I felt the red wine start to sour in my stomach.
And then I moved back into the shadows again at the sound of the front door opening and closing once more. I heard soft footsteps approach and then turn the corner.
A male voice. ‘Flynn. Mate. Over here.’
‘Yo.’
‘Happy New Year and all that.’
‘Yeah.’
‘Twenty nineteen.’
‘Fuck. Yeah.’
‘Hope it’s not as shit as 2018.’
‘All years are shit.’
‘True. Very true.’
I could see the shadowy outline of the two boys fist-bumping each other through the hedges. Then I saw them turn the corner and head towards the gap between the trees. I flattened myself into the furthest corner. Another load of fireworks went off and I used the noise to cover the sound of me burrowing my way into the undergrowth.
‘Whoa,’ I heard one of the boys say. ‘Look. Rough sleepers.’
I saw the light from a phone arcing across my little campsite.
I felt a burst of territorialism and had to stop myself from storming over and telling them to leave my shit alone.
‘Wonder who it is?’ said one of the boys.
‘Looks like a girl,’ said the other. ‘Look. Pink sleeping bag.’
‘God, that’s really sad. Fancy having to sleep rough when you’re a girl.’
‘Got wine though,’ said one of them, holding my empty bottle up.
I saw them both stop then and look around the plot. And once they were reassured that the mysterious rough sleeper wasn’t about to jump out at them, they sat down and built themselves a zoot.
I was close to ‘Clive’s’ bedroom window in my little hidden corner. I glanced up at the muted light seeping from his curtains and wondered what he was doing in there. Poor old Clive and his nylon counterpane.
The smell of draw reached me a minute later. Their voices drifted slowly across with their exhaled smoke. ‘Things are going to be different this year.’
I couldn’t tell which boy was speaking; they both sounded the same to me.
‘Oh yeah. You mean …?’
‘Yeah. The mask’s coming off.’
One of them laughed. Then the other one joined in.
‘No more Mr Nice Guy?’
‘No more Mr Nice Guy. Fuck that. Fuck it hard.’
More laughter.
‘This time next year.’
