Aysha glanced at the wall clock. It was coming up to five. All afternoon she’d been glancing up at it, willing it to go faster, while she’d been filling out invoices for amalgam and cement and running round the place gathering orders together, ready to be shipped out by van to the local dentists.

‘Right,’ she said, the instant the big hand hit the hour. ‘I’m off.’

She gathered up her bag and coat and almost ran out into the square. Glamour city, this place was. There was a petrol station over the road and a meat market right beside the dental depot, where flayed pigs’ heads hung on metal hooks. Christ, she hated this place. There had to be something out there, something better than this.

Joey was waiting for her on the corner. He smiled at her. It was like the sun coming out, his smile. She loved it.

‘Hi,’ he said, enfolding her in a bear hug.

The other girls were coming out of the depot, looking over at her and Joey. She kissed him passionately on the lips, for their benefit.

‘Wow,’ said Joey, pushing her back a step.

‘Pictures tonight?’ said Aysha, thinking that being with Joey was all that kept her sane. It was a hundred times better than Mum’s smothering brand of mother-love, Connor’s disapproval, Dad’s disappointed silence.

‘Yeah. Oh shit. There’s your brother,’ said Joey, seeing Connor’s Porsche turning into the square.

Joey backed quickly away, looking at the Porsche and wishing he had the dosh for a motor like that. Thanks to Connor fucking Flynn blowing him out, there wasn’t much chance of that now. No need to tell Aysha that Connor had sacked his arse, though. ‘I’ll see you there,’ he said to her. ‘Seven-thirty.’

‘OK,’ said Aysha, and he was gone.

Connor parked the Porsche. Aysha went over, got in. She was taking driving lessons, and hoping to pass her test soon: then Connor could stuff his Porsche up his arse.

‘Hello, Trouble,’ said Connor, frowning. He always called her that. And actually, it suited her. Truculent was the word for Aysha. ‘Did I just see Joey Minghella?’

‘Yeah.’

‘I don’t want you hanging around with that waster,’ said Connor, and started the car. ‘Can we get that straight?’

Aysha looked at him. ‘Why?’

‘Because he’s a pain in the fucking arse. Did some jobs for me, but he won’t be doing any more. Just steer clear, OK?’

Aysha shrugged as if she didn’t care. OK. But in her mind, the dream ran on, reel after reel of it, like one of those fabulous romantic old films. Her and beautiful Joey Minghella, kissing, caressing. And as for Connor telling her to steer clear? Aysha never followed any orders but her own. So Connor? He could go fuck himself.

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