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Chapter One: London, the present


The sigh had become a feature of the man. And when he sighed it signified no special existential despair, only an acknowledgement of the fact that another day had come and the coffee that he was drinking was no better than it had been yesterday. He sat in unsplendid isolation at the counter of his shop, his back to the rows and rows of stands that ran away from him toward the front door. Each stand was thick with plastic, and in the harsh strip lighting it was hard to see that each piece of plastic contained a comic.

“All right, Harvey? Make us one, I’m freezing.”

How long had it been from his own arrival until Josh tapped him playfully on one shoulder while walking the other way? The coffee cup was still warm in his hands. He looked up. “You’re late.” He hadn’t actually checked the time but he liked to start each working day by registering a complaint, preferably to Josh.

“What’s up? We open, are we?”

“Of course we are open. We keep business hours, or at least, I do.”

“Well, the sign doesn’t say Open.” Josh went back to the door and turned a rather grubby picture of Thor, God of Thunder, saying Closed to an identical one of him saying Open. “You wonder why we don’t get any customers, but you have to turn the sign round, Harvey.” Giggling, Josh made his way behind the counter and through into the back room where they kept the coffee. “You might have been swamped with customers by now if you’d remembered that simple rule.” Josh’s voice was muffled by the sound of water being run into a kettle.

But not muffled enough.

“Fuck off.” Harvey rose from his seat at the counter and moved to the front of the shop to avoid Josh’s voice, which now began painfully to accompany music on Xfm from the back room. He opened the door and walked out into a February wind that made him lift his shoulders and narrow his eyes.

If only.

Some days it was worse than usual, the memories, the wondering. It had never left him. Ever since he moved from Cornwall, made his way to the big city, he’d sort of expected it to go, to withdraw into some back room of his mind, but every day it had seemed stronger. He breathed deep of the icy air and contemplated the empty street. Few customers here, no passing trade. The sigh was a part of him, as much as the hunch of the shoulder and the reach for the cigarettes from the inside pocket of his denim jacket. He struggled to light up in the hectic wind, failed, swore vaguely, and made his way back into the shop to sit once more behind the counter on one of the two high stools. After a few moments he stabbed out the butt with a hard vicious motion.

“Turn that shit down, will you, Josh!”

“OK, Harvey, OK. You don’t need to get nasty.” And Harvey put his head in his hands and felt the way his hair was disappearing, leaving him: abandoning ship.

“What I could have done.” It was one-thirty and the Queen’s Head was full. But they had been there for over an hour and had a prime seat. It was a pub without noticeable character or appeal. But it was located midway between one set of office blocks and another and had accepted the benefits of fortune without complain

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