Kick a dog and it’ll bite.
Andrew pushed aside his shoes and decided upon a pair of trainers instead. The Nike running shoes were new and a little uncomfortable, but he wanted to try and wear them in quickly – the local squash league began again soon. He tied the laces loosely to reduce the pinching on his toes, then stood up and pulled his brown-leather wallet from his jeans, checking for cash. He had just over twenty-pounds in notes and change – more than enough to cover dinner. The final thing he did was pull on his long, black overcoat from the stand in the corner. Even from inside the porch, it was clear that the weather outside was nippy.
Tough winter ahead, Andrew thought to himself as he fastened the final button on his jacket.
Once he was ready, he unlocked the front door and stepped outside into the bitter, grey dusk of the autumn evening. The frosty air immediately gravitated towards him as though he was a cold-weather magnet. Andrew gave his shoulders a quick, vigorous rub and then started down the pathway.
The teenagers across the road seemed to notice Andrew’s presence as he left his property, but they paid him hardly any attention. They seemed content simply chatting amongst themselves.
Too consumed with their smartphones and iPods, probably.
Just like Andrew had told Pen, there was nothing to worry about – just a bunch of bored kids. In fact, he was going to walk right by them to prove a point. He was willing to bet that they wouldn’t make so much as a peep at him.
“Oi, mate?”
Andrew stopped in his tracks.
“Oi, mate, you fucking deaf, or what?”
Andrew turned to the group of teenagers. They were gathered just a few feet down the road and were strolling towards him. Several sets of gleaming eyeballs bore into him, scrutinising him from beneath the harsh glow of the streetlamps.
Andrew cleared his throat and tried to speak calmly. “Excuse me?”
One of the youths stepped away from the others: a tightly-muscled teenager in a red, woollen hat pulled low over his forehead. The lad seemed to have a facial twitch and a thin scar bisected his lower lip.
“Got a cigarette, mate?” the lad asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t smoke,” Andrew replied honestly.
The lad just stared at him, almost as if he recognised Andrew somehow, a spark of familiarity glinting in his eyes. It wasn’t possible though; Andrew had never set eyes on the lad before.
“I said I don’t smoke,” Andrew repeated, wondering why he was still being stared at. “I don’t have a cigarette to give you.”
The lad didn’t break his stare. His nervous twitch seemed to increase in intensity.
“Okay,” the lad finally answered. “No worries then.”
Andrew nodded and resumed his journey to the local shops. He was confused by the encounter, but not particularly upset. See? No problem at all. A slight lack of manners, admittedly, but no worse than that.
“Get us some fags from the shop then, mate.”
Andrew stopped still and wondered if he’d just heard the youth correctly. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly, considering what he should say in reply to such an audacious request. It was probably best not let it get to him and just be polite. No point getting into an argument over a bit of rudeness.
“Okay,” Andrew said, turning to face the youths. “I’m on my way to the shops anyway. You want to give me the money now, or when I get back?”
The whole gang laughed like a pack of hyenas, but the lad in the red, woollen hat did not find anything amusing. Aside from the facial tic that plagued every nerve on his face, the lad’s expression was completely serious – a look of indifference carved into a twitching slab of granite.