It was the first weekend since Penny and I had become ‘friends’. We’d exchange a few polite words when we saw each other on the bus and at college but we no longer sought each other out in our free moments. I still hadn’t found enough courage to tell my mum and dad that the relationship was over. More so since overhearing their conversation. If Mum had noticed the photos were gone from my bedside cabinet she didn’t mention it.

Saturday wasn’t too bad. I spent the morning at Duckett’s and the afternoon doing homework. We shared the family tea time ritual of watching the football results – to make sure Dad hadn’t won the pools – followed by Dr Who.

‘Are you going out tonight?’ Mum asked.

‘No,’ I said, ‘not tonight.’ Nor ever again I wanted to add, but I didn’t. I visualised my supply of condoms gathering dust at the back of the bookcase, the rubber drying and perishing and cracking and crumbling away. Perhaps I could become a monk; I wondered if monasteries were listed in Yellow Pages. I decided if it were a silent order it would be pointless them being on the phone. In any case I didn’t fancy the funny haircut or the dodgy habits. Maybe I could become a hermit instead, find a nice little cave somewhere and shut myself off from the world. Yes, that sounded good, I’d grow a long beard and hurl rocks at anyone who strayed too close.

I stayed in bed most of Sunday morning. After lunch, during which my mum delivered a little lecture on not mooning around, and getting on with your life, I went out for a walk with Sandy, just to get out of the oppressive atmosphere of the house. The dog was an undemanding companion, he didn’t care that I wasn’t in the mood to talk much. Down on the Stray I found a stick for him to retrieve. For a while, as we chased around, I managed to lose myself in the game.

When the time came to attach his lead to go home, Sandy wouldn’t leave the stick behind and trotted up the High Street with his prize held in his jaws, a predator taking home the kill.

In the square, Dino sat alone on a bench – Craig’s bench – smoking a cigarette. I thought about crossing the road to avoid him, then decided against it. If I’d learnt anything in the past two weeks it was that you had to confront your fears, I walked towards him.

‘Dino,’ I said, slowing to a halt.

‘John.’ He looked up. Since Craig’s death he had dropped the nickname, which I felt put us on a less juvenile footing. I wondered if I should start calling him Derek. ‘No girlfriend today?’ he said.

‘No, I  …  we decided to cool things down a bit.’

He nodded. ‘Treat ’em mean, keep ’em keen, eh?’

‘Something like that.’

‘You’d better be careful though. When Dino’s available, no woman is safe.’ He flashed his thousand-watt, girl-beacon smile.

‘Don’t get any ideas about Penny or  …’ I realised the absurdity of making empty threats to protect my ex-girlfriend, except I still clung to the hope she might not be. Ex, that is.

‘Or what?’

‘Or, I’ll set the dog on you.’ It was stupid but I couldn’t think of anything else to say.

‘Ooh, scary.’ Dino took a long drag on his cigarette.

‘Sandy, kill!’ Sandy wagged his tail and dropped his stick at Dino’s feet.

‘Is it an exploding stick?’ asked Dino, leaning forward to peer at the object.

‘No, the stick’s okay. It’s the dog that explodes.’ We both laughed, and as Dino patted Sandy on the head I said, ‘Boom!’

‘No hard feelings, eh?’ Dino stood. I must have looked blank because he went on, ‘The pond, the water and stuff.’

‘Oh,’ I said, caught a little off guard. ‘No.’

‘I know I was wrong. I can be a real prick sometimes, ’specially around women.’

I put a hand on his arm. ‘That’s okay. I’m sorry too, about the pond. I didn’t mean for that to happen.’

‘Yeah, well, that’s life. I never much liked those trousers anyhow.’ He offered me his hand and I shook it.

‘Thanks, Derek.’

He looked as though he’d bitten into a lemon whilst standing up to his neck in manure. ‘Don’t call me Derek.’ He dropped his cigarette end and ground it out with his heel.

‘Sorry, Dino.’

‘That’s better. See you around.’

‘Yeah, see you  …  mate.’

My nana always used to say that God never closed one door without opening another. I was beginning to understand what she meant.

As I strolled home past Graham’s he called out to me from the open window of the house.

‘Hey, John.’ He thrust out a hand containing two small squares of pink card.

‘What’s this?’ I said, walking over.

‘The first ever Technicolor Acne gig; upstairs room of the Roseberry, Wednesday night. Bring your bird.’

I couldn’t tell him I no longer had a ‘bird’ so I said, ‘Thanks, but we’re underage.’

‘S’okay. It’s upstairs, not in the bar.’ He must have seen my hesitation. ‘You gotta come, mate,’ he pleaded. ‘It could be our big break, we’re hoping a couple of A&R men’ll turn up.’

‘Well, all right.’ I reached out and took the tickets, even though I wasn’t quite sure what an A&R man was.

Graham grinned. ‘You’re gonna love it.’ I twitched my lips in an unconvincing imitation of a smile and wondered if I could somehow persuade my ex-bird to go with me. As I walked away Sandy lifted his leg against the wheel of Graham’s car. I gave a guilty glance over my shoulder to make sure he wasn’t still at the window.