The bus stops at Clapham Common tube station and Craig steps off onto the leaf-splattered pavement. It’s late Sunday evening. He stands under a streetlight to loosen the shoulder straps on his rucksack and weaves his way across the road through two queues of buses and cars. He buys himself a bottle of water and a Mars bar from a convenience store and eats the chocolate as he walks along the south side of the common. A lone teenager on a bike and a man in tight jeans walking a poodle pass Craig in the opposite direction. He looks across the road into the blackness of the trees and then at the building site to his left which is supposedly Lambeth College.
The only person at the tables outside The Whore on the Common is a man in a thick coat, having a cigarette. Inside, the pub is quiet and there’s nobody at the bar. A middle-aged man and a woman in a rugby shirt are drinking red wine at a table by the fireplace, and there is a thin, bearded pensioner in a tatty sports jacket sitting on his own reading The Independent.
Craig orders a pint of orange and lemonade and calls Mark, but it goes straight to voicemail. He takes his drink and has a look around the corner in the restaurant.
Mark is the only person in there, sitting side-on to Craig at a table on the far left with his back against the wall. He’s wearing a navy polo shirt with a long-sleeved white t-shirt underneath, and he’s got thick stubble. He’s clutching a full pint of cider to his chest and there are two Bulmers’ bottles, an empty pint glass and the News of the World on the table. He doesn’t notice Craig approaching.
‘Mark,’ Craig says, resting his rucksack against a leg of the table.
Mark gives Craig a troubled, distant look and asks him if he wants a drink. He sounds tired.
‘How long have you been here?’ Craig asks, taking a seat on the opposite corner.
‘Have you been here on your own?’
‘No, no. Amy was here. But she had to go. What’s the time?’ he asks trying to sit up.
‘It’s nine fifty-four,’ Craig says, checking his phone. ‘How much have you had to drink?’
‘I’m not sure. Not that much. Just a few ciders, and some wine with lunch.’
‘Are you drunk?’
‘I’ve been trying to get drunk, but it’s not worked.’
‘What time did Amy go?’
‘About three.’
‘Three? Mate you’ve been sitting here for almost seven hours on your own?’
‘It doesn’t seem that long. I’ve had a lot of thinking to do. Anyway, that’s why I phoned you. I hoped you’d keep me company. Where have you been?’
‘Just back at the flat. I was sorting my stuff out.’ Craig glances down at his bag. ‘Mate, I’m going home for a few days, to Norwich.’
‘When?’
‘Tonight.’
‘Tonight? But it’s late. Have a beer. Go back in the morning.’
‘I can’t. I’m getting the last train. I won’t get in until one thirty.’
‘When will you be back?’
‘I’m not sure.’
‘What do you mean you’re not sure?’
‘I’m not sure how long I’m going back for.’
‘I thought we could go out and watch the Champions League games somewhere on Wednesday. Will you be back for that?’
‘No… I won’t, I don’t think.’
‘Will you be back at the weekend?’
‘Probably. I’ll need to pick some more of my things up.’
Mark sits motionless, staring at the table. ‘You’re moving out?’ he says, barely moving his lips.
‘No. I don’t know,’ Craig corrects himself. He scratches his ear lobe. ‘I’m going to work for my dad, hopefully. Just for a few weeks, to earn some money in the short-term.’
‘Sorry. I was going to tell you,’ Craig says.
‘What about job hunting? How are you going to do that when you’re up there?’
‘I can do it online. I’m only a train ride away if anything comes up.’
‘But why don’t you just stay down here? I don’t understand.’
‘I haven’t got any money, mate. Literally none. In fact, a lot less than none. I don’t want to go back, but I have to. My dad’s paid off most of my overdraft and loans and I’ve got to start paying him back.’
Mark puts his glass down. ‘Are you sure you have to? There must be some other way. I thought you liked it down here.’
‘I don’t have a choice.’
Mark doesn’t react and starts reading the cider bottle.
‘Mark, I need to earn some money, quickly.’
‘But you can get a new job.’
‘I’ve been trying. Estate agents are closing down, not taking people on.’
‘Do something else.’
‘Like what?’
‘Can’t you get your old job back?’
‘No. I hated it. That was the reason I was getting further and further into debt. I’ve got less money now than I had at uni. I just can’t afford to live here at the moment.’ He pinches his bottom lip. ‘I’m sorry.’
‘Can’t you get your parents to give you a loan? I don’t see how moving back is going to help.’
‘My dad’s already given me a massive loan. He’s paid off all my cards. I’ve got to work to pay it off, that’s what I’m trying to say. They’re not going to pay for me to stay down here when I owe them thousands and I’m unemployed.’
‘But can’t you say you’re job hunting and just stay down here with me. You’ll get another job won’t you?’
‘I don’t know where. The recruitment people I’ve met have all been useless. One of the agencies I was with shut down last Friday.’ Craig taps the rim of his glass with his finger. ‘And the job market’s going to get worse apparently.’
‘You can’t believe the newspapers.’
‘I read the other day that this is the worst crash in something like a hundred years. Getting another job could take months.’
‘They’re just scare-mongering, to frighten people.’
‘Mate, everything you read is about the credit crunch and recession and places closing. I don’t feel like I’ve got a chance down here at the moment to be honest.’ Craig takes three small sips of his drink.
‘But you can’t just run off.’
‘I’m not running off. I’m going back to sort everything out.’ Craig watches as Mark makes small tears in a beer mat. ‘What are you going to do?’ he asks tentatively.
‘About what?’
‘About work.’
‘Work’s fine,’ Mark says. He swishes the cider around in his glass.
‘Mark. I know.’
‘Know what?’
‘About MenDax.’
‘I don’t work for MenDax any more.’
‘I know. Nobody does.’
Mark slumps forward, rests his chin on his hand, and gazes down into his pint. There is a long pause. ‘I was going to tell you.’
‘It must have been a shock.’
‘Yeah,’ Mark says. He sighs and looks everywhere apart from at Craig. ‘Sorry I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t hiding it from you. I was just a bit, I don’t know, embarrassed I suppose. I didn’t want-’
‘It’s OK. I understand.’
Mark closes his eyes for a couple of seconds and puffs out his cheeks. ‘How did you find out?’
‘It was something Amy said at the party. And someone had written on her Facebook wall saying that they were sorry about her job, so I googled it.’
‘Was there much on it?’
‘A few reports. I was going to ask you about it, but, but I’ve not really seen you. And I didn’t think you’d want to talk about it.’
‘No.’
‘I thought I’d see you one day but you’d always gone by the time I was up. What have you been doing? Going to recruitment places?’
‘I was going to, but I’ve just been killing time most days. Trying to clear my head and decide what I’m going to do. I’ve been everywhere just to avoid sitting at home: museums, London Zoo. I even went on an open top bus.’
‘What was that like?’
‘Shit - it rained,’ he says with weary laughter. ‘I passed my driving test though.’
‘Well done,’ Craig says. ‘I thought I hadn’t seen your car.’
‘That’s because I’ve sent it back. It was only leased. Such a waste of money. Do you want another drink?’
‘Mate, I really should go in a minute.’
‘Come on, just one drink before you go. You’ve just told me you’re leaving me. You can at least stay for a beer.’
Mark gives Craig some change and asks him to go to the bar because the Aussie barman has refused to serve him. Craig orders a pint of Fosters and a cider and brings them back over to the table. Mark sends him back to get some crisps.
‘What are you going to do then, mate?’ Craig asks, dropping down two bags of McCoy’s.
Mark throws his hands in the air. ‘To be honest, I don’t know.’
‘Have you told your parents?’
‘I’ve spoken to my mum, but my dad’s not talking to me because I’ve been spending my inheritance money.’
‘I’m sure he’ll be all right when he’s calmed down. There must be other jobs doing what you were doing aren’t there?’
‘I don’t know. Hopefully.’
‘What have the other people in your department done?’
‘Justin took Ian and Julia with him to his new place. Amy got another job last week.’
‘I thought you got on well with Justin? Couldn’t he help you?’
‘No. He could have helped me, but he didn’t. I wouldn’t work for him anyway.’
‘I didn’t like him. He said all estate agents were wankers. How did Amy get her new job?’
‘Through an agency.’
‘Why don’t you register with some agencies this week? You never know, there might be something perfect, well not perfect, but something you’d be good at.’
‘I doubt it somehow. Amy’s given me the numbers of some people to contact, but I’m not sure they’d be able to help.’
‘Why?’
‘I don’t know. I don’t feel like they would. I’ve got pretty simple requirements. All I want is a job that pays loads where I have no responsibility and can choose my own hours.’
‘I can give your CV to my dad if you want.’
‘Will I have to move to Norwich?’
‘You can commute. It’s two hours on the train.’
‘What’s he like as a boss?’
‘He won’t ever take you to a strip club, put it that way.’
‘I’m not interested then,’ Mark says, managing a sad smile. ‘You know I was thinking about starting my own company.’
‘Doing what, finance?’
‘No, ice cream.’
‘What do you know about ice cream, apart from how to eat it?’
‘Nothing. But I had a good idea. I was going to start a designer ice cream brand. Guess what it was called?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘Licked Out.’
Craig starts choking on his beer and apologises. ‘How far have you got with this?’
‘I went to a bank and asked them for some money to start up.’
‘What did they say?’
‘The guy I met didn’t think it was a very good idea.’
‘How much money did you ask for?’
‘Seven hundred grand.’
‘Is that all? You should have asked for more,’ he says dryly. ‘No wonder he didn’t like it. I can’t really imagine you as a Mr Whippy.’
‘It wasn’t going to be like that. It was going to be like a posh Star-bucks, but for ice cream.’
‘But people only eat ice cream in the summer.’
‘Yes, I was going to serve it warm in the winter.’
‘That’s the worst idea I’ve ever heard.’
‘Mate, when there’s a Licked Out on every street in Britain and I’m a billionaire, you’ll eat your words. If you’re lucky I might hire you to wash the dishes.’
‘Cheers,’ Craig says helping himself to the crisps Mark has been hogging. ‘I’ve got a choice between working for my dad or working for you washing dishes.’
‘Or being an estate agent.’
‘Yes, or being an estate agent. I think I’d prefer a long prison sentence to working somewhere like Cinq again.’
Mark takes a large handful of crisps. ‘If you want a long prison sentence you could kill Justin for me. I’d pay you. Not that I can afford much at the moment. Perhaps we could start a business as hitmen? I could do the planning and you could do the hits.’
‘Why would I have to do the hits?’
‘I don’t like blood.’
‘Nor do I.’
‘I really hate it. I wouldn’t want there to be loads of blood anyway. That’s how amateurs do it. I’d be a poisoner or strangler.’ Mark burps and opens the other crisps. ‘I wouldn’t attack anyone with a hammer or anything like that, far too messy.’
‘Are you sure you’re not pissed?’
‘No,’ Mark says taking another gulp. ‘When we’ve killed Justin we could take some photos and use that on all of our marketing.’
‘Marketing?’
‘Every company needs marketing. We’d have to advertise. Make sure we’re getting the best jobs. We’d have a website and take out double-page spreads in the Sunday newspapers.’
Craig laughs. ‘You’ve lost the plot. Are you going to take this idea to the bank?’
‘I might do.’
‘I’d love to hear what they say.’
‘I’ll start writing a business plan. How much do guns and stuff cost?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘And we’d need some balaclavas.’
They both chuckle. Mark takes his iPhone out of his pocket and taps away. ‘It’s Amy. She’s checking I’m not still here.’ Mark is struggling to focus on the screen. ‘I’m telling her I’m with you.’
‘What’s going on between you two?’
‘Nothing. We’re just… friends, I suppose,’ he replies, still trying to compose a message.
‘Friends who sleep together?’
‘She told me that was a mistake.’ He puts the phone down in front of him. ‘The thing is, I think Amy… I don’t know. I think she feels sorry for me. She’s being so kind and so helpful, she makes me feel like a stupid little kid sometimes.’
‘She’s trying to help you because she likes you.’
‘I’m like a challenge for her though. I think that’s what she gets out of it. She’s very positive and determined, and honest with me. There’s no need to pretend I’m something I’m not because she sees straight through me. I feel different around her.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘I don’t know, just different. She’s always giving me loads of encouragement and tells me I can do whatever I want with my life, but somehow that just makes me feel worse because I don’t know what I want to do. I’d rather not think about it.’
‘You can’t just ignore everything though, mate. It makes things worse. I should know.’
‘Yeah, I know you’re right. You’re both right.’ Mark sighs. ‘I told Amy I love her the other night.’
‘You said you loved her? Do you?’
‘I don’t know. I’d had quite a lot of wine.’
‘What did she say?’
‘She said that I should stop drinking so much.’
‘What did you do?’
‘I fell asleep on the sofa watching TV. She put a blanket over me.’
‘Did she say anything the next morning?’
‘No. I didn’t mention it either. I don’t know why I said it. I just made myself look stupid.’
‘I’m sure she understands.’
‘Yeah I know. She could find someone… better. I don’t blame her.’
‘I sure that’s not what she’s thinking.’
‘I just… I just think… I don’t know. I don’t know what I think about a lot of stuff at the moment.’ Mark pats his stomach. ‘She keeps telling me to look forward rather than back. And that in six months I’ll probably have an amazing job-’
‘You probably will. And I’ll still be hanging out in Norwich with my mum and dad.’
‘You don’t have to go back. The economy must pick up soon. We’ve just got to ride out this blip and try not to top ourselves in the meantime.’
Craig downs the last third of his pint.
‘You’re not going are you?’ Mark asks.
The bell rings for last orders.
‘I better go in a minute, mate. My train’s at eleven thirty.’
‘OK.’ Mark nods but his mouth is turned down at the corners. ‘What are we doing about the flat?’
‘My dad’s going to cover the rent for the next few months.’
‘What all of it?’
Craig smiles, briefly. ‘No, just my half. Text me when we get any bills and I’ll transfer the money.’
‘Haven’t we got some kind of release clause?’
‘We did, but only after six months, so we have to pay until the contract is up now. Don’t you want to stay there?’
‘Yeah, but it’s not cheap is it. And it’s a bit big to live in on my own.’
‘Mate, if there’s anyone you want to move in for a few weeks, you can.’
‘I don’t want anyone to move in. I don’t want you to leave. I don’t want to go back there on my own. It’s depressing.’
‘I’m sorry mate. I’ve really got to go.’ Craig gets up and puts his bag on his chair.
Mark stumbles around the table. ‘Well,’ he says. There are tears in his eyes. ‘I hope everything is OK at home.’ He lunges forward and wraps Craig in his arms, burying his head into his shoulder.
‘Cheers mate,’ Craig says, gently patting Mark’s back. ‘I’m probably coming back at the weekend.’
‘I look forward to it, mate,’ Mark says, stepping back. He’s left a damp patch on Craig’s sweatshirt. ‘I don’t really want to go back to the flat without you. You’re my best friend down here. Who else am I going to take shopping and watch football with?’ Mark dries his eyes on his sleeves. ‘Sorry. I’m being embarrassing. Good job there’s no one here.’
‘Don’t worry. It’s the drink talking.’ Craig lifts his rucksack onto his back.
‘No, it’s not.’
‘Sorry, I’ve really got to go. But I’ll text you when I’m coming back down. OK?’
‘Yeah. Sure,’ Mark says, clearing his throat. ‘Go. Go on. I’ll text you.’
‘Take it easy, mate. Don’t have anything else to drink.’
‘I might as well get smashed. It’s not like I’ve got to get up early. Craig, just one last thing: you’re not… you’re not leaving because of me are you?’
‘Don’t be ridiculous, why would I leave because of you?’
‘Because I’ve been a bad mate and you hate me?’
‘I don’t hate you, I don’t hate anyone. But I’ve got to go. I’ll see you soon, take care.’
Craig walks out the pub, turns right towards Clapham South tube and fades away into the night. Mark drops onto his seat, almost toppling backwards, and pours the last of his cider. The Australian barman strides across, takes Mark’s glass and says it’s time to go. Mark asks for two more minutes and when his request is refused, tells the barman he should be deported for being a fucking bellend. The barman grabs Mark by the collar, marches him outside and bolts the door behind him.
Mark is sitting beneath the pub’s giant lantern, looking out through the trees towards the main road. It’s cold and he rubs his forearms. An empty double-decker bus trundles past on its way to Clapham Junction and he jumps up and runs four paces, but it’s too far gone, so he shuffles back to the table and lays his head down, using his arms as a pillow.
‘Are you all right?’ a young woman asks.
‘I’m fine,’ Mark says, his eyes closed.
The girl crouches down to check his face.
‘I’m fine,’ Mark repeats, his words half-muted.
‘You don’t look fine,’ she says, standing over him. She has long dark hair and is wearing a grey woollen poncho done up to the neck. She sits down next to him and asks if he wants a cigarette.
Mark lifts his head. ‘Yeah, thanks,’ he says, his eyes shimmering.
The girl takes a packet of Marlboro Lights from her handbag and hands him one.
‘I don’t normally smoke,’ he says.
‘I can see that.’
He holds the cigarette away from his face. ‘You work here don’t you? Behind the bar.’
‘Yes. I saw you were a bit upset inside. Sorry about you getting thrown out.’
‘It’s OK. I’m just a bit tired.’
‘Pissed, you mean.’
Mark inhales and coughs. ‘Yep. Pissed. And tired. Sorry.’
‘That’s OK.’
‘My best mate just told me he’s moving home.’
‘Was that the guy with the rucksack?’
‘Yep. He quit his job and says he can’t afford to live down here any more so he’s gone back to Norwich.’
She has a long drag on her cigarette. ‘Is it just the two of you?’
‘Yes, we’ve got a place off Lavender Hill. Do you live around here?’
‘St John’s Hill.’ Her cigarette goes out so she re-lights it. ‘Shouldn’t you be getting home? Haven’t you got work in the morning?’
‘No. My company shut down. A bank collapsed so I lost my job.’
‘What did you used to do?’
‘I was a fund manager for an investment company in the City.’
‘That sounds important.’
‘Not really,’ Mark says, flicking ash onto the ground. He rubs his arms again. ‘What’s your name?’
‘Annabel.’
‘I’m Mark.’ They shake hands and Annabel blows smoke into the air. ‘How long have you worked here for?’
‘Four months. Since I left uni. I’ve got two jobs at the moment.’
‘What else do you do?’
‘I’m on a six-month internship at an experiential marketing company in Soho.’
‘What’s that like?’
‘Not great. I’m basically free labour. The only people who do any work are the ones who aren’t getting paid.’
‘Sounds shit.’ Mark coughs. ‘Where did you go to uni?’
‘You wouldn’t have heard of it: UEEC.’
Mark coughs again and smiles.
‘It’s a shithole,’ she says.
‘I know. I went there.’
‘Really? When?’
‘I graduated in 2005.’
She looks at him disbelievingly. ‘Really?’
‘Why would anyone lie about going there?’
‘Fair point.’ She smiles. ‘I bet it was easier to get a job then.’
‘My uncle got me my old job, so I don’t know really.’
‘I wish someone would help me. I didn’t go to uni for three years to work in a pub. It makes you wonder what the point in having a degree is.’
‘Huh. There is no point. That’s the only thing they don’t teach you. You know, if your job’s really that bad and you don’t want to work in a pub, you should leave. Go home, go travelling or something. Is there a job at the end of the internship?’
‘Probably not.’
‘Then quit. Seriously. When you’ve done your time, they’ll say thanks very much, we’re really sorry but we can’t take anyone on at the moment and let you go, and the next day they’ll have another work experience girl come and take your place.’
‘I know.’
‘The worst thing you can do is carry on because it’s the easy option.’
The lights in the main bar are switched off as two police cars speed towards Balham followed by an ambulance. There is a long silence.
Annabel puts her cigarette out and gets up. ‘Thanks for the advice. Will you be OK getting home?’
‘How are you getting back?’
‘Walking. I’ve not got enough money for a cab.’
Mark twists his legs out from under the table and rubs his eyes. ‘Would you mind if I walked with you, please? I’ll keep you company. I don’t want to go home on my own. We’re going in the same direction.’