“Typical England!” Dominic exclaimed. “Height o’ fuckin’ spring an’ its six degrees an’ pissin’ it down!” Wild hand gestures accompanied the large rat’s complaints, but his friend wasn’t listening, angrily flicking a lighter under the hood of his jumper.

“Ey, its either this or we boil t’ fuckin’ death like last year,” Micky angrily croaked through his teeth whilst attempting to light the waterlogged cigarette dangling from his lips.

“Least you’d be able t’ light ya fags, eh Mick?”

Micky just sighed, the white hare trying to mentally reset himself from a full day without a single smoke since eight o’clock that morning, though that was the least of his problems at the moment. Dominic, in all his absent-minded wisdom, somehow managed to misplace both of their bus tickets. An hour-long walk through the biting rain back to Pennywell was to follow, and it made the already twitchy Leporidae seethe. At least he had a hooded jumper, albeit sodding wet, Dom was in a black sleeveless t-shirt and nothing more on-top. “Ah needed a showah ‘nyway,” he joked, giving yet more wild hand gestures to try and signify how pungent his armpits must be.

Micky finally gave up on the cigarette, tossing it over the side of the bridge into the river Wear below.

“Iz gonna take us a fuckin’ hour to get back ‘ome ya daft cunt!” The hare almost jumped off of the ground he was so enraged, drivers in passing cars turning to stare at the wildly flailing man for a brief moment. An SUV crashed into a puddle by the kerb-side, sending a flash torrent of water so high it even eclipsed Dom’s 6ft 6” frame.

“Oi, ya daft bastard watch where ya fuckin’ drive!” Micky screamed with even more flamboyant gestures.

“Mate, mate! Could be worse, eh?” The rat declared as he brushed his absurdly long hair out of his face.

“Ya better ‘ope it dint get any worse, am sick t’ death already!”

Dominic clapped a hand his friend’s shoulder, waving an unopened pack of Lambert and Butler he pulled from his back pocket in front of his face. “Lets leg-it t’ the Metro station and we can both ‘ave one that aint gannin fo’ a swim. ‘ows that sound?”

Instantly calmed by the prospect of a dry cigarette he could actually light, the pair jogged towards the elevated train station at the other side of the bridge, leaning against the wall of one of the many archways underneath.

With smoke in their lungs and Micky’s anger quashed, the pair began to idly chat about whatever was on their minds. The band’s newest album, Dominic’s twin brother Bradley and his new job at the Nissan factory, what Dom’s next tattoo might be and, inevitably, what their last sexual conquest was – a topic Dominic was more than happy to discuss in detail, sending Michael into fits of laughter at the absurdity of his claims.

Half a packet of cigarettes gone and the streetlights flickering into life, the rain still hadn’t let up and the temperature had started to drop sharply.

The row of executive saloon cars littering the archways under the station was a glimpse at a completely different world, one that caught Micky’s attention quite quickly. BMWs, Audis, and even a Jaguar or two lay dormant with pristine paintwork, leather interiors and wheels bigger than their heads.

“Kinda puts ya lil’ Citroen t’ shame,” Dom bluntly remarked.

“What ya talking about? Me Saxo iza crackin’ little motor!” Micky defended, making the rat belly laugh.

“Aye, when it fuckin’ works mate!”

“It aint that bad…”

“Iz got nee clutch!”

Micky knew his car was a pile of crap, and it depressed him knowing that a barely functioning buzz-box from the 90s was the best he could afford. He started to wander, peering through the windows at the luxurious interiors and plethora of gadgets that each one possessed. What saddened him even more was the realization that the stereo units were probably worth more than his entire car and then some.

Though, one car in particular caught his eye.

A brand new Audi, its license plate starting with NL14 – at most it was a week old. The metallic flecks in the piano black paintwork glistened even in the dim yellow light offered by the streetlamps. The wheels, giant 19” monstrosities, were also in a gleaming piano black, red breaks behind them sticking out like a sore thumb, only matched in presence by the satin silver Quattro badge on the front grille.

“One o’ these fuckin’ days,” Micky said, gesturing to the car, “I’ll ‘ave somethin’ as nice as that on me driveway.”

Dom, too, even peered into the windows, whistling at what he saw. “Flippin’ ‘eck… Got a crow bar? Lets nick it!”

“Dint be daft mate,” Micky said with a coy smile as he thumped the big murine in the arm.

The car spotting was cut short when a booming voice bellowed towards them from the bridge, shocking the two into standing bolt upright. A tall figure came storming towards them, umbrella in one hand and briefcase in the other. The solid heels of leather shoes clopping into the floor echoed within the arches as he approached, his open pea coat fluttering behind him like a cape.

“Get away from my bloody car!” The figure exclaimed, the bass in his voice reverberating neatly off of the brickwork.

“We winnit gonna nick it mate! We were jus’ ‘aving a look areet!?” Dominic snapped.

Micky remained silent, his eyebrows furrowing whilst biting down hard on his lower lip. As the man entered the archway, he lowered the umbrella, revealing himself to the pair.

A jet-black hare equalling Dom in height and almost equalling him in muscle stood before them. His grey pea coat hung open over a black turtleneck jumper, black jeans and black leather dress shoes, the sea of monotone broken up only by the subtle red stitching in his shoes and his blindingly crisp white eyebrows and beard. His deep grey eyes pierced the rat like a dagger, and the hare stared at him as if his gaze could snap necks. The hare sneered, sharply exhaling and focusing his attention on Micky. Instantly, his expression switched from sheer revulsion to that of intrigue.

The hare cleared his throat and folded away the umbrella, taking one deep breath.

“Michael,” he uttered, unlocking the car with the button on the door handle. “The last thing I was expecting was seeing you here eyeballing a set of expensive cars.”

Michael remained quiet, quickly glancing at the car once more. Jet black with red touches? Of course it had to be Robert’s car. As if the license plate “NL14 ROB” wasn’t a big enough hint to begin with.

“Michael,” Robert said sharply, an elbow leaning on the open rear door.

“Robert,” Micky mumbled, still not engaging eye contact.

“Actually LOOK at me when I’m speaking to you, Michael.”

Micky forced eye contact, his head cocked to the side, hands in his hoodie pocket. Seeing Robert always turned into a living nightmare and was a situation best avoided. The fact that it hadn’t yet turned into a shouting match was an impressive accomplishment all its own.

Dominic stood ram-rod stiff, the big rat’s eyes flicking back and forth between the two Leporidae as they struggled to find words.

“Michael…” Robert broke the silence as he loaded his personal belongings onto the back seat. “What on earth are you doing here at 8 o’clock at night in the freezing rain? The both of you look like you’re ready to hotwire cars or deal cocaine.”

A dry laugh from Micky echoed throughout the arches, “Maybe we were! What’s it matter t’ ya, Rob?”

“That is DAD or SIR to you young man,” he said with a slam of the rear door.

“DAD!?” bellowed Dominic, but neither of the two family members seemed to acknowledge him.

“It matters to me because I’d like to know that my only son is somewhere safe and warm! Not freezing cold, practically drowning in his own sopping wet clothing and eyeballing a car park full of executive cars.”

The white hare went silent for a second, taking a few deep breaths before speaking up. “We lost our bus tickets an’ started walkin’ ‘ome. We stopped here to ‘ave a fag an’ a gas… really, we weren’t doin’ anythin’.”

Robert stared daggers into his son for what seemed like an eternity, but, ultimately, he knew he was telling the truth. Michael was always bark and no bite. For him to actually steal a car or deal drugs would be about as likely as a comet strike in the next five minutes.

“You!” Robert snapped at Dominic, pointing a finger.

“What I do?!”

“In the back, don’t touch anything. Michael, in the front. I’m driving you two home whether you like it or not. No arguments.”

Dom responded to the order with such gusto that he was already in the back seat buckled in before Robert had even gotten in the car. A warm ride in a Luxury car? He was mad to say no.

“Cheers fo’ the ride! Mr Dunbar!” he said with his usual chipper tone.

Micky stood outside the passenger door, looking at his dad fidget with his phone before he finally pushed the engine ignition button. The V6 Diesel roared into life, sending a burbling exhaust note out into the atmosphere.

“Aww mate, that’s awesome!” Dom exclaimed, practically jumping out of his seat in enjoyment with a grin so wide it’d shame the Cheshire cat.

“I’m sure it is”, Robert responded as dryly as physically possible. “Michael, in the car, please.”

---

Five minutes into the car journey and no one had uttered a single word. Dom started leafing through some of Robert’s papers out of boredom, even though he was explicitly told not to touch. They were all advertising contracts, big ones. WM Morrisons, BMW, the FBA; they were worth millions. It was difficult for the big rat to not be impressed. A deliberate cough from Robert up front saw Dominic quickly shuffle the papers back into their rightful place.

Micky folded his arms and leaned his head on the window, staring idly into the sky. His dad had actually offered him and his friend a ride home. He didn’t know if he should be thankful or worried sick.

Pulling up to a red light, Robert thought it was a better time than ever to start some form of conversation.

“So… Why were you two taking the bus anyway? What happened to the car?” he enquired, keeping his voice low and quiet so not to break the mood.

“Oh. Ya mean the Renault?” Micky responded under his breath. “We kinda ‘ad t’ sell it.”

“You sold the car?”

“Aye. Ya stopped sendin’ us money. We couldn’t keep it.”

“Ah… Well your mum should’ve known the child benefits were stopping. She knew it was three years and she… should’ve prepared better for it, I suppose.”

“Robert?” Micky asked, turning his head to actually face his dad. “’ow much did this car cost ya?”

Robert’s brows furrowed as he slotted the car in gear to pull away from the lights, “Why should that be any of your business?”

“Jus’ humour iz.”

“Well...” Robert paused, knowing anything other than the truth would make matters worse. “List price is about forty thousand.”

“An’ where ya livin’ these days?”

His expression looking more puzzled, Robert quickly glanced at his son, spotting the same soul crushing stare that he himself was known to give. “I… live at the new estate on Moorside,” he responded hesitantly.

“Those are th’ new three story ‘ouses, right?”

“Yes. Those are the ones. Why do you—” Robert was interrupted by Micky taking one very long drawn breath. “Michael?” he asked, slightly worried.

“So ya can afford a fuckin’ flash motor an’ a swanky new ‘ouse,” Micky’s voice raised sharply, “but ya can’t afford to give ya fuckin’ kids a hundred quid a week!?”

“MICHAEL! Don’t you dare even pretend to know how all this works!”

“What’s not t’ get!? Ya send me an Sarah an’ mum some money and call it a day!”

Robert’s expression quickly diminished into anger. His teeth gritted as he tried to think of a diplomatic way out of it, but his rotten temper got the better of him and he started a verbal onslaught.

“That is NOT how it works and you damn well know it! Three years Michael! THREE! That is how long I was ordered to send that bitch of an ex wife money and I paid every damn penny!”

“So the only fuckin’ reason ya sent us all money was cuz ya were ordered too!? So if ya winnit told t’ give us money you’d jus’ let us rot!? Iz tha’ it!?”

“NO!” Robert smacked the steering wheel, gripping it so hard with the other hand the leather was squeaking. “I wouldn’t send money because that stupid cow would spend it all on shit! Where’s your University degree, ey!? Did she use any of my fucking money to send you to Uni like we discussed? I bet she’s got an expensive smartphone and a couple of designer handbags or something.”

“We aint got non o’ that shit Rob! Me wages can’t—“

“YOUR wages!? She doesn’t even have a job!? Jesus wept!”

“She DOES ‘ave a job ya fuckin’ prick! Was gonna say me wages and ‘ers!”

“So that’s TWO incomes and you couldn’t afford to run that one tiny little car!? What the hell is she spending the money on then!? God fucking dammit it’s just like when we were living together and she’d make all the money magically disappear into thin air and we’d argue for hours on end!”

“What d’ya mean argue for hours!? Ah never heard ya both argue!”

Robert slammed on the breaks as he pulled in front of the house. That particular journey by car was a short one anyway, but to have the two hares barely realise it had happened was an accomplishment. Dominic, with the same verve he had when getting into the car, scrambled out of it to escape the absolute nightmare he just witnessed, disappearing into the darkness as he headed for his own home.

“Oh, are you really that dense, Michael?”

Micky had a look of astonishment on his face, though it had little effect on Robert, who was getting more enraged with each passing syllable.

“Whenever we were around you two we put on the flipping sunshine and rainbows smiles so you two wouldn’t get upset! I… WE pretended to be happy! We ALWAYS pretended to be fucking happy! WE WERE NEVER HAP—“.

He stopped.

He suddenly realised what he’d been saying the entire journey and he just… stopped. He stared at Micky, his expression neatly mirroring his own: That of unadulterated horror.

“Michael, I didn’t mean any of that.” His plea did little to stop his son from slipping out of the car. No more words were exchanged as Micky slowly made his way to the front door, slamming it behind him.

Putting the car in drive, Robert pulled away.

Micky wished he had walked.