'Want to play a quid a game?' I say.

He nods, slow and c.o.c.ky.

'Yeah,' he says. 'You're on.'

Mark wins the next game, but he needs a few flukes to do it.

I win the next three.

Mark asks his friend for a lend so as he can keep playing.

I've had five pints now but I easily win the next, and the one after that.

'Better call it quits,' he says, 'or my girlfriend will have me b.o.l.l.o.c.ks.'

He's smiling even though he's taken a beating. '

Thanks for the games,' I say. 'You're a good player.'

'Ta.'

He shakes my hand, a good firm shake, then turns to leave.

'Hey wait,' I say. He turns back.

I take five quid out of my wallet and put it on the table.

'Here's your money,' I say.

He looks at me like he feels sorry for me.

'Don't be stupid.'

'It's here on the table,' I say. 'Take it or leave it.'

I walk away, don't look at him again and go into the toilets, tell myself I'm getting out of his way, making it easier for him to take the money.

I go into a cubicle and sit on the toilet. I don't know exactly what goes wrong but, with the stink in here and the bright lights, I end up hanging my head over the toilet bowl and I'm sicker than the ale could've made me. I'm sick as a dog.

I stay hunched over the toilet bowl, my head resting on my arms, staring down into the dirty bowl, then it starts. The sobs. .h.i.t me without warning, flood up from my chest, and I can't stop it, just like that time in the theatre.

I stay in the toilets a good long while, then go out to the basin and wash myself up with soap and toilet paper.

I walk the long way back to the house and go straight up to my room.

n.o.body sees me.

10.

I wake with a hangover. My neck's sore as h.e.l.l and I've got to breathe deep and slow to stop from heaving. Instead of going down for breakfast, I run a bath and the water's finally running hot and I stay in for a good while and the relief of the warmth makes me feel better.

When I get back to my room, and I'm ready to leave, I check in the usual place for my toolkit and realise I've gone and left it at the pub.

My back's soaked in sweat by the time I get to work and I mean to ask Hayes if I can use the phone to call the pub. But, soon as I arrive, Hayes stops me at the garage door.

'Let's put the kettle on and have a cuppa and a chat,' he says.

We go to the tea room and I reach for my cup.

'What about having a half-day off then?' he says.

'I've only just got here,' I say.

We both look up at the clock on the tea room wall. It's 9.30.

'No matter,' he says. 'There's nothing for you to do here today.'

Somebody's pulled up outside.

'See who that is,' he says. I go out to the yard.

A man's pulled up in a Jaguar.

He parks and gets out, walks in my direction.

He's got a tidy moustache and he's wearing one of those pale linen summer suits, makes him look like he's just got out of bed, but rich at the same time.

'I'm Mr Hanc.o.c.k,' he says. 'I'm looking for the man who fixed my MGB.'

'That was me,' I say.

He smiles. 'I wanted to thank you in person. The engine's never run so well.'

'I'm pleased to hear it,' I say.

This is great, this is.

He'll give me his number now and I won't need to ask Hayes for it and I'll ask to borrow the MGB. I could offer him some free work in exchange, after-hours like, or I could dip into my savings and pay a hire fee.

'I'd like to tell your boss what a good new man he's got.'

'I'll go and get him,' I say.

Hayes is sitting behind his desk.

'Mr Hanc.o.c.k's here,' I say. 'And he wants a word.'

Hayes goes out and I follow.

'Mr Hanc.o.c.k,' he says, a big smile on his face. 'How's the MGB?'

'It's purring like a kitten. I came to thank the young man in person.'

'Thank you,' says Hayes.

Mr Hanc.o.c.k looks at Hayes' shoes and sees what I see: Hayes has small feet, and one shoe's bigger than the other.

'My wife will be bringing her Peugeot in next week,' says Mr Hanc.o.c.k, 'and my brother might bring his business to you as well.'

Hayes hasn't once looked over at me. 'Anything we can do for you,' he says. 'We're here to oblige.'

Mr Hanc.o.c.k looks at me.

'Here's my business card,' he says.

He gives the card straight to me and I put it in the pocket of my overalls.

I'm grinning ear to ear.

'Thanks,' I say.

'I've got to dash,' he says.

We say our goodbyes.

We go back in and Hayes stops outside the tea room.

'Let's finish that chat,' he says.

In spite of what's just gone on, he sounds cross.

'I'm sorry I was late this morning,' I say.

'Don't worry about that.'

'Okay.'

'Let's sit.'

We sit on kitchen chairs.

'Well,' he says. 'I suppose there's no time like the present.'

'Yeah?'

'I probably don't have enough work for you full-time. Part-time, yes. Full-time, no.'

'How many days then?'

'How about we stick to five days but you just work the mornings?'

My breath's gone shallow with the anger and the shock. It's not fair what he's done and there's a lot I want to say, but I'm in no position to argue. For now, at least, the only thing to do is take what he's offering and be a man about it.

'Okay,' I say.

'Good,' he says. 'Thanks for being a sport about it.'

'Did I do something wrong?'

'No, like I said. You're a good little mechanic.'

Little.

'Do you want me here today, then?'

'You can go home now,' he says. 'But I'll see you tomorrow morning.'

'Tomorrow, then.'

'Yeah. And thanks for being a sport about it.'

He stands when I stand and hands me a crisp tenner.

'Here's something for making Mr Hanc.o.c.k happy.'

I take it and say, 'Thanks.'

'Good man. When you get here tomorrow, we'll have a chat about splitting up the work between you and Ben.'

'Who's Ben?'

'My nephew. I thought I told you. He's starting his apprenticeship.'

That's who he was talking to yesterday.

'Fair enough,' I say. 'Family's family, right?'

I've got to keep a lid on my anger.

'Yeah,' he says, 'but I'll look after you, too. Don't worry.'