Frankie urged him to sit down. ‘I’ll get us some scran in a minute. The jerk chicken from the Spice Rack is to die for. Do you like jerk chicken?’ Ged nodded, even though the only chicken he’d ever eaten was what his mother had cooked – a Sunday roast. There was no money in their household to be eating takeaways, they were too expensive.

‘Yeah, I like it. I’m starving too.’

Frankie looked over at some more lads stood near him. ‘Right, you should be getting off. I’ll catch you later, ring me if you need anything else,’ he told them. Ged watched them walk off and started to head towards the takeaway with Frankie.

‘I’ll get you the same as what I get. I’m a regular here and they know my order soon as they see me.’

Ged followed, aware of a strong smell of weed. His mother was always on about drugs – when they walked down the market on a Saturday, she would always go off on one when they passed someone smoking it. Ged had never tried anything. He was a good kid underneath the moods and the lip, had never really got caught up in that world – you didn’t get into trouble if you barely left the house.

Frankie ordered and leant over the top of the counter watching the food being dished up. He licked his lips before passing Ged’s food over with a plastic white fork. ‘Go sit at that table near the window, quick grab it before someone else does. I don’t fancy standing up eating, you don’t enjoy it the same when you’re stood up.’

Ged carried the polystyrene tray over to the table, it smelt lovely, rich and spicy. His eyes focused on every scrap of food there, it looked like nothing he’d ever eaten before in his life. He sat down and put a piece of chicken in his mouth. Oh my God, why had he never tasted anything like this before? The spices jumped about on his tongue and he had to open his mouth up wide to help it cool down. Frankie joined him, sat facing Ged and started to tuck in too. He never flinched as he ate his chicken. Clearly had an asbestos mouth.