Page 57 of Playing the Game

“Why don’t we go into Manchester?” Adam suggested. “There’s lots to do there.”

Anna glanced up at him. “You’re a good buddy.”

Adam blushed. “I’m the captain. I take it very seriously.”

The game started and they were off. Jonas left them to it and went through to the kitchen. Hearing Adam use the wordwehad given him tingles.

What if they were awe? Was he okay with that?

Of course he bloody was.

ELEVEN

ADAM

The Trash Can Crazy Golf in Manchester had been a hit so far. Part mini-golf and part environmental statement, all the holes were constructed by things rescued from landfill. They’d sent the ball whizzing down a helter-skelter made from food cans, putted it into an old bathroom sink and Adam had scored a hole in one ricocheting between old metal dustbin lids.

Ultimately Anna had won.

“Don’t tell the lads,” Adam said to both of them. “I’ve got the lowest handicap.”

Jonas shrugged. “I don’t even know what that means.”

Adam had tried to get him to join them on a round. He’d always resisted. He supposed they couldn’t share every passion. The ones they had in common were more than enough for Adam.

Not for the first time that evening, he yearned to drag Jonas to the bathroom and rip his clothes from him. Probably not a wise idea. They were already getting stares from the group following them round the course.

“Fancy a burger?” Adam asked as they walked out of the building.

“Yeah,” Anna said, linking his arm.

“We’re playing tomorrow,” Jonas said.

Adam groaned. “Anna can have a burger. We’ll find something.”

They wandered through the packed streets of Manchester.

“I know a decent place,” Adam said. “Come on, before we’re recognised.”

He led the way, snaking through the crowd until they reached a quieter side street. A restaurant named Manc Meat.

“I hope this is age appropriate,” Jonas said.

Adam chuckled. “I think she’ll be fine.”

They went inside. The place was full of booths made from distressed wood. It had red gingham tablecloths and the staff were dressed in stars and stripes.

“’Owdy,” a spotty teenager with a broad Mancunian accent said.

“Booth for three, please,” Adam replied.

Wordlessly, he led them over to a table.

“Order on the app,” he said before walking away.

Jonas frowned. “App?”

“Don’t worry. I’ve already got it.”