The boy sat, in a back alley, smoking a fag lifted from the SPAR shop. His mate, who’d tied up the shopkeep for long enough for Nolan to boost the place, got nicked. Nolan just ran…
He thought about his Mum and Dad; he couldn’t stand the idea of going home with his hat in his hand. His dad would give him shite. He’d not seen them in ten years.
He’d just got out of the rehab again; hitchhiked back from Birmingham soon’s he got out. This was the longest he’d ever managed, actually going past a fortnight. He had muffed the program, didn’t go the full six, but he’d stuck it long enough to get cleaned up and gain almost a stone. He thought, “If I can nick a cheap mobile maybe my mate Tommy would let me squat for a bit”. It wasn’t just his mum and dad, his bother and sister both got A levels and jobs right out of school. They’d be on him too…not now, not yet.
“I’ve not buckled yet”, he thought. It had been four days since he left the treatment centre. He figured his da wouldn’t cough up again if he lapsed and he’d worn out his welcome with the NHS. Twenty two and at the end of his wit, Nolan threw his fag away and lit another. Another half hour and the soup kitchen round the corner would be open. Better than going without, he knew where that would lead. If he could just have a break he would really try this time.
He stubbed out his Players to save for later and stood up. He’d take a stroll and case the neighbourhood for a mobile store…as the sun cleared the horizon he made his way…
FIN
Life in Canada 