time we slept together? Before I got pregnant with the twins?’
‘It was long before that, and you know it.’
‘So, you do remember our last time?’
‘Stop it.’
But, she stretches onto her tip toes and kisses me. It’s so soft, so entirely familiar, that, shit, I allow it to happen. My arms naturally wrap around her waist, one hand reaching to the small of her back. The fruity, acidic taste of her tongue is strong, making me all too aware of how sober I am.
Maisie wakes again, this time calling for her mummy.
Breaking away, Helen doesn’t hesitate in going to her girl. I get out, head straight to the bathroom, lock the door and splash my face with cold water. I rest on the edge of the bath, plastic crabs and seahorses in a rainbow of bright colours stuck to its sides. Pressing my palms into my eyes, I rock forward, my hair falling across my face, annoying me, itching me.
What a mess.
Today was supposed to be a good day; the best – the start of something new.
I know she offers it on a bloody plate sometimes and Christ, it’s getting tiresome, but how could I let myself kiss Helen? And while she’s drunk?
That’s what scum do.
I flush the toilet and open the door to be met on the landing by Snowy, toothy grinned, thrusting his hips to the beat of the music coming from downstairs.
‘Mate,’ Snowy cries, unaware of his kids trying to sleep. ‘I’m buzzin’.’
‘Keep your voice down, will you?’ Helen emerges from the twins’ bedroom.
Snowy keeps thrusting and shimmies his way towards his girlfriend, circling her whilst pulling that face kids do when they’re told off for being ‘silly’. I can’t help but find him funny, my bonkers best mate, and even Helen plays with her hair and cackles.
‘I’m buzzin’,’ Snowy repeats. ‘But, I’m also bursting. See ya later alligators!’ And he plants a loud kiss onto Helen’s cheek, not forgetting to slap her on the bum before disappearing into the bathroom.
‘Let’s just get the fuck downstairs,’ I say.
‘Agreed,’ Helen says.
At the bottom of the stairs, swigging a bottle of Perrier water and admiring a set of three framed Jack Vettriano prints, is Griffo’s dad. Griffo’s dad doesn’t drink alcohol, despite having a fully functioning bar in his house: draft, premium spirits, the lot. I’ve never asked him why he doesn’t drink. He’s not the sort of man you ask questions of.
‘Alright, our James.’ He nods.
There’s always a light on when it comes to Griffo’s dad, never a moment when he switches off, looks caught unaware. His name’s Richard. But I don’t call him by his name because I once overheard him say to someone, ‘You don’t get to call me Richard. You don’t get to call me anything. Got that?’ The way he spoke was sinister, his teeth gritted, his lips doing all the talking. So, although I’ve known him since I was a kid, he’s always just Griffo’s dad.
‘Hey,’ I manage.
‘Popular these, aren’t they?’ Griffo’s dad says, nodding at the frames.
I shrug. Well, I know Helen loves them.
Griffo’s dad places a strong arm around my shoulders, his pumped muscles encasing me like giant bubble wrap. Christ, I always feel like such a scruff-bag beside this man. My old t-shirt, printed with a fading camper van, is creased and noticeably poked with holes next to his Ralph Lauren polo shirt, his smart suit jacket tailored to perfection. Although I washed my hair yesterday, I’m aware of its stench in comparison to the shining shaved head beaming beside me, expensive aftershave thickening the air between us.
‘The lads tell me you’ve got yourself some wheels,’ Griffo’s dad says.
‘Some random stroke of luck …’
‘Well, you gonna show me or what?’
And it seems Mikey wasn’t bullshitting about the value of my car. According to Griffo’s dad, it’s actually worth fifty-four thousand quid. The sound of the numbers spoken out loud knocks the breath out of my body. I’m fucking shivering, although I feel hot, clammy.
‘Depends when and how you want to sell it, though, James. Your problem’s getting that sort of money for it when a buyer could just go and pick their own straight from a car showroom. Then again, you might get lucky, might find someone who’d rather deal with the seller direct. You got lucky once, why can’t you get lucky again? That’s my outlook anyway.’
Griffo’s dad gives my shoulder a small squeeze.
‘The more you drive it, the more it’ll lose its value. Just bear that in mind, James.’