Luis didn’t look up. Paolo dumped his wares on the table and walked away, but Luis’s presence behind him smouldered like embers that could ignite at any moment, and only the stubbornness Paolo had inherited from his Nonna stopped him going back and demanding to know if Luis Pope was taking the royal piss.
The cafe was busy too—too busy for Paolo to waste his time throwing glances at the man hunched over his tea mug. He did it anyway, though, until a crowd of builders came in and fucked up his day. Six rounds of bangers and chips later, he searched out Luis again, but the table by the door was empty.
Luis Pope was gone.
2
“Don’t be so harsh, boy. It doesn’t become you.”
Paolo scowled, but it was hard to maintain it under the stern gaze of his grandfather. The old dude’s mobility was long gone, but Toni remained razor-sharp and was able to school Paolo with a simple frown. “I’m not being harsh. It’s true, he’s a road man. Always has been. I don’t know why he was sniffing round our place, but it can’t be anything good.”
“I can’t remember what a road man is, but if you say it, I believe it. I just think a man deserves a second chance. You said yourself, he’s been gone a long time. Who’s to say he’s the same as he used to be?”
“What’s to say he isn’t?”
“Nothing. But if no one gives him a chance, that will never change. Your father was like that, in trouble for so long it seemed the only way. Perhaps if someone had given him a job when he was willing to ask for one, things might’ve been different.”
The conversation went round in circles and back again to the point where Paolo wished he’d never mentioned Luis Pope, but Toni had always possessed a sixth sense, a nose for when something had got under Paolo’s skin. He’d have dug it out of him eventually.
Paolo lost three games of draughts in a row, then caught the bus home. It stopped outside the corner shop. Paolo spent all day surrounded by food but often forgot to eat and fill his own kitchen cupboards with anything but ketchup and spaghetti hoops.
The shop sold every exotic spice he could think of, along with a million different fruit and veg that Paolo couldn’t name. It smelt amazing but required brain power to prepare, something he was lacking after a twelve-hour stint in the cafe. He bought instant noodles and a packet of chocolate digestives. At the counter, he resisted the call of the cigarettes and picked up a bottle of rum instead. It would last longer. Probably. Maybe.
Outside, the autumn air had turned cold. He zipped his jacket and pulled his hood up, letting it hang low over his face to keep the wind out. His flat was a ten-minute walk away. One day he’d get round to cleaning out the studio above the cafe so he could live there, but that day wasn’t today. Besides, who wanted to live at work?
Not me.
The wind kept his head down, past the homeless bedding down in shop doorways and the teens congregated outside McDonalds. Not that he’d have risked glancing around much anyway. The high street was a fucking theme park at night, and he’d had enough of people for one day.
He crossed the road by the bus stop. A lone figure sat in the shelter, huddled against the cold, arms wrapped around himself.
Strong arms, with gang tattoos and no coat.
Damn it.The Paolo that had rebuffed Luis Pope that morning would’ve paid little attention—aside from ogling those fine arms—but with Toni’s words ringing in his ears, he slowed to a stop, despite every instinct he had screaming at him to walk on by.
Luis looked up as Paolo drew level with him. His eyes were hooded and tired, face drawn. He nodded his recognition and stretched long legs out in front of him.
Paolo leaned on the bus shelter and folded his arms. “When did you get out?”
“Out?”
“Yeah. I know who you are.”
“That why you wouldn’t give me a job?”
“There is no job.”
“Why’s the sign still up then?”
“I forgot to take it down.”
Luis nodded again and went back to staring at the ground. Paolo straightened up and tried to make himself move. The one-in-a-million possibility that Luis wasn’t who he’d thought he was had been dispelled, and his reasons for sending him packing still stood, but something kept him anchored in place. A pull in his gut he couldn’t decipher. Luis Pope was nothing to him but a notorious name and a tired face. What did he care if he was washed up at a bus stop like he had nowhere to go?
I don’t care.
It was true. And yet he didn’t move. “Look,” Paolo said. “I kinda thought you were taking the piss earlier, but if you’re serious and you promise not to bring any of your gang bullshit to my door, maybe we can talk.”
Luis said nothing.
