‘Thanks for this.’ Maggie held up the five-pound note. ‘I’ll pay you back.’

‘No rush.’

The rain made a noise like gentle applause on the shelter roof. There was an awkward silence where they looked at each other and neither knew what to say. The sound of the bus approaching saved them.

‘Bye then,’ said Tom, turning to leave.

‘Will I see you at the library next week?’

‘I dunno. Maybe.’

‘If you come I can give you this money back.’

He appeared to consider this. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

She got on the bus, paid the driver and took a seat on the side closest to the kerb. She watched Tom trudging up the hill. As the bus drew level he looked up. She lifted her hand and he gave her a brief nod of recognition. Well, what a Saturday that had been. She’d been mugged. It was the most exciting thing that had happened to her in years.

3

TOM

‘Have we got anything to eat?’ I shouted, with my head still inside the cupboard. I was seriously hungry but then I’m starving most of the time. I’d already checked the fridge but all that was in there was milk, salad cream, beer and some dodgy-looking cheese. It’s not like when Mum was alive when there was always food. I wish we had cake in the house or at least something decent to eat.

My dad appeared in the doorway. ‘You went out earlier. Where’s the stuff you bought?’

I guessed Dad would be pissed if I told him I gave the cash away, even if it was to an old lady. I did some quick thinking. ‘I ate it.’

‘Bloody hell, Tom. You’re like a bottomless pit. It’s not normal.’

‘Yeah it is.’ I know this to be fact as the few friends I have say their parents are always moaning about how much they eat and that it’s like a swarm of locusts descending as soon as they unpack the shopping. ‘What can I eat?’ I scanned the tins of tomatoes in the cupboard. We never ate tinned tomatoes. What were they even for? They were probably out of date.

‘Bread and butter.’ Dad almost threw the loaf at me. It would have to do. I stuck two slices in the toaster. ‘You need to realise how much stuff costs.’ Dad was shaking his head. He does that a lot. ‘I’ll be glad when you’re working,’ he said.

I snorted. ‘That’s not for years yet.’

Dad looked like he’d sat on something sharp. ‘I was working full-time at your age.’ He likes to talk about the good old days which, to be honest, sound rubbish – no internet, no mobile phones and only four TV channels is not my idea of good.

‘I’ve got a paper round.’