“Graham,” I said. “Have we left anything behind? Where’s your, er, “
“What?” he said, looking around clearly feeling that air of got-away-with-it-ness pricked. He looked around, suddenly straight-backed and clear eyed. On it. Then…
“Shit, you mean her, yeah?”
“Yeah, her. Your girlfriend, remember?”
“You are fuckin soft, aren’t you? She wasn’t my girlfriend, you twat. I met her on the boat same as I met you. Paid her a few quid to pretend to be my girl and walk through with me. Listen, a bloke on his own looks completely different to a bloke with a woman. A bloke on his own, could be anything, couldn’t he? A bloke and a woman is a nice couple and no one bothers with a nice couple.”
Graham was right about one thing. I was fuckin soft.
He looked at us again. What was he thinking? That we were fresh meat and he could do anything he wanted with us? Or that we were so green he needed to protect us? I didn’t know him very well, but off the top of my head I’d say that only one of those things was in character.
Still we were hanging out with him, going with him. Not really trusting him, but not really not either. Let’s be honest. We should have cut and run long ago, but something was making us hang in there, something was keeping us in. Fuckin soft didn’t come close.