‘ Nope. ’
‘ Great. This stuff ’ s useless if we can ’ t get into any of it. ’
‘ We can get one. ’
‘ I ’ ll start a shopping list, shall I? ’
‘ Don ’ t take the piss. ’
‘ I ’ m not. I ’ m serious. ’
He abandons the idea of meatballs and finds something else to cook instead. He ’ s hungry now, really hungry, and he can tell by the way Anna ’ s been edging closer and closer that she is too. She looks younger in the dancing light. Her hair ’ s all messed up now, her lipstick faded.
‘ Never liked meatballs anyway, ’ she says. ‘ You know what they make them from? ’
Trick question? ‘ Meat? ’ he answers rhetorically.
‘ Yeah, but d ’ you know what kind of meat? It ’ s all the spare stuff. All the bits no one else wants. All the guts and innards. The bollocks an ’ all that. ’
‘ Is that rig
