Free Down Among the Gods by Kate Thompson

the radio.
    The radio is Patrick’s companion in life. But this week every few shillings will count, so he forgoes renewing the batteries. It is a tough, tough week. The price of fixer has gone up by half a pint, and the shop he usually deals with has run out of the paper he needs, so he has to get a larger and more expensive size and cut it down. It works out cheaper in the long run, but the long run has never had a place in Patrick’s budget.
    On Friday evening, he and Ray go to a traditional Irish concert in Clapham. By ten o’clock, Patrick has spent all the money he brought with him and is ready to go home, but Ray has heard about the stray film and insists on lending him twenty quid. By the following morning, what is left of it is jingling in Patrick’s pocket, and buys him a couple of pints and a sandwich before the football match he has been sent to cover.
    As he is coming home that evening, he runs into Paul, one of the boys who lives above him.
    ‘How’s it going, Patrick?’
    ‘Not so bad. And you?’
    ‘Grim. Any chance of a fiver?’
    ‘Sorry. I haven’t even got the price of a cup of coffee.’
    ‘Haven’t you?’ says Paul. ‘That’s rough. Come up and have one with us, will you?’
    Patrick has only once been in their part of the house, and that was when he went in to fix up his electrical connection. At that time Paul wasn’t there, nor were any of the boys who now share the house, but its orientation was the same. One by one the lads move on and are replaced by new ones, homeless and stranded in London, glad to meet up with friendly faces and willing, for want of alternative, to join them in their trade.
    All the lights in the house are on, even though it isn’t yet dark. The stereo is on, too, and in another room, the TV. In front of it a boy that Patrick hasn’t met before is sitting cross-legged on the floor wearing nothing except Doc Martens and a pair of underpants. He is carefully decorating his legs with tiger stripes, using a thick, black marker. Behind him one of the grids of the gas fire is leaking, sending up a roaring yellow flame which blackens the wall above it as far as the ceiling.
    Paul goes into the kitchen. Patrick stands adrift and looks at the TV, but the noise of the stereo drowns out the words of the actors. The boy turns round, and is a little startled to find that he has company. ‘Who are you?’ he says.
    ‘Patrick. I live downstairs. And you?’
    ‘Corrie. I like your hat. What you doing here if you live downstairs?’
    ‘Just called in for a cup of coffee. Is that OK?’
    ‘Oh, yeah. I’ll put the kettle on.’
    He goes to stand up, but Patrick says, ‘No, it’s all right, Paul’s making it.’
    ‘Oh,’ says Corrie, ‘you with Paul, then?’
    ‘Yes,’ says Patrick. ‘No. I’ve just come in for a cup of coffee.’
    ‘So you keep saying,’ says Corrie. He holds the marker out to Patrick. ‘Will you do my back?’
    ‘We’ve got no milk,’ says Paul, coming in from the kitchen. ‘Do you mind Marvel?’
    ‘Bloody Marvel,’ says Corrie. ‘Rehydrates instantly into eight pints. Special discount packs available for haemophiliacs, guaranteed HIV negative.’
    ‘Shut your face, Corrie,’ says Paul. Patrick follows him with some relief as he goes back into the kitchen.
    The two pints that Patrick drinks before the life drawing class are his first of the day and his last of the week. It means that he will have to go straight home afterwards, but in many ways that’s not a bad thing. He hasn’t got the fiver for Jessie, and this will give him a good excuse to avoid her.
    But as he comes into the classroom, she spots him and waves. He tries to look away but it’s too late, she is already coming across the room towards him. And despite all the resolutions which have accompanied him throughout the week, he is surprised to find that he is delighted to see her.
    ‘How are things?’ he says.
    ‘Great. And you?’
    Patrick sighs. ‘Bound to get