Noddy was wearing a clean Motörhead shirt under his sleeveless denim jacket. And clean underwear. But the same pair of jeans. Because he only owned one pair of jeans. That kind of rock star extravagance was beyond him.
He found Morag sitting on the front steps of a block of flats, head resting on her folded arms. He moved in beside her.
“Howzit.”
She didn’t look up. “Fuck off.”
He leaned back against the steps and took a deep breath. “Come on. It’s a beautiful day. Even here, under the smog and pollution and dirt.”
She looked up this time. “What the hell got into you?”
Noddy smiled. “We had a long chat last night. Me and Janine. It’s all going to work out. She’s going to talk to Mick. Then she’ll get her bonus from the shop, and we’ll move down to the coast, like we planned. This kid could be the best thing that’s ever happened to me. A new perspective. A fresh start, somewhere clean. A little house on the beach. A job.” He laughed. “Can you imagine that? Me, working at the coast, with a family.”
Morag stood up, wincing as she brushed her skirt back into place. She turned to face him, and he saw the darkening bruise under one eye.
“Are you okay?” Noddy was on his feet, grabbing her shoulders.
She jerked away from him, face twisting. A tiny drop of blood ran from one side of her nose. “Peachy.”
“What happened?”
She reached inside her jacket and shook a cigarette from the battered box. She lit it carefully, hands still shaking, head twisting in frustration. After a long drag, held forever and released as a mournful sigh – “Mick’s out.”
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