‘You can get out of – all this,’ he says, gesturing towards the television. ‘You can escape, like I did.’

‘If you escaped, how come you’re here with me and – ’ I gesture towards the television, ‘all this?’

He takes his glasses off and leans towards me. ‘Look. I’m offering you tuition.’ He rubs his specs on his burgundy trouser leg. ‘I have got a degree. I know that doesn’t mean much to you, but it does count for something.’

I can smell the Nescafé on his breath.

‘Just an hour every week. Just us. Just going through your homework.’ He pats me on the knee. ‘And anything else that happens to crop up.’

There’s a pause before he slips his specs back on and attempts to look over the top of those red rims. But his glasses are so big he can’t quite pull it off. ‘It will be fun, you’ll see.’

I notice that the skin above his top lip is moist.

‘What’s in it for me?’ I ask, reaching for the remote.

He closes his hand over the remote before I can get to it. ‘If your marks improve, some suitable reward.’

‘I get to choose?’

‘Yes.’

I tug the remote from him. ‘Maybe.’

All Saturday I wonder where Shane is.

Old Buggery reaches across from the till and touches my wrist. ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ he says.

‘You’ll have to cough up more than that.’

I lean on the counter and look out the window. I wonder if Dad will call tonight. It’s been two months since he left.

But I’m not thinking about him.

Outside, cars drag through the rain.

In the back room, Buggery shouts at a match on Grandstand.

I stamp my feet on the floor. You can’t wear socks with slip-on flats, and Buggery’s so tight he won’t let me put the Calor gas on until December. In consequence, as Simon would say, in consequence, I can’t feel my feet.

My body is so frozen with cold and boredom that when Shane shoves open the shop door, it takes a minute for me to blink.

I keep turning the pages of Just Seventeen. Shane moves over to the magazines, picks up a copy of Classic Bike. He spends a few seconds flicking through before slamming it back on the shelf. Then he moves towards me. His black curls dance. Without looking up, he digs in his parka pocket and places a can of Elnett on the counter, nods, then pushes it in my direction.

We both stand there, staring at the can. ‘What’s that?’ I ask.

‘For you,’ says Shane.

I take a good look at him. His parka’s straining over his shoulders. He’d be tall enough to reach the porn mags on the top shelf.

‘Are you my girlfriend?’ he asks.

I smile.

Buggery roars in the back room. Goal.