“G’wan,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”
“Like where?”
“Anywhere with some sun. You name it.”
“No point naming it if we can’t get a flight, knobhead.”
“Oi! Watch it, or it’ll come out of your wallet.”
“Aye, like all the other bills…”
Still, Stephen followed him to the EasyJet desk, and hovered at his shoulder as a pretty lass rattled away on her keyboard for available seats to Mike’s vague request of somewhere cheap with a bit of sun. The next one with space was to Paris, but Mike vetoed that due to the perpetual smell of piss.
“There’s a flight to Barcelona leaving at one thirty with a couple of free spaces.”
Mike glanced at Stephen. Stephen shrugged. “It’s hot. And there’s a beach.”
“Deal.”