We followed our usual route to the beach, down through the darkness of the wooded area that led to our school. A quick turn left took us to the football stadium, and then onwards towards the promenade at the beach, where the cold bit even harder than it had before.

The promenade was eerily quiet. Now and again the silence was broken by the sound of a car in the distance or the idle chitchat of passers by taking in the moonlight. There was something hypnotic about leaning over the barrier and watching the waves batter the wall repeatedly, like a boxer going in for the kill against a tired opponent. Nobody said anything while we stared at the sea. Instead, we tested our spitting skills to pass the time.

A cyclist came past, but the fool didn't have a single light on his bike. As a result, he collided with a bench while trying to turn off the promenade towards the main road. The silly cyclist lay face down on the concrete, before jumping back on his bike to make a hasty getaway.

"Watch that bench." Mac shouted sarcastically.

"That was a belter." Stewart chortled.

"Would have been even better if we had a camera. There's a TV show that pays a fortune for videos of accident-prone clowns hurting themselves."

"Most of them are fake." I said, turning back to look at the waves.

"Probably," Mac said, "Could be one to keep in mind the next time we're in dire need of cash."

Stewart's over-the-top, fake laugh echoed in the darkness. It was his usual effort. The annoying one that sounded like a machine gun being fired.

"Talking of money, what would you buy If you had a million pounds." Stewart suddenly asked.

Mac didn't take long to reply. "I'd buy a motorbike and join a biker's gang. How cool would that be?"

"Sounds good mate," Stewart replied. "What about you, Ross?"

I'd never been asked that type of question before, so I wanted to give my answer some thought before jumping in with a reply. Mum wasn't exactly rich, but we muddled through. All my pocket money came from my dad, but he usually didn't pay up until Sunday's. I always had the cash spent before the next weekend.

"I'm not sure," I admitted. "Ask me again when I've had time to think it over."

Stewart suddenly leaped away from the banister, frantically pointing at his wrist.

"You took up sign language or something?" Mac asked.

Stewart ignored the question and looked at me. "What's the time?"

"Quarter to nine."

He took his baseball cap off, rustled his thick black hair, and then put it back on again.

"I'll never make it up the road for toast and cheese now. Have we really been down here for an hour?"

"Yup."

"Well, I guess that answers the question of what I'd buy if I was a millionaire?"

Mac and I looked at each other in confusion.

"What?" we asked simultaneously.

"A takeaway from the Food Pit." Stewart grinned.

I laughed. "A what?"

"You know, the Food Pit. It's the new place in town. They sell pizzas and supersized portions of everything else. My mum got me a kebab with chips and cheese last week. The grub was near bursting out the tub."

"I can't believe I'm hearing this. You've got a million pounds to spend, and a kebab is the best you can come up with."

"I'm starving," he laughed. "Anyway, here's the clincher; they sell ice-cream as well."

I shrugged my shoulders. "So, do most places about here."

"Not just any ice-cream." He looked around to see if anyone was listening to what was obviously top-secret information. "Six different types."

"Wow." I exclaimed, genuinely impressed.

"See, what I mean?" Stewart added. "The Food Pit is the place to go when you want a munch."

"I could go a munch right now," Mac commented. "I'm wasting away here."

Although Mac's appraisal of his hunger situation might have been over-the-top, I had to admit my own stomach was rumbling. Obviously, the sea air had awoken my appetite.

"Why don't we order something from the Food Pit?" Stewart suggested. "Get your cash out lads."

I sighed and then pulled out the contents of my pocket. There was a measly one pound fifty in silver. Mac's financial check didn't fare much better. He only had twenty-five pence in jeebs.

"You're our last hope, Stewart." I said glumly.

"Me?" he replied, looking confused. "I've not got any money."

"But it was you who suggested a munch."

"Aye, but I didn't say I'd buy it. I was hoping one of you would pay."

I shouldn't have been surprised at Stewart's response. He was after all, the biggest scadge in the whole town.

A blast of wind then caught me the wrong way. I shivered intensely.

"Maybe, we should head back"

"Good idea," Mac replied. "I'm going home for a munch. It's not quite the Food Pit but it'll need to do."

We walked back the way we came, Stewart and Mac taking turns to moan about how hungry they were. I didn't say anything because I knew my mum had just been shopping. The fridge, cupboards and freezer were bound to be full.

As we sauntered through Kelvin Avenue, I saw a familiar face walking on the opposite side of the road. It was Alan Reid, carrying a see-through tub with what looked like curry inside. He waved us down and then crossed the road. As he got closer, I noticed he was looking glum.

"Alright lads?" Alan asked, wiping his nose with the sleeve of his brown jacket.

"Where you off to?" Mac asked.

"In there." he pointed to Davie Kerr's house across the street.

Davie had been Alan's stepdad for a while, but Mrs. Reid had dumped him because he got a little too fond of cheap cider. Although I'd never admit it to the others, I felt sorry for Alan and his mum. Davie was a nasty piece of work who had treated them both like rubbish. Now, he spent all his time drinking with a bunch of losers in his squalid hellhole of a home. The whole town knew what went on in Davie's house and had nicknamed it, "the den."

Mac said, "Why are you going into the den? Don't tell me you've started hanging aboot with Davie and his pals."

"I don't hang aboot with them. It's my maw."

"Your maw hangs aboot with them?"

"No, she sends me round with homemade food for Davie now and again. I've no idea why after the way he treated us."

"Maybe she's after his body again." Stewart laughed.

"Shut up dafty."

"It was a joke."

"Do you see me laughing?"

Mac patted Alan on the back. "We're all laughing on the inside my man. Anyway, where are you going after you drop off Davie's curry?"

"Home, but I'll need to come back down. Maw's got another tub to give him. It's full of crispy cakes. I forgot to lift it on the way out."

An explosion of boisterous laughter erupted from the open window of Davie's living room.

"Are the rumours about the den true, then?" I asked Alan. "Surely, they don't drink all day, every day."

"Almost true. Most of them never leave. They have one 80's album on repeat. Davie moans about my maw over the soft rock ballads. Apparently, she's made the biggest mistake ever by leaving him and will come crawling back any minute now."

"Don't you hate going in there and listening to him bash your mum?"

"It's not that bad. Most of the time he's so wasted, he doesn't even notice me dropping stuff off. I sat in there for half-an-hour once and he didn't even know I was in."

"His hoose will end up getting robbed," Mac commented. "I can just imagine him playing air-guitar while robbers ransack the place."

Alan burst out laughing. "What are they going to steal? He's sold nearly everything he owns to buy bottles of cider. Anyway, I wouldn't feel sorry for him if he did get robbed. He beat the hell out of maw for years. I swear I won't shed a tear for that scumbag when he's dead."

"Aye, he deserves all he gets," I added, feeling genuine disgust for this bully of a so-called man.

Alan nodded "Anyway I'd better get in there and drop this tub off. Quicker I'm in, the quicker I'm back out again.

Mac said. "OK, you go in and we'll wait for you."

"You sure?"

"Yup, we'll walk you up the road."

Alan crossed the street to Davie's and pushed open the rusty gate. It made the most bone-chilling sound I've ever heard. Even worse than chalk being scraped down a blackboard. We watched him negotiate the path covered in overgrown grass and then knock loudly on the door. We could hear the music from across the street when Davie answered.

"He looks terrible." Mac whispered to me.

It was a fair point. The last time I saw Davie was a few months ago up at the shops. He looked terrible then, but now, he was deathly skinny and extremely pale. He was unshaven as well, his fuzzy ginger beard not the flattering look he probably imagined it to be.

"Whit are you wanting?" we heard Davie ask through slurred speech.

"Maw sent this down. There's another one to come so leave your door open."

Davie took the tub and then closed the door, leaving Alan to head back out the garden and across the street to where we waited.

"Thank goodness he didn't want me to come in." Alan said, wiping his brow.

"A lucky escape then." Stewart chuckled.

We hadn't walked fifty yards when Mac suddenly bounced on the spot.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"You and Stewart still hungry?"

"Starving." we said at the same time.

"Good, because I've got an idea that will get us a munch from the Food Pit. Alan, go home and get those crispy cakes, but bring them to my hoose instead of Davie's."

"What you on aboot?" Alan asked.

"Just go get them. I'll explain when you come back doon."

I watched Alan jog in the direction of his house, and then I turned to Mac. "What are you going to do, trade Alan's mum's crispy cakes for a takeaway? We've no money, remember?"

Mac's wicked grin had me intrigued.

"Don't worry aboot the money. This one's on Davie."