1930 19.30 PETE

19.30 PETE

Bastards. Bastards. Bastards.

They are definitely laughing. Like they are watching a match out there.

Pete tries the handle, it twists, he pulls on the door, it opens.

‘Now then now then, Peter lad, calm down.’ Hanley wipes tears from his eyes. ‘Calm down calm down. You know Barry.’

Barry, the lanky shaved head is wiping his eyes. ‘Oh my god, that was brilliant.’

Hanley’s thin hair is slicked over the top. ‘You daft cunt. You won’t do that again. You know Steve and Mike.’ Mike is a shaved head mate of Hanley’s he has met in the pub before home games. Steve is wiping his eyes with a handkerchief, folding it to blow his nose, Pete doesn’t know Steve but he looks familiar.

Hanley is out of his overalls and work boots. Pete wants to stamp on the the toes of his shiny pointy lace ups, wants to hit Hanley’s shiny grinning cheeks, to smear his bloody hands on Hanley’s light blue shirt and his too tight jeans. All he can say is, ‘You f-. You f-f-f-.’

‘Careful canny lad, they could still change their minds.’

Steve can hardly speak for laughing, ‘Get him out of here, get him out of here quick. Oh that was fucking priceless.’