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our children might come running out. Horatio and Matilda. Horatio? Fuck, where did that come from?
    ‘Ollie? Is that it?’ she asks. I snap out of my daydream.
    ‘Sorry?’ I reply, glancing at Phil who’s staring at me with a frown and a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing look. ‘Sorry. I…well, uh. I glance down at my iPhone for the next question. ‘Uh…’ Shit, it’s gone back to sleep and I can’t find the email. She gave a couple of good answers, that’ll be okay, won’t it? ‘That’s it.’
    ‘Really?’ she asks.
    ‘What?’ Phil says, almost straight away.
    ‘Uh, yeah. No, that was great. Really good.’
    ‘That was quickest interview I’ve ever done,’ Lauren says.
    ‘Me too,’ says Phil, staring at me with a searching look.
    ‘Well, I’ve got what I need, so what’s the point in wasting your time trying to get you to say the same thing ten different ways.’ Lauren shrugs.
    ‘Okay, well if you’re sure?’
    ‘Yep, definitely,’ I say. Phil starts to pack up the lights. She stands up from the chair.
    ‘So, have you got many interviews to do?’ Lauren asks.
    ‘Not at the mo, but who knows what the newsdesk has planned for me. I’ll take this to Millbank, feed it and await my fate,’ I reply. She nods.
    ‘Well, I hope it works for you. So, do you have a card or…?’ Oh my God, she wants my digits. She wants to ask me out. We really are going to spend the rest of our happy lives together. Jesus Ollie, give her the bloody card. Hang on, I don’t have business cards. Shit.
    ‘Uh…I don’t have business cards,’ I repeat my thought verbatim.
    ‘Oh. Well, never mind.’
    ‘I can give you my phone number if you like.’
    ‘Oh,’ she replies. Phil glances up from ejecting the SD card from the camera.
    ‘And email and everything else you get on a business card,’ I say. You are pathetic, look at this performance.
    ‘Sure, let me get a piece of paper.’ She pulls out a Post-It notepad and hands it to me with a pen.
    ‘Ta,’ I say. I write my name, mobile number and email address down. I resist the urge to also include my place of birth, bank account number and Gmail password. ‘There you go.’ I hand her back the pad.
    ‘Thanks,’ she says, looking at it then up to me. ‘Well, it was really nice to meet you, Ollie.’
    ‘You too,’ I say offering her my hand. She shakes it and smiles. I smile back, trying to imprint this meeting in my memory.
    ‘Ready when you are champ,’ says Phil. I glance his way and nod.
    ‘Nice to meet you too, Phil,’ says Lauren.
    ‘Uh…yeah, likewise,’ says Phil, shaking her hand.
    ‘Well, see you soon,’ I say. She frowns slightly. ‘I mean, not soon. Just…anyway.’ I grab the tripod.
    ‘Do you need someone to show you out?’ Lauren asks. I frown because I hear the word ‘throw’ when she says ‘show.’ Stupid, I know.
    ‘We’ll be fine thanks,’ Phil says. We walk out of the office, I glance back to her. She’s staring after us with a look which I interpret as utter confusion on her face. Man…that really was the worst interview I’ve ever done.

 
     
     
     
     

     
    I get home around six-thirty. As I approach the front door I detect the familiar smell of ganja drifting from Tristan, the drug dealer’s, flat.
    ‘Those don’t smell like cigarettes,’ I say loudly as I pass his door.
    ‘FUCK YOU!’ I hear Tristan shout.
    ‘You doing drugs in there again?’ I ask.
    ‘Didn’t you hear me? I said FUCK OFF!’ Tristan replies. I walk on, smiling. I get to the front door, slot the key in the lock and go inside.
    As soon as I’m in, I hear the familiar sound of Grand Theft Auto coming from the Playstation. I walk into the living room and dump my bag. Parker sits in his dressing gown engrossed in the game.
    ‘Evening,’ I say.
    ‘Can’t see,’ he replies, not changing the pitch in his voice. I step out of the way. His legs rest on top of the coffee table. Next to them is a plate with toast crumbs and crusts and