I texted Lad Boy midday to see what he was doing this evening.
By three I hadn’t received a response, and by seven when I hadn’t heard from him I began to panic.
He knows. He knows about Warren. He hates me. He’s ashamed of me.
I pulled out my phone and went to my Favourites screen and pressed on his name.
“Lad Boy – calling …” my phone read.
He picked up after the first ring. ‘Alright?’ He said, cheerfully.
‘Yeah, how are you?’
‘Good, was just about to call you. Just got home.’
‘What are you up to tonight?’ I asked.
‘I think I might go home for the weekend … want to come with me?’
There was a brief pause before he said, ‘Yeah, alright. Why not?’
‘I’m sick of meals for one. And I want to see Alex.’
‘Yeah, sounds wicked. Let’s do it.’
‘Brilliant. Want to leave at nine?’
‘Great, see you then.’
‘See you soon, byee!’ He said, his voice getting higher with every vowel in “bye”.
So, off home, to stay out of trouble.
Stories on Monday …