Page 53 of Connectio

“I started my apprenticeship with him when I was eighteen. I’m twenty-two now, so four years.”

Will leans forward. “He sits his final exam next month, then he’ll be fully qualified.”

Jeremy sprinkles a little salt on the table then fingers it into a pile. “I gotta pass first.”

“Piece of piss, mate.” Will leans back against the wall behind us. “You got nothin’ to worry about.”

Oliver swigs his Coke and adds, “It can’t be that hard, right?”

At least three sets of eyebrows rise, including mine.

He swallows and quickly continues, “I mean, you’ve been learning it for four years. You already know what you need to know.”

Will’s brow relaxes, but only slightly, his eyes still locked on Oliver. “He does.”

“I’m not very good with reading and writing,” Jeremy admits. “I’m not dumb or anythin’. I just get nervous with tests and end up screwin’ ’em up.”

Sal blows his pile of salt off the table and giggles. “I’m sure you’ll be fine, but if you need any help with the reading and writing, you can give me a call sometime.”

Jeremy nods, dips his head, and pour himself another pile of salt.

“And anyway, it’s natural to be nervous,” Sal adds.

“Yeah,” Carly pipes in. “Just ask Lib. She failed her driving test twice!”

I kick her under the table. “I did not! It was once, and my testing instructor was a dickhead. He was more interested in my breasts than my three-point turn.”

“So why’d he fail you?” Will asks.

“Because my three-point turn was more a six-point turn.” I lay my napkin on my lap. “And I might’ve forgotten to give way once or twice.”

Carly shakes her head, her eyes wide. “Never get into a car with her. She’s scary as fuck.” She picks up her drink. “I’m serious. She nearly got into a punch-on with a biker once.”

Will turns to face me. “Even more reason for me to teach you boxing.”

I laugh. “We’ve been through this already. You’re not giving me boxing lessons.”

“Oh! Pick me!” Sal raises her hand like a student would. “I’d love to learn boxing.”

“Hold on just a second.” Oliver raises his finger. “So you’re a plumber, drummer, and boxer?”

Will crosses his arms over his chest. “I can also knit.”

I nearly spit my drink. “You knit?”

“Yes. Blankets and mittens for babies in Africa.”

I wait for him to laugh or nudge me and say he’s kidding, but he doesn’t. He just sits there, expressionless, as if him knitting for children in need is as natural as breathing.

Carly narrows her eyes and points her taloned finger at him. “You for real?”

“I am.”

“Can you knit me a scarf?”

“I can.”

“Hot pink?”