Page 26 of Loving Netta Wilde

‘Do you need them tonight?’

‘No. They gave me something already.’

‘Okay, let’s go home,’ she said, even though she knew it wasn’t Colin’s home and never would be.

When they got into the car, Colin’s stomach rumbled loudly. ‘Sorry.’ He was so coy it made her think of the first time they met. Manchester, 1987. It was a crappy party, full of accountancy students. She’d only been there because she was hiding from Doogie and because Claire had heard there’d be lots of free booze. Colin had been manning the record player and she’d asked him if they’d got any Clash. He looked as if he didn’t knowwhat had hit him. It was quite sweet. He wasn’t so well-practised in the art of manipulation then. He was probably putting it on now.

‘When did you last eat?’

He scratched his head. ‘Er, this morning, I think.’ Yes, he was definitely putting it on.

‘Let’s stop for fish and chips.’ Then, in case he thought she was mellowing, she added: ‘I’m hungry too.’

It was a nice balmy evening and still light. Netta wasn’t ready to go home yet, so she suggested they ate in the park. She was in no mood to face the questions that would inevitably meet them on their return. Mainly because she only had questions herself and it was easier to ask them here. ‘How did it happen?’

Colin picked at his fish. ‘I’d rather not say.’

‘I need to know, Colin.’

‘Why?’

‘Because Liza’s concerned about you.’

‘Ah. Liza’s concerned about me. No one else then?’

‘Isn’t that enough?’ Who else was he hoping for? Surely not her. Will, maybe.

He turned to her, the trace of a smile on his lips. One side of his face was so swollen, it was painful to look at him. He’d been good looking back in 1987. Not in the same way as Doogie had been, but attractive all the same. She’d stopped seeing him as anything other than vile long ago, but in truth, he’d aged well. Until now. ‘You have curry sauce on your chin.’ He pointed to a spot on his own chin. ‘Just here.’

She found a tissue and wiped it away. ‘Gone?’

‘Yep. I was just thinking about those weekends when we were still at Manchester. Do you remember when we’d come back to Birmingham? You’d take me to a club. Snobs usually.Afterwards, we’d go to that chip shop in Hurst Street, by the Powerhouse.’

‘What made you think of that?’

‘Must be the fish and chips.’ He kicked a fallen chip towards a crow waiting eagerly for cast offs. ‘It was like another world to me.’

‘It was just a club.’

‘I wish you wouldn’t do that.’

‘What?’

‘Belittle me. You were always belittling me. I had a different upbringing to you, Net. I couldn’t help seeing the excitement in your world.’

That was rubbish. She never belittled anyone. She’d have told him so too, if he hadn’t been such a wreck. ‘They’ve moved Snobs now. Did you know?’

‘I heard. Closer to the chip shop.’

‘The chip shop went years ago.’

Colin wrinkled his nose, and the less damaged side of his face attempted a resigned smile. ‘I so hate the present day.’

Netta laughed. ‘Eat your chips before they get cold, country boy.’

He threw another chip to the crow. ‘You haven’t called me that in a long time.’

She didn’t answer. She was thinking about when she used to call him that all the time. She always thought he liked it but perhaps she was wrong.

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