Trevor, the sort of man who has his own tankard at his local.
Opinionated, rude, probably a closet racist. Dressed like he owned a motorbike, he didn't. Trevor bought and sold cars, or anything else he could have a deal on, he never once paid a penny in tax. Trevor was also claiming disability benefit, fraudulently.
He'd left Beryl his long suffering wife for Sharon a 24 year old impressionable girl who was too scared of him to ask him to leave.
There was a bang on the door of the flat, assuming it was someone about a motor, he opened the door and a zombie bit half his face clean off. Trevor stumbled back, closed the door and fell onto Sharon's pushbike, tearing his beer belly open on the handlebar.
Hearing the commotion, Sharon looked down the stairs and finally finding the courage she actually always had, escaped out bathroom window.
Making her way into town, Sharon was one of the first to be evacuated and is now leading up the catering section at a secure camp in Wales, ironically with Beryl, who is the cook. Funny old world.