Are you now who you need to be? With each message from me, with every change you’ve made, you have grown a little more.

You are changed. You are not the person you once were.

Stop your worrying.

I’m right here with you.

Home Time

The train shrinks into the distance and the level crossing barriers squawk open. Will has his back to the town as he dabs at his tears, casting a long, narrow shadow over the tracks and on to the marsh road beyond. Yellow light washes over him from behind. The irregular beat of an idling engine is familiar.

A single working headlamp dazzles Will as he turns to face the single car waiting at the crossing. He drags his sleeve over his face, hoping it’s not obvious that he was sobbing uncontrollably moments ago. Forcing a smile, he walks round and taps on the side window.

Alfie stares at Will through the glass, a painful delay before his expression melts from confusion to recognition. ‘Parks!’ he snaps. ‘How’s it hanging?’

‘Yeah, it’s … good.’

‘What you doing out?’ Alfie speaks with his teeth bared, like their top edges are glued to his lips.

‘Pub. Dad and Danny.’

Alfie eventually nods, eyes aimed past Will.

‘Window?’ Will says.

‘Window?’ Alfie echoes.

‘Open the window?’

Alfie’s shoulder jiggles as he winds it open. ‘Right you are, Parks.’

The heater is on full blast inside, a wall of hot air slapping Will in the face. He’s unable to stop himself baulking at the smell. There’s a hint of aftershave, but it can’t compete with what it’s trying to mask: booze, body odour, narcotic sweat.

‘You going home, yeah?’ Will says. ‘You should go home.’

‘Yeah, yeah.’

‘Is driving a great idea?’ Will gazes into the passenger footwell, where a carrier bag lies open.

Alfie slowly follows his gaze to the opened cans of cider. ‘Just need some sleep, cuz,’ he says. ‘Something to help …’

Will nods in solidarity, aching for his own bed. ‘You been out all weekend?’

‘Guess so.’ Alfie rifles through the glove box, inspecting a handful of empty cocaine wraps with dismay. ‘Fucking hell,’ he mumbles, eventually licking one with a sandpapery tongue. ‘Got any weed, Parks?’

‘Erm, no. Only weed I’ve ever smoked came from you.’

‘Right. Fucking need to sleep, cuz.’

‘You said. You should get home, mate. Want me to come with you?’

Alfie holds up a palm. ‘Nah, don’t sweat it. I’m going. Just had to sort …’ He points at the passenger seat. There are a few loose bruised apples, and two pints of glass-bottled milk – lifted from someone’s doorstep or clean off the milk float, Will assumes.

‘Late-night shopping?’

‘Fuck all food in the house, cuz. Can’t have ’em waking up hungry.’

‘You sure you’re OK? Not seen you … like this.’