2026

Ever since he had first become a teenager Reuben had wanted to be in London. Fancy palaces, pop stars and presidents, autistic millionaires who worked ninety hours a week because they could not cope with any other life. Half lugging half rolling the last upright barrel to its resting place, a circle drawn on the cellar floor, he checked off the inventory. One by one he watched carefully as they came in, could tell by experience whether any was underweight. They would not dare do this to him after he had sent two barrels back a couple of months ago. Had checked the crates, the boxes of spirits and lemonade, you could still never be too careful. Signing off the docket he escorted the draymen up through the hatch to the pavement, closed it down from the inside, walked across and up the other wooden staircase away from the musty smell of the cellars to the beery air of a pub waiting to open for the day. He started when he heard someone say the name Barry but it was only Joe one of the part-timers talking into his mobile, he must get less jumpy. Going to wipe his hands on his trousers he thought better and went over to the sink to wash them.

Barry Myners. Just two days over his sixteenth birthday Barry was in bed with his boyfriend George when his father came home early. One minute in oblivion at the top of the empty house then in a stamping and shouting he felt himself lifted out by his armpits pushed out the door and thrown down the stairs. Mercifully no injuries apart from the inevitable carpet burns he crawled to the bottom and his father jumped down and forced him into the front room where among all the what do you think you're doing in my house you fucking pervert and who do you think you are some throwback to Queen Victoria and it's not illegal to beat your own children Barry somehow managed to dodge the belt and landed his father an improbable punch which made him totter for a second or two so he rushed out the door of the room slamming it behind him and sprinted up to his bedroom locking the door why had he not done that in the first place and for good measure shoved the door wedge under the bottom and now his father was punching on the door he used to be a boxer before going to prison so Barry shoved his clothes in his rucksack stopping only to reach into the bedside cupboard for the emergency money added his phone and music player on top for good measure slipped his feet into his shoes yanking the laces tight then jumped onto the open window ledge still naked George must have got out somehow and grateful for a summer afternoon last year when he and George and some mates had dared each other to jump from the first floor window directly onto the garden beyond the patio he threw the rucksack in front as he leapt out falling forward feet first spraining one wrist as he let his arms take some of the impact then bounced up and sprawled flat onto the bare grass scrambled to his feet grabbed his rucksack and another trick he had learnt last summer hurdling the metre high wooden fence that separated their house from Mrs Duggan in the road behind he dived into the safety of her brick outhouse only then hearing the sound of his bedroom door splintering and the banging and cursing from the bedroom window then the siren of a police car good mate George but he had no wish to be taken into care he dressed quickly picked up the nearly empty rucksack sprinted out to the street and the alley beyond and ran the mile or so to the house of his girlfriend Eileen Brooks.

Sitting in the calm air of her conservatory he nursed his sore wrist. She brought out a bottle of lemonade.

"Feeling better?"

"Takes a bit of time to cool down. I'll be ok."

"He tried to phone?"

"I switched it off. He’ll be happy enough to be rid of me."

"What are you going to do?"

"Don't know really. Can’t go back now. Or want to."

"Stay here tonight."

"I guess."

"We'll have to sleep together." For the umpteenth time.

"Dog. Think I’d rather go back for another beating."

She took hold of his hand. "Lighten up. Don't you think it would be nice to say goodbye properly?"

"You haven't been hanging out with me for two years because you want to sleep with me."

"So why have I then?" she pushed her chin towards his face.

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"Er, because you're scared of boys. They're so rough. They might want to do things with you. And horror of horrors you might even enjoy it." For the umpteenth time, again.

"What will your mum do?"

He considered the turn of conversation then decided to run with it. "She'll divorce him. Since Sarah left for Uni last year it's been pretty obvious she's only waiting for me to leave home. Well that's it for her now."

"Shall I phone her? Mum has her number. May be best if she has someone come with her when she gets home this evening."

"Yeah. Mr Myners would never beat his wife in front of a lady. He's old fashioned like that."

As she got up Barry sat in the cool room looking out at the grey sky over the tidy garden, he really liked this house it was so much prettier than his own little terrace with its deep but roughly maintained lawn. In a random thought he wondered why his father had never got a dog maybe he would now if he was going to be on his own, and he had an image of the old man sitting embittered in a long cardigan in front of an old-fashioned electric fire on a winter's evening. Or more likely one of those old crusties trotting down the pub every night to moan about the state of the nation's youth and all those immigrants. He closed his eyes and drifted.

"All fixed." He heard the door close and she sat down on the short couch next to him. She put her arm loosely around his shoulder. From this angle he could see quite clearly that under her white T-shirt she was not wearing a bra. He looked briefly at the image of Rory McFee, lead singer of MangleSea, above the band's logo straddling her tummy.

"You're right. I should get a boyfriend. But not one of those puppies who leave a trail of drool every time they look at me. Someone a bit older maybe like Tiana's brother."

"Kostas? Now who's going for the best looking boy? Anyway he's going out with Becky Slade."

"Trust you to know everyone's relationships. Anyway I only said like, not actually him. And will you?"

"Maybe," he said without conviction. Lazily putting his arm around her they sat together looking out over the garden where the first fading of daylight set the flowers in front of the fence in gloom. Idly she ran the tips of her fingers along the margin of his hair then with her other hand she reached over to his shoulder pulled herself up a bit and pushed her dry lips to the top of his ear, running them down till her nose landed in the large hollow making him laugh.

"Are you trying to seduce me you bad bad woman. Catching me on the rebound just because I've had interrupted sex with my boyfriend. Ex, I guess now."

"Poor George. He'll be really upset when you go. I can see Nursie's going to have to take her sticking plasters to school tomorrow." Barry had given her the nickname himself, ironic observing she was great at counselling other teenagers but never had a relationship of her own. "No. It's just that this is our last day together and I'd like it to be one to remember."

Drawing her hand down from his shoulder she traversed his black T-shirt to his trousers and explored the sensitive area. She climbed up and straddled his legs, both hands on his shoulders and scrutinised the fear in his face. He felt a river building up behind a dam of logs, the first waters breaking through.

She looked deep into his eyes. "Will you?"

She might as well have said, resistance is useless. He felt the waters surging and there was nothing he could do about it.

"Strictly no kissing," he said.

*

They lay on the bed side by side, not touching, neither wanting to be the first to break the silence and consign this moment to the dustbin of history. Outside the light had nearly disappeared and night creatures were starting to make their voices heard through the narrow opening of the window. She turned and picked up the clock, though she had no need to know the time and anyway it had to be just before nine. Swinging her legs off the bed she went over to the window.

"Hey, don't stand naked with the curtains open. You'll get us arrested."

"Don't worry, no one can see."

He sat up picked his boxers from the floor walked towards the window put them on and looked out. Only the dark backs of houses were visible. She placed her hands on the sill, projecting her breasts imperiously at anyone lurking in the hedgerows. He stood beside her, a few inches apart.

"You really are a very attractive woman you know." He wondered at himself. Of course she knew.

"And you," she said, "aren't half handsome yourself." Though a bit blotchy at the moment. He looked down and examined the brown bruises that were appearing on his chest and one arm, and a long red streak on his ribcage that would glare sorely in the morning.

"When I go to London," he said, "I am going to change my name."

"Cool. What to?"

"Don't know. Thought I could be Rob or Jamie perhaps."

"How about Reuben?"

Barry jumped. "What king of a name is that?"

"It's my name. My name for you. You can be Reuben Ford."

He thought about it for a few seconds. "Well it's certainly different. Where did you get it from?"

Eileen looked at him sheepishly. "It was the name of my imaginary playmate. When I was five. I'd completely forgotten about him till now. Once Mark got to about three. But it's cool. For the rest of your life you can carry a little bit of me with you."

"I can do that," said Barry-who-was-about-to-become-Reuben, or Reuben-who-used-to-be-Barry.

"So that means," she said, "I can be the first person to call you Roo."

They hugged briefly but he found the touch of her cool breasts against his skin too much to handle so they got dressed and Eileen went to a cupboard where she pulled out a sleeping bag for him to use later and they went downstairs where her brother Mark was helping their mother to unload bags of shopping from the car.