skill to have.â
Dad looked a bit distant for a moment and rubbed his temples. He swigged his tea and made a face, but I didnât offer to get him a beer from the fridge. Not yet.
âI suppose,â he said, eventually. âWhereâs the course?â
âOh itâs at work,â I said. âAll paid for. The only trouble is itâs an evening class. Twice a week, after work.â
âAll paid for?â Dad said.
âYes,â I said. I turned away from him and stirred the meat so he couldnât see my face. I was getting pretty good at lying but that didnât mean I enjoyed it.
âAll right,â he said.
âAll right?â I repeated. But he didnât reply.
Assuming that meant he had engaged as much as he was going to, I turned the heat down under the meat.
âDinner will be half an hour,â I said.
Dad snorted.
âI need to go into work on Saturday to register for this course then,â I carried on casually. âAnd afterwards Iâm meeting a friend to go to the pictures. Girl from work,â I added. âSuze.â
Iâd learned long ago that the best lies had an element of truth.
âSheâs doing the course too.â
Dad nodded and I thought that was it. But later when we were eating, he looked at me and said, âWhat does Billy say?â
âAbout what?â
âThis course of yours.â
Hoping to distract him, I got up and went to the fridge. I pulled out a can of beer, opened it and handed it to Dad with a glass.
âHe thinks it will be useful for when heâs running the garage.â
Dad nodded, then turned his attention back to his dinner. And it was done.
Billy had actually been chuffed to bits, making me feel waves of guilt that I was actually going to be spending my evenings writing articles, furthering my own career and not his.
âGet a grip,â Suze said in disgust when I told her how I was feeling as we walked to her squat that Saturday. âYouâve got to stop worrying about what everyone else thinks and start looking after yourself.â
âYou think?â I said. I shifted my heavy typewriter case to the other hand. Iâd told Dad that it had a fault that needed mending and I would drop it into the shop on my way to the station. âI canât help wondering if itâs not worrying about what everyone else thinks thatâs got me into this mess.â
Suze waved away my concerns with a flick of her wrist.
âRubbish,â she said. âIf thereâs one thing Iâve learned, itâs that you canât rely on anyone but yourself.â
She grinned at me.
âYouâve got to look out for number one.â
She opened the door of the squat and I followed her inside, glad to put my heavy typewriter down.
âSuze,â I said. âWhat happened to you?â
âI cleared half the desk,â she said, ignoring my question. âAnd Bert off the fruit stall found me another chair.â
She showed me her desk, which sheâd pulled out from the wall. Sheâd put the two chairs on opposite sides, diagonally across from each other. Her typewriter was on one side and she picked up mine and put it on the other.
âThereâs loads of space,â she said. âWe can chat if we want, or zone out if we need to concentrate.â
I felt weirdly close to tears.
âThis is amazing,â I said. âThank you.â
Suze gave me a funny, wonky sort of smile.
âSomeone once told me that when things arenât going well for you, you should do something to help someone else,â she said. âI thought this would be good for both of us.â
I nodded, not wanting to speak in case I cried.
âSo what do you think?â she said.
I swallowed.
âI think,â I said, unclipping my typewriter case. âThat we should get to work.â
We typed together in companionable silence all afternoon. I was