‘Coming out?’

‘She wouldn’t let me.’

Peter took a strip of gum from his pocket and shoved it into his mouth and held another one out to Joe. Joe took it. They both chewed as they considered the situation.

‘Don’t ask her,’ advised Peter eventually.

The hell with it.

Joe looked behind him down the passage. There was no sign of her. He reached up to the hook behind the door and took down his anorak. He closed the door quietly behind him and they ran hell for leather down the street. Well out of her reach they stopped, pink in the face and panting.

‘Why wouldn’t she let you out?’

Joe jerked his head in the direction of the hill. There was little menace in the sounds of shouting that reached them. The blueness of the day laid a carefree veil over the city. A lovely day for a bit of rioting. The best for months.

‘Let’s go and see what they’re up to.’

Peter’s voice had the wish for action in it.

Joe shook his head.

‘You go on down if you want to.’

‘Ah come on. Where’s the harm?’

‘It’s the row …’

‘Aren’t you in for a row anyway? Come on. It’s something to do.’

‘What’s on at the pictures?’

‘I don’t want to go to the pictures.’

Peter spat his ball of gum into the gutter and put another one into his mouth.

‘We can’t just stand here all day.’

He moved away from Joe, experimentally, towards the promise of fun. Unwillingly Joe followed. At the top of William Street they stopped and looked down the long sweep of the hill. The sharp smell of burning caught in their noses. Down across the bottom of the street people were running and they could hear the thwunk of rubber bullets. Peter looked back at Joe. The motion of his chewing jaws made him seem as if he were talking internally to himself.

‘Well, I’m not going down there, that’s for sure,’ said Joe.

‘Mmm.’

‘Are you?’

There was the wail of an ambulance siren. Two Saracens turned into the street just below them and moved down towards the crowd.

‘Hear that?’

Joe nodded.

‘I saw a fella once hit in the eye with a rubber bullet. Did I tell you?’

‘Yes,’ said Joe. ‘You told me.’

‘I think I’ll not go down either.’

‘No.’

‘It might get bad.’

‘Yes.’

Peter turned his back on the fighting and leaned his head confidentially towards Joe.

‘To tell the truth, my Mam doesn’t … well, you know …’

‘Yes.’ They both stared at each other and chewed, relieved by the need for caution.

‘She gets scared.’

‘I know. Mine’s the same.’

‘She thinks I might get hurted.’

‘Yes.’

‘Or something.’

‘Yes.’

‘I reckon there’s a lot feel like that.’

‘I suppose so.’

‘What’ll we do?’

They began to walk slowly back the way they had come.

‘I haven’t a clue.’

‘Will you come back with me and we’ll watch TV?’