appeared from round the corner. One was thick-set and swarthy and wearing a Liverpool top; the other was pale, lanky and rat-faced with an Abercrombie & Fitch t-shirt. They walked straight up to Steve and Bobby.
‘Alright lads, ‘ows it goin’?’ said the stockier of the two, blocking Steve’s way on the pavement.
‘I’m fuckin’ doin’ rightly mate but would ye mind gettin’ outta my way?’
Bobby chipped in.
‘C’mon lads, we’re just on our way home… we don’t want any hassle.’
The guy refused to budge.
‘Just hand over your fuckin’ cash you cunts and we’ll be done with ya.’
Steve stood his ground and screamed in their faces.
‘Look, you arseholes… yer not dealin’ with some student poofs here… I’m from fuckin’ Belfast so don’t try ‘n pull yer hard man bullshit with me… get the fuck outta my way or I’ll knock yer fuckin’ ballix in!’
With that, the rat-faced one produced a blade from his pocket and shoved it against Steve’s throat.
‘Listen, you cunt… I don’t give a fuck if you’re from downtown Bronx … givvus your fuckin’ wallet, now!’
Steve stood rigid with his arms dangling at his sides as his assailant rummaged in his pockets.
‘What have we got here then?’
He opened Steve’s wallet and grabbed a bunch of notes out of it.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell… he’s got some ‘undred quid notes here and a few fifties… ‘
No sooner had he grabbed the cash than the muggers were sprinting eastwards down Western Road , leaving Steve and Bobby standing there, stunned.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell, boss… don’t tell me that’s the sum total of your cash.’
Steve crouched down to pick up the discarded wallet from the pavement and looked up at Bobby as he checked its contents.
‘Well mate… lets just say that I’m well and truly fucked.’
10
When Steve awoke in Bobby’s flat at around ten, he was on his own and a night of fearful dreams had left him feeling disorientated and anxious. He went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and found a set of keys, a map of Brighton and a note.
Chin up Belfast Boy. I’ll ask the guv’nor at work if he could do with an extra pair of hands so we can sort out your cash-flow problems. Not much grub in the house but you can get a good fry-up in Belchers. I’ve marked it on the map. Also marked the North Laine area which is coolest place to go for a stroll in this town. How fuckin’ good a host am I, eh? Should be back about six. P.S. Flat could do with a bit of a clean if you want to help earn your keep!
The note cheered Steve up and he realised that being befriended by Bobby was one plus that he could draw from the last few days. He made his tea and wandered around the flat as he supped it. Bobby wasn’t kidding about it needing a clean. There were ashtrays full of old roaches, empty beer cans and Sunday papers still strewn across the living room floor.
The room was dominated by a 1968 poster of The Beatles that Steve recognised as a still from the promotional film for Revolution . Behind the TV there were shelves crammed full of rock ‘n roll biographies and DVDs of comedy classics like This is Spinal Tap and Monty Python and the Holy Grail plus assorted football anthologies. A proper lad’s ‘back to mine after the pub’ kind of flat, he concluded
Steve set about tidying the place up. Once he had, and with the blinds pulled up and sunlight streaming through the Victorian sash windows, it revealed itself to be quite an attractive flat with stripped wooden floors and original cornicing on the high ceilings. If Brighton was the kind of town that someone like Bobby could afford to live in a place like this, it couldn’t be all bad.
Steve made himself another cup of tea and flicked through Bobby’s CDs. He pulled out Five Leaves Left by Nick Drake.
The plaintive melancholy of the album seemed perfect for Steve’s mood and halfway through the song River Man , he began weeping. Despite
‘Alright lads, ‘ows it goin’?’ said the stockier of the two, blocking Steve’s way on the pavement.
‘I’m fuckin’ doin’ rightly mate but would ye mind gettin’ outta my way?’
Bobby chipped in.
‘C’mon lads, we’re just on our way home… we don’t want any hassle.’
The guy refused to budge.
‘Just hand over your fuckin’ cash you cunts and we’ll be done with ya.’
Steve stood his ground and screamed in their faces.
‘Look, you arseholes… yer not dealin’ with some student poofs here… I’m from fuckin’ Belfast so don’t try ‘n pull yer hard man bullshit with me… get the fuck outta my way or I’ll knock yer fuckin’ ballix in!’
With that, the rat-faced one produced a blade from his pocket and shoved it against Steve’s throat.
‘Listen, you cunt… I don’t give a fuck if you’re from downtown Bronx … givvus your fuckin’ wallet, now!’
Steve stood rigid with his arms dangling at his sides as his assailant rummaged in his pockets.
‘What have we got here then?’
He opened Steve’s wallet and grabbed a bunch of notes out of it.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell… he’s got some ‘undred quid notes here and a few fifties… ‘
No sooner had he grabbed the cash than the muggers were sprinting eastwards down Western Road , leaving Steve and Bobby standing there, stunned.
‘Fuckin’ ‘ell, boss… don’t tell me that’s the sum total of your cash.’
Steve crouched down to pick up the discarded wallet from the pavement and looked up at Bobby as he checked its contents.
‘Well mate… lets just say that I’m well and truly fucked.’
10
When Steve awoke in Bobby’s flat at around ten, he was on his own and a night of fearful dreams had left him feeling disorientated and anxious. He went into the kitchen to make himself a cup of tea and found a set of keys, a map of Brighton and a note.
Chin up Belfast Boy. I’ll ask the guv’nor at work if he could do with an extra pair of hands so we can sort out your cash-flow problems. Not much grub in the house but you can get a good fry-up in Belchers. I’ve marked it on the map. Also marked the North Laine area which is coolest place to go for a stroll in this town. How fuckin’ good a host am I, eh? Should be back about six. P.S. Flat could do with a bit of a clean if you want to help earn your keep!
The note cheered Steve up and he realised that being befriended by Bobby was one plus that he could draw from the last few days. He made his tea and wandered around the flat as he supped it. Bobby wasn’t kidding about it needing a clean. There were ashtrays full of old roaches, empty beer cans and Sunday papers still strewn across the living room floor.
The room was dominated by a 1968 poster of The Beatles that Steve recognised as a still from the promotional film for Revolution . Behind the TV there were shelves crammed full of rock ‘n roll biographies and DVDs of comedy classics like This is Spinal Tap and Monty Python and the Holy Grail plus assorted football anthologies. A proper lad’s ‘back to mine after the pub’ kind of flat, he concluded
Steve set about tidying the place up. Once he had, and with the blinds pulled up and sunlight streaming through the Victorian sash windows, it revealed itself to be quite an attractive flat with stripped wooden floors and original cornicing on the high ceilings. If Brighton was the kind of town that someone like Bobby could afford to live in a place like this, it couldn’t be all bad.
Steve made himself another cup of tea and flicked through Bobby’s CDs. He pulled out Five Leaves Left by Nick Drake.
The plaintive melancholy of the album seemed perfect for Steve’s mood and halfway through the song River Man , he began weeping. Despite
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