I sequestered myself in Kim’s tiny kitchen and set about buttering bread and frying bacon while he took a shower. A fruitless search for HP sauce took me to the fridge, where an envelope balanced precariously behind a Bob Marley magnet caught my eye. It had my name on it. Intrigued, I reached for it, but as Kim’s footsteps sounded behind me, I stuffed it in my pocket. I’d recognised the scrawl as Red’s, and something told me she’d left the envelope separate from her goodbye note for a reason.
A reason that seemed suddenly unimportant as Kim wove his long, warm arms around me. “Watcha cooking?”
“Bacon. That all right? You said you wanted a buttie.”
“Can’t go wrong with a bacon sarnie, mate. Did you find the ketchup?”
“No, but to be fair, I was looking for HP.”
Kim pulled a face. “You like that shit? Why? You ain’t northern.”
“Southerners eat brown sauce too.”
“Not this one.”
Fair enough. Kim retrieved the sauces while I loaded thickly buttered farmhouse bread with crispy bacon. Breakfast of champions, and gone far too soon. We polished them off in moments.
I offered to wash up, but Kim shook his head. “Fuck that. I’ll do it later. What are you doing now? Are you driving home, or into town?”
My wobble-bike adventure came flooding back. “Actually, do you think I could cadge a lift? I kinda cycled here last night.”
“Cycled?” Kim peered out of the window. “On what? I can’t see a bike.”
Shit. I couldn’t quite recall where I’d dumped Gaz’s bike, a fact that Kim, despite knowing what had led me to be so careless, seemed to find hilarious.
We searched the outskirts of the commune together, eventually discovering the bike upside down in a ditch.
“It’s got a flat tyre,” Kim said. “You won’t be able to ride it anywhere.”
“I didn’t do much riding last night. It was more of a barely balanced scoot.”
Kim chuckled. “I’ve got some tyres at the shop. I’ll bring a couple home later if you’re okay leaving it here?”
I couldn’t imagine that Gaz would be missing it, so I left it by Kim’s front door and clambered into the pink Fiat to cadge a lift into town. Kim didn’t say much on the drive and we were practically on my doorstep before I remembered I’d never told him where I lived.
Kim shrugged when I said as much. “It’s a small town. Everyone knew when a fit bloke moved into number twelve.”
“‘Fit’?” I scoffed. “Speak for yourself.”
“I do.” Kim backed the Fiat into a space that was hardly big enough for a go-kart. “Where’s your car?”
Fuck’s sake. It was exactly where I’d left it at the farm. I admitted my idiocy with a groan and covered my face with my hands. Kim laughed. “Booze makes you scatty, eh?”
“Not especially. I’m as much of a knobhead without it.”
Kim laughed harder. “Do you want me to run you back there?”
“Nah. I don’t need it. I’ll get it later.”
“Fair enough.” Kim put the Fiat in gear and his hand hovered over the handbrake. “So . . .”
“So.” I made no move to get out of the car. Kim and I had made no verbal commitment to each other from this point on, but I couldn’t let him go without knowing when I’d see him again.
“Do you wanna come over later?”
Relief poured through me, seeping from my brain into every nerve. I turned to Kim and smiled. “‘Later’?”
He shrugged. “I’ve got a crazy day, but I’ve got to come home sometime, right? Would be fucking ace if you were there . . . I mean, if you haven’t got shit to do of your own.”
