Graham gorped, as the new information Lewis had provided sank in. “Does Mel know?”
“Yeah she knows,” Lewis said. “The story of who and how she popped her cherry with isn’t much better.”
“It’s no wonder you two avoid her then,” Graham said with a laugh.
“Not really is it” Lewis said, the smile returning to his face. “Still, what’s done is done. I’m certainly not going back there. Time we on?”
“Just past three mate” Graham said glancing at his Casio digital watch.
“What’s the next job?” Lewis enquired. “That Vectra was meant to be in” Graham said with annoyance. “So we’ve got nout then?” Lewis said, seriously. “Not today mate. But were busy the rest of the week.”
“Can I mooch up the pet shop? Need to grab something for the dog.”
“Yeah, be back for four mind” Graham stressed.
“Cheers man. See ya later.”

***

Glad to be out of his overalls, Lewis strolled out of the Cul-de-sac and began the walk to the pet shop at the busy end of the industrial estate. Taking the route that took him past the plant hire centre, over the fronts of the bodywork shop where he shouted a passing hello to Steve and Gaz who were polishing a custom sprayed, metallic cherry-red Honda Civic. As he entered the more prosperous areas of the estate, he took in the stylish, clean shop front of Mower Heaven; purveyors of lawnmowers and mini tractors. Their neat green doors and windows in a grass green PVC. On the same row looking just as immaculate was Price and Son’s joinery. The elegant font of their logo emblazoned above the door, pictures of a beautifully crafted table and chairs decorated the front wall.

Passing several other busy lots that contained a window cleaning business called Wet Willy Windows, SuperStars Dance Academy, and 3DWorld that was a high-tech 3D Printing lab, the newest arrival to the seemingly thriving businesses. Round the corner from the large lot that the pet shop occupied stood a garish purple and yellow garage that Lewis detested. The francize, SpeedyFit, was busy. Their large carpark had only a couple of empty spaces and the three bright-yellow, front shutters that could comfortably welcome a HGV were open to reveal three full lifts; at each one, a purple fleece wearing technician was working busily away.

Rows of brand new, sleek, black tyres filled the huge shelves that took up the space behind the lifts, extending all the way to the beautifully white walls. The sight of the competition always made him feel defensive. He’d had to repair plenty of cars that had been taken into garages like this, where the staff hadn’t been given proper training and disconnected something that shouldn’t have been disconnected. Yet there it was, teaming with custom. Lorrie’s words came back into his mind and he thought about the other well- presented businesses that he’d passed on the way. Shaking off his concerns, he made a beeline for the green automatic doors of the Woofs’N’Fluffs.

Passing the singular cashier in the fortress of registers; a young girl with a fake smile and appalling lack of training, who was frantically fending off the horde of customers, brandishing their dog leads and hamster wheels, accompanied by children crying as their cruel, fed-up parent had refused to buy them one of the beautiful, fluffy bunnies displayed in their glass cages that Lewis was now beside. He looked in, watched the animals nibble and hop, chew and squeak, sleep and shit, before he went to find the meat treats, for good dogs, that came in wonderful shapes and sizes. Browsing the biscuits and pig skins that they had on offer, Lewis was torn between a beefy bone and a pork shoe when he felt a tall presence appear close behind him.
“I’m so glad it’s you, mate” The voice of Alfie said, “I mean I creep customers out all the time anyway, but still.”
“I bet you do,” Lewis laughed, “Now then man, wondered if you’d be in. How’s it going?”
“Not bad mate, not bad. Wasn’t meant to be in but Liam is off sick. You getting something for Pork?”
“Well, I’m not getting it for Mel am I?”
“Yeah, Yeah nobhead,” Alfie Groaned. Alfie was real tall, it’s the first thing anyone who didn’t know him commented on. The lad was also so thin, he could have been two dimensional. The gangly frame supported a head of loose, brown, natural curls that partly fell over his pointed features and pondwater eyes.
“You going to Toni and Harvey’s?” Lewis asked, “saw you in the chat.”
“Yeah I might do, won’t be going large like, work on Sunday. You going?”
“yeah man.”
“You and Mel will be going missing for a few days then, won’t you?” Alfie grinned, “I know what you’re like.” Lewis couldn’t disagree with this prediction; he knew they had form.
“Well, we have got a bit of sniff. Sorted it off a guy called Ripper, he came in the shop with Lorrie.”
“You sure its not washing powder?” Alfie said, not convinced Ripper could be a legitimate businessman.
“Yeah man, it looks really good. Smells a little bit like petrol, but not too much,” attempting to reassure Alfie.
“Well, if you don’t die I might have a key”
“Figures, Mr.I’ve-got-work-tomorrow.”
“Figures, Mr.Assumes-He-Won’t-Die,” Countered Alfie. Lewis had nothing for this. Alfie was often one step ahead of Lewis; his humour was as sharp as his nose.
“You want a dead rat?” Alfie asked, being helpful. “Not today man, gotta go back to work. Don’t want a dead rat stinking out the Beemer.”
“That’s fair I suppose.”
“Wanna come for a tab before I walk back?” Lewis hoped.
“One second” He disappeared behind the neighbouring aisle. Lewis, slightly baffled, took the leathery little chew shoe and made his way toward the till. He joined the back of the still surprisingly long queue that seamed to take forever to reach the front of. He handed over the two pounds for the dog treat just as Alfie arrived behind the counter.
“Hey, Brie. I’m just taking the bins out. You’ll be alright at the front on your own yeah?” Brie looked like she was about to say something to the tune of, “No. Can you show me how to do vouchers”, but Alfie answered with, “Sweet, cool.” Before he disappeared off again with a sideways glance at Lewis.

***

Round the back of the shop, Lewis discovered Alfie, sitting on a bin with a roll up already in his mouth.
“I’ve got about two minutes, so you better entertain me.” He informed Lewis. “No pressure then,” Lewis responded, lighting a smoke. “Well, Lorrie and her new lad Ripper came over to the garage. He didn’t actually seem too bad, this one. I mean he was fucking massive, but he was alright with us.”
“And he sold you some cocaine? Fucking hell man, is that how you introduce yourself these days? Hello, my name’s Lewis and I’m fucking addicted to cocaine.”
“It was him that showed it to me!” Lewis firmly insisted.
“So this guy rocks up at the garage and just offers you some sniff? Mental.”
“Not even the weirdest thing that happened today”
“Oh?”
“Well, Lorrie hinted to Graham about what happened fucking years ago, at the beach, after the exams.” Alfie burst into laughter.
“Here, it’s not funny.” Lewis said, but he couldn’t help but smile back at Alfie’s infectious laugh.
“You had to tell Graham your first shag was Lorrie!” He almost fell off his bin, clutching his sides.
“Yeah, pretty much, so buying some stuff of a roid-head wasn’t even out of the ordinary, compared to that conversation.”
“Oh fucking hell. That tickled me mate.” Alfie said, pulling himself back together. “Well, let’s hope she doesn’t mention it to this Ripper guy. Wouldn’t want him to let rip on you. Rip your head off. Tear you a new arsehole.”
“Oh shut up and go back to work.” Lewis said, about to walk away.
“You’ve made my day mate, just the laugh I needed. I can get back to harvesting the dead fish with a smile on my face.”
“Enjoy, mate. see you at the weekend.” Alfie slid off his bin and offered Lewis his hand in friendly goodbye. They pulled together in a half embrace of solidarity before each headed back to work.

***

Graham was on the phone when Lewis entered the office. Holding his hand up to silence any greeting, Graham listened intently as Lewis unsuccessfully tried to hear the speaker on the other end. “So for a new sign, and a repaint on the front. How much? Christ, well, alright. Needs doing. Thanks anyway. You’ll come down next Monday and have a look and confirm? Yeah. No problem, no. Thanks Drew. Bye mate.” Graham put down the receiver and a beamed at Lewis. “What’s that about?” Lewis quizzed him.
“Well, lad,” Graham began, “I thought about what Lorrie said and she’s got a point. We’re a scruffy garage. Something’s gotta change if we want to keep bringing people in.”
“But a new sign? How much for that?”
“Doesn’t matter how much. Guy’s coming next week to give me a full quote” “Can we afford it?”
“Absolutely mate”
“Oh yeah, and when’s my pay rise coming?” Lewis teased.
“Let’s not fuck about, Lewis. When I’m gone, who’s gonna run Under-the- Dash? Callum? Not likely” Graham said, taking a serious tone. “It’s gonna be you lad, eventually, and I want you to have a good future here. We’ve been open nearly thirty year, and I want it to be open at least another thirty. Lorrie was right, and with that investment she’s just given, in return of a few free services we can definitely afford to do the place up a bit.” Lewis was momentarily warmed at Graham’s heartfelt words, but had to give is head a shake before asking, “Investment?”
“Yes lad, Lorrie has given us a bit of extra cash to get this place back on its feet.” Lewis’s head went into overdrive.
“What cash? What’s the deal?”
“Well, when she paid for her service. She were still talking about the state of this place and how come I hadn’t looked at doing it up. So I said that we make enough to get buy but really we don’t have much capital at the minute. So she offered an investment. For a couple of years free servicing.”
“How much did she give you?” Lewis said, the colour draining from his face. “Couple of grand.”
“A couple of grand!” Lewis exclaimed in bewilderment.
“What’s wrong lad? Lorrie’s a nice lass like I said, just a bit rough around the edges but a nice lass all the same. Known her longer than I’ve known you! Why shouldn’t I take her money?” Lewis bit his tongue.
“Yeah, erm sorry Graham. It’s your business. I think it’s great that you’ve organised this new sign and a touch of paint.”
“Thank you, Lad. I’m doing this for us, for you.” Graham said, his fatherly tone returning to replace the raised voice.
“Yeah, Graham. Yeah, it’s a good thing.”
“It is mate. Don’t sweat it,” Graham settled, convinced of himself.
“Is there any work to do?”
“Yes mate, let’s give this place a good sort-out.

***

After two hours of sorting, chucking, and storing the cluttering detritus from the useful miscellaneous, the garage seemed to look less oily than it had in years. The two men stood back to admire their work.
“Not half-bad, mate. Graham said as he poured the murky, bleach scented water from his cleaning bucket down the drain.
“Can’t believe it.” Lewis said, taking in the new order of the place. “Let’s see if we can keep it this way.”
“Time for a cuppa?” Graham proposed.
“Last one and then we’ll close up, it’s almost six.” No sooner had the words left his mouth than the sound of an engine pulling up outside made them wheel around.

Just parking up as was dark silver Vauxhall Vectra with a bearded and smiling Asian man in the driver’s seat.
“Oh, for fuck sake.” Graham muttered. Both men headed through the shutters. “Now then, brothers!” The man greeted them enthusiastically.
“Abdul is it?” Graham stated.
“Yes, bro.” Abdul nodded, arms open.
“Graham, is it?”
“Yes, that’s me. Listen, I’m really sorry but we’re about to close up the garage for the day. You’ll have to come back tomorrow.” Abdul’s face fell at this news and he put both hands up to the top of his thick, black haired head in despair.
“Oh dear, oh no,” he said, moving one hand to pull on his impressive but wiry beard.
“I am so sorry bro, but is there nothing you can do today? It’s just that I’ve got to take my mother to the airport tomorrow and the front wheel is making this awful grinding noise, it sounds like the whole bastard wheel is going to come right off!” Lewis and Graham looked at each other.
“I’ll pay whatever mate, make it worth your while.” Abdul pleaded, his perspiring hands now clasped.
“Alright mate, it sounds like you’ve probably just got a stone stuck in the brake components somewhere. I’ll get it up on the lift, should be sorted quick,” Lewis informed Abdul, reassuringly.
“Oh thank you, thank you, thank you. You absolute hero. Salaam alaikum,” Abdul exclaimed in the deepest gratitude and relief.
“Mohammed said you’d be able to sort me out.”
“Knew it” Graham blurted out.
“You mean UBER Mo?” Lewis probed.
“Yeah, I mean UBER Mo.
“Right, let’s get this on the lift then. Come with me Mr. Husain and we’ll get the paper work sorted.”

With the car on the lift, Lewis retrieved his impact wrench and quickly removed the tyre from the offending front, right-hand side as indicated by Abdul. Using a flat head screwdriver and his Hybrid LED torch, Lewis probed the brake disk and pads for a lodged stone. Nothing seemed to move or come loose. Not good, he thought. His suspicions were confirmed when he took a closer look at the driveshaft. The constant velocity joint that allowed the wheel to receive power and turn was completely fucked. Lewis groaned. Sticking his head through the office door he saw Graham and Abdul filling out forms at the desk.
“Graham, CV joint is gone. It’s no stone.” Lewis delivered the bad news.
“What does that mean?” Abdul said, confusion in his voice.
“Basically mate, that grinding noise was the joint that links the drive shaft to your wheel. It’s gone. You travel much further on that and you’ll end up with a one wheel drive car.”
“Well, what can I do?” Abdul asked desperately. Lewis looked at the cheap-white office clock. Twenty past six.
“Not much we can do mate I’m afraid. Doubt we’ll get another one of those now.”
“Hang on” Graham said. Picking up the office phone. He smashed in some numbers and waited. The three men held their breath as the phone rang. “Y’alright Mick?” Graham opened warmly. “Yeah, it’s Graham. Sorry for the late call”
“Who’s that?” Abdul mouthed. “Scrapheap” Lewis mouthed back.
“Listen mate, long shot but, have you got a driver’s side driveshaft for a Vauxhall Vectra, 2005-2008.” There was a very long pause. Lewis and Abdul leaned towards Graham, eye contact flicking from one man to the other. Graham began to rock slightly as he fiddled with the receiver cable.
“You have!” Graham exploded as he stood up from his seat. “Oh excellent mate, excellent.” The three men sighed in mass relief.
“Yeah, listen, is it alright if I send Lewis over to check it and grab it off you? Yeah, awesome. No he won’t be long. Right, cheers, bye!” He hung up.
“Thank you so much my brothers, thank you.” Abdul was shaking with thanks. “You guys are the best.”
“Right Lewis, get yourself over there now. I’ll get the buggered one off.”

***

Once Lewis was in his car, he grabbed his phone off the seat. Three messages from Mel and eighty-nine from the group chat. He went straight to Mel’s messages. One was a selfie that was tagged: Sunbathes with Slink before shift. Her startlingly blue eyes and dangerously long lashes flashing at the camera with her straight, brown fringe falling over her olive skin that bore a generous smattering of freckles and moles that reminded Lewis of the constellations. Her nose was an attractive button through which she wore a tiny, jewelled stud in the left nostril. She was smiling in that cute way that didn’t show her teeth and her neatly plucked eyebrows were raised slightly to complete the look.

Seeing her face made a daft smile spread across Lewis’s mouth. The second picture was of some tortilla wraps and a pan full of delicious chilli that was tagged, ‘Ready for when you’re home! Xx.’
‘What did I do to deserve you’, he replied, ‘Another job came in late at work, we’re gonna do it to help the guy out. I’m gonna be back a bit later than I wanted but I will be back ASAP. I also bought the dog a chew shoe. Love you both xx.’
Clipping himself in, he brought the E28 to life and zoomed off to retrieve the part.

***

All the parts were stowed in a plastic bag and lay in the foot-well of the passenger seat. Lewis crawled despairingly back toward the garage through the throngs of people in their rainbow array of vehicles, impatiently leaving their multifarious occupations with a desperate longing to return home to families or unhealthy coping mechanisms. The short distance from the scrap- heap was multiplied and disproportionately exaggerated by the lurching and crawling of the automated snakes, whose continuously severed heads glared and menaced each other at every traffic light, desperate to be the first to strike out homewards.

After what seemed to be an eternity of heat and horns, Lewis managed to slip into one of the off-shoot roads of his industrial estate and raced back along the deserted roads. “Took you long enough,” was Graham’s greeting and Lewis lumbered through the open shutters with the replacement joint.
True to his word, the Vectra was stripped ready for Lewis to fit the scavenged but working piece. Within fifteen minutes the car was back together and Abdul was almost dancing in thanks at what the two mechanics had done for him. “Thank you, thank you” he reiterated. “How much do I owe you?”
“A job like that, usually be about one-hundred and eighty mate, but the part was next to nothing because it’s off a wreck. So call it one-fifty.”
“Then we’ll call it two-fifty. You did not have to do this. Thank you so very much.”
“You alright to deal with that then?” Lewis asked Graham with a weary, tired smile. “I’m late for my dinner.”
“Absolutely mate, get yourself home.” With a thumbs up to Abdul and a pat on the back for Graham, Lewis crossed to the toolboxes. He surreptitiously removed the cocaine from under the gloves in top chest, locked both boxes securely, and bolted back to his car to begin his long anticipated journey back to Mel.

***

Bursting through his front door, Lewis was immediately set upon by an excitable blur of brown, light-speckled fluff. Collapsing to the floor in mock defeat, Lewis let the miniature Dachshund pounce on his chest and viciously lick his cheeks and ears.
“Who’s a good boy, who’s a good sausage ehh? Ehh? Who’s my Pork sausage” He goaded, grabbing the dog by his long, silky ears and fussing him lovingly. Climbing up from the floor of his entrance and kicking his beaten-up work shoes off without due care, Lewis carried the happy little dog through to the living room, from which Mel’s voice called out, “Is that your great big smelly dad? Is it?”

Mel was sitting on the sofa in her red cotton shorts and one of Lewis’s band t- shirts, the evidence of an empty bowl of chilli was sitting on the coffee table. “Sorry I was late, this Asian guy, one of Mo’s friends, came in late with a sob story about his mam. We thought it would only take a second but it ended up being complicated. The CV Joint was completely gone.”
“It’s alright,” Mel said, getting up from the sofa with a big stretch. “I’m just glad you’re back,” she said, taking in his dirty face and his musty garage perfume. She put her arms around his waist so the both of them could cuddle the dog. “You should call him by his real name too, by the way!”
“I’m not calling him Slinky. He answers to Pork”
“You’re so mean!” Mel glared and lifted Slinky out of his arms. “Don’t listen to mean old Lewis, Slinky,” she instructed the dog, pressing her face to his head so that they were both looking at Lewis. “He’s just a greasy monkey with a big oily smear on his head that desperately needs a wash,” she teased in a simpering tone.
“I’ve got oil on my head? I bet that’s been there all damn day,” Lewis groaned, “I’ll go get a shower.” He kissed Mel on her forehead and gave Pork a scratch behind the ear. “Oh Porky. What’s this?” He remembered, reaching into his backpack to retrieve the chew-shoe. Pork went mad, twisting and turning his body in a desperate attempt to break from Mel’s hold. Making a dramatic leap from her arms to the sofa, Pork turned on Lewis, waiting ready to receive his treat. Lewis tossed it on the floor and the little hound didn’t hesitate to recover the shoe and carry it proudly over to this basket to enjoy in peace.
“You’re such a softy.”
“Not as soft as this butt,” Lewis said as he pulled his girlfriend close to him, his hands sliding down over her wonderfully ample gluteus.
“You big freak,” she chuckled sweetly, pressing the side of her face to his welcoming shoulder.
“Now, get upstairs and get a wash so we can chill before I have to go!” And she pushed him out of the living room with surprising strength, considering her small but sturdy stature. “And don’t leave your fucking work boots in the entrance!”

***

Taking up their positions on the comfy grey sofa, Lewis lounged in his ludicrously fluffy, blue dressing gown with Mel’s lightly haired, but still soft, bare legs resting on his lap. On the large television was a real life police show, some boy racers in a Golf had been stopped and found to be carrying a small amount of cannabis the officer told the camera.
“So what happened today then? Where’s this stuff for the weekend?” Lewis grabbed his back from the side of the sofa and reached in, first removing the tinfoil wrapped quarter and flinging it at her. While her nose investigated the weed, he retrieved the three little bags from the front pocket of the rucksack. “Look at these then,” he encouraged as he carefully handed her the goods in exchange for the tinfoil. He crossed the room and opened up a draw in their sideboard, removed a nicely carved wooden box and popped it on the surface.

Inside the box was a nicely curvaceous glass jar, a library of cigarette skins, bits of dead cardboard, a large and sleek purple grinder and a couple of coloured lighters. Breaking up the buds in his fingers, he popped them into the jar.
“It does look nice.” Mel said, with her final judgement. “I just can’t believe you got the off Lorraine Mitchell!”
“Well, I didn’t. I got them off this Kellen guy.”
“Is that Ripper?”
“Yeah, look here,” Lewis wiped his trichrome-crystal covered fingers on his ruffled gown before he took his wallet off the table and removed Rippers card to show her.
“Wow, that’s disgusting.” Mel scoffed, looking at the horribly contrasting fonts and colours before promptly handing it back to Lewis. “Stick them in the box too please” she requested, extending out a well moisturised hand that was decorated with Neptune green varnish that shimmed like seaweed under clear Caribbean waves.

Plucking the bags out of Mel’s well-manicured but practical fingers, Lewis stowed them safely in the Kinder Surprise capsule that they keep for just this purpose.
“Now come over here and give me some attention” She insisted, patting the sofa next to her in an inviting manner. Lewis clumsily leapt onto the sofa beside her, sending the remote and Xbox controller clattering to the dark wooden floor. “Aw shit,” said Lewis, annoyed at his own carelessness. “You big clutz,” Mel scolded in a mocking tone. “
Just leave them for now,” she ordered as she pulled his face close to hers.
“I’ll miss you tonight.” She delicately kissed his lips. The two of them sank into the sofa cushions; Mel’s shorts and Lewis’s dressing gown were soon discarded over its puffy arms as the lovers made the best of their short time together.

***

Machinegun-fire cut through the living room. The jarring sound of glass shattering cut the air as an explosion tore through the building, this was accompanied by raised voices and awful screams that added to the symphony of violence. Lewis squeezed the hair-trigger of his controller to unleash a burst of digital munitions into the chest of the stunningly rendered uniform that was adorning the Nazi officer whom was preventing Lewis’s progression through the level. As well as the noise of the video game, Mel’s hairdryer blasted from upstairs underpinned by a pop-punk ballad that she was enthusiastically singing the words too. Suddenly, from around a corner, Lewis’s avatar was dived upon by a robot attack dog that promptly and without hesitation tore out the character’s throat. The game-over screen faded in, its ominous black background emphasising Lewis’s failure. Lewis put his controller down and had another spoon load of the mouth- scorching, eye-watering chilli that Mel had made for them; she had a taste for spice that was unmatched by anyone Lewis had encountered. With the help of several generous scoops of sour cream, Lewis polished off the delicious, face-melting meal, just as Mel emerged downstairs in her crisp, medium blue tunic and plain black thong.
“I hope those trousers are dry. The pair upstairs still has blood stains on them; I don’t think they’re ever coming out.” Mel stood with her hands on her hips. Her strong, bronzed thighs stood out vividly against the wall as her tunic clad torso almost blended with the deeper blue of the paint. Her toned arms were covered by a white long- sleeved top. She pouted. Lewis couldn’t help but pout back as he appreciated his beautiful partner. Her short stature, half-dressed appearance, and dramatic power pose reminded him of an oversized toddler. “What?” Mel challenged, her pout remained but her neat eyebrows furrowed. “I was just thinking about how you look like a big silly kid stood there in your pants.” He grinned at her.
“You’re such a twat.” She retorted. Eyes wild with playful aggression, she leapt at Lewis, playfully jabbing at him, her straight strikes forcing him to guard his face and neck.
“Get away” He laughed, but she kept going. She broke through his defences and landed a few, feather light punches on his cheeks and neck that she accompanied with a satisfied ,“bam-bam.”

The dog watched the combatants nervously from his basket. Lewis grabbed Mel’s arms and pulled her down onto the sofa with him. The dog began to yap at his people. Mel easily overpowered Lewis with her athletic frame and, like a professional MMA fighter, pinned his arms under her knees and sat, triumphant on his chest.
“You win. You win” came Lewis’s muffled gasps.
“I always win.” She said and she gracefully slipped off him before victoriously mincing out of the room. Lewis attempted to land a cheeky slap on her tempting bare backside as she left but Mel was too quick and made her escape into the kitchen.
“Love you,” he shouted.
“I love you,” floated back through to him. He smiled to himself and reclaimed his controller, ready to slay some more Nazis.

***

“Right, I’m off.” Mel stuck her head round the door. Slinky ran too her and graciously received his goodbye scratches. “Kiss please,” she aimed at Lewis. With mock groan, Lewis got up and embraced her.
“I’ll see you tomorrow after work then?” Lewis accepted sombrely.
“I can’t wait” Mel told him, and with another kiss and squeeze, she left their home with her work backpack slung over one shoulder. Lewis and the dog stared at each other.
“I’ll miss her too, Pork,” Lewis reassured, “You wanna go for a walk?” With the word ‘walk’, Pork began to bounce around excitedly at Lewis’s bare feet.
“Let me get something on and we’ll go to the park.” Lewis made his way upstairs, followed enthusiastically by his canine companion. Grabbing fresh boxers, some ripped blue jeans and his favourite Guns’N’Roses T-shirt from the laundry bin, he sat on their double bed to get changed. The silky purple bedsheets cool on the backs of his legs as he pulled on some non-identical socks. The dog stared up at him patiently from the black carpeted bedroom floor.

***

Dressed and ready, the prospective walkers raced each other downstairs. He grabbed a fistful of poo-bags from the draw in the shoe rack where he also retrieved the extendable lead. Clipping this onto the brown leather collar, Lewis gave the little dog a firm stroke and the two of them set out for their evening stroll through the shadows. The estate that Mel and Lewis lived on was a quiet place these days but it certainly hadn’t always been. The houses were big and this had ultimately driven the prices up, pricing out some of the more troublesome sorts. The rows of semi-detached, redbrick homes stood stoic and weathered over the roads, their bay windows protruding out of the house fronts like a neighbour trying to peek over next doors fence. The house that Mel and Lewis inhabited was the very same style and had belonged to Mel’s father. When her parents had separated, her and her mum had lived there together with her Dad’s blessing; the man could shit money these days and spent most of his time up in Scotland doing whatever it was that project managers do. When Mel’s mum remarried, the house became Mel’s.

After a year of intense dating, Mel had been the one to ask Lewis to come and live with her. At first, Lewis was convinced that she’d only done this so she could get a dog, as there would be someone to let it out while she was on long shifts. But after four successful years of cohabiting, Lewis thought that maybe her reasons for asking him were less shallow than just to have a live in dog sitter. Man and dog passed more nearly identical houses, some with extensions and additions that gave the streets some variety.

Lights came on, televisions flickered, locks and latches could be heard shutting the world out as the two of them continued steadily in the direction of the park. They dipped into three a gap between two houses that were bathed in darkness. This cut through was almost so overgrown only people who knew it was there could make use of it as a path. The maze of nettles, briers, and sticky weed ultimately released its victims onto the expansive space of the Edward 1st playing field. Lewis liked using this entrance as the field itself sloped downwards.From this vantage point at the top of the hill you could see the whole of the park; the four sets of goal posts that stood in all directions but straight up, the play park with its chewing gum riddled floor and childish graffiti that covered every available surface, and the tennis courts at the very bottom of the hill. It was the tennis courts that drew the biggest crowds.

After the school kicked out, students on mass would flock to the caged asphalt to hook up with each other. Business would boom at the tennis courts, Lewis recalled. Bluetoothed videos of unspeakable acts would be exchanged, you’d stock up on dodgy cigarettes from the kid whose Grandma ran the fag house, and you could occasionally get some sleepers or a bit of home-grown weed off a passing hustler. Now the same tennis courts were run by a different group of teenagers, a new hierarchy of little entrepreneurs. There were always a couple of them there, even now, on a school night. A few boys in hoodies, who were riding battered BMXs and blasting dance tunes out of a squeaky speaker, were accompanied by a scattering of girls in puffy coats with fur trimmed hoods. Their hooped earrings reflecting the floodlights like angelic halos. The tell-tale orange glows of begged and borrowed cigarettes were visible to Lewis like little dancing fireflies.

The sight of the fresh faced smokers kicked in his own craving, he took out one for himself. Confidence cigarette in hand, Lewis and Pork traced the perimeter of the field towards the tennis courts. His pace was fast and full of purpose, he found this deterred the average annoyance who might want to banter. Pork’s little legs were working hard to stay near to his master. Together, they passed the wonky goal posts and ramshackle swings and slide of the play area. The tennis court grew nearer. Pork would regularly stop and sniff at interesting lumps of grass and other popular piss spots against the fence and hedges. Occasionally, he would cock his own leg, leaving a message for others who might follow in his footsteps. As they stepped into the light that spilt out onto the path adjacent to the tarmac courts, two girls noticed them and began to approach. The black girl with enormous fake eyelashes and a smart Nike coat was the first to speak.
“Oh my god,” she said, as she twirled one of her many skinny braids. “Is that a sausage dog?!”
“Can we stroke ya dog?” Chipped in the other girl whose china doll skin was smooth and her freckles greyish under the light. Her ginger hair reminiscent of beach bonfires.
“Errm. Yeah sure,” Lewis agreed, semi-reluctant. They walked, separated by fence, the twenty or so meters to the gated entrance of the court. Lewis entered with Pork and the girls set about fussing the hairy celebrity. It was not long before the boys came over to investigate the fuss at the gate. They seemed like pintsized thugs with their hood strings pulled close to their faces but the sight of the dog seemed to change their hunched statures to open and relaxed. Everyone loved the low rider, and he loved everyone back. Tail wagging, tongue panting he welcomed all the fuss from the kids at the park. Lewis answered all their questions:

“Yeah, he’s four. No, hardly a puppy. His name? Pork. My girlfriend says he’s called Slinky. Yeah, off Toy Story. Nah, he can’t fetch. He can’t do any good tricks. We walk this way a lot. Nah, you can’t keep him, my lass would murder me. Her name? Mel. Yeah, short for Melody. Yeah, Melody Stonehouse. Oh right, you know her brother? Yeah, Michaels a good lad. No, I ain’t gonna buy you any alcohol. Nah, I can’t get you any weed. Right, we’re getting off. You lot need to be up for school anyway don’t you?” There was a chorus of laughter with a couple of comments like, “fuck school man”.
“Sounds about right. Well, take a life lesson from a random guy with a cute dog. Just knuckle down and get on. Life’s just easier when you don’t have to resist your exams. Our mate Pongo has failed his math seven times now and it’s fucked him up getting into college and even shitty getting jobs. You don’t wanna go on the dole, you really don’t. Stay safe anyway. In a bit.”

The teenage crew mooched back to their corner of the tennis courts, the hubs on the BMX’s ticking in the quiet evening. Lewis and Pork left the kids at the tennis courts and made their way back up the dark lengthy field towards home.

When they arrive back, Lewis put some food down for the grateful Pork and grabbed a few chocolate hobnobs for himself. Lewis went into the living room and took their smelly box of magic tricks out of its home in cupboard. Walking back through the kitchen, past the dog who was almost finished devouring his dinner, Lewis opened the back door and went into the garden. Pork trotted out after, to take care of the evening’s business between the bushes.

The garden was a modest size, a sturdy six-foot, creosoted fence guarded the edges. It was mostly un-mowed grass and daisies with the exception of a few planted beds of colourful lobelia and green weeds that separated the lawn from the wooden panels of the perimeter. In the middle of the garden was an impressive Acer, the lower canopy of its yellow and red pastel leaves just visible in the beam from the security light, the darkened crown looming upwards into the star studded sky. Near the back door was their barbeque that would be seeing lots more use as summer took firm hold.

About forty-feet away from the house, nestled at the back of the long, yet skinny garden, was Mel and Lewis’s summerhouse. It was a glorified shed with a power cable to the mains supply but summerhouse sounded nicer, Mel had insisted.
Opening both the glass windowed doors of the shed, Lewis turned on the lamp and settled himself in the cushioned, wicker chair, box on his lap.

Easing open the lid, Lewis removed the purple grinder, a one inch piece of fine cardboard, a packet of big Rizla and the jar of weed. Lewis Quickly constructed the set up: fresh skin in the nifty perch that the Rizla packed provided and a perfect roach with a suitable hole to prevent it becoming clogged with resin and to provide the structural integrity of the spliff that he positioned to the left end of the awaiting skin. He took a cigarette out of his packet and, with his thumb and for finger, delicately coaxed out the dry tobacco along the length of the skin. Once this was done. Lewis placed the lot on the dark glass surface of the matching wicker side stand while he removed a healthy sized bud from the jar and pressed it firmly into the blades of his grinder. The dried, organic matter was shredded into a fine green powder that Lewis began to sprinkle over the tobacco until it was completely covered. Sprinkling just a little more of the contents of the pillaged cigarette to ensure an even burn, Lewis wiped his sticky fingers on his knees, gave them a lick to add moisture, and plucked the joint carefully up by the roach end in his left hand.

Carefully, Lewis used his thumbs to tuck the non-gummed side of the skin around the cardboard support, and guided the leaf to close up in a mellow conical cylinder to the end. Applying the moisture with his tongue, this time to the gum strip, he used his index fingers to cement the skin in place. Holding it like the Olympic torch, Lewis inspected his handy work. Tapping it a couple of times on the table top so as to help the contents settle inside, Lewis produced his lighter from his pocket and sparked it up.

As the relaxing sensation of the THC took over Lewis’s body, in the way that entering a hot bath does, Lewis reflected on the day. And what a day it had been. He took another deep inhale from his cannabis cigarette which caused him to cough uncontrollably for a minute. After it had calmed down, he took another, less enthusiastic puff. Whilst putting the equipment back in its box, Lewis caught sight of the weekend’s supplies encased in their orange plastic cocoon. He thought about the nonsense that he and Mel would get up to at this party. He turned momentarily bitter about the Pongo situation and whether that jackass would actually be able to pay him, and how they really need to do those brakes.

That feeling passed as Lorrie and Ripper came to the forefront of his mind. Were Mel and Alfie right to be wary of this steroid chugging brute? Lorrie’s investment. Shit. The mistrust was hard to shake off. What had Graham done? That couldn’t have been dirty money, Lewis desperately convinced himself. Ripper does his own laundry. Lorrie has been coming to the garage for years, maybe she does just want to help out, and a new shop front would be a great start. Half convinced, Lewis rocked back in the comfy cushions of the wicker and gazed up at the constellations. He could only spot the usual ones. A needle thin streak of fire sped through the sky just near Orion’s Belt. Lewis smiled, took another satisfying drag on his zoot and made a wish.

Chapter 2: Lining Up

Flinging open the blue-grey curtains, Mel let the brightness spill into the bedroom. Lewis, bleary eyed and half-asleep, groaned as he pulled his purple cocoon around him to fend off the day.

“Come on, sleepy-dick-head.” Mel urged as she pounced on the bed, prizing Lewis out of his duvet as if she were a shrew demolishing a sawfly larva. “It’s already ten o’clock, I want to get out!” She whinged.
“Ten already?” Lewis yawned, knuckles kneading his doughy eyes. “Alright, I’m moving.”

She offered the horizontal Lewis her hand and pulled him up into her pyjama clad arms. He slid under the blue cotton to feel the soft skin on her hips and, gliding across the small of her back, up to her defined scapulars, he squeezed her tight. Mel nestled her head into his brown messy hair, kissed his neck just below the ear lobe and then withdrew to look at his face. He went to kiss her dark pink mouth but she quickly flinched away, her eyes squinted as if chopping onions while her fingers pegged her nose.
“You’ve got the dragon breath.” She laughed. “Go brush your grubby pegs.” She pointed meaningfully towards the door, one hand still firmly clamping her nostrils shut. Lewis pushed her playfully out of his way and eased his naked carcass the end of the bed.
“I’ll see you in a bit then.” He said, gazing back at his best friend as she lounged on the bed in the spot that he had pushed her.
“Enjoy your wash, stinker.” Mel said, taking her phone from the bedside table and beginning to scroll her feeds with her tongue in the corner of her mouth.

Entering the on-suite bathroom, Lewis blasted away the repulsive morning breath with vigorous brushing and a shot of strong mouthwash. The mint green slime of the plaque buster congealed with a few brownish drops of blood as it hit the white ceramic of the basin. Rinsing his brush, he dropped it back into the holder and picked up his razor to deal with the emerging stubble. Carving through the white shaving foam, he carefully smoothed his pale face and washed the stubs of mousey hair down the sink; he was absolutely sure to remove every piece as Mel would undoubtedly crucify him if not. One last blast of warm water from the tap returned the sink to its prior, immaculate condition. Lewis climbed into the corner shower and slid the glass panel closed. Hitting the button released a jet of cold water into his face that blew out the last remaining cobwebs from his eyes.

Lathering himself in lime body wash, he began to feel rising excitement about the weekend. Three days off work, getting on it tonight, and he resolved that he’d let Mel know about her big birthday present. Taking one of the plump, grey towels from the radiator, Lewis dried himself off before collecting his dressing gown from the back of the door, slipping it on and walking out into the bedroom.

Mel had made the bed and was sitting cross-legged in her favourite spot on the floor, in front of the full length mirror, applying a quick splash of day time make up.
“Get dressed. I’ll be ready in ten minutes.” she informed Lewis, steadily stroking the mascara wand on her eyelashes. Lewis ran his fingers lovingly over her shoulders as he passed to his wardrobe.

Looking through the items he decided on a white, tailored, short-sleeve shirt and black, knee-length jean shorts. Opening his draw he grabbed a pair of Calvin’s and some ankle socks. Lewis preferred wearing white these days and three days away from the muck and oil of work meant he could enjoy the coolness of a plain top without risking ruining it forever.
“Let’s take the dog to the woods,” Mel said. From his basket, the dog raised an inquisitive ear. “Those ones near the seaside.”
“Earl’s wood?”
“Yeah, those ones.”
“Yeah, mint. You’ll like that won’t you,Slinky?”

The little man emerged from his snug blanket in that way that dogs do when they know they’re going to get some fuss, embarrassed yet expectant. Lewis scooped him up like a sausage shaped baby and gave him some tummy scratches. Slinky’s soft ears flopped over the cradle of his left arm and the dog’s face wore a gravity induced smile of absolute bliss.
“I want some doggy action!” Mel exclaimed.
“I thought you had enough of that last night,” Lewis quipped.
“You’re fucking funny ain’t you?” smirked Mel. “Now, give me my Slinky.”

Lewis popped the beloved wiener on the carpet who trotted to Mel to receive more scratches. Lewis began to button up his shirt, leaving the top two undone. Pulling up the black shorts over his pale but very fuzzy legs, he secured them in place with his trusty, studded leather belt; the four rows of tough, silvery metal pyramids making a satisfactory zipping noise as they brushed under the belt loops.

With Slinky at her heels, Mel flicked through the multiplicity of coat hangers that filled the chestnut coloured wardrobe.
“I wanna wear this playsuit” she announced, pulling out the floral patterned cream fabric to hold up for Lewis to see.
“Yeah, that’s a nice one”
“You think?” She pondered a moment before putting it back on the rail.
“Is my taste really that bad?” Lewis said, disheartened.
“No, silly. I changed my mind. You’ve got your studded belt on and I fancy being a bit Rock’N’Roll too.” With that, she grabbed her own pair of black shorts, and took a grey sports bra and black polka-dot mesh top from her draw. Stripping off, she selected a comfortable thong and assembled the rest of the outfit.
“Sweet,” she said, checking herself out in the mirror. “You like?”
“I like,” Lewis confirmed, putting his hand on her waist and kissing her hair.
“We look cute today.” She beamed, as they looked at each other’s reflections. “Let’s get a pic,” she grabbed her Samsung Galaxy and pushed Lewis out of the bedroom. Slinky followed after them with a patter.

***

Stepping out into the garden, Mel popped on some aviator shades and positioned her boys under the Acer; the warm heat of the late morning amplified by the beautiful hues of orangey-yellow fire from the leaves.
“Say sausages!” Mel instructed, as she held the camera at arm’s length.
“Sausages!” Lewis laughed.
“A few more just for good luck,” and she snapped away to get the perfect, Instagram ready snap.
“Can we get breakfast out?” Lewis asked.
“Ooh, yes. Let’s go to Rita and John’s, they let the dogs in,” Mel enthused, “I’ll get you a big fry up.”
“You’re fucking awesome” Lewis said, “You get a nice picture then?”
“Your eyes are closed in every picture”
“Nothing new there then!”
“This one is nice though, look at how Slinky is staring at you!”
“Yeah, I like that one.” Lewis chuckled. “Send it to me.”
“I will do, can you pack a bag while I post it?”
“Yeah, no worries.” Lewis made his way back into the house from the wonderfully summery garden.

Crossing the threshold of the backdoor into the kitchen, Lewis took in the drab cream, incredibly eighties cupboards. The pinewood handles were darkened and scarred, standing out even more against the fake, white-marble surfaces that topped the cabinets. They both hated it and resented whoever had originally installed it. It was the only room in the house that they hadn’t been able to redecorate. The bulky, freestanding hob oven didn’t quite fill the gap it occupied which meant that crumbs, pieces of rogue rice and pasta, and general mess would fall down the side. The way the decades old wood had started to crumble and become loose meant that the place just looked rundown. It was impossible to keep the place clean with all the gaps and the uneven, black and white linoleum flooring. Lewis couldn’t wait to tell Mel they wouldn’t have to live with a dirty, retro kitchen for much longer.

Opening the door that housed the cupboard under the stairs, Lewis removed his checker-board Vans backpack that he’d owned since year 8. Going back into the kitchen, he took two water bottles out of the cupboard, filled them at the stainless-steel sink, and put them into the mesh pockets on the side of the rucksack; he also threw in a couple of granola bars, in case they got peckish. Stooping down, he collected the blue plastic water bowl by its convenient, punched-out handle and stuffed that into the sack. Bending down and opening up the dog cupboard, Lewis grabbed a few of Pork’s favourite meaty treats and some miniature black refuse sacks that joined the bowl in the bowels of bag. Mel and Slinky ran in through the backdoor and mugged Lewis.
“Have you got sun cream?”
“Errm.”

Mel quickly tiptoed up to reach the handle on the wall mounted cupboard and plucked out a small bottle of spray on factor thirty. She gave herself a light dusting with the spray and passed it to Lewis who applied it to his legs and arms.
“Don’t forget your neck, nobhead,” Mel reminded him. “Here, let me get ya.” She blasted Lewis’s neck with the cooling liquid and rubbed it in, being sure to get right behind and on the round tips of his helix and lobes.
“Cheers,” Lewis thanked her.
“No problem.” She beamed, and wiped some residual liquid on his nose.
“Ready to ship out then?”
“Aye, aye captain.” Mel mocked, standing to attention with an enthusiastic salute.

***

Closing the boot of the strikingly mustard-yellow Mini over the chequered rucksack, Lewis went to the passenger side and cracked the door open. Mel was scrolling for suitable driving music on her phone. A panting Pork sat patiently on the passenger seat, chocolatey-brown tail wagging, is big dark eyes staring, waiting for Lewis to climb in and boost his short paws up, high enough to see over the dashboard.

Mel’s Mini Cooper felt like a spacecraft from the inside. It was only three years old and had one previous female owner. Mini’s signature circular style dashboard was currently lit up in a warm orange. The winged emblem, residing on the steering wheel, was accompanied by buttons and switches to control all the gadgets the car was kitted out with. The 1.5litre, 12-valve bumblebee was a very fun and practical run-about. Lewis didn’t mind the Mini but it couldn’t compete with his E28. Mel adored the Mini’s sporty response and relished the idea that whenever children saw her car they would punch each other in glee at the sight of a yellow Mini. Lewis didn’t know how many other people actually played this violent travel-game but he never mentioned this to Mel. Finishing her driving playlist, Mel clipped the phone into its holder and pulled away from the house.

***

After they escaped the spaghetti of housing estates, they travelled down the determinedly resurgent high-street; it housed a few new, brave, independent traders, growing like flowers among the bleak weeds of charity shops, seedy bookies, and ratty newsagents. Quickly putting their hometown behind them, they soon found themselves emerging into the natural beauty of the open countryside that was dominated by open fields of rising rapeseed and hundreds of unmistakable clouds of wool that were grazing the grass. Along the winding roads, they carved through the rolling emerald hills and sporadic clusters of leafy trees; Mel confidently and comfortably tackled the twists and turns that posed no challenge for the Mini. Hedgerows and fences flew past in a blur of deciduous colour as they navigated the B-roads that would lead them to Earl’s wood. Lewis and Pork looked out of their open window, Pork’s ears flapping, cheeks rippling in the powerful, yet relieving slipstream of air; Lewis held on tight to his collar. Over the brow of a steep hill and at the top of a curving road, the calm and beautiful deep bluish green of the North Sea suddenly came into view. Nestled below them was the entrance to the woods, the tall trees extended off to the right further than they could see. Several large tankers were waiting to dock at the busy port, from this distance they looked like painted miniatures swaying lazily on the lightly breaking waves.
“Oh, I do like to be beside the seaside.” Mel burst out in song.
“Not long now little buddy.” Lewis told Pork, who had withdrawn his head from the outside and was shuffling between Lewis’s knees in agitation, desperate to begin today’s adventure.
“I wonder if you’ll make any new dog friends.” Mel pondered, cooing. They began to descend from the plateau where they’d observed the tankers and Mel, gently applying the brakes, indicated right and took them up the poorly maintained track to the little carpark at the mouth of the woods.

After reversing skilfully into a space between a Nissan Qashqai which containing two flustered parents with their equally flustered children, and a Fiat 500 whose owner was snogging her passenger while a disgruntled Chihuahua watched from the parcel shelf, Mel cranked up the handbrake. Mel and Slinky exited out of the driver’s side and Lewis went round the back to retrieve his rucksack.
“Which way should we go?” Mel asked.
“We’ll take the horseshoe, that’ll be about an hour and a half. I wanna earn that breakfast.”

Holding hands with interlocked fingers, they made their way across the busy carpark that was heaving with people desperate to make the most of the glorious weather. The cracked dirt of the ground was dry and hard underfoot. On both sides, the towering bodies of the impressive pines protruded out of the decomposing needles and twigs that covered the shaded forest floor. The thorns and ferns filled in the gaps between the trunks and the chatter and songs of chiffchaffs and chaffinches provided a peaceful overture with some rare percussion from a woodpecker. The sweet smell of oozing sap accompanied the freshness of the oxygen rich air that Mel and Lewis pleasantly inhaled. Slinky made full use of his extendable lead, rushing his stubby legs from stump to bush in order to investigate all the fantastic smells the forest provided.
“So, what’s the plan for today then?” Lewis wondered.
“Well, we’ll go to Scratcher’s Café after here. Get us fed proper. Then we’ve got a bit of time to get ready before tonight. Your mum is gonna look after Slink isn’t she?”
“Yeah, she said it’s fine”
“Even with the puppies?”
“Yeah, they’ve all had their jabs and that now. Be ready for homes soon”
“It’s been eight weeks already?”
“Almost, you’ll be amazed when you see them. They’re not tiny potatoes anymore”
“Aww but I liked the potato stage” Mel said, her face falling.
“They’re still daft cute like”
“I know they will be,” She laughed. “I’m excited to see them. So, we’ll drop Slink off about two?”
“Yeah, that’s grand. I’ll text me mam and let her know we’re coming.” He took his Sony out and quickly contacted his mother. ‘Be over with the dog about 2. Mel can’t wait to see the potatoes x.’ Sliding it back into the tight pocket of his shorts, he remade the connection with Mel’s hand.

“We have so much.” Mel said in wonder.
“We’re very lucky ain’t we?” Lewis agreed. “I wouldn’t want to live anywhere else. We’ve got all the astounding forests and so many nice fucking beaches. I don’t know why people say it’s so grim up North.” Mel began to snigger at him.
“What?” He challenged. “I love it when you get passionate about our area” she chortled, clinging onto his arm for support. “And you’re absolutely right, it is gorgeous. But I was talking about the sniff.”

They both fell about laughing at the misunderstanding and received some funny looks from a trio of wrinkly walkers in their sturdy hiking boots.
“We don’t have to do it all, we’ll get rid of some I’m sure.” Lewis reassured.
“We’ll have to! I spoke to Steph and she said she would have some.” Mel informed him. “There’ll be other eager beavers at the party too, I’m sure.”
“Don’t feed the vultures though”
“You mean Pongo?”
“How much does he owe you already?”
“One-fiddy”
“Exactly, so if he wants some he can fuck off” Mel said in a stern tone.
“Yeah, too right he can.”
“What should be drink? I fancy some wine you know.”
“I’ll just grab a few tinnies”
“We can stop at the shop after we drop of pooch.”
“Plan” Lewis agreed.

They walked, contented, absorbing the vibrant atmosphere of the surrounding nature as Slinky darted around with that intense canine purpose on the search for anything and nothing.

The path they were on opened up into a clearing that was surrounded by gargantuan ferns and bisected by a fast running stream that was crossable by a little wooden footbridge. The hound bounded through the undergrowth chasing his invisible quarry.

“You looking forward to your birthday then?” Lewis probed.
“I dunno” Mel shrugged.
“It’ll be good tonight, but It sucks that I’ve got to work all next weekend.” “I know, that is a bitch,” Lewis comforted. “But we’ll have a good time on the day. I promise.” Lewis said, spinning her to face him, “I actually want to tell you something.”
Mel’s face contorted into suspicion.
“What? What have you done?”
“I haven’t done anything!” Lewis protested. “At least, not yet. It’s something I want to do.” Mel’s face remained confused and wary. “It’s a good thing!” He insisted. “For your birthday, well. For you birthday I want to get us a new kitchen.”
With this news, Mel’s face brightened and her usually attractive mouth fell open, momentarily gormless.
“Serious?” She said, putting both her hands with her freshly manicured, sparkly red nails on his chest.
“Yes, seriously.” Lewis grinned. She flung her arms around him, trapping his arms to his sides like a pencil.
“Thank you! Thank you!” She rejoiced, giving him a number of hard kisses.
“So, I thought that we could maybe go to a showroom soon and you can start putting ideas together,” He told her.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” She beamed, giving him another big squeeze. “You’re the best Lewis, oh my god. Can we afford it? I thought we were a bit skint at the moment?”
“Well, that’s because I’ve been saving. We can afford the deposit and I’ll pay off the rest in bits. I made the last payment on the toolboxes yesterday.”
“Oh Lewis,” Mel seemed to swell up with glee. “You’re so amazing, I just, I just can’t even believe it! Thank you!” and she gave him another big hug, this time with his arms free to reciprocate.

At this point, the bush on a lead rustled and Slinky appeared with a half a manky, old tennis ball in his little jaws.
“Not your best find lad” Lewis said, patting Pork on his head. Pork dropped the segment of ball and pottered towards the stream.
“I think he’s thirsty.” Mel said, give him some water.”
“Just let him have a drink in the stream” Lewis urged.
“That’s how they get parasites, you bellend” Mel scolded.
“Alright, alright”
“You won’t be able to buy me this kitchen if you’ve got vets bills” She said, softening her tone.
“You’re right, get him over here.” Lewis removed and filled the water bowl for Pork to lap up. The grateful hound was very glad of the drink.

After a good hour of enjoying the baking heat and delights of the woods, Mel had detailed everything she would want her new kitchen to be. Lewis couldn’t take the smile off his face at how excited she was about her present.

As they emerged from the trees, back into the car park, Mel turned to Lewis.
“You have definitely earned that breakfast now,” She told him.
“I am absolutely starving like, that cereal bar didn’t even touch the sides.” “I think Slinky could munch a few sausages too,” Mel said as she scooped up the dog.

Chucking the bag in the boot, Mel manoeuvred the mini out of the still teaming carpark.

***

Heading coastward, the Mini became entangled in the seaside traffic. Everywhere there were cars of merrymakers pushing forward towards the beach, desperate to unpack the deckchairs and obligatory bucket and spade. Finding a miracle space in a jam-packed, ratty pay-and-display zone, the three of them locked up, ticketed up, and began the trot to the town. The pavements were crowded and mean. The hot temperatures had brought out the pedestrians in force and tempers were flaring.

Weaving through the crawling masses, Lewis received a couple of unwanted shoulder barges from annoyed fathers as they dragged their kicking and screaming children back to the uninhabitable warm air of their people-carriers.

In a busy but rundown side street that housed the red double-doors of the service entrance to the arcades as well as their grimy bins, a few illegally parked vehicles tested the skill of the traffic wardens. Above the heads of the ice-cream guzzling, flip-flop toting public was Scratcher’s sign in a swirling blue font that was twice underlined. The shine from the white plastic background made the stylised first consonant and smaller second letter disappear when viewed from Lewis and Mel’s approach angle.

Being swept along by the vast flowing delta of eager day-trippers, Lewis, Mel and Slinky managed to oxbow into the swing door of the café.

“Meludeh!” barked an imposing voice from behind the steel topped counter. “Fanceh thou poppin’ in’tday. Rita ‘n’ I t’were jus’ sayin we an’t seen you in’t ages. RITA!” the beefy, bearded man yelled through to the kitchen, “Lookie’ere wat’s washed up.”
“Hiya, John,” Mel returned warmly. “I’ve brought Lewis for a proper breakfast. We’ve been waiting for this all week!”
“Ay up, Lewis Lad,” Yorkshire’s own grizzly, leather-jacketed Santa Claus boomed out.
“Now then Scratch, how’s tricks? We’ve brought the dog, hope that’s still alright,” Lewis said, indicating to the pooch.
“So long as he dun’t drop a nasteh on’t flewr” Scratcher winked, “T’otherwise al be batterin’t little sausage ‘n’ sling him in’t bun.”
“He’s emptied in the woods” Mel informed, “we shouldn’t have a problem.”
“Get thissel set doon, the lor of yer,” John instructed, coming out from behind his counter to lead them to a table which was one half bench-seating; quilted avocado linoleum, and one half white metal frame chairs with the same colour covers. “Ter full English ‘en?”
“Yeah thanks, John.”
“Ow boot a sausig fer’t sausig? Eh, boy?” Scratcher shifted his very large frame down to the lowest point he was capable of and gave the expectant dog a chin-tickle. “Dun’t worreh. Al wash hands.”
The bald giant rose up, “Out’t drink?”
“You got some fresh orange?” Mel enquired, sweetly.
“Well aye.”
“I’ll have one too ta, mate,” Lewis nodded to them both.
“Righch’yar,” and with this, he wheeled his voluptuous stomach around and headed for the kitchen.

Through the window, Lewis and Mel watched the throngs of bucket and spade carrying pedestrians head past the café and down to the regenerated seafront.
“What you wearing tonight then?” Lewis asked Mel, looking away from a crying toddler with an impressive ice-cream goatee.
“I’ve got that pink tunic thing. If the weather stays nice like this, I’ll wear that. Then probs my pink Pumas to match”
“The floaty dress?”
“Yeah, that one”
“That’ll be cute.”
“You’re cute. What about you? What are you gonna wear?” She said, propping her feminine jawline up on one of her soft hands as she gazed at Lewis.
“I’ll probably just shot a fresh top on”
“That nice Fred Perry one I got you?”
“Aye, yeah that one”
“Sweet.” She smiled at Lewis, imagined them together at the party.

They schemed about their illicit party preparations, decided they would have to find a little something for Toni and Harvey as a house warming present, and argued about who’d be the first to spill a drink on the carpet; Lewis thought it would be Pongo, Mel thought it would be Lewis. It wasn’t long before Rita bustled out of the kitchen carrying their hearty breakfasts on some mismatched, bone-china plates.

After laying the plates down in front of her diners, she embraced the seated Mel, pulling Mel’s head into her large, chequered apron covered bosoms.

“Melody Stonehouse, oh ah have missed ya canny face, sweetheart.” Rita cooed as she released Mel from her chest.
“Hiya, Rita.” Mel beamed back innocently. “It’s lovely to see you too! Have you been keeping alright honey? You look well.”
“Aye, am not bad, lass.” The Tynesider answered. “Café’s gannin alreet wit these summer crowds. ‘Owa bout you bairns?” Turning to look at Lewis, “Es ya keepin’ alreet pet?”
“No complaints, Rita” Lewis responded.
“Ahh well, am very glad ta hear et. Al let ya get on we yer scran wal it’s wahrm. Enjoy!” Scratcher appeared at her shoulder and placed the orange juice on the table.
“Muzn’ ferge’t dogger.” He chuckled, retrieving a small bowl that contained a sliced-up sausage, popping it down in front of Slinky, whose tail had gone into overdrive. The three of them tucked into their well-earned meals while Rita and Scratcher got back to work.

***

“That was fuckin’ great” Lewis exclaimed as he sunk back in his seat staring at the residual tomato sauce on the practically empty plate that was rimmed with painted red flowers and delicate green leaves framed in blue boxes.
“I’m absolutely stuffed.” Mel made a noise in agreement as she finished her final mouthful of black pudding and beans. Pork was still determinedly licking the remnant sausage juices from his little bowl on the floor.

As they made more satisfied comments to each other and washed its all down with their orange juice, Scratcher noticed they’d finished and made a beeline for their table.
“Thou was ‘Ungreh weren’t ye?”
“That was fuckin fantastic Scratch, your black pudding is hands down the best I’ve ever had.” Lewis told him.
“Ald famleh recipeh that lark” Scratcher grinned.
“Sall bout reyt ‘erbs. Rart, Ah’m bahn ter side them pots.”

With this, he inelegantly scooped up the empties in his thickset hands and trundled away into the kitchen.
“They’re great, Scratch and Rita. But sometimes I can’t understand a word.” Lewis said, his voice hushed.
“Scratch is the most Yorkshire bloke I’ve ever met, I love it” Mel laughed. “Sometimes it just takes a while to tune in. I used to love it when he’d tell me stories about his biking days. Scratch and the Grim Goblins M.C. Used to raise hell back in the day. He’s still an honorary member even though he’s not allowed to ride his motorcycle anymore; he had a major stroke a year ago now. Pretty fucking scary, no one was sure whether he’d be able to walk again. But he’s done remarkably well.”
“That’s fucking crazy like. He’s still a big dude though. You’d think he’d want to lose some weight to keep on the right track.”
“He has lost weight!” Mel snapped at Lewis, her neat brows furrowing. “Whoa, sorry” Lewis retorted, startled by Mel’s tone.
“Sorry, I know Scratch is still massive. I just mean that, honestly, he used to be even fucking bigger. Strong as a ox though. He has really tried to shed his weight” Mel said, losing the defensiveness. “He was twenty-Eight stone at one point.”
“Fuck me. That’s insane.” Lewis gasped.
“Here, he won’t mind. Scratch! John?” Mel called to the hairy beast that was hurriedly polishing cutlery and dumping them into their dull-grey plastic tubs.
“Was ‘at?” Scratch exclaimed, looking up from his cloth and fork to acknowledge Mel. She beckoned him over.
“I just wanted to say how you’re looking really well” Mel said, reaching out and taking hold of his Texas sized forearm; As she did this, Lewis noticed the defined and powerful muscles ripple slightly underneath the sun-browned, faded-blue ink skin, deep waves on a placid sea.
“Ehh Ek, Rart charmer aren’t yer” Scratcher said, “Joined a Gym, been training wit some ov the lads fromt Goblins.
“Can you still lift a Harley up over your head??”
“Two easy, lass.” The friendly giant grinned though his long grey bristles, flashing a cheeky gold tooth. Lewis could almost believe him. Mel chuckled. “Rita and I are at a meet over’t moors T’night. There’s a good band on at The Ram & Crook”
“I’d have liked that! If we weren’t at a party tonight I’d have dragged Lewis along”
“Too bad, lass. Maybe next time” Scratcher said.
“You wouldn’t have to drag me.” Lewis retorted, “I’d be game for a biker social. I might have to listen to garbage radio when I’m at work but I like a good live gig.”
“Good lad, bira proper music. Can’t listen to the sodding radio these days. Utter shite.”
“You dinosaurs should get a digital radio, you can get great channels on them!” Mel suggested. “Maybe Graham can use some of the money Lorrie gave him to get you one.”
“Fat chance of that. He’ll still be tight fisted as per, plus he likes garbage radio.” Lewis Laughed, but his brain decided to release some cortisol at the mention of Lorraine and her money. His shoulders tightened slightly, and his hands began to feel a bit clammy. Wiping them off on his black jean shorts, Lewis took his packet of cigarettes out of his pocket.
“I’m just going to nip out of a tab.” Lewis informed them. “Come on, Pork”
“Slink.” said Mel exasperatedly.

***

‘You’ll be over with Slinky soon yeah lol x?’ The message from Lewis’s mother appeared in his phone’s notification bar. Lewis glanced away from his game, catching the text before it disappeared into the fading black abyss of the lock screen. Lewis took up his phone and sent back ‘Yeh, gona b settin off in 10min.’
“Mel, We’ll take Slink to Mum’s in ten minutes yeah?” Lewis shouted.
“Yeah, that’s fine.”

***

Lewis knocked on his mum’s front door.

“You’ll have to come round the back, I’ve had a big delivery!” Shouted a voice from inside. Scrabbling and little barks also escaped from behind the frosted glass door. Pork’s tail was in overdrive and he had pulled the little extendable lead out to its fullest in his efforts to get inside and see his doggy mates.

Mel and Lewis, Pork leading the way. Headed down the side of the house, through the back gate and into the modest back garden. Scrabbling and Yapping could now be heard at the backdoor and as it inched open two Pug bounced down the single step to greet the new arrivals. Lincoln and Brie were the names of the Pugs. Lewis’s mother adored their squashed faces and curled tails. Linda had never been a dog person until she’d met a Pug and then she became completely obsessed. “Hello Son, Hello Melanie. Come on into the kitchen.” Welcomed Lewis’s Mum, standing in the door frame with a lit cigarette between her fingers. “Afternoon Linda!” Mel said as she embraced Lewis’s mum, who held the cigarette away and lent in to kiss Mel. Linda was a riot, approaching her mid-forties, dark, sunbed-shop tan. She dressed in designer clothes and wore a Pink Adidas baseball cap that matched her pink Adidas Gazelles. The late 80s/ early 90s rave scene was her experimental period right before Lewis came along on a pregnancy test taken after Glasto Festival 1993.

Linda had hoped that the father might have been Lenny Kravits, but Lewis was born looking just like her ex-boyfriend Freddie.

***

Freddie was an absent father at best to Lewis, when he was around, he didn’t really have a handle on what to do with Lewis, so just did all the things he enjoyed doing with Young Lewis in tow. Freddie enjoyed bars, bets and a spot of burglary if the chance might arise. The boy’s beloved father once, on one of their brief, rare outings, had encouraged a nine year old Lewis to take a purse out of a old lady’s bag at the post office in town. Lewis had understood that what he was being asked to do was wrong, but back then, he wouldn’t do anything to upset his dad. He lifted the purse and trotted back round the corner, eager to please his expectant father. The two left the shop and as a means of a reward for Lewis, Freddie took him to a nearby back alley pub that served food and bought himself and Lewis a cod and chips, curtesy of Mrs Basildon.

The pair were just finishing up when two Police Officers entered the Pub, promptly arrested Freddie, and took a silent Lewis back home to Linda and her Dad, Lewis’s Grandad. Who cursed Freddie’s name and swore if he came near the family again he’d be a dead man.

Lewis never forgot this day. It was the last time he saw Freddie, his Dad. Freddie died only a few months after that day. The coroner had to rule the cause of death: inconclusive. When they finally pulled him out of the Tees, he’d already been missing for a month. Lewis didn’t find out the whole story until much later, or at least as much of the story as anyone knew. He tried not to pay too much thought to the unknowns of a cold case from his distant past, but whenever he saw his Mum, his unconscious always brought back the not wholly unpleasant, but bittersweet memory of his Dad’s face in that pub, eating his cod and chips, smiling and laughing before he was unceremoniously removed from Lewis’s life, for better or worse.

***

“Where are the pups?” Mel asked Linda.
“Asleep in the living room love. Take yourself through.” Mel disappeared out of the kitchen and into the anointing front room.
“How’s my Lewis doing then, sweetheart. You alright?”
“Yeah, I’m alright, thanks Mum. Good to see you.” Lewis said, sitting down with her at the glass topped kitchen table.
“How you been getting on?”
“Oh those puppies have been keeping me very busy. Course, only one month until the whole litter will be off to their new homes, eh I tell you I’ll be glad when they are gone. Hard work, very hard work.” Lewis had heard this remark consistently, every time he had visited since Brie had popped them out.
“You said you’ve got a delivery in the hall? You need me to move it?”
“Oh yes, if you could, Son. Be careful mind. It’s a new mirror for my bedroom, I think you’ll managed it, The delivery man left it in the little porch but I can’t lift it out the way of the front door. I’ve got it a bit stuck actually, that’s why I asked you to come round the back.”
“Sure thing Mum, I’ll have a look.”
(Unfinished)

***

Cross legged, Mel sat bare skinned on the bedroom floor; various pallets of make up and bottles of moisturiser encircled her position in front of the mirror as the hot air from hair dryer roared through the wet strands of hazel hair. She was casually singing along to her pre drinks playlist that was pumping out of the iPod Dock.

In the bathroom, Lewis scrolled through his Instagram feed. Eyes feasting on Hotrods, custom builds, and classic motors and each push of his thumb dragged another heavily filtered automotive monster into his narrow field of vision.
“How’s your poo?” called a voice from the other side of the door. Lewis’s brain snapped back into reality from the fast and furious fantasy that had been playing behind his eyes. “Yeah, good. I’m done.” Urging his slightly numb legs up and noticing the red elbow marks on the tops of his knees, Lewis cleaned up and strode out into the bedroom. Mel was applying foundation with that compulsory gormless concentration face. Lewis bent down behind her so that his face appeared beside her in the mirror.
“Looking fine, shithead.” He grinned and planted a precision raspberry on her exposed neck. Wincing and pulling away from her attacker, Mel’s makeup sponge made a quick but firm connection with Lewis’s eye. The effect of the medium foundation on the pasty faced Lewis created an instantaneous smudge bruise.
“Ah fuck, ow.” Lewis blinked, tears forming quickly to chase the invading pigments out of the whites. Mel, realising what she’d done, turned on the spot to check on him.
“Oh, Lewis, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your eye. It’s your fault for getting my neck! You know I’ll just flinch like a spaz. I’m sorry.” This shit – sandwich apology made Lewis laugh through the stream of brownish gunk that now seeped from his left socket. Mel cradled his head in her palms to better inspect the damage.‘oh I got you good and proper didn’t I?’
‘yeah, ya fucking did’ Lewis strained, blinking furiously. The redness, wetness and congealed facepaint looked quite dramatic in the afternoon light.
‘Here, ’ Mel said decisively, diving into one of the smallish bags by the mirror. ‘Eye drops. We’ll go clean you up. ’ Escorting him into the bathroom, the naked and half painted nurse tended to her patient.

Perched on the edge of the sofa, one eye still on the puffy side. Lewis brushed some fluff from his black jeans and buttoned up his maroon, long sleeved , Fred Perry Polo that Mel had gotten him for his birthday. Mel was now fully dolled and was swishing about their living room in her pastel pink party dress. Collecting Lewis’s empty glass from the coffee table, she ran her right hand over Lewis’s slender, yet strong triangular shoulders and tip-toed to kiss his cheek.
“I’m going to make another drink before the taxi gets here.” she informed Lewis.
‘You…’ she paused with a knowing look.‘You should make us a little line.’
Lewis pulled a smarmy, Robbie Williams grin.
‘I thought you’d never ask.’

Pulling out one of his lesser-played game cases from the TV stand, he placed it so the darkest side faced upwards. Retrieving one of the bags of cocaine from its place in the Kinder Egg pot. Lewis inspected the chunky, powdery rocks that his hard earned money had bought him.

Popping open the snappy seal, he emptied the white gold onto the waiting case. Removing a ten pound note from his wallet, he carefully covered the product and held it down firmly with his index and thumb; with his right hand he took his driver’s licence and began to vigorously massage the cocaine through the tenner. After about forty five seconds of rock shattering scraping, Lewis flipped the note over and dislodged the freshly compacted powder onto the game case. The rock had truly been shattered and a flat flaky slab of white was in its place. Slotting his licence back into his wallet, but leaving the money out, he reached into the stash box again and cautiously removed one of the gleaming steel razor blades he kept in there for just such occasions. Hand working like a sewing machine, the blade easily cut and chopped through the separated compound and began to fluff out the drug like flour. The end result left Lewis with an impressive mound of nose beer. Inspecting the huge pile for a moment in satisfaction, Lewis quickly tucked the ten pound note underneath the game case so that Elizabeth’s eyes and crown were hidden, but her royal, stiff upper lip was still visible. With the guiding razor he eased most of the pile onto the note, leaving two nostrils worth behind. Withdrawing the ten carefully. He folded it into a basic funnel and refilled the snappy bag that the cocaine occupied. This went safely into the wallet, tucked inside his expired library card that’s slightly torn, crumpled and laminated body provided an excellent house for single illicit baggies. His attention returned back to the significantly reduced pile on the case atop the side board. With the precision of a Neuro-surgeon, Lewis performed an operation he’d been practising since he was an apprentice.

***

He couldn’t remember how many times he’d racked up the lines, he’d racked up lines of all sorts over the years, but he would always remember his first time he’d been in charge of constructing a line.

He’d been in a strangers kitchen with Pongo and Arron. They’d been drinking and smoking the night away when Reggie Brook and a trio of his cronies had invaded the property. Pongo, Lewis and Arron were only just sixteen at the time and the presence of these burly and loud blokes put everyone on edge. They’d brought plenty of booze, a Staffordshire Bull Terrier, and a scantily dressed and incredibly spaced out woman called Tammy.

The apartment party continued with a strange atmosphere of tension and pleasure. Reggie was funny, he took to the three young lads and joked with them, gave them some of his cans of Fosters. He’d enlightened them with frantic conversation about the Rockerfella family and how they control the world through financial systems. He barely kept himself from bouncing up to the ceiling as he spoke, his energy was urgent and infectious. Pongo lapped up his words like a cat to milk and they soul bonded over a mutual hatred of modern religions that had twisted age old Egyptian mythology into a system of control for the masses.

Lewis sat quietly nodding and laughing along with them but could quite fall for the far fetched hyperbole that Reggie had hooked Pongo with. Arron was trying to fend off the half-conscious advances of Tammy who’d flopped onto the love seat beside him.

While conspiracy and the threat of drunk sex filled the room, Reggie pulled out a snappy bag of powder and, using his house key, dug out a pinch and huffed it up his snout. Almost immediately, he stood up, gave another mighty sniff to dislodge any stubborn bits that remained in his nose, shook out his whole body in the way that a dog would after a dip in a lake, then promptly collapsed back into his seat ready to deliver another barrage of bollocks into the expectant Pongo.
‘Here mate,’ Reggie said, ‘you and your mates have yourself a key of that powah.’
Pongo and Lewis exchanged a glance. Before Lewis could answer, Pongo had taken the snappy bag from Reggie and was dipping his key in the sour sherbet. He held it up to his nose, and promptly blew the off white powder of the key and onto his shit.
“aw fuck oh shit, fucking sorry mate.” Pongo apologies. Reggie laughed, “fucking muppet. What? Haven’t you ever sniffed out before? Other than ya sister’s knickers”
“Nah mate. First time” Pongo admitted.
“Right. I’ll hold the key, you just cover one nostril and sniff.” Reggie instructed.

They hunched together as Reggie delivered the key to Pongo’s expectant nose. This time, hoovering it up was no problem. The effect was instant. Pongo shot up onto his feet, eyes wide, pupils dilated. Reggie joined him.
“There we are mate, good lad.”
Pongo shook himself out just like Reggie and gave another sniff.
“How’s that feeling mate? How’s that got ya?”
“My fucking nose is burning,’ Pongo said, “it tastes fucking awful.”
“Aye, yeah it does, but how do you feel?”
“I feel…I feel fucking amazing”
Pongo’s grimace began to unfurl and spread into a smile that spanned his whole face. ‘I feel like I could run a fucking marathon. A fucking triathlon!”
“You next then mate.” Reggie said, “Let’s all go on a mad one.”
Lewis was apprehensive. This guy, this man was older than them by quite a stretch and he wasn’t sure he even wanted to try this stuff. As if able to read minds, Reggie professed, “Don’t think your mates got the bottle.” Lewis’s back got up, he knew he couldn’t be seen as a coward.
“Away then, fuck it. I’m down for a mad one.” Lewis said, unable to hide all of the doubt with this bravado.
“Whey hey!” Reggie exclaimed. Lewis emptied his lungs and Reggie raised the key. Like a bolt of supercharged energy, the chemicals hit the back of this throat with a burning like that of the Lord’s fiery wrath. It made him cough and the powder mixed with a globule of phlegm that soothed the chemical burn and swept the unpleasant, cummy tastes down inside him as he swallowed.
“Fuckkk.” Lewis shouted as he shook himself out. “That’s fucking awful, what the fuck is that?”
“Methadrone.” Reggie smiled maniacally.
“It’s fucking what? Isn’t that what they give to smackheads to get clean? Have we just done fucking plastic smack? What the fuck.” Panic in Lewis’s voice. “Whoa, mate, chill. It’s not fucking smack. Do I look like a fucking smackhead? It’s fucking Methadrone, not Methadone. It’s fucking MCat. Herbal.” Reggie reassured him.
“What the fuck is that? I thought it was gonna be coke.” Pongo put in.
“It’s just a different amphetamine, mate. Similar affect as coke, only it’s actually way stronger. How are you feeling?” Reggie asked, cautiously.

Lewis realise he’d gotten over the initial horrible sensation and was now feeling really fucking good. So good, too good. He began to smile. He looked at the scene in front of him through new eyes. Pongo and Reggie stared back at him, the three of them were like greyhounds, waiting for an unknown signal before they could leap into action.
“Let’s go for a fucking mooch.”
“yes.”
“Fuck yes.”

Only stopping to grab the dog and the last of the Fosters and stuffing them into Pongo’s trusty backpack, they left Arron entangled with Tammy, exited the flat and headed out into the night.

***

The three wired lads and the staffy began walking. The flat they had been occupying was in a fairy suburban area with paths that were wild and grassy, punctuated with well established trees that appeared to hold up the deep dark of the star studded sky. “We’re gonna head over to my mate Smudge’s gaff.” Reggie informed them. “He’ll be having a proper sesh.”
“Where’s that then?” Pongo asked. “Park Head Way, it’ll take about thirty minutes to walk from here”
“Not at this pace” Lewis said, “we’ve got a power mish on here.”
He was right. The three of them moved with a marines march. The Staffy ran about their feet gleefully, sniffing and searching the bushes and walls that they passed.

They didn’t speak much for a while, Reggie walked ahead and Pongo and Lewis powered along behind. Lewis was processing the situation and the new stimulating sensation he had been exposed to. He still felt really good, brimming with confidence and energy.
The world seemed to have changed again; the way it did when he had his first spliff, only this time he felt powerful, but it was reckless power, uncontrolled and wild. Lights seemed to blur and leave stronger imprints in his after sight. He was more aware of the movements his body was making, as if every nerve was remapped for power output. It was simply an awesome sensation.
“I’m not feeling it as much.” Pongo whispered. “I need some more.”
No sooner had Pongo uttered the words than Lewis realised he was coming down off the high. That spark of doubt, that disbelief in the feelings of strength, euphoria, and contentment caused a domino effect in Lewis’s head. That was it, a fleeing moment, a handful of minutes where he was on top of the world, at the top of his game. More. He needed more too.
“Hey, errm, Reggie.” Pongo called out.
“Yeah, King Kongo?”
“Is there any more of that?”
“More MCat?”
“Yeah, mate.” Reggie slowed up and stopped.
“we’re about half way there now like. Good time for a cheeky bump.”

Reggie had stopped under a lamppost that was separated from an overgrown clump of bushes by a small brick wall. He heaved himself onto the wall and produced the bag. They gathered round him, their shadows creating strange, distorted silhouettes on the cracked pavement. The ritual was complete in under a minute. The unpleasant drip from the back of the nose was just as unpleasant as the first time; Lewis raided Pongo’s backpack for a can to wash away the vile taste.

As the three broke apart, a Police van cruised around the corner. Lewis and Pongo’s hearts stopped in unison, medusa had looked upon them. There was only a grass verge between the van and their group. It came to a halt and the window came down slowly. “Everything alright lads?” the Officer called over.
Lewis couldn’t speak, in his head he was freaking out. Could you be arrested just for taking drugs? They’d definitely call his mum. He’d be tested and then he’d never be allowed to drive.
“Yes Officer, everything is peachy, thank you. ” Grinned Reggie. “Just taking the dog for an evening constitutional.”
“I wouldn’t call it evening. Its nearly three in the morning. You wait where you are.”

The ever slippery Pongo, Lewis noticed, was no longer carrying the backpack and the open can had disappeared.
“It’s a free country, isn’t it? Can walk our dog wherever we want.”

The doors of the van slammed behind each officer as they exited. One hung back, talking out of ear shot into his radio. The other approached the group.
“Right Lad, and what do they call you?” the officer directed at Pongo. “Do you suspect that we have committed a crime, Officer?” Reggie challenged.
“I just want to establish exactly what’s going on.” the officer explained.
“I’ve told you, we’re walking the dog.” Reggie told him, firmly. Then he turned to Lewis and Pongo.
“Don’t give him your last names lads. That’s how they get you. We can have a conversation but on first name terms, like men.” Lewis and Pongo were baffled.
“Perhaps I’ll go first then.” the officer said, remaining calm. “My name is PC Glen Firth and that is my colleague PC Barry Snipes. I’m investigating a recent spate of burglaries just up the road from here. The suspects are three IC1 mates such as yourselves. Now lads, what are your names.”
2You can address me as Reggie”
“And you lads?”
Lewis gave his name.
“Everyone calls me Pongo” said Pongo.
“Alright.” said PC Firth, writing in his note book. “and when did you leave for your dog walk?” ‘About fifteen minutes ago.’ Reggie told him. ‘and where did you set off from?’ “Our mates flat.”
“Your mates name?” 
“James Brown”
“What’s the address?”
“Errm, I don’t know.”
“You don’t know where James Brown lives?”
“I know the area. Don’t know the road. Think it’s flat three or four.”
“Right and this James Brown could provide you with an alibi?”
“Yeah, right he would.”
“Would?”
“Can, he can provide me with an alibi because that’s where I was.”
“And what about you two?”
“We were at James browns too. Been there all night.”
“And you decided to take this dog for a walk, at 3am?”
“Yes.”
“Any reason?”
“Just, fancied some air. Been in a smokey flat.”
“Were you smoking cannabis?”
“Erm what. Erm no.”
“Funny because I can smell stale cannabis smoke, are you carrying anything you shouldn’t be?”
“No! Honest.”
“Would you consent to a search?”
“What? I… I’ve got nothing on us.”
“So, you’ll consent?”
“Well, yeah.” PC Firth nodded to PC Snipes; he was already wearing protective gloves, and pointed to Pongo. The frisk took only a moment before they were satisfied. “And Lewis, do you consent to a search?”
“Yes. “Fantastic, thank you.” Snipes frisks Lewis. “And Reg, will you consent.”
“I suppose so, if everyone’s doing it.” Lewis was shocked. They frisked Reggie. The two officers exchanged a look and a head shake.
“My colleague and I are satisfied that you’re not carrying anything illegal and you are free to go.” And with that they wished the three a good night and climbed back into their van.

Lewis was speechless, Reggie hunched over laughing and clapped Lewis on the back. Pongo threw up, smattering the pavement and his two day old Nike Air Max with a foamy white substance that had a strong, chemical smell that mixed with the stench of his stomach bile. Reggie continued to laugh as Lewis crossed to the puking Pongo.
“You alright mate?”
“Oh fuck me,” Pongo groaned, “My fucking heart was beating out my chest; now it’s somewhere in my fucking shoes. Fuck sake. I thought we were getting fucking nicked then. Christ alive.”
“Mate, I know. Fuck that. So fucking lucky.” Agreed Lewis, wiping the clammy sweat from his hand onto his jeans.
“Not lucky lads, fucking smart.” Reggie chipped in. “Always wab your stash.” he said as he pulled the baggy out of his jean crotch.
“Let’s have another bump and get the fuck out of here.”

***

About fifteen minutes after their encounter with the law, they arrived at a terraced house in a deprived residential street. Compared to the leafier area they had come from, the streets here were crowded with parked cars, sandwiched together in front of the regimented rows of conjoined brick houses. A grid network of affordable dwellings built when the area had been a manufacturing and industry powerhouse but were now occupied by a population that struggled to make ends meet. The area had a bad reputation for prostitution which was contributed to by the crack and heroin addiction that plagued the more central and dilapidated parts of the sprawling town.

Reggie, in his ever considerate manner, brayed on the front door of number 238. The back-lit blind in the window flickered and a second later a rather scrawny guy opened the door. “Now then, mate.” was Reggie’s warm greeting.
“Alright Reggie.”, mumbed the man. “Who’s this with you?”
“Pongo and Lewis mate, they’re sound. Away, let us in. Had a fucking mad night.” The guy stood aside and they piled in.

Inside the house was spacious with high ceilings but the rooms were narrow and long. The ground floor extended into a runway of a kitchen. From the living area, Lewis could spy dirty pots and pans that were piled around the grubby sink. The bin was stuffed chocka with empty cans of Stella and grease-eroded takeaway packaging. On Lewis’s left, the stairs leading up to the first floor were thin and steep, uniquely placed in the centre of the open plan front room and escorted step by step with flimsy pine banisters. The steps were carpeted in black, cut-pile nylon that turned a tight right at a small landing, concealing the view up to the floor above save for a pile of clothes and socks.
“Drop yourself down there, mate.” Instructed their new host. Pongo and Lewis sheepishly lowered themselves onto the faux leather sofa that was sputtering out chunks of foam from a gash in its arm like a drunk that’s rushed his chips on a night out.

Reggie had made a beeline for the fridge. Returning with his usual swagger, he tossed a freshly lifted Stella to the lads on the sofa.
“You’s’ll have to share that like.”, he informed them as he cracked his own can open and swigged a sloppy mouthful, the side of his mouth allowing some liquid to escape and dribble down his chin. Pongo was the first in the scramble and secured the beer away from Lewis.

Reggie settled on a stool that he dragged out from under the kitchen worktop and the three of them turned to observe the others in the room. On another sofa, this one a grey jumbo cord fabric that looked incredibly comfy when compared to the one Lewis and Pongo took up, sat the man who’d greeted them at the door and a round-faced, blonde lass with her hair up in a scrunchy and Iphone in her hand. Her nails were bitten, not painted. On the floor, eyes glued to the large TV that was flickering slightly and had a patch of missing pixels that Lewis suspected came from a controller thrown in anger was a young lad with wavy, brown, short hair that could have done with a wash. The blonde lass looked up from her phone to acknowledge the new arrivals.
“Alright Tina, you keeping well lass?” Reggie enquired.
“Hiya Reg,” smiled Tina, barely taking her eyes from her phone.
“I’m good yeah, who’re your mates then?”
“Yeah, fuck, right. So, boys!” Reggie began, turning to Lewis and Pongo as they sat in silence on the sofa waiting for Reggie to break the ice. “These are my mates Lewis and Pongo.” He indicated to each of them and with the signal Lewis and Pongo let out their “Now then” and “You alright.”
“And over there we have Smudge, Tina and Reuben.” Reggie rounded off his introductions.
“Now lads” mumbled Smudge, the man who had greeted them at the door. “Welcome to our gaff. What you’s been on with anyway? You said something about a mad’un yeah?”
“Just had a little run in with the pigs is all mate. Got pulled up near Stone Wall Spot on the way here. Told the daft pricks we were just walking the dog” He belly laughed as he reached down to tickle his Staffy as it sat patiently at his feet. “Gave us the works didn’t they, search and everything but they didn’t find nout. Had all this in my boxers” Reggie’s hand dived under the waistband of his tracksuit and retrieved the baggies of MCat and shot them onto the low, reddish-wood, coffee-table that was in the middle of the gathering. Tina and Smudge’s eyes lit up.
“You wanting to get on it?” Reggie grinned. Tina reached down off the sofa and jabbed Reuben in the back. Reuben pulled off his headphones and turned round, having to double take when he realised there were three new people in the house.
“Oh fuckin hell, Aunty Tina, why didn’t you say we had people round? Oh shit, is that for us?” He said as his eyes settled on the bags of drugs strewn on top of the table.
“Yeah mate, you can get in on this.” Reggie encouraged him. “Plenty there to chip in” “I’ve got a tenner from Gran, here.” Reuben said as he thrust his hand into his pocket fumbling to find the money.
“I’ll give you twenty like. How much of that is ours if we give you thirty?” Reggie scooped up all the baggies, eyed them all before tossing two on the table.
“That’s four gram there. That’ll see you right”
“Fuckin hell, sound that like.”
“Do we owe you for some of that? Lewis asked Reggie.
“Nah mate, not for a few bumps but if you wanna get in on this then you’ll have to put in.” “Well, I’ve got a tenner. No lunch tomorrow I guess” Lewis laughed.
“I’ve got a fiver” Pongo piped up.
“Well, there’s your two grams then lads. Why don’t we make up some lines.”

The six of them gathered round and began to pour out and carve up their narcotics. Lewis and Pongo used a Family Guy DVD case to rack their lines. Pongo and Reggie coached Lewis as he used his Blockbuster card to cut through the powdery crystals and form them into two, slightly rough but acceptable snakes to sniff. Pongo and Lewis were in that house for the next twenty-seven hours. They’d become sound with Reuben who was their age. Reuben explained that because he was kicked out of St. Luke’s academy in year nine, he had finally finished his education at a special school where they didn’t have to do any work, his classmates would abuse the staff non-stop, and football was the only thing they played break, lunch and for PE. Pongo thought that the school sounded unreal, way better than The Harold Brudenell Academy that he and Lewis had attended. Lewis thought it would have been hell on earth. This night ended for Lewis how the usual amphetamine fueled evening of nose carnage ends, with a bleary eyed, staggering walk of shame back to Pongo’s mam’s house. Neither of them surfaced for the next few days. They got Sammy to pick them up a Q on tick from a guy Pongo was regularly in debt to these days and blazed the hours away until Lewis agreed to go to the cinema on date.     

***

“Taxi’s outside!” Shouted Mel, grabbing her clutch bag. Let’s go!”

***

To Be Continued in Chapter 3: It’s Party Time, Coming soon.