Jayden had barely been gone all of an hour before Darren’s mobile went off, and Paul dropped back into his existence with a loud and rude, “Oi, fuckwit!” down the line.
In spite of himself, Darren smiled. He’d only just gotten back to the flat (an accident had snarled up the traffic something awful) and Rachel was out at some asexuality meet-up thing, so he flopped back onto his bed without the risk of being disturbed and returned the greeting with, “What do you want, retard?”
“Dead original.”
“Like you can talk.”
“I want,” Paul said loftily, “to know what the f**k is happening with you, man?”
“Like what?”
“Like your job, and your interests, and the boxing thing you started doing, and, oh yeah, how you’re still not back to normal, re f*******: statuses, even after your its-complicate
