10:45pm he blinks, shaking his head. he thinks he's misheard, stretching his neck. "what?" he asks, and the answer comes again in what feels like slow motion, and he stands up abruptly, pushing the chair backwards. "what the fuck did you just say to me?" he can feel his heartbeat in his ears, loud like the ocean, mirrored by a thudding in his chest. ian is the first to stand placing his arm between them as the man's hands come up. his hands touch andy's shoulder, and he rocks backwards.
multiple conversations start simultaneously. we're alright, mate. just leave it, just leave it. mind your fucking hands. i'm alright. let's go.
he sees faces superimposed, but hears only one voice: jamie. it echoes, the lighter tones of youth mirrored by the deeper ones of maturity. if you ever find yourself in a fight, never stop. never stop until he stops moving or someone pulls you off.
10:47pm
11:19pm "you're james' boy," he says, peering at them all over the desk. he points towards andy, finger moving up and down. "you look like his wife." andy remains silent, tongue feeling for the split in his lip, the sting of saliva not completely unfamiliar. "i knew your dad before he got out. before we got out," he continues, emphasising the amendment. "and i know you know better than to knock round with this lot, even if they are your cousins. what's the charge, then?" he turns to the constable beside them, who tucks his helmet beneath his arm.
"misdemeanour public intoxication and suspicion of assault. the one that called it in couldn't identify which of them started it, and none of them is feeling chatty. i reckon they can make themselves comfortable here until they've changed their minds."
1:31am
5:24am "thank you superintendent foster"
"was that my face you were imagining?"
"now i sort of wish ian'd let you have a go at jax when you had the chance"
"that isn't funny"
"you reckon he'll be alright?"
"your hands look shit"
"his face is worse"
"what'd you do with that hoodie?"
"hiding evidence. shame on you. i thought you were a nice boy."
"who's telling doug?"
"not me"
"not me"
"not me"
"not me"
"don't spit on your fucking hand. i'm not making a pact."
"does that mean he's in? that you've got to let him and amy carry on?"
6:08am no max, no amy, no harlowe, no kate. he chants the reminders as he makes it as far as the sofa, wrapping his arms around one of the pillows as he kicks off his shoes. no max, no amy, no harlowe, no kate.
