R ichard Milward's first book, Apples, announced the arrival of a highly original talent. I was taken by the novel and, like many writers, both established and aspiring, was impressed to the point of jealousy that a man of such tender years - he's still only in his mids - could possess the motivation and comprehensive talents required to execute such a successful debut.
So, fearful of the possibility of "second album syndrome", I picked up Ten Storey Love Song with a sense of foreboding. Fortunately, it's another cracker. Once again set in the author's home town of Middlesbrough, it follows the inhabitants of Peach House, a 60s-built tower block, focusing on two couples. Bobby the Artist lives up to his moniker: a Basquiat-influenced housing-estate bohemian, he fills his face with drugs in his council-flat-cum-studio as he knocks out canvas after canvas.
His big love is his muse Georgie, who works at the sweet counter in the local BHS, and her personal addiction - to sugary treats - is at least as pronounced as his, though yielding less dramatic outcomes.
They are a doting couple, with their network of friends and ardent love life giving their breadline existence a considerable splash of colour. Bobby is friends and neighbours with the drug-dealing Johnnie and his foxy girlfriend, Ellen. This couple also love each other, but their sex life is poor, due to Johnnie being carnally self-schooled in hardcore pornography and thus believing that the speed and power of genital interaction should take precedence over sensuality and emotional communion.
To him the clitoris is as mythical a place as Atlantis, and foreplay is probably something to do with golf. Not surprisingly, Ellen is less than satisfied, and inevitably ends up in the bed of the local serial shagger, upon whom Johnnie wreaks a terrible revenge. One of the great things about Milward's writing and there are quite a few of them is that although he spares the reader absolutely nothing in terms of detail on drug and sex highs and lows, you feel that good times are every bit as likely to be lurking around the corner as disasters.
