Despite having made his decision, Joey still found his palms sweating as he stood—cycle helmet in hand—at the kerb looking up at the nondescript semi-detached house where he’d grown up. He wished fervently it were all over and he was back at home with Kevin.
Joey had procrastinated over making the phone call to his mother. He’d walked past the instrument several times; even going as far as picking up the receiver, but the thought of actually dialling the number filled him with dread. In the end his mother had called him, informing him his presence was requested on Friday evening. Usually Joey tried to make excuses not to attend Shabbat, disliking all the Jewish mumbo-jumbo, the prayers and lighting of candles, but at least it provided him with the opportunity he’d been seeking to come ou
