Emu Patrol
Author: Iain Wells
Date: 2008-10-04 23:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fiction; humour; music
Description: Who is Jake Lewis? Is he the drug-dealing terrorist the police think he is? Is he the perverted stalker his kidnappers believe him to be? Or is he just an incurable romantic unable to hold onto Sam, the girl of his dreams, and desperate to do anything to get her back? Emu Patrol is the farcical tale of an obsessional pursuit of love, sex, drugs, rock 'n' roll and emus. Join Jake and his overactive mind, as it creates and plays out a soundtrack to his life on his quest to win back Sam. A quest that takes him on a bizarre journey from the electrifying London music scene, to the romantic Eilean D
Rights: Copyright (c) 2008 Iain Wells and his licensors. All rights reserved.

Who is Jake Lewis?

Is he the drug-dealing terrorist the police think he is?

Is he the perverted stalker his kidnappers believe him to be?

Or is he just an incurable romantic unable to hold onto Sam,
the girl of his dreams, and desperate to do anything to get her back?

Emu Patrol is the farcical tale of an obsessional pursuit of love, sex,
drugs, rock 'n' roll and emus. Join Jake and his overactive mind, as it
creates and plays out a soundtrack to his life on his quest to win back Sam.

A quest that takes him on a bizarre journey from the electrifying London
music scene, to the romantic Eilean Donan Castle on the tranquil shores of

Loch Duich, and finally back to the conservative Medway towns of Kent.

Featuring music by The White Stripes, Prefab Sprout, Aimee Mann,

The Pretenders, Squeeze, U2, The Delgados, Blondie, Mercury Rev,

The Wannadies, Suzanne Vega, Cake, Lloyd Cole and the Commotions,

Fountains of Wayne, The Beatles and The Broken Family Band.

emu patrol

Iain Wells

Copyright © 2007 Iain Wells. All rights reserved.

www.iainwells.com

The right of Iain Wells to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the UK Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-Noncommercial-No Derivative Works 3.0 Unported License. This copyright notice forms part of this work and must remain intact and unaltered in all copies of this work. The license terms can be summarised as follows:

You are free:

- to Share — to copy, distribute and transmit the work

Under the following conditions:

- Attribution — You must attribute the work in the manner specified by the author or licensor (but not in any way that suggests that they endorse you or your use of the work).

- Noncommercial — You may not use this work for commercial purposes.

- No Derivative Works — You may not alter, transform, or build upon this work.

With the understanding that:

- Waiver — Any of the above conditions can be waived if you get permission from the copyright holder.

- Public Domain — Where the work or any of its elements is in the public domain under applicable law, that status is in no way affected by the license.

- Other Rights — In no way are any of the following rights affected by the license:

- Your fair dealing or fair use rights, or other applicable copyright exceptions and limitations;

- The author's moral rights;

- Rights other persons may have either in the work itself or in how the work is used, such as publicity or privacy rights.

- Notice — For any reuse or distribution, you must make clear to others the license terms of this work.

For Paddy and Jules

chapter one

security alert

Wednesday 23 June, 9:32 AM

‘All You Need Is Love,’ sang The Beatles as I sat down on a Victoria Line underground train heading southbound from Finsbury Park; it was the start of my long journey from London to the Highlands of Scotland. To pass the time I’d loaded my iPod with some of the compilations Sam had made for me over the nine months we’d been going out. Taking the “Compilation Challenge” had become a regular event for the two of us. We would take it in turns to challenge each other to come up with a compilation CD based on a particular theme. The rules were simple: each song title had to relate to the compilation’s theme, and neither of us was allowed to have the same artist on it twice. It was always a race to see who could come up with theirs first and smugly hand it over. The one I was listening to had been the result of our first challenge, requiring all the song titles to include the word “love”. That had been an easy one, but over time the themes had become more restrictive and the discs much more of a challenge to compile.

Sam and I both loved compiling the discs. It gave us the opportunity to dig through our own music collections and rediscover tracks that had influenced us in our pasts, as well as allowing us to introduce the other to music we were really into - killer tracks from albums and fabulous singles that had somehow fallen by the wayside. But lately I’d begun to lose the challenge, for around the time I’d met Sam, she’d embarked on a project to convert her entire CD collection to MP3s. As the months had passed, the more CDs Sam had converted, the faster she could compile her disc. Where I was left to trawl manually through my CD collection, Sam just had to run a search on her PC to come up with a selection of songs – it was really starting to bug me.

As The Beatles finished their one-song set and made way for the White Stripes to perform their short but sweet Fell In Love With A Girl, my brief annoyance subsided and I remembered why I was embarking on this trip. I was heading for King’s Cross and then on to Luton to catch a flight to Inverness, where I would drive the last leg of my trip to the Eilean Donan Castle on the shores of Loch Duich, near the Isle of Skye. It was a place that Sam was deeply fond of and considered to be her heaven on earth. She’d held a fascination for it since she was a small child and had taken me there for a long weekend a few months back. My current trip was a secret, however, and she would know nothing of it until three days’ time when I’d surprise her with the fruits from it as a personal sign of my love and commitment to her.

I slouched down in my seat and rested my head back as Squeeze took over from the White Stripes and began to ask Is That Love?. Sam really did have impeccable taste in music. She’d even managed to pick my favourite Squeeze track of all time. I closed my eyes to reduce the number of senses interfering with my total absorption in the song and attempted to ignore the underlying rumble of the train. I sang along with Glenn Tilbrook’s every word in my head, almost tempted to sing out loud and not caring if the music was loud enough to annoy the other passengers. I completely lost myself in the tune and two minutes later the music faded, along with the rumble of the train, to leave just the voice of the band’s frontman. The song finished and I opened my eyes again with a profoundly satisfied smile on my face. The train had stopped at a station and the carriage doors were wide open. I realised it was King’s Cross – my stop – at the exact moment the alarm began to warn that the doors were about to close.

I swiftly grabbed my overnight bag from the floor and swung it out ahead of me as I lunged from my seat in a desperate attempt to make it through the now-closing doors. In doing so, I gave my bag the advantage of an arm’s length over my body and the required momentum to achieve an unimpeded exit through the narrowing gap in the doors; my body, however, was never going to make it. I let go of my bag just as the doors slammed shut - leaving me to slam painfully into them - and my bag landed effortlessly on the platform outside. The train moved off and I stared dumbfounded at my bag for as long as I could until the train entered the tunnel – The Tunnel Of Love as the Fun Boy Three now mockingly informed me from my iPod.

I yanked my headphones from my ears and slumped back against the glass partition next to the doors. I was devastated. I stared in disbelief at the passengers still sat around me. As usual most of them were minding their own business and avoiding eye contact with anyone, but a few of them had witnessed my misfortune and were now staring back at me with a mixture of shock, sympathy, and amusement. I avoided their gazes as they began to excitedly discuss my predicament, choosing instead to stare blankly at my reflection in the glass partition opposite. A dumbstruck look was fixed firmly on my face, my blue eyes were staring widely as if propped open by matchsticks, and my short black spiky hair was adding to the impression that I’d just received an electric shock. I shook my head to reset my expression to something approaching normal, straightened my slim build up to its full five feet eight inches and began to study the underground map above the doors as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened.

I silently cursed myself for having taken more interest in the music I was listening to than where the train had reached, but knew it wasn’t going to help get my bag back. The next stop was Euston, which wasn’t very far away. I could jump off there, get the Victoria Line train straight back to King’s Cross and be reunited with my bag in no time. I convinced myself this was just a temporary and recoverable setback. Sure enough, within a minute the train pulled into Euston, the doors opened and I was able to sprint off across to the adjoining platform. On reaching it I realised Euston was one of the stations that annoyingly chose to break with the tradition of keeping both platforms of an underground line together. I was presented with the southbound Bank branch of the Northern Line, not the northbound Victoria Line I was seeking.

I cursed the architect responsible as I glanced along the platform, searching for a sign directing me to the northbound Victoria Line. I couldn’t find one. All I could see were signs to other Northern Line platforms. I began to jog along the platform desperately searching for a clue as to which way I should go. I spotted the “way out” sign and decided it was my best option. It led me up a set of escalators and finally to a sign for the northbound Victoria Line. I followed it left through a short tunnel, down another set of escalators and finally out onto the northbound Victoria Line platform, just in time to see the last carriage of a train disappearing into the tunnel.

‘BOLLOCKS!’ I yelled, attracting unwanted attention from the other travellers.

It was four minutes until the next train; the longest and most agonising four minutes I’d ever spent. When the train finally arrived I climbed on and hung around the doors, silently urging the driver to close them and get the train moving. Eventually, he did as I wished and the train entered the blackness of the tunnel back towards King’s Cross. No sooner had it run up to full speed than it began to slow down again. I moved closer to the doors in anticipation of them opening. Suddenly the train ground to a halt, still inside the tunnel and momentarily throwing me off balance. I assured myself it was just a signal stop as the PA crackled ominously into life.

‘Ladies and Gentlemen, I’ve just been informed that King’s Cross station has been temporarily closed due to a security alert, so we’re going to be delayed here for a short while I’m afraid,’ the tube driver’s voice informed us, with a level of interest that indicated he’d seen it all before.

A terrible thought crossed my mind; They couldn’t have closed the station because of my bag, could they? It couldn’t possibly be true. It would be just the cruellest twist of fate. I prayed it wasn’t the case as I resigned myself to my train prison, slumped down onto the nearest vacant seat and began to sit out my sentence. I tried to look on the bright side; if they’d closed the station because of my bag, then at least it meant someone hadn’t stolen it from the platform. It wouldn’t take the authorities long to realise my bag was harmless and lift the security alert. Then the train would be on the move again. I’d be able to collect my bag, apologise, and be on my way still with plenty of time to make my flight.

About twenty-five agonising minutes later, the train suddenly jolted back into life to continue its journey slowly into King’s Cross underground station. I got up and stood by the doors again, anticipating their opening. I glanced at my watch - it was 10:12. I still had enough time to make it to Luton for my 11:35 flight if I could just recover my bag quickly enough. The doors opened and I passed through them, relishing my freedom as a sense of relief flooded over me. I began to wonder where my bag would be. Where was the control centre in this station? I vaguely remembered one being at the top of the main escalators so set off swiftly in that direction. The crowd of tourists randomly bumping into each other hampered my progress as they dithered about which way to go. On reaching the bottom of the escalators I took the left-hand lane and began to sprint up, shouting for people to move over ahead of me. I reached the top and there to the right of me was my Holy Grail - the main control room, the door of which was already open when I reached it.

‘Excuse me,’ I said breathlessly, attracting the attention of a guard within. ‘I accidentally got separated from my bag on the northbound Victoria Line platform about half an hour ago. Has it been handed in here?’

The guard said nothing. Instead he looked behind him at two men wearing suits who’d suddenly become distracted from their conversation. They both looked at the guard, then past him at me, and finally at each other, exchanging a knowing glance as they did so. The older of the two men looked back at me and asked my name.

‘Jake, Jake Lewis,’ I replied.

‘Why don’t you step into the office for a moment, Mr Lewis.’ He motioned for the guard to close the door.

I stepped into the office as the door was closed behind me, shutting out the noise of the other travellers and causing an eerie silence to fill the air.

‘So, you say you’ve lost your bag, Mr Lewis?’

‘Yes, that’s right. Have you found it? I’m in a bit of a rush you see, I’ve got a flight to catch from Luton at half eleven.’

The mystery suit pointed to the window of the control room. ‘You see out there, Mr Lewis?’

I followed his pointing finger and looked through the window at the bustling crowds, nodding my head as I did so.

‘There are hundreds of people out there, Mr Lewis. They’re all in a rush - just like yourself - but how many of them do you see knocking on this door because they’ve lost their bag?’

‘I did say it was an accident.’ I was suddenly wary of the tone he’d adopted.

‘Yes, yes you did, didn’t you, Mr Lewis?’ he replied sarcastically. He nodded towards his colleague who, as if by magic, produced my bag from behind him. ‘Would this be your bag, Mr Lewis?’

‘Yes! That’s it!’ The relief and joy flooded over my face.

‘Then, Mr Jake Lewis, I am hereby arresting you under the Prevention of Terrorism Act. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention, when questioned, something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?’

I decided I hated Wednesdays.

chapter two

truth games

September, 9½ Months Earlier

Back in the autumn, some nine and a half months prior to getting separated from my beloved bag on the London Underground, I was contentedly unaware of the existence of Sam. The most pressing thing on my mind was the evening out ahead of me. I was due to attend the anniversary party of Red-FM - the London-wide alternative music radio station - at the Forum in Kentish Town. Red-FM had become my favourite station some three months earlier when I’d moved to London and finally been able to pick its signal up. Every time I tuned in it always seemed to be playing a favourite song from my CD collection, or a new one that I wanted to know the title and artist of so that I could add it to my collection. So when Red-FM announced that they were giving away fifty pairs of tickets to their anniversary party that night, I was straight on the phone and frantically hitting the redial button until I’d successfully secured my place on the guest list. The night of the party also coincided with the weekend that my friend James was due to visit so I’d invited him to come along with me.

James was one of five friends from school I’d grown up with in the Medway towns of Kent and continued to see socially. The other four were two couples: Craig and Mary - who’d been married for three years - and Ian and Julie - who were engaged to be married the following summer. Thus, James and I shared the fact that we were the only single males in the group, although our approaches to resolving that situation differed considerably. Whereas I was monogamous and selective about whom I had a relationship with, James was completely the opposite - he was the typical lad. He enjoyed his single life immensely and showed no signs of ever wanting to settle down. His unrelenting pursuit of women was a constant source of amusement to us all. He far preferred the chase to ever actually being with someone. His continued success was owed partly to his tall and muscular physique, his medium-length straight blonde hair and his blue eyes, which he insisted could make any woman melt at ten paces.

‘I hope there’s going to be some fit women there tonight,’ James said anxiously as we left Kentish Town underground station and headed towards the Forum.

I just rolled my eyes and shook my head at him, refusing to give him any further response.

‘You look like you could do with some action yourself, Jake. How long has it been since your last shag?’

‘I’m not even going to answer that, James.’ I knew he was just trying to get a rise out of me, although not the kind he seemed to think I was in need of. ‘And you’re lucky to be coming along at all tonight, I wanted to be there by eight and it’s almost nine-thirty now - no thanks to you!’

‘Oh don’t worry, Jake, there are bound to be plenty of women left for us.’

James hadn’t changed much over the years. The only thing you could rely on him for was to be unreliable. He’d been exactly the same at school. While the intervening years had enabled him to buy bigger and faster cars, for some unfathomable reason this had only made him later. We really should have been used to it by now and not have even batted an eyelid at his persistent lateness, but we enjoyed the ritual of taking the piss out of him far too much to give it up, as we did with his womanising.

As we approached the Bull and Gate pub the door to their small showcase venue was thrown open and the melodic sounds of drums, bass and acoustic guitars drifted out. James and I exchanged a look of approval for whoever was playing as we shuffled by and prepared to tackle the assault course of temporary barriers ahead strewn in front of the Forum. As we waded through the thick bed of discarded fliers littering the pavement, we politely turned down the offer to add to them as more were thrust at us, dangling in the early autumn breeze from a thick forest of arms. At the main entrance I took extreme delight in announcing to the bouncer that we were on the guest list as I attempted to convey an air of importance. This quickly evaporated, however, as we were unceremoniously directed towards the back of another queue inside, far longer than the one for people with tickets.

On entering the main auditorium, we were hit by the sound of hundreds of chattering people as they clashed with and partially drowned out the band on stage. One advantage of arriving late was that we avoided the bleakness and musty air that the Forum usually engulfed you with when it was empty. A quick glance at the bustling crowd ahead revealed at least a half-dozen or so Red-FM T-shirts. I’d never been able to understand why some people chose to display their allegiance like that - by wearing a band’s T-shirt to one of their gigs, for instance - surely it was obvious they were fans by their mere presence? I always liked to take the opportunity to express my individuality and wear a more obscure band’s T-shirt, about whom I felt other people needed educating. Tonight I’d thrown on a pair of black jeans and chosen to wear my ‘I come from a Broken Family Band’ T-shirt, the latest edition to my collection. The Broken Family Band were a four-piece from Cambridge who tried their utmost not to be pigeonholed nor be a part of any scene, yet who were often labelled as ‘indie-guitar rockers at the forefront of the alt-Americana movement’, but nobody really knew what that meant. I’d stumbled across them when I’d gone to see a support band at one of their recent gigs. They had been the ones to blow me away that night, however, their twisted lyrics especially appealing to me. I’d been back to hear them again since and it was well past time a lot more people knew about them. James was, of course, dressed somewhat smarter than me with a striking dark purple velvet shirt and black trousers, obviously concerned for his ability to pull. He looked slightly overdressed, but I was sure it wasn’t going to hamper his pulling power.

We made our way haphazardly through the crowd to the bar on the right-hand side of the venue, where I insisted James buy the first round as his punishment for being late. He objected profusely, as always, but I was having none of it. Another thing about James was that he was rather tight when it came to spending money on other people. He always claimed poverty, but we knew he earned a nice packet in the City, and whenever he did finally get out his wallet it was always bulging with notes.

‘Cheers, mate,’ I said, as James handed me my pint. I took a much-needed gulp from it. ‘Let’s move over nearer the sound desk and check out the band.’

The area to the side of the sound desk, overlooking the lower level dance floor and the stage beyond, wasn’t too crowded and those who were standing there seemed less interested in seeing the band than we were. We hustled our way into a good vantage point a few rows back from the railings, smiling politely at those we displaced on our way, and then took some time to enjoy the band and our drinks.

‘So what’s the set-up tonight?’ asked James. ‘Is it just bands?’

‘No, I don’t think so - it’s supposed to be a mixture of bands, DJ sets, and special guests,’ I replied, speaking loud enough to be heard above the music, before adding in a promotional voiceover style, ‘and your favourite Red-FM DJs will be mingling with the crowd!’

‘Yeah, right, like anyone’s going to know what they look like.’

‘You’d be surprised these days. They’ve all got their picture on the Red-FM website and there are plenty of people out there sad enough to idolise them.’

‘Are any of them fit females? I’ve always fancied adding a DJ to my shagged list.’

‘James, do you ever stop thinking about sex?’ I asked, rather too loudly at the exact moment between the band having suddenly finished their song and the crowd taking up the applause. The brief silent gap was perfectly timed to coincide with my apparent shouting of the word ‘sex’.

All eyes around were cast my way and the girl directly in front of us turned round to look at me. Her big brown eyes suddenly transfixed mine as I felt the blood rush to my cheeks in embarrassment. She held my gaze briefly, smiled and then turned away again. A chill ran down my spine and a lump appeared in my throat from nowhere. I quickly took a swig from my pint to dislodge it.

‘I think you’re in there, Jake,’ whispered James, winking at me as he leaned over and nudged me in the ribs, causing me to splutter on my drink and spill some down my lovely new Broken Family Band T-shirt.

‘Great! Thanks, James.’ I hopelessly attempted to brush my T-shirt dry.

As the band started their next song my gaze began to increasingly linger on the girl ahead of us as I found myself watching her in preference to the band. She looked in her late twenties - a few years younger than me - and around five and a half feet tall. She had luscious shoulder-length, straight, dark hair that perfectly complemented her brown eyes. I’d only briefly looked into them, but in that short time I’d felt like I was melting away. She had the most desirable petite figure, beautiful small breasts, appealingly less than a handful, and a delicate waist that I already wanted to grab hold of and pull towards me. Her smile had been wide and beaming, as if emitting rays of sunshine, and was surely fit only for the gods. She wore a pair of blue denim jeans and a matching denim jacket under which a bright yellow skinny-rib T-shirt hugged her body. I’d glimpsed some red writing on the front of it, but I’d not been able to make out what it said. Physically, she was a perfect combination and the fact that she was here at the Forum also meant she must have impeccably good taste in music. I was pretty sure she was the type of girl I could easily fall in love with. There was only her personality left to check out, but therein lay the problem - her boyfriend.

It was always the way; the best ones were always taken. Either that or after having got to know them you’d realise that their personality didn’t match your expectations and was wildly incompatible with your own. Whether the latter was true or not was rather irrelevant in this case as she was accompanied by a tall, tanned, well built, fit-looking male with sparkling blue eyes and long blonde hair tied back in a ponytail. He kept leaning over and whispering things into her ear, each time provoking her to respond with a nod of agreement, a smile or a laugh. I did notice, however, that she would rarely speak back to him. Since he’d been personally responsible for shattering my brief idyllic daydream, I decided to interpret this as her annoyance at his constant chatter while the band was playing. It was something that always annoyed me at gigs. I could never understand why some people would pay to get into such a loud environment only to spend the whole time trying to hold a conversation with each other. The odd exchange of words was fine, but if they didn’t want to listen to the band, then why didn’t they just go somewhere else? And why did they always stand behind me to hold their conversation and get their tallest friends in the world to stand directly in front of me?

I shook my head to rid myself of the annoying thought along with my mistaken fantasy of dating the obviously unobtainable girl in front of me. I began to concentrate on watching the band on stage again.

They were a five-piece with a traditional sound of guitars, strings and softly sung female vocals. Added to this were the more untraditional electronic sounds of Moogs, Stylophones and theremins, all of which most members of the band took a turn to play at some point. I was extremely impressed with them so far and was rather anxious to find out who they were. Too many times I’d found myself loving a support band only for them to exit the stage and leave me with absolutely no idea who they were. It seemed foolish to me for them not to take several opportunities to announce themselves to the somewhat transient but ever-expanding pre-headline audience, especially when they were going down so well.

The band finished their last song and then left the stage to rapturous applause. James and I joined in as best we could without spilling our drinks.

‘They were rather fabulous.’ I turned to James as the applause began to subside. ‘I wish they’d said who they were though.’

‘They’re called Saloon,’ said a delicate but confident female voice, politely interrupting our conversation.

I turned my head away from James and found myself looking back into the mesmerising brown eyes of the girl in front.

‘They’re from Reading,’ she added matter-of-factly.

Her stunning beauty froze me once more as if I’d just stepped out onto the freezing deck of some Arctic icebreaker. I just stared back at her with a stupid blank look on my face not saying a word. As my temperature plummeted, time seemed to slow down with it and I felt an awkward silence begin to develop. I could see her face changing in slow motion from a smile to a wary frown and realised that James and her boyfriend were now also staring at me. This was no Arctic icebreaker I’d just stepped onto; it was my very own Titanic! I had to snap out of this quickly and say something normal that didn’t involve shouting sex at the top of my voice, even though that was exactly what my loins were urging me to shout.

‘I loved that last number they did,’ I said as casually as I could while trying to ooze enthusiasm and charisma.

Her frown changed back into a smile on realising I seemed normal after all. ‘Yeah, that’s a live favourite. It’s called Girls Are The New Boys.’

‘Huh! Can’t see it myself,’ chuckled James sarcastically.

Her frown returned instantly as she glanced over at him disapprovingly. I also shot an accusing look his way, but her boyfriend chuckled along with him, far too encouragingly for my liking. I sensed the treacherous icebergs surrounding my imaginary Titanic, which were certain to thwart our brief relationship. I was clearly going to have to break some ice and launch a lifeboat if I were to have any hope of rescuing the situation and getting to know this girl more. Camaraderie always seemed to hold people together well on sinking ships so I decided to commence immediately with formal introductions.

‘I’m Jake,’ I said quickly to distract from James’ comment, placing my pint in my left hand and holding my right out ahead of me as if to help her aboard my lifeboat.

‘Hi, I’m Sam.’ She smiled and took my hand gently in hers. She gave it a brief shake as if to test the safety of my grip before deciding whether to risk climbing on board. Her hand was small and delicate and her skin soft to the touch. Her fingernails were well manicured but unpainted and quite short. She wore a single-banded silver ring on her thumb and a quick glance at the fingers on her left hand, which was wrapped around her glass, revealed no further jewellery. At least she didn’t seem to be engaged or married to this boyfriend of hers yet.

I gently released Sam’s hand and motioned towards James. ‘This is my friend James.’

Sam and James both nodded politely at each other, but neither made any attempt to offer their hand for shaking. I could sense an air of mistrust emanating from Sam, which a fair number of women tended to quickly adopt on their first meeting with him. James would either immediately bowl them over with his charm and charisma or instantly get their back up over some flippant remark he’d made. The latter was obviously the case with Sam, and I was somewhat sceptical as to whether he would still be able to win her over and prevent her from suggesting he be thrown overboard.

‘And this is Pete,’ added Sam, completing the introductions with the role of either friend or boyfriend appearing intriguingly conspicuous to me by its absence.

‘G’day!’ came a loud and confident greeting from Pete, enthusiastically spoken in a cheery Australian accent. He smiled broadly as he thrust his hand out, gripped mine painfully tightly and then shook it vigorously, as if he’d sensed my desire to have him cast adrift on his own lifeboat - preferably along with James. I grimaced behind a false smile as he relinquished his grip and I tried to secretly shake the blood back into my hand. He turned to James and greeted him in the same manner, although I could see that James was ready for him and was determined to squeeze harder than Pete did. Neither of them gave any indication as to who’d won their strongest-grip competition.

‘I thought Saloon sounded rather reminiscent of early Stereolab,’ I said, turning my attention back to Sam and trying to establish myself with a reputable knowledge of music.

Pete abruptly dismissed my qualification with a wave of his hand. ‘Ah, everyone says that, mate! It’s far too derivative. Did ya see Endor before ’em? Now they’re fantastic.’

‘Er . . . no . . . I didn’t.’ I was somewhat taken aback by his caustic response. ‘We’ve not been here long.’

‘Well, you missed the highlight of the night, mate! Best Aussie band on the bloody planet!’

‘You’ll have to excuse Pete,’ interrupted Sam, chuckling slightly as she placed her hand affectionately on his arm as if to gently restrain him. ‘We’ve recently signed Endor and as you can tell, Pete is rather enthusiastic about them.’ She glanced up at him and smiled.

‘Recently signed them?’ I repeated, slightly puzzled but extremely intrigued.

‘Yeah, we work for Snaredrum Recordings.’

‘Wow!’ I took a quick glance down at her T-shirt and realised that was what was written on it. ‘That explains the T-shirt.’

Sam looked down at her Snaredrum T-shirt as if she’d forgotten she was wearing it. ‘Oh, yeah.’ She seemed momentarily embarrassed. ‘One of the perks of the job, as was getting in here free tonight.’

‘We were on the guest list, too,’ added James, rather smugly.

‘Oh yeah? What label are you with?’

‘Oh, no one,’ I added quickly, before James could make something up to try and impress her. ‘I won the tickets on Red-FM.’

‘I heard them running that competition. I didn’t think I’d get to meet the winner, though.’ She sounded rather impressed.

‘Well, there were forty-nine others,’ I admitted, playing down my supposed notoriety rather awkwardly.

‘I see you’re also a fan of The Broken Family Band.’ She gestured towards my T-shirt, sounding impressed once more.

‘Yep,’ I replied proudly.

‘Well, I have to admit you’ve got some good taste, Jake.’ She paused briefly before adding with a deadpan expression, ‘But it’s a real shame about your drinking problem.’

Both James and Pete began to chuckle. I was completely confused for a moment until Sam raised her eyebrows and gestured towards my T-shirt with a nod of her head. I looked down and noticed the wet patch where James had made me spill my drink. I blushed again as I looked back up into Sam’s face to be greeted by a smile. It was clear she had a wicked sense of humour. I was almost certain I could fall in love with her now.

‘Listen, I was just about to go to the bar to get James and myself another drink. Would you like one?’

‘Ah, yeah, good on ya, mate,’ responded Pete instantly, before quickly downing the remainder of his pint and thrusting his empty glass towards me. I took the glass from him, somewhat startled as he smiled cheerfully at me.

‘I’d love one, thanks,’ said Sam, chuckling at my reaction to Pete. ‘Why don’t I give you a hand?’

I quickly regained my composure and tried not to appear too eager. ‘Yeah, that would be great.’

‘So whaddaya do, mate?’ I heard Pete ask James as Sam and I headed off towards the bar. I was almost tempted to stay behind just to hear how their conversation would go. Unless they discovered some common ground, I was certain James was going to dislike him immensely.

Quite a lot of other people had decided they also needed refills now that the band had finished, but there seemed to be enough bar staff to cope with the demand. I chose a spot that I thought offered the best chance of getting served quickly and queued up.

‘I’m sorry about Pete,’ said Sam from behind me, sounding genuinely apologetic. ‘He can often come across as rather abrupt and pushy when you first meet him, but that’s just his manner. He’s got a heart of gold once you get to know him.’

I looked back over my shoulder at her. ‘I guess I should apologise for James, too. He’s a nice enough bloke once you get to know him as well. He just has some rather laddish traits.’

I sensed that neither of us was entirely convinced by the other’s explanation but were both prepared to give each other the benefit of the doubt.

‘What’s your boyfriend drinking?’

‘Oh, he’s not my boyfriend,’ she replied quickly and dismissively, clearly seeing that this information was more important to clear up than what it was he drank. ‘He’s a colleague. He works in our Melbourne office. He’s just over with Endor on their whistle-stop tour.’

My heart began to race and I suddenly felt the urge to shout “land ahoy” as I sensed our lifeboat begin to drift into shore. This was an unexpected development, although admittedly one for which I’d been secretly praying.

‘Sorry, I just naturally assumed he was.’ I casually tried to conceal my joy at the prospect of being shipwrecked on a desert island with her.

‘That’s OK. It’s lager he’s drinking, anyway.’

‘Fosters, I assume?’

‘No, they all seem to hate that. Get him a Stella.’

‘And you?’

‘A vodka and orange, please.’

I ordered the drinks and handed Sam hers and Pete’s to carry. I picked up James’ and mine and we set off back to where we’d left them. As we approached, I could see that James and Pete were happily chatting and laughing away together. The two of them had obviously found something in common while we’d been away and I was extremely curious to find out what it was.

‘Ah, good on ya, mate!’ said Pete, nodding his head approvingly in my direction and eagerly taking his pint from Sam. As he began to drink from it he abruptly stopped and thrust it away from his mouth, almost as if it had burnt him. His entire face scrunched up into a grimace. ‘Ah, shit, it’s bloody Fosters!’

‘Oh sorry, that must be yours, James.’ I innocently offered Pete the pint I’d carried over for James.

‘No worries, mate,’ he replied unconvincingly, still reeling from the shock. He handed James his pint and then took the other one from me. He cautiously sipped from it this time.

‘That OK?’ I asked, with smug concern.

‘Yeah,’ he replied, somewhat subdued.

‘Does anyone want to go upstairs?’ asked Sam. ‘There’s a table reserved for Snaredrum, and Pete and I are the only ones here tonight. It seems a shame to waste it.’

‘Sure, fine by me,’ I replied, as Sam glanced around the three of us for approval. Both James and Pete nodded in agreement.

‘OK, follow me.’ She turned round and began to edge her way through the crowd towards the stairs leading up to the balcony. We followed in single file, Pete ahead of me, James bringing up the rear. As we began to climb the stairs I dropped back slightly so that I was alongside James.

‘He’s not her boyfriend, you know.’

‘Yeah, I know,’ he replied casually.

‘How do you know?’ I was surprised with the extent of his knowledge already.

‘You know me, Jake, I don’t hang about in finding that kind of information out.’

‘You’re not after her, are you, James?’ I asked worriedly and rather disheartened.

‘No, she’s all yours. I wouldn’t mind giving her one, though, but I don’t think she likes me. Anyway, Pete’s offered to take me backstage later – I might get to meet some real groupies!’

‘Ah, so that’s how he’s won you over. And there I was thinking you didn’t like him.’

‘He’s all right once you get to know him,’ James replied as justification, not that he’d exactly had enough time to.

‘Yeah, right. You’re so transparent, James.’

The Forum’s balcony stretched all the way to the back of the venue above where we’d entered. It was the best place to get a full view of the splendid décor that graced the ceiling and walls. A magnificent red dome towered up above us from which hung a huge central chandelier. Along the top of each side wall were figures of Roman centurions frozen in time, some in hand-to-hand combat, others racing on chariots. A row of chandeliers hung along each edge of the ceiling, casting their ambient light upon them. It was a pleasant contrast to the bare black walls and low ceiling directly beneath the balcony, typical of so many London venues. At the very top, a bar ran along the back wall and below it was a cordoned-off area containing reserved seating that was already bustling with people. Sam led us into it and along to the empty table labelled for Snaredrum. Sam and Pete shuffled onto the bench one side of it and James and I onto the other, after I’d made it discreetly clear to him that I was to sit opposite Sam.

‘So how long have you both worked for Snaredrum?’ I asked after settling into my seat.

‘I’ve been there about four years now. Pete’s been there longer, haven’t you?’ She turned her head to look at him.

‘Ah yeah, since it was set up about seven years ago. I’m an original, me.’

‘Was it founded in Australia, then?’

‘Yeah, the London office was only set up around four years ago, shortly before Sam joined.’

‘I’d always assumed it was British.’

Sam shook her head. ‘No, most people think that.’

‘It’s Aussie through and through, mate,’ added Pete. ‘Apart from the few Pommies we’ve got working over here, mind, but they’ve all been handpicked.’ He winked at Sam and she smiled back at him.

‘You must get invited to all the best parties,’ said James in awe. ‘I bet you meet some real fit chicks?’

‘Yeah, ya certainly do,’ replied Pete smugly before quickly wiping the knowing look from his face and adding in a responsible tone, ‘If that’s what yer in it for, of course. Personally, it’s the music not the social scene that interests me.’

Somehow I just knew he was lying. I was sure he’d only adopted the moral high ground because of Sam’s presence and that if she hadn’t been here, he would already be comparing his list of past shags with James’.

‘But I thought the industry was full of shallow, self-important, manipulative parasites that’d stab you in the back the first chance they get - present company excluded of course.’ I said cuttingly.

‘There are a lot of people like that,’ agreed Sam. ‘And you have to be very careful not to get bitten by them. But there are also a lot of genuine people, too. Everyone at Snaredrum is in it for the love of the music, and the same goes for Red-FM.’

‘You must need to be a really good judge of character to be able to tell the good from the bad, though,’ suggested James.

‘First impressions are very important, and I trust my instincts completely. I’m quick to judge people but I rarely turn out to be wrong about them.’ She stared at James as if challenging him to prove her wrong.

‘Have you made a judgment about me?’ he asked provocatively.

‘I’m still forming one.’ Her voice suggested little hope for him.

I didn’t like the way the two of them were provoking each other. If this carried on, I was sure to lose any slim chance I currently had with Sam.

‘But how can you stand working in an environment where you have to deal with so many two-faced people?’ I asked.

‘Because it’s great fun playing them at their own game,’ replied Pete. ‘There are two things ya need to be good at in this industry – faking sincerity and building up hype.’

‘Is that what you do, then?’ I asked, somewhat judgmentally.

‘Yeah, course, mate.’ He showed no hint of remorse. ‘Ya see the industry’s fulla people who like nothing better than to talk about ’emselves. Ya don’t have to give ’em long before ya work out exactly what they wanna hear. You then just tell ’em it in a way that’ll get ’em to do what ya want ’em to do, without actually having to deliver on what ya mighta promised ’em - at least not immediately. Ya find out what makes a person tick and yer’ll find out how to be their friend for life. Friendship can get ya anything, mate.’

‘I’m not sure I entirely agree with that,’ added Sam quickly. ‘But I do agree you have to learn how to get along with a lot of people you don’t like.’

‘I get the impression that you probably apply that approach to all walks of life though, Pete,’ I said accusingly.

‘Well, yeah, I guess I do.’ He seemed proud of the fact. ‘But so do most people. When ya see something ya want in life, ya use whatever means are available to get it - ya know what I mean, don’t ya, James?’

‘Er . . .’ James was caught rather off guard and uncharacteristically lost for words.

‘Ya know, with women? Ya work out what they wanna hear and then tell ’em it to give ya a better chance of bedding ’em, don’t ya?’

James smiled and chuckled knowingly, raising his eyebrows and nodding his head in agreement. If Sam hadn’t completed her judgment of him by now, then this was surely the last piece of evidence she needed.

‘But my true friends know who they are, don’t they, Sam?’ Pete smiled at her.

‘Yeah, we do.’

I wasn’t so sure. Was he just saying that because he knew it was what she wanted to hear? Or was it genuine sincerity? After what he’d just said I really couldn’t tell. I hoped that Sam knew him well enough to know the difference, but somehow I doubted it. I was deeply distrustful of the guy, and his arrogance wound me up to my core.

‘So, are Endor really the best band in Australia, or were you just saying that?’

‘Just between you ’n’ me, mate,’ he replied quietly, leaning into the table so as not to be overheard, ‘they’re not, but they will be.’ He sat back in his seat and shrugged. ‘Ya’ve gotta build up the hype, though.’ At that moment his mobile phone rang. He checked to see who was calling before answering it and commencing to almost shout into the phone. ‘Yo, Greg, mate, how ya doing?’

‘It’s the lead singer of Endor,’ explained Sam.

‘Ah yeah, it was bloody brilliant, mate! They loved ya. Ya should have been higher up the bill, though - I’ll make sure of it next time.’

I suddenly got the feeling that we were witnessing Pete in action, telling the lead singer of Endor exactly what he wanted to hear whether it was actually true or not.

‘Ah, no worries, mate, I’ll see ya in a few minutes.’ Pete put his phone away and got up from the table. ‘Gotta go backstage and see the boys for a bit. Anyone wanna join me?’

‘I think I’ll stay here for a while,’ said Sam, before looking across to me for an answer.

‘I’m fine here, too.’

Pete looked at James, who was staring up at him like an expectant child on his birthday.

‘I’ll come!’

‘Grab ya pint and follow me, then!’

James sprouted up from his seat with a huge grin on his face.

‘Don’t you go inviting anyone back to my place for a party,’ I warned him.

‘As if I’d do a thing like that, Jake,’ he replied sarcastically before following Pete off backstage.

‘Pete’s very sure of himself, isn’t he?’ I said once they were safely out of earshot, trying not to sound too judgmental.

‘Yeah, but like he says, you need to be to get on in this industry.’

‘I guess so,’ I replied, but I wasn’t really convinced. ‘Would you like another drink?

‘Yeah, it’s my round, though. Same again?’

I nodded as she got up and then quickly disappeared off to the bar at the top of the balcony. This was perfect. It was what I’d been longing for since I’d first laid eyes on Sam - some time alone with her. I wasn’t sure how long it was going to last, but I was determined to make the most of it and leave her with a good impression of myself.

‘So, tell me a bit about yourself,’ I said once she’d returned with our drinks and settled back down again. ‘How did you land such a cool job as working for an independent record label?’

‘Oh, I kind of fell into it really, but I’ve always loved music. My first Saturday job was in a local record shop. I remember I couldn’t believe they paid me to do it. At the time I would have been happy to work for free, just to have the privilege of being able to listen to so much music. I spent most summers behind the counter of Ray’s Records in Shoeburyness while the rest of my friends were out enjoying the sun. When I left school I went to university to study psychology, but I went off it pretty quickly and switched to business studies instead.’

‘Why was that?’

‘Basically, I didn’t fancy the idea of spending the rest of my life listening to other people’s problems. I knew I’d rather listen to music instead. When I finished my degree I moved to London and got a job in a record shop for a few years. A place called Going For A Song, which used to be on Charing Cross Road next to the Astoria. Did you know it?’

‘I did,’ I replied enthusiastically. ‘I used to shop there every week until it closed down. It couldn’t have been at the same time you were there though because I’m sure I would have remembered you,’ I complimented. ‘It was a great shop, but it had such a shite name.’

‘It was pretty terrible, wasn’t it?’ Sam chuckled to herself as a reminiscent look glazed her eyes. ‘I’ve got some great memories of the place though. I’m glad I left six months before it closed down because I heard it really went downhill after that. I think it’s some horrendous tourists’ clothes shop now or something.’

I confirmed her suspicions.

‘Anyway, I was at work one day, scanning through Music Week, when I came across this advert for a small record label that was starting up. They were looking for enthusiastic and dedicated people who wouldn’t mind starting out on a low salary. So I applied and here I am four years later.’

‘So, are Endor actually any good?’ I asked sceptically.

‘Yeah, they are. Pete does hype them up a lot, but they are worth it. You really should try and catch them live.’

‘Well, I promise I will if you let me know when they’re playing next,’ I replied, seeing an ideal opportunity for a future date.

‘Sure, though I can’t promise to get you in for free.’

‘That’s OK. I’m no freeloader - I like to pay my own way.’

‘So what about you?’ asked Sam, readjusting the spotlight onto me. ‘What do you do for a living?’

‘I work for the BBC, managing a team of their website developers.’

‘Cool. How did you get into that?’

‘When I was a kid I had two ambitions, one of which was to work at the BBC. I studied computer science at university and got a job in web development on leaving. Eventually I ended up at the BBC.’

‘What was the other ambition?’

‘To be a pop star. I always wanted to write my own songs and perform them on stage to an adoring crowd. Unfortunately, I’ve never found the time to teach myself to play the guitar or anything. My desire to do so always gets rekindled though every time I see one of the many unoriginal new bands out there these days.’

‘I know what you mean. We’ve seen some utter shite when we’ve been out scouting for bands. You go along to a gig having cautiously believed the hype only to be confronted with somebody’s manufactured copy of Oasis. At least Endor’s hype is built upon their fundamental talent and originality. And it really pisses me off how the big labels are only interested in making a fast buck these days and will drop a band as soon as one single fails. There used to be a time when record companies would nurture the talent they signed, that’s the philosophy we still have at Snaredrum.’

I was impressed with Sam’s views on the current state of the music industry and her desire to do things differently. It was a long time since I’d met someone who felt so strongly about the subject and a part of me was thrilled by this.

‘So what are your long-term plans? Do you think you’ll stay at the BBC for life?’

‘Er . . . I don’t really know,’ I was startled by such a direct and probing question. ‘I’ve just kind of plodded along so far,’ I admitted without thinking and then immediately wished I had. Sam was expressing a great deal of passion for everything she did and the last thing I wanted to do was to come across as apathetic. It was a very open question she’d asked and not one I’d previously given much thought to. I certainly didn’t have the time to do it now. How long was long term, anyway? What I needed was a truthful answer that would keep her interested in me. ‘I’ve always found it very satisfying writing song lyrics,’ I added, hoping it would appeal to her nature, ‘but I doubt I could make a career out of it.’

‘If you could change one thing in your life right now, what would it be?’

‘Er . . .’ I was beginning to feel rather under pressure, but at least felt like I had a more thought out answer to this question. ‘I guess at the moment I’d like a bit more creativity in my work life. I used to be more involved with designing the BBC’s websites, which I always found creatively satisfying, but since taking over the running of a team I’ve moved away from that. It’s been an interesting challenge, but it no longer fulfils my desires, and it’s certainly not what I want to do for the rest of my life. So I guess I’d like to get back into designing websites again. And you, do you see yourself staying where you are for years to come?’ I was desperate to divert her attention away from my lack of a life plan.

‘No, I’m going to set up my own label,’ Sam replied assuredly.

I was suitably impressed. ‘A similar kind of thing to Snaredrum?’

‘Yeah, only better - of course!’

‘Have you thought of a name for this label that all others will envy?’

‘Emu Patrol.’

‘Emu Patrol?’ I was intrigued.

‘Yeah, it’s what I use for my email address. I loved Rod Hull and Emu when I was a kid and since seeing some real ones in Australia earlier this year, I’ve been quite taken by them. It was fascinating to see these flocks of huge flightless birds that over the years must have learned to run faster and faster in their frustrated attempts to launch themselves into the air. They’re very elegant really, in spite of their supposed ugliness.’

‘But why a “Patrol”?’

‘Because to me, those huge flocks of emus seemed to be patrolling the plains as if they had something very precious to protect, and I like the idea of my record label patrolling the music scene to safeguard its bands from exploitation.’

‘Well, it’s certainly original,’ I offered by way of a compliment.

‘Pete thinks I’m crazy,’ chuckled Sam before putting on an Australian accent in order to imitate him. ‘Normal people visit Oz and fall in love with the koalas or ’roos, but she has to fall in love with the bloody emus!’

‘I take it you get to visit Australia quite a lot with Snaredrum?’

‘Yeah,’ replied Sam dreamily. ‘I’ve been Down Under a few times. It’s a beautiful country – have you ever been?’

‘Sadly, no.’

Sam seemed to briefly drift off into another world. I had to admit that I was seriously taken with her. Not only was she more beautiful than my dreams could possibly imagine, but she was also very ambitious and already seemed to have the rest of her life planned out ahead of her. She knew exactly what she wanted and wasn’t afraid to go for it. I began to consider myself very lucky just to be sat here opposite her.

‘Tell me,’ I began, bringing Sam back from her dream world, ‘do you always ask such direct questions to people you’ve just met?’

Sam smiled. ‘Yeah, but you’ve got off lightly – I usually play a truth game.’

‘A truth game?’

‘Yeah, it’s a great way to find things out about someone quickly, and the best part of all is that it involves tequila. Want to play?’ Her eyes widened in eager anticipation.

‘Er . . . how does it work?’ I asked hesitantly.

‘For each tequila shot you down, you can ask the other person a question which they have to answer truthfully. The more shots we down the more interesting the questions get.’

‘Can you ask the other person the same question back?’

‘Absolutely.’ Sam leaned forwards as a rather devious grin spread across her face. ‘That way you have to be careful not to ask a question that may reveal a deep dark secret of your own.’

‘I’ll be sure to remember that.’ I took a mental note.

‘So, do you want to play?’

‘Yeah, sure, it sounds like fun.’

‘OK, I’ll go get us some tequila while you spend a bit of time working on your list of questions.’ Sam got up and returned to the bar.

I was feeling somewhat thrilled but also rather apprehensive about playing this truth game with her. She was quite capable of asking probing questions when not playing the game – what would they be like after a few rounds of tequila? Not that I was afraid of answering truthfully, as my belief was that honesty and trust were very important base ingredients for a lasting relationship, and I was determined to do everything I could to ensure that I laid the right foundations with Sam. I began to think of all the things I wanted to ask her that wouldn’t cause offence and would also leave a good impression. It wasn’t going to be easy; I was certainly going to have to tread carefully.

Suddenly, Sam appeared out of the crowd and slammed a half litre bottle of tequila down onto the table along with two shot glasses. ‘OK, time’s up, let’s get started.’ She quickly filled the two shot glasses. ‘You go first.’

‘All right, um . . . how old are you?’

‘You have to down the tequila before you can ask the question.’

I did as I was told and then repeated my question.

‘Twenty-seven,’ she replied promptly and then downed her shot. ‘What was your nickname at school?’

‘Er . . .’ I was rather expecting Sam to ask me the same question back. ‘Gonzo,’ I reluctantly admitted.

‘Gonzo?’ She chuckled with delight. ‘From The Muppets?’

‘Yeah,’ I confirmed sheepishly.

‘What, because of your big nose?’

‘It’s not that big.’

‘No, you’re right. Just don’t turn sideways or the table will be plunged into darkness.’

I sneered at her.

‘Someone once told me,’ began Sam, deep in thought, ‘that the nose is the one part of the body that continues to grow throughout your life.’

‘Don’t tell me that. I don’t want to know that it’s going to get bigger still. I’ve been cursed with it for enough of my life already!’

Sam cast me a sympathetic but heavily sarcastic look.

‘Anyway,’ I began suspiciously, ‘I thought that was your ears?’

Sam shrugged her shoulders. ‘I’m sure you’ll find out in years to come.’ She refilled our glasses and gestured towards mine. ‘Your go.’

‘OK, what was your nickname at school?’ I asked, realising this was a quick-fire round.

‘I didn’t have one,’ she replied smugly.

‘Come on, everyone had a nickname at school.’

‘Nope, not me.’

Shit, I thought to myself as Sam reached for her second shot. This was not going well. Sam really had an advantage over me, which was no surprise considering it was her game and her rules. My first question had obviously been too conservative and I’d now wasted my second one. I was really going to have to try and think ahead of her.

Sam slammed down her empty glass on the table. ‘How many people have you had sex with in your life?’

My mouth dropped open as I stared at her in disbelief. I really didn’t have the hang of this game at all. ‘Er . . . I’m not sure.’

‘You must have some idea? Count them up.’

I began to silently count on my fingers, looking quizzical as I tried to remember back over the years. It wasn’t something I’d particularly thought about, at least not since my late teens when that kind of thing had seemed to matter.

‘Probably around twenty, I think, give or take a few.’

‘I thought all boys knew exactly how many?’

‘I’m sure James can tell you the names, telephone numbers and dates of all the women he’s slept with straight off the top of his head, but I don’t keep a mental list. Can you tell me exactly how many you’ve had sex with without thinking?’

‘Is that your next question?’

‘Yes . . . yes it is.’ I poured out two more shots and downed one. It wasn’t a question that would give me the upper hand in this game, but I was sure Sam wasn’t likely to turn round and say none.

‘Yes, I can,’ she replied.

‘What?’

‘Yes, I can tell you exactly how many I’ve slept with without thinking.’

‘Go on then.’

‘That wasn’t your question, Jake,’ she replied mischievously. ‘You asked if I could tell you, not to tell you - you really need to take more care with your questions in this game.’ She smiled smugly at me.

‘You’re just making these rules up as you go along, aren’t you?’ I stared at her suspiciously.

‘No,’ she chuckled. ‘But because you’re new to this game I’m going to be generous and let you ask the question you meant to ask.’

‘You’re so kind,’ I said sarcastically. ‘OK, how many have you had sex with?’

‘One for every year of my life.’

I was secretly impressed and somewhat envious of the fact she’d slept with more people than I had, but I didn’t show it.

‘And could you remember all their names and numbers?’

‘Their names, yes, but it’s my turn to ask the next question.’ She smiled deviously and picked up her glass. She held it out in front of her, momentarily eyeing it up before throwing her head back as she downed it, ending with a quick grimace and shake of the head before a smile returned to her lips. ‘How many of them were male?’

‘What?’ I knew very well what she’d asked, but I didn’t believe it.

‘How many of the people you’ve had sex with were male?’ she reiterated innocently. ‘And remember to tell the truth!’

I sat there and stared back at her with my eyes wide and my eyebrows raised.

‘Come on, answer the question,’ she teased.

I thought about lying but decided it wasn’t in the spirit of the game. ‘One,’ I replied begrudgingly.

‘I thought so!’ She clapped her hands together in glee.

‘Why did you think so?’ I was horrified by the thought that anyone could possibly know such an intimate secret about me after having spent such a short time in my presence.

‘Just an impression I got. So tell me about it, I’m intrigued.’

‘Er…it’s my question now I think you’ll find,’ I replied authoritatively, but then decided that this was one answer I really needed to expand on to clarify the situation. ‘But let me make clear that it was just a teenage experimental thing, and I’ve never done it since, nor do I have any desire to.’

I was starting to realise that this was a dangerous game I was playing and was also becoming concerned as to how probing the questions needed to get before it ended.

‘You are a dark horse, Jake,’ said Sam rather suggestively. ‘I think I shall have to keep my eye on you.’

‘And yourself? Have there been any women in your sex life?’

‘You have to drink the tequila before you can ask that question,’ she reminded me, delaying her response as she slowly filled the two shot glasses again.

I quickly downed the drink and presented Sam with the empty glass.

‘Well, I did go out with a girl for a few months when I was at university.’

‘A few months?’

‘Yep,’ she replied proudly, as she reached for her next tequila.

I quickly placed my hand over her glass so that she couldn’t lift it. ‘Do you mind if I just sit here and think about that for a few moments?’

She smiled smugly at me and pushed my hand gently away.

‘I guess it’ll just have to wait until later,’ I sighed.

Sam necked her next drink and then eyed me up for another question. ‘Do you want a family, Jake?’

I was surprised by the sudden change in the line of questioning, but also rather relieved that it’d moved on to a less intrusive subject. ‘No,’ I replied habitually.

‘Oh,’ said Sam abruptly, displaying unexpected disappointed. She leaned back in her chair and gazed at me with a slight frown on her face. ‘Not even in the future?’

I immediately realised that this must be an important point to Sam and thus one I really ought to clarify. ‘Well, I’ve never had a burning desire to have children, and if I never do then it won’t be something I’ll regret. But I’ve always known that maybe one day I might settle down with someone who will want a family.’

‘Don’t you think that would be wrong?’

‘No, why?’

‘I just think you might be compromising what you want from life. You wouldn’t really want children, only what your partner wants. To commit to something as serious as bringing up a family requires both parties to want the same thing, wouldn’t you agree?’

‘Yes, but I’m saying that by then I would. Just because I don’t have a desire for them now doesn’t mean I can’t change my mind in the future.’

I didn’t have a chance to argue my point any further because at that moment Pete and James reappeared. On seeing the tequila bottle Pete abruptly stopped and glared disapprovingly at Sam.

‘Yer’ve not been playing that truth game of yours with him, have ya, Sam?’

‘We just had a little game,’ admitted Sam dismissively before adding like an innocent child, ‘No one got hurt.’

‘Well it’s lucky I’ve returned to put an end to it. Come on, ya wanted backstage.’

‘What’s this truth game?’ asked James curiously, clearly feeling left out. ‘It sounds interesting.’

‘Believe me, James,’ insisted Pete, ‘yer better off not knowing. I’ve seen Sam reduce grown men to quivering wrecks playing it. Ya need years of training and preparation just to survive it, let alone win. Looks like yer mate Jake here got off quite lightly.’

The two of them stared down at me.

‘He does look a bit disorientated,’ admitted James.

‘Er . . .’ I was about to convey my well being when I was interrupted by Sam thrusting something into my hand as she got up to leave.

‘Here’s my card, for when you change your mind.’ She gave me a quick wink, grabbed the tequila bottle, waved goodbye and then abruptly disappeared into the crowd with Pete.

‘What just happened here, Jake?’ asked James, in complete bewilderment. ‘Did you just turn her down?’

‘Er . . . I’m not sure,’ I replied slowly, unable to hide my confusion. ‘I think I may have just fallen in love, though.’

***

Sunday 6 June, 6:00 PM

‘Do we have a future?’ asked Sam.

It was nine months later. Nine months that had been the best nine months of my life. That first meeting with Sam had left a lasting impression on me. I’d hardly been able to sleep the rest of that weekend, anxious for the Monday morning to arrive so that I could phone her and arrange to see her again. Our relationship had swiftly blossomed from then on. But now it was clear that what had secretly been Sam’s initial misgivings had returned to tear us apart. She was convinced we wanted different things in life; that she was the only one who wanted to settle down and have a family in the future. I was gradually coming round to her way of thinking, and knew that by the time she wanted that family I would, too. Unfortunately, my rate of progress on this was not fast enough to prevent Sam from starting to feel insecure in the relationship. No matter what I said, or in how many ways I said it, I just didn’t seem to be able to reassure her enough to stop her feeling that way. I was beginning to get frustrated with not knowing what it was I needed to do to resolve the situation. I was starting to believe myself that maybe there was no cure.

‘Yes we do,’ I insisted, as I gazed into her beautiful brown eyes. ‘I know that in time I’ll want that family as much as you do, I’m just not there yet.’

‘I think I need to spend some time on my own, Jake, to think things through.’

‘OK,’ I reluctantly agreed. I didn’t want her to go, but I knew I had to give her the space she desired.

‘I’ll just get my bag.’

I waited for her to return, not really knowing what to do with myself. I accompanied her to the front door, where we hugged each other and kissed briefly. Then she opened the door and was gone.

I wandered into the bedroom, not really feeling any effect yet. Then I noticed something different. The hook on the wall next to the mirror, where she hung her hairdryer, was now bare. Her nightshirt, which she always draped across the back of the chair, was also gone. I went to check the bathroom; her shelf was bare - no toothbrush, no hairbrush, no make-up. It suddenly dawned on me that maybe she wasn’t ever coming back.

chapter three

happy holder

Wednesday 23 June, 10:22 AM

I was bundled into the back of the waiting police car outside King’s Cross station and the door was slammed shut. For an instant, my mind screamed at me to pull on the door handle and make a valiant and comic escape out the other side, but I knew it would be in vain. I was like a child again; trapped in the back of a car by childproof locks my parents had seen fit to engage. As the two detectives climbed into the front I only just managed to resist the urge to ask if we were nearly there yet.

The car pulled off and joined the flow of traffic heading westwards along the Euston Road. I was slightly disappointed that they didn’t turn on the siren. I’d always wanted to ride in a speeding police car with the siren blaring. As this was my first time in one the least they could do was fulfil my childhood dream, but again I thought better of asking. I was already in enough trouble as it was – I mean, a terrorist? One look in my bag would tell them this was all some crazy mistake, but they didn’t seem to be interested in my explanations, let alone my warnings of a potential gross miscarriage of justice. The more I’d protested the more they’d both written in their little notebooks. After a while I’d figured it was best if I kept my mouth shut. No doubt their superiors would realise this was a mistake once we got to the police station.

I looked at my watch. I had just over an hour until my flight departed. The last possible train I could catch from King’s Cross to get me to Luton in time was at 10:46. It wasn’t looking promising. The car had now slowed and we were crawling along in the traffic. I also had no idea where they were taking me.

‘Can’t you go any faster?’ I asked desperately, as I leaned forward in my seat. ‘Put the siren on or something - isn’t that what it’s for?’ They both ignored me. It’d been worth a shot. If they’d agreed it would have killed two birds with one stone. I slumped back in my seat again, looked out the window and watched the tourists queuing up to get into Madame Tussauds. ‘Where is it you’re taking me?’

This time I got a response from one of the detectives. ‘Where we take all terrorists - the high security station at Paddington Green.’ He gave the distinct impression he thought I should have known that.

Paddington Green? That was near the Edgware Road underground station. I could catch a train from there back to King’s Cross. I looked at my watch again. There was no way I would get back in time via the underground and even a taxi might not make it. Suddenly the traffic began to move again and the car sped up. I sighed with relief. As we approached the Marylebone flyover the car turned off onto a slip road and finally onto the Edgware Road. The view through the windscreen became filled with a huge and ominous looking tower block that was the Paddington Green Police Station. A barricade of high concrete walls, barbed wire and security cameras surrounded it. We drove slowly up a ramp round the side of the building, as a security gate opened ahead of us. We drove through and the gate closed behind. Now I was not only trapped within the confines of the car but also within the compound of a highly secure police station.

The car came to a halt and the two detectives got out. My door was opened and I followed their example. They led me into the building, through yet more security doors, and took me to the duty officer.

‘What have we got here, then?’

‘Terrorist,’ came the assured reply from one of the detectives.

‘Er…alleged terrorist, if you don’t mind,’ I protested. ‘Innocent until proven guilty - has that been mentioned to any of you?’

They exchanged brief looks with each other.

‘Terrorist, then,’ declared the duty officer.

I gave up. The duty officer relieved me of my personal belongings and took down my details. I was then led to an interview room, instructed to sit down and informed that someone would be with me shortly. The door was closed and I was left alone to survey my second prison of the day. The room was very much like those you see on TV police shows: square, bland, one Formica-covered table, three chairs, and those funny looking double-tape decks that make that irritating high-pitched noise when they’re turned on. I looked at the clock on the wall and wondered how long a taxi would take to get from here to Luton airport. I didn’t have time to consider how much it might cost because at that moment the door to the interview room was opened. One of the detectives walked in followed by a uniformed officer carrying my bag. They both sat down opposite me at the table and the detective pressed the red button on the tape deck. Motors whirled, cogs turned and an ear-piercing screech invaded my head.

‘Interview commenced at ten-fifty on Wednesday the twenty-third of June in the presence of Mr Jake Lewis, Detective Inspector Donohue and Constable Jacobs,’ announced the voice of my interrogator, the one who’d seen fit to arrest me.

‘So, Mr Lewis, would you mind telling us why you feel the need to act out your fantasies of becoming a terrorist?’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘Well, it seems to all of us here that you harbour some kind of fantasy of becoming a terrorist, and today was the day you attempted to realise that fantasy. Am I right?’

‘No, not at all. As I’ve already told you, it was just an accident.’

Detective Inspector Donohue got up from his chair and walked over to the door. He was a middle-aged, stocky man, with dark hair that showed no signs of thinning, and an irritating addiction to smoking half a cigarette before stubbing it out and immediately lighting another. The kind of detective the raincoat was designed for. He turned round to face me and leaned back against the door, dropping his half-smoked cigarette and stubbing it out under his shoe. He immediately proceeded to reach into his pocket, took a fresh cigarette from his packet, put it in his mouth and lit up. He noticed me watching him with irritation. ‘Does this bother you?’ He knew very well that it did.

‘No, not at all,’ I lied. ‘It’s your life after all.’ And the sooner it’s over the better, I thought.

‘Tell me, Mr Lewis, do you visit a psychiatrist?’

‘No, I’ve never been to one in my life.’

‘Do you think it’s time you saw one?’

‘Look,’ I started, frustrated with the ludicrous situation I was in. ‘This is all a big mistake. I just want to get this cleared up so that I can get out of here. I’ve got a plane to catch to Inverness, so it’s quite important that I get out of here as soon as possible.’

‘A plane you say?’

‘Yes.’

‘To Inverness?’

‘Yes, that’s right.’

‘Are you sure it’s not to Ireland?’

‘No, Inverness, in Scotland. I’m not aware of any Inverness in Ireland.’ I was pushing my luck. If there are three professions in life you don’t joke with, it’s magistrates, customs officers and the police, but I had to choose one of them.

‘Did you hear that, Constable Jacobs?’ Donohue said patronisingly. ‘The young wannabe terrorist here thinks we don’t know where Inverness is.’

‘Yes, I got that impression, too, sir,’ answered Constable Jacobs, hitting his cue with perfect timing. He was a large man and I hoped for his sake it was muscle and not fat that he was hiding under his uniform. His rounded and flushed face, however, suggested he had more of the latter.

Donohue walked back over to his chair and sat down again. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the desk, exhaled stale tobacco into my face, and smiled. He pointed the hand holding his cigarette at me and said, ‘Let me tell you something about the Prevention of Terrorism Act, Mr Lewis. You see, this act was put in place to give the police a little bit of freedom, in order to entertain us and brighten up our otherwise increasingly restrictive lives. The beauty of it is that it gives us the right to hold you and treat you any way we like - pretty much indefinitely. And at the moment, that is the reason you are sitting here in this room right now. So I advise you to choose your words very carefully before you speak because your balls are currently sitting firmly in the palm of my hands waiting to be crushed. Do you understand?’

I felt my balls stir and try to pull themselves protectively into my body. I crossed my legs to offer some additional protection before softly replying, ‘Yes.’

‘Good. I’m glad we understand each other.’ He sat back. ‘That makes us all feel a lot more at ease, doesn’t it, Constable Jacobs?’

‘Yes, sir,’ assured Constable Jacobs, relishing his second chance to speak.

‘So, Jake - do you mind if I call you Jake?’

‘No, that’s fine.’

‘So, Jake, why don’t you tell us, in your own words, why you decided to create a security alert that forced us to close one of London’s largest stations this morning?’

Shit and fuck, I thought. This was not good. Here I was in my thirtieth year, never having been in trouble with the police before, and now I was banged up labelled as a terrorist. What would my mother think?

‘OK. I got on the Victoria Line at Finsbury Park this morning, at about twenty past nine, to go to King’s Cross, but I missed my stop. When I realised this, I made a desperate attempt to get off as the doors were closing. Unfortunately, my bag made it through the doors, but I didn’t, which is how I got separated from it. I didn’t do it intentionally. It was purely an accident. As soon as I got to Euston, I got off and caught the next train back which, as you know, was delayed due to the subsequent security alert at King’s Cross.’

Donohue got out his notepad, flicked over a few pages and stared at it for a moment. ‘We have a witness who claims they saw you intentionally throw the bag out of the carriage as the doors were closing, and then proceed to inspect the positioning of the bag from within the carriage, with . . . now how was it put? Ah, yes, “With the look of ecstatic and pure malevolent evil.” That’s how the witness described our Mr Lewis here, wasn’t it, Constable Jacobs?’

‘Yes, sir, pure malevolent evil, sir.’

‘Well, I can understand how it may have appeared like that to someone on the platform, as I was mortified to have lost my bag, but I can assure you it wasn’t the case.’

‘Tell me, Jake, where is it you live again?’

‘Finsbury Park.’

‘And how frequently do you take the Victoria Line from Finsbury Park?’

‘Probably once a day on average.’

‘So it would be fair to say that you know the order of the stops on that stretch of the Victoria Line?’

‘Yes.’

‘And how many times have you missed your stop before?’

‘Well never, today is the first time I’ve ever missed a stop in my life.’

‘It must have been something very distracting to have kept you occupied enough to miss your stop. Say, something like fantasising about your life as a terrorist perhaps?’

‘No, certainly not! I was distracted because I was engrossed in listening to a compilation CD my girlfriend made for me.’

‘And the name of your girlfriend is?’

‘Sam Porter.’

Donohue scribbled down the name on his notepad. ‘And when did you last see your girlfriend?’

‘About two and a half weeks ago.’

‘That seems rather a long time.’

‘We’re spending some time apart at the moment.’

‘So she’s your ex-girlfriend?’

‘No, we’re just spending some time apart.’

‘Sounds like an ex-girlfriend to me, doesn’t it to you, Constable Jacobs?’

‘Yes, sir, it sounds like Mr Lewis has been dumped to me, sir.’

‘I have not been dumped,’ I protested. ‘Sam just wanted some space. We’re seeing each other this weekend.’

‘Had you been together long before “just spending some time apart”?’

‘About nine months.’

Donohue turned towards Constable Jacobs. ‘Life can be so cruel sometimes, don’t you think, Constable Jacobs?’

‘Most cruel, sir,’ offered the monotonous tones of Constable Jacobs. ‘Most cruel.’

Donohue stubbed out his second half-smoked cigarette in the ashtray on the table, then immediately lit another. He slouched back in his chair, dragging thoughtfully on his cigarette, before meeting my weary stare. ‘Getting back to your journey this morning, Jake. Would you like to tell us exactly where you were heading today, and why?’

Would I like to? No. Did I have much choice? No. What I wanted to do was get the hell out of here, go home, crawl into bed, sleep for a bit and then get up starting the whole day all over again, as if none of this nightmare had ever happened.

‘I’m on my way to Inverness. I’ve got a flight booked on easyJet out of Luton at eleven thirty-five.’ I glanced at the clock and started to accept the fact that only a miracle would allow me to catch that flight now. ‘That’s why I was going to King’s Cross, to catch a connecting train service to Luton. No terrorist intentions at all, just a desire to use public transport to get me to Luton for my flight.’

‘And when did you plan to return?’

‘Tomorrow.’

‘A rather short trip? What did you intend to do in Inverness for those twenty-four hours?’

‘I’m going to hire a car and drive to a place called Dornie, near the Isle of Skye, take a few pictures of the castle there, buy some souvenirs for my girlfriend and then come back.’

‘Your ex-girlfriend,’ Donohue taunted. He turned in his chair again to face Constable Jacobs. ‘Have you ever been to the Isle of Skye, Constable Jacobs?’

‘No, sir.’

‘It’s a very beautiful place, Constable Jacobs, very remote and very peaceful. You should make sure you use some of your leave and get yourself up there, young man. It’s a place that will benefit your soul greatly.’

‘Yes, sir. I shall endeavour to do that, sir,’ replied Donohue’s yes-man.

What was this? It was like I wasn’t even in the room. I’d never have believed this kind of charade went on in real life, if I wasn’t witnessing it with my own eyes.

Donohue stood up, walked round the table, leaned over it and almost spat in my face as he yelled, ‘SO YOU WEREN’T GOING TO DELIVER DRUGS TO YOUR CONTACT IN INVERNESS THEN?’

‘Drugs! What on earth are you trying to pin on me here? I’m not a drug dealer or a terrorist!’

‘That’s very interesting, Mr Lewis,’ Donohue mused, reverting to addressing me formally. ‘But I’m afraid the contents of your bag tell a rather different story.’ He nodded towards Constable Jacobs who produced my bag from the floor beside him and placed it on the table. Donohue opened the bag and started to remove things from it, describing each item as he did so. ‘A change of clothes, a bag of toiletries, an iPod with some frankly awful music, one disposable camera, and one Polaroid camera. All consistent with your story so far.’ He paused. ‘Now this is where it gets a bit more interesting.’ He reached back into the bag.

I knew what was coming next as well as he did. I could tell by the smile on his face that he was going to enjoy listening to my explanation. Donohue pulled out a wooden kitchen roll holder and placed it in front of me. It was the type that had a flat circular base with a vertical column in the middle, over which the kitchen roll sat. He turned it round, so that the little smiley face I’d drawn round the top of the stem the night before, in red ink, stared back at me. My stomach turned.

Donohue chuckled. ‘I have to say, Mr Lewis, this has really got all of us here at the station rather puzzled. Not the normal item you’d expect to find in an overnight bag, is it? We’ve actually taken a few bets on what your explanation will be. Some believe it’s to identify yourself to your contact in Inverness, others have bet it’s a visualisation of an imaginary friend and that it probably talks to you when you’re alone, but most people just think you carry it for your own sexual gratification. I, of course, wouldn’t dream of speculating as to its purpose.’ Donohue sat down, leaned back on his chair, folded his arms and smiled at me. ‘So, why don’t you enlighten us, Mr Lewis?’

‘Look,’ I sighed weary with frustration, ‘it’s very innocent really. Sam has a holder just like this in her kitchen. I always found it amusing, this little smiley face thanking you every time you took a sheet of kitchen roll, so it became this little joke between us.’

‘What sex is it?’ interrupted Donohue.

‘What?’

‘Is it male or female?’

‘Er . . . I don’t know . . . I’ve never really thought about it,’ I flustered. ‘Why? Does it matter?’

‘No, no, it’s purely for my own amusement.’ He smiled smugly. ‘It is rather phallic so I guess it’s probably male. And a name? Does he have a name by which I can refer to him in my report?’

I suddenly had the feeling I was being watched by far more sets of eyes than those currently in the room. I looked up and noticed a camera hanging from the ceiling in the corner of the room. I smiled sarcastically at it. ‘Well . . . we used to refer to it as . . . “Happy Holder”,’ I reluctantly admitted.

‘Happy Holder?’ mused Donohue. ‘Catchy, and a very appropriate name if you don’t mind me saying.’ He took out his notepad again and scribbled on it. ‘Hap . . . py . . . Hol . . . der,’ he pronounced slowly, as he wrote. ‘I’ll be sure to get that right in my report, don’t you worry, Mr Lewis.’ He placed his notepad back in his jacket and gestured towards me. ‘Please continue.’

‘I’m going to take some holiday snaps of it enjoying itself visiting the castle in Dornie. I’m sure it sounds rather crazy to you, but Sam will find it amusing that Happy Holder has taken a holiday in Dornie.’

‘Well that would certainly make me laugh, Mr Lewis, but what about you, Constable Jacobs? Would it make you laugh, or would it just make you realise the person you’d been going out with for nine months was a bit of a psychopath?’

‘I think I would be very disturbed by it, Inspector Donohue,’ replied Constable Jacobs before giving a suggestion of his own for the first time. ‘Perhaps we should get in the psychologist to assess Mr Lewis?’

Donohue was impressed. ‘A very good idea, Constable Jacobs, you’ll go far in this job.’

‘Look, I’m not mad! I’m just trying to do anything I can to show my girlfriend how much I love her.’

‘Anything?’

‘Yes.’

‘Would anything happen to include selling drugs, Mr Lewis?’

‘No, of course not! I’ve told you I’m not a drug dealer.’

‘Then how do you explain these?’ Donohue smiled smugly again, reached into my bag and pulled out four see-through plastic bags tightly packed with white powder. ‘About four kilograms, would be my guess, with an estimated street value of several hundred grand. I suppose you’ll now accuse us of planting these, won’t you, Mr Lewis?’

My heart sank further, even though I thought it’d already sunk as far as it could. I pinched myself on the arm to see if I’d wake up. I didn’t. Why me, I thought. Ever since I’d moved to London a year ago, my life had been on the up. Every day had been enjoyable and worth living. Nine and a half months ago I’d found the girl of my dreams with whom I wanted to spend the rest of my life. But here I was, sat in this police interview room being interrogated by a detective convinced I was a terrorist funding my campaign by dealing cocaine. I looked at the white packages sitting on the table in front of me, the ones I’d so carefully packaged this morning ensuring they wouldn’t split or leak. They couldn’t possibly be serious, could they? I contemplated the likely reaction that would follow my answer. It didn’t look good.

‘It’s only flour,’ I feebly muttered, starting to feel like I had absolutely no control over anything that happened in my life anymore.

‘Our lab tells us that this is pure cocaine, Mr Lewis. That it is very rare they encounter such a batch as pure as this.’ Donohue slammed his fist down on the table. ‘Who is your contact in Inverness, Mr Lewis, tell us!’

‘Look, I really don’t know what you’re going on about. It’s flour! I packed it myself. I’m going to use it as snow to surround Happy Holder and sprinkle over him as I take pictures. Sam and I visited Dornie when it was snowing, and I want her to see that Happy Holder had been there in the snow, too.’ To be perfectly honest, I was starting to sound like a madman to myself, and a part of me was also starting to believe it. ‘If that really is cocaine, then I have no idea how it got there. I can only assume someone put it there while it was on the platform at King’s Cross.’

Donohue stared at me, enjoying seeing a broken man before him. ‘I think we should send someone to meet your contact, Mr Lewis, but how should we use Happy Holder as a signal?’

‘Perhaps he should be carried under the arm?’ suggested Constable Jacobs.

‘Very possibly.’ Donohue stood up and placed Happy Holder under his arm. ‘How does that look?’

‘It doesn’t really stand out in the crowd, sir.’

‘OK, how about this?’ Donohue placed the base of Happy Holder on his head and let go, allowing it to balance there unaided.

‘That’s far more obvious, sir, but I think it would be rather difficult to walk like that.’

‘A good point, Constable Jacobs.’ Donohue thought for a moment. ‘I know, how about this?’ He turned Happy Holder upside down, held him above his head by his stem and began to dance as he sang his very own rendition of ‘Singin’ In The Rain’, the sole difference being that when it came to the point for Donohue to declare that he was “happy again”, he instead bellowed with a huge grin on his face, ‘I’m Happy Holder again!’

My mouth dropped wide open. I couldn’t believe what I was seeing. What was going on here?

‘Very good, sir!’ Constable Jacobs leapt up from his seat and gestured to Donohue to pass him Happy Holder. ‘Or what about this, sir?’ He proceeded to place Happy Holder between his legs and gallop around the interview room, braying as he went.

‘A hobbyhorse!’ shouted Donohue. ‘Most ingenious, but I think I’ve got something better.’ Donohue took Happy Holder in his right hand, bent his right leg behind him, placing Happy Holder’s base against his knee, covered his left eye with his other hand and hopped around the room. ‘Ha-ha, Jim Lad!’ he shouted, in what must have been his best pirate accent.

‘Excellent, sir!’ Constable Jacobs began to laugh. ‘But wait until you see this.’

Donohue began laughing, too, as he handed a still smiling Happy Holder back to Constable Jacobs, who commenced giggling uncontrollably as he placed Happy Holder’s base firmly against his forehead. ‘EXTERMINATE! EXTERMINATE! RESISTANCE IS USELESS!’ he cried, as he began to strut about, imitating the jerking movements of a Dalek.

Both Donohue and Constable Jacobs fell about laughing hysterically. I just sat there bemused; finding it difficult to comprehend that our British police force could act in this way. Eventually, they both managed to compose themselves and sat back down on their chairs, placing the abused Happy Holder back on the table; the odd stifled laugh still escaping from them.

‘What time was your flight again, Mr Lewis?’ Donohue eventually managed to ask.

‘Eleven thirty-five,’ I replied dejectedly.

‘And the time now, Constable Jacobs?’

‘Eleven oh seven, sir,’ said Constable Jacobs, still trying to hold in his laughter.

‘Oh dear, I don’t think even we could get Mr Lewis to Luton in time for his flight, could we, Constable Jacobs?’

‘No, sir,’ giggled Constable Jacobs.

‘I don’t hold out much hope for you getting there either, Mr Lewis.’

I finally came to my senses. ‘Look, this has gone far enough. I don’t know what kind of stunt you’re trying to pull here, but I’m not saying any more until I’ve seen a solicitor!’

‘Oh, I don’t think there’ll be any need for that, Mr Lewis.’ With his laughter now firmly under control, Donohue leaned forward and lit another cigarette. ‘You’ve been a great help to us, Mr Lewis. I wouldn’t want to take up any more of your time. You’re free to go. Constable Jacobs here will show you the way out. Thank you for your time.’

‘What?’ I don’t understand?’

‘You can take your bag and all its contents with you.’

‘But . . . but . . . the terrorism . . . and drug-dealing allegations?’

Donohue waved his hand about dismissively. ‘Oh nothing for you to worry about, Mr Lewis. It was just our little game, you know, to give us something amusing to watch at our next office party.’

I was speechless but managed to say something anyway. ‘You mean this was all a game, a little entertainment for yourselves?’

‘Yes, I’m afraid so,’ confessed Donohue. ‘And Constable Jacobs here won the station draw to sit in with me on the interview.’

‘I’d just like to say it’s been a great honour,’ admitted Constable Jacobs genuinely. ‘I’m only visiting here today, but it’s been the most enjoyable visit I’ve ever had. I’d like to thank you for allowing me my fifteen minutes of fame. When they hear about this back at Hammersmith, I’ll be the envy of the station.’

‘But why?’

‘Well,’ Donohue began to explain. ‘When a member of the public takes the trouble to waste our time, by closing down one of the capital’s main stations for instance, we like to take the time to waste some of theirs back. I mean you didn’t really expect us to just give you your bag back and let you go off and catch your flight, did you?’

Anger and humiliation flooded over me simultaneously. I leaned forward, grabbed my bag and started to stuff my belongings back into it. ‘I’ve got a good mind to file a complaint against you.’

‘Oh, I don’t think you’ll be doing that now, Mr Lewis, will you?’

He was right. I couldn’t take any more humiliation and I really didn’t want the hassle of it. After all, I’m sure he was right when he’d said they could get away with almost anything under the Prevention of Terrorism Act.

Constable Jacobs opened the door and I headed towards it, desperate for my freedom. As I reached the door I could hear raucous laughter emanating from a room down the corridor. Donohue called after me.

‘Oh, and, Mr Lewis.’

I turned for my final look at Donohue.

‘I think you’ll find that self-raising gives a far better snow effect than plain flour.’

***

I stood outside the main entrance of Paddington Green Police Station watching the traffic go by on the Marylebone flyover, and relishing my freedom for the second time that day. I looked at my watch. It was a quarter past eleven. I needed a new plan. I looked around me. There was a bus stop directly in front of the police station. It only had one number on it, number eighteen, and a sign saying towards Euston. To the left of me, and across the Edgware Road, were the Bakerloo branch of Edgware Road underground, a newsagent, and the Green Man pub. I took the subway under the Edgware Road, and on reaching the other side, headed straight for the Green Man. All the best plans are devised in pubs.

The sign above the door said “Traditional London Pub”. It couldn’t have been more correct: a pool table, satellite TV, fruit machines - the works. I walked up to the long mahogany bar, where the barman was eagerly waiting to serve me.

‘What will it be, sir?’

‘A pint of lager, please.’

As the barman poured my pint, I surveyed the seating area. I was spoilt for choice, which wasn’t surprising considering I was the only customer. I paid the barman, walked over to my chosen corner and sat down in a rather comfortable looking armchair. I was immediately reminded that looks could be deceiving. I took several gulps from my pint and then sat back, letting out a sigh of satisfaction as I did so.

OK, so my initial plans to get to Scotland had failed miserably. But the Lewis family have never been known as easy quitters. There were other ways I could get to Scotland. I could hire a car and drive myself there, or take the train, or even try and get another flight. I knew easyJet didn’t have any more flights that day, but other airlines must have. What did my instinct tell me to do? Avoid anything to do with planes and the underground, it replied. Good advice, I thought. That left me with driving or taking the train. I didn’t fancy the long drive so the train was my only remaining option. I took my mobile phone from my jacket pocket and selected the number for the National Rail enquiry line from its memory.

It turned out there was a train from King’s Cross to Edinburgh at 15:00, and a connecting service from there to Inverness at 19:40. That gave me a good three and a half hours to get to King’s Cross. I started to relax again as I quenched my thirst with more lager. I was going to arrive in Inverness at 23:15, rather later than I’d intended, and would still have a two-hour drive from there on to Dornie, but at least I was going to be able to get there. I finished my pint and went back up to the bar to order another.

‘Is it always this quiet in here?’ I asked.

‘It’ll be picking up soon, around lunchtime. I’ll be rushed off my feet for a few hours, then.’

I paid and thanked the barman, and then sat back down in my corner. As I drank my second pint my mind and body slowly relaxed as I consciously tried to put the events of the morning behind me. At just before midday I got up to use the toilet.

‘I’m just going to use the men’s room,’ I said to the barman. ‘Can you keep an eye on my bag for me, please?’

‘Sure, no problem.’

After emptying my bladder, I washed my hands at the sink and took the opportunity to splash my face with water. I turned on the hot-air dryer, first drying my hands and then directing the nozzle to my face. Once the dryer stopped, its noise was replaced by the sound of loud conversation and laughter from the bar. The barman hadn’t been wrong. Dead on twelve and the bar sounded like it was packed out. I opened the door of the men’s room and walked back into the bar, straight into the path of Detective Inspector Donohue. By his side stood Constable Jacobs, and around them both stood another half-dozen or so police officers.

‘Well, well,’ started Donohue slowly, ‘if it isn’t our friend Mr Lewis. Fancy meeting you here.’

I smiled sarcastically at him, saying nothing, and moved to walk round him.

‘Er, Mr Lewis?’

I stopped and glared at him impatiently. ‘Yes?’

‘Is that your bag over there in the corner?’

‘You know very well it is.’

‘Well, I wouldn’t go leaving it unattended like that if I were you, Mr Lewis.’ He looked around at his colleagues, smiling as he did so. ‘You might find yourself getting arrested by one of us on suspicion of being a terrorist!’

This was the most amusing thing the other officers had ever heard in their lives. I decided it was time to leave. I ignored their jeering as I collected up my things and headed towards the nearest exit.

I stopped off in the newsagent next door to purchase the new edition of the NME. On noticing it also sold Lotto tickets I realised I hadn’t yet got mine for that evening’s draw. When Sam had first found out that I religiously played the Lotto, she’d laughed at me for doing so, believing the chances of winning too astronomical to waste the money on. I’d just told her that she’d be eating her words when I used my winnings to help her set up her own record label. That had rather touched her, along with the fact that I’d begun using her birthday, the twenty-third of July, and the day we’d first met, the fourth of September, as numbers. I checked them off the form along with my birthday, the eighteenth of February, and handed it to the newsagent. I paid him and then checked over the printed ticket: 2, 4, 7, 9, 18 and 23 for one draw only on Wednesday the twenty-third of June. That would do nicely. I stuffed it into the back pocket of my jeans and left.

I walked straight past the Edgware Road underground station. There was no way I was getting on the underground again today - a bus would be far safer. At least if it got stuck in traffic I could always get off and walk. I decided against hanging around outside the police station to catch a number eighteen, wanting to put as much distance between it and myself as quickly as possible, and so began to head along the Marylebone Road towards Baker Street, where I’d be able to catch a number thirty to take me directly to King’s Cross. The walk would do me good, even if my bag was rather heavy. I considered dumping the bags of flour, having somewhat gone off the idea of Happy Holder in the snow, but decided to keep them. I was still certain that Sam would see the funny side of it, but hopefully not for the same reasons as the Metropolitan Police. I put my iPod back on and it immediately put a new sense of purpose into my stride as Nina Persson and Manic Street Preachers reminded me that Your Love Alone Is Not Enough.

It took me about ten minutes to walk to Baker Street, where I had to wait another five minutes for a number thirty bus to turn up. By half past twelve I’d reached King’s Cross station. I got off the bus and headed into the station, straight for the ticket office. I bought a single to Inverness and placed it securely in the back pocket of my jeans, where it could keep my Lotto ticket company. I left the station, crossed the road and entered McDonald’s. It was lunchtime, I was starving and I needed something to hit the spot fast. OK, so maybe you wouldn’t necessarily describe it as food or the service as particularly fast, but it was cheap and it would certainly hit the spot.

By the time I’d finished eating, it was almost one o’clock. That left me with a good hour and a half to kill before I was likely to be able to board the train. I knew of a small Internet cafe just around the corner from the Scala. There was nothing like surfing the net and drinking coffee to pass the time of day.

I entered the cafe, ordered a cappuccino and took a seat at one of the terminals. I logged into my email account, but the only new mail was spammed junk. I spent some time reading the latest news items and reviews on the nme.com site before trawling the message boards for a while. When I got bored with that I checked out the gig listings for a few of my favourite venues. On browsing kashmirklub.com one particular band caught my eye - Lucy’s Retching. I’d seen them play there the month before when Sam had taken me to see Endor for the first time. She’d got a bit annoyed at me because I’d preferred Lucy’s Retching to Endor and was convinced it was only because a slim and dark-haired female singer fronted them. She did have a point, but I’d also liked them for their songs, many of which curiously sang of blue-eyed boys, fitting my description.

The Kashmir Klub was situated in a large basement just off Baker Street. It had a simple, ingenious and rather unique policy: no one paid to get in, no one received payment for playing, and more importantly, no one had to pay to play. It was the perfect venue for new talent. The only proviso was that the audience was required to remain silent during performances - not a great deal to ask any music lover. Lucy’s Retching were performing there again tonight, which unfortunately clashed with my trip to Inverness. I scanned the future gig listings and spotted that they were playing again in two weeks’ time so I made a mental note of it. By the time I’d finished, it was approaching two-thirty and I’d already consumed four cappuccinos. I paid my bill and returned to King’s Cross station.

I located the platform at which my train was waiting, but I hesitated before boarding. This was it. After all the disasters that had befallen me this morning, I was finally about to head off on my quest to Scotland. I made one final check that this time I had everything with me that I needed. I patted my jacket to make sure I hadn’t left that behind. I hadn’t. I lifted my bag up to feel its weight and to check we hadn’t got separated again. We hadn’t. I took my train ticket from my back pocket to check I hadn’t lost that. I hadn’t. I placed it safely back into my pocket and boarded the train.

chapter four

perfect blue

Saturday 19 June, 12:55 PM

Two weeks after Sam had requested some time apart, I found myself spending it at the wedding of Ian and Julie, one of the two couples James and I had remained friends with from school. It was destined to be a grand affair, taking place at a huge country estate in Melton Mowbray, which both Sam and I had really been looking forward to. We’d remained in contact over the two intervening weeks, exchanging emails and even talking on the phone a few times, but our relationship had changed; there was an air of caution in both our voices and we avoided talking about the real issues. We’d both told the other that we were missing them, but every time I’d suggested we should meet up and talk she just said she needed more time. The thin ray of hope I’d had that Sam might still join me at the wedding had finally been extinguished when she’d revealed she would be meeting Pete at the airport that morning instead.

Pete was visiting London for a week’s holiday and the plan had been for Sam and I to show him the sights and sounds together on returning from the wedding. Originally Sam had offered him the use of her sofa bed for the week to save on the expense of a hotel, but for some reason she had become convinced I would be uncomfortable with this and feel jealous. This wasn’t the case - I trusted Sam completely – but I didn’t object because I secretly disliked the guy. She’d selected a decent local hotel for him to stay at instead, but she’d been rather apprehensive about telling him the late change of plans - despite my insistence that he wouldn’t even bat an eyelid at it. She’d thus asked me to help her construct the email to him, insisting she wasn’t good at breaking bad news that way.

Email can sometimes be a very tricky medium to communicate through. It turns up in an inbox conveying a permanent message with no chance to change what has been written, no opportunity to clarify your point, and no way of elaborating with your body language. An excellent medium to hide behind, but so easy to get the tone wrong when you don’t mean to. You can spend hours re-drafting and re-reading, until you are convinced it will come across the right way. But you’re not the person who’s going to read it, and no matter how much you think you know that person, you can never be sure how they will take it because you aren’t them. I was more experienced with this type of medium due to the nature of my job. Managing a team of people on a daily basis teaches you very quickly how to construct tactful emails. Of course, now that my role in the proceedings had become redundant, Sam had reverted to the original plan and was committed to offering up her flat as Pete’s hotel for the week. I was convinced, however, that she was just using it as an excuse not to join me at the wedding.

For the past two weeks I’d filled as many of my evenings as possible with social events in order to avoid being at home wishing Sam was there with me. I caught up on a few of the latest bands doing the rounds and re-established contact with some neglected friends, but whatever I did something felt very wrong. I was constantly reminded of the times I’d spent and places I’d been with Sam and slowly it dawned on me exactly how much I really was missing her. I realised I couldn’t go back to the life I’d had before her; my future was with Sam and that future inevitably meant raising a family together. I knew I had to do whatever it would take to convince her of that, so I spent several hours constructing an email to her, expressing all the feelings and thoughts I’d been having and the conclusions I’d come to, checking it over and over again until I was sure it was right. As the wedding day approached I waited anxiously for her reply, huddled around my PC and the glimmering hope my email gave that it might convince her to change her mind and join me there after all. But her eventual reply was a disappointment. She’d said she would think about what I’d written and that we could talk about it once Pete had returned to Melbourne the week after. So I now found myself sat on my own in the congregation waiting for Ian and Julie to declare their undying love for each other.

For a long time I’d never understood why people got married at all. If you were able to live with someone and be happy together, then why complicate things? Most of the weddings I’d attended were also held in churches which, being an atheist, was a problem for me. There was no way you were going to get me to stand up in front of a god I didn’t believe in and pledge my vows to the one I loved. It would mean far more to me to say them in front of a Chumbawamba album cover. I also knew for a fact that most of the people I was watching getting married hadn’t set foot in a church for years. I thought it was all rather hypocritical. But in recent years my views had started to change. As my long-term friends got married off one by one, more of the weddings I was attending were breaking with tradition. Severing all ties with religion they were ditching the church and getting married using registrars at beautiful country estates. In an attempt to make the whole event uniquely enjoyable for everyone attending, they were also adding their own personal touches. At subsequent weddings you could spot influences from the previous ones. It became rather flattering for people to see an idea they’d come up with being carried on to the next wedding as part of the new tradition.

Ian was a rich bastard. A nice rich bastard, mind, but a rich bastard all the same. Money had been in his family for years. Not outrageously rich, just comfortably. It’d given him a good start in life and catapulted him forwards, enabling him to set up his own website design company. With the rapid growth of the Internet everyone wanted to get online. He now employed about fifty designers and there was no sign of an end to the number of companies queuing up for his company’s services. He was raking it in. He saw his wedding as a chance to share some of that fortune with his friends and family, and if I had his money, I’d have done exactly the same thing. I’ve always believed weddings benefit greatly from having bags of money thrown at them.

Ian and Julie’s wedding was taking place at the Stapleford Park Hotel in Melton Mowbray, Leicestershire. They’d hired the entire place out. A vast country estate set in the most beautiful surroundings you could ever wish for. Accommodation, food and drink were all paid for and they’d laid on transport for anybody too old or too broke to get there on their own. Childcare facilities were also provided so that if you had kids, you could still have a good time without the worry. This was possibly going to be my idea of the perfect wedding.

I sat at the far end of the third row on the groom’s side of the Orangery. It had seats enough for about a hundred people which all faced towards the French windows, curving halfway round the building and leading out to the gardens. The string quartet to the right of me was playing some gentle classical music I was unfamiliar with.

Craig and Mary, the other couple James and I were still friends with from school, sat down next to me after I attracted their attention. Craig had short-cropped ginger hair, hazel eyes hidden behind small rectangular black rimmed glasses, and a rounded figure that most women I knew - especially Mary - referred to as ‘cuddly’. Mary had a blonde bob, was taller than Craig and had a rather large pair of breasts conveniently located at Craig’s eye level. I was certain that this had always been one of the main attractions for him. Six months ago they’d finally moved out of the Medway towns and taken up residency in west London.

‘Hi, any sign of James yet?’ I asked them.

They both shook their heads.

The sound of a familiar tune abruptly halted the string quartet and gradually extinguished the remaining chatter in the hall. Ian, who’d been standing in front of the altar for the last few minutes shuffling the weight of his slim build from foot to foot, suddenly looked round. He ran his fingers nervously through his short brown hair as his eyes fixed themselves expectantly on the entrance at the back of the Orangery. I figured this must be the wedding march, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on what it was.

‘My God!’ Mary yelped, as she jabbed me in the ribs. ‘This is Inspiral Carpets!’

I knew Mary and Craig were both big Inspirals fans so there was no way she could be wrong. She immediately exchanged a knowing glance with Craig, confirming my suspicion.

‘I Want You.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It’s Inspiral Carpets’ I Want You. Such a cool-as-fuck wedding march, don’t you think?’

Mary was right. It was the Inspirals, and yes, it was as cool as fuck.

Julie entered the back of the hall dressed in the most perfect blue you could imagine, proudly spurning the tradition of white. Her long blonde hair was put up in a beehive-inspired style. A blue veil was delicately draped over her face, covering what I knew to be beautiful deep blue eyes. The dress was cut off the shoulder and tapered to make the most of her cleavage. As she slowly progressed down the aisle, the open back of her dress was revealed to us all, exposing her perfect skin. From the waist down, the dress bloomed out in a more traditional fashion, creating a long train that the two bridesmaids were struggling to keep from dragging on the floor. It was a perfect moment. She looked more beautiful than I’d ever seen her before. There wasn’t a mouth in the hall that was not gaping in awe, but the only sound that could be heard was I Want You. It spoke for every male in the hall, but Julie only heard it coming from Ian.

As Julie reached the altar and took her rightful place alongside Ian, the music faded to silence and the ceremony began. Many a time I’d wondered what would happen if I’d spoken up when the question had rung out to let it be known if anyone knew of any impediment to the marriage. It had always been the rebellious streak in me trying to get out, but today it was a memory of what once could have been. For one brief moment I forgot all about Sam as my mind wandered back four years to a secret place in my past; a place where Julie had also been.

It was no surprise to any of us to learn that neither Julie nor Ian had agreed to obey each other. They’d certainly never done so in the past, so why did they need to in the future? Independence was very much a key to the success of their relationship, along with mutual trust, and unequivocal love. Once the ceremony had finished, Ian and Julie moved over to sign the register as another personally chosen and aptly poignant tune was played: A Design For Life by Manic Street Preachers. This was the kind of wedding I wanted. The kind where there were no hymns and you got to choose the music you liked.

Once the Manics had finished, the string quartet rose to the challenge and filled the air with their delicate sounds. The French doors were thrown open and the guests were encouraged to venture into the sun-drenched gardens for the commencement of the photo shoot. As each child left they were handed a small pot wrapped in blue lace which fitted snugly into the palm of their hand. I was bemused as to what the pots were, but obviously the children had an intelligence advantage over me because it took no time for them to realise they were filled with bubbles. The moment the children got outside, the pots were opened and bubbles began to fill the air, materialising on the breath of each child as if from bubble-breathing dragons. I’d seen this one before. It was to keep the children occupied throughout the hour or so the photo shoot would last. I knew that standing somewhere close by would be a lonesome soul whose job for the afternoon was to ensure those pots never reached empty. Who dared risk the wrath of a bubble-less child?

I followed Mary and Craig out into the garden, where we took shelter from the blazing sun in the shade of a tree.

‘I wonder what happened to James?’ asked Mary.

‘Well, he didn’t arrive at our wedding until you were walking down the aisle - remember?’ replied Craig. ‘Maybe he decided to miss the ceremony completely this time.’

‘Knowing James,’ I said, ‘he was probably on the promise of a shag from someone. Far more important to him than the marriage of his two best friends.’

‘God, I hope he’s not bringing anyone,’ Mary said worriedly. ‘I’ve just remembered who he brought to our wedding. He’d been going out with that Christine girl for ages, do you remember? But then he turned up at our ceremony with her mother instead!’

The memories of that day suddenly flooded back to the three of us.

‘It almost made me throw up,’ said Craig, his voice sounding his clear repulsion. ‘Watching the two of them all over each other on the dance floor. It was horrific.’

‘I’m sure he was only doing it in an attempt to get both mother and daughter into bed together,’ I speculated. ‘Just another combination to tick off his shagged list.’

The happy couple had managed to affect their escape from the legal department and had now begun posing for the cameras next to the old well in the centre of the lawn. A lone cameraman was also sneaking around, intent on making enemies of the people he filmed.

‘Anyone know what time food’s being served?’ I asked.

‘About four, I think,’ replied Mary.

‘It’s going to be a long photo shoot then. I only hope the Buck’s Fizz holds out.’ I grabbed two glasses from a passing waiter and immediately downed one of them.

Suddenly there was a commotion around the bride and groom as all the children were rounded up to stand slightly upwind of them. Mary rushed off to join them with her camera at the ready. It was confetti time, or at least our interpretation of it. All the children were required to blow bubbles over the bride and groom while everyone else furiously snapped away. It made for some great photos. Mary took hers and then returned from the bubble shoot, thoughtfully bringing some more Buck’s Fizz with her. Unfortunately, she’d also managed to attract the attention of the cameraman.

‘What did you have to bring him with you for?’ I asked.

Mary looked round. ‘Oh shit!’ She shuffled behind Craig in a desperate attempt to hide.

‘We really ought to introduce a new tradition,’ I suggested, ‘where everyone has to wear a green or red button badge: green indicates that you give your permission to be filmed, and red that you don’t.’

‘Just act normal. Do nothing and he’ll go away again,’ assured Craig.

‘That’s easy for you to say. He’s only getting your profile. I’m the one he’s zooming straight in on.’

‘Just pretend it’s not happening. If we only give him boring footage, then it’s bound to end up on the cutting room floor.’

I stared directly into the camera’s lens and then asked curiously, ‘How long do you think it will take them to realise I’ve just said “fucking cunt” on their wedding video?’

Craig and Mary both burst into fits of raucous laughter, securing our footage in the final cut. This was the moment James finally chose to make his entrance. He bounded through the open French doors and into the garden. His hair was slicked back from his forehead and neatly tucked behind his ears, making a change to the way it usually flopped down, causing him to constantly brush it out of his eyes. He’d obviously been working out a lot recently as his body was making full use of all the available space in his suit. It didn’t take him long to spot our small group as we were currently attracting the attention of everyone else. He headed over to us and announced his presence.

‘What’s going on? What have I missed?’

‘Oh, only Ian and Julie’s wedding, James, nothing of any importance,’ I replied sarcastically, chuckling to myself.

‘Where have you been?’ asked Mary crossly as Craig and I tried to compose ourselves.

‘It took me a bit longer to get here than I anticipated.’

‘So, exactly how far away was this girl’s house, then?’ enquired Craig.

‘Cardiff.’

‘You should have brought Flossy along with you,’ I said. ‘I’m sure she would have loved all this countryside.’

‘Ha, ha, Gonzo, you’re very funny. And for that, I shan’t be buying you a drink today.’

‘You won’t be buying anyone any drinks, James – they’re all free, remember?’

‘Then the next time I buy a round, you won’t be getting one.’

‘You’re both witnesses to that! You heard James say he’d buy a round of drinks sometime in the future. Personally, I’m not sure I’ll live long enough to witness it.’

‘Now, now boys,’ Mary intervened, bringing our escalating banter to a premature end. ‘That’s enough of that. We don’t want any trouble today.’

James and I smirked at each other like mischievous children.

We continued chatting and wetting our palates while listening to the soothing tones of the string quartet. Occasionally, one of us would spot someone we thought we knew from school and point them out to the others. It would then turn into a contest to see who could remember their name first. Eventually, after Ian and Julie had performed a multitude of poses, it was time for their friends to be photographed with them. We all jostled for the same inconspicuous position until the photographer started ordering us about, arranging us into height order and ensuring there were no clashes of colour. After that, we had time for one more drink before we were rounded up and individually marched along the receiving line and into the reception hall.

***

The top table was laid out along the French windows, so the main bridal party would have their backs to the garden. Our table was situated down the other end of the reception hall. As expected, Craig, Mary, James and I were all seated together. Ian and Julie hadn’t allowed James to bring a guest due to his conduct at Craig and Mary’s wedding. Thankfully our places had all been spread out to discreetly fill the space that would have been for Sam.

We located our name cards and sat down. There were two types of name card: red ones with the title of “carnivore” above the name and green ones with the title of “vegetarian”. Underneath the name card for each female guest laid a fresh red rose - a beautifully romantic touch. At the centre of each table was tethered a bunch of half a dozen or so helium-filled balloons.

The waiters and waitresses began to go about their business of spreading napkins and pouring wine. By now, all the guests had managed to pass along the reception line without incident, and the bridal party was shuffling in to take their seats. Once they’d all sat down the serving of the food began. Mouth-watering smells were causing many a stomach to grumble as the catering staff efficiently worked their way from the bridal party outwards.

As we were finishing our desserts, Phil - Ian’s brother and best man - came up to our table to take our entries for the sweepstake on the length of the speeches. Soon after he returned to the top table and called for quiet. The speeches then commenced and went on far longer than most people had predicted. Finally there was a standing ovation as everyone toasted the bride and groom before the four-tier wedding cake, complete with caricature effigies of Ian and Julie on top, was wheeled in front of the top table. Mary hurried off to take photos as the bride and groom posed for the traditional cutting of the cake before it was wheeled away again and replaced by a three-foot-high profiterole pyramid for the not so traditional samurai-sword-slicing of the profiteroles. Julie was handed one of her father’s most treasured possessions and after a count of three, she swung the sword and sliced through the top third of the pyramid, sending profiteroles flying everywhere. The flashes from the cameras created a momentary strobe effect, causing the flight of the profiteroles to appear in slow motion. Then everyone cheered and clapped once more.

Mary returned to our table oozing vast amounts of enthusiasm for the proceedings. ‘I wish I’d thought of that for our wedding.’

‘I just hope I don’t get one of those profiteroles that ended up on the floor,’ I replied.

Suddenly I felt a tugging on the right-hand sleeve of my jacket. I looked round to see a little girl staring up at me. ‘Hello, what can I do for you?’

‘Can I have one of your balloons, please?’

‘Sure, I don’t see why not.’ I leaned forward, untied one of the balloons from the centre of the table and handed it to the little girl. ‘Now you hold on tight to that, won’t you? Because if you let go it’ll float up to the ceiling, and we won’t be able to get it down again.’

The little girl nodded her head in agreement.

‘Why don’t you tie it to her wrist?’ suggested Mary.

‘That’s a good idea. Here, hold out your arm.’ She stuck out her arm obediently and I attached the balloon firmly, but not too tightly. ‘There you go. You won’t lose that now.’

The little girl beamed a smile at me and then ran off to find her friends.

‘Why is it they always home in on you?’ Mary asked.

‘I don’t know, it must be something to do with my natural charisma.’ There was a tugging at my sleeve again and I looked round to see another little girl standing there. ‘Hello, and what is it I can do for you?’

‘My friend Hannah said that you would give me a balloon.’

‘Did she now? Well I think your friend Hannah is getting a little ahead of herself there, but as you seem like a nice girl to me, I’ll let you have one.’ I proceeded to repeat the process of transferring a balloon from the tethering on our table to the wrist of a small child and then sent her on her way. I turned back to Mary to see the look on her face slowly change to one of horror.

‘Jake,’ she said quizzically.

‘Yes?’

‘What did you have planned for the rest of the day?’

‘Oh, just the usual, a bit of wedding cake, maybe some profiteroles - provided they haven’t been on the floor - some wine, some more wine, yet more wine, and maybe even the odd bit of dancing when the disco gets going. Why?’

‘I think you’d better change your plans. Look behind you.’

I looked round and standing next to me were the two little girls with balloons tied to their wrists. Behind them stood a further half dozen or so balloon-less kids.

‘Please can you give our friends balloons as well?’

I looked back round at Mary, who had a big grin on her face, and mouthed the word “shit” to her. It took me ages to acquire and tether enough balloons to the ever-increasing number of kids that wanted one. I lost count around about the fifteenth child. When I’d finished I made my way back to our table and slumped down in my chair. ‘Where’s my drink gone?’

‘Oh, we thought you shouldn’t have any more,’ replied James.

‘What?’

‘As you’re now officially the children’s entertainer for the rest of the afternoon, we thought it best that you stay sober.’

‘Sod that!’ I grabbed James’ wine glass from the table and downed it in one. ‘Boy, did I need that!’ My enjoyment of the wine was suddenly interrupted by the ear-piercing cries of a small child.

I looked round to see one of the girls I’d earlier tied a balloon to, running up to me with floods of tears pouring down her cheeks and no balloon in sight. I picked her up and sat her on my lap. ‘Hey! What’s the matter with you?’ Through intermittent blubbering I was able to work out that the girl’s name was Amber and that while she’d been playing out in the garden, her balloon had executed a cunning escape into the blue sky and beyond. Once I’d managed to calm her down, I took her to another table and acquired a fresh balloon, this time making extra sure it was securely tied. ‘Now that one won’t come off, but what are we going to do about your lost one?’

Amber just stared back at me.

‘Did you put your name on it?’

She shook her head.

‘Now how’s anyone going to return it to you if it didn’t have your name on it?’

Amber didn’t know.

‘I’ll tell you what we’re going to do. We’ll get another balloon and send it after your other one, but this time we’ll put your name on it so that when someone finds them both, they’ll know who to return them to.’ I took another balloon and then got Amber to show me to her table. Once there, I took her name card, attached it to the end of the balloon and then headed out into the garden with her. I handed her the balloon with her name card attached. ‘OK, you hold on to that as tight as you can. Now I’m going to count to three, and when I get to three, I want you to let go. OK?’

Amber nodded her head.

‘Ready? One . . . two . . . three!’

Amber let go and watched with a mesmerised smile on her face as the balloon, complete with her name card, gracefully sailed up into the sky and beyond in search of her lost balloon. We stood there and watched it until it became a barely visible speck. When I looked down again, it wasn’t just Amber who was staring into the sky, but seven other kids as well. Sheer terror struck me as I realised what I’d done. The other kids ran towards me, each one of them begging me to do the same with their name card. As I silently cursed, they dragged me back into the hall where I searched out more balloons and each kid’s name card one by one. On completing the last one, the little boy ran outside to join the others ready to release their balloons. I followed slowly behind him.

‘Those bastard kids!’ I said as I slumped myself back down at our table a few minutes later.

‘What’s the matter?’ Mary asked.

‘How long did I spend tying nametags to balloons for those kids?’

‘Quite a while judging by the number that were following you around, Mr Pied Piper.’

‘And how many times did I tell them not to release them until everyone had one?’

‘Did they not listen, then?’

‘No,’ I replied sulkily. ‘By the time I got outside every last one of the little buggers had let their balloon go without waiting for me. Well that’s it. I’m not playing with them any more. They can all go off and amuse themselves on the bouncy castle for all I care.’

‘There, there,’ Craig said, patting me gently on the shoulder. ‘I’m sure they didn’t mean to hurt your feelings.’ He laughed and handed me a fresh drink.

James arrived back from another table and sat down next to me. ‘Can you believe it? Some selfish bastard’s taken all the balloons, and I was really looking forward to using some to sing like the Helium-Smurfs later on.’

***

At about seven o’clock, the disco equipment turned up and began to be carefully assembled by the side of the small dance floor. Julie was doing her endless greeting duties, being dragged around from relative to relative. On passing our table, she spotted me sipping wine on my own so rushed over and sat in James’ vacant seat, fluffing out her wedding dress as she did so. ‘At last, someone sane to talk to!’ Her dad beckoned her from across the room, having already lined up her next interview. ‘Five minutes!’ she shouted back.

‘Are you having a good day?’ I asked her.

‘Yeah, it’s been great so far, except for having to meet all these bloody relatives. Some of Ian’s are really weird. No wonder he didn’t introduce me to them before today.’

‘You look beautiful, Julie. I almost wished I were standing in Ian’s place today.’

Julie blushed. ‘Well, we had our brief chance a long time ago, Jake, but it wasn’t to be.’

‘I know, but you can’t stop a man thinking of what could have been.’

‘Do you still think of us like that?’ Julie asked hesitantly.

‘Of course I do, you were my first love. That’s not the kind of love you forget easily.’

‘You won’t ever tell Ian, will you?’

‘I promised you back then I’d never tell another soul, and I haven’t. I’ve never mentioned it to any lovers I’ve had since, and you’re always a silent number whenever I recount past relationships. It’s a number I still miss hearing, though.’

Julie smiled fondly at me and then kissed me on the cheek. It was my turn to blush.

‘So, who’s doing the disco?’

‘Oh, you’ll love it. It’s a friend of mine called Darryl who runs his own indie club. He’s a lovely guy.’

‘Was it your idea to have everyone send a song request in with their invite acceptance?’

‘Yeah, did you like it?’ she asked proudly.

‘I thought it was a wonderful idea. But how are your relatives going to stand listening to Dead Kennedys all night?’

‘You didn’t request Too Drunk To Fuck, did you, Jake?’

‘No. But it did cross my mind to request the most obscure and offensive track I could think of.’

‘That’s what I’ve always loved about you, Jake. You’ll always be a kid at heart.’

‘Yeah, but it never gets me anywhere,’ I said dejectedly.

‘Have you still not sorted things out with Sam?’ she asked, clearly concerned.

‘No, but I did send her a really long email yesterday explaining exactly how I felt about her and how I saw our future together. She won’t meet to discuss it until next weekend though, after her friend who’s visiting her has gone back home to Melbourne. I just hope my email is enough to convince her how much she means to me. I keep thinking I need to find some other way to get through to her, too. Something special. Something personal.’

‘You went out with her for what, nine months, Jake? You must have got to know her pretty well in that time.’

‘Yeah, I did.’

‘With some people, you have to go all the way to the ends of the earth before they’ll realise how serious you are. Maybe Sam’s like that?’

‘Yeah, maybe you’re right.’ I thought for a moment. ‘That’s it!’ I kissed her on the cheek.

‘What is, Jake?’ she asked, delightfully bemused.

‘Do you remember back in February, just after my birthday, when Sam and I went away for the weekend to a place called Dornie, near the Isle of Skye?’

Julie nodded.

‘Well, the castle there is her favourite place on earth. It was out of season when we visited and covered in snow, but if I go there now, I’ll be able to take some beautiful summer photos of it for her. I can give them to her next weekend. If that doesn’t help show how serious I am about her, then I don’t know what will.’

Her eyes glazed over. ‘That sounds like the most wonderful romantic gesture.’

I smiled at her. ‘But do you think it will work?’

‘I don’t know, Jake.’ She took my hand in hers. ‘But if you truly believe in a future for you and Sam, then it’s got to be worth a try.’

A commotion on the other side of the dance floor broke our intimate moment as a drum kit began to be noisily assembled.

‘Have you got a live band playing?’ I asked curiously.

‘Oh yeah, didn’t I tell you?’ She dropped my hand and let a smug smile spread across her face. ‘It took some doing, but I finally got them to agree to play a half-hour reunion gig in honour of my wedding.’

‘Who is it?’

‘Alvin Purple.’

‘No way!’

‘Yes way.’

‘How did you ever manage that?’

‘Well, you know. I just told them they were the best local band we ever had, said it was an injustice they never made it to the heights of fame and fortune they so deserved, and then slept with them all,’ she joked casually.

‘Wow! I’m completely dumbstruck. What time are they going to be on?’

‘Half-eight, then we’ll have the buffet at nine and continue with the disco afterwards.’ She’d obviously planned every last detail.

‘How’s your friend Darryl going to cope with all the old folks here?’

‘He knows he’s got to play some more traditional wedding numbers now and again, and he has to pick appropriate songs from the list of requests. He’ll do a good job. I trust him. Anyway, where’s everyone else?’

‘Oh, they’ve gone out into the garden for a smoke. I think I might go catch up with them - I could do with mellowing out myself.’

I wished Julie a happy honeymoon in case I didn’t get to speak to her again that night, and then headed off into the gardens as Julie returned to her father. I caught up with the others in the slight seclusion offered by the rose garden.

‘Hey, Gonzo!’ cried James. ‘I thought you weren’t coming?’

‘I changed my mind. Give us some of that, will you?’

James handed me his joint and I took a long, deep drag.

‘Wow! Either this is one that Craig rolled, or you’ve become rather generous with your gear all of a sudden, James.’

‘No such luck I’m afraid - it’s one of mine,’ admitted Craig.

‘I’ve just been chatting to Julie and I found out they’ve got a live band performing tonight. Guess who it is?’

‘Alvin Purple,’ they all replied in unison.

‘Oh. You already know, then,’ I said disappointedly.

‘Yeah, we saw them unloading the van as we were coming out,’ replied Mary. ‘We stopped and had a quick chat. I’m quite looking forward to seeing them again actually. It should be good, provided they haven’t done the old-man-of-rock thing and reworked all the tunes so they’re now shite.’

‘Don’t worry,’ I assured her. ‘Julie sounded like she’d got them well and truly under her thumb.’

We meandered around the rose garden for a while, chatting and smoking as we went, letting the fresh air relax our bodies and the marijuana do the same for our minds.

‘This truly is an idyllic place to get married,’ I said. ‘I hope I can afford to get married in a place like this one day.’

‘It doesn’t matter if you can’t, Jake,’ criticised Mary. ‘Getting married isn’t about the type of venue you can afford.’

‘Oh, I know that. But it would be nice all the same.’

We approached a couple of benches and spread ourselves about them to watch the sun begin its lazy descent towards the horizon.

‘How’s your cat, Jake?’ asked Mary.

‘Still alive, unfortunately.’

‘How old is she now?’

‘She’s about ten years too old now and still going strong.’

‘I don’t know why you don’t just give her away to some little old lady since you seem to hate her so much.’

‘I don’t really hate her,’ I objected, but then thought better of it. ‘Well we do have a love-hate relationship.’

‘What, you hate her and you’ll love her when she dies?’ suggested James.

‘No. I made a commitment when I got her, no matter how foolish of me that may have been at the time, and I have to stick by that until she dies of a natural death.’

‘When you speak of a natural death,’ replied James, ‘would it count if I was to run her over in my car? You know I’d like to help out.’

‘No, if she ran out in front of your car, then that would be a natural death, but having you tie her to a drain in the gutter and reverse over her would not be.’

‘Shame, I was quite looking forward to that.’

Mary hit James in the thigh, giving him a dead leg. ‘That’s for wishing a nasty death on Jake’s cat.’

‘You would be allowed to encourage her to have a natural death though, James,’ I added.

‘What, you mean encouraging her to sit in the gutter by giving her some fish and then running over her?’ James protected himself from Mary as she glared at him again.

‘No, it would have to be more sophisticated than that, like placing the fish on a third-storey windowsill, leaving the window open and hoping she misjudges as she jumps up. However, she’s never once misjudged it in the last five years.’

‘You haven’t?’ Mary said, fearing I wasn’t joking.

I ignored her as Craig joined in.

‘What about giving her some seriously oily fish, like a tin of sardines or something, so that the windowsill is really slippery?’

‘I hadn’t thought of that one - I’ve just been using plain old cod.’

‘What about your roof terrace?’ asked James. ‘You must be able to get her to fall off that somehow?’

‘Well, it’s fairly safe, what with the railings all the way round. But there are a few pigeons that land on them and torment her, though every time she gets anywhere near them, they just fly away.’

‘You could attach a stuffed pigeon to the railings by a spring,’ James suggested keenly. ‘She could get as close as she wanted and it would only move to sway in the wind. When she eventually plucked up enough courage to jump up at it, it would bend forwards on the spring and send her over the railings, plummeting to her natural death on the concrete below.’

‘You guys are sick!’ declared Mary. ‘I’m heading back in to get another drink.’

‘Oh, now don’t be like that, Mary!’ implored James. ‘It’s just a bit of fun.’

‘Well, I think I’d better join her,’ said Craig.

‘Come on,’ I urged James. ‘Hurry up and finish that, I could do with another drink myself.’

By the time we arrived back in the reception hall, the dulcet tones of Disco Darryl were already warming up the other guests. We set off for the bar and Mary, being the first one there, began ordering the drinks. I surveyed the reception hall. Both the disco and band were putting the finishing touches to their set-up. It looked like Darryl had some exceedingly snazzy lights to blind us with later. He was currently playing some audience-friendly Oasis, but it didn’t look like he was enjoying it. The rest of the hall resembled the aftermath of an air raid. Chairs and napkins were strewn everywhere, wine stains blotted the once-pristine white tablecloths, jackets and ties had been liberally discarded and a few remaining helium balloons floated from their tethers above the tables like sole-surviving barrage balloons. Friends and families from both sides were mingling in a spirited camaraderie, except for one table, which I assumed contained Ian’s weird relatives.

I spent the next few hours chatting with old school friends while nurturing my body on equal amounts of vitamin C and vodka. At eight-thirty prompt, Darryl introduced Alvin Purple as they picked up their instruments and prepared to play their first live performance in over a year. Those who’d previously witnessed what had once been the future of pop rushed to the dance floor to acquire a prime spot. The band began their first song, a little unsure of themselves at first, as more guests gathered around. By the middle of their second song, the dance floor was crammed with around thirty bodies, each writhing to the music within their own comfortable degree of motion. Us hardcore fans fought for our own space in front of the band as their set progressed and audience participation became more vigorous. Both Ian and Julie joined in, though Julie found it a little hard to dance quite the way she wanted to in her wedding dress. The older guests looked on bemused by the whole spectacle. By the time the band played their one near-hit single Headcase, signalling the end of their set, the dance floor was a mass of sweaty pogoing bodies. As the song finished and Alvin Purple triumphantly thanked the audience and wished them a good night, an almighty roar of applause filled the room. Darryl stifled the cries for more as he announced the buffet was now being served in the Orangery.

Ian came over to me, grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear. ‘Jake, I understand you’ve got some gear?’

‘I might have, who wants to know?’

‘I do - I’m dying for some. Come on, let’s get a drink and slip outside while everyone’s stuffing their faces. I haven’t had a chance to speak to you all day.’

Ian went to the bar and ordered the drinks while I pushed in at the buffet table and crammed a selection of food onto two plates. We met up again out in the garden and then sneaked off towards the old well, choosing to sit out of sight on the other side of it.

‘So have you had a good time today, Jake?’

‘Yeah, it’s been great seeing so many familiar faces from school. And you, Mr Money-Bags, have picked one hell of a beautiful place to get married.’

‘It is something, isn’t it?’

‘The important thing though, is have you had a good time today, Ian?’

‘Absolutely blinding. Except for having to meet Julie’s relatives, some of them are really weird - but don’t tell her I said that.’

‘I won’t,’ I promised, chuckling to myself and wondering who the lone table of relatives actually belonged to. ‘You’ve got a very special girl there. You know that, don’t you, Ian?’

‘Yeah, I know how lucky I am. I never let myself forget the time I nearly lost her, when we split up for six months. It must be, what, four years ago now? I thought I’d never get her back.’

‘I remember the hell I went through, too. Having to be your shoulder to cry on and making sure you were never left on your own for too long. It took me ages to lose that weight I put on from all the extra alcohol I had to drink with you. And you still owe me for the sleep I lost from calling me at four every morning. I could have used you as an alarm clock, except I had no desire to get up at that hour.’

‘Yeah, I did lose it a bit, didn’t I?’

‘I don’t think you once stopped talking about her the whole time she was gone.’ I admired his perseverance.

‘To this day she swears she never saw anyone else during that time, but there’s still a part of me that believes she’s hiding something.’

‘Well even if she did see someone, I doubt it’s the type of thing you really want to hear about. She was free to do whatever she wanted, you ceased having any control over her life once you’d split up.’

‘But we have a very open and honest relationship. There are no secrets between us.’

‘Maybe she’s just trying to protect you from the truth. What if she was seeing someone you knew, would you want to hear about that?’

‘No. Probably not.’

‘Anyway,’ I said authoritatively. ‘She says she didn’t so you should believe her - I do.’

‘Yeah, you’re right. I shouldn’t dwell on the past like that. So what about you and Sam - any news?’

‘No,’ I sighed. ‘I’ve told her exactly how I feel about her, but she says she wants more time to think about it. I was chatting to Julie earlier and she gave me an idea. There’s this castle in Scotland that Sam adores and wants to get married in one day. So I’m going to take a few days off work next week and fly up there. Take some pictures, find something special to bring back for her and then give them to her next weekend. Hopefully it’ll prove the lengths I’m prepared to go to for her.’

‘Is that where you went away together for the weekend?’

‘Yeah, that’s the place.’

‘Well I know if it was my Julie, that kind of thing would just make her melt.’

‘I just hope it’ll work. I can’t imagine my life without her now. I think about her every day. I dream about her every night. I’ve even started to wish she might be pregnant to force the issue.’

Ian was stunned. ‘That’s the first time I’ve ever heard you say that about a girl, Jake. Usually you’re petrified of the thought of getting anyone pregnant.’

‘I know.’ I took a pre-rolled joint from the case in my pocket, took a drag on it after lighting it up, and handed it to Ian. ‘It’s taken me so long to find the perfect combination that is Sam, I worry I’ll never find another one like her.’

‘She did seem the ideal match for you.’

‘Yeah,’ I sighed again. ‘Anyway, enough about Sam.’ I took the joint back from Ian and dragged heavily on it, letting the drugs calm my mind and body. The last rays of the sun had almost faded now, but the night air was still warm.

‘So have you seen any good bands lately?’ Ian asked.

‘I saw this excellent one a while ago, called Lucy’s Retching.’

‘Lucy’s Retching? An interesting name, I hope it bears no reflection on what they sound like.’

‘No, I can assure you it doesn’t, and I’ve no idea why they’re called that, so don’t ask.’

‘What are they like, then? And is it worth Julie and I coinciding a visit to yours with their next gig?’

‘Oh definitely, yeah. They’re female fronted, with a rather attractive singer as it happens.’

‘Hello!’ interrupted Ian. ‘Do I detect a certain interest in your voice there, Jake, and some possible competition for Sam?’

‘No, no! Though now you mention it Sam was a bit pissed off with me that night because I preferred them to Snaredrum’s band, Endor, who were also playing. She suspected I fancied the singer - which of course I did - but every time I glanced back round at Sam, there was nobody in the entire world I wanted more than her. I guess she never saw that in my eyes.’

‘Maybe you’ll have to stop lusting after other women, Jake?’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that,’ I objected, ‘as long as you look but don’t touch. It’s all about trust. I don’t mind Sam lusting after other men because I trust her not to take it any further.’

‘I have to hand it to you there, you’ve never cheated on a girl - which is very commendable, and Sam should have felt secure in that knowledge.’

‘Anyway,’ I said, getting back to the original subject. ‘Lucy’s Retching: female singer . . .’

‘Beautiful female singer,’ Ian corrected.

‘OK: beautiful female singer, delicate vocals, darkly interesting lyrics, and a cross between Portishead and Morcheeba.’

‘Well let Julie and I know when they’re playing next - we could do with seeing some refreshing up-and-coming talent.’ He collected up our empty plates and glasses. ‘Come on, I’d better get back in there or they’ll think I’ve done a bunk already.’

Back in the reception hall Darryl was already entertaining the guests again with a mixture of our personal requests and some more traditional wedding tunes. He was currently spinning Abba’s Dancing Queen, which was packing out the dance floor.

As the evening wore on, I started to miss Sam more and more. Each couple that got up to dance only served to remind me of how I was dancing on my own. By midnight, the drugs and alcohol I’d consumed sought only to torment me as my mind started to play tricks on me. As Darryl played Sit Down by James, an image of Sam appeared on the dance floor in front of me. She began to dance to the music, her head slightly bowed as it gently rocked from side to side, both her arms bent at the elbows and held close to her body, as her hands delicately oscillated up and down in front of her breasts. Her hips gently swayed in perfect time to the rhythm of the music as her feet, slowly but surely, rotated her whole body in a full circle. It was a beautiful moment. I danced with her as if she were really there, a blissful smile lit up my face as I watched and matched her every rhythm. Four minutes later, Sam and the music faded to a whisper in the calm before the storm that was the gentle drumbeat and guitar riff of the intro to Blur’s Song 2.

‘Woo-hoo!’ went the crowd.

I pogoed.

chapter five

compilation tracks

Wednesday 23 June, 3:00 PM

The train pulled slowly out of King’s Cross station, leaving Detective Inspector Donohue and Constable Jacobs consigned to the vaults of my memory. I was so relieved I was finally leaving London, even though it wasn’t quite at the time or by the method I’d anticipated. I’d chosen an unreserved window seat at a table, after checking the tickets on the other three reserved seats. They wouldn’t be occupied until we reached Peterborough, so that would give me a quarter of the journey on my own.

I took a few minutes to scan through the copy of the NME I’d bought before settling down to listen to my iPod again. I selected the last compilation that Sam had made for me. The theme had been ‘favourite colour’ and had been a suggestion of mine. It was slightly out of the ordinary because it had resulted in each of us producing a differently themed CD. Sam had compiled one based on my favourite colour of blue, and I’d compiled one based on her favourite colour of green. As I pressed play on my iPod and Blondie’s Union City Blue began to play, I remembered back to the Sunday night late in May, two weeks before Sam had left, when the challenge had been laid down. It had been around eight o’clock in the evening, and barely a few hours later I’d packaged up my CD and trotted off to the local sorting office with a smirk on my face. I’d been determined it should reach Sam before she left for work the next morning, thus finally beating her automated search of MP3s with my manual search of CDs. At a quarter to ten the next morning, my mobile rang.

‘You can’t possibly have finished that compilation already,’ said Sam, in disbelief. ‘You would have been up all night compiling it.’

‘And a bright and cheery good morning to you, too,’ I replied, making clear I’d definitely had a good night’s sleep.

‘And why haven’t you supplied a track listing?’

‘Oh, I didn’t have time to, but I’ll send you one later.’

‘Then you’ve only done half the job - so you don’t win.’

‘Do I detect a tad of annoyance in your voice there, Sam?’

‘No, I just don’t believe you’ve done it already.’

‘Afraid your effort of converting all your CDs to MP3s may have been in vain?’

‘No, certainly not.’

‘You’ve not listened to it yet, have you?’

‘No, I’ve not had a chance to, but I will do as soon as I get to the office.’

‘Well, I think you should phone me back then.’

‘I will do.’ There was suspicion in her voice.

‘Speak to you later, then. Bye.’ I hung up abruptly just to ruffle her feathers that little bit more. An hour later Sam phoned me back and I answered in an uncharacteristically polite and pleasant voice. ‘Good morning, Jake Lewis speaking, how may I help you?’

‘You bastard!’ came the reply.

‘I’m sorry I think you must have the wrong number. There are no bastards here.’

‘This CD has just got a copy of R.E.M.’s Green album on it, Jake!’

‘It’s a theme of green, isn’t it?’

‘You little shit!’

‘I had you going for a while, didn’t I?’

Sam was still adamant. ‘I knew you couldn’t possibly have finished it that quickly.’

‘How else am I supposed to compete with your MP3 collection? It’s very unfair you know.’

‘Well, I keep telling you to convert your own CD collection to MP3 - the sooner you start, the sooner you’ll be able to compete with me. But don’t think you’re getting out of producing me a proper compilation.’

‘Don’t worry, I’ll do you one.’

‘Just make sure you get it to me by Thursday morning, so that I can listen to it on the journey to Glasgow.’

‘This Snaredrum trip isn’t just an excuse for you to go and visit your beloved Scottish castle, is it?’

‘Of course not! It wouldn’t be the same going there without you now, and you know Pete and I are only going there to check out some new bands for the label.’

‘I didn’t realise Pete was over? I thought his holiday wasn’t for another month?’

‘He’s just here briefly with Endor. They’re appearing on Later With Jools Holland. Which reminds me, they’re playing a secret gig at the Kashmir Klub tonight - do you fancy it?’

‘Sure do. I’ve still not seen them live and the first night we met you did promise you’d take me to see them, remember?’

‘Oh, yeah.’

‘Anyone else playing I might know?’

‘Some band called Lucy’s Retching. I don’t know what they’re like - probably crap - but it’s a great name for a band.’

‘So where and when shall we meet?’

‘I’ll give you a call later and let you know.’

‘OK, speak to you then. Have a great day.’

‘You too. Bye, babe.’

Gomez interrupted my reminiscing as they began to give their Rhythm & Blues Alibi from my iPod. I quickly returned to my thoughts of Sam and how our original trip to Inverness had come about. It had been back in February, shortly after my birthday. Sam had wanted to take me away to Scotland for a long weekend and she’d offered me two options.

‘So,’ she began, as we lay in bed together one Sunday morning, ‘what would you rather do? Spend the weekend enjoying the nightlife of Glasgow, or . . .’

‘Or?’

‘. . . or go to Inverness and visit my favourite place on earth?’

‘Your favourite place on earth?’

‘Yes.’

‘This would be the one place on earth, amongst all other places, each of which you have obviously already visited, which you deem to be the best?’

‘Oh, I haven’t been to every other place on earth, but then I don’t need to. I know this is the best.’

‘What’s so special about it?’

‘When I was a little girl, about five or six, my grandfather sent me a postcard of this beautiful castle on a lake - or at least I thought it was a lake. When I asked my grandfather where it was, he told me it was a very old and magical castle situated on the shores of Loch Duich in the Highlands of Scotland. I instantly fell in love with it and from then on, when anyone asked me what I wanted to be when I grew up, I’d tell them I wanted to be the housekeeper of the Eilean Donan Castle. That way I would be able to live there forever.’

‘A childhood dream, then?’

‘Very much so. As I grew older I collected as many pictures of the castle as I could and read up on all its history. Alexander II originally built it in the thirteenth century as a defence against the Vikings. It was destroyed five centuries later during a Jacobite uprising and it was only fully restored early in the nineteenth century. It’s been used in loads of films - best of all Highlander - and they perform marriage ceremonies there, too, which is where I’ll be having mine one day.’

I was impressed. ‘You certainly know a lot about the place. How many times have you been there?’

‘My grandfather first took me there when I was eight. And I’ve been back a few times since, but only with very special people. So you should consider yourself privileged that I’m asking you.’

‘I most certainly do, and I’ve already made up my mind. I’d like to see your heaven on earth for myself.’

‘Good, I was hoping you’d say that.’

‘Well, the nightlife of Glasgow couldn’t really compete with your childhood dream, now could it?’

‘I’m glad you see things my way.’

‘I don’t really think I had much of a choice though, did I?’

‘Of course you had a choice, babe,’ she said patronisingly as she cradled my head against her breast.

I snuggled closer against her. ‘So, how do we get there?’

‘We can get a budget flight to Inverness and then drive the rest of the way.’

‘Can’t we take the train?’

‘The train takes about eight hours, which means you’ve wasted a day before you’ve even got there.’

‘Yeah, but the train’s more fun. There’s loads of room, you can wander around, play games, admire the scenery, there are no seat belts, and if the train falls out of the sky it has the advantage over the plane of already being on the ground. And anyway, you don’t waste a day if you take the sleeper.’

‘The sleeper?’

‘Yeah, the sleeper. Wouldn’t you like to join the hundred-miles-an-hour club with me?’

‘Mmm . . . ?’

‘Trains continually go in and out of tunnels,’ I reminded her as I began to slowly disappear below the covers.

‘What are you up to, Jake?’

‘Just looking for tunnels. Ah, there it is.’

‘Mmm . . . sometimes . . . Jake,’ said Sam, trying hard to concentrate on her speech. ‘You can be . . . very . . . persuasive.’

I paused to take a breath. ‘So are we agreed on the sleeper?’

‘Stop talking, Jake, it’s not what your tongue’s for.’

My thoughts were disturbed once again by the sounds emanating from my iPod. This time it was U2 bursting onto the train to Bullet The Blue Sky, just as I’d been getting to the interesting bit as well. I stared dreamily out of the window at the blue sky they were referring to, but failed to spot any bullets.

***

Sam had loved the fact that the BBC had chosen to fly their globe balloon over her favourite castle and use the footage as one of their short presentation sequences that preceded each programme. Whenever this was shown on TV Sam would suddenly become almost orgasmic, screeching and jumping up and down as she pointed at the screen. She’d been mortified, however, when the BBC had chosen to replace it - a decision that had mystified many of us at the BBC. I had, of course, subsequently used my contacts to provide her with her very own DVD of all the footage featuring her castle so that she could watch it whenever she so desired. The BBC’s film had been taken at the height of summer with glorious blue skies and sunshine. Our trip had been in the winter and the castle had looked considerably bleaker. We’d been expecting plenty of snow and had packed appropriately. As we boarded the sleeper train that February, the London skies were drizzling away, but the cloud cover was managing to keep the temperature up.

‘Wow, these rooms are really small,’ commented Sam as we attempted to cram our luggage and ourselves into the confines of the cabin.

‘There’s supposed to be a washbasin in here somewhere.’ I looked around the cabin as if playing a game of hide-and-seek.

‘Found it!’ Sam lifted up the lid of a wooden box in front of the cabin window which hid the washbasin and also doubled as a table.

‘Who wants the top bunk?’ I asked.

‘Neither of us.’

‘They’re pretty narrow for two.’

‘Then we’ll be nice and warm, won’t we? And anyway, who says we’ll be doing any sleeping?’

‘Good point.’

I heard the voices of two middle-aged women coming through the adjoining door to the next cabin.

‘They’re not very well soundproofed these cabins though,’ I pointed out, ‘so you’ll have to keep the noise down - none of your usual Lassie howling.’

‘I’m not noisy, and I certainly don’t howl like Lassie!’

‘Sorry, I must be thinking of someone else.’

Sam punched me jovially in the arm.

‘Ouch!’

She winked at me as a satisfied look spread across her face. ‘You deserved that.’

‘Right, I’m going to the bar to get us some drinks. What would you like?’

‘I’d better just have a short or I’ll be up all night peeing. Get me a vodka and orange.’

‘Two vodka and oranges coming up, and try not to get yourself murdered while I’m gone.’

‘It’s the Flying Scotsman, Jake, not the Orient Express.’

‘You never can be too sure. You’d better lock the door after I’ve gone - just in case. Those two dears next door could be the murderers on tonight’s train, you know.’

‘Go on, go and get the drinks.’ She pushed me gently out the door, beaming an affectionate smile at me and chuckling.

‘I’ll do two short knocks followed by three long ones on my return, just so you know it’s me.’

Sam shut the door in my face. I knocked on the door twice quickly in succession and then three times more slowly. Sam opened the door and peered out at me, smiling expectantly.

‘Just testing,’ I said.

On returning with our drinks I knocked on the door abruptly twice and then began the three slow knocks, but the door was opened before I had time to complete them. ‘You’re supposed to wait until I’ve finished the secret knock! I could be Reverend Green brandishing the dagger in front of you now!’

‘Save your Cluedo guesses until later, Jake, and get in here.’ She tried to suppress a laugh. ‘You’ve got to phone James before it gets too late. It’s his birthday, remember?’

‘Oh yeah. Thanks for reminding me, though why I still bother I don’t know. I can’t remember the last time he phoned me on my birthday. He usually celebrates it by going out, shagging someone, and then ringing me up the next day to tell me all the sordid details. As if I’d be interested.’

As the train set off on its long journey to the Scottish Highlands I dialled James’ mobile phone, making sure to enter 141 first to hide my number, and waited for him to answer.

‘Hello?’ he said.

‘Hi, yeah, I’d like to order a large thin-crust pepperoni pizza with extra mushrooms, please. How long will that be?’

‘I’m afraid you’ve got a wrong number, this is a private mobile, not a pizza restaurant.’

‘No, I just want a pepperoni pizza delivered, how long will that be?’

He hung up. I smiled at Sam.

‘You’re so wicked sometimes, Jake.’

‘He deserves it. I just hope he was trying to chat someone up.’ I redialled the number and waited for him to answer again. ‘Hi, yeah, I’d like to order some egg fried rice, a chicken chop suey, and a prawn curry, please.’

Sam started laughing, causing me to do the same into the phone.

‘Look, mate, this isn’t any kind of takeaway so fuck off!’ He hung up again.

I looked at Sam in mock astonishment. ‘He just told me to fuck off! And there’s me just trying to wish him a happy birthday.’ I dialled James’ number for a third time. ‘He’s put it on to voicemail. Wait, here we go - fancy telling one of your oldest friends to fuck off when all he’s trying to do is ring you up and wish you a happy birthday. Wait until I tell your mother, James!’ I hung up and sat down on the bed next to Sam.

‘You’ve got such a wicked streak, Jake - I love it.’

I kissed Sam softly on the mouth and then reached across for my drink. ‘Here’s to heaven on earth.’

Five minutes later my phone rang. I answered it knowing full well who it was. ‘Happy birthday, James.’

‘Gonzo, you bastard! I’d just started chatting up this real babe and you ruined my flow. She’s buggered off now.’

‘He was chatting someone up,’ I revealed to Sam through chuckles and then returned to my conversation with James. ‘Consider it your birthday present from me.’

‘It’s the kind I could do without, you shit.’

‘Now careful, James, you don’t want me to tell your mother that you swear, now do you? Or that you smoke, or take drugs, or that you slept with a woman older than your mother who bore an unsettling resemblance to her?’

‘You’re never going to let that one drop are you, Jake?’

‘No, but seriously, happy birthday, mate.’

‘Cheers. Where are you? It sounds rather noisy.’

‘We’re on the overnight sleeper to Inverness.’

‘Are you with that gorgeous girl of yours?’

‘Yes, Sam’s here with me. Would you like a word?’

‘Yeah, put her on.’

I handed the phone to Sam, who initially tried to resist taking it until I placed it against her ear, forcing her to talk to James.

‘Happy birthday, James.’ She rolled her eyes at me in annoyance.

‘Hey, Sam, what are you still doing with Jake when you know you want to be with me?’

‘Well, that’s because Jake has a penis that can be seen with the naked eye, whereas you, James, don’t.’

‘That hurts me deeply, Sam, and on my birthday as well.’

‘Well I’m sure you’ll just shrug it off the same way you have done when every other woman has said it to you. Hope you have a good one.’ She handed the phone back to me and shook her head.

‘You’ve got a real live one there, Jake. Are you going to poke her to the rhythm of the train later?’

‘That’s for me to know, James, and for you to attempt to get out of me later. Now go and find someone who doesn’t know what you’re like yet.’

‘OK, thanks for phoning. Have a good time in Inverness.’

James hung up and I put my phone away.

‘Sometimes I really don’t understand why you’re friends with him,’ said Sam.

‘Well, he’s an old school friend, we go back a long way. He’s all right really. You just have to know how to take him.’

‘I’d rather not think about ways to take him if you don’t mind.’

Sam and I spent a while watching the world go by through the window with our cabin lights off, while we sat snuggled on the bed finishing our drinks.

‘Would you like another?’ I asked a little later.

‘That would be nice.’ She sounded rather content.

‘OK, I’ll get another round in.’ I got up to leave then jokingly said, ‘And when I return, I expect you to be lying on that bed naked and waiting for me.’

‘In your dreams!’ She smiled and winked at me.

I went to the restaurant car and bought two more vodka and oranges with plenty of ice. On returning to our cabin, I decided not to persist with the secret knock routine and just tapped lightly on the door. ‘It’s me, Sam.’

‘It’s unlocked, Jake.’

I opened the door into our cabin, lit only by the passing lights of the town we were currently travelling through. Sam was sat on the wooden box with her back against the window. She wore only her red silk bra and G-string. Her brown eyes, wide in the dim light of the room, looked at me longingly as a small smile curled up the corners of her mouth. She nudged her head briefly to beckon me into the room. I stepped in, being sure to close and lock the door behind me. As the light from the corridor was shut out, my eyes briefly struggled to focus on the vision of beauty before me. I walked towards Sam, holding out her drink ahead of me. She took the glass and sipped from it slowly, all the while keeping her eyes fixed on mine. Then she took my glass and placed them both on the shelf beside us. She leaned forwards, wrapped her legs around me and gently placed her lips against mine. They were cold and parted quickly to allow her tongue to force mine apart. I could taste the sweetness of the orange juice as her tongue slowly explored its way around my mouth. I placed my hands on each side of her waist and squeezed gently, knowing how much she liked it. It caused her to press her mouth more firmly against mine and I began to move my tongue against hers. Her skin felt soft and smooth as I gently caressed her waist and slowly moved one hand up towards her breasts. I brushed the back of my hand delicately across them, the feel of her silk bra and erect nipples causing me to stiffen inside my jeans.

Sam lifted her hands and began to unbutton my shirt, pushing it down my arms before it was fully unbuttoned in order to loosely restrain me. Her eyes looked down at my chest as she slowly moved the palms of her hands across my nipples. She pushed my shirt further down my arms until she reached my belt, where she pulled the strap free and yanked it sharply to release the buckle. The button and zip were then swiftly dispensed with as she pulled them apart to reveal the bulge in my boxers. As she placed her hand against them she squeezed my cock firmly, rubbing it gently as she did so. I watched her expectantly as I throbbed harder, but instead of continuing she leaned back against the window and lifted her legs up to my waist, placing her feet tightly against my shirt and jeans. She pushed them down and, slowly but surely, my shirt and jeans moved down with them. I wriggled my arms to help free my shirt and then stood on one of my jeans’ legs while I stepped out of the other. Reaching down I quickly pulled off both socks, hating the sight of an almost naked man in his socks. Sam chuckled briefly and then wrapped her legs back around me. She looked up into my eyes again and pulled me towards her. I caressed her thick, dark hair as we kissed again. Her eyes closed and I brushed her hair back on one side to kiss her ear softly, before returning my attention back to her lips. As her tongue ventured out towards mine I pulled away slightly. She moved forwards and tried again. I pulled away once more. She moaned in frustration and opened her eyes. I smiled at her teasingly.

It was time to tackle her bra. I placed my hands behind her back and on each side of her strap, forcing my fingers under it and gripping firmly. With one swift motion I moved my hands together and miraculously the strap separated. Sam hunched her shoulders forwards, allowing her bra to slide smoothly down her arms to reveal her small but beautifully formed breasts. I quickly discarded it and then gently cradled her breasts, relishing their soft flesh that was unlike any other part of her body. I reached for my drink and on taking a sip, sucked one of the ice cubes into my mouth. I swirled it around to ensure my tongue was well chilled and then blew cold air over one of her erect nipples before gently sucking it. Her whole body flinched and she let out a short gasp of pleasure.

I dropped to my knees, spread her legs apart and pulled her forwards to the edge of the box. Delicately gripping her G-string between my teeth I pulled it away from her body. Sam closed her legs to allow me to remove it and then spread them wide again. I blew cold air between her legs and she moaned ecstatically once more. Tucking the ice cube to one side of my mouth I began to run my tongue round her lips, savouring the taste of her juices. Her body shivered and then another spasm shot through her as my cold tongue reached her clit. I pushed the ice cube directly onto it.

‘Tickets, please!’ cried Sam, as her body convulsed.

I stopped abruptly and looked up at her, completely stunned. ‘What?’ I mumbled as I juggled the ice cube around in my mouth.

‘Tickets, please!’ she cried again.

I opened my eyes.

‘Excuse me, sir, can I see your ticket, please?’ said a rather irate-looking female conductor.

Suddenly clarity returned, as I realised I was still on the train to Edinburgh. ‘Yes . . . sorry . . . of course,’ I stuttered as I removed my earphones. ‘It’s in my back pocket, just let me get it.’

As I raised myself slightly from my seat, I banged my rather too obvious bulge at the front of my jeans painfully against the edge of the table. It was almost impossible for me to reach my ticket with the extra expanse I’d temporarily acquired in my jeans. I turned my body in the direction of the conductor to enable me to gain sufficient access to my back pocket, only to realise I was now thrusting my erection closer towards her. She gave me a disgusted look as some of my blood decided to rush back up to my cheeks and join my apologetic look just in time for me to hand over my ticket. She took it from me using only the tips of her fingers, ensuring she touched as little of it as she could, before punching it and handing it back, tutting and shaking her head disapprovingly as she did so. I took my ticket and shrunk back down into my seat. Time I died.

***

At Peterborough I was joined by a young couple who took the two seats opposite me. It didn’t take me long to realise how sickeningly in love they were once they’d started holding hands and gazing longingly into each other’s eyes. I wished them a painful death and then smiled pleasantly at them once they’d caught me staring.

As the train pulled out of the station a commotion from behind announced the arrival of our final guest as she awkwardly made her way to our table. A young baby was suddenly and unceremoniously thrust towards me.

‘Would you mind holding him for a moment while I sort my bag out?’ asked a rather plain-looking mother with short ginger hair.

I reluctantly took the baby from her, holding him under the arms and away from my body as if he were dripping wet. I looked at him quizzically as he stared back, relentlessly blowing bubbles. A grin spread across his face and his eyes widened as if tempting me to look for his future in them. I wondered whether those young eyes would one day find themselves shedding tears over a Sam in his life. His mother placed her bag on the luggage rack above, composed herself and then sat down next to me before finally relinquishing me of her son.

‘Thanks very much.’

I smiled and went back to watching the scenery passing by.

‘Oh, isn’t he adorable,’ said the young woman to her partner. ‘How old is he?’

‘He’s just turned nine months.’

‘Is he your first?’

‘No, I’ve got two more, one’s five and the other’s four.’

‘Matt and I are just trying for our first, aren’t we, Matt?’ She looked to her partner for confirmation. Matt nodded in agreement. ‘We’ve been trying for a while now, but we haven’t had any success yet. Matt’s got a low sperm count you see.’

I looked over at Matt to see him awkwardly avoid my gaze as he turned scarlet.

‘There’s no need to tell everyone, Rachel,’ he criticised in a hushed tone.

‘Now don’t be so sensitive, Matt. It’s nothing to be ashamed of and I’m sure the lady doesn’t mind.’

She might not mind, but I knew Matt did.

‘No, that’s fine. And it’s Angela.’

‘Hi, Angela, nice to meet you. I’m Rachel and this is my husband, Matt.’

I decided I didn’t want to be a part of their happy little group so made no effort to introduce myself.

‘Did you have any problems conceiving any of yours?’

‘No not at all, I’m afraid I’m one of those who can conceive at the drop of a hat.’

‘Matt has this strict routine he has to follow, don’t you, Matt?’ Matt nodded again but made no attempt to enlighten us. ‘He’s not allowed to wear any tight clothes - so it’s boxer shorts and baggy trousers only. He’s not allowed to drink alcohol either, but do you know what the funniest thing is?’

Angela shook her head as she readjusted her hold on her baby.

‘Before we make love, he has to spray his . . . you know . . . genitals, with cold water to perk up all his sperm so they’re ready for action.’

I couldn’t help but let out a slight snigger, but I didn’t dare tear my eyes away from the window. I sensed Rachel was casting me an evil stare, which her silence confirmed.

‘Anyway,’ she continued unperturbed, ‘what’s his name?’

‘Brendan.’

‘That’s a lovely name, don’t you think so, Matt?’

‘Yeah, that’s a nice name.’

‘Has he been any trouble?’

‘No, he’s been great. He sleeps the night through.’

‘Oh, I so hope we have one like that.’

‘But we do have to pay for it when we change his nappy, though. He really has the smelliest, runniest bottom I’ve ever had to change and he does tend to throw up quite a lot.’

I decided I’d rather not hear the rest of this conversation, considering the direction it was heading in, so I returned to listening to the sounds of my iPod. As Suzanne Vega drowned out further talk of the bodily excretions of the young by informing me that today she was a Small Blue Thing, I thought of a conversation I’d had with Sam as we’d lain snuggled in our cabin on the sleeper train watching the early morning sun glistening on the virgin snow that became deeper the further we travelled into the Highlands.

‘I so love the beauty of fresh snow,’ I said. ‘Especially when you’ve gone to bed and you wake up in the morning to find it’s snowed overnight. It’s like you’ve woken up and found yourself in a brand new world, unspoilt by the touch of human kind.’

‘I remember when I was a kid,’ replied Sam. ‘Whenever that happened, I’d always wake up early. I used to think it was the magic of the snow that woke me, but I guess it was just the extra light generated from all that whiteness. Every time I’d rush into my parents’ bedroom and wake them up - like it was Christmas morning all over again - and then clamber into my Wellington boots, put on my woolly scarf, my big winter coat, and my bobble hat and venture out to explore the new world. I’d search for the largest expanse of undisturbed snow I could find and then walk slowly through it so that my tracks would be the first.’

I was outraged. ‘That’s sacrilege! You’re the type of person I used to hate. Any tracks through the snow - other than those of animals and birds - completely ruined the beauty of it for me. I wanted everything to remain covered in that blanket of snow. That would have been just perfect.’

‘Well, if we’d grown up in the same town, it could have been my tracks you were cursing at.’

We both contemplated the irony of that possibility as we adored the passing bare winter trees, their branches now heavy with the burden of the fallen snow.

‘I remember the first time my niece ever saw snow,’ I said. ‘She was absolutely mesmerised by it. I think she was about two at the time, and she just stood there with her hand out, watching this white, fluffy stuff float down from the sky and disappear as it hit her hand. Can you image what that must be like? To witness one of nature’s most beautiful elements for the first time.’

‘Do you like children, Jake?’ Sam asked rather quizzically.

‘Yeah, of course, I absolutely adore my niece. I’m just a big kid at heart really, so I relate to them well - after a certain age that is.’

‘What do you mean - after a certain age?’

‘I’m not very keen on the first few years, when they’re completely helpless, when you have to do everything for them - feed them, change them - you lose the sleep you need, and they take over your entire life because they need your constant attention. Those first few years can be very difficult. I mean, you don’t see that kind of dependency in the wild, do you? As soon as a newborn turns up there, they have to learn to fend for themselves pretty damn quick.’

‘But we’re not animals, Jake, we’re human beings. There’s a significant difference.’

‘Is there?’ I wasn’t so sure.

‘So, are you saying you’d be happy if you could just take on the responsibility of a child after it’s been brought up and potty trained by someone else?’

‘Well, I think a lot of people would view that as an ideal situation, but obviously you can’t do that. If you have children, then you have to go through that initial hard slog - there are no shortcuts.’

‘So what would be the perfect age?’

‘When they’re walking and talking, when you can actually teach them things and get some proper interaction going. I’ve been planning my relationship with my niece for a long time now. I spent ages thinking back over my childhood and trying to remember what I loved about my aunts and uncles. I had two aunts in particular who I loved dearly, and it wasn’t just because of the presents they used to buy me - it was more than that. It was all to do with the way they treated me, and the things we used to do together. So I decided I would base my relationship with my niece on the one I’d experienced with them. It’s going to take years to accomplish, but hopefully by the end, she’ll regard me with the same love and affection as I still regard them.’

‘So what have you done so far?’

‘For the first two years, I didn’t do much at all. I just bought her the odd baby present while I waited for her to grow up a bit. Her second birthday was when I really started. I remembered that when I was very young I adored my teddy bears. I used to have about seven of them that I’d line up along the pillow each night, in order of size, leaving virtually no room for me. But my very favourite was Big Ted, who lived at my grandparents’ house. He was absolutely huge. So I went out and bought the largest bear I could find and wrapped it up in a large box for her birthday. We filmed her opening it and her face was just a sight to be seen. The bear was taller than she was and she struggled to pull it out of the box, but she refused to let go of it afterwards, even though she kept tripping over as she tried to carry it around with her.’

‘What did she name him?’

‘Big Ted, obviously - with a little prompting from me, of course. Were you a big bear fan when you were young?’

‘Yeah, I had loads of bears and also loads of cuddly pigs for some reason. I think it was because my mother had this oven glove that was a hand puppet pig - you know, like the one in Leon that he tried to cheer Matilda up with.’

‘I know the kind of thing you mean.’

‘You’ll have to make sure that your niece never gets rid of her bears, though. She’ll probably get to a stage where she thinks she’s too old for cuddly toys - like I did - and then give them away. She’ll only regret it later in life, I know I do.’

‘That’s very good advice, I’ll make sure I remember that for when the time comes. I almost gave her a phobia about bears for life with Big Ted because at the time she was still sleeping in a cot, and she insisted she have Big Ted sleep with her. There wasn’t really enough room so we sat Big Ted in a corner at the bottom of her cot. She’d only been asleep for about half an hour when we heard this almighty cry from her room. We rushed in to find Big Ted had fallen over and was now lying on top of her. We decided it was best Big Ted didn’t sleep with her after that, not until she got a proper bed at least.’

‘How old’s your niece now?’

‘She’s just turned five.’

‘You must have bought her a few more presents since then?’

‘Yeah, for her third birthday I got her a toy multi-storey car park, with a lift to take the cars up to the top and a ramp to drive them back down again. Then for her fourth birthday it was time for the Brio train set, complete with a raisable drawbridge; and this year I thought she needed to get into Lego.’

‘Are you sure you’re not just buying all your favourite toys so that you can play with them, Jake?’

‘Well, yes, but I don’t want her to end up with all the traditional girl presents, like dolls and prams, that everyone else will buy her in shit loads. In my experience the best women were always tomboys.’

‘Is that what you found appealing about me?’

‘One of the things, along with your stunning good looks, your staggering intellect, and of course, your insatiable sexual desire.’

Sam smiled longingly at me and then gave me a passionate kiss, which stirred something under the sheets that had been asleep all the while we’d been talking. As it stretched itself, it bridged the gap between our two bodies so that we were connected once more. I suddenly felt wetness spread across my groin. Surely I couldn’t have come that quickly? A repulsive smell infected my nostrils, and at the same moment an ear-piercing cry tore through the sound from my iPod. I opened my eyes once more.

‘I’m so sorry,’ stressed Angela. ‘He’s not been very well at all.’

I looked down to find my lap covered in Brendan’s puke. I looked back up slowly, the expression on my face one of pure shock, to see Rachel covering her mouth with her hand, stifling her giggles, and Matt casting a sympathetic look my way.

‘I’m really, really, sorry. I don’t know how I can make it up to you.’

‘That’s OK,’ I said calmly, as I slowly turned my head to look at her. ‘If you could just let me out so I can go wash this off in the toilet, that would be fine.’

‘I think he’s got it all out now, so there shouldn’t be any more.’

I lifted my iPod from my lap, letting most of the vomit drip from it before placing it on the table and rising from my seat, all the while feeling the dampness of Brendan’s puke spreading throughout my boxer shorts. I grabbed my bag and made my way to the toilet. As I closed the door and put my bag on the lowered toilet seat, I let out a desperate cry, ‘ARRRGH!’ Now I had baby puke all over my jeans. The one item of clothing I didn’t have a change of. I pulled a handful of paper towels from the dispenser and began to wipe the worst of it from my jeans. Then I made the mistake of dampening some towels and wiping my jeans with them, which only made me look like I’d seriously pissed myself. I took my spare T-shirt and boxer shorts from my bag and changed into them, dumping my puke-smelling ones back in to wipe the smile from Happy Holder’s face. I returned to my seat.

‘I really can’t apologise enough. Are you sure you’re OK?’

‘Yes, I’m fine now. I had a change of clothes in my bag. My jeans are still a bit wet, but I’m sure they’ll dry. There’s no need to continue apologising, honestly.’

Brendan was back to his normal cheery self and openly proud of his recent achievement. I sat down and reluctantly began to clean the remainder of his puke from my iPod. There was now no one in the world more deserving of a Sam to fuck up his life than Brendan.

***

At around teatime, Rachel produced some homemade sandwiches for Matt and her to share. The smell of them made my stomach remind me it had been far too long since lunchtime.

‘It’s probably about time I fed you again,’ said Angela to her son. She proceeded to unbutton her blouse, expose her left breast and offer it to Brendan.

Matt’s eyes sprang from their sockets, and he began to choke on his sandwich. Rachel nudged him sharply in the ribs with her elbow, forcing him to look away. I could see he was going to have a hard time keeping his eyes off that mammary so I gave him a knowing wink and a smile before putting my iPod back on. So now it would appear that it wasn’t just Brendan’s sick that had soaked into my jeans, but the semi-digested milk from his mother’s breasts. A rather unpleasant thought.

Lloyd Cole and the Commotions were next up on my iPod with Perfect Blue. It was the same title I’d used for one of the songs I’d written, which I’d shown Sam on the way back from Inverness. We’d booked the day train back, rather than the sleeper, so that we would be able to enjoy the scenery.

‘So when did you start writing songs?’ she asked.

‘About four years ago, when I split up with a girl called Kim Walker. She pissed me off so much that I decided to write a song about her to get it out of my system. It’s that one there, AA Man.’

‘Did you actually write music for all of these as well?’

‘Yeah - well I bought a guitar and worked out some basic chords for them. But that was as close as I ever got to being a pop star.’

‘Who’s this one about, Perfect Blue?’

‘That’s about a secret love I had in my life once. Unfortunately, she belonged to someone else.’

‘The type you admire from afar?’

‘Yeah, if you’ve got any sense.’

‘Sounds like you didn’t?’

‘No, nothing ever happened between us,’ I lied.

‘Is it anyone I’ve met?’

‘No, no one you know,’ I lied again.

‘Do you still write songs?’

‘No, I kind of grew out of it. The last one I wrote was a year and a half ago, strangely enough when I split up with a girl called Amy Stevens. That one at the back’s about her, Dead Head.’

‘You’re such a bind,’ read Sam. ‘I’ll throw you from the highest roof I find. I want you dead, just so I can get you out my head. You didn’t like her very much, then?’

‘No, you could say that.’

‘Would you write a song about me if we ever split up?’

‘No, I’d have to find some other way to get over you - but I hope it won’t ever come to that.’

‘I’m going to write you a poem,’ she said suddenly and enthusiastically. She took her notepad and began to chew her pen thoughtfully for a while before commencing to scribble down her ideas.

I wasn’t allowed to look while she was writing it so I read my paper until she’d finished.

‘OK,’ she finally announced, sitting up proudly. ‘The Flying Scotswoman - by Sam Porter. Your beauty I see in your eyes so blue, the fear in mine is of losing you. I’m not the most secure of souls, so help me when I lose sight of my goal. I want to grow with you and love you, too. I never want you to look for anyone new. We’re good together, Jake, so let’s stay that way, I never want you to go away.’

That moment, sitting there, reading that poem, she was more beautiful than I’d ever seen before.

‘Come here,’ I said quietly. As she leaned forward I stroked her cheek with the back of my hand and kissed her softly on the lips. ‘That was beautiful, thank you.’

She hugged me and then handed me the piece of paper with her poem on. ‘There you go, you can keep that to always remind you of this trip and how I feel about you. It’ll be your evidence should my feelings ever change. Let’s play a game now - I’ll read the rest of your literary masterpieces later.’

‘What did you have in mind?’ I hoped we weren’t going to have to resort to I spy.

‘Well, I have some cards, but I also brought along travel Cluedo.’

‘Let’s play that, then.’

Sam got it out and began setting up the game. ‘You can be anyone but Reverend Green. I’m always Reverend Green because it’s my favourite colour, and if anyone argues, then they risk ending up as the murdered Dr Black.’

‘In that case I’d better be Mrs Peacock.’

Sam separated the cards into piles of characters, rooms and weapons; I chose one from each and placed them in the murder envelope. Sam shuffled the remaining cards, dealt them out and then the game was on. It took the two of us about fifteen minutes to dash round the board, eliminating rooms, suspects and murder weapons before one of us was ready to make an accusation.

‘Right I’m going to make an accusation,’ I said. ‘I think it was . . .’

‘Wait!’ interrupted Sam. ‘I get to guess first.’

‘What?’

‘I get to have a guess first.’

‘I don’t understand? It’s my go, and my accusation, so why should you get to guess?’

‘It’s the rules?’

‘What, the Sam Porter rules?’

‘No, the rules.’

‘You’re telling me, that even though I’m making the accusation, you get to guess first?’

‘Correct – they’re the rules my parents taught me.’

‘Well, I’d like you to show me in the rules where it states that the other players get to guess first.’

‘I will, then.’ Sam defiantly picked up the rulebook and started to thumb through it.

‘Are you sure this rule wasn’t written in biro?’

Sam started to search frantically through the rules as it began to dawn on her that perhaps this was a made-up rule after all.

‘Are you sure you weren’t actually crap at this and that your parents added the rule - Sam gets to guess first - just so that you might win?’

Sam threw the rulebook at me. ‘I can’t believe my parents would do such a thing.’ She was clearly horrified. ‘It’s not in those rules, but it’s the way we’ve always played it.’

‘I’d have a word with your parents about that if I were you.’

‘Go on, then,’ said Sam dejectedly. ‘Make your accusation.’

‘OK, it was Miss Scarlett in the ballroom, and she used the lead piping.’

Sam looked in the murder envelope. ‘Lucky guess. And the rules were on your side.’

‘Would you like to try and beat me at a game of travel Jenga instead?’ I suggested.

‘Travel Jenga?’

‘Yeah, you know, where you have little blocks of wood piled on top of each other in a tower, and you have to remove a block from the stack and place it on the top.’

‘I know the game, but I didn’t know they did a travel version. Won’t it just keep falling over?’

‘No,’ I assured her, deadly serious. ‘Each piece has Velcro on it.’

Sam just stared through me, with an unamused expression on her face, as the train pulled into Aviemore station. She suddenly jumped up out of her seat, ran to the end of the carriage and disappeared. I was confused as to where she’d gone. Maybe she’d suddenly felt travel sick or something. I turned round as a tapping on the window distracted me to see Sam standing on the snow-covered platform and making faces at me through the glass.

‘What are you doing?’ I asked frantically. ‘Get back on the train or it’ll leave without you!’

Sam darted off again and materialised back on the train at the other end of the carriage, a few moments later. She came running down the aisle towards me with a huge beaming smile on her face. As she approached, everything began to move in slow motion as she raised her hands, revealing two massive snowballs that she proceeded to throw at me, landing them both squarely in my face.

‘I feel a lot better now,’ sighed Sam happily, slumping down next to me as I began to wipe the snow from my face. ‘What shall we play next?’

‘Anything that doesn’t end up with me getting snowballed would be good.’

‘That’ll need to be something that you lose at, then.’

‘How about a simple game of cards?’

‘OK, as long as we play by my rules.’ She eagerly got out her deck of cards.

‘Hand me them and I’ll show you my legendary one-handed cut.’ She did as I asked and I placed the pack of cards between my middle and index fingers. In one fell swoop I hooked the front half of the deck with my thumb and shuffled them round to the back single-handed.

‘Jake,’ said Sam slowly, ‘I don’t know what happened there, but you’ve just turned me on.’ Sam leaned towards me and placed her hand under the table and onto my groin. ‘I know something else we can play with,’ she whispered teasingly.

This was no good. I had to stop thinking about having sex with Sam. It was just driving me crazy and I really didn’t want Angela to catch me with a hard-on. She might think it was because she had her breast out. It looked like Rachel was still concerned with Matt’s eyes straying onto Angela’s left breast also as she’d just taken out a travel Scrabble set in an obvious attempt to keep Matt’s mind occupied. He was currently contemplating the construction of his first word - I bet he had two ‘T’s and an ‘I’.

***

It was seven o’clock by the time I got to Edinburgh and my stomach was about to file a complaint with Amnesty International. I looked around the station and tried to interest my stomach in the healthiest option available - Upper Crust - but it had already spotted the sign for Burger King. My second value meal of the day slid down as easily as it could have come back up. I hoped the McDonald’s I’d had at lunchtime was well on its way to being digested by now, or there was surely going to be a fast food death match occurring in my stomach once the Burger King joined it. As a precaution, I went into the Coopers pub afterwards and downed two pints of lager in twenty minutes in order to get the two value meals pissed and in each other’s arms claiming to be the best of friends. Five minutes before departure I bought some chocolate bars to snack on and then boarded my connecting train to Inverness. I found a seat to settle down in and shortly found myself drifting off to sleep, the effects of the alcohol helping tremendously.

An hour and a half later I woke up to the pain of my bladder reluctantly holding in the drink I’d consumed earlier. I found the toilet two carriages down, relieved myself and returned to my seat. I gave the guy opposite a friendly smile and returned to my favourite pastime of the day - watching the world go by.

Ten minutes later my mobile phone beeped three times, announcing the arrival of a text message. I took it from my jacket and selected to read the new message. It was an SMS alert announcing the Lotto results. I read the numbers as they scrolled across my screen: 2, 7, 9, 18, 23, 42 and the bonus ball was 4. Hold on a moment, 2 was the month of February, 7 was July, 9 was September, 18 was my birthday, 23 was Sam’s birthday and 42 was the answer to life, the universe and everything! As for the bonus ball, that was the day we met! I had five numbers plus the bonus ball! I checked them again. They hadn’t changed. This couldn’t be true. There was no way I could win the Lotto. Things like that just didn’t happen to me. OK, so it wasn’t the jackpot, but it was bound to be enough money to set up Sam’s record label, and along with it a new future for the both of us. Perhaps this was what I’d come to Scotland looking for all along? Now, where was my Lotto ticket?

I tried to contain my excitement, but couldn’t help a huge smile spreading across my face as I reached into my back pocket to locate my return ticket to Sam. I only retrieved my one-way ticket to Inverness. It must be in the other pocket. I put my hand in, but it was empty. A sudden and heart-stopping fear gripped me, instantly wiping the smile from my face. I checked my front pockets. It wasn’t in there. I searched through my wallet. It wasn’t in there either. I rechecked my back pockets, but it hadn’t been hiding. I got up from my seat, picked up my jacket and began to thrust my hand down the edges of the seat. I then desperately searched all the pockets in my jacket and shook it vigorously to dislodge any secret papers. No secrets revealed themselves. I got down on my hands and knees and rummaged under the seat.

‘Have you lost something?’ asked the guy opposite.

‘Er . . . yeah . . . it’s nothing to worry about.’ I got up again and took my bag down from the luggage rack. As I opened the zip the stench of Brendan’s sick hit me. I took a deep breath, stuck my hand in and searched for a little pink slip with some very important numbers on. I grimaced as my hand came into contact with the dampness of my clothes. It was no good. I was going to have to empty everything out onto the seat. When I was sure my bag was empty I threw it on the floor and picked up my clothes, jiggled them about and then threw them down to join my bag.

‘Jeez! What is that pong?’

I ignored the guy’s comment as I shoved Happy Holder away from me, sending him rolling off the end of the seat. After separating the bags of flour, my wash bag, the two cameras and my iPod, I stood there staring down at the chaos on the seat. There was nothing that even remotely resembled a Lotto ticket. I slumped back down amongst my possessions on the seat and buried my head in my hands. By this time a number of other passengers were looking worriedly in my direction.

‘Ach, it cannae be all that bad,’ said my friendly fellow passenger. ‘Tell me what you’ve lost and I might be able to help you find it.’

‘Everything,’ I replied dejectedly.

The guy opposite got up from his seat and sat down next to me. He placed his hand gently on my shoulder. ‘It cannae be the end of the world. Whatever it is I’m sure we can find it again.’

‘No, not this, this was my ticket to the girl I love.’

‘If it’s your train ticket then it disnae matter, the guard will sell you another, and if you cannae afford one then the toilet’s a great place to hide.’

‘No, it wasn’t my train ticket. Losing that would be the least of my worries. This was a Lotto ticket.’

‘A Lotto ticket?’ he asked curiously.

‘Yeah, a Lotto ticket.’

‘So why are you so upset about losing that?’

‘It wasn’t just any Lotto ticket - it was the winning ticket.’

‘The winning ticket?’ said my new friend.

‘Yeah, the winning ticket,’ I mimicked sarcastically.

‘You mean with all the numbers on?’

‘Well, five plus the bonus ball.’

‘For tonight’s draw?’

‘Yeah, the results just came through on my phone.’

A hushed whispering filled the air as the other passengers passed on what they’d overheard.

‘Well,’ began the stranger, slightly shocked. ‘I think I ought to try and help you find that. When did you have it last?’

‘It was in my back pocket, but it’s not now.’

‘Have you been sat here all the time?’

‘Yeah, well, apart from when I went to the toilet.’

‘Which carriage was that in?’

‘Two carriages down I think.’

‘So you could have lost it on the way there?’

‘I guess so.’

At that moment the guard entered the carriage to check tickets. On noticing the disorder surrounding my seating area, he ceased with his duties and headed towards us with a concerned look on his face.

‘Why don’t you go down to the toilet and see if you lost it there while I have a word with the guard?’

I got up from my seat, but not with any hope, and made my way down the aisle, searching the floor for my sacred ticket and trying to avoid the stares being cast my way. I continued on through the next carriage and the one after. I’d found nothing by the time I’d reached the toilet. I entered and closed the door behind me. As I’d expected there was no pink piece of paper. I sat down to think. Where could I have lost it? I knew I’d had it at King’s Cross when I’d bought my ticket because I’d put them both together in my back pocket. When could it have fallen out? I remembered checking I had my train ticket before boarding the train at King’s Cross. Maybe it had fallen out onto the concourse? What if someone had found it and tried to claim? How could I prove it to be mine? Perhaps the security cameras may have recorded it falling from my pocket and being picked up by someone else?

It was no good, I was clutching at straws here. If I’d lost it there, then there was no way I could prove it to be mine. When else had I been in my back pocket? When I had my ticket checked on the train. I was so turned on by the thought of sex with Sam then that I could have easily lost it and not noticed. Perhaps it had been lying on my seat when I’d got up to go and wipe off Brendan’s sick? Maybe that seedless bastard Matt had picked it up, or his annoying wife, or Brendan’s mother and they’d kept it for themselves? Maybe I’d lost it whilst changing in the toilets? The possibilities were endless and I was just going to have to accept that there was no way I was ever going to find it again.

The PA suddenly crackled into life. ‘This is your guard speaking. I have a special announcement to make. A passenger has lost tonight’s winning Lotto ticket on the train somewhere, and he’s willing to share half the winnings with whoever finds it. So please can you all have a look around your seats.’

WHAT THE FUCK? Half the winnings? I hadn’t said anything of the kind. I burst out of the toilet and back into the carriage, stopping on witnessing the commotion within. Every passenger was scrambling around, pushing and shoving each other out the way as they all searched frantically for my ticket. The noise was deafening. I slowly made my way through the carriage and into the next one where the scene was the same. On reaching my own carriage I headed back to my seat and began to silently pick up my belongings and place them back in my bag.

‘See,’ said the stranger, who was no longer my friend. ‘I told you I’d help you find it.’

I put my bag back up on the luggage rack and sat back down on my seat. Why had I ever bothered enabling Lotto result alerts on my phone? I took the culprit from my jacket and placed it on the floor. With a swift and repeated motion I stamped on my phone until it had broken into a number of pieces and the internal workings were exposed. Pleasantly satisfied, I curled up in my seat, placed my jacket over my head and tried to ignore the chaos around me. I really should have gone to see Lucy’s Retching tonight. Life would have been so much simpler.

For the next hour and a half I remained hidden under my jacket as the sounds of the frantic searching slowly receded. On reaching Inverness I remained hidden until everyone else had departed and the guard came along and threw me off, insisting I pick up the remnants of my phone before I left. Standing on the platform brought back memories of being there with Sam early in the morning. We’d headed up to the Hertz car rental office, which I now realised, at half past eleven on a Wednesday night, was shut.

‘Fuck, shit, piss, bollocks and wank!’ I’d forgotten about hiring a car. I’d planned to just be able to pick one up at the airport, but as I’d had to take the train, I’d completely forgotten to ring ahead and arrange a car to be waiting here for me. Since I’d taken such pleasure in smashing my phone, I couldn’t even find out if there were any car hire places still open at this time of night. There was only one option left. I set off to look for the taxi rank.

‘Excuse me,’ I said to the first taxi driver I found. ‘I need to hire a car. I wondered if you knew of any car hire firms that would be open at this time of night?’

‘No, cannae say I do. They’re all closed by noo. You’ll have to wait until morning. Where is it you want to go? Perhaps I can take you there?’

‘I don’t think so. It’s a bit far for a taxi ride. I need to get to Dornie, at Loch Duich.’

‘Dornie? Aye, right enough, I cannae take you that far.’

‘Shit!’ I muttered under my breath. I looked around, desperately searching for a solution. Why the fuck had I ever started on this crusade? It was supposed to be a simple fucking fly and drive straight up here, take a few pictures, buy some gifts for Sam, have a good night’s kip in a local inn and then back down to London the next day.

‘Dyae want me to take you to a wee guesthoose I know near by?’

‘No, I’ve got a flight booked back tomorrow lunchtime, so if I don’t get to Dornie tonight, then I won’t have enough time to do everything I need to. I really need to get there tonight.’

‘How much you got on you?’

‘Sorry?’

‘For hiring a car - how many a them English pounds you got to hire a car?’

‘Why?’ I asked suspiciously.

‘Because I know someone who might be able to help you oot - but he only takes cash.’

‘Well, about a hundred pounds.’

‘What kinda car you after?’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter as long as it can get me there and back.’

The taxi driver picked up his mobile phone and made a call. There was a brief exchange of conversation, most of which I couldn’t hear, before the taxi driver hung up and turned to address me. ‘You’re in luck, pal, I got you a car. It’ll cost you the full hundred, though. If you get in, I’ll take you to it.’

‘Excellent!’ I jumped into the passenger’s seat with great relief. ‘I can’t tell you how much I appreciate this.’

‘So, what’s so important in Dornie?’

I decided it would be better if I simplified my story. ‘Oh, I just need to take some pictures of the Eilean Donan Castle for a friend’s birthday.’

‘Must be some special friend to come all the way up here for.’

‘Yes, she is.’

‘Can you smell something?’ The driver wrinkled his nose. ‘Something a bit putrid?’

‘No,’ I lied innocently. ‘Can’t say I do.’

‘Must just be ma nose, then.’ He seemed unconvinced and proved it by winding down his window to let in some fresh air.

After a short drive the taxi turned into a long dirt track lane lined with garages which led along the back of two rows of houses. About halfway along a waiting figure was revealed in the headlights of the taxi. The car slowed and stopped just before reaching him.

‘Here we are.’ The taxi driver turned off the engine, leaving the headlights on, and got out.

I got out too, looking around suspiciously as I did so. He may have thought we were here, but where exactly was “here”? It certainly wasn’t any kind of car hire firm I was familiar with, unless of course all the cars hidden behind the garage doors were for hire. The taxi driver walked towards his friend, illuminated in the light of the headlights, and talked briefly with him. He then turned and walked back towards me, dangling a set of car keys from his index finger as he approached.

‘There you go.’ He handed me the keys. ‘A hundred a them English pounds and the wee lassie’s all yours.’

His friend began to unlock the garage he was standing in front of and pulled on the door so that it swung up into the roof space. I took my wallet out and handed over five crisp twenty-pound notes in exchange for the keys. The taxi driver took the money and then I followed him as he led me over to the open garage.

‘Sorry, but I couldnae get you a brand new motor.’

‘That’s OK, as long as it gets me there it doesn’t really matter what it is.’

The garage was cast in shadow, the light from the headlights barely managing to scatter a few feet inside. I followed the driver and stopped directly in front of the open garage to look in. It was surprisingly deep. Towards the back I could make out a dark mass resembling the shape of a car as I squinted in the low light. Suddenly the taxi driver’s friend flicked a switch and a fluorescent overhead strip light flickered on.

A navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle sat motionless before me covered in a thin film of dust. The front dulled-chrome bumper clung desperately to the car, one end of it considerably lower than the other. The driver’s side headlight was cracked and a small triangular piece of glass had long since made its escape. Numerous rust spots, scratches and small dents were scattered about the wings and the bonnet. The passenger’s side wiper arm was missing and the driver’s one lay fixed in a vertical position on the windscreen, partially obscuring the driver’s view. It looked like it hadn’t been used in years.

My jaw dropped open and my bag fell from my grasp onto the ground.

‘Ach, the wee lassie’s nae as bad as she looks, and Fergus and I are goantae do you a big favour. Instead a hiring the wee lassie to you, we’re goantae sell her to you for the same price. You’re lucky to get such a good condition 1963 Beetle so cheap.’

I was still unable to speak.

‘Dyae want Fergus to start her up for you?’ On receiving no response from me he took the keys from my hand and threw them back to Fergus. ‘Get the wee lassie going, Fergus.’

I’d been conned. I’d parted with a hundred quid for this wreck. How ironic it was that two hours ago I’d received the news that would have probably enabled me to buy any one of the cars that sat hidden within the hundred or so garages along this lane. But now I’d purchased possibly the worst car of them all, which was highly unlikely to ever start, and even if it did, would probably breakdown as soon as it had got me far enough into the middle of nowhere to leave me stranded. They weren’t doing me a favour; I was doing them one by taking it off their hands.

‘Built like a tank is this wee lassie,’ continued the taxi driver in his persistence to assure me. ‘A wee spot a rust disnae worry her, the lassie just keeps on going.’

Fergus unlocked the driver’s door, pressed the latch release and then tugged on the handle. It came clean away in his hand.

‘You goantae have to use the passenger’s door to get in and oot,’ the taxi driver quickly pointed out. ‘But I assure you a comfortable ride once you’re in.’

Fergus walked round to the passenger’s door, unlocked it, pressed the latch release and then pulled more gently this time. The door reluctantly jolted out from the frame as it groaned in obvious pain. The taxi driver next to me expelled a gasp of air in relief - as if he’d been holding his breath in anticipation. The passenger’s door creaked louder the further Fergus pulled it open. He climbed in and shuffled across to the driver’s seat, where he located the ignition, inserted the key and turned it.

The starter motor reluctantly turned, slowly and in spurts at first, as it tried to remember how it was supposed to operate. After a few seconds it managed to free the pistons of the engine enough to be able to turn them in a more regular fashion. The engine spurted into life, surprising us all, and briefly roared as Fergus floored the accelerator. A cloud of black smoke bellowed out from the rear of the car as a deafening backfire erupted. The engine ceased its exercise in a violent judder, which rippled from the engine compartment at the back of the car all the way to the bonnet at the front, and then died. The front passenger’s side hubcap fell off and clattered onto the concrete floor, spinning round in ever-decreasing circles until it eventually lay motionless on the floor. The cloud of smoke slowly drifted towards us along the ceiling of the garage as Fergus sat and stared blankly back at us through the windscreen. Silence prevailed once more.

‘See, there’s still life in the wee lassie yet,’ said the taxi driver optimistically after a few moments silence. ‘Try her again, Fergus.’

Fergus operated the ignition again. The starter motor turned once more and kept turning, but the engine refused to co-operate. After about ten seconds the engine gave up its resistance and then fired reluctantly into life. Fergus floored the accelerator again and this time the engine roared and kept on roaring. Another cloud of smoke rose above the back of the car as Fergus began to fiddle with the dashboard controls until he’d adjusted the choke enough to keep the engine running. The headlights shone into life as Fergus began to smile at us through the windscreen before releasing the handbrake and allowing the car to slowly creep forwards.

The taxi driver and I stood back from the entrance. The navy-blue beetle rattled past us like a shed-on-wheels and came to rest once it had entered the lane and cleared the garage. The headlights from the taxi now revealed the full extent of my investment. The side and the rear of the car were in a similar state to that which I’d witnessed from the front. Engraved in the dust on the rear of the car were the words ‘clean me’. Fergus pushed his body against the driver’s door and it reluctantly opened. He got out, leaving the engine running, and stood alongside his friend.

I stood and looked at the wreck that sat shaking before me. Despite the state of it I knew it was probably my last hope. There was no way I would be able to get another car tonight, and tomorrow I wouldn’t have enough time to do what I needed to do. I really didn’t feel like staying here for longer than was entirely necessary. It was decision time. I could cut my losses, find a room for the night and try to sleep off my acceptance of failure. Or I could take the risk and attempt to drive this heap all the way to Dornie and back. It was so close now. Heaven on earth was only two hours away. Could I really quit now I’d come this far?

‘Is this thing safe?’ I asked.

‘Ach aye,’ said the taxi driver with a reassuring look on his face. ‘I wouldnae sell you an unroadworthy car. The MOT is valid until . . . when is it, Fergus?’

‘The end a the month.’

‘Ach, disnae run oot for a whole week yet and you only need her for a day,’ declared the taxi driver as if that justified the safety of the car.

‘Are you certain it won’t breakdown?’

‘She’ll be fine.’ He walked over and placed his hand on my shoulder in a reassuring fashion. ‘The lassie’s always been very reliable. Trust me.’

Sam had always said never to trust anyone who asked you to trust them. I’d always disagreed with her, but it seemed like good advice now. Reluctantly, I picked up my bag and climbed into the driver’s seat as the door was slammed behind me. The seat was well sprung and I had to admit it did feel comfortable. There was a faint smell of dampness that seemed to be coming from the mildew-stained material that lined the roof. I glanced at the dashboard and noticed the petrol gauge was reading low. On the passenger’s side were the remains of a sticker, upon which I could just make out the name Betty. I guessed her full name must be Betty Beetle.

‘Turn right down the end, then first left. You’ll find yourself on the main road. Just follow the signs for the A82 and you’ll be fine. Ach, and have a good trip!’

The taxi driver banged his hand on the roof of the car twice and then stepped back. I dipped the clutch and was unnerved by the way the pedal depressed into the floor rather than against the bulkhead as I was used to. I engaged first gear, released the handbrake, pressed gently down on the accelerator and lifted off the clutch. The car jolted forwards unevenly as I fought to get the pressure on the pedals right. At the end of the lane I turned right, struggling with the large wheel and heavy steering as I did so, before rattling and putt-putt-putting off down the road.

I stopped at the first garage I came to and filled Betty’s tank up with petrol. I also purchased a small pair of speakers and connected them up to my iPod. The output wasn’t very loud, but at least it would mask some of the noise from the engine and the road. I selected the compilation Sam had made for me about cars and set it on repeat play. Ominously it began with Talking Heads’ Road To Nowhere as I resumed the final leg of my journey. Sixty miles an hour seemed to be the top speed Betty was willing to go. I didn’t want to push her beyond that and I wasn’t sure my body would be able to withstand the vibrations and the noise if I did so.

I followed the same route that Sam and I had taken three and a half months earlier. As the A82 took its leisurely stroll along the side of Loch Ness, I kept a keen eye out for Nessie as the moonlight reflected off the calm surface of her home, but knew that the noise of Betty would probably scare her off. The view was mesmerising, it was only a shame I hadn’t been there earlier and seen it again in the daylight. I drove straight past the ruins of Urquhart Castle, not having Sam with me to stop there this time. At Invermoriston I turned off onto the A887 and kept on driving, through Glen Moriston, past Loch Cluanie and then climbing up to the dizzy heights of Glen Shiel before descending once again down to the foot of Loch Duich. I was almost there. At the other end of this loch stood a castle, nearly eight hundred years old, during the last twenty of which a very special girl, dear to my heart, had grown up fascinated by its beauty. I continued along the side of the loch and as I began to descend the final hill down to Dornie, the castle loomed out of the darkness, its dominance enforced by the spotlights that shone against its ancient walls.

I drove into the car park, pulled over and cut the engine and lights. I’d made it, and surprisingly enough so had Betty. It hadn’t been the most comfortable journey I’d ever taken, but I had to admit she’d turned out to be the most reliable and uneventful part of my trip so far. I had a feeling that maybe the misfortunes of the previous day were finally behind me, and that I would be able to rely on Betty to get me through the new day that would soon be dawning.

I looked towards the castle that lay before me. I had to blink several times to try to remove the image of Betty’s stuck wiper blade imprinted on my retina. The castle stood there motionless, staring back at me with the moonlight and the stars shimmering above it and the waters lapping gently against its shores. A peaceful silence descended over me, as my iPod found itself briefly between tracks before Prefab Sprout began to sing about Cars And Girls. I waited for dawn.

chapter six

purity test

June, 2 Years Earlier

I have this theory that there exists an unspoken ratio involving relationships. It has been lying around for years, occasionally being discovered by someone who then concludes it to be so depressing that they immediately throw it away again, mentioning it to no one. It is the ratio that relates to the number of bad relationships you will experience against the number of good ones. And when I say bad ones, I mean the type that fuck you over so much that you are unable to leave the house without wearing stabilisers for months afterwards, or sometimes even years. I have discovered that ratio and it is shockingly small. It is in fact one in three - there, I’ve said it. For every three relationships that you have, you will be fucked over big time by one of them. Don’t believe me? Then I dare you to count up your previous relationships (one-night stands should be excluded here), and work out how many of them dumped on you from a great height. I bet you get one in three.

Three would appear to be an important number in relationships, because it also accounts for the basic stages the termination of a relationship can go through. Not every relationship break-up starts at stage one and continues all the way to stage three. Some may be lucky enough to stick at stage one, others may skip it completely and start at stage two, and some will simply say to hell with it and go all out for stage three.

Your basic starting point is the generally unsuccessful stage one: “let’s still be friends”. If you do start off here, then it will probably be temporary, and one of you will soon trade it in for the more popular stage two: “I don’t like you anymore and I no longer want to be your friend”. Likewise, whether you started at stage two or it is where one of you progressed to, it is also unlikely to be where you will remain. Soon enough you will probably find yourself uncontrollably attracted to the most common and satisfying stage three: “mutually assured hatred”.

A year and a half before Sam contemplated stage one, Amy Stevens and I had tried all three stages, finally agreeing to settle for stage three. It enabled us both to express healthy anger and be able to say to our friends: “I fucking hate that bitch/bastard and I hope she/he gets run over by a bus and lies dying painfully in a hospital bed wishing I was by her/his side!” (Delete as applicable.) Extremely gratifying and so easy to move on from.

It was a six-month affair born of convenience and continued out of habit. Amy was the same age and height as me, had long straight dark hair, brown eyes and a pleasant smile. Her slim and well-toned body was complemented by a pair of perky medium-sized breasts, which were guaranteed to stand up and say hello to you every morning. I always liked to say hello back - it would have been rude not to. The worst thing about the relationship, however, was that she lived in the flat across from me.

I had a ground-floor apartment opposite the block that Amy lived in. It was situated along the bank of the river Medway, in an area collectively known as the Medway towns, an inspired name if ever there was one. The most notable towns in the collection are Rochester, Chatham and Gillingham. Rochester, being where I lived, is a tourist haven obsessed with its cathedral, castle and Charles Dickens heritage. Chatham is famous for its dockyard and fort and so the tourists felt safe there, too. Gillingham, on the other hand, has a football team, so the tourists know better than to venture that far down river.

Amy had moved into her flat about a month before I got to meet her. The first time had been at the residents’ summer barbecue, held out on our communal lawn overlooking the river. This had been the first time one of their infrequent gatherings had coincided with me having nothing better to do, so I’d decided it was time I made an effort to attend and finally get to meet them all. They were certainly more than a little curious to meet me. It appeared that Amy, being the newest resident, had been assigned the task of finding out everything there was to know about me. Later I deduced that she more than likely volunteered for the job, as it came naturally to her to make sure she knew everyone else’s business. She didn’t like anyone knowing hers though, which was the first hurdle I had to tackle in our relationship. For the first month I wasn’t allowed to tell anyone, except my closest friends, that we were seeing each other for fear of the neighbours finding out. It was like being a teenager again, staying over at your girlfriend’s house in separate rooms, having to sneak between them in the middle of the night making sure you didn’t wake her parents. I rather took offence to it because it suggested to me that she was embarrassed that anyone should know she was seeing me. Eventually when it got too ridiculous for me to bear any longer, I mentioned the subject to her and she had the nerve to claim it had been my idea all along!

The Saturday following the barbecue I was about to go down to my local, the Nags Head, for a few drinks when I noticed that Amy’s light was on. Figuring that I had nothing to lose I took a chance and knocked on her door. I’d enjoyed her company at the barbecue so I thought what the hell, why not invite her out for a drink? She agreed almost instantly, obviously having nothing else to do, but better still it only took her about ten minutes to get ready. I was well impressed.

‘So, the Nags is your local?’ she asked as we headed off.

‘Yeah, it has been for about two years or so now, ever since the landlord changed at the Foreland.’

‘I used to drink in the Nags a lot myself. It sounds like it was the same time that you were drinking at the Foreland. I must have moved on from the Nags just as you started drinking there. Funny that, us passing like ships in the night and then ending up living so close to each other.’

‘My friend Ian used to work part-time in the Foreland until the landlord changed. His girlfriend dumped him around the same time and so I had to find us an alternative drinking hole to drown his sorrows in as quickly as possible. The Nags Head was the only place that offered the same kind of community spirit.’

‘That must have been awful,’ sympathised Amy. ‘Losing your drinking hole, job and girlfriend all in one go.’

‘It was a bit devastating for him and for me as it happens, seeing as I was his main shoulder to cry on. But it’s OK, they got back together about a year and a half ago and I reckon they’ll probably end up getting married now.’

Ian had worked at the North Foreland public house a couple of nights a week over a six-month period. During that time Julie and I used to go down and drink at the bar all night while he worked. As each evening progressed our intoxication levels would steadily increase, while poor Ian remained behind the bar tethering a cold stone to his soberness more securely with each round. The more drunk we became, the more we’d take the piss out of him for not being allowed a drink while he worked. Every time we ordered a round, we would also offer to buy him a drink, just to rub it in that little bit further.

Each session Julie and I would challenge one another to a pissing contest - or more accurately, a non-pissing contest. The loser was the first one who had to visit the toilet. It was thus vitally important to ensure you completely emptied your bladder before leaving home. The evening would reach a point where both of us would be sat crossed-legged, desperately resisting the urge to give into a swelling bladder. As soon as one of us did, the other would immediately rush off to relieve themselves on their return. The remainder of the night would then transform into a contest to see who could make the fewest trips in total. We had a simple rule to make it fair, which basically required that we match each other’s quantity of drink: pint for pint, short for short. Unless I was having a particularly bad evening I usually won, and the ratio averaged out at two pisses for Julie for every one of mine.

One of the main reasons that we loved the Foreland so much was because of the landlord and landlady, John and Barbara. You didn’t have to be drinking there long before they got to know you by name and from then on the place felt like a home from home. A lot of the younger punters came from the local college, which ensured that an interesting blend of characters frequented the pub on a Friday and Saturday night. You could always rely on meeting a friendly face you knew, as well as spotting a few interesting ones you didn’t.

Julie and I loved to people watch; pointing out the weirdos, assigning them nicknames and making up stories of their humble existence. Our favourite characters were two blokes identically dressed in obligatory charity-shop issue anoraks. They possessed the mannerisms of nerds and looked suspiciously like brothers. We named them “The Jerk Brothers”. By day they spotted trains, but by night they drank in the Foreland before turning into disco-dancing divas jerking spasmodically on the dance floor in what they believed to be their sexy anoraks. Or at least that’s what Julie and I imagined anyway.

Like all good things in life, times change and people move on. As the brewery tightened its greedy grip, it became increasingly difficult for John and Barbara to make a living from something that gave so much joy to so many. Finally, when their lease came up for renewal and they were unable to negotiate a deal worth their efforts, it was time to call it a day. I remember their last night as if it were yesterday. A Tuesday night, normally quiet, but on that evening the place was heaving like it was Christmas and New Year’s Eve together. A stream of old faces, enough to fill a large photograph album, came back to wish them farewell. And that night there was only one goal: to drink the place dry. We weren’t to leave until the last drop of alcohol had been drunk. As the night drew on prices tumbled and barrels emptied with no hope of being replenished, until only a few spirits were left - the spirits that nobody would normally touch. But by that time no one was caring and at fifty pence a shot, no one was complaining either. The final shot was poured around two in the morning and then it was time to say farewell to a part of our lives for good.

Fate had forced Julie and I together in that pub. Spending so many evenings enjoying each other’s company had a profound effect on the both of us. When it was over we each felt the same deep loss. Mine was compounded by the fact that I’d just split up with Kim Walker - another stage three in my life.

Julie and I stepped over the line that night, sharing an intimacy that was always destined to be short lived. By the end of the week I had Ian crying on my shoulder because Julie had split up with him. It was difficult to comfort him with the guilt that I felt, but somehow I managed it. I am certain if it wasn’t for the Foreland, Julie would never have left him, and we would never have had our brief time together.

‘You know a lot of the other residents have been very curious about you,’ said Amy, interrupting my trip down memory lane.

‘Oh, yes?’

‘They’ve all been speculating as to what you do. I have to say, I’ve been rather curious myself.’

‘So what did they all think I did then? I’m intrigued.’

‘Well, there were various theories that cast you as a rather dull and boring subject, such as an accountant, or solicitor or the like. But I suggested to everyone that you were rather more mysterious than that. I convinced them you were a priest with a secret and damning past.’

‘A priest!’ I laughed.

‘I’ve always fancied corrupting a priest myself.’

Was this a come-on I detected here? Or was it just meant as an amusing throwaway comment? Maybe this would turn out to be more of an interesting evening than I’d anticipated.

‘I can assure you I’m not a priest,’ I replied. ‘And it’s debatable as to whether I need corrupting, what with having a purity score of one hundred and ninety-three.’

‘What’s a purity score?’

‘It’s a set of a hundred questions covering the subjects of drink, drugs and sex.’ I took the sheet of questions from my pocket and handed it to her. ‘It starts off fairly innocent with questions like “Have you ever kissed anyone?” and then gets progressively more outrageous. You get points for each question that you answer yes to. The more sordid the question, the more points you can get. The lower your final score, the purer you are. The higher your score, the more corrupt you are.’

Amy scanned the questions with interest as we approached the pub. ‘What’s the highest you can score?’

‘Three hundred and fifty.’

She handed the questions back to me. ‘I’ll look forward to having a go at that later.’

The Nags Head consisted of two bars - a lower bar and an upper bar. Each had a separate entrance but a short staircase ran up one side of the pub, joining both bars. Now, if you frequented the Nags then you fell into one of two categories: a lower bar drinker or an upper bar drinker. This affected who you knew and who you met in the pub. I was traditionally a lower bar drinker, preferring the darker and more comforting surroundings. The upper bar drinkers rarely ventured down to the depths of the lower bar, but every lower bar drinker had no choice but to pass through the upper bar if they wished to use the toilets. The category you fell into also dictated which door you entered the pub through. I habitually made my way to the lower bar entrance.

‘Where are you going?’ asked Amy.

‘The Nags?’ I was slightly confused by her question.

‘Don’t tell me you’re one of those lower bar drinkers?’ she mocked.

‘Well, yes I am as it happens. What’s wrong with that?’

‘Everyone knows the lower bar is where all the dullards drink - anyone worth knowing drinks in the upper bar.’ She continued past the entrance and disappeared round the corner.

I followed her, bemused. ‘Are you telling me you won’t go in the lower bar?’

‘Absolutely!’ She stopped in her tracks and turned to face me. ‘If we’re going drinking in the Nags, then we do it in the upper bar, otherwise we can go drinking elsewhere.’

I was astounded. Amy was obviously someone extremely concerned with her image and what others thought of her. Something that was to be revealed to me more as our relationship developed.

‘OK, I’ll go in the upper bar if it will please you, and also to show you that the lower bar drinkers aren’t prejudiced like the upper bar drinkers obviously are.’

Amy ignored my dig and resumed her course to the upper bar entrance. I followed behind, wondering whether she might expect me to wait outside long enough to ensure she wasn’t seen entering with a lower bar drinker. Luckily, it didn’t come to that.

***

It was about nine-thirty when we entered the upper bar of the Nags Head and the place was already heaving. We made our way to the bar where I got the first round in. I was pleased to see Amy drank pints. We both took a few moments to scan the pub to see who we knew. There was no one I recognised in the upper bar, and from the limited view I had of the lower bar, no one in there either. Judging by the number of smiles Amy was exchanging, I suspected it was going to turn into a reunion party for her. One girl in particular caught her eye and made her way through the bustling crowd to greet us.

‘Hi, Amy, fancy seeing you in here,’ said a slim, blonde girl bearing a striking resemblance to Nina Persson from The Cardigans.

‘This used to be my local a few years back,’ replied Amy, before commencing with the introductions. ‘This is Jake, my neighbour. Jake, this is Ceri, a work colleague of mine.’

We both nodded and said it was nice to meet the other. I offered to buy her a drink on noticing her empty glass. Amy and Ceri chatted about how small a world it was while I ordered Ceri’s drink. It turned out that they had a lot more in common than just their jobs. They both agreed they should make an attempt to socialise together now it was clear they were likely to bump into each other anyway. They continued to talk amongst themselves, moving on to shoptalk, so I took the opportunity to sneak down to the lower bar to see if I knew anyone down there.

I got to the bottom of the stairs and immediately felt at home. This was more my scene. Darker surroundings, corner seats with comfy benches, the juke box quieter so as not to intrude on the conversations of the altogether more civilised clientele. I glanced around and immediately spotted a familiar face. Mark was a freelance graphic designer by day, but by night was one of the most important players in the small but active Medway music scene. He’d played guitar in a number of local bands in the past - most notably The Love Family - but now spent his time trying to run a weekly club, called Collision, for local and up and coming national bands to play at. I went along as often as I could to give moral support and also to keep my ear tuned to the ground. Unfortunately, apathy ruled in the Medway towns and not many were interested in a maverick trying to educate them with the sounds of young talented stars in the making. The average turnout for the club was around fifty, but the venue could accommodate about three times that, so it was rarely as packed as it should have been. This was a shame because the club offered a stage to many great bands, and was also the first place I’d ever seen Alvin Purple.

‘Hi, Mark, how’s it going?’

‘Not that great I’m afraid. I need to find a new home for the Collision Club. The brewery has decided there’s no longer a big enough market in scruffy young kids with dyed black hair and torn jeans, so they’re going to refurbish the place into some kind of “theme” pub.’

‘Oh no, that’s terrible.’

‘Well it’s been on the cards for a while,’ he said dejectedly. ‘But I guess it does offer a good opportunity to re-launch the club somewhere new, which should improve attendance - at least for a while, anyway.’

‘Well you know you can always count on my support,’ I replied encouragingly. ‘Although the main reason I turn up,’ I added jokingly, ‘is on the off chance you might have one of those rare Love Family CDs with you.’

‘Well, Jake, this is your lucky night.’ Mark reached into his pocket and pulled out a home produced CD.

‘I don’t believe it! It can’t be the infamous debut album of the world’s greatest unknown band, can it?’

‘The one and only Love Family,’ he announced gleefully as he slapped the CD into the palm of my hand.

‘I’d almost given up hope of ever hearing this. You are most definitely a star, Mark - or at least you should be anyway. Let me buy you a drink.’

The Love Family had been another one of Medway’s potential stars, but their history had been a sad tale of missed opportunities. They’d released a number of singles, the last of which, Body Soul Heart Mind, had made record of the week on the Radio 1 Evening Session, a fact that nearly made Ian crash his car when he heard it played on the radio. A week later they were in NME as one of the new bands to watch out for and the record companies were all after attending their next gig. The last time I saw them was when they played a supporting slot at the Highbury & Islington Garage, finishing with their grunged-up cover of Soft Cell’s Say Hello, Wave Goodbye. It was an inspired version that alone should have been enough to convince any record company to sign them up, but alas, they weren’t the next Oasis. Finally the band scraped together enough money to go into the studio and record their debut album themselves. But money or enthusiasm, or both, ran out before it ever got released.

I bought Mark his pint and we chatted a while longer before I made my excuses and returned to Amy and Ceri back in the upper bar.

‘Have you two stopped talking about work, yet?’ I asked.

‘Yes, we have.’ Amy cast me a disapproving glare. ‘Did you see anyone you knew down there?’

‘Yeah, a friend of mine who runs the Collision Club. You might have heard of some local bands that have played there - The Love Family or Alvin Purple?’

‘Nope, never heard of them. What about you, Ceri?’

‘No, me neither.’

‘Well, you missed out there,’ I enthused. ‘They were excellent and I’ve just acquired a much sought after copy of The Love Family’s debut album.’ I waved the CD in front of them like it was some precious trophy. ‘I’ll play it for you later if you like.’

Amy didn’t seem that interested and became distracted by a guy with long ginger hair making his way to the bar. As he approached she grabbed his arm and pulled him into our small group.

‘This is Jez - an ex of mine,’ was her rather too informative introduction. ‘Jez, this is Ceri, a friend from work, and Jake, my neighbour.’

‘Hi, nice to meet you, guys,’ came a slow, stoned but enthusiastic reply from Jez.

Ceri and I exchanged concerned looks.

‘Jake, Jez needs a drink,’ urged Amy.

‘Er . . . yeah . . . sure,’ I replied, wondering why she couldn’t buy him one but choosing not to say anything.

‘Hey that would be great, man!’ implored Jez. ‘Make mine a lager.’

I reluctantly ordered Jez a pint from the bar.

‘Jake’s got this great purity test,’ said Amy to Jez. ‘It’s got all these questions about sex and drugs and stuff which you get awarded points for having done or not. It tells you how pure you are.’

‘I haven’t been pure since I was thirteen, man,’ said Jez. ‘I’ll have a go at that!’

I got out the sheet of questions and unfolded it before handing it to Jez, not certain he would be able to cope with folded paper. I borrowed a pen from the bar and handed that to him too. He stared at it momentarily until recognition set in.

‘Number one,’ read Jez. ‘Have you ever laughed at someone else’s misfortune? Sure have, just last night we were all smoking round Dave’s and it wasn’t until the end of the night that he realised we’d been using his current bus pass to make roaches. He was so stoned he collected all the butts together, unrolled them and tried to stick them together again. That made my gut bust, man.’ Jez marked himself some points next to the question. ‘Number two – have you ever tried alcohol? Sure have - it’s what I’m drinking now.’ Jez marked down some more points for himself.

‘Er, Jez?’ I said.

‘Hey, I’m not lying, man,’ he insisted.

‘I know, Jez, it’s just that you don’t need to read the questions out and give us the details of when you last did each one. It’s supposed to be a secret quiz you see. We’re not supposed to know which ones you’ve done or which ones you haven’t, just what your total is.’

Ceri and Amy both laughed affectionately at Jez.

‘Oh, I get it, man,’ replied Jez, his brain finally locating a gear. ‘A secret, right. Shhhh!’ He put his finger to his lips. He continued to read the next question, this time making no sound but moving his lips all the same. He smiled and giggled to himself then marked down some more points next to the question.

‘Er, Jez?’ I said again.

‘Do you want to know about that one, man?’

‘No, it’s just that you’re marking your score next to each question. When Ceri and Amy look at it, they’ll be able to tell which ones you’ve done. It still won’t be a secret.’

A frown crossed Jez’s face. ‘But how do I score it, then?’

‘Can you add it up in your head and then write the number down every ten questions or so?’ I asked hopefully.

Jez thought for a moment. ‘Ah . . . no. I don’t think I could do that, man.’

‘What about tallying them up, you know, where you mark a vertical line for each point and when you reach five you strike a diagonal line through the four vertical lines?’

Jez just stared at me blankly.

‘I know, Jez,’ said Amy, coming to his rescue. ‘You call your score out for each question and we’ll add it up for you.’

Jez’s face lit up. ‘Yeah, OK. That’s cool. I can do that.’

‘How many have you got so far?’ she asked.

‘Wow . . . er . . . three . . . I think.’ A look of concentration creased his brow.

‘OK, go on to the next question, then.’

‘It’s a miracle he can read at all,’ I muttered.

Ceri laughed, but Amy just shot me an accusing look.

It took Jez about fifteen minutes to work his way through all the questions, pausing occasionally to ponder on one, giggling to himself about another and telling us how he hadn’t done some but would sure like to. It was a painful quarter of an hour for us all, with only our drinks and the task of keeping a running total to occupy us. But eventually we had a total.

‘So how did I do, man?’

‘A staggering three hundred and eight out of a maximum of three hundred and fifty,’ I replied. ‘Very impressive - I guess you just need to sleep with your sister, now?’

‘Would do, man, but I haven’t got one.’ He was frighteningly serious.

‘OK, Ceri’s turn,’ said Amy, taking the questions from Jez and passing them on.

‘Do you want us to add them up for you?’ asked Jez.

‘No, that’s OK. I can do that myself thanks, Jez.’

Five minutes later Ceri was ready to announce her score.

‘Let’s hear it, then,’ said Amy.

‘It’s considerably lower than Jez’s,’ she warned.

‘I should hope so, too,’ I replied.

‘I need someone else’s to gauge it against first,’ said Ceri hesitantly. ‘What was yours, Jake?’

‘One hundred and ninety-three.’

‘And yours, Amy?’

‘I haven’t done it yet.’

‘OK.’ Ceri took a deep breath. ‘One hundred and twenty-eight.’

‘Oh you poor, innocent little thing,’ mocked Amy as she took the questions from Ceri and began to assess her own score.

‘Do you want to get your score up, Ceri?’ asked Jez genuinely. ‘There’re a few things I haven’t done so you’d be doing me a favour, too.’

‘Er, no thanks, Jez, it’s all right.’ A rather distasteful look crossed her face. ‘I think I’d rather stay pure and innocent if it’s all the same to you.’

‘Sure, no problem, but just let me know if you change your mind.’

Amy rushed through the questions, and as she casually handed the sheet back to me proudly announced her score to be two hundred and forty-eight.

‘You’ve obviously been hanging around with Jez for far too much,’ I replied.

‘That’s over twice mine,’ said Ceri. ‘Please tell me it’s not all down to Jez?’

‘No, there are only a few things on there I did with Jez.’

‘Hey, yeah!’ An expression of recognition lit up Jez’s face. ‘Number thirty-three, that one was with you Amy, when we . . .’

‘Yes, thank you, Jez, no need to tell everyone - especially if you want to avoid severe pain to your balls.’

‘Woah!’ A look of fear shot across his face. ‘They’re fine, Amy, honestly, I don’t want no more hot wax.’

‘Christ, Jez, sometimes I wonder what I ever saw in you.’

‘You always loved my blow, Amy.’

‘Yeah,’ she sighed. ‘There had to have been something.’

At that moment it was my turn to spot someone I knew entering the pub.

‘Hey, Ian, Julie, over here!’ They made their way through the crowd to join us, displaying big smiles on their faces as they did so. ‘I didn’t expect to see you two in here tonight, I thought you were going out for a meal?’

‘We did,’ replied Julie, ‘but we’ve come in here to have a celebratory drink.’

‘Celebratory?’

‘Yeah.’ Julie looked longingly at Ian. ‘Ian proposed to me tonight. We’re now officially engaged.’

‘No way! Congratulations! Let me get you both a drink.’ I got yet another round in and then introduced everyone with the exception of Jez, who had, thankfully, gone off to the toilets to seemingly check on the state of his balls.

‘Congratulations on getting engaged,’ said Amy.

‘Thanks,’ they both replied.

‘How long have you been together?’

Ian and Julie exchanged a look with each other before Julie answered. ‘Well, off and on about seven years.’

‘Been a bit of a chequered history, has it?’ Amy was prying.

‘Kind of.’

‘When did you first meet?’

‘We first got together in the sixth form at school,’ replied Julie, deciding it was best to satisfy Amy’s curiosity. ‘Split up when we went off to university, got back together again afterwards, split up again a few years ago, then finally got back together again a year and a half ago – third time lucky.’

‘You’re not the ones who used to drink in the Foreland with Jake, are you?’

‘Yeah, I used to work there part time,’ replied Ian.

‘Jake was telling me about that earlier. You split up when the landlord left, isn’t that right?’

I cast Amy an accusing look to try and shut her up, and then changed the line of questioning myself. ‘So, Ian, how did you propose? Did you get down on your hands and knees?’

‘No, nothing quite so romantic I’m afraid. I just said let’s get married and never split up again.’

‘Just as I’d stuffed my mouth full of tiramisu,’ added Julie.

‘Well, I guess you’ll never eat tiramisu in the same light again,’ I suggested.

Ceri, feeling a bit left out of the conversation, promised Amy she would catch up with her at work and then returned to her own group of friends.

‘So when’s the happy day?’ asked Amy.

‘Oh, it won’t be for a couple of years yet,’ replied Julie.

‘I guess you need at least that long to save up for it, and just as long to plan for it, too.’

‘No, they don’t need to save up for it,’ I corrected. ‘Ian’s a rich bastard.’

‘Oh yes?’ said Amy, with a keen interest. ‘What do you do, Ian?’

‘I run my own website design company, which I set up about a year ago. We’re doing pretty well at the moment.’

‘It’s not just his company,’ I pointed out. ‘His parents are loaded, too.’

‘So you’re worth a bit of money, then?’

‘He sure is,’ replied Julie. ‘That’s why we’re going to get married in a huge, grand, country estate and pay for everything.’

‘Hold on a minute,’ said Ian. ‘I didn’t realise I was going to have to sell my company to afford to marry you.’

‘Don’t worry. In two years’ time you’ll have plenty of money to pay for it all.’

‘But there’s one thing I don’t understand,’ said Amy. ‘If you’re so rich, why did you ever need to work in the Foreland?’

‘Well, I’m not rich - not yet, anyway.’

‘You’re richer than any of us,’ I pointed out. ‘Always have been.’

‘I like to think of it more as being well off.’

‘If it makes your conscience feel any better,’ said Julie patronisingly, ‘we’ll call you well off, but when we’re married, I’m going to tell everyone I’m rich.’

‘Anyway, Amy,’ continued Ian. ‘Whether I’m rich or just well off, I didn’t need to work behind a bar at all. It was before I set up my company and I didn’t know what I wanted to do with the rest of my life. I’d always had a fantasy of running a pub, so I thought maybe I could buy one somewhere and do that. I took the bar job for a few nights a week to see what was really involved. It didn’t take me long to realise it’s a lot more hard work than anyone ever imagines. Running a website design company is a whole lot easier.’

‘So what have you been up to today, Jake?’ asked Julie, clearly looking to end Amy’s prying.

Amy answered before I’d even had chance to draw a breath. ‘We’ve just done this great purity test of Jake’s - have you done it?’

‘Yeah, it’s an old one,’ replied Julie dismissively. ‘Has he told you about shagging by association?’

‘No, what’s that?’

‘Well the way it works is that you look around the pub and spot someone who you’ve shagged.’

‘That shouldn’t be too difficult for you, Amy,’ I said sarcastically. She ignored me.

‘Then you find someone who they’ve shagged, either before you or after you, and that person is someone you’ve shagged by association. Then you do the same thing with that person. Anyone they’ve shagged, before or after shagging the person that you did, you have also shagged by association. And so on. For example, if I’d have ever shagged Jake, then Ian and Jake would have both shagged each other by association.’

I liked it when Julie played dangerous games. There was something about it I was very attracted to.

‘Quite often you end up finding that you’ve actually shagged half the pub, including a lot of people you would never want to,’ finished Julie.

‘God, I don’t want to think about that in here,’ said Amy worriedly. ‘I might end up having shagged everyone.’

‘It’s fun when a group of you play it,’ added Ian, ‘because you start to identify people who are important connecting nodes that open up a vast network to others. They’re the ones to watch out for.’

The call rang out for last orders and Ian bought a round of tequila shots before disappearing to the toilet at the same time as Amy.

‘So,’ I said to Julie, once the others were out of earshot, ‘you finally got him to propose?’

‘Yeah, after dropping so many hints I’d lost count. It wasn’t quite the romantic moment I’d hoped for, but then you can’t always have everything.’

‘I’m really pleased for you.’

‘Do you mean that, Jake?’

‘Yeah of course I do,’ I replied as reassuringly as I could.

‘I guess I was still a bit worried as to how you might take it, even now.’

‘I can live with it. After all, it has been nearly two years since we were together. We all have to move on whether we want to or not. But your shagging by association comment did bring back the danger of the time we had together. It’s something I’ve always loved about you, the risks you take.’

Julie looked away, avoiding my gaze and then changed the subject. ‘So what about this Amy girl?’

‘Oh, I don’t know. She’s just a neighbour I met at the residents’ barbecue last week. She showed some interest so I thought I’d invite her out.’

‘Sounds like she’s been around a bit.’

‘Yeah, but she’s quite attractive.’

‘Just make sure you’re careful, Jake,’ said Julie, genuinely concerned.

‘I don’t think there’s much chance of anything happening there. She’s paid more attention to her ex-boyfriend tonight than she has to me.’ I spotted Ian on his way back from the toilets, so made a point of moving on to a different topic of conversation. ‘Did you hear about the Collision Club?’

‘No, what about it?’

‘The brewery’s doing up the pub so Mark won’t be able to use it anymore.’

‘That’s terrible, where am I going to see my beloved Alvin Purple now?’

‘Don’t worry, he’s on the lookout for a new venue.’

‘Amy said she’ll be down in a minute,’ Ian informed me, as he approached us. ‘She’s talking to some ginger-haired guy.’

‘Now there’s a surprise,’ I said sarcastically. ‘I guess we should do these shots without her?’ Come on, after three: one . . . two . . . three . . .’

‘Tequila!’ we all screeched together, then downed them.

***

Amy and I arrived back at our flats at about half eleven. Ian and Julie had left the pub just after finishing their tequila shots, and I’d spent the rest of drinking up time awkwardly waiting for Amy to finish chatting up her ex with only her tequila to keep me company.

‘Thanks for tonight,’ I said. ‘It’s been fun.’

‘The night’s still young yet. Don’t you want to come in for a while? I got some top grass off Jez tonight.’

‘Now how could I resist an offer like that?’

Amy showed me into her living room and dumped a bag of grass on the coffee table. ‘There you go. You’ll find the rest of the stuff in a tin under the sofa. You get rolling and I’ll fix us some drinks.’ She disappeared into the kitchen, leaving me to find the tin she’d talked about.

I looked around the room as I began to assemble the necessary components. The walls were painted a cool lime green with various types of fruit stencilled infrequently about them in a darker green. Most of the contents of the room were also of various shades of green. The floor was covered in pine-effect laminated flooring, and a large deep piled predominantly red rug featuring Aztec figures took centre space. A small coffee table stood on it, upon which lay a copy of Women On Top by Nancy Friday.

‘Nice decor,’ I shouted through to the kitchen.

‘Thanks, I did it all myself.’

‘You’ve done a good job.’

‘What do you want to drink?’

‘Oh, I don’t mind - whatever you’ve got.’

‘Have you ever had Malibu and milk?’

‘No,’ I replied, slightly horrified by the thought. ‘It sounds disgusting.’

‘Everyone says that, but they soon change their mind once they’ve tried it. I’ll make you one. If you don’t like it, you can have something else instead.’ Amy returned shortly with a tray containing our drinks and some snacks to eat. ‘How’s that joint coming along?’

‘OK. I’m not the best person in the world at these, but it’ll certainly be smokable.’ I lit the joint and took a hit from it. ‘You weren’t wrong, this is good stuff.’ I handed it to Amy.

‘Jez is very reliable for that kind of thing. It was lucky I saw him in there because I finished my gear off last night.’

I took a sip of my Malibu and milk.

‘How is it?’

‘I have to admit it’s pretty good,’ I replied, pleasantly surprised.

‘I’ll put some music on. Did you want me to play that CD you got earlier?’

‘Sure, if you don’t mind.’ I took the CD from my jacket and handed it to her.

She put it on and waited for the first track to start. ‘When are you gonna move on from this indie guitar shit, Jake?’ she said after about thirty seconds of it.

‘I take it you don’t approve, then?’

‘You could say that.’ She ejected the CD and selected one from her own collection instead. As the sounds of Orbital began to fill the room she switched on a corner lamp, turned off the main light then sat down beside me. ‘That’s a lot better.’ She took a drag on the joint. ‘They seem like nice people, your friends.’

‘Yeah, they are. We go back a long way.’

‘I’m sorry about that business with my ex.’ She sounded genuinely apologetic. ‘I hope you didn’t mind, it’s just that I hadn’t seen him for so long - you know how it is. I wasn’t trying to rub it in or anything.’

‘That’s OK, it was fine, really,’ I lied.

‘Jez was rather entertaining with that purity test though,’ remembered Amy, smiling. ‘He was so stoned. He must have been caning it all day.’

‘He was certainly hard work.’

‘His score was just unbelievable.’

‘Yours was pretty high, too, though I understand why now,’ I joked, pointing to the copy of Women On Top.

‘Have you ever read it?’

‘No, but I’ve been told about it.’

‘You should read it for yourself. Find out what it’s all about rather than judging it from other people’s edited highlights. It’s a very interesting and liberating book. You’d be surprised how many women relate to it. Men have always been open about their fantasies, regardless of how sick they are. It’s about time women were, too.’

‘I’m all for women expressing their fantasies, and I agree that they don’t do it enough. There’s nothing worse than having sex with someone who can’t express what they want. It’s so frustrating being expected to guess from the way they act. It always seems to lead to unnecessary arguments. I wanted you to do that, why didn’t you? Because you didn’t say so and I didn’t know that raising your eyebrows twice was the secret code for it!’

‘Sounds like some of your ex-girlfriends should read it, too.’

‘Can’t I read it first?’ I said, feigning disappointment.

‘Yeah, I’ll let you borrow it, but get that purity test out first. I want to have a look at it again.’

I took out the question sheet and swapped it for Amy’s joint.

‘I’ve got an idea,’ she said as she unfolded the sheet. ‘Let’s go through this together and tell the other what we’ve done?’

‘Er . . . it’s supposed to be a secret test.’

‘Are you scared?’

‘No, not at all. We can go through it if you like - I don’t mind.’

‘OK then.’ Amy gleefully snuggled herself into the corner of the sofa. ‘Question one – have you ever laughed at someone else’s misfortune? I think we should skip the boring ones.’

‘I’ll tell you what,’ I said as an intriguing idea crossed my mind. ‘Why don’t we just take it in turns to pick a question to ask the other?’

‘Great idea. I’ll go first.’ Amy scanned the list briefly before picking one. ‘Ever contracted a sexually transmitted disease?’

‘Nope.’

‘Good.’

‘What about you?’

‘No, me neither. Your go.’

‘Er . . . ever sell drugs to support a drug habit?’ I asked, after scanning the questions.

‘Technically, yes. I used to supply people and ensured I made enough to pay for my own, but I didn’t have to sell the stuff to support the habit. And you?’

‘No, never sold any on, only ever gave it away.’

‘Next question, then,’ said Amy, moving swiftly on. ‘Ever had sex in a public place?’

‘Oh yes. There was this one time with an ex of mine in a hotel in Cornwall which had a long dining room, one end of which had full-length windows looking through to the indoor swimming pool. The hotel was full of families, so at six o’clock, when they were all having dinner, we sneaked down to the swimming pool and had sex in it. We had to keep stopping because every now and then a little kid would come up and peer at us through the misted window. We got so turned on by the risk of it alone - it was great. What about you, any public places of interest?’

‘Too many to speak of, but I think my favourite was rather boringly up against a tree in the woods. I think I liked it best because of the way the bark felt against my bare back.’

‘Hmm.’ I scanned the list of questions again. ‘Ever fall asleep or pass out during sex?’

‘God yes, there’s been a number of times I’ve had a guy too pissed to finish and I’ve just fallen asleep waiting, long past the point his motion has ceased to effect arousal.’

‘I had someone fall asleep on me while they were wanking me off once,’ I admitted. ‘I was lying there really getting into it and then suddenly the hand motion started to slow and become intermittent before stopping completely.’

‘Did you wake her up again?’

‘No, I let her sleep. I just cast her hand aside and finished myself off. Far less hassle that way.’

‘I know what you mean.’

I handed the remainder of the joint back to Amy as she chose another question from the list.

‘Ever masturbated while on the phone?’

‘Oh, yes,’ I chuckled. ‘I’m always up for a bit of telephone sex. And you?’

‘No, but I did go down on a guy once while I was talking to my brother on the phone. He cottoned on after a while, then had a real go at me and hung up. It was good timing really, because a few seconds later I wouldn’t have been able to speak anyway.’

‘Spit or swallow?’

‘Swallow every time,’ she replied proudly. ‘Those spitting girls are so wasteful.’

‘Did you know that it has been medically proven that swallowing semen helps you lose weight?’

Amy looked at me in disbelief.

‘It’s true. Some medical university in Europe ran a study for a year with about two hundred women - half of them swallowing, half of them not. They were all on the same diet and exercise routines, and at the end it revealed something like a forty-eight percent higher weight loss for those that swallowed. It’s something to do with the chemical composition of semen that helps it attack calories in the digestive system.’

‘It sounds to me like something that the male members of the medical association would make up in an attempt to get more women to swallow.’

‘That’s distinctly possible, but I’ve never been able to convince a spitter to swallow by telling them that fact. I’m glad to hear you don’t need such convincing, Amy.’ I glanced at the purity test to choose another question. ‘Here’s a weird one - ever fantasised over a cartoon character?’

‘Um . . . I’m sure when I was a kid I really fancied that guy in Scooby Doo.’

‘What, Shaggy?’

‘No, the other one.’

‘Scooby?’

‘No, though now you come to mention it, I have always been quite turned on by the thought of doing it with a dog. It’s not something I’d actually do, but there’s no harm in fantasising about such things now and again.’

‘Absolutely not, I find it a bit of a turn on myself.’

‘What, the thought of you having sex with a dog?’

‘No, a woman,’ I clarified. ‘But I do remember a university party Ian and I once went to – the most sordid I’ve ever seen - where someone had kidnapped one of the sheep from the field next door. You wouldn’t believe the number of blokes who were queuing up to have a go. It was sick. Eventually Ian and I decided it had to stop so we joined the queue that led to this ground floor bathroom where it was all taking place. It was torturous while we waited. There were two blokes in front of us and two more behind. One of them behind had already been in and was queuing up for a second go. He kept going on about how it was the best shag he’d ever had.’

Amy’s face was contorted in an expression of disgust and one hand was covering her mouth in horror.

‘We played along making out we couldn’t wait to finally get to ram a sheep, so to speak. The closer we got to the door the more we had to endure the sounds of what was going on within. Finally when it was our turn, we muttered something about how we’d decided to try and both shag her at the same time, bundled in together and locked the door behind us. Inside was this poor, defenceless, and rather worried looking sheep. I opened the window and climbed out while Ian struggled to pick her up, causing her to baa manically, like we were shagging her anyway.’

Amy’s expression had now changed to one of amusement.

‘Ian somehow managed to bundle her out of the window and into my waiting arms, but I’ve no idea how, because the moment she was dumped on me I toppled over and crashed to the ground. The poor sheep landed on top of me then sprang up and broke free of my grasp. Ian climbed out and we chased her around the garden until she was worked up enough to find a way through the bushes and back into her field. We returned to the party and watched from a corner as the blokes in the queue began to knock on the door impatiently and demand we come out and let them have a go. After about fifteen minutes they broke down the door and burst in. But alas, poor Flossy was gone. That was when we decided it was about time we joined her.’

Amy was now giggling away. ‘The Animal Liberation Front would have been proud of you. I think I might actually be able to bring myself to do it with Scooby though, seeing as he’s just a cartoon character and quite sexy for a dog.’

Suddenly an image of Scooby lying flat on his back with Amy straddled across him came into my head. By the smile on his face it looked like it was the best Scooby-snack he’d ever had.

‘What about you?’ asked Amy, as she began to roll another joint. ‘Any cartoon characters in your life?’

‘Well there was definitely something about Jessica Rabbit in Who Framed Roger Rabbit, but I doubt Steven Spielberg ever dreamed up what I had in mind for her. That Roger was one lucky rabbit.’

‘I heard she was rather fond of being taken from behind.’

‘I can just see her bent over now,’ I admitted as I mentally took her from behind while Scooby looked on jealously.

‘OK, since we’ve covered bestiality, I’ll ask the rest of that question. What about necrophilia and paedophilia?’

‘Necrophilia, no - too cold,’ I replied. ‘Paedophilia, well I did fancy Natalie Portman when she played Matilda in Leon, and also Cristina Ricci as Wednesday in The Addams Family - do they count?’

‘I think we can get you locked up for that, but neither of them do anything for me.’

‘What, Natalie and Christina?’

‘No, necrophilia and paedophilia,’ corrected Amy as she lit up the fresh joint. ‘I wouldn’t mind spending a night with Natalie now, though.’

‘Well, that brings us on nicely to the question about sexual activity with a member of the same sex,’ I said, rather happily.

‘I did have a lot of fun with a close friend when I was a teenager,’ replied Amy reminiscently. ‘But I’ve not tried it with a mature female yet.’

‘Yet?’

‘Yeah, maybe one day - should the opportunity arise. What about you?’

‘Yes, been there,’ I freely admitted as I took the fresh joint from Amy. ‘When I was in my early teens I messed around with a friend after school one evening when his parents were out. It was just hand and blow jobs and we only did it the once as an experimental thing.’

‘Did you enjoy it?’

‘Yeah, it was fun and certainly interesting. I’ve not done it since and don’t think I ever will. I think he was more interested in trying it than I was. He went on to be gay whereas I stuck with being straight. He still says I gave the worst blow job he’s ever had in his life.’

‘See,’ said Amy, feeling vindicated. ‘It’s not as easy as you guys think. It takes a lot of practice to be able to give a good one.’

‘I’m always keen to offer a girl as much practice as she requires.’

‘You and every other guy I’ve ever met! OK, next question - ever had sex with a friend’s partner?’

‘Yes.’

‘Did you regret it?’

‘Yes and no.’

‘Are you still friends with them?’

‘Yes.’

‘Do they both know about it?’

‘No, only the one I slept with.’

‘Who was she?’

‘No one you know,’ I lied. ‘What about you?’

‘No, I’ve always been a good girl where things like that have been concerned.’

‘You’d be best advised to keep it that way as well.’

‘Don’t worry. I intend to. It just gets too messy otherwise.’

I handed the joint back to Amy and took the list of questions from her once again. There were getting to be fewer interesting ones left to ask, so I had to look a while for a good one. ‘Right, found one - are you ready for this?’

‘Yep, fire away, whatever it is.’

‘Have you ever been involved in a golden shower?’

‘I have, actually,’ admitted Amy casually.

‘You have?’

‘Yeah, it actually took place near the end of a relationship so we only did it once. We were taking a bath together and I was extremely horny. I knew it was something he was into and as we were in the bath I thought it was the ideal place to try it out.’

‘Did you like it?’

‘Yeah, it was quite a turn on - the warmth of it. And being in the bath it just washed off. I don’t think I’d have liked it if it had been anywhere else.’

‘You certainly have an open mind, Amy,’ I said with respect. ‘I’ll give you that.’

‘It’s not always a good thing, though. Sometimes you speak your mind to someone about what you’d like to do with them and they become horrified. I’ve had a guy walk out on me mid-shag before, calling me sick as he left. I couldn’t stop laughing to myself once he’d gone though, I just thought it was so funny.’ Amy finished her drink and took a long drag on the joint. ‘Have you ever flashed your genitals in public?’

‘Not intentionally flashed, no. I remember when I was about eight, we used to play ‘dare’ when our parents were out, and one of the dares used to be to run naked to the bottom of the garden and back. I was fulfilling that dare once, having successfully made it to the bottom of the garden, but on the way back ran straight into the gaze of the next-door neighbour. I’m not sure who was more shocked, her or me. We both stood there for a moment, staring at each other, her fully clothed and me a naked eight-year-old cradling my genitals. I’ll never forget the look on her face. I ran back in and told the others. We spent about a week in fear of the inevitable knock on our parents’ door. Luckily, it never came.’

‘I’ve never done any flashing,’ admitted Amy, still giggling at my story. ‘But I did do a fair bit of dry humping with my brother when I was that age. You know, the whole doctors and nurses thing.’

‘Didn’t everyone?’

Amy handed me both the joint and the list of questions. ‘Finish that off and ask me another.’

‘OK, have you ever engaged in anal sex?’

‘Oh, definitely,’ she enthused. ‘Sometimes there’s nothing better than a good anal shagging.’

‘Now why haven’t I ever had a girlfriend say that to me?’ I asked in complete awe.

Amy just stared at me as if I already knew the answer and then took the sheet from me again. ‘Next question, have you ever done something to improve your score on this test?’

‘No,’ I replied.

‘Would you like to?’ she asked, with a glint in her eye.

I didn’t need to answer. The next thing I knew I was being led by the hand into Amy’s bedroom to improve my score.

***

December, 6 Months Later

The final straw was plucked from our relationship when Amy and I spent Christmas Day together. Now before I met Amy she was a vegetarian, but as soon as she started going out with me she began eating meat again, like I was her excuse. She always claimed that it was so she could give some to her cat, Tom, a rather rampant virile tom (by name as well as nature), which was always trying to shag my poor defenceless and neutered cat. I think he saw her as a safe lay, without the responsibilities of a litter to follow, and being only two years old who could blame him for just wanting to have a good time? I don’t think there was one cat, male or female, in our neighbourhood that he didn’t try to shag at one time or another.

So on that fateful Christmas Day, we exchanged our gifts before venturing into the kitchen to dish up the lunch. I, as usual, had gone over the top in the generosity department, having spent a fortune a month earlier on a green art deco lamp I’d thoughtfully remembered had taken her fancy, only to receive back three CDs that little or no thought had gone into. The turkey, having now been cooked to perfection, was ready to serve up. The moment it came out of the oven, right on cue Tom appeared through the cat flap, carrying something in his mouth, and scurried off into the living room.

‘Ah, how thoughtful,’ said Amy delightedly. ‘He’s brought me a mouse.’

I’d gotten used to Tom turning up at meal times and being given plenty of scraps of food, but I’d never seen him bring his own along to the party before. I followed him into the living room just in time to see him drop the mouse on the carpet. Now mice may be small, but they’re also rather smart. They’ve been dealing with the domestic cat for years and they know the cat is more interested in the chase than the kill. So once caught, they automatically switch on ‘play dead’ mode, knowing the cat will soon get bored of holding them and drop them to see if they’ll play chase again. Sadly for the cats, this is information they are not privy to. Any mouse knows to lie still on the floor, no matter how much it is prodded, until such time as the cat’s concentration momentarily lapses.

Tom looked up at me with a beaming smile to show how pleased he was with his catch. The moment he did the mouse sprang back to life, darted under the sofa and out of Tom’s reach. Tom tried desperately to follow, only to find he was too big, so he began to claw frustratedly under the sofa and mew manically. Amy came rushing into the room to see what was up.

‘He dropped it and it’s run under the sofa,’ I explained.

‘Ah, my poor boy, Tom.’ She started to move the sofa out from the wall. ‘There you go.’

‘What are you doing?’ I asked, slightly bemused.

‘Just letting him get to his prey.’

‘Aren’t you going to trap the mouse and let it go?’

‘No, it’s Tom’s prey. He caught it to kill so he should do that.’

‘You can’t be serious?’ I was astonished by her attitude. ‘You want him to tear it apart in here?’

‘It’s his natural instinct to catch mice and kill them.’

‘He only brought it in to offer to you as a present. He’s delivered it now, so you should tell him he’s a good boy and set the mouse free.’

It was obvious from this point on that we had a major disagreement on our hands. She believed it to be Tom’s right to hunt and kill the mouse, regardless of whether it was in her flat or not. I believed the mouse had fully played its role in this charade and should now be released. Regrettably, this wasn’t my flat to call the shots in. The furniture was shuffled around in a musical-chairs frenzy until such time that Tom was able to capture and dismember the poor mouse in the centre of the room. The Christmas Day turkey didn’t taste quite the same after that.

Even now I still can’t work out how we made it through the rest of the day together, let alone spending the night sharing the same bed. That was our last night together and understandably we didn’t bother trying to have sex. Without either of us having to say it, it was understood that we’d now split up. By this time it was quite a relief for the both of us, but there seemed no reason why we couldn’t continue to get on, so stage one was initiated: “let’s still be friends”.

This worked well until she acquired herself a new boyfriend. I had nothing against that, but from then on she started treating me differently, and it certainly wasn’t as a friend. Amy still had a spare set of keys for my flat and as she didn’t have a washing machine of her own, since we’d got together I’d allowed her to use mine rather than have to visit the launderette. One day I came home from work early to find her in my flat with the washing machine on its final spin and her playing games on my computer. She made some poor excuse about coming round to feed my cat, doing her washing while she was there and then having to pass the time playing on my computer. Once the spin cycle finished she commenced unloading her washing, amongst which I noticed were some of her new boyfriend’s clothes. Now that was just taking the piss. I figured Amy had moved on to stage two but had neglected to say to me: “I don’t like you anymore and I no longer want to be your friend”.

I decided it was time to join her, so two days later on the Saturday morning I picked up her bottle of washing detergent that had become a permanent fixture on my kitchen work top, and took it across to her flat. Her new boyfriend answered.

‘Is Amy there, please?’ I asked, trying to remain calm and collected.

‘Yes, hold on a moment. Amy, it’s for you!’

Amy came to the door, saw me standing there holding her detergent and immediately went into face-saving mode. ‘Oh, thanks, I’ll be needing that,’ she said as if she’d been expecting my visit. She took the detergent from me and then we both stood there in an awkward silence.

‘Can I have my keys, then?’ I asked, hardly believing she was still expecting to hold on to them.

‘Oh, right,’ she replied, rather flustered as she went off to get them. She returned a moment later, dumped the keys in my hands and then slammed the door in my face.

That was stage three: “mutually assured hatred”. Amy became the inspiration for the last song I ever wrote, Dead Head, the final verse of which I liked the most:

Both your parents must have died of shock,

On the day that you were born,

Or put you away behind a lock,

To live there forever on,

How you escaped may never be known,

The bloke with the key better still have a phone,

I’ll ring him up, tell him you’ve gone missing,

Perhaps this time he’ll kick your fucking head in.

chapter seven

betty beetle

Saturday 20 February, Very Early

‘Jake, wake up.’

‘What?’

‘Wake up, Jake.’

‘What? What’s the matter?’ I asked, still half asleep.

‘Come on, you’ve got to get up.’

‘Why? What time is it?’ I struggled to open my eyes.

‘It’s better that you don’t know,’ replied Sam.

‘But it’s still dark,’ I pointed out, though not being able to see where I was pointing.

‘That’s because it’s before dawn, that’s what we’re getting up to see, remember?’

‘But I want to stay here,’ I whinged in my semi-conscious state. ‘It’s cold and I’m tired.’

‘Let me remind you how you begged me to finish you off last night as you lay there unfortunately incapacitated, and that I only acquiesced to your wish on the condition you’d get up to watch dawn with me from the castle. Despite how much I may have teased you, I’m not going to let you go back on your word now.’ Sam turned the light on.

‘Ow! That hurts!’ I pulled the covers over my head. They were instantly pulled back until my whole naked body was exposed to the chill of the Highland air. As my eyes gradually adjusted themselves to the brightness inflicted upon them, I began to familiarise myself with my surroundings. I was lying in a luxurious four-poster bed in the best room that the Dornie Hotel had to offer. As I noticed a blue silk scarf still attached to one of the posts, I remembered how handy those posts had been last night. Sam was standing at the foot of the bed in front of the open fireplace whose burning logs the night before had kept the goose bumps from our naked flesh. She was already clothed in pure white thermals that hugged her petite figure. She looked down at me with a quizzical expression upon her face.

‘Do you know, Jake?’ she said ponderously. ‘This is the first time I’ve realised how small it actually is.’

‘Hey!’ I covered up my manhood with both hands before realising I only needed one. ‘It’s only because it’s so cold!’

‘Then you’d best get up and put some clothes on, hadn’t you?’

‘Haven’t they ever heard of central heating up here?’

‘No, that’s what they have sheep for, contrary to popular belief.’

‘Well, I don’t remember being offered any sheep when we checked in.’

Sam threw my woollen jumper at me, which landed over my head, temporarily shielding my eyes from the bright electric light. ‘That belonged to a sheep,’ she said in a jokingly sorrowful voice. ‘And the poor thing’s currently standing out in a snow-covered field, naked and shivering, just so you can be warm.’

‘I’m gonna need more than that if you’re to have any hope of getting me outside to join her.’

‘Well if you cast your mind back to last night, you’ll remember that each of your items of clothing, from the outer layer inwards, are discarded on the floor. Starting over there by the door where we came in and leading into the bathroom, where you’ll eventually find your boxer shorts lying next to that luxurious bathtub.’

‘Oh yeah.’ A satisfied smile spread across my face. ‘I remember now. That was fun. How long did we stay in there?’

‘Until you looked like a wrinkled old man and I no longer fancied you - you were lucky I slept with you at all.’

‘Hey, you looked just as bad you know,’ I retaliated, pretending to be hurt.

‘That’s just not conceivable, Jake,’ retorted Sam, in a mocking tone. ‘I’m younger than you are and I have softer and more beautiful skin.’

‘OK, I can’t argue with that.’ I got out of bed, walked to where she was standing and then took her into my arms. ‘But you did dry off with me on that rug in front of the fire, and you did tie me to those bedposts.’

‘What was it - seven times I took you to the brink before you begged me to relieve you?’ asked Sam, smiling devilishly at me.

‘My frustration prevented me from keeping count, you tease,’ I replied, widening my eyes at her.

She pulled herself gently away from me. ‘I’d better make a flask of coffee for us while you get dressed because I can feel it getting bigger, and if I take the time to make it small again, in my usual manner, then we’ll miss dawn.’

‘OK,’ I reluctantly agreed. ‘But only if you promise to make it small again later.’

‘It’ll be my pleasure.’

I located my scattered clothes and began to get dressed while Sam prepared the flask and put some more layers of clothing on herself. When we were sufficiently wrapped up, we quietly left our room and sneaked down the stairs of the Dornie Hotel.

‘I don’t know why we’re being so quiet when we’re the only guests,’ I said as I gently shut the front door behind us. ‘We seem to be the only ones crazy enough to visit this place so early in the year.’

We began to walk up Francis Street towards the castle, the fresh layer of snow crunching under our feet, as we became the first to compact it down. The sky was still dark, but the street lamps reflected off the fresh snow to light our way. The still, night air felt icy cold against the exposed skin of our faces and chilled our lungs as we inhaled it and then spat it out again in visible clouds. As we took each other’s hand the contact of our woollen gloves sent a shiver down my spine. Behind us our footprints marked a trail that would eventually lead all the way to the castle as we marched towards it swinging our joined hands joyfully as we went. When we reached the ornate gate that guarded the entrance to the castle’s stone causeway, I paused and pulled Sam round towards me so that her back was to the castle.

‘Do you remember yesterday morning, when we lay in bed on the train and watched the snow covered hills go by?’ I asked, looking her longingly in the eyes.

‘Yeah,’ she replied softly, a smile spreading across her face as the memory returned.

‘Do you remember we talked about walking on virgin snow and how you always wanted to be the first to leave those footprints?’

Sam nodded her head back at me, never adjusting her gaze from mine.

‘Well look,’ I said, turning her round, placing my chin snugly on her shoulder and pulling her tightly towards me with my arms stretched round her belly. ‘Ahead of us lies a long stone causeway bridging the shallow waters surrounding the castle of your dreams, and it’s covered in virgin snow. If you so wish, your footprints could be the first.’

She turned back round, looked me straight in the eyes and whispered a thank you. She then turned and set off, placing each foot confidently and firmly in front of her to ensure a clear trail as she strode along the dead centre of the causeway. On reaching the middle, she slowed and turned to face the right-hand wall. She stepped slowly towards the wall and shuffled some snow off the top of it, making it look as if someone had sat there. Then she carefully walked backwards to the centre of the causeway again, and turned so that she now faced me. I could see a beaming smile on her face as she slowly began to walk backwards towards the castle, so that it would appear as if two sets of tracks had met in the middle and stopped at the wall. On reaching the other side, she jumped up and down in the air and waved excitedly to beckon me over. I set off along the causeway, making sure to match her every footprint with mine.

‘There lie the footprints of the castle’s ghosts,’ announced Sam as I approached her backwards. ‘The unknown Spanish soldier, killed in the battle when the castle was destroyed, and the enigmatic Lady Mary as they meet to share the eternity of their haunting together.’

‘An eternal secret romance,’ I whispered as I pulled Sam towards me and hugged her. ‘I wish the bastards wouldn’t keep spoiling virgin snow though.’

‘Thank you,’ she said again. ‘That was really sweet of you.’

She took me by the hand and began to lead me up the gentle slope towards the castle. We passed its main entrance and continued on round the left-hand side until we reached a set of stone steps that led down the side of the castle. The steps looked menacingly dark, hidden from the spotlights at the front of the castle.

‘We can get to the most romantic spot of the castle down these steps,’ she said.

‘You want me to go down there?’ I asked worriedly.

‘You’ll be OK. Just go slowly.’

‘But it’s pitch-black. There might be jagged rocks down there waiting to break my bones when I fall on them, and giant crabs ready to nibble at my flesh as I lie there helpless.’

‘Don’t worry, Jake, I won’t let the crabs eat you - trust me.’

‘Hold on a minute, whenever I say that to you, you say never to trust anyone who says to trust them.’

‘That’s just my rule. You don’t need to worry yourself with that now.’

‘Oh, well that’s all right, then,’ I said, jokingly relieved.

Sam started to make her way slowly and carefully down the steps. She made sure her body stayed close against the castle wall rather than the other side of the steps that offered no protection from the pit of flesh-eating crabs. ‘See, no problem,’ she said on reaching the bottom.

‘Are there any crabs down there?’

‘Only the ones I caught off you,’ she retorted quickly.

I followed cautiously after her, finding myself trying to match her every footprint once again. As I joined her at the bottom she eagerly led me round the side of the castle to a spot she obviously knew well. She brushed some snow from a large flat rock and we sat down on it together, leaning our backs against the vast wall of the castle. On either side of us lay two taller rocks that offered some much-appreciated shelter. In front of us more rocks sloped down to the shore, where the water lapped gently. Out ahead, Loch Duich exchanged its contents with Loch Alsh, to be carried past the Isle of Skye and ultimately out into the North Atlantic. We snuggled together to make the most of our body heat.

‘What do we do now?’ I asked.

‘We wait for the sun to rise.’

‘Will it rise ahead of us?’

‘No, unfortunately not, it comes up behind us, but it’ll be beautiful watching it gradually get lighter.’

‘You really love it here, don’t you?’

‘Yeah,’ sighed Sam. ‘Especially having you here with me.’

I hugged her tighter. I had to admit, despite my initial apprehension in dragging myself from the comfort of my bed, this was a beautifully romantic spot and it felt so special to be sitting here with Sam. Her heaven on earth; a place she’d cherished since being a small child and somewhere she’d personally chosen to show to me - one of a few. It seemed so perfect. Suddenly my life had found its meaning. Five and a half months into our relationship and I felt more comfortable with her than I’d ever done with anyone else in my life. Over that time we’d gradually learned more and more about each other, sharing our histories and realising how much we had in common. I was beginning to think that maybe she was the one.

‘Is it me,’ I asked, ‘or does the sky look slightly lighter than when we left the hotel?’

‘Slightly lighter, I think.’

‘But still as cold.’

‘I know a way to warm you up,’ she replied with a glint in her eye as her hand reached for my belt.

I grabbed it and stopped her from unbuckling it. ‘If you think I’m getting my cock out in this weather, you’ve got another think coming. And if you thought it was small in the hotel room, then I’d hate to think what you’d make of it out here.’

‘But I thought you wanted me to make it small again?’ she replied innocently. ‘I promise I won’t get it out, I’ll just play with it a while in its warm home.’

‘OK,’ I agreed, not needing much persuading. ‘But not with your glove on; that wool against my bare flesh would be torturous.’

‘I’ll remember that for the next time you’re tied up and helpless.’ Sam removed her glove and then loosened my trousers. Her hand burrowed its way through my layers of clothing and searched around. Suddenly she stopped and looked at me, an expression of stunned shock on her face. ‘Jake! It’s gone. I can’t find it.’

I rolled my eyes at her and stuck my hand into my trousers to join hers. ‘You’ve got another layer to get through yet.’ I directed her hand with mine. ‘See, there it is.’

‘Oh,’ she said disappointedly. ‘I thought that was one of your bollocks.’ Sam’s hand began to move steadily up and down inside my trousers, but after a minute she frowned and stopped again. ‘This isn’t working, is it?’

‘No, I told you, it’s too cold.’

‘Oh well,’ sighed Sam, removing her hand from my trousers and leaving me to do them back up, ‘I guess I’ll just have to warm my hand up with a coffee cup.’ Sam poured out two cups of coffee and then we sat huddled together, cradling the cups in our hands as we watched the steam rise from them. ‘Close your eyes,’ she instructed softly.

‘Why?’

‘Just close them.’

I obeyed her request.

‘Now listen and tell me what you can hear.’

I listened for a moment. ‘I can hear the water of the loch as the tide laps it against the shore.’

‘Listen harder,’ urged Sam in a whisper. ‘It’s late in the thirteenth century and the castle’s barely forty years old. The Scandinavians have controlled the northern mainland and the isles for almost four and a half centuries. But yesterday, at Largs, Alexander III changed all that. Can you hear the gentle creaking of wood?’

I imagined that I could.

‘That’s the sound of the wind stretching the sails of the defeated Norwegian fleet as it regroups here briefly before limping back home.’

I could almost see the fleet in my mind’s eye and hear the deathly cries of its wounded crew.

‘Wait!’ said Sam suddenly. ‘Can you hear the shouting coming from behind us?’

I listened and waited for her to explain.

‘It’s nearly the middle of the sixteenth century and the Clan of MacRaes now rule this land. Donald Gorm MacDonald, hearing that the castle is weakly garrisoned, has arrived with a strong force to lay claim to the castle. Besieged inside are three men: the constable, the watchman, and a young MacRae who’d been passing the castle and bravely joined them on seeing they were in danger. MacDonald’s men have broken through the gate and are now firing arrows at the castle’s windows. The constable is fatally hit, leaving the other two to fight on alone. But it’s a losing battle and they’re running low on ammunition. The young Duncan MacRae is down to his last arrow and decides to save it until he can use it to his best advantage. As Donald Gorm approaches the castle, believing victory to be close at hand, Duncan fires the arrow and it strikes Donald Gorm in the foot. Too impatient to wait for a physician, he pulls out the arrow and severs an artery on a barb of the arrow. The blood begins to gush from his foot and there is nothing any of his men can do to save him. They carry him away to a little island near Ardintoul, where he later dies. They return, desperate for revenge, and try to burn the castle down. They fail and eventually withdraw, taking the body of their chief with them. Can you smell the lingering smoke?’

I breathed in deeply through my nose and imagined that I could.

‘It’s almost two hundred years later, at the time of a Jacobite uprising. A small contingent of Spanish troops, some three hundred or so, has landed nearby to meet with the Highland force and march on to Inverness. Unbeknown to them, the strong force of Spaniards, due to land in the west of England, has been badly crippled in a storm and has had to limp back home. Their fate has already been sealed and a Government force has set out from Inverness to intercept them. A garrison of less than fifty Spaniards has remained behind to guard the ammunition store in the castle. Three Government ships arrive and lay siege to the castle. A short bombardment ensues, during which a Spanish soldier is killed and cursed to haunt the castle for all eternity. The lingering smoke you can smell is from the smouldering remains of the castle as it lies behind us completely destroyed. Did the bombardment from the Government ships set the gunpowder store alight? Did the Spaniards set light to it themselves before being captured? Did the Government troops set it alight on entering the castle? Or did Colonel Donald Murchison and Christopher MacRae, fearing a Government garrison would be planted there, blow it up themselves? Whoever was responsible, the castle lay here in ruins for another two hundred years before it was finally restored.’

Sam fell silent and after a few moments I opened my eyes. The night sky was now becoming visibly brighter. I looked round at Sam. ‘Why couldn’t my history lessons at school have been as fun as this? Is there anything you don’t know about this place?’

‘Not a lot,’ she replied smugly. ‘You can test me if you like. Ask me a question.’

‘OK.’ I thought for a moment. ‘Where does the name Eilean Donan come from?’

‘It’s Gaelic for Island of Donan. Donan was an abbot who was thought to have lived on this islet as a religious hermit during the seventh century.’

‘Wow, I didn’t realise its history went back that far.’

‘It goes back further than that. They excavated the remains of a Pictish fort from Roman times, and there’s also evidence that suggests an Iron Age settlement existed here.’

‘You wouldn’t believe all that history could take place on such a small outcrop of rock, would you?’ I said. ‘Do you think that anyone will remember us being here?’

‘Not unless we try to burn the place down,’ speculated Sam.

We looked at each other, considering the idea for a brief moment before we both shook our heads, dismissing it. After all, there was only one heaven on earth for Sam.

‘Jake,’ said Sam quizzically after a few moments silence.

‘Yeah?’

‘Do you want to work at the BBC for the rest of your life?’

‘No, not particularly.’

‘Well you know I want to start my own record label?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Would you ever consider coming and working with me?’

‘What, when you’ve set up Emu Patrol you mean?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Doing what?’ I asked curiously.

‘Well I’d need someone to run our website and you’re good at web stuff, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, I guess I am,’ I admitted modestly.

‘That’s settled, then.’

And it seemed to work as simply as that in the Sam Porter rulebook of life planning. She was to set up her own record label and I was to run its website. I got the impression that Sam had been thinking about that eventuality for some time now, but that this was the first time she’d mentioned it. As I’d come up with the required answer almost instantaneously, there was obviously no reason in her mind to discuss it any further.

‘What kind of time frame were you thinking of?’ I asked. ‘Is this something you’re planning to set up soon?’

‘Probably not for another couple of years, I’ve got to find partners and investors and the like yet. I was just thinking of the future, that’s all.’

‘It’s certainly something I’d consider.’

‘What about London?’

‘What about it?’

‘Do you want to live in London all your life?’

‘I’m happy there at the moment, but I’m sure there’ll come a time when I want to get back out of the rat race and return to more peaceful surroundings.’

‘How peaceful?’

‘Well, where you’re not disturbed by police sirens every hour. Where you can sit in a large secluded garden and listen to the birds singing and nothing else. That kind of peaceful.’

‘As peaceful as that?’ Sam pointed across the loch to the other bank, where the increasing light now revealed a small cottage.

‘A bit remote, isn’t it?’

‘Not for me. Since I started coming here, I’ve gradually given up the desire to be the housekeeper of the castle and instead decided that the cottage across the loch was where I wanted to live. From there I would be able to look at the castle whenever I wanted to.’

‘But what about your record label?’ I asked. ‘How could you run that from over there?’

‘You’d be surprised how easily - a fax, a telephone, an Internet connection, a good mobile phone, they’re all you’d need. I’d still have offices and people working in London. It’s only two hours to the airport from here and then an hour and a half flight. By the time my company starts up there might not even be a need to have offices in London. I could probably have them in Glasgow or somewhere else. I wouldn’t move out here until the company was established and I was certain I could run it successfully from here. The world’s changing, Jake. There’s getting less of a need for people to be in the same place all the time.’

‘You’ve obviously thought about this a lot.’

‘That’s because it’s my future, Jake, my destiny.’

‘But I thought you wanted kids? Would you want them to grow up in such a remote place?’

‘Yeah, I think I’d have liked it if I were growing up here now. It depends what kind of family life you create and how dedicated you’re prepared to be to your kids. A lot of people in the cities spend too much time working and worrying about their jobs when they really should be spending time with their families. In places like this you get a great community spirit. Everyone helps everyone else.’

I looked around me now that the light was revealing more of the surroundings, across at the cottage, up and down the bank. It certainly was peaceful, but very remote. I began to feel that maybe I’d been brought here for a reason other than just for a romantic weekend. Was Sam testing me against some kind of mental checklist of hers? Was this the ultimate challenge I had to face before she’d decide whether we had a long-term future together? That could explain why she’d come here with so few people. I wondered how many had sat here before me and taken this test. Would I pass or fail? Did I want this destiny that she was planning? I started to feel uncomfortable with the whole situation as if there was an ulterior motive to everything she’d said and done on this trip so far. Or maybe I was just being paranoid? I decided to shake the feeling off with humour.

‘You wouldn’t find a Chinese takeaway around here, would you?’ I said.

‘You’d have to learn how to cook Chinese yourself, Jake. You could do with spending some time in the kitchen.’

So my new career as a chef had already been planned as well? I told myself to stop being paranoid. I was letting my imagination run away with me. The truth was that I did think it would be a beautiful place to live, and maybe some time in the future I could do it, but not now. I remembered that honesty was always the best policy.

‘It certainly would be a beautiful place to live,’ I admitted, ‘but rather more peaceful and remote than I had in mind. Certainly at this point in my life, anyway. Maybe it might appeal to me when I’m older.’

‘Well my plan would be to have somewhere like this within ten years’ time.’

‘Do they even have schools in places like this?’ I asked, checking whether she’d fully researched her destiny.

‘Of course they do, along with school buses to take you there and cars and microchip technology. Anyway, you could always teach our kids yourself.’

‘Oh, so you get to run the record label and I get to bring the kids up now?’ I said sarcastically, setting my paranoia aside and deciding to play along with her little fantasy.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ She smiled at me. ‘You’re good with technology and maths and sciences, aren’t you?’

‘Yeah, but . . .’ I began suspiciously.

‘And you’re good at writing,’ she complimented. ‘Everything you’ve ever sent me has always been beautifully written and some of it very funny. So that’s English covered.’

There was nothing like a compliment to ease my paranoia further.

‘You’d have to run the history lessons, though,’ I said, starting to enjoy her fantasy. ‘I hated it at school and you seem to be far better qualified at it than I am.’

‘OK, I’ll do the history lessons.’

‘And I’m crap at geography, too.’

‘We can buy you an atlas.’

‘And sport, I’ve always had bad luck whatever sport I’ve played.’

‘You must be able to teach one sport?’

‘No, it really wouldn’t be advisable, believe me. It wasn’t like I didn’t enjoy playing them. It was just that I would always end up having a bad experience that would put me off them. I could recount some of them for you if you’d like?’

‘OK, just let me refill our cups.’

Sam did so and then we snuggled back down together, looking out across the loch and up at the sky that the increasing light was revealing to be heavy with snow clouds. My tension and paranoia had now subsided. I felt comfortable again, believing that we were here together for the experience, and also because I was now about to share some more memories of my past with Sam.

‘Let me think, now,’ I said.

‘I hope you’re not going to make these up?’

‘No, they’re all true. It’s just that they go back a long way.’

‘Well they’d better be all true or I will expose your cock to the cold air,’ she threatened.

‘OK, the first one I can’t teach is gymnastics. Back at junior school, we had this wooden horse that we were being taught to mount using a springboard. We had to run up to the horse, place our hands on either side of it and use the springboard to launch into a squat position on top of the horse. The teacher would stand by the horse to help you and make sure you didn’t fall. I was having a bit of trouble getting this right, but I was really determined to do it. At the end of the lesson, and while the teacher’s back was turned, I decided to have one more go on my own. I prepared myself, ran up to the horse, placed my hands perfectly on each side of it, sprang off the board and landed in a squat position on the top. Success! I’d finally got it right. Unfortunately, my feet were only half on the horse and slowly but surely, I began to topple backwards off the horse and crashed down onto the springboard, landing flat on my back. The teacher was furious and started screaming at me about how I could have broken my back, when what he really meant was I could have lost him his job. But from that moment on, I completely lost my nerve. So that was the end of my gymnastics career.’

‘Ah, poor babe,’ said Sam sympathetically. ‘But that’s OK because I don’t think we’d really have room for a gymnasium over there in the cottage. How about an outdoor game? Something laid back like cricket, perhaps?’

‘Ah well I would, but one hot summer’s lunchtime at the same junior school I decided to watch a game of cricket being played. It seemed to me that the best place to watch it was from behind the wicketkeeper, from where you could get a good view of the bowler, the batsmen, the wicketkeeper and the less interesting fielders. So that’s where I stood. I watched for ten minutes or so and became totally engrossed in the game. Then suddenly, what later became known to me as a wide delivery was bowled to the side of the wicket, right where I was standing. Now I realised I had to get out the way of the ball - I wasn’t stupid - but what I didn’t realise was that the batsman was going to leave his crease, swing his bat in a vain attempt to hit the ball, and strike me squarely on the forehead. He knocked me out cold and I had to go to hospital and have four stitches. I kind of lost interest in playing cricket after that.’

‘OK,’ said Sam, stifling her laughter. ‘That doesn’t matter. Cricket’s a very English game, and we’re in Scotland now, so you can forget about teaching our kids that one. Rugby might be more appropriate.’

‘I’m afraid not. Even though it was a game I enjoyed in my last year at junior school, when I moved to senior school the rules suddenly changed. Now instead of just touching someone to get the ball I was expected to throw myself at their running legs and risk getting kicked in the face. Worse still, if I ever got the ball then other people were encouraged to throw themselves at me!’

‘So, you got kicked in the face, then?’ Sam managed to ask, between chuckles.

‘No, worse than that. One day the teacher was really slagging off our team - saying how crap we were and trying to fire us up into doing better - when the good old Lewis determination kicked in. So I gave it my best shot. I ran after some big bastard who had the ball and it turned out I could run faster than him, seeing as I had less weight to carry. When I caught up with him I gritted my teeth and launched myself at his legs. He came down like a lead balloon, right on top of my arm and broke the fucker! That’s the only time I’ve ever broken a bone in my whole life.’

‘Oh, poor babe,’ said Sam again, giggling as she began to rub my arm gently. ‘What about non-contact sports? Basketball?’

‘I’d be no good at that either.’

‘Why? What could possibly go wrong with that?’

‘The good old Lewis determination, that’s what. It was never a game I was ever going to excel at because I wasn’t tall enough, but I always gave it my best shot. One games lesson our team wasn’t doing very well when suddenly I was passed the ball and found myself with space around me. I saw my chance to make a clean break for the basket so I set off, dribbling the ball perfectly down the court towards it. There was no one to stop me taking a clean shot. I looked for my team to see who was there to back me up, but there was no one. They were all stood motionless at the other end of the court. Then it struck me. This was the second half, we’d changed ends and I’d just taken the ball all the way back to our basket. Everyone just shook their head at me in disbelief. I passed the ball back to someone who’d been paying more attention and didn’t get another touch of it for the rest of the game.’

‘Maybe we’ll just have to pay for some professional sports tutoring,’ Sam finally agreed, still chuckling.

‘Now I come to think of it though, I don’t recall anything bad happening whilst playing badminton.’

‘Badminton it is, then. You can teach them that.’

The sun had fully risen now and lit the sky that was soon to provide us with a fresh sprinkling of snow.

‘Come on, let’s get back,’ I said. ‘The dawn, your castle, and your cottage are all very beautiful and I love that you shared them all with me, but I’m getting cold now.’ I helped Sam up and we made our way back round the castle to the stone steps, leaving her destiny and my final exam behind. As we reached the steps I was shocked at what the daylight now revealed to me. ‘Shit! Look at those rocks! I could have been killed if I’d fallen onto them. And is that a giant flesh-eating crab I see there?’

‘It is, Jake! Quick, get up those steps - it’s coming right for us!’

We sprinted up the steps like kids being chased by imaginary monsters and ran back down to the causeway. We walked back across it in single file, carefully retracing the ghosts’ footsteps to ensure Sam’s illusion remained. As we approached the Dornie Hotel, snow began to fall from the sky.

‘That will cover up the ghosts’ footprints,’ I warned.

‘That’s OK - their love affair will remain a secret. Come on, let’s go back to bed and see if we can find that small cock of yours.’

***

Thursday 24 June, 6:00 AM

I woke up again. It was still light. Only this time it wasn’t the loving arms of Sam I was wrapped up in, but those of Betty, a 1963 navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle. Our first night together had been surprisingly pleasant. Admittedly, I’d had initial reservations about our relationship and for the first two hours she’d treated me rather roughly, leaving my body aching and a ringing in my ears. Once we’d settled down together, however, with Betty cooling off her engine and me reclining in her springy seat with my jacket thrown over as much of my body as it could cover, we’d developed an understanding. Both of us had been through considerable trauma in our lives. Mine had been over many hours, whereas hers had been over many years. On this bright and sunny morning, I was certain we each knew exactly how the other felt. Granted, she wasn’t much of a looker, but then looks weren’t everything. She had a heart of gold and I was even becoming quite fond of her musty smell. It was almost homely and made a pleasant change from that offered by Brendan’s puke. I’d never owned a car that I’d become attached to before and I’d always thought it rather strange hearing someone treat their car as if it had a real personality. But now I was beginning to understand.

I sat up abruptly. ‘Fuck!’ I shouted. I looked at my watch. It was just after six and I’d missed dawn. My one chance to take some pictures for Sam as the sun began to light up the castle and I’d slept through it. If only Betty had had a real personality, I was certain she would have understood the importance of taking pictures at dawn and would have thus woken me up. But I knew her real task lay ahead of her yet. She was here to chauffeur me around this loch and help me acquire the things that would convince Sam we had a future together. I only hoped that her old and frail mechanics were up to the job. There was one thing I needed to take care of first - I was starving. I grabbed my bag from the passenger’s seat in order to locate one of the chocolate bars I’d bought in Edinburgh. As I opened my bag the stench of Brendan’s festering puke shot up my nostrils, causing me to gag. I threw myself against Betty’s door, forcing it open, and fell coughing and spluttering onto the tarmac. That was it. I’d had quite enough of Brendan for one lifetime. After sufficiently recovering I emptied the contents of my bag onto Betty’s driver’s seat, picked my puke-stained clothes from my scattered possessions, took them over to the nearest waste bin and dumped them in.

I went back over to Betty, took a bar of chocolate from her seat and checked it for any lingering remains of Brendan’s puke before opening it and biting off my first chunk. I surveyed my surroundings as the chocolate began its daunting task of filling my empty stomach. So here I was at Sam’s heaven on earth. It looked a lot greener than when I’d last seen it four months ago and it was certainly a lot warmer. The sky was clear and the warmth of the sun was already beginning to challenge the coolness of the gentle breeze. The castle looked unchanged, as it probably had throughout most of the seasons of its life. In just over four hours I would need to leave here if I were to get back to Inverness in time for my half-one flight.

I finished my chocolate bar, grabbed my disposable camera and pushed Betty’s door gently to. I took a shot of the castle from where I stood and then walked to the end of the car park furthest from the causeway. I took another shot there, hoping to perfectly capture the reflection of the castle in the loch’s water, before walking to the causeway entrance. There I captured a close-up of the ornate gate and then commenced my journey across the stone causeway, which had been covered in snow the last time I’d set foot on it. On my way across I took a few more photos at various points before wandering around the perimeter of the castle using up more of my film. Finally I descended the stone steps that I’d previously ventured down in pitch-blackness and returned to the spot where Sam and I had sat that cold late February morning.

I sat down and breathed in the fresh air. A sudden and overwhelming sense of loss flooded over me. I looked across the loch at the cottage where Sam wanted to live. I missed her now more than I’d missed anyone else in my life before. Would the fact that I was here really mean anything to her? Or had I come all this way for nothing? I could hear the distant cries of seagulls, which sounded like children playing across the loch in the garden of the cottage. I imagined their father trying desperately to teach them how to play badminton while their mother looked on, her face filled with joy and a first-aid kit ready and waiting in her hand. A fantasy I’d indulged in with Sam, but one that I now wanted to turn into reality. I took a picture of the cottage across the loch but was unable to capture the image of the family living there so blissfully. I got up and returned to Betty.

It was time for Happy Holder to do his stuff. I retrieved him, along with the four bags of flour and my Polaroid camera from Betty’s seat. Returning to the causeway, I walked across it until I was about halfway, at the same point the ghosts had met. There I took two bags of flour and spread them atop the wall. I placed Happy Holder on top of my makeshift snow so that he faced away from the castle and then spread a few flakes about his base. I rested the Polaroid further down the wall and lined it up so that Happy Holder and the castle were both in frame. I set the camera on timer, took another bag of flour and stood slightly away from the wall so as not to be in shot. I began to sprinkle the flour from above Happy Holder, causing it to gently float down like the early morning snow we’d encountered on our way back to the hotel. The Polaroid took its snapshot and I dispersed my snow clouds.

I waited a few minutes for the picture to fully develop and then inspected the image. You could just see my hand in shot at the top of the picture. I repeated the process and this time the picture revealed no trace of me. The illusion was perfect. I had the proof that Happy Holder had taken his own holiday here in the winter and he looked so happy to be standing in the snow in front of the castle - Sam would freak. I decided then that my relationship with Happy Holder was over and that I should leave him here to live out the rest of his life with the castle’s ghosts. On my way back to Betty I checked the opening time of the gift shop; it was half past nine. That would give me an hour to choose something special for Sam before I had to depart - ample time. I got back into Betty, placed the Polaroid of Happy Holder safely in my jacket, started her up and switched on my iPod.

On leaving the car park we took the road to Dornie and then turned off right onto a tiny road that led to Carr Brae. As Beulah began to sing about Popular Mechanics For Lovers I hoped it wasn’t knowledge I was going to need as I assured Betty the hill was worth climbing, encouraging her on as she struggled to climb up to the scenic viewpoint at the top. I pulled her over into the parking area to take a rest and got out to take some more photographs. The view was astounding. From here you could look down upon the castle and get a completely different perspective of it. I took a number of pictures of the castle and other views of the loch while Betty recovered. We then continued along the road to Carr Brae, and which eventually led back down to the loch. We joined the A87 again and followed it to the other end of the loch. I turned Betty off the road just before Shiel Bridge and followed the road towards Ratagan, which would take us along the five-mile stretch on the other side of the loch. As Depeche Mode began to sing Behind The Wheel I cranked up the volume, wound Betty’s window and finally started to enjoy my trip for the first time. Only when Madness began to sing Driving In My Car did I sense Betty relaxing, too.

The road ran close to the shore this side of the loch and after passing through Letterfearn I pulled Betty over at a remote spot and walked down to the shore. The castle was visible further down on the other side of the loch. Sam and I had never had time to venture this side of it, nor had dared to with the weather we’d experienced when last here. I knew this was something she would have liked to have seen so I took another picture. As I was about to leave I noticed an interesting piece of driftwood lying on the shore. It was made of dark wood, almost oval in shape, about two feet by three, and looked like it could have come from any number of wrecked ships associated with the castle’s history. I picked it up and explored its surface with my fingers. It was extremely smooth, the elements having taken a considerable time to achieve this, and also surprisingly heavy. It was perfect; Sam would love it. I knew instantly that it was what I’d come here to find. I placed it back on the shore and then stepped back to take a photo of it, ensuring the castle was visible in the background. Then I picked up my prize and returned to Betty.

We continued along the road until we reached the very end, where I pulled Betty over once more to let her have a well-earned rest as the Stereophonics finished singing of Traffic, despite the fact we hadn’t seen another vehicle on our entire journey. Ahead of us lay Sam’s cottage and directly across the loch stood her castle. I got out of Betty and left her to cool down. It was deathly quiet. There were no children being taught a new game in the garden. The cottage looked deserted. It had stone walls, crooked windows and a thatched roof. A small weathered-looking wooden fence ran round the perimeter, meeting the entrance of a wooden garage on the right-hand side of the cottage and extending out of sight on the other. The gate that had once protected the path to the front door lay open and at an angle that suggested it hadn’t been operational for some years. I took a picture of the cottage and then walked to a spot where I could frame the cottage with the castle in the background. Once I’d captured that shot, I took the path through the fence and walked round the left-hand side of the cottage.

I stopped halfway round as the castle came into full view across the loch. It looked so different from this angle as it proudly sat there on its pedestal above the water. I captured the image for Sam and then continued on round to the back of the cottage, where the garden gently sloped down to the waters of the loch. There I prepared to take another photo that would encompass the whole garden along with the expanse of water that stretched across to and beyond the castle itself. As I squeezed the shutter release on my camera I was startled by the sound of a gasp coming from behind me, which caused me to jolt the camera just as the shutter opened. I looked round to see a typically rural middle-aged woman drop a washing basket full of clothes onto the ground before fleeing back into the house.

‘Hello!’ I shouted welcomingly. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.’

There was no response. I walked over to the basket, crouched down and began to pick up the clothes that had fallen out, placing them carefully back in the basket. As I picked up a pair of red, silk underwear I paused and looked at them for a moment, feeling their softness with my fingers. I was reminded of the pair of Sam’s I’d removed with my teeth on the sleeper train.

‘Donnae fuckin move, yer fuckin pervert!’ said a menacing voice, disturbing me from my thoughts.

I looked up and found myself staring down the single barrel of a shotgun. Attached to the other end was a tall, broad man with dark curly hair and a similarly styled beard. My eyes widened and my jaw dropped.

‘Get yer filthy hands off a ma wifey’s undies,’ he instructed slowly but menacingly.

Oh shit! I’d been caught red-handed. Not that I was actually guilty of anything, just that it unfortunately looked that way. ‘Hold on - don’t shoot!’ I pleaded relatively calmly. ‘This is not what it looks like. I startled your wife and she dropped her washing. I was just picking it back up for her when this red pair of underwear caught my eye. They remind me of a pair my girlfriend has, you see.’ A smile of familiarity spread across my face. ‘They’re exquisitely soft and silky.’ I held them out towards him to demonstrate the fact as I rubbed them between my thumb and forefinger - an extremely regrettable thing for me to do.

He raised his shotgun so that he was now looking straight down its barrel at me. He looked to be considerably angrier than he had been a moment ago. ‘Ah said, get yer filthy, perverted hands off a ma wifey’s undies.’

I decided the best course of action for the moment was to drop the underwear I was currently fondling and raise my hands in the most submissive nature I could convey.

‘Good.’ He lowered his gun. ‘Ah see there’s one form a communication people like ye understand. Noo stand up and move away from ma wifey’s undies.’

‘Look, you really have got all this wrong,’ I insisted, starting to become slightly concerned for my safety, as I slowly stood up and took a few paces back from the washing basket.

‘Noo move that way.’ He waved his gun to my right.

I slowly walked round the basket. ‘I’m sorry I startled your wife. I meant no harm. I just came here to take a few photos.’

‘Hopin tae catch ma wifey in her undies, wiz ye?’

‘No, no, not at all!’ I continued following the gestures made by the barrel of his gun until we’d swapped places, the gun and its owner now standing where I’d been and me now with my back to the cottage. ‘I just wanted some pictures of your cottage and its garden.’

‘Ach, waitin for her tae hang her undies up so ye could take yer perverted pictures a them?’

‘No, no - you don’t understand!’

‘Right, noo ah wan ye tae walk slowly backwards in tae ma hoose.’

Shit! Why did this always happen to me? Why did my life always turn out to be so difficult? It wasn’t like it was still Wednesday - it was Thursday now, a new day. I thought this kind of nightmare had stopped at midnight, when Betty had actually turned out to be a reliable wreck. I suddenly wished again for her to have a real personality so that she might be able to sense the trouble I was in. Perhaps she’d then remember the courageous acts her cousin Herbie had exhibited, come tearing through the garden fence, hurtle round the side of the cottage and chase this madman into the loch, her bonnet gnashing hungrily like the jaws of a shark. I considered making a run for it, hoping that Betty would have at least turned round and be waiting to make a daring escape, but I wasn’t totally convinced of my own fantasy. Instead I did as I was told and began to walk backwards, glancing repeatedly over my shoulder to make sure I didn’t trip over anything. As I moved through the doorway my raised hands struck painfully against the top of the doorway. Once inside I found myself in the kitchen of the cottage. I continued backwards until I bumped into a large wooden table and could go no further. I watched silently as the shotgun owner entered the cottage.

‘Noo put ye camera down on tae ma table.’

I placed my camera gently onto the table behind me and then raised my arm again.

‘Noo move over tae that chair an sit down.’

I followed his instructions and sat down, making sure to keep my hands raised above my head. Things were not looking good. The man obsessed with my alleged perversions was standing ahead of me with a shotgun, blocking the exit into the garden at the back of the cottage. To my left lay the kitchen sink and units below a set of windows that displayed the view out of the side of the cottage. On the top of one of the units sat a cousin of Happy Holder. To my right was the large kitchen table and beyond that was a door in the wall that ran behind me, which I could only assume led to other rooms in the cottage. In the furthest corner of the room, a half-open door revealed a toilet roll holder attached to the inside wall of a small room which formed an outcrop in the corner of the kitchen. The wall that led from there to the back door had an antique chest of drawers below a window which revealed the castle of Sam’s desire across the loch. It stood there motionless through the window, tormenting me.

‘Margaret!’ shouted the man to his wife, as he pushed the back door closed behind him with his foot.

Margaret entered the kitchen through the door to my right.

‘There’s some tape in the chest a drawers, hen,’ he said to her, never once taking his eyes off me. ‘Tape his hands together behind the chair so he cannae use them.’

‘There’s really no need for that,’ I protested. ‘I’m not going to hurt anyone. This is all just a misunderstanding.’

They both ignored me as Margaret located the tape and then walked round behind my chair. I decided it was best I offer no resistance as she took my hands from above my head and taped them together at the wrists, behind my back. She stood up and moved back behind her husband, who placed the shotgun down on the worktop beside him.

‘Ah think we caught ourselves a pervert here, hen,’ said her husband triumphantly. ‘He’ll be that prowler Constable MacRae has been telling us tae look oot for.’

MacRae? Now that name rang a bell. Hadn’t that been a clan name in one of the history lessons Sam had given me? I was almost certain it had, and now it seemed they were part of the local constabulary.

‘Aye, ah think ye be right there, Hamish. Ye be doin MacRae out a his job soon enough.’

Hamish looked directly at me. ‘Enjoy takin pictures a lassies’ undies, dae ye? Gie ye a thrill, daes it?’

I decided I should forget about tracing the local clan history and get back to straightening this mess out. ‘I’m not a pervert and I wasn’t taking photos of your wife’s underwear.’

‘Ye disnae come from round here, dyae?’ said Hamish quizzically. ‘Where ye from, pervert.’

‘I’m from London, and I keep telling you I’m not a pervert.’

‘Ye look like a pervert tae me. Dis hae look like a pervert tae ye, hen?’

‘Aye, havnae seen a pervert close up before, but ye looks like how ah’d imagine one looks.’

‘Please, believe me, I’m not a pervert and I meant no harm, honestly!’

‘Ye the one’s been messin wi ma sheep, too?’ asked Hamish accusingly.

‘No! I wouldn’t do a thing like that. I’ll have you know I once helped liberate a sheep from that kind of abuse.’ I could tell he didn’t believe me.

Hamish walked over to the table, picked up my camera and then returned to the safe distance his wife stood from me. He raised my camera in front of him. ‘Ye got pictures a ma sheep in here? Or just pictures a lassies’ undies?’

‘It just contains pictures of the castle and your cottage, that’s all,’ I explained innocently.

Hamish glared at me suspiciously and unconvinced. ‘Dyae mind if ah ave a wee look?’ Before I could answer he slammed the camera down hard onto the kitchen top. The plastic casing split in several places. He forced open the back and proceeded to pull the film from within, exposing all the pictures I’d so carefully taken, not stopping until the full strip of film had been removed. ‘Cannae see any pictures a castles an cottages,’ he said sarcastically. ‘Or sheep an undies. Disnae matter mind, ah be sure Constable MacRae goantae have a few questions tae ask ye.’ He scrunched the film up into a ball and threw it at me. It hit my face and then fell down to rest on my lap.

I stared down at it, my face frozen in shock. All the pictures I’d taken for Sam were ruined. It was over. This was the last straw. There was nothing more I could do now. I’d come all this way, been through so much, all for the girl I loved and now I had nothing left but a piece of wood I had no way of proving hadn’t just come from the banks of the river Thames. I’d now been kidnapped and was helplessly tied up in a cottage in the middle of nowhere with the imminent threat of ending up in the hands of the law for the second time in two days. Outside sat a clapped-out 1963 navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle that I was fantasising about being rescued by. It looked like Detective Inspector Donohue and Constable Jacobs had been right - maybe I did need some professional help after all?

‘Whit ye goantae dae wi him, Hamish?’

‘Take him tae MacRae an collect ma reward,’ he replied triumphantly.

‘They were for my girlfriend,’ I said in a whisper as if nothing else mattered in the world any more.

‘Whit?’ asked Hamish, momentarily distracted from his conversation with his wife.

‘The pictures,’ I said slowly as I raised my head to look at the two of them, tears swelling in my eyes. ‘I was taking them for my girlfriend.’

‘Yer lassie’s here wi ye?’ He was now slightly concerned that perhaps I wasn’t a pervert after all.

I shook my head. ‘No, she’s back in London, but her heart’s here. It always has been ever since she was a child.’ I turned my head slightly to gesture out the window. ‘That castle across the Loch is her heaven on earth.’

Both Hamish and Margaret stared at me with puzzled looks upon their faces.

‘She’s loved that castle ever since she was a little girl. It’s never left her dreams since. For years she wanted to be the housekeeper there, but she changed her mind and decided she wanted to live in your cottage instead. She brought me up here to show me the place back in February. It was snowing then and it all looked so different. We sat outside the castle across the loch there and watched dawn together. We imagined what it would be like to raise a family in your cottage. I came back up to take some pictures of it for her. I thought it might show her how much I loved her, how far I was prepared to go for her. I thought it would convince her that we have a future together. That’s why I was in your garden. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I wasn’t taking pictures of your wife or her underwear. I was just picking it back up for her. I just wanted some beautiful pictures to take back to my girlfriend. That was all.’ A tear fell from my eye and ran down my cheek, closely followed by another. I bowed my head to hide them and they began to drop onto the crumpled remains of the film that still lay in my lap.

‘Whit a load a bollocks!’ said Hamish. ‘Ah havnae heard such a pathetic story in aw ma life, havnae ye, hen?’

‘Ach, naw, Hamish, it sounds tae me like the type a thing a pervert would say tae try an appeal tae yer better nature so ye’d let him go.’

I looked back up at them, my mouth hanging open in disbelief and my tears instantly drying from the shock. That wasn’t how they were supposed to react! I’d been to the movies enough times to know. They were meant to sympathise and let me go to continue on with my valiant quest, wishing me the best of luck as I left. Not to turn it round and accuse me of trying to con them!

‘Ye English always thought us Scots tae be thick,’ said Hamish accusingly.

I couldn’t believe it! They were really going to hand me over to Constable MacRae and have me branded as a pervert. How was I going to get out of this one now? I’d played my last trump - the ace of honesty - and they’d called a no-trumps round! I stared up at Happy Holder’s cousin on the worktop. Why had I abandoned Happy Holder back on the causeway? I could have got his cousin to send a signal to him. Happy Holder could have then climbed into Betty’s driver’s seat, driven her round the garden, smashed into the cottage through the window in order for me to jump in and make our glorious escape. Well, it was more likely to happen than Betty doing it on her own - wasn’t it? I looked desperately around the room for a more rational way out. As my eyes fell back upon the toilet holder, a cunning plan crossed my mind.

‘Margaret, go get the Land Rover oot the garage.’

Margaret left the kitchen through the back door behind her, heading off in the direction of the garage.

‘Do you think I could use the toilet before we leave?’ I asked.

‘Ah dinnae think ye’ll be needin ’til ye get tae MacRae’s.’

‘But I’m really busting to go. I haven’t been yet today and it’s been building up for a while now. All this excitement has kind of loosened it up a bit. I’d hate for it to come out while we’re in your car.’

‘Ye’ll just have tae make sure ye keep control a yer bowels, naw?’

This wasn’t working. I really needed to get into that toilet, but Hamish wasn’t falling for it. I needed to figure out something desperately quickly that would convince him to let me use the toilet.

‘I had this haggis last night, you see,’ I revealed. ‘And it really hasn’t agreed with me too well.’

Hamish laughed. ‘Ach, ye English cannae stomach our Scottish food.’

He still wasn’t going for it. I began to work my bowel muscles, squeezing them together to brew up a pocket of gas before finally letting rip. A long, loud, drawn-out fart rippled from my buttocks and ricocheted off the wooden seat. Hamish’s face suddenly changed to an expression of horror. The pungent smell of the combined waste from the digested contents of one McDonald’s meal and one Burger King meal drifted past my nostrils. I took a subtle whiff of it just to ensure the concoction was right and then praised the gods for having invented fast food. As the smell slowly drifted over to Hamish, his nose began to wrinkle and a moment later he was forced to place his hand over his nose and mouth.

‘Ma Goad! Cannae ye see a doctor fur that?’

‘I’m going to be like that all the way in the car. It would be far better if I could get it all out now.’

‘Ach, aw right.’ He motioned me to get up from the chair. ‘But naw funny business. It’s the wee room in the corner there.’

As I stood up the crumpled remains of my film fell to the floor. I stepped over it and walked to the toilet as Hamish followed close behind - though not too close. I stopped as I reached the door and raised my taped hands behind me. ‘I’ll need these undone, unless of course you’re willing to wipe my arse for me?’

Hamish immediately located a pair of scissors from the chest of drawers and cut through the tape, freeing my hands. I walked into the toilet and smiled at him as I closed the door in his face. I silently slid the bolt on the door across and then turned round. As I’d hoped, a small window was set in the wall above the toilet. I began to rustle my belt and trousers with one hand, as if I were undoing them, while carefully lifting the latch of the window with my other. I heard Margaret re-enter the kitchen and Hamish begin to explain to her what was going on. As I climbed up onto the toilet seat and then onto the window ledge, I began to blow huge raspberries like I hadn’t blown since I was a child and let out sighs of satisfaction as I began to expel the imaginary haggis from my system. The last thing I heard before I dropped onto the grass outside the window was the disgusted comments of Hamish and Margaret as they moved away from the toilet to avoid the expected stench.

As I hit the ground I crouched down and ran as fast as my lowered position would enable, round to the back of the cottage, along under the rear window, past the back door and finally round to the other side. I sprang up to my full height and sprinted as fast as my legs could carry me back to Betty as if I were once again on that school rugby pitch and determined to tackle the opponent ahead of me. I ran to the driver’s door forgetting that the handle was missing and thus had to launch myself across the bonnet. I slid off by the passenger’s door, yanked it open and clambered in.

‘Come on, Betty, we’ve got to go, we’re in big trouble,’ I whispered to her as I shuffled across to her driver’s seat. I pulled her keys from my pocket and inserted them into her ignition. ‘I need you now more than anyone has ever needed you before.’

I turned her key. Her antique starter motor groaned into life and began to force her tired pistons reluctantly round. I pressed her accelerator, injecting too much fuel into her engine. It woke up briefly from its nap before the excess fuel backfired in the exhaust, expelling a cloud of black smoke and hitting the snooze button. Betty’s engine fell back into a doze again.

‘Come on, Betty! Please! Don’t let me down now. Think of your cousin Herbie. Whatever he can do, you can do better. Hamish and Margaret are bound to have heard you backfire, and they’ll be out here any second. Come on, do it for me, please!’

I turned her ignition once more and pressed the accelerator more gently this time. Her engine woke up again and this time kept on turning its pistons like it was out for an early morning run. I yanked Betty’s gear stick painfully into reverse, floored her accelerator and released her clutch. Betty’s rear wheels spun ferociously, sending gravel flying into the air, but failed to gain sufficient grip to move us. I eased off her accelerator to let her tyres bite. Agonisingly slowly Betty began to putt-putt her way backwards, lurching jerkily to show annoyance at the use of her reverse gear. I pulled as hard as I could on her huge steering wheel to give her the full lock she needed to achieve the arc to turn us round. I was too late on her brakes to avoid her rear demolishing a segment of the garden fence before we stopped. I apologised to her as I located her first gear and then pressed her accelerator. Betty jerked forwards, momentarily struggling to free herself from the garden fence before we were finally away. I could hear metal scraping along the ground at the back of her and prayed it was only her bumper.

‘Come on, girl!’ I shouted to Betty in encouragement as we headed along the road and away from the cottage. I glanced in her rear-view mirror and saw Hamish and Margaret appear in the centre of the road, the shotgun raised in Hamish’s hands.

‘INCOMING!’ I screamed as I threw my body desperately to the left, removing my hands from her steering wheel to cover my head as my torso slumped onto her passenger’s seat. Betty’s rear window exploded inwards in a thousand pieces as chips of glass scattered themselves about her inside. Betty had been hit. How badly I didn’t know, but I prayed it was just a flesh wound. I sprang back up into her driver’s seat to see her heading directly for a tree. I feared the wound was fatal.

‘LOOK OUT, BETTY!’ I screamed, and yanked her steering wheel desperately to the left. The trunk of the tree flew past her driver’s window and smashed into her rear wing, knocking Betty sideways. I struggled to take control of her steering wheel as we careered across the road towards the trees on the other side.

‘Stay with me, girl!’ I pleaded as I pulled her steering wheel back the other way to try and tame her sliding rear, all the while using my feet as best I could to stop her engine slipping into a state of unconsciousness. Suddenly she was back with me, seemingly recovered from the shock of being hit, and we were heading straight along the road together again. Maybe it was only a flesh wound after all. I looked in her rear-view mirror again and saw Hamish and Margaret clambering into their Land Rover to set off in hot pursuit of us. We sped along the unfamiliar road as fast as we dared. As the road began to twist and turn we had to slow considerably to avoid hurtling off into another tree. I feared Hamish and Margaret were gaining on us fast. As the road straightened out again revealing a long stretch ahead of us that ran close to the shore, our pursuers appeared larger than life in Betty’s rear-view mirror, confirming my fears. I could see that Margaret was driving and that Hamish had begun to clamber out of the passenger’s window, his shotgun in hand ready to take another shot at Betty. I knew that another hit could be fatal.

‘We’ve got to do something drastic, Betty!’ I declared in desperation. I began to weave her back and forth across the road, but only succeeded in giving Hamish a meandering target. He would certainly have to follow our path through the sight of his shotgun, but I knew it wasn’t going to be enough to stop him from hitting us. Then Betty made a personal sacrifice. She jettisoned her rear bumper and it skidded along the road behind us, sending sparks flying. Margaret braked hard and then swerved, almost causing Hamish to lose his shotgun. The passenger’s side wheels of the Land Rover ran over Betty’s bumper, but both tyres survived the impact. Our pursuers had dropped back, but it had not been enough to stop them.

As I floored Betty’s accelerator I could hear her engine pounding deafeningly away behind me through the broken window. I knew she was trying her hardest. Her tiny speedometer needle was shaking uncontrollably as she attempted to break her personal land speed record.

‘Come on! Come on, Betty! Faster! You can do it!’ I urged encouragingly. But it was still not enough. The Land Rover loomed ominously in Betty’s mirror as Hamish and Margaret began to gain on us once more. As the Land Rover came within ten metres I saw Hamish begin to clamber out of his window again. This was it. He was surely going to shoot Betty straight through her engine compartment this time. There was nothing more either of us could do. Then I remembered Betty’s personal sacrifice. It was time for me to follow her example.

I grabbed Sam’s shipwrecked driftwood from Betty’s passenger seat and in one swift motion threw it behind me and out of her back window. In Betty’s rear-view mirror I witnessed Margaret’s face light up in horror as the driftwood flew directly towards them. She violently swerved in a desperate attempt to avoid the oncoming obstacle, causing Hamish to lose his balance and his shotgun along with it. The driftwood struck the passenger’s side of their front windscreen, failing to break it but causing a number of large cracks to appear. The driftwood tumbled off to the side and struck Hamish a glancing blow. The Land Rover careered from side to side as Margaret fought to control it, all the while falling further back behind us. Her desperate attempts to tame its wild motion threw the car off the side of the road, down the shore and into the waters of the loch, finally coming to rest once the bonnet became fully submerged.

‘We did it, Betty!’ I cheered, as we sped off together, leaving our pursuers to wade ashore from their sunken vehicle. We continued along the road, reducing speed slightly to give Betty’s engine a rest, until several miles later we finally approached the A87 again. I pulled Betty over to the side of the road and cut her engine. I yanked open her door and threw up.

***

After throwing up, my whole body began to shake as the shock of the events I’d just experienced set in. I sat there for about fifteen minutes calming myself while Betty rested her tired engine. All the while I kept my eyes glued to the rear-view mirror just in case our pursuers reappeared drenched and angrier than ever. It seemed like my whole life had flashed before me in that time until it reached the last nine and a half months of my life, where my thoughts lingered again. The truth was I had nothing. I’d come all this way and in just over an hour I was going to have to leave to start my return journey to London. I had nothing to show Sam: no pictures, no shipwrecked driftwood, nothing. Only a Polaroid of Happy Holder and a catalogue of events Sam would never believe in a million years. The A87 lay ahead of us. To the left it ran along the loch to the castle, to the right it led to my flight back home. We could take either. If we turned right I would return to London with nothing but the bitter taste of failure. If we turned left I might still find something special for Sam in the castle’s gift shop. I didn’t know whether Betty would last the journey back to Inverness, let alone another trip to the castle. It was a decision that only she could make.

I started her up, engaged first gear and set her in a slow forward motion to take us up to the junction, ensuring that no part of my body touched her steering wheel. As we approached the junction Betty began to veer to the left. Was it really her own decision? Or was it just due to the camber of the road or the misalignment of her tracking? I couldn’t be sure, but I took it as a sign, grabbed her steering wheel and set us off along the A87 back towards the castle. Sam’s compilation seemed to approve of the decision as I switched it back on in time to hear the Fountains Of Wayne sing about their Survival Car.

We stopped in the castle’s car park once more where I went into the gift shop to look around. It didn’t take me long to find something for Sam – a Lilliput Lane model of the castle. It was only about five inches square, but it would have to do. As I went up to the counter to pay I noticed some disposable cameras and so bought one of them also. I placed the model safely back on Betty’s passenger seat and then commenced re-shooting my photographs. I retraced my footprints about the car park in order to recapture the photos I’d taken there before heading across to the castle. On reaching the causeway I stopped abruptly in my tracks. Happy Holder was gone. I wondered what had become of him. Maybe he’d dived into the water and swum across the loch to live out the rest of his life with his cousin in the cottage? Or maybe the ghosts had taken him into their care for all eternity, leaving me with only the memory of him and a Polaroid from his holiday? Whatever it was I would never know.

I spent the next fifteen minutes trying to recapture the photos I’d taken around the castle. I even ventured back down the steps to take a shot of my recent prison across the loch. I half expected to see Hamish and Margaret standing in their garden and shaking their fists at me, but the place looked deserted once more. On returning to the car park I stopped and took a long look at Betty. She seemed so different from last night when we had first met. Then I’d seen nothing about her that had remotely inspired me, but now she was the most beautiful car in the world. I decided to take a picture of her to cherish forever, as she sat there quietly resting, before climbing back in and put-putting her back up to the scenic viewpoint. I finished my film off there and then we set off on our long journey back to Inverness. I joyfully rolled my ‘R’s along with Cerys and the rest of Catatonia, but detected that Betty had had quite enough Road Rage for one day; Mercury Rev’s Goddess On A Hiway was far more befitting her.

At the airport I found a quiet spot to park Betty - avoiding the Long Line Of Cars that Cake were singing of - so that she would be able to have an undisturbed rest. I gathered up all my belongings that had became strewn inside her and placed them in my bag. It was time to say our goodbyes. I placed one hand softly on her steering wheel and gently patted her dashboard with my other. ‘You’ve meant a great deal to me, Betty,’ I said, feeling the emotions rise within me as I finally understood how some people became so attached to their cars. ‘I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for me and the sacrifices you’ve made. When I see Sam again I’m going to tell her all about you. Goodbye, old girl.’

I climbed out and held her driver’s door open, feeling reluctant to close it for the last time. I looked her up and down. She’d come through pretty well. She’d lost her rear bumper and window, gained a few more holes in her backend and an extra large dent in her rear wing, but apart from that she was still in pretty good shape. Her precarious front bumper was still hanging on for dear life. I pushed her driver’s door closed and as I did so, her remaining front hubcap fell off and clattered onto the floor next to me. ‘Let me get that for you,’ I said affectionately as I bent down and carefully placed it back onto her wheel. ‘There you go, all fixed.’ I gently patted her hubcap, picked up my bag and walked silently away.

In the airport terminal I got my first proper meal of the day and then checked in. On boarding the plane I sat in a window seat and waited for take off. I was finally going home. I’d been through so much in the last thirty-six hours it was hard to believe. Happy Holder had been through most of it with me and now he’d gone off to find a new life for himself. As for my life, it seemed that I owed it to a 1963 navy-blue Volkswagen Beetle named Betty. Thanks to her I was heading back to London with photographs of Sam’s heaven on earth, a model of her favourite castle and a holiday snap of Happy Holder, all of which I hoped would convince the one true love of my life of our future together.

As the seatbelt light extinguished I put my iPod back on and began to listen to Autophilia or ‘How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love My Car’. As The Bluetones sang about a car that was in far better shape than Betty had been in a long time, I reclined my seat, closed my eyes, and began to wonder what would become of her.

chapter eight

pig out

August, 4 Years Earlier

They say that as one door closes another one opens. But in fact, when one door closes it just reminds you of how all the other doors in your life closed before it. Even if another door opens immediately, it will probably end up closing in the same manner and with the same force that the previous one did. When you are young and naive, that newly opened door looks very inviting and so very different from the one that has just closed. So inviting in fact, that you dive through it without a second thought. What you find within seems so much more beautiful than anything you left behind, that it lulls you into a false sense of security, until one day, without warning, you turn round to see that door unexpectedly closing. As it swings shut the realisation hits you that from this side, it looks exactly the same as the one that closed before. It wasn’t a different door after all.

Once you’ve had a few of these experiences you begin to get wise to them, and take the time to stand outside the open door so that you can study it for a while. Looking at the paintwork on the outside for cracks that might reveal a habit of being slammed shut, for instance. You also peek through the door while it is wide open to get an idea of the potential joy and danger that may lie within. But what you really want to know is what does that door look like on the other side? Does it look the same as the one that is standing shut behind you, or is it different somehow? No matter how long you stand outside the door craning your neck to try and see the other side, you can’t. It’s just not possible without committing yourself to stepping through, but by then, it’s too late.

About four years before Sam had begun to think of closing her door on my life, and nearly two and a half years before Amy Stevens had slammed hers in my face, Kim Walker and I reached “stage three” just in time for hers to be bolted shut. Little did I know how quickly another door would swing open.

It was a Tuesday night in August, the last night at the North Foreland public house. It had been our home for over two years, but tonight was to be the last time that the family we’d come to know so well would frequent it. John and Barbara, the landlord and landlady, had finally thrown in the towel as the grip of the greedy brewery had become too much. So tonight we were all going to party like there was no tomorrow, because as far as we were concerned without the community that they’d built up, there really was no tomorrow.

The North Foreland had a long central bar running parallel to the street, serving three separate bar areas: the front cabin bar, the raised bridge bar at the left-hand end, and the back bar that led out to the patio. Like the Nags Head, most punters had a particular bar that they would always drink in. Julie and I preferred sitting on the stools along the cabin bar, which provided convenient coat hooks under its lip. We were always slightly pissed off if we got there late, or for some reason it was busier than usual and we were unable to sit at the bar. We’d hang around, quietly sulking and ready to pounce on any stool that became vacant. We also had a particular spot at the left-hand end of the bar that we liked to sit in. If we didn’t get that, then we would play musical stools all evening, moving from one to another as they were vacated until we reclaimed our spot. The only problem with it was that people would insist on using the cigarette machine next to it, which was very annoying. We believed they should all have to wait until one of us lost the non-pissing contest and had to temporarily vacate our bar seat in preference for a ceramic one.

As I walked along the river Medway from my flat to the Foreland, just before eight o’clock, the noise of a hundred or so punters already merrily enjoying themselves told me that the party had started without me. I entered the Foreland through the cabin bar door as I usually did.

‘Over here, Jake!’ called Barbara on seeing me enter.

I looked over to where she was standing behind the bar and was immediately blinded by the flash from a Polaroid camera.

‘Thanks, Jake. It’s for the photo album. Here, hold that a minute.’ She handed me the slowly developing Polaroid. ‘What do you want to drink? First one’s on the house.’

‘Pint of lager, please,’ I replied before adding curiously, ‘What photo album?’

Barbara began to pour my pint. ‘I’m taking pictures of everyone tonight to put in a photo album for us to remember you all by.’

‘Great idea.’ I began to watch my picture develop.

‘Is Kim not with you tonight?’

‘No, we’ve split up,’ I replied casually.

‘Oh, I’m really sorry to hear that.’ She handed me my pint. ‘How’s that photo coming along?’

I showed her the Polaroid, which was now almost fully developed. I was forever going to be remembered by John and Barbara as a startled bunny.

‘It’s strange, a lot of them have come out like that.’

I glanced around the pub as I took a much-needed gulp from my pint. I could see John and Ian were serving up in the bridge bar and Donna - one of the regular bar staff - was currently serving the back bar. I smiled at her as she caught my eye. ‘I see you’ve conned Ian and Donna into working tonight.’

‘Everyone’s in tonight,’ replied Barbara. ‘They’re all doing short shifts throughout the night, as long as they can all remain fairly sober that is.’

I shook my head in mock disbelief. ‘I never thought I’d see the day you’d let your bar staff drink, Barbara. No wonder the brewery are chucking you out!’

Barbara smiled at me and then was immediately distracted by another punter entering the pub. She picked up her Polaroid and took another picture of a startled bunny. I thanked her for the drink and then made my way up to the bridge bar. It was packed. I found it odd the way everyone felt the need to cram themselves into one of the smallest areas in the pub. I attracted Ian’s attention across the layers of thirsty punters. ‘Where’s Julie?’

‘She was out on the patio last time I saw her.’

‘I’ll go have a look out there, then. You got long left on your shift?’

‘I should be finished about nine. I’ll catch up with you then.’

I made my way through the jostling punters and out onto the patio. As I stepped through the French doors I saw Julie standing in the far corner chatting away to a group of people I vaguely knew. I stood and took in her profile for a moment. Her long blonde hair flowed over her shoulders and down to the small of her back, its thickness and shine looking irresistibly luxurious. Her small curved ski-jump nose looked cuter than ever as it sat between her high cheekbones. She wore a short-sleeved blue top that stopped just above her navel. It hugged her body tightly, defining her slim figure. A pair of indigo Levi’s similarly hugged her legs and ended at a pair of blue-suede Doc Martens.

She caught sight of me out the corner of her eye. A huge beaming smile spread across her face and her blue eyes sparkled. ‘Jake!’ She excused herself and rushed over to greet me. Her eyes momentarily searched frantically behind me before she ventured to kiss my cheek and hug me gently. ‘I like it when Kim’s not around, it’s so much more fun greeting you then.’

‘It looks like you’re going to enjoy greeting me an awful lot more from now on, then.’

She frowned. ‘Why’s that?’

‘Kim and I split up.’ I waited for the sympathy I knew I would get.

‘Oh, Jake, but I thought you were getting on really well. I thought that was why you went on holiday together.’

‘No, that was all her idea.’

We were interrupted by a punter trying to get through the doors behind us, so Julie took me by the hand, dragged me back inside and led me to the cabin bar. As most people were out drinking on the patio we were lucky enough to locate two free stools and position them in our usual spot. From here we had a good view of the whole cabin bar, could see through the small serving area to the back bar and also up through to the bridge bar. It was perfect for people watching. We’d tried many different positions in the pub, but had eventually decided that this one offered us the best all-round view.

‘You’d better tell me all about it,’ said Julie once we’d settled down and she’d put on her concerned listening face.

‘She wasn’t really suitable for me, was she?’

‘Well, I didn’t like to say anything, Jake.’

‘I realised that before we spent the week in Newquay. We hadn’t been getting along for a while, so it was foolish of me to agree to go.’

‘So why did you?’

‘I thought a week away together would be fun. I thought we’d be able to get along on holiday.’

A confused look crossed her face. ‘Why haven’t you said any of this before, Jake? I thought you’d been happy for the last six weeks. You never mentioned any of this to me all the times we’ve sat here drinking together.’

Julie was right, I hadn’t. I’d never wanted to burden her with it. I’d enjoyed our evenings together so much that it had been a welcome break to see her and get away from Kim. I just wanted to enjoy the time with Julie for myself and forget about Kim. She was nothing to do with our evenings in the Foreland. It was fortunate that her occupation as a nurse made it difficult for her to insist on joining me. On the odd occasion that she’d come along, it hadn’t been the same. Julie and I had made it our own little club and we didn’t accept new members.

‘I didn’t like to mention it,’ I said, simplifying my reasons.

‘I’m disappointed in you, Jake. You know you can always rely on me.’

‘I know, I’m sorry, I should have said something.’

‘So did you split up in Newquay?’

‘No, last night, but things started going wrong during the holiday.’

‘Start at the beginning and tell me all about it,’ insisted Julie.

‘OK. Well when we first started going out everything was fine. Seeing each other a few times a week, whenever it fitted in with her shift work, seemed to suit both of us. I was quite happy because I still had time to drink here with you and go out with Ian and the others. The only thing that wasn’t that good was the sex, but it was improving.’

‘I’m shocked, Jake! I’d always believed you to be some kind of stud.’ She winked at me.

This was a reputation I’d been previously unaware of, but one I thought was well worth defending. ‘It wasn’t me who needed to brush-up on my technique I can assure you!’ With my reputation safely restored I continued on with my story. ‘For the last few weeks Kim had been acting really strangely. One minute wanting to see me and then the next minute not. She’d blame her mood swings on all sorts of things, her period, stress at work and so on. And at the time I believed every one of them, but now I’m not so sure any of it was true. I think she was just using me, only wanting to see me when it suited her. She probably thought I was the crap one in bed.’

‘Why do you think she was making it all up? I could tell she wasn’t really suited for you, but she did seem honest.’

‘I’m getting to that,’ I replied, urging her to be patient. ‘Anyway, she started on this idea of us going away for a week down to Newquay. She was really into it and seemed to be keen to spend a lot of time with me for a change. I was hacked off with work and needed a break, so I agreed. We booked it up and went down there the Saturday before last, as you know. When we got there we realised we were sharing a hotel full of screaming kids running about all over the place, when what we were really after was a nice relaxing romantic holiday.’

‘Not a good start, then?’

‘No, but we stuck it out, and for the first half of the week we had a good time. We lay on the beach, tried out some surfing, went to the cinema, ate at the best restaurants and tried out the local nightclubs. Then on Thursday we were out walking at lunchtime and Kim was wearing this off-the-shoulder number. I noticed this huge zit forming on the back of her shoulder, so I repositioned her top to cover it up. She then turned round and snapped at me, pulled her top back off her shoulder and told me I had no right to dictate how she dressed. I tried to explain to her, but she was having none of it and stormed off in a huff!’

‘She sounds a bit unstable, Jake. You should have mentioned this stuff before. I’d have told you exactly what to do with her.’

‘You haven’t heard the worst of it yet! The rest of the day was a bit awkward, but she’d calmed down by the evening. Over dinner in an Indian restaurant she said she wanted to tell me why she’d been acting so strangely. So I listened carefully while she revealed that her mother was seriously ill with cancer.’

‘Oh shit!’

‘Of course I was as sympathetic as I could be and it kind of cleared the air for a bit. On the Friday we had the best day of the whole week and an amazing shag in the hotel swimming pool.’

‘Oh yeah?’ Julie’s eyes widened.

‘So on Saturday we got up to pack . . .’

Julie interrupted me. ‘Wait, tell me more about the swimming pool.’

‘Like what?’ I hadn’t expected this to be a part of the story I was going to dwell on.

‘Everything, what you did, what it was like, everything.’

Here I was desperately trying to get the burden of this story off my chest and Julie wanted to know about the intimate sexual act Kim and I had shared in the swimming pool. She seemed extremely interested actually, and I have to admit the thought of sharing it with her was strangely appealing to me. ‘Can I just finish the rest of the story first?’

‘OK, but as long as you promise to tell me about the swimming pool afterwards.’

‘I promise. So, we got up Saturday morning to pack before leaving and it was obvious that Kim was in one of her moods again. I figured she was just worried about her mother and the best thing to do was to leave her alone. She hardly said a word to me all the way back apart from when we stopped for some food. When I eventually dropped her off at her house it was such a relief. I started thinking to myself that the best thing to do was to finish with her. But I couldn’t think of a way to do it without appearing to be a heartless bastard. Then on Sunday evening at about nine o’clock the phone rang and it was Kim. She was all apologetic and said she wanted to meet me to talk. I agreed, hoping it might give me an opportunity to finish with her, but then the plot thickened. It transpired that she wanted to meet me in the car park overlooking the river. It was a place I knew she liked to go on her own, and somewhere we’d been together at night before, so I said OK. My mind kept nagging at me that there was something not quite right, but all the time I was also thinking that it was perfectly natural behaviour for her. About fifteen minutes later I drove into the car park and pulled up alongside her car. As I got out she rushed up to me with this worrying look on her face and announced that as she’d driven into the car park her electrics had cut out and now her car was dead. She’s got a Mini so I looked in the boot and noticed the battery earth lead had broken right off. I ended up towing her back home and we never got to talk. She was all apologetic and extremely grateful and told me to come round Monday evening at seven so she could cook me dinner to make up for it.’

Julie looked at me suspiciously.

‘Yeah, I know how it looks and sounds now, but I was blind to it then. I turned up at her place last night to find no sign of a dinner and to have her flatmate tell me that Kim had gone out with her ex-boyfriend, who’d just arrived back in town. That’s when I finally realised how much she’d been taking me for a ride. Her car hadn’t broken down like she’d said at all. She’d gone there on her own and got stranded. She’d then gone to a phone box and called Mr AA Man - muggins here - and made up some bollocks rendezvous story to get me down there. I was fucking furious and felt so humiliated. I went round to see her tonight to have it out with her, and she didn’t even try to defend herself. She just stood there, looked at me and told me: “Hey life’s a bitch”. I asked her if it was true about her mother and she just laughed at me. So I told her she was the bitch, not life, and then left.’

That was it, I’d managed to get it off my chest, but in doing so I’d also worked myself back into the angry state I’d been in earlier. I’d written my first song then to get rid of my anger. It had been all about how Kim had used me and how I felt about that and I’d entitled it AA Man. Unfortunately, I couldn’t really channel my hatred through that outlet now, so I took several gulps of my lager instead. Julie recognised my obvious state of anguish and placed her hand affectionately on my leg. That felt better than any song I could ever write.

‘I can’t really say anything to that, Jake.’ The sympathy was clear in her voice. ‘Apart from the fact that you’re obviously better off without her.’

‘Too bloody right! I don’t understand why she had to be so deceptive, though. If she’d rung me up and told me the truth, I would have been more than happy to go and help her out. Why did she have to abuse my trust like that? And why was I so blind to it?’

‘I don’t know, Jake. Some women are just like that. They get into a habit of charming men and lying to them to get what they want, and then they think it’s the only way. You just need to try and spot that in the future before you get taken for a ride again. Sometimes their deception is so good that even us girls can’t detect it.’

‘Did you see it in Kim?’

‘No. I knew there was something about her I didn’t like, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it.’

‘Well warn me next time, will you? Even if it’s just something you can’t quite put your finger on.’

‘OK, I promise. Now tell me all the juicy details of what you and that bitch got up to in the swimming pool.’ She removed her hand from my leg and leaned forwards eagerly.

‘Oh all right, then,’ I agreed reluctantly, but secretly relishing the thought of telling her. ‘The hotel had this small swimming pool, which we went for a swim in at around six o’clock because we knew all the families would be in the dining room at that time and so it was guaranteed to be empty. Now the hotel had this long dining room with windows at the end which you could look through into the swimming pool. The windows always had some condensation on so you had to stand up close to be able to see through properly from either side. We were messing around in the pool and Kim decided to take her top off, which of course got me horny, so we started playing with each other through our costumes. She pulled my trunks down and then completely removed them, so I did the same to her. Then we started shagging, at a depth such that her breasts dipped in and out of the water as I lifted her up and down, and with our swimming costumes floating on the surface around us.’

Julie was intently staring into my eyes, an expression of extreme intrigue fixed on her face, as she listened to my every word and imagined Kim and I in the swimming pool.

‘I was facing away from the windows and Kim was looking over my shoulder towards them. Suddenly she told me to duck down so that our heads were just above the water. She then revealed to me that a small boy was peering through the glass at us. We had to stay like that, still locked together in the throws of passion, for about a minute until he got bored or got called away by his parents. We then continued humping away, speculating as to whether he’d run off to tell his parents that something strange was going on in the swimming pool. We figured he just told his friend because a few minutes later another boy turned up and had a peer at us. Thankfully he was the last and we managed to finish off what we’d started before collecting our costumes and making a hasty retreat back to our room.’

‘Jake, I never knew you were such an exhibitionist.’ She sounded rather impressed.

‘I’m not, but I have to admit the risk of getting caught was quite a turn on.’

‘I wish Ian felt like that. He won’t do anything in public, he’s far too straight.’

At that moment Ian came down from the bridge bar and clocked us together. ‘I might have known you two would end up in your old seats for the night. You want another round?’

‘Yeah,’ I replied. ‘And two tequila chasers as well.’

‘We were just talking about you, Ian,’ said Julie matter-of-factly.

‘Oh, yeah?’

‘We were discussing your inability to have sex with me in a public place.’

‘I completely sympathise with you, Ian,’ I said, rising to his support. ‘I’d be ashamed to shag her in public, too.’

Julie glared at me. ‘You’re supposed to be on my side, Gonzo!’

I shrugged. ‘Now and again I have to stick up for my mate.’

‘Have you been to the toilet yet, Jake?’ she enquired suspiciously.

I shook my head with a smug look on my face.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely. And what about you?’

‘Nope.’

‘Is that your first pint?’ I pointed at her now empty glass.

‘Yep.’

‘Then it looks like we may have an even contest on our hands.’

‘Only I started drinking before you, Jake, so it’s not quite even.’

‘It’s close enough,’ I said dismissively as Ian returned with our drinks. ‘Would you care to join us in a tequila?’ I asked him.

‘I think I can risk getting sacked tonight.’

‘Do you think they cleaned it?’ asked Julie.

‘Cleaned what up?’ I replied.

‘The swimming pool, after you and Kim shagged in it. Or do you think the families went and swam in it the next day?’

‘I don’t think they cleaned it very often. It was thick with chlorine. Anyway, we probably had to swim in the little kids’ piss so it’s only fair they should have to swim in Kim’s juices with my sperm swimming desperately around them searching for eggs.’

Julie grimaced.

Ian slammed three tequila shots down on the bar. ‘After three, then, one . . . two . . . three . . .’

‘Tequila!’ we all screeched in high-pitched voices, attracting attention to ourselves, and then downed our shots.

‘They’re not on the tequila already are they?’ asked John, in trepidation from the bridge bar.

‘I’m afraid so,’ Barbara shouted back as we all laughed.

***

Ian was finally relieved from his duties at quarter past nine, by which time at least another fifty customers had squeezed themselves into the premises. He joined us and attempted to catch up on our alcohol consumption, which was already putting an unbearable strain on my bladder.

‘It’s no good,’ I announced as I got up from my stool. ‘I’m going to have to go for a piss.’

‘Ha, ha, you lose,’ declared Julie as a wicked laugh escaped from her mouth. ‘The last contest at the Foreland and I’m the winner!’

I stuck two fingers up at her jovially and headed off to the gents. When I returned I found Ian sitting in my seat and Julie’s empty. ‘I suppose she sloped off to the toilet the moment I was gone?’

‘I’m afraid so.’

‘Oh well, there’s only two stools so I guess she’ll be standing when she gets back.’ I sat down on her seat.

‘Julie said you split up with Kim.’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well you’re best rid of her.’

‘Why does everyone tell me that now? That kind of advice would have been far more useful several weeks ago.’

‘You probably wouldn’t have listened if I’d told you then.’

‘Yeah, you’re probably right. Well as one door closes another one opens, so they say. Though I haven’t seen any sign of a new door yet.’

‘I think you might have to wait a bit longer than a few hours.’

Ian was right, but quite often in life when you lose something you’re used to, the best thing you can do is fill the hole with something else. Whether it is the same kind of thing you’ve just lost or whether it is just something to fill your time; something is better than nothing. I looked around the pub. There had to be someone here amongst all these people I could strike up a friendship with, or even a relationship for that matter, to take my mind off of Kim. After all, it wasn’t as if Kim was the one - we were never that serious - so I didn’t have to worry about getting into something on the rebound. I was a free man again now and it was time to look for someone new.

‘I’m really going to miss this place,’ I said to Ian.

‘Me too.’

‘Where are we going to drink now?’

‘I’ve been thinking about that and I’ve narrowed it down to a choice of two: the Nags Head or the Command House.’

‘Well my vote’s for the Nags Head.’

‘I’d tend to agree. We should ask Julie what she thinks. Here she comes now.’

Julie bounded down the steps into the cabin bar with a beaming smile on her face. ‘Look who I found loitering in the back bar.’

James came walking sheepishly down the steps behind her.

‘James, what a surprise,’ I said sarcastically. ‘I didn’t expect you to show your face in public for a while yet, not after your performance at Craig and Mary’s wedding.’

‘They’re not here, are they?’ he asked worriedly.

‘They might be in later,’ said Ian. ‘They were flying back from honeymoon today, but they said they’d try and make it down here before closing.’

‘I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell them I’m here.’

‘Oh, now you’re just overreacting, James,’ said Julie reassuringly. ‘I’m sure they’ve forgotten all about you and Christine’s mother. How is she by the way?’

‘She’s a very dangerous woman.’

‘Did she become dangerous after you suggested sleeping with both her and her daughter at the same time?’ I asked.

‘Or was it after you told her how much she reminded you of your mother?’ said Ian.

‘I’ll have you know that’s all behind me now,’ replied James sternly. ‘I’m here with a very nice girl tonight. She’s the one with the mousy hair through in the back bar.’ He pointed to her.

We all looked together just as she herself looked across at James. We all smiled pleasantly at her as she saw us looking. She smiled back with slight apprehension.

‘James,’ I began to say, through a fixed smile, as I offered a small wave to his new friend. ‘The last time we were in here you described that girl to me as pig-ugly.’

‘I was mistaken.’

‘I see,’ said Julie, attempting to clarify the situation. ‘She was pig-ugly, but now that there’s a chance she might sleep with you, she’s miraculously not pig-ugly anymore?’

‘Something like that,’ he replied dismissively. ‘Look, I’d best get back to her. Remember, don’t tell Craig and Mary that I’m here if they come in.’ He turned and climbed the stairs back up to the bridge bar.

We exchanged a knowing look between the three of us before bursting into laughter. James was destined to be a source of entertainment in our lives forever. His antics never ceased to amaze me. Each time I thought he was actually beginning to mature, he would go and prove me wrong by doing something completely outrageous. Would he still be like this in five years’ time? It was entirely possible; I had visions of him turning into a dirty old man as his years progressed and he found it more and more difficult to get what he was after. He was surely destined to end up spending his final days wearing a suspiciously stained raincoat in the porn clubs of Soho.

‘Oi, Mr Weak-Bladder,’ said Julie, jabbing me in the ribs. ‘You’re in my seat.’

‘That’s because those of us with weak bladders have to rest them. I’m sure Ian will be more than happy to offer you his seat.’

Julie looked expectantly at him but said nothing.

He gave in after a few moments. ‘Oh all right, then, anything for a quiet life.’

Julie smiled triumphantly and then jumped up into his seat. ‘Jake! Bridge bar, jerk alert!’

I craned my neck round the bar to see and sure enough, there were The Jerk Brothers waiting to be served at the bridge bar. ‘I do believe they may have cleaned their anoraks. They must be on the pull tonight.’

‘Who are you two on about?’ asked Ian curiously.

‘The Jerk Brothers,’ we both said together, stunned that Ian should even have to ask.

Ian leaned forward and looked up into the bridge bar. He smiled and waved briefly. ‘That’s Dave and Steve. They’re great blokes.’

‘Don’t say that, Ian,’ I said dejectedly. ‘You’ll ruin our fantasy.’

‘Yeah,’ added Julie, supporting my request. ‘Those two are the hippest trainspotting-disco-dancing-divas the Medway towns have to offer.’

‘Is this what you two have been getting up to in here for the last six months?’ asked Ian in horror.

‘Yeah, well we had to find something to amuse ourselves,’ Julie replied.

‘And now on our last night,’ I said, pretending to feel hurt, ‘you’ve gone and ruined it for us by shattering all our illusions. How will we ever be able to forgive you?’

Ian shook his head in disbelief. ‘And all this time I thought you were both engaged in intellectual discussions.’

‘I know how he can make it up to us, Jake,’ said Julie as the sparkle of an idea shone in her eyes. ‘Tequila!’

And so began another round.

***

By one o’clock the pub was still packed, but people were starting to drift away. All the pumps had now run dry and there were only spirits left. Ian had dived back behind the bar to help out again after John had made the announcement that all single shots were now at fifty pence. Craig and Mary had turned up just before eleven, suntanned and full of stories of their honeymoon. We’d indulged in a few rounds of tequila between us, but this had given too many other people the same idea and the tequila bottles were now all empty. We’d squealed on James to Craig and Mary, but they’d been unable to find him in the crowded pub. He’d more than likely sloped off early to practise his breaststroke on Piglet.

At half past one John announced that all he had left was Pernod and Blue Bols, but some people still persisted in carrying on drinking. We sat sipping the last of the Baileys, which was only missing the ice, while Ian helped out with the clearing up that had just begun. It was past two in the morning when we finally got round to saying goodbye to John and Barbara. We thanked them for a wonderful evening and a wonderful two years before that. We promised to keep in touch and then we left before anyone could get too emotional. Julie insisted we all go back to Ian’s house and play games until the sun came up. When we arrived we piled in and spread ourselves about his living room at the back of the house before all taking part in the toilet-relay. Julie poured tequila shots for everyone and then placed the bottle on the coffee table we were all sat round.

‘What are we going to play?’ asked Ian.

‘Let’s play Pass The Pigs,’ suggested Julie.

‘I haven’t played that for years,’ said Craig.

‘Time we played it again, then.’ She got up to find the game. ‘But I think tonight we should make it a bit more interesting.’

‘How so?’ I asked foolishly.

‘Let’s make it strip Pass The Pigs.’

We all looked apprehensively at each other.

‘Don’t tell me you’re all scared?’

Pass The Pigs was a small pocket game that came with two small pink plastic pigs which you threw like dice. The idea was to gain points based on the random way they landed. They were designed such that they could land on their side (Sider), on all four trotters (Trotter), on their back (Razorback), on their snout and two fore-trotters (Snouter) or on their jowl supported by an ear and one fore-trotter (Leaning Jowler). Extra points were awarded for both pigs landing the same way or from a combination of difficult landings. The most common way for a pig to land was on its side. Each player would continue to throw the pigs, adding up the score after each throw, until they decided to stick. Their score for that go would then be added to their overall total and the first one to reach a hundred was the winner. However, if one pig landed on its right-hand side and the other on its left-hand side (Pig Out), then you lost all your points for that go. I had no idea what the rules for the strip version were though.

‘How do you propose we change the rules?’ I asked.

‘If you get a Pig Out then you have to remove an item of clothing,’ replied Julie, obviously having thought about this before.

‘What happens when someone has removed all their clothes?’

‘Then they will have to do a forfeit.’

‘Like what?’

‘We’ll make them up as we go along.’ She was determined not to be deterred by such detail.

‘I’m game,’ announced Mary. ‘It makes a change from strip-poker, which I always lose at anyway.’

‘That’s why I suggested playing it so much on our honeymoon,’ revealed Craig, raising his eyebrows suggestively.

‘Well, if us girls don’t mind then I’m sure you guys won’t either,’ said Julie, as she sat back down and placed the pigs on the table in front of her.

‘I can’t wait to see you two get your kit off,’ I said eagerly. ‘So I’m in.’

‘I wish we could say the same about you,’ she retorted. ‘What do you think Jake’s looks like, Mary?’

‘Probably nothing to keep you awake at night.’

‘OK, girls,’ I interjected. ‘I get the point. Let’s get on with the game. Who’s going first?’

‘You can,’ said Julie joyfully. She handed me the two pigs.

I rattled them around in my cupped hands and then threw them onto the table. I couldn’t believe it. A Pig Out on my first go. The other four laughed heartily as I began to silently remove my right shoe.

‘Would you like me to get a cushion ready for you?’ asked Ian, who was sat to my left.

‘I think I’ll be OK for a while yet, thanks.’

Mary picked up the two pigs and instantly tossed them back onto the table. ‘Razorback!’ She threw her hands up in the air in delight.

‘That’s five points,’ said Ian, who’d taken on the job of scorer.

‘I’ll stick there, then.’

‘I can see this is going to be played very cautiously,’ I said.

Craig took his go and managed to accumulate seven points before he stuck and passed the pigs on to Julie, who turned out not to want to play as cautiously as Mary. She risked five throws before sticking with her thirteen points. Ian had two throws and decided to stick on his meagre two points. So at the end of the first round I was the only one who’d removed any clothes. Before I could take my second go Julie interrupted the proceedings.

‘Tequila breaks can be declared by anyone at any time,’ she announced as she began to refill our glasses.

We all prepared our shots and then as usual after three, we downed them together. I picked up the pigs and rolled them again. And so the game went on. I, of course, seemed to have all the bad luck and was the first down to my boxer shorts. The girls had played the old trick of removing underwear from beneath their clothes. Mary was sat next to me in a top and skirt but no underwear. Craig was in a T-shirt and boxer shorts. Julie sat in her top and knickers and Ian still retained his jeans and whatever he was wearing beneath them. It was down to me to throw again. I shook the pigs, closed my eyes and threw them on the table. An enormous roar of laughter filled the room and I opened my eyes to see another Pig Out.

‘Tequila break!’ I yelled, to delay the inevitable.

‘Chicken!’ accused Julie through her laughter.

‘You said anyone can call a tequila break at any time.’

‘Those boxers are going to have to come off sometime, Jake,’ warned Mary, enjoying my predicament tremendously.

I could see that both Ian and Craig were extremely relieved that they were not in my shoes, nor out of them as the case was. ‘You wouldn’t deny a condemned man a final drink, would you?’

‘Of course not,’ said Ian. ‘And you might want this now.’ He handed me a cushion.

We downed our shots and then I became the spectacle of their continued laughter as I placed the cushion on my lap, slid my boxers down my legs and then threw them at Julie, hitting her square in the face.

‘Ah, they’re disgusting, Jake.’ She threw them to her side. ‘When did you last wash them?’

I ignored her and passed the pigs to Mary. She threw a Sider and stuck. Craig then followed my example and Pigged Out first go. Off came his T-shirt. Julie then threw and got a Trotter. She threw again and this time they landed in a Pig Out.

I smiled at her across the table and rubbed my hands eagerly together. ‘What’s it going to be, then, top or bottom?’

Julie said nothing. She stared at me briefly, those blue eyes of hers piercing mine. Her top only just covered her navel when she was sitting down so whatever she chose to remove, something was going to be revealed. As she continued to stare at me she casually crossed her arms in front of her, then in one swift movement, took hold of her top and pulled it up and over her head. Her untanned breasts sprang from their restraint and bounced up and down briefly before sitting upright to point their erect nipples straight at me. For a moment I was both shocked and mesmerised. Then Julie was pulling her hair free from her top and draping it forwards over her shoulders so that its long strands hung down and hid her breasts once more. I closed my gaping jaw before anyone could notice. Julie grinned back cheekily at me across the table.

‘Ingenious,’ complimented Ian. He collected up the pigs, threw a Trotter and stuck.

I picked up the pigs once more. I had no clothes left to remove so if I Pigged Out this time then I was going to find myself in forfeit territory. I Pigged Out. ‘Fuck!’

‘Forfeit time!’ yelled Julie ecstatically.

‘What are we going to have him do?’ asked Mary speculatively.

‘I know,’ began Ian, revealing an evil streak I’d been previously unaware of. ‘I think we should make him run out to the end of the garden and back.’

It appeared that I was on my own in thinking that wasn’t the best idea I’d heard all night. As I was outnumbered I slowly and reluctantly stood up ensuring the cushion was firmly fixed in front of my genitals. I turned and walked towards the patio door that Julie was now sliding open for me.

‘Watch out, Julie,’ warned Mary. ‘Hairy arse headed your way.’

I stopped at the open door, smiled sarcastically at Julie and then looked out into the garden. Ian had a semi-detached house. To the left ran a fence that separated his garden from his adjoining neighbour’s, and to the right was a pathway that ran round the side of the house to the front. At the end of the eighty-foot garden was a garage, and beyond that lay the small lane that provided access. Next to the garage a lamppost was conveniently placed and much to my annoyance was working perfectly. The others crowded round behind me to watch.

‘We want to see you run to that lamp post and back,’ instructed Ian, relishing every word of it. ‘And you’re not allowed to take the cushion so hand it over.’

I gave Ian the cushion and then prepared myself. It was a good job it was the middle of August and not December. A flashback from my childhood struck me as I remembered a similar game of dare I had played. The shocked face of my neighbour appeared in front of me as I remembered that cringing moment of getting caught. Somehow I doubted she would believe I was still playing this game nearly twenty years later. I decided to get it over and done with. I set off down the garden path taking big strides while trying to watch out for any stones that might dig into my bare feet. I could see my flesh lighting up as I approached the lamppost.

‘Spied you, Ian, one-two-three!’ I shouted, as I touched the lamppost, remembering the game of hide-and-seek I’d played as a kid. I then swiftly turned and started back. It seemed a lot further coming from this end of the garden and everything had begun to move in slow motion. My audience of four was slowly doubling up with laughter as they watched my return. My cock and balls slowly swinging from side to side, pushed around by my thighs as I ran. I looked up and noticed the light was on in the back bedroom of the adjoining house. As I approached halfway the curtains twitched and I began to regret ever having called Ian out. Suddenly the slow motion ended and I was running at normal speed again. I piled into the others as I reached the house, separating them like bowling pins. They were unable to do anything but attempt to contain their crippling laughter.

‘Your bloody neighbour’s still up, Ian,’ I said as I made myself half decent again with a cushion. This had the opposite effect to that which I’d expected. Their laughter just increased.

‘Did they see you?’ Ian managed to ask.

‘No, I don’t think so. Though they may have just got a glimpse of some fast moving streak of light, but I doubt they would have been able to make it out.’ This statement increased their laughter yet further so I decided to go and sit back down and pour myself another tequila. Eventually they joined me once they’d sufficiently recovered. ‘It’s your go I think you’ll find Mary.’ I passed her the pigs and wished her no luck at all.

She threw them and Pigged Out. Finally justice was returning. She removed her skirt and pulled her top down further to make a dress. Craig threw a double Razorback and passed the pigs on again to Julie. She threw a Leaning Jowler.

‘What’s my score?’ she asked.

‘You’ll need eight more to win,’ replied Ian.

Julie thought for a moment and then threw the pigs again. They Pigged Out. ‘Bugger!’ She grabbed one of the cushions and placed it in her lap before discretely removing her knickers.

Julie now sat across from me as naked as I was. It was difficult for me to keep my eyes off her delicate flesh, but I was going to have to find some way.

Ian threw a trotter, took his points and passed the pigs on to me.

‘Why do you have all the luck at this game?’ I asked him.

‘It’s not luck, Jake, it’s skill.’

‘Skill, my arse,’ I said and Pigged Out again. ‘I don’t believe it,’ I sighed, as the others laughed at my misfortune once again. ‘OK, what have I got to do this time?’

‘We could send him round to the front of the house this time,’ suggested Craig.

‘Or better still,’ said Ian, ‘we could send him round with the next forfeiter.’

‘You’re only saying that because you’ve got two items still left to shed,’ protested Mary.

‘That may be true, but they’ll have to do a forfeit anyway, so they may as well do it with Jake. And Julie’s the only one who’s got to worry about that at the moment.’

‘It seems fair to me,’ agreed Julie.

It not only seemed fair to me, but it was actually rather appealing, the thought of sneaking round to the front of the house with Julie in her birthday suit. Suddenly these forfeits didn’t seem such a bad idea after all.

Mary picked up the pigs and threw a Sider. ‘Stick!’ she announced quickly, then passed them on to Craig.

He rattled the pigs around in his cupped hands and blew into them for luck. He dropped them onto the table and they tumbled off in opposite directions before coming to rest in the all too familiar Pig Out position. Mary laughed, leaned towards him and began to tug at his boxer shorts.

‘Hands off!’ he warned her, as he fought off her helping hands and acquired himself a cushion to exchange for his boxers. He then passed the pigs on to Julie.

This was it. All she needed to do was throw a Pig Out and she would have to run round the outside of the house naked with me. I watched eagerly as she threw the pigs. She landed herself a Trotter. Bollocks, I thought. I’d probably end up having to do the forfeit with Craig now.

‘Going to stop there?’ asked Ian.

‘No, I’m feeling lucky.’ She rolled the pigs again confidently. They both came to rest on their sides, one on its left-hand, and the other on its right-hand - a Pig Out.

‘Looks like you’ll be taking a trip round to the front of the house with Jake, then,’ said Ian rather smugly.

‘Tequila break!’ she announced quickly, as she picked up the bottle to refill our glasses.

‘I’d need a drink if I were you, too,’ said Mary. ‘Are you sure you’re up to this? It could be quite a harrowing experience.’

‘I will be after this shot.’

We downed our tequilas and then made our way to the patio door again. I opened it and stood in the doorway with Julie, the cushions our only protection from the cool night air. The other three crowded eagerly behind us.

‘Are you ready for this?’ I asked.

She smiled at me knowingly and nodded her head. I handed my cushion over my shoulder and she did the same. We then took each other’s hand and stepped out into the night like paratroopers stepping from their plane. The door was instantly slammed behind us and the lock turned. We looked round to see three faces grinning back at us. We smiled sarcastically at them and then followed the path round to the side of the house. The wooden fence that ran all the way round the garden was taller than we were. It led us to the large wooden gate that we were going to have to open and sneak through. We hurried towards it hand in hand.

As we approached it I stretched my hand out towards the bolt on the gate but was prevented from reaching it. Julie pushed my body round and slammed my back into the gate. A puzzled look creased my brow as time began to slow down again. She stood there looking up at me and smiling, her blue eyes penetrating mine. She moved forward so that our bodies touched. I could feel her soft hair and breasts as they gently pressed against my chest. She brought her mouth up towards mine and kissed me, not gently, but forcefully as her tongue penetrated my mouth.

I didn’t know what to do so I did what my instinct told me to do. I kissed her back. As I did so her right hand reached down and began to fondle my cock. As I flinched in a half-hearted attempt to resist, she forced me harder against the gate and I realised it was too late anyway. The blood had started its journey and there was nothing I could do about it. My cock began to rise.

Julie stopped kissing me and smiled again. I stared back at her speechless. My eyes took in the beauty that stood before me. A beauty I’d admired for many years but never dared speak of. Then before I knew what was happening Julie spread her legs, lifted herself up and I was inside her. She lowered herself down forcing me deeper into her as a satisfied smile spread across her face. All the time our eyes were locked in contact with each other. Then as quickly as we’d joined she lifted herself up and we were separated once more. She pushed me aside, drew the gate’s bolt back, opened it and vanished through to the front garden. The last thing I saw was her grinning smile as she left me to face my predicament alone.

I was in a state of shock. What had just happened? This was supposed to be a simple game of dare. I looked down at my member as it stood up proudly, covered in Julie’s intimate juices, which glistened in the moonlight. Shit! I had a fucking erection. I was standing naked in my friend’s back garden in the middle of the night, having just penetrated his girlfriend with possibly the hardest boner I’d ever had in my life. Julie was probably back inside by now and I would be expected to be following closely behind. What the fuck was I going to do? I had to think fast. The first thing I needed to do was to get rid of this hard-on and worry about the reason for my extended absence later.

I looked down at my rigid friend. Now how am I going to get rid of you? I’m going to have to think of something that is a complete turn off, that’s how. What about some really cold weather like snow and ice? It’s not warm out here tonight at all, it’s fucking freezing and you’re shrinking beyond sight.

He didn’t believe me. Instead he pulsed back at me and begged for more action.

What else was there? Clamps - the really painful looking devices that masochists use. I’ve got some now and I’m going to attach them to you.

He called my bluff.

I was going to need something more than hollow threats. Then a deeply sick and dark thought flashed through my mind.

My cock visibly flinched.

Didn’t like that one did you? Let’s dwell on it a bit longer, shall we?

My mother is naked. She’s doing a seductive dance in front of her bedroom mirror. I’m tied to the chair in the corner of the room, my head restrained and my eyelids clamped open so that I can’t look away.

I could feel it beginning to work. Some blood had already fled from my stem in horror.

My father comes into the room, and he’s also naked. He begins to dance with my mother in front of the mirror. She plays with his genitals until he becomes fully erect.

More blood was distributing itself back throughout the rest of my body, but it wasn’t yet enough. I was going to have to go further still with this.

They move to the bed and lie on it together. They’re very close to me now and I can already smell them, as my father lies on his back and my mother straddles across him. I have the rear view and I can see my mother begin to lower herself down into position . . .

STOP! I screamed to myself as I tried to wipe the thought clean from my mind. My cock was now flaccid enough that I would be able to risk going back inside. I’d have to cover it up quickly, but I should be able to get away with it. I moved to the gate, pulled it open slightly and peered out to see if anyone was around. The coast looked clear. I sprinted round to the front porch, through the open door, and then back into the house through the front door that had thankfully been left ajar. I covered my genitals with my hands as I burst back in. The others turned and looked towards me.

‘Did they see you?’ asked Julie, who was almost fully dressed by now.

‘Who?’ I replied, puzzled as I stared at her in disbelief.

‘The people walking their dog,’ she said, as if I knew what she was talking about.

‘Er . . . no, I don’t think so.’ I looked around guiltily and noticed that everyone else had also redressed.

‘Are you all right, Jake?’ asked Mary. ‘You look really pale.’

‘It’s probably just the shock of almost being caught streaking at his age,’ suggested Julie.

‘Er, yeah,’ I confirmed. ‘It’s definitely shock.’

‘Why didn’t you just come back round to the patio door?’ asked Craig.

‘Well . . . er . . .’

Julie came to my rescue again. ‘You wanted to complete your forfeit, Jake, didn’t you? Or you knew we’d just set you an even tougher one.’

‘Yeah, that’s what it was.’ I looked around sheepishly with my hands still covering my genitals. ‘Is it all right if I get dressed now?’

***

It had been a forbidden door that had opened itself up to me. And in doing so it had released years of repressed feelings for the both of us. I walked home that morning in a state of shock as the new day began to dawn around me. I kept replaying in my mind all that had happened. Trying to work out what it all meant. Why Julie had taken such a risk and why I hadn’t tried to stop her. The truth was that I hadn’t wanted to stop her, even knowing that she meant everything in the world to one of my closest friends.

I collapsed into my bed when I got home, but I just lay there tossing and turning as the August sunshine reminded me the time for sleep was long gone. Eventually the alcohol ran its course and I fell into a drunken slumber. I was woken later by the sound of the telephone ringing.

‘Hello?’ I said groggily.

‘Jake,’ came Julie’s softly spoken reply.

I remained silent for a moment. ‘What happened last night, Julie?’

‘Something that should have happened a long time ago, Jake.’

I remained silent again.

‘Are you mad at me?’ she asked with a hint of trepidation in her voice.

‘No,’ I finally replied.

‘Then you feel the same way?’

‘I don’t know how I feel. I’m confused.’

‘Meet me where you met Kim the other night then. In half an hour.’ She hung up.

I clambered out of bed and dumped my aching body into the shower. I remained there for ten minutes, hoping the running water would wash away the alcohol in my body and catch up on my lack of sleep. It failed to do either, but it did succeed in freshening me up. I tried to get my mind straight again on what had happened and how I was feeling, but I still wasn’t able to. I got dressed, left my flat with my hair still damp and drove to meet Julie. She was already there by the time I reached the car park, leaning on the railings and looking out across the river, her long hair blowing gently behind her in the breeze coming off the river. I walked up to her and leaned on the railings alongside her. She turned her head to me and gave the most beautiful smile I’d ever seen. It was then that I realised how much I loved her.

She looked back out across the river. ‘I’m going to split up with Ian.’

I was torn between feelings. A part of me was shocked and concerned for Ian, wanting to tell her not to be so irrational over one small mistake. The rest of me wanted to jump for joy with the thought that she could be mine, to grab her and tell her that I would give her the world.

‘Why?’ I finally asked instead.

‘Because I’ve realised I don’t love him anymore, the last six months has made that clear to me. It’s you I want, Jake. I always have ever since we were all at school together. I’ve just been denying it to myself all these years. Last night I had an opportunity to change that and I took it. I can’t deny it any longer.’ She turned her head again and looked at me. A serious but longing look cast upon her face.

I was lost for words and firmly stuck between the devil and the deep-blue sea. It was an impossible situation and one that couldn’t be resolved leaving all the hearts of those involved intact.

‘I never knew you felt that way,’ I said. ‘Many a time I fantasised that you did and that one day we’d get together somehow, but never under circumstances like this. I don’t want to hurt Ian.’

She looked out across the river again. ‘Sometimes people have to get hurt for others to find their true happiness.’ The sadness was clear in her voice.

It was a true enough statement, but not one I wanted to dwell upon. If we were to be happy then Ian was going to have to suffer a lot of pain. All our lives would change forever. Nothing that we’d known before would ever be the same again. I wanted it, but yet I didn’t.

‘Are you prepared for that?’ I asked.

Julie turned back towards me. ‘I know how I feel about you, Jake, and I know that I have to try and make this work. If you truly feel the same way, then you’ll do the same. I don’t want to hurt Ian any more than you do and I’m not going to tell him I’m leaving because of you.’

‘The first thing he’s going to do when you tell him is come crying to me. You know that, don’t you? It’s not going to be easy.’

‘I’m going to split up with him whatever, Jake, whether you want to give this a go or not. You’re going to have to deal with his grief either way. But I can be there to help you with that.’

She had a point. Things were going to be bad from here on in. I could do it alone or do it with her. And I so wanted to be with her; I had secretly for many years. Could I do this to my friend though? It wasn’t like I was stealing her from him, I hadn’t initiated this; it was just something that had fallen into my hands.

‘Can we go back to yours?’ asked Julie.

And with those words I took her by the hand and committed us both to a dangerous future. We went back to my flat, and we made love for the first time; a time that I will never forget and doubt that any other experience will ever come close to. By the end of the week Ian was crying on my shoulder, asking me what had made her leave, and I could say nothing. Julie and I had continued to see each other as often as we could, but it had proven to be difficult and fraught with danger. Ian was demanding a lot of my time and I didn’t want him to know I was still in contact with Julie. At first I’d shared his grief with her, but seeing how much it upset her I eventually decided to keep it to myself. It was a burden I had to bear alone and somehow that only seemed fair.

We lasted two months and to this day I still don’t know how. We were trying to have a relationship that could only ever have worked in another time and place. Despite the fact we both felt we were meant to be together and both so desperately wanted that reality, it just wasn’t possible. Not without telling Ian the truth and that was something that neither of us was prepared to do.

We had one last wonderful afternoon together, and then Julie left. As she closed her door on our relationship I realised that from this side it looked like no other door I’d ever seen in my life before, and thankfully we managed to remain at “stage one”.

Julie and I kept in touch and Ian slowly began to recover, but I started to feel that I’d been the one responsible for breaking them up. Whenever I saw Julie she would always ask how Ian was and talk about him far more than she was prepared to admit. It was clear to me that she wasn’t happy and was far from the person she’d been when she was with him. I realised I’d played a part in breaking up something that was meant to be.

Six months later I invited Julie round to my flat for a dinner party on my birthday. I’d assured her that Ian wouldn’t be attending, but it had been a lie. I’d pre-warned the others of my intentions, but ensured that both Ian and Julie were kept in the dark. I’d instructed Ian to arrive at my flat at eight o’clock, a half hour after the others, and when he did, both Julie and he insisted that it would be best if they left. We managed to convince them both to stay, and it would be an understatement to say that the whole evening was awkward for us all. But that night broke the ice between them again. They started to talk to each other after that, and it wasn’t too long before they were back together again. I considered the sacrifice of a happy birthday a small price for me to pay.

chapter nine

emu patrol

Friday 25 June, 9:00 AM

Rod Hull’s untimely death had come as somewhat of a shock to Sam, that fateful day he’d fallen off his roof while attempting to adjust his TV aerial to get a better picture of the football match he’d been watching. Sam had told me she’d acquired herself a black armband and worn it in memory of the loss of the great man’s arm, which was never again to stiffen the long neck of Emu. Although she’d been saddened by Rod’s death, she’d been more concerned as to who would look after Emu. She’d admitted to actually considering applying to adopt him so that she could give him the love and attention he so deserved. My suspicion that Emu had been up there with him and had ultimately caused them both to tumble down the roof had thus been met with a stern face from Sam.

It was this kind of admiration and obsession that had given me the idea of how to attract Sam’s attention in order to present the gifts I’d acquired for her in the Highlands of Scotland. It was possibly the worst idea you’d ever heard in your life, or alternatively, the most inspired. I like to think of it as the latter. It was a plan I’d set in motion first thing on the Monday morning after returning from Ian and Julie’s wedding and some two days before setting off for Scotland. It was an expensive plan and one that took four days to become reality, but it was also a plan that once payment had been made, required nothing more from me but to be at home on this Friday morning to receive the final product.

As I lay in the warmth and safety of my own bed, waiting for my goods to be delivered, I reflected on my eventual return to London. I’d arrived back at Luton airport the day before at around three in the afternoon, tired, unshaven and generally dishevelled. I’d caught the train back into town and then the underground to Finsbury Park. On entering my flat I’d run a hot bath, fed my mewing cat (who unfortunately hadn’t died a natural death while I’d been away), cast off the clothes I’d been wearing for the previous thirty-odd hours and eased my aching body into the tub for a long soak. I’d climbed out over an hour later, shaved, put on some clean clothes, ordered a pizza for delivery and settled down in front of the TV. The Thursday night entertainment that was on offer, however, had borne little resemblance to my life as I’d come to know it. The problems faced by those in EastEnders had seemed tame in comparison to what I’d been through, and the police officers in soaps like The Bill had obviously never met Detective Inspector Donohue or Constable Jacobs. There was little chance I’d ever have to watch Happy Holder and I being humiliated in one of their interview rooms.

I was brought back to the reality of Friday morning by the sound of my door buzzer. I climbed out of bed and into a pair of jeans that had thankfully never been anywhere near Brendan’s puking gob before picking up the intercom.

‘Delivery for Mr Lewis,’ said an impatient voice.

‘I’ll be right down.’

I left my flat and ventured down to the communal front door. Through the frosted window I could see a large object blocking the light. I opened the door to reveal the deliveryman and a flat cardboard box that was taller and wider than me. It had the words “fragile - do not bend” printed on it in red letters.

‘Sign here,’ he said, thrusting his notepad into my hands.

I was directed to a signature box by his pen, which it was perfectly clear I was not to steal by the way it was tethered to the notepad with sticky tape and a length of string. I scribbled a signature that bore little resemblance to my own and handed the notepad back in exchange for my large parcel. Despite its size it was very light. I carried it awkwardly up the stairs and into my flat, carefully coaxing it round each corner as I went. When I was back inside I moved the coffee table in the lounge to clear some space and laid the box on the floor. With my penknife I carefully cut the tape that sealed the box and lifted the lid to reveal a layer of white thin polystyrene that provided some protection to what lay beneath - the tools that would enable me to grab the attention of Sam on Saturday morning. A smile spread across my face as I let my mind fantasise about the moment she would fall back into my arms. I assembled my purchase and stood back.

Five life-size cardboard cutouts of emus stood before me. Each one a profile of the same shaggy-brown plumaged bird, with bare blue skin on its long neck and pointed head, as it stood poised on its three-toed feet. A piece of card was slotted into each base that enabled the birds to stand on their own. They made a fitting Emu Patrol and Rod Hull would have been proud of me, but I had some further perfection of my own to add to them yet.

I got showered and dressed and headed into town with the disposable camera I’d salvaged from my Highland trip. I took it in for processing and then browsed through the record shops in Berwick Street until it had been developed. As I looked through them in a coffee shop I was relieved to see that they had all come out and that there were some rather impressive shots amongst them. I felt slightly reminiscent on seeing the one with Betty in and was pleased that I would always have it to remember her by. I chose five of the best and returned to the shop to get them blown-up into large prints. While they were being developed I went and bought myself a new mobile phone. Although at the time I’d cursed the guard on the train for insisting I take the crumpled remains of my phone with me, now I silently thanked him. I’d managed to salvage the SIM card from it and thus it had given me the opportunity to buy myself a new toy. I chose one of the latest and smallest models despite the extortionate price they were charging for it. Finally I collected my photos and returned home.

I spent the next few hours back at my flat cutting out bits of cardboard to attach the photos to the sides of the birds with, fixing them close to each of their slightly bent heads so that they appeared to be looking down at them. Then I printed out a message for Sam in a large font across five sheets of A4 and attached one sheet below each of the blown-up pictures so that the five birds, when assembled in the correct order, would reveal the full message. My Emu Patrol was ready for action. All I had to do was present it and its message to Sam. Pete was flying back to Australia today, and along with him the obstacle preventing Sam and I meeting up again.

By the time I’d finished it was early evening and my stomach had begun to remind me that I had been working all day and neglected to feed it. It demanded I order another takeaway, preferably Chinese, so I decided not to argue with it. As I approached the phone I was startled by the sudden ringing noise it made. I picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

‘Jake, it’s Craig, how are you?’

‘Not bad.’

‘How’d the Scotland trip go?’

‘Er . . . OK,’ I lied, as the events of the past two days shot through my head at high speed, making my whole body tense up.

‘Did you find what you were looking for?’

‘Kind of.’ I chose not to reveal the current contents of my lounge.

‘Listen, the reason I’m phoning is that Mary has gone away to her parents for the weekend and James has turned up unexpectedly. Frankly, I can’t bear the thought of having to entertain him on my own all weekend. I was hoping you’d join us.’

‘I’d love to Craig, but I’ve got a really early start tomorrow so I need to get my head down sober tonight.’

‘What about Saturday night, then? We were thinking of going to see Aimee Mann at the Shepherds Bush Empire, provided I can still get some tickets. I know how much you love her.’

‘Now that is tempting. I’ll let you know for sure tomorrow. I’m seeing Sam in the morning so I’ll see if she’s up for coming along, too.’

‘Great, I hope it all goes well with her. Give us a call tomorrow and let me know.’

‘OK, will do.’

‘Look, I’d better go. I think James has already started on the tequila. I don’t want him getting too pissed or he’ll be trying to bring women back here tonight to shag.’

I wished him luck with managing James and then he hung up. I ordered my Chinese and once it had arrived settled down to watch Friday night TV while I ate. It would have been a perfect night in for Sam as her favourite American sitcoms were on: Friends and Frasier. If ER had been on as well, then she might have had to re-evaluate her definition of heaven on earth. Finally I headed off to bed under the false pretence that I would be able to fall straight to sleep. Instead I lay there while my mind fantasised about the events I’d planned for the following day.

***

Saturday 26 June, 6:30 AM

My radio alarm clock woke me at six-thirty to the sounds of Red-FM appropriately playing This Is The Day by The The, which I took to be a good sign. I showered, shaved, got dressed and then had some breakfast before dismantling the base of each emu and carefully tying them together with some string to make them easier to carry. At a quarter past seven I left my flat and strode off in the bright morning sunshine towards the underground station. Five life-size cardboard cutouts of emus were tucked under my left arm, with their spindly legs protruding out behind me and their heads pointing the way to the underground station. From my other hand hung a plastic carrier bag containing the Lilliput Lane model of Sam’s beloved castle, and tucked up in my jacket pocket was the Polaroid of Happy Holder smiling in the snow. I had all that I needed.

I picked a deserted Piccadilly Line carriage, forced my patrol of emus to stand on their own ten feet for a while, and leaned back against the bum-rest by the doors. As the train made its way into central London, even though I knew I was far from my destination, I carefully checked the station name each time we stopped, not wanting a repeat of the disastrous events of three days earlier. As each of those stations brought me closer to Sam, I began to grin uncontrollably. My carriage didn’t remain mine for long before other travellers joined me, each of them regarding my travelling companions with amused curiosity.

When I reached Hammersmith, at about eight o’clock, I left the station and took the Hammersmith Bridge Road that would lead me to where Sam lived. As I marched across the old bridge, which was restricted to pedestrians and light traffic, the sound of the Thames began to soothe me as its still waters lapped gently against the shore. The sun glistened off the river as the early morning rowers took the initiative to get a head start on those who were yet to rise and venture down to enjoy the river’s calmness. The sky was clear and blue, offering a guarantee of a beautiful day, with only the constant stream of aircraft on their landing path to Heathrow preventing it from being perfect.

I left the bridge on the south side of the river and continued on down the road a few hundred yards, towards Barnes. Sam had picked an ideal place to live, provided you didn’t mind the air traffic. With the restricted access to the bridge, this side of the river was in complete contrast to the hustle and bustle of Hammersmith on the other side. Here you found nature reserves and riverside walks to which the word “concrete” meant only the strange grey blocks that huddled menacingly across the river. As you spied at them through the greenery you could almost feel their frustration, borne from their inability to span the water and stamp out the taunting greenery, flaunting its obvious inferiority as it gave into the power of the wind and waved casually back at them. The concrete side did have its good points though. It had a number of riverside pubs along its paved walkways that Sam and I had visited on a number of occasions. Our favourite was The Dove, with its dark wooden beams, its roaring fires to keep you warm in the winter and its conservatory that was a safe haven for some sparse greenery on that side of the river. On warmer days you could step out of the conservatory onto the small patio that overlooked the water and watch the planes and boats go by until long after the sun had gone down. We’d done that together many a time as we’d tried to imagine what famous people might be sitting on the planes we were looking at.

As I passed the empty playing fields of the school that was just across the road, I turned left into Clavering Avenue and crossed to the right-hand side of the road. Her flat was situated about halfway down, but instead of following my usual route I turned off into a small alley that led to the back of the houses providing access to their rear gardens. Sam had a ground-floor flat, distinctive in her row because of the white metal bars that criss-crossed every window, leaving diamond-shaped holes to look through. I always thought they made the place seem claustrophobic, but she said they made her feel secure. The alley was overgrown with vegetation and a solid, wooden, gated fence taller than I was ran all the way along it. I counted the number of gates until I reached Sam’s and quietly tried to open it.

The gate didn’t move. I gripped harder on the handle and then pushed the weight of my body against it again. It still wouldn’t open. I moved back and threw myself at the gate. Still it wouldn’t budge. It was either locked or seized. If it was the latter then I could continue to ram my body against it in the hope it might free up, but it was likely to make a lot of noise and that was the last thing I wanted. I pulled myself up and peeked over the top of the fence. All looked peaceful. Fifty feet away were the French doors of Sam’s bedroom with the metal bars and curtains drawn behind them. A small patio lay in front of the doors before a well-kept lawn, bordered on each side by flowerbeds in the height of their bloom. The lawn stretched towards me, ending with a triangular rotating washing line on the right-hand side, and a small hedge on the left that hid a black plastic dustbin just below me. I had no alternative; I was going to have to climb over.

I picked up my carrier bag, pulled myself up to the top of the fence and lowered the bag carefully onto the top of the dustbin on the other side. Then I lifted the emus up and over the fence, lowering them down at a slight angle on the other side, ensuring their blank sides were facing the house just in case anyone looked out. Now I just needed to get myself over. I clambered up again and awkwardly pulled the rest of my body up and over the fence. I dropped down heavily into Sam’s garden and then darted behind the hedge to hide with the dustbin.

After several minutes had passed, once I was certain I was undetected, I untied the Emu Patrol and separated out their bases. Then I took the model of the castle out of its bag, poked my head round the hedge to check it was all clear and sprinted up to the patio. Carefully I placed the model down on the patio, close to the grass and in a prominent position so that when Sam opened her door it would be directly in her view. Unfortunately, as the model was only about five inches square it didn’t make quite the impact I’d hoped for. I raced back, picked up the first emu, affixed its base and then placed it on the right-hand side of the lawn facing the house. Then I assembled the other four emus and spread them across the lawn in a staggered pattern, so that when Sam opened her door she would be able to read the full message that was spread across them. I returned to join the dustbin in its hiding place. Everything was set. All I had to do now was attract Sam’s attention.

It was almost half past eight, still too early for Sam to rise, but I didn’t want to wait here any longer. I might get spotted by a neighbour and reported as a prowler; something I’d learned I was easily mistaken for. I also didn’t want other people looking on who might point out how embarrassing the act I was performing seemed. Sam would initially be annoyed at me for waking her up, but once she saw my message she would be bound to forgive me. Unfortunately, I hadn’t worked out the finer details of my plan yet, like how I was going to attract her attention or what I was going to do if she wasn’t even in. I suddenly became anxious by the thought of my hard work going to waste. I forced myself to be calm and consider the task ahead. All I had to do was get her to come to her French doors. How difficult could that be?

I picked up a small stone and threw it towards the French doors. It went sailing past the middle emu and came to rest on the patio, a foot short of the doors. I picked up another stone and threw it a bit harder. This time it clattered into a windowpane. I crouched down and waited. After a minute of no response I picked up another stone and threw it again. It hit the middle emu in the back of the head, causing it to rotate slightly, wobble unsteadily and then fall over on its front. Grabbing a handful of small stones, I darted out to the middle emu, stood it back up, threw the handful of stones at the doors and then scampered back to hide behind the hedge. I crouched down and waited for signs of life.

I couldn’t believe it. There was still no sign of movement in the flat. Maybe she wasn’t in after all. I wouldn’t know for sure until I’d ended up breaking the glass at this rate. I needed a more guaranteed way of getting her to look out the window. I took my new mobile phone from my pocket, dialled her number and then listened for the dialling tone.

‘Hello,’ said Sam’s cheerful voice after four rings. ‘I’m not home right now, so if you’re a burglar then this is your opportunity to rob the place. If not then leave a message after the beep and I’ll pick it up provided the burglars don’t steal the answering machine. Beep.’

Shit! I hung up. Maybe she was away or perhaps just hadn’t woken up and made it to the phone in time. I redialled. This time it rang six times while the answerphone rewound itself and then played Sam’s message back to me again. What was I going to do now? Pack up the Emu Patrol and the castle and head back home with my tail between my legs? Or wait here in the hope that she might turn up later? I redialled one more time.

‘Hello,’ said Sam’s less than cheery voice this time. ‘Who is this?’

For a moment I was stunned into silence. She was in. I suddenly felt my heart begin to race and my stomach tighten up.

‘Hello?’ she said again, startling me from my brief state of shock.

I placed my hand over my mouth to try and disguise my voice and spoke in a muffled army-style voice as if using a walkie-talkie. ‘Er . . . Emu Patrol calling Emu Command, troops deployed and base secured in Sam’s garden . . . over.’ I hung up and then peered eagerly through the hedge at Sam’s French doors. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest as I waited and couldn’t help but let a broad grin spread across my face in anticipation. Sam’s curtains twitched, momentarily revealing a figure trying to peer through the frosted panes of glass. Then the figure began to fiddle with the protective bars that guarded the entrance, unlocking them and drawing them back. A key was turned and the French doors were swung open.

Sam stepped out. She was dressed in her none too flattering lavender dressing gown, which her mother had bought her for Christmas. Her shoulder-length dark hair was rather tangled, as if she’d had a rough night. Her face was lacking any of the make-up that by day covered up her less-than-perfect skin. Her legs and feet were bare, suggesting that she wasn’t wearing her usual nightshirt. As she stood on the patio, a frown spread across her forehead as her bleary eyes tried to adjust to the sunlight and take in the scene before her. Despite her state she looked as beautiful as she had that first night I’d laid my eyes on her in the Forum.

A stunned look gradually replaced her frown as she surveyed the Emu Patrol from left to right. The first emu held a picture of her heaven on earth with an image of the castle reflected in the waters of the loch, below which in a large, bold, green font hung the word “MARRY”. Her eyes moved on to the second emu, which held a view of the castle from the bridge and the words “ME AT”. The third bird offered a view across the loch to her dream cottage on the opposite bank, along with the word “EILEAN”. The fourth emu then presented her with a close up of the castle looking down from the scenic viewpoint and the word “DONAN”. Finally, her eyes fell on the last bird, which held a photo from the scenic viewpoint that took in both the castle and the cottage, below which hung the final word “CASTLE”. Sam’s eyes dropped to the small model of the castle in front of her, which now paled into insignificance.

I stepped out from my hiding place and stood at the end of the garden, offering Sam a huge beaming smile. She looked up from the model and stared back at me. Her eyes connected with mine. I could see that she was still in shock, but those eyes also revealed how much this meant to her. That was the moment I knew I’d succeeded and that everything was going to work out fine. Her cheeks unfroze and raised themselves slightly to offer a small but desiring smile as her eyes began to sparkle through the wetness that was beginning to blur them.

‘Is that Jake?’ asked an Australian voice from behind her.

Sam’s expression suddenly changed. The smile fell from her face and she began to blink furiously to clear the tears from her eyes. I looked over her shoulder to see a tall, tanned, well built, fit looking male with sparkling blue eyes and long blonde hair. He was half naked, wearing only a pair of blue-denim jeans. It was unmistakably Pete; Pete who was supposed to have left London and flown back to Melbourne yesterday; Pete who couldn’t possibly be here now; Pete whose tangled hair suggested he’d had a rough night also; Pete whose semi-clad body, stepping from Sam’s bedroom, suggested that perhaps the sofa bed had been out-of-order for quite some time.

Suddenly a montage of images flashed through my head; Sam showing Pete the sights of London; Pete taking Sam to a restaurant afterwards; Sam and Pete walking home together, laughing and joking; Pete insisting they have a bottle of red wine when they got in; Sam and Pete sitting closely together on the sofa bed watching Friends and Frasier; Pete complaining how uncomfortable the sofa bed was to sleep on; Sam offering half of her bed to ease his aching back; their first kiss; the roaming hands; the discarded clothes leading to the bed; the tangled hair; Sam on top; Pete on top; his cock in her mouth; his tongue on her clit.

‘Yes,’ said Sam, in a hushed tone, not finding the courage to look round and face him.

‘What the fuck’s he doing ’ere? I thought ya dumped him?’ Pete stepped slowly onto the patio and walked forwards in front of Sam, gazing at the emus in bewilderment. As he strode casually forwards his right foot came down painfully on the model of the castle. ‘Fuck!’ He stepped back and looked down at the obstacle before him. On his feet he wore a bright-yellow pair of furry Garfield slippers. As they grinned inanely back at me one of the Garfield twins was forced to boot the model aggressively into the flowerbed.

‘Don’t hurt him,’ pleaded Sam, but with more pity than conviction in her voice. ‘He just needs a nudge in the right direction, that’s all.’

Pete took another step forwards, bringing him within reach of the middle emu of the patrol. ‘No worries, darl, I’m just gonna make sure he never bothers us again.’ He swung his right fist violently round and punched the cardboard emu which proudly carried the word “EILEAN”, square in its body. The cardboard creased and bent in the middle as the bird was sent flying backwards into the air, for the first time in its life. It momentarily appeared to flap its wings in a hopeless attempt to stay in flight before it landed entangled in the triangular washing line that squeaked in protest as it was forced to rotate.

The self-preservation circuits in my mind kicked into action and told me to stop thinking about Sam and Pete having sex. There would be plenty of time to mull over those images later. Now I had to worry about the impending problem of a rather angry looking Australian, hell bent on the destruction of small model castles and life-size cardboard cutouts of flightless birds. The devastation of which was unlikely to stop his desire to break human bones.

I jumped up onto the dustbin and began to clamber back over the fence. Pete let out an angry roar behind me and battered his way through the remaining Emu Patrol as he headed towards me. He lunged forwards as I’d just got my body over the top and had instructed my legs to follow at double-time. His hand managed to grab my right foot as it was just about to become the last part of my body to reach the top of the fence. My momentum carried me over before my motion was abruptly stopped. I hung clinging to the top of the fence by my hands, my body and left leg reaching down for the safety of the alley below, but my right foot preventing any further descent as it remained hooked by Pete’s hand at the top of the fence. We remained like that for a few moments as I furiously kicked my foot in an attempt to free it from the grip that Pete was struggling to keep on it. Suddenly my foot was free and I fell crashing to the floor of the alley. Pete swore angrily and then yanked on the fence’s gate. He managed to do what I’d been unable to and the gate screeched open a few inches. He yanked on it again and it opened some more. Deciding not to check for broken bones - figuring if I didn’t already have some then I certainly would if I stuck around here - I jumped up and legged it off down the alley. Pete continued to yank on the gate, forcing it open still further. As I reached the end I turned right to head back into Sam’s road. On doing so I caught a glimpse of Pete bursting through Sam’s garden gate with the Garfield twins leading the way. I prayed he wasn’t as good a runner as he was at forcing open seized-up gates.

I ran back towards the Hammersmith Bridge, frequently glancing over my shoulder to check on Pete’s progress. He wasn’t far behind and seemed determined to catch me. The Garfield twins, however, seemed more than reluctant to join in with his pursuit. Would he follow me all the way back to the Hammersmith underground or would he give up before then? If he did follow me, would I be able to get into the station and onto a train before he could catch me? My only hope was that he wouldn’t. As I ran towards the bridge I spotted a figure halfway across heading in our direction. He wore a dark blue uniform and a pointed helmet. I realised what he was at the same time Pete did.

‘STOP HIM!’ shouted Pete to the policeman. ‘HE’S A BLOODY PROWLER!’

The policeman sprang to life and came running towards me, talking into the radio attached to his jacket as he did so. My mind sulked into a state of disbelief. This was the third time I faced the prospect of ending up in the hands of the law in as many days. The second time I’d managed to escape, perhaps I could do the same again this time? The bridge ahead was blocked by the policeman and Pete and the Garfield twins had my retreat covered. My only option was along the river. As I darted down the path by the side of the bridge, I got a clearer view of the policeman’s face. It looked strangely familiar. I discarded the distracting thought from my mind as I reached the riverbank. Turning left I sprinted under the bridge and along the path that I knew from the many times Sam and I had strolled along it.

The policeman followed me down the path with Pete closing up the rear, dragging the catnapping Garfield twins along with him. I continued running along the riverbank, ignoring the calls to stop. The school playing fields were rapidly passing me by on the left and I wondered to myself what time I could get for the 100 metres these days. Across the river over on the concrete side I could see the pubs that Sam and I had drank in: the Blue Anchor, the Rutland and here came our favourite, the Dove. I glanced over my shoulder once more to see how close my pursuers were. Pete and the Garfield twins were dropping back, but the policeman was definitely gaining. I could see his red puffing face and it really did look familiar. It was definitely beginning to bug me.

I looked ahead again just in time to see a squirrel dart out from the hedges directly into my path. I desperately tried to alter my stride to avoid squashing it, but in doing so managed to entangle my feet. My left foot tripped over my right foot and I fell headfirst, tumbling onto the bank. Hitting the ground hard I rolled onto my side and began to slide down the damp greenery of the steep bank towards the water. I grabbed desperately at the grass and moss, but it just came away in my hands. My life, like it had done so many times recently, wound down into slow motion. I surveyed the chunks of moss and grass in my hand as I slowly continued to slide down the bank, realising it was futile to believe they would ever offer a hold to stop my descent. The lapping water of the Thames, now only a few feet away, sounded like it was laughing at me as it eagerly awaited my arrival. There was nothing that was going to stop me now. I was resigned to my fate. Any moment now I would splash into the waters of the Thames, directly across from the favourite pub where Sam and I had sat staring back at this very spot so many times before. A policeman would then join me and promptly arrest me for being a prowler, an accusation that was becoming far too familiar and only slightly preferable to one of being a drug-dealing terrorist. To top it all, a semi-clad Australian wearing a ridiculous pair of slippers would arrive, who’d obviously been shagging my now definitely ex-girlfriend for more weeks than I cared to imagine. And all that time, Sam hadn’t had the decency to tell me. As the water of the Thames hit me, the realisation that my quest to find something special for Sam had been a wasted, pointless and needless exercise hit me, too. The water broke my fall and I began to bob semi-submerged on the bank of the Thames. The policeman came to a panting halt above me.

‘Ah, good morning, Constable Jacobs,’ I said cheerily, as recognition together with my sense of humour surfaced from the river. ‘How nice of you to join me for an early morning dip.’

***

Constable Jacobs called the station again to double-check that the backup was on its way and then offered me a helping hand up the bank. Strangely enough the grass and moss that had offered such an elusive grip on my way down seemed more than willing to provide me with a firm hold on my way back up. When I reached the pathway I decided to just slump down and drip, while Pete alleged to Constable Jacobs that I was a prowler stalking his girlfriend.

‘I’m not a prowler or a stalker,’ I dejectedly protested. ‘And you’ve got a nerve calling her your girlfriend.’

‘Ya just don’t get it, do ya, Jake?’ Pete looked down at me and let out a short laugh. ‘I knew ya’d never make the grade the first time I met ya. Ya fell head-over-heels for Sam and immediately became blinded by it. Ya should have taken the time to sit back and work out what it was she was looking for. How were ya ever gonna tell her what she wanted to hear otherwise?’

I looked up at him in disbelief and full of hatred.

‘She liked ya, mate, don’t get me wrong, but ya just gave her too many wrong answers. It was a good effort going to the castle with her, I’ll give ya that, but not wanting a family was just a schoolboy error, and so early on, too, mate.’

My mind was going into shock overload. Was there anything Pete didn’t know about my relationship with Sam? Had she really told him everything? I couldn’t believe she’d fallen under his false charm, after all, she knew exactly how he manipulated people in his work.

‘Sam will see right through you,’ I said to him. ‘Maybe not today, maybe not to tomorrow, but one day she’ll wake up and see your other face.’

‘You think so, do ya, mate?’ he replied mockingly. ‘She’ll be so ecstatic when we’ve set up Emu Patrol together that she’ll worship me for years.’

I couldn’t hide the further shock I felt from this revelation.

‘Didn’t she tell ya?’ A smug grin spread across his face. ‘Well that’s strange because it was about five week’s ago we decided it. I remember it very clearly. It was that weekend Sam and I went to Glasgow for Snaredrum. Do ya remember? We actually spent most of the weekend at that castle ya were so convinced she’d marry ya at. I’ll tell ya, mate, she was a real beaut. We fucked so much I was sore for a week.’

‘Now that’s enough, please, gentleman,’ said Constable Jacobs authoritatively. ‘I suggest you both remain quiet to avoid making matters any worse than they already are.’

I looked down at the Garfield twins both still grinning back at me from the end of Pete’s feet. They seemed completely oblivious to the events that had just taken place and the subsequent revelations that had unfolded. I suddenly longed for my life to be as simple and uneventful as Garfield’s.

The backup arrived a few minutes later and another officer led Pete back to Sam’s in order to take a statement, while Constable Jacobs escorted me to the waiting police car.

‘I’m going to have to take you back to the station, Mr Lewis, just until we sort this out and establish whether any charges are to be brought.’

‘Believe me, I wasn’t prowling or stalking. I just went round to give Sam her present from Scotland.’

‘Ah yes, your crusade to Scotland,’ mused Constable Jacobs. ‘Seems like it all went swimmingly?’

I glared back at his taunting smile as I squelched myself into the backseat of the police car.

‘Try not to make a mess of the seats, Mr Lewis.’ He climbed into the front passenger seat and nodded to the officer next to him to start the engine. ‘How’s that friend of yours?’

‘Who?’ I queried reluctantly, disinterested in conversation.

‘What’s his name? You know . . . he was very . . . wooden looking.’

I ignored him.

‘Happy Holder, wasn’t it?’ He turned around in his seat to reveal a huge grin. ‘Did you ever manage to throw your flour at him and take some pictures?’

I avoided his gaze and looked out the window at the river and the concrete block-lined bank towards which we were now travelling. A part of me wanted to take out the Polaroid I had of Happy Holder and show it to him just to shut him up, but I knew it would have the opposite effect.

Constable Jacobs turned back round in his seat to face the front again. ‘I don’t suppose it really matters now that your ex-girlfriend has found herself someone else.’

I ignored him once more.

‘Oh well.’ He began to chuckle to himself. ‘Plenty more fish in the river, eh?’

***

As the duty officer at the Hammersmith Police Station checked me in, I felt like I was becoming a regular guest at a chain of specialist hotels. Constable Jacobs, much to his amusement, insisted I be logged in as a “trainee-stalker (failed drug-dealing terrorist)”. My clothes were taken off me to be dried and were exchanged for a fetching white coverall, normally only issued when forensic evidence is to be gathered from a suspect’s clothes. They didn’t need a forensic scientist to examine mine; they only had to smell them to know I’d definitely been in the Thames. I was then confined to a cell with my increasing thoughts of Sam and Pete in intimate positions. I sat down on the hard bench and sulked. It was the first time I’d been in a police cell, having only seen an interview room at the Paddington Green Station three days before, and it was slightly comforting that it looked just like the ones I’d seen on The Bill. Maybe my life was really just a storyline in the next episode? I hoped the script didn’t require me to spend the night in here. It certainly wasn’t very comfortable and my whole body felt numb enough as it was. My mind was still trying to work out what had been more of a shock: the sight of Pete and his subsequent revelations, or the joy on Constable Jacobs’s face as he realised who he’d caught up with. What were the odds of being arrested by him? Probably less than winning the Lotto, but I’d managed to do that.

At midday, after enough time had passed to allow me to visualise Sam and Pete about a third of the way through the Kama Sutra, a rather pathetic looking meal was delivered to me. I didn’t really have much appetite and the cardboard consistency of the food didn’t change that. Instead of eating it I decided to play with it for a while, in exactly the manner my mother had told me not to when I was a child. Moving the lumpy mashed potato to the centre of the plate I spread the peas round its base to resemble rocks before pushing the two sausages round the potato island pretending they were boats sailing in the ocean of gravy. Then I saw an opportunity to enact a long held ambition. I dug out a hole in the top of the potato and built up the sides as high as I could, smoothing them with my fork and then making long grooves up them. I placed it on the floor in front of me and stared at my creation. My first Close Encounters mountain. With a satisfying sense of achievement I returned to the Kama Sutra as Sam and Pete took up the next position.

Around two hours later, the hatch on the cell door was dropped to allow a face to peer briefly through before the door was opened. As if by magic, Constable Jacobs appeared like the shopkeeper from the children’s TV programme Mr Benn.

‘There you go.’ He threw a bundle of clothes towards me. ‘They still smell of the river, but at least they’re dry now. Put them on and come with me.’

I stood motionless for a moment, half expecting my clothes to instantly reappear on my body like they did on Mr Benn. When I realised they weren’t going to, I changed out of the serial-killer costume myself and back into my own clothes. I followed Constable Jacobs out of the cell and was instantly disappointed. It didn’t lead to the fancy dress shop like I’d hoped, where I would have been able to end this mistaken adventure and stroll home with the Polaroid of Happy Holder as the small memento to place on my mantelpiece.

‘Nice touch with the Close Encounters mountain,’ said Constable Jacobs, with an air of admiration, as he led me back up to the duty office. ‘Fits your psychological profile perfectly. I knew we should have had you assessed.’

As I entered the office I walked straight into the visual field of a camcorder, which was immediately lowered to reveal another familiar face.

‘Mr Lewis!’ exclaimed Detective Inspector Donohue excitedly. ‘How nice to see you again.’

My mouth dropped open as I froze in my tracks. What humiliation was I to be subjected to now?

‘When Constable Jacobs was kind enough to phone me and tell me of your latest little adventure, I couldn’t help but come over and record it for prosperity. It’ll make a lovely finale to the other tape we have. Those emus are great by the way.’ He pointed behind me as he put the camcorder back up to his eye.

I looked round and spread along the wall was the remains of my Emu Patrol, bent and creased, but still managing to cling onto their message.

‘I hope I’ve got them in the right order?’

I said nothing as I began to pick up my belongings the Duty Officer had laid out for me.

Donohue followed my every movement with his camcorder. ‘It’s lucky for you Ms Porter decided not to press charges. By all accounts it took her quite some time to convince her fiancé otherwise.’

I froze and turned my head to look straight into the lens of his camera, the look of shock on my face being recorded for all eternity.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said, chuckling to himself. ‘Didn’t you know?’

Fiancé? Already? I was all shocked out and this news was just added to the queue to fully sink in later.

‘Any news on Happy Holder yet, Constable Jacobs?’

‘No, sir, but we’ve got all the officers we can spare out looking for a flour grave at the castle in Scotland. Rest assured, as soon as we find the body we’ll be certain to pull Mr Lewis back in for questioning.’

I signed for receipt of my belongings and asked to be shown the way out. Detective Inspector Donohue and the camera that was firmly glued to his face followed my every move as I left.

‘Don’t you want to take your emus with you, Mr Lewis?’ were the last words I heard from him.

I stepped out onto the Shepherd’s Bush Road and began to walk up towards The Green, making sure I never once looked back. I needed time to try and work out what all this meant. The love that I’d once had for Sam was rapidly being replaced with hate and anger from the realisation that her façade had deceived me for nine months of my life. I decided that the last thing I needed right now was to be on my own. I remembered the phone call from Craig the night before. He lived just down the road in Ealing so I decided to go there. I took out my phone to call him, but discovered the water of the Thames had rendered it useless - so much for my new toy. On reaching Shepherd’s Bush Green I caught a bus to take me along the Uxbridge Road and through Acton. I got off at Hanger Lane, walked across Ealing Common and onto Warwick Road. Craig and Mary had a small terraced cottage near the end and as I approached it, I prayed that Craig wasn’t out gallivanting around with James. I rang the doorbell and waited.

‘Shit, Jake, what the fuck happened to you?’ said Craig on seeing my appearance.

‘Sam’s getting married,’ I replied as I stepped past him into his living room.

‘What?’

‘To Pete, her Australian work colleague.’ I slumped down onto his sofa.

‘How do you know that?’

‘They told me at the police station.’

‘The police station! What were you doing there?’

‘Mainly being humiliated, as well as checking out the accommodation and catering they had on offer.’

‘Do you mean you got arrested?’

‘Briefly, but I wasn’t charged with anything. They always seem to have trouble pinning anything on me.’

‘I don’t know about you, but I need a drink.’ He walked swiftly over to the drinks cabinet, took out two glasses, a bottle of tequila, returned and sat down next to me. He half filled both glasses and handed me one.

‘Cheers,’ I said in a defeated voice, and downed it in one.

‘So, do you want to tell me about it?’

‘In a bit.’ I placed my glass on the coffee table. ‘I’d like to take a shower first if that’s OK?’

‘Sure, help yourself.’

‘Have you got some clean clothes I could borrow? I went for a swim in the Thames in these this morning.’

‘What?’

‘It’s a long story.’ I removed my jacket and noticed something in the pocket. I put my hand in and pulled out the Polaroid of Happy Holder. I chuckled briefly to myself in disbelief as I stared at it.

‘What’s that?’ asked Craig curiously.

‘It’s Happy Holder,’ I replied as if remembering a long lost friend, and handed him the photo.

He stared at it with a frown on his face. ‘It looks like a wooden kitchen roll holder, with a red smiley face drawn on it, on a wall in front of a castle. It also appears to be snowing.’

‘I know. Convincing, isn’t it? It’s flour really.’

‘Is this what you went to Scotland for, to take a picture of a kitchen roll holder?’

‘Partly. Sam had one just like it, you see. I used it on her once.’

‘You used it on her?’

‘Yeah, you know, in bed, as a dildo.’

‘As a dildo?’

‘The next time I went round to hers, she’d drawn a smiley face on it to show how happy it was. And thus was born Happy Holder.’

‘And you took it to Scotland to take a photo of it?’

‘You’ve got to admit,’ I insisted. ‘It is pretty funny.’

‘I’m beginning to worry about you, Jake.’ He felt the necessity to take a large gulp of his tequila.

At that moment the doorbell rang and Craig got up to answer it. It was James. He came bounding in with a huge grin on his face.

‘Hey, Gonzo! I thought you weren’t coming out to play this weekend?’

‘Change of plans,’ was all I offered as a reply.

‘So, the elusive houseguest finally returns,’ said Craig. ‘How were those two Swedish girls?’

‘Hot stuff! I would have been back sooner, but when you’ve got two to satisfy it takes twice as long.’

‘James disappeared with two tequila-drinking Swedish girls last night,’ explained Craig.

‘Hey, Gonzo, you look like shit,’ said James, but only as a passing comment before moving on to a topic he deemed more newsworthy. ‘Have you seen The Sun today?’ He unfolded his copy to reveal the headline of “WE FOUND WINNING TICKET”. ‘Apparently, this couple found a Lotto ticket at King’s Cross station which turned out to have five winning numbers plus the bonus ball on it. But because there were a record number of winners they were only going to get about ten grand, so the greedy bastards sold their story to The Sun to try and make a bit more money. The newsagent told me the Lotto is refusing to pay out now, and that they’ve been inundated with callers claiming the ticket to be theirs. They don’t reckon there’s any chance of finding out whose it really is now. How bizarre is that?’ James suddenly frowned. ‘Hey, you’ve started on the tequila without me!’

I decided it was time for that shower.

***

That night we arrived at the Shepherds Bush Empire early enough to snap up some late ticket returns from the box office. After washing the smell of the Thames from my body earlier that afternoon, I’d rummaged through Craig’s wardrobe and selected the best fitting clothes of his that I was prepared to wear. Craig then ordered some pizzas, which we devoured along with the bottle of tequila, whilst watching episodes of The Simpsons. I hadn’t felt like talking about Sam then, but after a few pints in the Empire the alcohol convinced me otherwise. I began to tell Craig and James everything that had happened to me over the last few days, from the initial loss of my bag that had first caused my path and that of Detective Inspector Donohue’s to cross, to the final words he’d spoken to me this morning. Everything that was, except for the Lotto ticket, which I decided would forever remain a secret of mine. At first they were shocked into disbelief, but the more I told them, the more they began to laugh. They weren’t the only ones who found the story hilariously funny. The more I recounted it out loud the more I began to laugh, too. Something I hadn’t done for several days.

‘That is the craziest story I’ve ever heard in my life, Jake,’ admitted Craig once I’d finished. ‘You really have been through some shit, and all for nothing it would seem.’

‘I know, I don’t think the enormity of it all has really sunk in yet. All I know for sure is that I’ve definitely reached “stage three” and begun hating the bitch along with that bastard Pete!’

‘I quite liked the guy actually,’ said James innocently.

‘Oh shut up, James, and tell me this story of the two Swedish girls you bedded last night. I don’t want to think about Sam or Pete anymore.’

‘Yeah,’ agreed Craig. ‘I want to know what happened after you left me last night, too.’

‘OK,’ replied James, relishing the attention he was now getting. ‘But I’d better start at the beginning for Jake’s sake. It was about midnight and we were heading up Charing Cross Road, about to call it a night and catch a bus home, when I spotted this place called Bar Salsa. There was a huge queue to get in, but I managed to chat up these two gorgeous blonde Swedish girls near the front. They were both wearing black greyhound skirts and tight tops.’

‘What’s a greyhound skirt?’ I asked, interrupting James’ flow.

‘One inch from the hair,’ he said quick-fire before continuing. ‘One of them had this gorgeous flat stomach with a belly ring and the other had this Lycra top that her nipples were poking far enough out of to hang your coat on.’

‘I’d just like to state,’ interrupted Craig, ‘that I wasn’t interested in them at all and I’d appreciate it if you make that clear in this story whenever Mary is around.’

‘Yeah, too right, you were like a bloody dead weight round my neck with all the help you offered in chatting them up.’

‘Well I wasn’t the one who wanted to shag them.’

‘In any case we managed to get in with them, despite the poor social skills of my companion here, and after a few rounds of drinks I suggested we do some shots. I got a bottle of tequila, some salt and lemon, and then as usual both Craig and I counted to three and downed our shots. The girl with the Lycra top - Maria I think her name was - then asked me if I’d like to see how the Swedish did shots. I said sure, at which point she grabbed my T-shirt, pulled it up, told me to hold it and then licked one of my nipples. She dabbed some salt on it, took her tequila glass in one hand, the lemon in the other, and then proceeded to lick the salt from my nipple, down the tequila and bite on her lemon!’

‘You should have seen the look of surprise on his face,’ said Craig, still unable to believe it himself. ‘I’ve never seen a woman shock him like that before.’

‘Naturally, I told her that I loved the Swedish method, but it was hardly fair because I couldn’t do it back to her. The next thing I know, without any kind of apprehension whatsoever, she pulled up her Lycra top to expose her breasts and told me to lick one. God were they a fabulous pair, big and juicy. I stared at them for a moment, trying to keep my eyes in their sockets and choose which one to go for. Finally I decided on the nipple without the ring in, which was looking very erect and very hard. I licked it, dabbed some salt on it and reached for my glass, which was when I noticed it had gone really quiet and that everyone was staring at us.’ James paused.

‘So what did you do?’ I asked expectantly after it was clear he wasn’t going to continue.

‘Well, I licked her nipple, downed the tequila and bit on the lemon, of course. Exactly what everyone was waiting for me to do.’

‘Is he making this up?’ I asked Craig suspiciously.

‘Nope, it’s all true. I wouldn’t believe it myself if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes. I went to the toilet soon after, and when I returned James announced they were all leaving and that he’d catch up with me sometime before this evening.’

‘How did you dump Craig?’ I asked curiously.

‘Oh, I just told them he had a sexually transmitted infection that the antibiotics hadn’t quite cleared up yet.’

‘Thanks, James! No wonder they looked at me so strangely when I got back. Couldn’t you have just told them I was married?’

‘No, they still might have wanted you to come along. I couldn’t risk that.’

‘So what happened back at theirs, then?’ I asked.

‘We cracked open a fresh bottle of tequila and continued with the Swedish shots, from every part of our bodies that you could possibly imagine.’ A smug smile crossed James’ face. ‘Then we all hit the sack together and shagged each other senseless for about twelve hours.’

‘This being the only part of the story that no one can verify?’ I said suspiciously.

‘I wouldn’t lie about something as important as that, now would I?’

We never got the chance to dispute his claim further because at that moment Aimee Mann and her band came onto the stage. She was a goddess in my book and I fell in love with her every time I saw her live. As she began to play, her music worked its way into my head and I began to feel happy again. I listened, I drank, I sang and I danced, and at times I even forgot about Sam. As Aimee sang I Could Hurt You Now, the sentiments of the song struck a chord with me and I began to fantasise about revenge.

chapter ten

lucy’s retching

Sunday 27 June, 3:17 PM

We’d eventually left the Shepherds Bush Empire at around two in the morning once the after-show club had finished. We hailed a cab to take us back to Craig’s and then crashed out. In the morning we’d gone out to a local cafe for brunch and then all gone our separate ways. I arrived back at my flat around three in the afternoon. As soon as I closed my front door the silence overwhelmed me. I didn’t know what to do. When I’d left the morning before I’d been full of hope and convinced that everything was going to work out fine, but now my life seemed pointless. I had nothing to look forward to and all that had gone before hadn’t been what it had seemed. I felt so angry. Had I been wrong to feel the way I had about Sam? Or had I just been taken for a ride?

I logged onto my PC and checked my email. I was suddenly overcome with a sense of dread on seeing a new message in my inbox from Sam:

From: Sam Porter <emupatrol@bigfoot.com>

Date: 27 June 12:36:58

To: jake.lewis@bigfoot.com

Subject: No more, please

Jake,

There really is no point you pursuing me further. I’m in a serious relationship now and nothing you can do will change that. I don’t think of you in that way anymore. It isn’t because you’re not a nice person or anything, it’s just that things weren’t right, I’m not the one for you and I don’t want to try again.

Sam.

I couldn’t believe what I was reading, what a patronising bitch! Her email etiquette obviously hadn’t improved. I was suddenly struck by an ironic thought. I’d helped her construct the email to Pete telling him he would have to stay at a hotel, and now he’d probably sat there with Sam and helped her construct this one. So not only did he have a ludicrous taste in slippers, but a monkey randomly typing at the keyboard would have a better email etiquette than he did. Perhaps they were well suited after all? I was about to reply and tell her exactly what I thought of her but stopped myself. I knew it would only give me a brief moment of satisfaction and I needed more than that. Instead I printed out the message and deleted it from my inbox. Something I now wished I could do as easily with the memory of Sam.

To stalk or not to stalk? That was the question. How could I channel my anger and satisfy my desire for revenge? What options did I have? If I sent a reply to her email, she would probably just delete it. Alternatively, I could wait outside Snaredrum’s offices until she came out after work and confront her in the street. But where would that get me? She would probably run back inside, call the police and have me arrested again. Twice was careless, but three times in one week would definitely be unlucky. I needed some way of stalking her from afar; in a way that she wouldn’t know I was doing it. I sat down on the sofa and set my mind to work on the task. It didn’t take long to come up with an idea.

Junk mail! It was perfect. Everyone hates receiving junk mail. I could fill out her details on as many pre-paid reply cards as I could find. She would be inundated with crap. I could also do the same on the Internet. Whenever I was required to register on a site I could use Sam’s email address instead. I could also register her on postal and web mailing lists of all the bands I knew she hated. That would piss her off. Porn sites! There were thousands of those to register her with. What else? I could arrange for double-glazing salesmen to go round to her flat to give her quotes; I could order pizzas for delivery to her address; I could enter her as a contestant in crap game shows. This was great, my mind was really getting into this and so far it wouldn’t cost me a penny. But what could I achieve if I actually spent some money on it? I could set up my own company called Emu Patrol and register emupatrol.com as an Internet domain name. When Pete and her set up the record label they would have to choose a different name for it. I could take out billboard adverts around where she lives and works, and put messages on them from me. I’d like to see her try and delete them! I had to admit that this was starting to get rather expensive, but it sure was a whole lot of fun. I could go further with the adverts and take some out on Red-FM. Whenever she tuned in she would have to listen to a message from me. Then my mind came up with what it thought to be its pièce de résistance. I could get a job with the NME as a reviewer and slag off all of her record label’s releases and gigs. I suddenly felt a whole lot better.

I turned on the TV to see what distractions it had to offer. I needed something light to fill the hours until I had to return to my mundane working life at the BBC. A special debate show had just started that was discussing the current Lotto crisis; the one that it seemed I’d unwittingly caused. I watched mesmerised as they ran reports on how the crisis had developed. How the Lotto ticket had been found, the record number of winners, the story in The Sun and then a new twist. The papers were reporting today on how passengers on a train to Inverness on Wednesday night had been alerted of the ticket loss by the guard. The mysterious owner of the ticket had offered half the winnings to anyone who found it. Mayhem had subsequently broken out on the train as each passenger frantically attempted to search for the ticket. There were various interviews with people claiming to have been passengers on the train. All of them spoke of a dishevelled foul-smelling figure that wandered desolately up and down the carriages of the train. There were various descriptions given, but they contradicted each other and bore little resemblance to my actual description. It seemed that everyone had paid far more attention to looking for the ticket than they had to me. The only consolation was that they were now proposing to donate my winnings to charity. I chuckled to myself and changed the channel just in time to witness the opening credits to Grosse Pointe Blank. Now that was more like it.

***

Wednesday 7 July, 10:00 PM

The Kashmir Klub’s bar was situated along the back wall of its basement home just off Baker Street. Tables and chairs covered the floor space right up to the stage area at its opposite end. It had a low ceiling, bare brick walls, was dark and moody, and a fabulous atmosphere was always guaranteed. Julie, Ian and I had gotten there early, knowing that tonight it would be packed out, and had acquired ourselves a table near the front. They’d returned from their honeymoon on the Monday and had immediately phoned me on hearing what had happened. They’d been rather concerned for my well-being and had insisted they come up and visit. I’d thanked them for their offer, but assured them I would be fine. However, I’d told them that if they wanted to come up to London on Wednesday night I’d promise to take them to see Lucy’s Retching, which was why we were here. The first band had already been on and we were now enjoying the freedom of speech before finally witnessing Lucy and her band take to the stage.

‘Patronising bitch!’ said Ian, after reading the printed copy of Sam’s email I’d just handed him.

‘I see what you mean about her way with words,’ added Julie, equally astonished.

‘I’m in a serious relationship now,’ I said, imitating Sam’s patronising tone. ‘I can’t believe I was so blind! I really thought she was a genuine person who truly cared for me, but if she can suddenly go off and marry someone else then obviously our relationship must have meant nothing to her. I feel like I’ve been some kind of laboratory animal she’s been doing tests on for nine months, a check in this box, a cross in that box. I’m sure there must have come a point when I ceased to be a potential match for what she was looking for, maybe as long ago as our trip to the castle, and from then on just became a bit of fun until she found someone more suitable.’

‘It does sound like she was looking for something very specific, Jake,’ said Julie.

‘Yeah, well it obviously wasn’t me. I just wish she’d been truthful about it. Our whole relationship was supposed to be based on truth. The first night I met her she got me to play a truth game. I never lied to her all the time we were together, and I’d always thought the same was true of her. It’s ironic that she was the one who founded our relationship on truth, yet at the end she was the one who couldn’t be truthful.’

‘Maybe she just couldn’t bring herself to, Jake,’ suggested Julie. ‘Maybe she knew it would hurt you too much and thought it best to try and let you down gently.’

‘Or maybe she was just a bitch,’ added Ian.

I smiled at him in appreciation of his touching support. ‘If she’d have just told me the truth then, I would have accepted it. It would have fucking hurt, but I would have accepted it. Now I don’t know what to believe. Did she really think I didn’t want a family with her, or was that just an excuse she used to break up with me? If it was, then that was her big mistake because she misjudged the extent I’d go to to try and save our relationship. She was always telling me how much she cared for me and loved being with me. What did she expect me to do? I think it must just be a habit of hers to say those kinds of things to whoever she goes out with. I don’t say them to someone until I’m sure in my heart I mean them. I didn’t tell Sam I loved her until I knew it was true, but it was obviously too late by then.’

‘I think the best thing you can do now is forget she ever existed, Jake,’ advised Julie. ‘And if it’s any consolation, you weren’t the only one she fooled. I thought she was genuine, too. Frankly, Pete’s welcome to her. She doesn’t deserve someone as nice as you.’

It was reassuring to know I could always rely on Julie to say the right thing at the right time. I gave her an affectionate and reminiscent smile.

‘I had a nightmare about her last night,’ I revealed. ‘I dreamt we came here tonight and one of Snaredrum’s bands was also playing. Sam came up to me and announced she was pregnant and that it was mine. Then she broke out into hysterics. I just stood there totally gobsmacked. Finally she regained her composure, said she was only joking, that it was Pete’s baby really and handed me a card. I looked at it and it was an invite to their wedding in September. That was when I woke up.’

‘That’s awful,’ said Ian, grimacing. ‘What you need is to find yourself some new girl to dream about, like this Lucy if she’s as good as you say she is.’

‘You’ll be able to see for yourself shortly,’ I assured him.

‘In that case I’d better get another round of drinks in.’ He got up from his chair and disappeared to the bar.

‘So, are you glad to be back in the Medway towns after your honeymoon?’ I asked Julie.

‘You’ve got to be kidding, haven’t you? I’ve been trying to get Ian to relocate his company to London so that we can move up here and have some fun. He just keeps saying it’s too expensive, so I guess I’m going to have to put up with the Medway towns until I can come up with another plan.’

‘Did you enjoy the honeymoon?’

‘Yeah, it was wonderful. And guess what?’

‘What?’

‘We did it in the hotel swimming pool,’ she whispered with a satisfied smile on her face.

‘No way! I thought he wasn’t in to doing it in public places?’

‘He never used to be.’ Julie raised her eyebrows. ‘But I think he’s acquiring a liking for it. On the honeymoon I kept pestering him to try it in the swimming pool with me. I’m sure he only agreed in the end just to shut me up.’

‘And did he like it?’

‘He loved it! So the next day we were out driving and I asked him to pull over into a lay-by. Once we’d stopped I told him I’d been feeling horny and I wanted him to make me come. He started to protest that people driving by would see us, but I just ignored him, pulled my jeans down and laid my head across his lap. Needless to say he was already hard.’

‘Did he oblige, then?’

‘He was a little self-conscious at first, but it didn’t take him long to get into it and start enjoying himself.’

‘I bet he doesn’t even realise what a lucky bastard he is,’ I said, feigning jealousy. ‘It’s about time he started indulging in some of your fantasies.’

‘Well there’s a long way to go yet, but he’s showing potential.’

At that moment Ian arrived back with our drinks. I winked at him suggestively.

‘What?’ he asked worriedly.

Julie began to laugh.

‘I’m so proud of you, Ian,’ I said in sincere admiration and with my hand placed firmly on my heart.

He sat down heavily. ‘What have you been telling him?’

‘Me?’ Julie replied innocently. She began to stroke his arm gently. ‘I wouldn’t tell him anything about us, you know that, darling.’

‘Yeah right, like Jake hasn’t got a big nose.’

I didn’t get a chance to respond to Ian’s slanderous remark for at that moment Lucy’s Retching began to pick up their instruments and prepare to perform. Lucy, the sole female member of the band, stood with her microphone stand only a few feet away from our table. I had a perfect view of her deep blue eyes, her short dark hair and her delicate slim figure that I knew she would move so gracefully to the music. As they began to play their first number, its mellow tune and Lucy’s soothing vocals slowly engulfed me. I briefly remembered when I’d seen them last, some seven weeks before. They sounded as good now as they had then, but Lucy somehow seemed even more appealing. Perhaps it was because then I’d been here with Sam and had been content with that. I’d only been admiring Lucy from afar, but now things were different; there was a gaping hole in my life and my mind was wondering whether Lucy was the one to fill it, even though I knew it was just pure fantasy.

They played until about quarter past eleven and then finally left the stage to huge applause and calls for more. Ian and Julie expressed how much they’d enjoyed them and then apologised for the fact they were going to have to dash off to catch their train.

‘Go and talk to her, Jake,’ said Julie as she put on her coat.

‘What?’ I replied, as if it were the craziest idea I’d ever heard.

‘I saw the way you were looking at her.’

‘What would she want to talk to me for?’

‘She might not, but you won’t find out unless you try.’

I hated it when Julie got all wise with me, especially when she was right.

‘You never know what might happen.’

‘Yeah, maybe.’ I wasn’t going to commit myself to anything.

‘Well it’s up to you, Jake. You’re the only one who can put Sam behind you and move on. Tonight could be your first step.’

‘OK, Miss Wise-Owl, I get the point.’ I smiled at her.

‘You’ll be fine, Jake. Trust me.’

‘Listen,’ said Ian. ‘Why don’t you come down to ours this weekend? The Buff Medways are playing the Collision Club.’

‘Yeah, come down, Jake,’ agreed Julie. ‘You’ll be able to tell us all about Lucy by then as well.’

I smirked sarcastically at her. ‘OK, that sounds like a great idea.’

‘Then that’s settled,’ said Julie. ‘We’ll give you a ring tomorrow night to sort out the details.’

Julie gave me a kiss on the cheek and then they both left, leaving me with a basement full of happy punters and a girl named Lucy. A girl I was now going to have to find some way to talk to. The initial awkward ceremony of breaking the ice was something I’d always found difficult. I reminded myself that alcohol had often helped in the past and that my glass was now empty, so I headed off to the bar to refill it with some Dutch courage. It seemed that everyone else had been thinking the same as me, for when I got to the bar it was already crammed with punters trying to order more drinks. I surveyed the bar like you do a line of supermarket checkout tills and chose a spot I thought would get me served quickest. As each person was served they slowly turned round and levered themselves away from the bar, trying carefully not to spill their drinks while everyone around them fought for the opportunity to suck themselves into the vacated space. It seemed that tonight I’d chosen the wrong queue to join, but after a few minutes this ceased to bother me. Instead, as my nerves got the better of me, I began to use it as an excuse for not having to talk to Lucy. As the surge for the bar began to subside I finally succeeded in reaching it and fixed my gaze permanently on the barman serving my area. Someone began to squeeze in next to me, but I defended my space and kept my sights firmly fixed on the barman. He handed some change to the person he’d just finished serving then nodded at me.

‘Vodka and orange, please.’ I watched the barman as he mixed my drink. There didn’t actually seem much point in buying one now, not since I’d lost all desire and confidence to talk to Lucy. She’d probably torn herself away from the prying eyes of the public by now anyway. Why would she waste her time with such losers when she already had a successful future laid out ahead of her?

‘I can’t believe how long it takes to get served in this place,’ said the person who’d pushed in next to me.

‘It’s not usually this bad,’ I replied, keeping my eyes on the barman as he returned with my drink. I felt a little sorry for him. It wasn’t his fault it was so busy and he was serving as fast as he could. ‘It’s only been so packed tonight because Lucy’s Retching were playing.’ I counted out the exact change and handed it to the barman. As I turned to move away from the bar I found myself staring straight into the deep blue eyes of Lucy. I had to consciously stop my mouth from dropping open. For a few seconds we just stared into each other’s eyes. It was one of those moments that instantly tell you there is a mutual attraction. I managed to get my smile in first.

‘Can I help you, Miss?’ asked the barman.

‘Er . . . a bottle of Budvar, please,’ replied Lucy as she regained her composure and cast her gaze on the barman.

I couldn’t believe it was her! How long had she been standing next to me? I suddenly remembered being at the bar in the Forum with Sam, when my imaginary lifeboat had been drifting us into shore to be shipwrecked on a desert island. Admittedly, Pete had beaten my boat to the island and Sam had jumped overboard and swam ashore to be with him, leaving me to drift alone. But now, suddenly and out of the blue, Lucy had drifted across the horizon in her own lifeboat. This was an ideal chance to talk to her. It had fallen into my lap and all I had to do was climb aboard her lifeboat before it drifted out of reach. I had to say something else to her, especially after that look we’d exchanged.

‘I’m sorry, you’re in the band,’ I said, regretting it instantly.

Lucy turned and looked at me oddly.

‘I mean . . . er . . . I’m not sorry you’re in the band.’ I mentally picked up a shovel and prepared to dig. ‘What I mean is you must hate people telling you how great you are all the time.’

‘Well I prefer it to people telling me how crap we are.’ She smiled.

I smiled back and relaxed slightly. She had a wonderful smile and the most gorgeous sparkling blue eyes. Her skin looked perfect. There were no signs of the make-up that Sam had used to cover up her blemishes. Lucy didn’t look like she had any. Her dark hair was short but shiny and thick. Her slender neck looked so irresistible and her small delicate ears were already tempting me to nibble on them. Until now I’d never actually realised how big Sam’s ears had been.

‘You were sat at a table near the front, weren’t you?’ asked Lucy.

I nodded. I was thrilled by the thought that she’d noticed me during her set, but then reminded myself it was a very small venue after all.

‘Was tonight your first time seeing us?’

‘Er . . . no, second time, actually.’ I was finding it quite hard to concentrate my mind on speaking. ‘I first saw you here about seven weeks ago, when I came to see a band called Endor.’

‘Endor?’ She looked quizzical. ‘Aren’t they on Snaredrum Recordings?’

‘Yeah, that’s right, do you remember them?’

‘I do as it happens. What did you think of them?’

The barman returned with Lucy’s beer. She paid him and we stepped away from the bar to let other people get served.

‘I didn’t think they lived up to all the hype. To be honest, I thought your band were far better.’

‘Thanks.’ She sounded genuinely grateful. ‘I thought they had potential, but their attitude let them down. They seemed to think they were the best band in the world, and I also got the impression they looked down on all other bands, which is rather disrespectful. After all, we’re all just trying to express the same talent. I remember there was this girl with them - from their record company I think - who just kept going around telling everyone how great they were. One of the guys on the sound desk had to tell her to shut up during our set.’

I chuckled to myself. ‘That would have been my ex-girlfriend.’ I was strangely thrilled by the thought that Lucy had taken an instant dislike to both Sam and Endor.

‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean any offence.’

‘That’s OK. It’s kind of nice to hear someone else slagging her off. It makes a change from me doing it.’

‘Sounds like it was a nasty break-up?’

‘You could say that. It does make for a rather amusing story, though.’

‘You must tell me it sometime, I’m always looking for new sources of inspiration.’

‘What, so you can write a song about it?’

‘Yeah, I always find relationships one of the greatest inspirations for songs, whether they’ve been good or bad.’

I had to admit the thought was rather appealing. I’d always wanted to get up on stage and perform the break-up songs I’d written, but I knew it was never going to happen. Now here was someone who was actually in a band destined to be famous, and she was offering to write and perform a song about my break-up with Sam. It was a tempting revenge.

‘I have to admit I’ve written a few songs myself following break-ups,’ I said.

‘Oh yeah? Are you in a band?’

‘No, unfortunately it was something that was always going to remain a dream. That’s why I stopped writing them. I’ve been thinking about starting again recently, but I know it’s just through a desire for revenge.’

‘I can sympathise with that. I’ve written a few songs in my time to get over people myself. It’s strange, isn’t it, how someone’s pain can be turned round to give others so much pleasure?’

I nodded in agreement before we held each other’s gaze for a brief moment again. I broke it with a smile and a question I’d been dying to ask her. ‘Tell me something, why are you called Lucy’s Retching?’

Lucy smiled that glorious smile of hers again. ‘Oh, I got really drunk at a party once and my best friend Natalie had to nurse me while I was throwing my guts up. She went round the next day telling everyone she’d spent the whole party listening to the sounds of Lucy’s retching. It kind of stuck.’

I chuckled and smiled at her. ‘I think that’s the best story I’ve ever heard of how a band got its name.’

‘Yeah, but you have me at a disadvantage now because I don’t know your name, let alone how you got it.’

‘It’s Jake, and my mother gave it to me.’

She smiled that smile again. ‘Well listen, Jake, I’ve got to go and sweet-talk the industry people. They’ll already be wondering where I’ve got to. I really enjoyed talking to you. Will I see you at our next gig?’

‘You will if you tell me when it is.’

‘Are you not on our mailing list?’

‘I didn’t know you had one.’

Lucy took a small notepad and pen from her pocket. ‘Write your name, address and email on there and I’ll add you to it.’

I took the notepad and pen from her and wrote down my details.

‘Take care of yourself then, Jake,’ she said as she took back her notebook and pen. ‘And hopefully I’ll see you again soon.’ Then she was gone.

***

I felt so ecstatic on leaving the Kashmir Klub that night. I thought about Lucy all the way home. How beautiful she’d looked. How interesting she’d been to talk to and how she’d reminded me a bit of Julie. The amazing thing was that it had been a chance meeting, but in the brief period we’d talked, it had felt so right. The thing that kept playing on my mind the most, however, was that initial look that we’d exchanged with each other. If that didn’t mean something, then nothing did. That night I lay in bed unable to sleep, not because I was missing Sam, but because I was fantasising about meeting Lucy at her next gig. Would we instantly strike up a conversation as if we were old friends? Or would she just blank me and pretend we’d never met? I would have to wait and see, but my mind was already contemplating a long and happy friendship.

In the morning reality kicked sharply back in. I remembered how good it had felt talking to Lucy the night before, but I knew I was firmly on the rebound and also cautious of the fact the last person I’d met under similar circumstances had just stabbed me viciously in the back. My anger returned, and although I knew it would do no good, I craved revenge once more. It was all Sam’s fault. I wished that I could tell the world all about the way she’d treated me. All the ideas I’d come up with to get revenge I’d never carried out because when I’d thought about them they had all struck me as being rather vindictive. What I needed was something that would satisfy my current desire for revenge, yet wouldn’t leave a bitter taste in my mouth.

I spent the whole day at work in a trance, fantasising about avenging myself upon Sam. Gradually I began to realise that I had to do something about it. I thought of designing a website with loads of stuff on it about what Sam had done to me and how I felt about her now. The only problem was that I wouldn’t be able to get Sam to go to the website and look at it. I really needed to be able to stand over her in front of her computer and force her to browse it. I knew that was never going to happen either, but if I couldn’t get Sam to the website then maybe I could get the website to Sam?

What I could do was design a website, burn it onto CD, and then send it to Sam. Her birthday was only fifteen days away now, on the twenty-third of July. If I designed it as an anonymous birthday gift, she would be bound to put it in her computer out of curiosity alone. But what satisfaction would it give me if it just told her she was a bitch? She would just eject it and bin it. It would be better if I could prolong that message in a way she had no control over. The fact was that if I could convince Sam to innocently insert a CD into her computer, then I would be able to do whatever I wanted with it. I could reformat her hard drive and totally trash her machine if I wanted to.

After giving it some more thought I decided to go for something a little more subtle, viewing the destruction of her machine as being too extreme. I would design the CD to display a happy birthday message by having animated emus carry each of the letters onto the screen in their beaks. They would assemble the letters into the correct order and then stand behind them and flap their tiny wings. Sam would probably think it was a cute little birthday message from Pete and spend ages watching it. But while that little happy birthday message was being displayed, unbeknownst to Sam, in the background my program would be permanently deleting her entire collection of MP3s. Her painstaking project to transfer her entire CD collection to MP3s, which had taken her nearly a year to complete, would disappear in a matter of seconds. There was no more apt or sweeter revenge I could think of.

Two weeks later on the morning before her birthday, I had the CD packaged up and ready to post, just like I’d done with so many compilation discs before it. As I was about to leave for the post office I picked up my mail and noticed a small package with unfamiliar handwriting on. I opened it up and to my surprise found a CD inside, attached to which was a short message:

Jake,

We’re playing at the Water Rats on Saturday night.

Come see us, you’re on the guest list.

Lucy

P.S. I thought you might appreciate this.

Her mobile phone number was scribbled beneath. I looked at the CD and as I read the track listing I realised it was a compilation with a theme of hate. There were a number of songs I already knew: Thin Line Between Love And Hate by the Pretenders, Your Ex-Lover Is Dead by Stars, and Don’t Like You (What The Hell Are We Supposed To Do) by The Wannadies. Others I wasn’t sure I knew, but was keen to hear, like Alone In The Make-Out Room by The Broken Family Band, so I quickly loaded the CD onto my iPod.

‘All You Need Is Hate,’ sang The Delgados, as I set off towards the Finsbury Park post office clutching Sam’s packaged CD in my hands. A huge grin spread across my face as I wondered whether Lucy’s obvious fondness for compilations could be fate. But then suddenly my euphoria began to fade as I was reminded of The Beatles’ All You Need Is Love; the opening track on the first compilation Sam had ever sent me and the one I’d listened to at the start of my fateful journey a month earlier. My emotions were torn between joy and sadness; joy for the music Sam had sent me, and sadness for the fact I’d now lost her. I looked at the packaged CD in my hands. Was what I’d been feeling really hate? Or was it just anger? Could I really live with the thought of being responsible for the deletion of all that music from Sam’s PC? Something that had given me so much pleasure, something that gave Sam so much pleasure and something that gave Lucy so much pleasure, too? Had it been the music that was at fault in our relationship? Or had it been that we just wanted different things from life and that our ability to communicate those things had been at fault? I looked at the packaged CD in my hands again. I now realised that sealed in that package was all my vented anger at the recent events that had befallen my life. I knew I held the power to reap my revenge upon Sam, but maybe the greater power I held was not to. I stopped at the nearest waste bin, dumped Sam’s CD into it and then began to memorise Lucy’s number.

Table of Contents

- Blurb
- Title Page
- Copyright Page
- Dedication Page
- Chapter One - Security Alert
- Chapter Two - Truth Games
- Chapter Three - Happy Holder
- Chapter Four - Perfect Blue
- Chapter Five - Compilation Tracks
- Chapter Six - Purity Test
- Chapter Seven - Betty Beetle
- Chapter Eight - Pig Out
- Chapter Nine - Emu Patrol
- Chapter Ten - Lucy's Retching