John glanced over at the door. A man stepped into the terminal. He was tall, with the bulky, solid build of a rugby player. His hair was cropped short. He wore white canvas tennis shoes and a heavy black coat. He was watching them.

Eddie turned away from John and saw the man. He gasped and scrambled to his feet. John yanked the fly of his jeans up and buckled his belt.

The boys couldn’t be sure what he was doing there, but there was no other reason they could think of: he was cruising. He had brought along a six-pack of beer. He held one open can in his left hand, while the other five dangled from plastic rings in his right. He stepped forward, half a smile on his face. His sneakers crunched against broken glass.

‘Don’t stop on my account,’ he said. ‘I was enjoying the … Jesus, how old are you two?’

His eyes had adjusted to the low light of the terminal and he had seen two hairless, frightened faces staring back at him. He screwed up his face.

‘What are you doing here?’ he demanded.

‘Nothing,’ John said.

‘This isn’t a place for kids,’ he said. ‘You shouldn’t be here.’

If Eddie had stopped to think about that – to really think – he might have realised that if this man was there cruising, he had a reason to keep their secret. But Eddie didn’t think about it. The only thoughts in his mind were, No. This man can’t see this. This man can’t see us. This man can’t end this. They buzzed in flashing, neon lights.

‘Fuck off,’ Eddie snapped in a small voice.

The man glared at him. ‘What did you say?’

‘He didn’t say anything,’ John said, throwing a glance Eddie’s way. ‘Leave it.’

But Eddie wasn’t thinking straight. He was hardly thinking at all. A fog of panic had rolled into his head, joined the anger and the shame and the lust, and this man shouldn’t know their secret. He couldn’t.

‘I said fuck off,’ he blurted, louder now.

‘Eddie,’ John hissed.

The man looked annoyed. ‘Didn’t your parents tell you to respect your elders?’ he said. ‘Do they know you’re here, Eddie?’

‘Shut up,’ Eddie said.

‘They might be interested to know what their son is doing in the middle of a school day.’

‘Your wife might be interested too,’ John said, eyeing the ring on the men’s left hand. He could feel Eddie shaking beside him.

‘I was just passing by, minding my own beeswax, when I heard what sounded like a couple of kids fighting.’ He stared at the boys, took a moment to consider his options. Then, perhaps deciding that an argument with two teenage boys wasn’t worth it, shook his head and turned to leave. ‘Whatever. This is not my problem. Your parents can sort this shit out themse—’