1 Chapter 1
“Well, come on lad; get in, if you’re getting in. I’m not hanging round all day.”
Aidan pulled himself together and grabbed his rucksack off the grass verge. “Sorry mate. Didn’t reckon you’d of stopped for me.”
“See some other bugger hitch-hiking, do you?” The voice was low and dry, with a strong Northern accent and a hint of laughter.
Aidan slung his pack in the back and climbed into the passenger seat of the Mercedes quick before the bloke could change his mind. “Nah. ‘S not what I meant. It’s the posh car and all. Usually it’s the truckers what stop.”
“Oh aye? You want to watch out, good-looking lad like you. Get some nasty sorts picking up young boys on roundabouts.” The bloke was giving Aidan a look, like he was flirting or something, but it wasn’t threatening. Aidan knew threatening when he saw it. He gave the bloke one of his cheekiest grins.
“Takes one to know one, does it?”
“Pure as the driven snow, I am.” Yeah, this bloke was definitely flirting. Aidan gave him a frank stare. He was older than Aidan—could have been nearly his dad’s age, assuming the old bastard hadn’t managed to drink himself to death yet. Nice smile. Broad in the shoulders, but far as Aidan could tell from inside the car, not too tall. Light brown hair with no sign of grey in it yet. Just how he liked them, really, although it made his chest hurt a bit to think it. Still, flirting back wouldn’t cost him nothing and if he did it right the bloke might buy him a burger at the services. After all, he had to be loaded if the Merc was anything to go by.
“So, you nick this thing, or win the lottery?” he challenged.
“Neither, you cheeky young bugger. Earned it with the sweat of my brow.”
“Yeah? Don’t see a right lot of navvies with Mercs round my way.”
The bloke laughed, his grey eyes crinkling at the corners. “Them buggers aren’t doing it right. So, where are you heading, lad?”
“Glasgow.”
Sandy-coloured eyebrows rose. “Long way to go just hitching lifts, lad. We’re hardly past Watford Gap. Started out a bit late, didn’t you?” It was past six o’clock, and the skies were beginning to darken.
Aidan shrugged, sinking down into the leather seat. It was well plush, this. “Yeah, well, I’m not in a hurry. And me mate reckoned truckers’d be more likely to pick me up on the night runs. Reckons they get lonely, or something. So how far can you take me, then?”
“Depends. Get on my tits and you’ll be out on your arse before we get to the M6. Name’s John, by the way.”
Aidan smiled. So the bloke was a cagey bastard. He kind of liked that. “Aidan.”
“From a big Irish family with a couple of dozen brothers and sisters?”
“Ha. I wish. Nah, these days it’s just me.”
John frowned, pulling out smoothly to overtake a Tesco lorry. “You’re a bit young to be out on your own in the world.”
Aidan shrugged again. “My mum lives in Tottenham, but I don’t get on with her bloke. Haven’t lived there for a couple of years.” It was true enough.
John gave him a sharp look. “Knock you about did he?”
“What? Fuck, no. Nah, he’s just—you know.” He might as well come out with it—the way John had been looking at him, it wasn’t like it was gonna be a problem, was it? “Doesn’t like poofs. He’s all right to her, though,” he added. He didn’t want John to think he’d leave his mum with a wife-beater. Not that he’d had much choice about it, last couple of years, but still.
“Aye, there’s plenty like that in the world.” John looked like he’d have spat, if it hadn’t been for all the posh leather upholstery.
“I would’ve had a sister,” Aidan found himself adding. “Niamh, she’d have been called, she’d have been twelve now—but something went wrong and after that they told mum she couldn’t have no more kids. It was after that my dad cleared off.”
John grunted. “Ever see him these days?”
“Nah, not since then. He wasn’t my real dad—I just called him that, you know? We didn’t miss him much. Lazy sod spent most of his time down the pub anyway. That or the bookies’.” Aidan stared at the dashboard. “That stereo work, or what?”
John grunted again, sounding amused this time, and switched on the radio.
As they sped up the M1, it started to get dark, and soon nearly all the cars had their headlights on. The scenery was pretty boring, so Aidan watched John driving. He’d never driven, himself, except that one time with his mates when they were all pissed and had nicked a Skoda for a laugh. They’d crashed it into a wall and had to leg it before the police arrived. He remembered how bloody complicated it had been, with all the pedals and the gear stick. John looked like he drove all the time, like changing gears was as easy as breathing for him, and he wove in and out of slower-moving traffic like he was doing it to music. Aidan bet he’d be a good teacher, too. He seemed so patient, so calm. Aidan sank lower in his seat and closed his eyes.
