He got close and mumbled, but they didn’t move. He spoke up. There was a tree at the edge of the pavement, roots bursting through the concrete and narrowing the street. It was the stupidest moment to try and pass. Making himself as thin as he could, he tried to slip in-between. His bag nudged the blonde girl into a hedge. The other one staggered over a root.
“What the hell,” she shouted. “Wee freak.”
He caught up. Pete took a glance. Danny Donnelly’s eyes stayed fixed ahead, puffed with sleep. He smoked quickly, scratching the side of his head where the hair was shaved right in.
After a while Pete said, “Done anything for this physics test?”
“Fuck all.” Danny Donnachie’s voice was low and you had to strain to hear.
“It’s a lot of shite. My brother told me Old Rubberfud got caught wanking under a desk once.”
Danny Donnelly smoked.
“You seen how he’s always putting his hands on Nick’s shoulders,” Pete said, “giving him massages while he recites all the equations?”
“Get lost,” Nicky said.
“He calls you his boy wonder.”
Danny Donnelly pinged his fag end at the pavement.
“Fuckin’ boy wonder.” Pete said.
One of Danny Donnelly’s hands had gone yellow, someone said, from smoking. He rubbed an eye and yawned.
“Doing anything at the weekend?” Pete asked him.
Danny Donnelly finished his yawn and clamped his teeth. “Dunno. Probably get a bevvy.”
“Yeah. Same.”
“How you getting it?”
“Get my brother to go in.”
Danny Donnelly looked at him. “Get him to get mine then, eh?”
“Yeah. I can ask him.”
“Will he but?”
Pete shrugged. “He’s cool.”
“Voddy. I need a full bottle. Pay you after.”
Pete turned to Nicky. “Suppose you’ll be busy on Sunday, Bible-bashing.”
Danny Donnelly scratched his head again, where moles were dotted on the scalp.
Mack stared at the mound of cream, dragged it around the mug and sank it with his spoon. Back at the church a kid had taken a hockey stick to a door, smashing a spider web on the glass panel.
“Lots of folk tonight,” Nicky said.
Mack nodded. “Not enough fifty pences to cover the damage though.”
“You should make it more to get in.”
“We discussed that. It’ll discourage them from coming.”
“Then you won’t have to worry about them smashing the place up.”
Mack half-smiled and shook his head. “They need a place. And we need to witness. To be honest, bud, we might not be running next year anyway. There’s not enough of us. I can’t do it alone.”
He pushed the hair off his forehead and took a drink. There was a black and white photo behind him – Eric Clapton strumming a guitar in his beard and glasses, eyes shut and chin collapsing into his neck. Mack leaned back and his head knocked the frame.
“What would you do if it wasn’t on?”
Nicky shrugged.
“You’re there most Fridays. What if you joined the team? You’ve got your head screwed on. Maybe some of them would relate to you. What d’you reckon?”
Nicky put the mug to his lips. The coffee machine at the counter went off, hissing and spluttering and Mack stared over the table, eyebrows raised.
When it shut up, he said, “Come on bud. You’ll be there anyway. We’d just need you a bit earlier to help set up, then stay on to get the church back in order. You did that tonight anyway.”
“Some of them are older than me. Bigger anyway.”
“Doesn’t matter. And none of us have been hit.” Mack grinned. “Yet.”
Nicky turned the mug on its saucer. A group of girls from the year below sat silently at the next table, all dolled up, empty mugs pushed in the middle. One of them kept glancing over.
“By the way,” Mack said, “did you get baptised when you were wee?”
Nicky frowned at the girl and she blinked away. “I don’t think so.”
“So that’s another thing we’ll need to start thinking about. Baptism.”
“Before I can be a leader?”
“No – cos it’s what we’re meant to do.”
Nicky nodded. He spooned the cream from the mug and dumped it on the saucer.