The Spread: Book 1 (The Hill)

to see Aaron moving onto his second. Maybe his younger brother would actually loosen up and have a good time this weekend. That might make it worth the ear-bashing Ryan’s mam had given him about taking a fifteen-year-old on a stag do.
Best make sure he doesn’t overdo it. A couple of hangovers won’t kill him, though. I just need to keep him away from Sean. Yeah, definitely, keep him away from Sean.
A blue three-seater sofa took up the largest part of the lounge, placed opposite the stone fireplace. A beige two-seater sat perpendicular to it, with a black leather armchair completing the U-shaped seating arrangement and a low, glass coffee table making up the centre. A modest television was perched on a table in the corner, while a narrow console table took up the space beside the front door. A lamp and guest book sat on top of it.
Brett was sitting on the larger sofa beside Ryan, sipping from a highball glass full of vodka and coke. As well as being the most serious, he was also the most intelligent – a full-blown vet as of a few months ago when he’d finally qualified. It made Ryan anxious just thinking about the amount of studying and training it must have taken Brett to get to where he was. He would have quit after the first year. In fact, that was what Ryan had done. A year of technical college, but no more, thank you very much. Goodbye forever, classrooms. Stick it up your arse, teachers. Brett was a different animal, though. Driven, determined, and desperate to show that a black kid from Manchester’s mean streets could achieve anything an entitled white kid from Hampshire could. To his credit, he had done just that.
Ryan nodded at Brett’s drink. “You’re off to a good start. Tough week?”
Brett tilted his glass and stared through his glasses into the fizzy brown mixture. “Not particularly. Had to euthanise a four-year-old cocker spaniel, which wasn’t fun, but other than that it’s been a pretty routine few days.”
“I don’t think I could do your job, mate.”
“After eight years of studying, I would hope not.”
“Nah, I mean, I couldn’t put an animal down.”
Brett tutted. “I’m not a monster. The cocker spaniel ingested rat poison from a neighbour’s garden. Its kidneys were failing. It’s not my favourite part of the job, admittedly, but I remind myself that animals are going to suffer with or without me. My job is to help those I can.”
Ryan raised his pint glass. “Proper respect, mate. I’m proud of you.”
Brett clinked his glass against Ryan’s. “I’m proud of you too.”
“Give over! I’m twenty-five and dig flower beds for a living. Yeah, sure, now and then my boss might let me help lay a deck, but other than that I’m a dogsbody. Right success story, me.”
“I’m proud that you’re getting married. To be honest, I thought you’d stay a bachelor forever. Instead, you’re the first one of us to take the plunge.”
Ryan’s throat was dry, so he swigged his lager before talking again. “I ain’t married yet. This weekend, I’m still a free man.”
“I’ll toast to that.”
“To freedom,” said Ryan, loudly enough that everyone heard him.
They all raised their drinks.
“To freedom and drugs,” said Sean. In the last two or three hours, he’d taken another two hits from his baggie of cocaine, and he was now talking a mile a minute. Loobey had adopted a blank expression, no longer even attempting to keep up. In fact, he seemed liberated by the brief interruption. “Anyone fancy a cuppa?” he asked. “Might take the chill off.”
Ryan frowned. “I’m not cold, mate. We’ve got a good fire going.” Thanks to Tom who had stacked the wood like an expert due to having grown up in a big old house that seemed to have an open fireplace in every single room.
“Get a drink down yer,” said Sean. “I can’t believe you ain’t had one yet. What’s wrong with yer?”
Loobey shrugged. “I’m just feeling a bit iffy. Think it’s travel sickness from the never-ending drive here.”
“Excuse me,” said Tom pissily. “You were brought here in absolute luxury.”
“Your car might be luxurious,” said Sean, “but you drive like a joyriding wino.”
“If you don’t ride an Alfa Romeo fast, you don’t deserve to be behind the wheel.”
Sean looked at the others while nodding at Tom. “Hark at him. Jeremy sodding Clarkson here.”
Tom chuckled. “Yes, okay, Bez.”
Everyone hooted with laughter.
Sean straightened up in his armchair. “Fuck’s that s’posed to mean?”
“Nothing. It’s a joke.”
“I don’t get it.”
“The joke,” said Tom, “is that we’re all from Manchester, but none of us are anywhere near as Manc as you.”
Everyone laughed, except for Sean, who leaned forward with a scowl on his face. His eyes were like deep pools of ink. “I’m proud of my roots, me. Why don’t you piss off back to private school if you don’t like it, Tom?”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa!” said Loobey. “Chill out, our kid. Don’t bring the mood down.”
Sean’s freckled cheeks flushed, matching the colour of his short coppery hair. “Posh twat and his goddamn Alfa Romeo. Thinks his shit don’t stink.”
Tom rolled his eyes. “We’ve been mates for over a decade, Sean. When have I ever acted the snob?”
“You’ve always thought you were better than us.”
Ryan didn’t like where this was going. If problems occurred this weekend, it would most definitely be because of Sean; they all knew it. Whenever they had used to go out on the lash, Sean would always be the one to start a fight, or disappear in a taxi with some dodgy bird, but out here, in the middle of nowhere, there were no strangers for Sean to go off on. There were only the six of them.
“Get real, Sean!” Ryan tried to convey the ridiculous of the situation by chuckling as he spoke. “Tom isn’t being a snob. He’s just proud of his new car. Wouldn’t you be?”
“If I worked for it, yeah. Not if my old man bought it.”
Tom growled. “Are you kidding