All You Facists Bound To Lose

Nick Quantrill

‘Talk about a blast from the past.’ Mason said. ‘When was the last time we saw Stevo?’

‘A lifetime ago,’ said Rico. He lifted the can of lager to his mouth and swallowed. Lit a

cigarette and passed it over.

Mason nodded. Tried to understand. He’d never been as clever as Rico. Never saw things as clearly as Rico did. The two of them sat there, on top of the hill, looking out across the city. To one side, a sprawl of council houses and the school they’d gone to back in the 1980s. To the other side, the floodlights of Craven Park dominated the skyline. The summer night was starting to draw in, dusk taking hold. At the bottom of the hill an end of season football game was underway. Grown men refusing to grow up.

‘He was always alright at the school, though’ Mason said. ‘Never caused us any bother.’

Rico stood up and stretched. ‘That’s a fair point.’

‘Remember when we used to play football in the school playground? Everyone would get there before school so we could get a game in. Then it’d carry on across break and then into dinner time. Brilliant days. Used to play up here, too. Remember?’

‘I do.’

‘Always really quiet, wasn’t it? No one ever knew you were up here.’

‘True enough.’

‘Stevo had one of those ridiculous perms, like Chris Waddle. Remember? Spikey on top, long and wavy at the back?’

‘How could I forget.’

Mason laughed. ‘I’ve still got a photo somewhere of you and Stevo with them. Saw it on Facebook and saved it on to my computer.’

Rico threw his cigarette on to the grass. ‘We were just kids.’

‘Do you remember when you used to swap Subbuteo teams with him? You had Scotland, but he wouldn’t take it off you?’

Rico got another can of lager out of the carrier bag. ‘Can’t really blame him for that, I suppose.’

‘And he wouldn’t swap you a Liverpool badge for all your spare football stickers, would he?’

‘Bastard had two of them as well. I knew.’

Mason found a beer for himself. ‘Whatever happened to them days?’

‘Gone.’