smilebigboy: (we ain't gettin any younger)
It's not that Woody minds visits from Alvo. They're nice, actually, somehow a hell of a lot easier than visits with Alvo and the boys both. They've stayed closer, stayed in touch over the years and through all the shit, through Alvo's rise up through the ranks. And sure, it's been a while since they've last seen each other but Woody was kind of figuring a phone call or something, a nice long chat, an email, a text...not Alvo ringing up to say that he was coming down to London and did Woody want to see him.

Not the boys, just Woody. And he'd never quite said that he didn't want them to know but -- well, Woody knows them. Quinn might lose his temper with Alvo at the drop of a hat these days but he'd be miffed at Alvo coming down without seeing him. Same with Rick and Bax, he figures. Might as well just keep it between the two of them.

But it is a little awkward, to know that one of your best mates has a villa in bloody Majorca of all places, and you're stuck here in some crappy little flat that smells of mothballs and where at night you can hear the mice in the walls and that's what he's going to see, in...

Woody checks the clock.

In ten minutes ago, apparently. Fashionably late, that's Alvo. Woody sighs, fidgets, and checks his phone in order to resist the urge to go searching for something more to tidy.


smilebigboy: (Default)

March 2012

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