Sharon's hauling Peter out of the car with ease and a couple of jerks sees him sitting untidily in his wheelchair. She opens the back door and slings him a blanket from the back seat which he tucks over his one and half trackie clad legs.
"Hiya," she calls out, "That's them away. Don't hink Ah've seen as many happy parents in wan place as that."
"Ah seen the bus," says I as we all enter the Harmony Row Pharmacy, Peter first, Sharon pushing, me at the back.
"Oh aye. They were telt no t'take any money but Ah jist gave'im a tenner, Ah hink everybody mair or less did."
"That them away Sharon?" asks a lady coming in the door, "Long for?"
"Away the week. See when the bus pulled away, we were like that," and she throws a victorious punch in the air. "Yasss!".
We're in a queue now and Peter has rolled up to the counter where he sits stony faced.
The door pushes open and a blast of frosty air blows in a thirty-something man, woolly hat pulled right down over his eyebrows, he's swathed in a superdry puffer jacket. Quick as you like, he skips into the Box, out of our view.
The counter assistant takes her time checking through a notebook before going up a couple of stairs where she measures out vivid green liquid Methadone in a plastic beaker.
Back down to the counter and she hands it to Peter who downs it in one. Back up to measure out another cup and into the Box where it's presumably quaffed by the man inside who promptly zips back out of the shop.
Sharon gathers her bag and the blanket that's slipping off Peter's good knee."Zat you, Pedro? Let's go then an' Ah'll get back hame t' a bit a peace n quiet."