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Mike whistles 'Runaround Sue' as he walks up the path, key all ready in his hand. He almost skips to the door, but the nosy old bat across the way misses nothing; doesn't want her telling his dad that he's been acting drunk and disorderly in the day.
But of course he's not drunk; well, maybe drunk on life, or something. Drunk on girls - is it possible to be drunk on girls? He turns the key in the lock of number 20 and scuffs his feet automatically once or twice on the mat. The door slams behind him and he throws his keys down, drops his coat over the end of the banister. He's smiling to himself - can't believe his luck!
He's still whistling when he goes into the kitchen, starts fixing himself a cup of tea, thinks maybe he'll go all out and have an egg with his lunch, if he can find some in the cupboard. Hell, maybe he'll even paint that section of the back fence that his dad is always asking him to get round too - it's not sunny but it's dry out and he can shift the gramophone outside, piss off Mrs Bixley next door. Yeah, he thinks, that sounds like a good plan.
There is the faint noise of feet on the stairs, then a moment later Paul appears, sticking his head around the kitchen door.
"What are you doing home?" He asks.
Mike is too high on the morning he's been having to tell Paul not to sound so grumpy. "Guess where I've been?"
"What?" Paul frowns. "I don't care - I thought you were out until later."
"I've only spent the morning with Shelia bloody Bradbury," Mike grins, flinging a teabag into the pot. "You want a cup?" Paul frowns again, but Mike goes on before he can speak. "I met her in town - out with Frigid Flo, she was - and we got talking. Only turns out she hasn't got a date for the dance on Friday, so I saw my bloody opportunity, didn't I?"
Paul opens his mouth as though he's about to speak but Mike ignores him and goes on.
"So, she says yes and Frigid Flo makes her excuses and buggers off home - two hours!" Mike grins. "Two hours, we spent together. Went into the music place and stood listening to records in the booth for ages. I reckon she's sweet on me."
It's only when Paul doesn't make a derogatory comment about this that Mike realises something isn't right.
"What's up with you, anyway?" he asks.
Paul, now half in the door, shrugs. "Nothing."
Mike glances down at Paul's collar. "Then why is your t-shirt on inside out and back to front?" For effect, he leans forward and tugs at the label sticking out. "And you look like shit."
"I fell asleep upstairs," Paul says. It sounds innocent enough, but when he moves to tuck the little label away from Mike's eyes, they spot something else instead.
"Bloody hell," Mike whistles, pointing at Paul's neck. "Looks like you fell asleep with a vampire, then."
Face instantly turning red, Paul's hand leaps up to cover his neck. "Oh... piss off," he says.
Mike can't help but laugh. If he wasn't so hopped up on Shelia Bradbury, he might feel embarrassed. "Sorry to ruin your fun, Paulie - shall I make tea for Dot then, as well?"
Paul looks momentarily confused. "What? No, no. We're ah... we're alright. Can't you just... bugger off out again for a bit?"
Mike is about to tell him - jovially - to get lost when there is a noise from behind Paul and suddenly John appears, looking cool as ever in that new jacket that Mike would kill to get his hands on. "Alright, Mike?" he asks.
Mike frowns. "Where did you come from?"
"Just turned up," John says. "Let myself in."
"How? You haven't got a key."
John shrugs, pushes a piece of hair away from his eyes. "Door was open - you want to be more careful, someone will have away with your stuff."
Mike is about to respond that he was sure the door slammed shut behind him when Paul suddenly speaks far too loudly, as though he's hoping someone will hear him next door. "You'll have to go," he says to John. "I've got Dot upstairs."
There is a moment where they look at each other carefully, then John smirks. "Oh, right."
Mike feels like he's been left out of some almighty joke. But then he always feels a bit like that when John's around. He wonders briefly what John thinks of Shelia Bradbury, wonders if he should try to drop it in the conversation. 'Oh yeah, she's coming out with me on Friday,' he could say, then John would be quietly impressed.
"Yeah," Paul says again, still speaking all dramatic like he's on stage at the Palladium. "So you'd best go."
"Typical, isn't it?" John asks, directing his question to Mike. "Chance of a bit of action and your mates drop you like a cold cup of sick."
Mike smirks. "Yeah, but if you'd seen the bite on his neck, you'd understand why. I reckon Dot must be a bit of a go-er."
"Hey!" Paul says, unconsciously exposing said mark by moving his hand to point at Mike threateningly. "Watch it."
"Bloody hell, aye," John remarks, leaning in closely to get a good look at the burst of red skin just above Paul's collar. Mike watches with a grin, feeling for the first time like he's got John on his side in a teasing session against Paul. "Looks like someone was having a good time." John reaches a hand out and carefully traces the mark - Mike watches his brother flinch at the touch and give John a glare of death.
"Yeah," Paul says through gritted teeth. "She was having a good time, but now I'm going to kill her."
"Aw, that'll be a shame, won't it Mike?" John asks. "Got on like a house on fire, did Cyn and Dot. I'll let her know - when's the funeral?"
"Just as soon as I get my hands on her," Paul mutters, still glaring. Mike watches John grin as wide as the cat who got the cream and doesn't quite understand why John seems so pleased. But then he never really gets John, not like Paul does. He might be really bloody cool, but he can be a bit weird sometimes too.
"Right, I'll be off then!" John says, slapping Paul on the back so hard he nearly comes straight through the kitchen door. "See you around, Michael!"
"Yeah, see you, John!" Shit, Mike thinks, I never got a chance to mention Shelia.
"And I'll see you later, Paul."
Mike picks up the whistling kettle and pours three cups of tea. When he turns back he sees Paul is grimacing. "Wanker," he hears Paul say, as John walks towards the front door. Odd, Mike thinks - if John Lennon was my best friend, I'd never call him a wanker.
But strangely, this just makes John grin. "Oh no," he says, barely able to speak without laughing. "I think in a few moments that'll be you."
And then he's gone, the door definitely slamming this time.
Used to being left out of their games, Mike simply adds a drop of milk to the cups in front of him and holds out two for Paul, who frowns at him angrily. "Two?"
"One for Dot," Mike shrugs, unable to work out what he's done wrong.
"Oh... fuck off, Mike."
And Paul storms away up the stairs, leaving Mike feeling vaguely confused. Brothers, he thinks.