"I wanted to ask you something," Zia says, looking at his phone.

"What?"

Things get darker as we move away from the floodlights.

"Michelle texted me."

It takes me a second to place the name, then I see it, the two of them in the kitchen, her looking at him.

"I just wanted to ... you think ... is it cool to text her back?"

He puts his phone away and looks at me like he just stole something.

"Course it is, you idiot," I say, and his face lights up.

"Yeah? I mean, I didn't wanna, you know?"

I bump his shoulder with mine. "Do what you like, man. You're not the one who messed up."

INT. NIGHT Smart phone vibrates on the arm of a suede sofa.

A girl with black bobbed hair opens the message and smiles.

I hear explosions.

Donna and Marc are curled up on the sofa watching Rush Hour, I can't tell which one.

"Where's Mum?"

Marc doesn't look up from the screen. "She's with Dad. Think they're talking birthday plans for you."

Yeah. Right.

Donna looks up at me. "You OK?"

Her expression says she means about Leia, like, have I done anything to try and sort it out? My mouth says, "Yeah." The rest of me tells her I haven't done a thing.

"You wanna come sit with us?" she says, patting the sofa next to her. I pull at my sodden T-shirt.

"Thanks, but I need a shower."

"I made casserole," says Marc. "It's in the pot in the oven."

Chris Tucker swings Jackie Chan round like a rag doll to kick a bad guy in the face.

INT. NIGHT Condensation on a mirror. Running water. The edge of a hand.

An arm curved around a knee. Naked thighs.

A body folded in half, lying down in the shower.

You're taller in the morning. That's just science.

The decompression of your vertebrae and cartilage as you sleep.

The chance for your body to recover. To grow. Fact.

The best time for your body is when you're unconscious.

Doing nothing allows space, and in that space, you take the steps to move forward. Sometimes, doing nothing is the best thing you can do. Right?

Everybody's dead.

Except Arnie, of course. And his daughter. And the pretty lady from the airport, who just happened to get dragged into the chaos.

The end credits of Commando roll up the screen, but I'm not really watching. I can't remember when Saturday mornings switched from SpongeBob to Schwarzenegger, I just remember enjoying Marc letting me be part of it.

Him and Donna are still in bed. I'm guessing Mum is too. She wasn't back when I went to bed. I bring up Leia's number on my phone and stare at the numbers behind the fracture in the screen.

What's she doing right now? Really? Again? What's the point?

Fine, what's Tommy doing? It's Saturday morning. Tommy's asleep.

Dad? Asleep.

What's Zia doing? Are you gonna go through every single person you know?

He's probably texting Michelle, trying on different outfits for when he meets her later.

I click off the TV and just sit, in the corner chair, staring out through the net curtains. My eyes close and I'm on the street.

I'm driving and I can see the flats to my right. I pass the petrol station, pass City Road and hit the dual carriageway. The sun's doing its best to bleed through clouds and the roads are still Saturday-morning empty. I'm on my college bus route, the scenery moving past me like familiar photographs. I approach the cricket ground and, instead of going straight on, I turn left towards Cannon Hill Park.

The houses get bigger and the colours seem to deepen and the roads have more trees. Red and brown leaves pasted on to the floor by the damp. I take a left and slow down, rolling to a stop outside her house. I move up the front path, then up, past the door, above the ground-floor bay window and red bricks, to the bedroom, through the glass, and there she is. She's sitting on top of her duvet, propped up by thick pillows, her notebook resting on her thighs as she writes. Dark T-shirt. Stonewashed jeans. Hair in a bun. Perfect.

She looks up, like she heard something.

Then I'm there. Standing at the end of her bed. She doesn't even look shocked.

"Took your time, Skywalker." She's smiling, and I can feel myself filling up with calm.

Cut.

Empty living room. Just me. Staring at my cracked phone screen. Luke Henry. The idiot who thought he could be different to those who came before him. Who wanted to be. Pretended he was, pulling a rug over the fact that he's exactly the same.

Push button. Delete contact? Yes/No.

Why did I have to break everything?

I don't deserve her. Yes.

Contact deleted.

INT. SUPERMARKET DAY Bearded man holds a shampoo bottle in each hand. One expensive designer. One own brand. He weighs them like he's checking fruit.

I'm pushing a trolley.

As I lean on the back, the front wheels lift up and I'm thinking I could probably lift this thing clean off the ground and how far could I throw it?

Marc gave me a list of stuff to get and I was happy to get out of the house. The supermarket's full of old people taking six hours to choose a melon. I could push off and plough these lot down like dusty skittles.

Courgettes.

I see Pete, the manager, near the deli counter. He's giving some blonde girl a lecture about how to arrange the cooked meats. Dickhead.

I doubt he'd recognise me even if Iwalked right up to him, but I turn back down the fruit and veg aisle and loop round to avoid him.

Brown rice.

I think about Simeon. Is his face marked? His perfect skin? Has he been working out in the mirror, telling himself he's gonna kill me when he sees me?

Sesame oil.

Then I see Noah.

I hang back, so I don't catch him up. Last thing I want is some strained conversation about missing the lesson yesterday, or even worse, questions about Leia.

A young mum passes the end of the aisle, pushing her trolley with one hand, dragging her sobbing toddler behind her with the other. Zia's probably somewhere with Michelle, giggling and sharing a milkshake, avoiding saying my name in case it kills the mood.

"Afternoon."

He came up behind me. For a split second I consider pretending I didn't hear him and just walking away.

"All right?" I say.

"I'm all right, how about you? Missed you again yesterday."

"Yeah. Sorry."

I look past him towards the tills.

"I spoke to Leia." Please don't ask anything. Please just leave it.

"I guess you'll be working by yourself now?"

My stomach's twisting. Read my face, Noah. Leave me alone.

I take a can off the shelf. It's coconut milk.

"If it'd help to talk, I'm happy to," he says, and I picture swinging the can round into his face. Would he be quick enough to block it?

"I'm fine, thanks." I drop the can into my trolley. "I'll see you later, Noah."

"Luke." He puts his hand on my arm. I look at it. Then at him. He's smiling. "Sometimes, when things don't work out, it's good to go back to the start, to what you know."

"Like you did?" I watch his face change at the tone in my voice. I'm facing him now. He's like, half an inch taller.

"I'm sorry?" he says, staying calm, but I can feel him setting himself.

I shake my head. "Doesn't matter."

"No." He stares at me. "What did you mean?"

Really, Noah? Here? In the supermarket? Fine.

"I mean, is that what you did? Was that coming back to the start?"

My hand squeezes my trolley bar like I'm trying to break it off.

Noah shakes his head. "I still don't get you. You might need to break it down for me, sensei."

He wants it. I can feel my pulse.

"What happened?" I say. "You write this film, you get out, move away, probably get all kinds of chances to do more films, and yet here you are, back here, teaching a bunch of snotty kids in a Portakabin. Shopping on your own on a Saturday afternoon."

"You're shopping on your own on Saturday afternoon."

"That's not the point! What happened? Why'd you flop it?"

"I didn't flop anything."

"So why then?"

"Luke, easy." He reaches his hand out, I smack it off.

"Don't touch me!"

"Calm yourself, mate." His voice drops a tone.

"Answer the question!"

People are looking. Eyes on us. My arms are twitching.

Noah nods. "I think I'll go now."

And he starts to walk away. Yeah, walk away.

"What's the point, Noah?" I shout after him. "If it all goes to shit anyway?"