Dom knew he should stop drinking, but it didn’t feel like a normal day. Still buzzing from the long ride, the blazing sunlight and unusual heat, and the weird sense of danger pervading their conversation, he bought one more pint.
On the way back to Andy on the riverbank he was thinking about disguises.
‘One last glass?’ Mandy asked.
She and Emma had already polished off one bottle of Prosecco between them, and were halfway through the second. But it was that sort of day. Gorgeous weather, a nice couple of hours that afternoon with Dom in the garden after his bike ride, Daisy at a camping sleepover with friends.
Mandy had turned up at their house unannounced, complaining that her boyfriend, Paul, had fucked off on a football weekend without her again, and it had turned into one of those long, impromptu boozy evenings that were always the best kind.
‘Be rude to leave it in the bottle,’ Emma said.
‘Rude,’ Mandy agreed, giggling. She couldn’t hold her drink very well, but she drank the most out of all Emma’s friends. It wasn’t quite a problem, Emma usually thought. Not yet.
Conversation had moved rapidly on from character assassinating Mandy’s absent boyfriend. They’d gossiped about others in the village, the housing estate being built on the outskirts, the new headmistress in Daisy’s primary school, and a dozen other things she could hardly remember. It had been a fun couple of hours. But now there was a slight chill on the evening air, and as Mandy poured, Emma stood to fetch blankets for them.
‘You’re lucky,’ Mandy said.
‘How so?’ Emma leaned against the back door jamb.
‘Dominic. He’s so dependable.’
‘Yeah, he is.’ Emma nodded and smiled, glancing at the ground.
‘Oh, really,’ Mandy said, shaking her head and almost tumbling herself from the patio chair. ‘Come on, Em, there’s no way you can deny it.’
‘I don’t deny his dependability. Never have.’
‘But …’ Mandy said. ‘Sheesh.’ She shook her head and took a big swig of Prosecco.
They’d had this conversation a thousand times before, and Emma was angry at Mandy for bringing it up again. She’d done it on purpose, barely mentioning Dom before launching into judgemental mode.
‘We’re fine,’ Emma said.
‘Yeah, but he’s “boring”.’ She made speech marks with her fingers.
‘I’ve never said that.’
‘You’ve never had to.’ Mandy tapped her glass. She wore rings on every finger apart from her wedding ring finger. ‘Got a good business, worships you and Daisy, not bad looking. Good in bed.’
Emma waved her hand from side to side, trying to lighten up the conversation. She really should tell Mandy to stop, go home, sober up. Her boyfriend would be home in a couple of days and she could take it out on him.
‘You should be happy. You’re lucky.’
‘I am happy,’ Emma said. She ignored the inner niggle casting doubts on that thought. She always did.
‘Dunno what’s good for you,’ Mandy muttered.
‘I’m going to get those blankets.’ Emma entered the house and stood in the kitchen for a while, pouring a glass of water from the fridge and relishing its cool tickle down her throat.
She moved past feeling angry at Mandy. They’d been friends for a long time, but Mandy was sometimes a mess, and she was never averse to projecting her own unhappiness onto her friends. Some of it was self-pity, some jealousy. She was definitely jealous of Emma.
She glanced at the clock. Dom would be home soon. She smiled, because there was nothing wrong with dependable. Perhaps compared to what she’d known in her younger years, he was boring. But boring was better than imprisoned, boring was better than dead. She had friends from her twenties who were both.
‘Bloody freezing out here!’ she heard Mandy shout from outside.
Emma went through to the living room and swept up a couple of throws from the sofa.
‘So when do you and Paul go to Menorca?’ she asked when she returned outside, determined to take control of the conversation.
Mandy smiled, then frowned, then started crying. Yeah. It really was time for her to go home.
‘I remember when a first class stamp used to be eighteen pence,’ Andy said. ‘What is it now? Fifty? Sixty? I’ve lost touch. It goes up so often I’m confused. That’s not inflation, that’s Royal Mail screwing us for as much cash as they can because they’re a monopoly.’
‘There’re other delivery firms,’ Dom said.
‘Like who?’ Andy took another chip from the polystyrene tray between them. It was such a nice evening that they’d decided to sit in the small park opposite the chip shop to eat.
‘Little old grannies,’ Dom said. ‘It’d hurt them. Stealing pension money that an old granny needs to buy her food.’
‘Wrong,’ Andy said, his voice sing-song. He had a way of doing that, sometimes. Announcing Dom’s mistake with a flourish, almost revelling in his wrongness. ‘I told you, they’re insured.’
Dom sighed and held his head, elbows rested on the wooden park table. He didn’t feel drunk any more. He felt tired, a little hungover, and the heat had gone from pleasant to claustrophobic. With darkness fallen, the humidity persisted like a ghost of the day just gone. I really need to go home, Dom thought. Emma. Bed. Normality.
Instead, they were talking about robbery.
Dom still couldn’t quite put his finger on when things had changed. Even at the Ship, their discussion had been conducted with the air of an adventure, an almost childlike game of what-if? As fresh pints of dirty stole his balance and slurred his voice, Dom had found himself giggling as they’d discussed what sort of disguises they could use, what to call each other, and how it would actually work out.
I want to be Mr Black.
Does Emma wear stockings or tights? Can you steal some?
That was Tim Roth. Wasn’t it?
Or Muppet T-shirts, with holes for eyes.
Maybe it was Harvey Keitel.
‘No one will lose out, apart from the Royal Mail,’ Andy said. He was a shadowy silhouette, silvered by moonlight, a stranger who Dom hardly knew. ‘And do you know what effect a forty grand loss will have on them?’
‘What?’ Dom asked.
‘None at all.’
‘I’m going home,’ Dom said.
‘Sleep on it.’
‘No.’ Dom snorted, standing from the small park bench. ‘No. I’m not sleeping on it. You might think I’m pissed, but I’m really not any more. To be honest, it worries me that I can’t tell whether you’re joking or not.’
Still seated, Andy smiled up at him and ate some more chips. He looked smug, confident, strong. Superior. Dom hated the way his friend sometimes made him feel.
‘You’re just taking the piss,’ Dom said. ‘I’ll walk home.’
‘Don’t always be a loser,’ Andy muttered.
‘What?’ Dom wasn’t quite sure what