Blurry
Alex does not drop the idea of celebration.
“Let’s go out.”
Ryan lifts his head, surprised at Alex’s sudden fit of communication, and frowns. “We are out.”
“Proper out. To town. Tonight.”
“To town?”
“Pommie’s is open on Fridays.”
Pommie’s, as far as Ryan can remember, is actually Pomegranate in the middle of the nearest town. It’s a small club (he’s from Manchester; they’re all small down here) but popular with the local youth, and usually prone to illegal drugs and underage drinking. He isn’t sure that Alex hasn’t toyed with both before.
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Ryan says seriously, “but we’re not eighteen.”
Alex smirks and shrugs.
“So unless you’re saying you have fake IDs for both of us—”
“I can get them,” Alex says.
“How?”
Alex shrugs.
“And how are we mean
