I gathered up my tragic picnic stuff and hurried to my feet. But I felt a firm hand on my shoulder and looked up into the face of the one who had spoken the first time. I thought he was called Jason. He had short white-blond hair and very dark eyes that were all pupil. His face was cratered with acne scars and, although he wasn’t heavily built, he had the bouncy, wired energy of a man who was smacked up.

‘Hey,’ he said, and his voice was oily with fake concern. ‘Bit damp here, innit? What you doing, sitting with your sad little fucking crisps?’

I shrugged and tried to get up again, but he pressed on my shoulder and then slid onto the seat next to me. He reached for the bag of crisps, which I willingly relinquished, and then began to stuff them into his mouth with an intense focus until they were gone, and he emptied the shards of what was left into his open mouth. I watched his pale throat working as he swallowed, his teeth yellow and spotted with decay.

I had a powerful urge to run away but knew, if I did, I would turn a bit of mild sport into something with more purpose, so I found myself fumbling to offer him the chocolate bars. He looked at the Snickers in my outstretched hands and turned to look at his guys. All three of them started laughing at once.

‘You’re a right little fucking Willy Wonka,’ said King.

Jason ruffled my hair. ‘Don’t mind if I do.’ He ripped the paper off one of the Snickers and threw the other to King, who laughed and put it in his pocket. Jason ate the Snickers in two or three bites, while I sat silently, not sure where to look or what to do.

The rain stopped and a smear of evening sunshine appeared above the flats.

Jason reached into the pocket of his oversized trackie top and pulled out a bottle of supermarket vodka. He took a mouthful that puffed his cheeks out and then offered it to me.

‘Here you go, Willy Wonka, you shared your picnic with me, least I can do.’

I was about to shake my head then stopped. I wasn’t going to argue with him. I reached for the bottle and forced myself to take a swig, which burned viciously all the way down and brought on an explosive coughing fit that made the three men laugh uproariously.

I grinned after I’d recovered, eyes streaming, to show that I was in on the joke.

Then Kieran was sitting on the other side of me, harvesting papers and a baggy from his pocket and beginning to skin up on his leg. King sat on the edge of the next bench along and smoked a rollie. There was a weird air of respect as they all waited for Kieran to finish his work.