‘They still have them?’ He managed a little grin. ‘In a shop? You were top of the class. Still… work’s work.’

‘It is.’

‘Carl was doing all right, you know? People think you work in a supermarket you’re just a shelf-stacker or a till girl but there’s more to it than that. He was a shift manager.’

‘That’s what my mum used to tell me. He was great to her, always said hello, asked how she was. Mum thought I should be more like him. More settled, more realistic about things.’

Mike snorted and looked away from me. ‘Realistic? I suppose she thought that were the best he could have got.’

‘She wasn’t saying that.’

‘And you too.’

‘You just said it was a good job.’

‘It was a bollocks job! He was a fucking shelf-stacker.’

‘Assistant manager.’

‘Fucking arse manager.’ He took a sip of his pint and shook his head. ‘Paid a fucking pittance. I’d earn near what he earned a month in a week out on the rigs. I should have encouraged him more with the books. Like your dad did with you. I’ve been thinking about where he might have gone if I’d made more effort with him.’

‘You’re being too hard on yourself.’

He snorted. ‘Have I even spoken to you since your mum passed away?’

‘Maybe not. It’s OK.’

‘I was there, you know. In church. At the back. When you and your sister spoke about her. It’s not OK, is it? It was a nasty way to go.’

‘A horrible way to go.’

‘You’re angry too, aren’t you?’

‘Of course I am. The fucking people round here.’

‘The fucking people?’

‘Not you. Whoever it was who complained about her at school.’

‘What did they complain about?’

‘That she wasn’t in control of the class. And that’s her fault, is it? Those fucking little shits she had to teach. Those fucking scumbags round here.’

Mike shook his head. ‘You are angry. You might be talking about my grandkids.’

‘Yeah, well, I’m not saying your grandkids are scumbags.’

‘They’re not scumbags,’ said Mike. ‘Not yet. Who knows what they’ll turn into? But, Paul. I know you didn’t know Carl as well as you used to, but what do you reckon? Do you think he could’ve done it? Killed himself on purpose?’

‘No way,’ I said. ‘Of course not.’

He shook his head again. ‘How do you do your workings out with that? I wish you were right.’

‘I’ve been gone a while, I know.’

‘You were never here like he was.’

‘I wasn’t anywhere else.’

‘Ah. Yeah. Maybe I’m talking crap.’

I put my hand on his shoulder. ‘I’ll get you a Guinness,’ I said.

*