he is.’ Emma nodded and smiled, glancing at the ground.
‘Oh, really,’ Mandy said, shaking her head and almost tumbling herself from the patio chair. ‘Come on, Em, there’s no way you can deny it.’
‘I don’t deny his dependability. Never have.’
‘But …’ Mandy said. ‘Sheesh.’ She shook her head and took a big swig of Prosecco.
They’d had this conversation a thousand times before, and Emma was angry at Mandy for bringing it up again. She’d done it on purpose, barely mentioning Dom before launching into judgemental mode.
‘We’re fine,’ Emma said.
‘Yeah, but he’s “boring”.’ She made speech marks with her fingers.
‘I’ve never said that.’
‘You’ve never had to.’ Mandy tapped her glass. She wore rings on every finger apart from her wedding ring finger. ‘Got a good business, worships you and Daisy, not bad looking. Good in bed.’
Emma waved her hand from side to side, trying to lighten up the conversation. She really should tell Mandy to stop, go home, sober up. Her boyfriend would be home in a couple of days and she could take it out on him.
‘You should be happy. You’re lucky.’
‘I am happy,’ Emma said. She ignored the inner niggle casting doubts on that thought. She always did.
‘Dunno what’s good for you,’ Mandy muttered.
‘I’m going to get those blankets.’ Emma entered the house and stood in the kitchen for a while, pouring a glass of water from the fridge and relishing its cool tickle down her throat.
She moved past feeling angry at Mandy. They’d been friends for a long time, but Mandy was sometimes a mess, and she was never averse to projecting her own unhappiness onto her friends. Some of it was self-pity, some jealousy. She was definitely jealous of Emma.
She glanced at the clock. Dom would be home soon. She smiled, because there was nothing wrong with dependable. Perhaps compared to what she’d known in her younger years, he was boring. But boring was better than imprisoned, boring was better than dead. She had friends from her twenties who were both.
‘Bloody freezing out here!’ she heard Mandy shout from outside.
Emma went through to the living room and swept up a couple of throws from the sofa.
‘So when do you and Paul go to Menorca?’ she asked when she returned outside, determined to take control of the conversation.
Mandy smiled, then frowned, then started crying. Yeah. It really was time for her to go home.
‘I remember when a first class stamp used to be eighteen pence,’ Andy said. ‘What is it now? Fifty? Sixty? I’ve lost touch. It goes up so often I’m confused. That’s not inflation, that’s Royal Mail screwing us for as much cash as they can because they’re a monopoly.’
‘There’re other delivery firms,’ Dom said.
‘Like who?’ Andy took another chip from the polystyrene tray between them. It was such a nice evening that they’d decided to sit in the small park opposite the chip shop to eat.
‘Little old grannies,’ Dom said. ‘It’d hurt them. Stealing pension money that an old granny needs to buy her food.’
‘Wrong,’ Andy said, his voice sing-song. He had a way of doing that, sometimes. Announcing Dom’s mistake with a flourish, almost revelling in his wrongness. ‘I told you, they’re insured.’
Dom sighed and held his head, elbows rested on the wooden park table. He didn’t feel drunk any more. He felt tired, a little hungover, and the heat had gone from pleasant to claustrophobic. With darkness fallen, the humidity persisted like a ghost of the day just gone. I really need to go home, Dom thought. Emma. Bed. Normality.
Instead, they were talking about robbery.
Dom still couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed. Even at the Ship, their discussion had been conducted with the air of an adventure, an almost childlike game of what-if? As fresh pints of dirty stole his balance and slurred his voice, Dom had found himself giggling as they’d discussed what sort of disguises they could use, what to call each other, and how it would actually work out.
I want to be Mr Black.
Does Emma wear stockings or tights? Can you steal some?
That was Tim Roth. Wasn’t it?
Or Muppet T-shirts, with holes for eyes.
Maybe it was Harvey Keitel.
‘No one will lose out, apart from the Royal Mail,’ Andy said. He was a shadowy silhouette, silvered by moonlight, a stranger who Dom hardly knew. ‘And do you know what effect a forty grand loss will have on them?’
‘What?’ Dom asked.
‘None at all.’
‘I’m going home,’ Dom said.
‘Sleep on it.’
‘No.’ Dom snorted, standing from the small park bench. ‘No. I’m not sleeping on it. You might think I’m pissed, but I’m really not any more. To be honest, it worries me that I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.’
Still seated, Andy smiled up at him and ate some more chips. He looked smug, confident, strong. Superior. Dom hated the way his friend sometimes made him feel.
‘You’re just taking the piss,’ Dom said. ‘I’ll walk home.’
‘Don’t always be a loser,’ Andy muttered.
‘What?’ Dom wasn’t quite sure what he’d just heard.
‘Huh?’ Andy asked, eyebrows raised. ‘Nothing. Thanks for a good night, mate. See you soon.’
‘Yeah,’ Dom said. ‘Soon.’ He walked through the children’s park to the gate, doing his best not to sway or swerve, head pounding with the promise of tomorrow’s hangover. With every step he felt Andy’s gaze upon him.
No one will lose out … no one will ever suspect us.
At the gate he glanced back, but Andy had already left.
At first Emma thought that Dom had gone to sleep.
She knew that he’d drunk more than usual, and he’d come through the back gate and thrown his arms around her, as if she was his one safe place. He’d kissed her and smelled her hair, and they’d hugged with an unusual strength. Usually it was an affectionate kiss before work or a fly-by hugging while they were busy around the house. But this was an embrace with need.
She’d wondered what had
