

Sandi Burrill

and the

Beach of Flames

© Dominic Jericho 2018

This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The moral right of Dominic Jericho has been asserted.

First published in Great Britain 2018

Public domain works cited within text:  
William Shakespeare: Romeo and Juliet (1623)  
Henry Francis Lyte: 'Abide with Me' (1847)

James Joyce: Dubliners (1914)

Wilfred Owen: 'Anthem for Doomed Youth (1917)

Wilfred Owen: 'Dulce Et Decorum Est' (1918)

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.

Sandi Burrill

and the

Beach of Flames

By

Dominic Jericho

Contents

Stone Circle

Mercy

Embrace

Politix

Karaoke

Dinner Party

Painting

Granddaughter

Flammable

Sandi

Building Rage

Asunder

Verona

Trust

Slow Burn

Permission

The Golden Crown

Aftermath

Family

Seduction

The Red Issue

The Council

Kicked Out

Calculated Risk

Arrest

Origins and Exits

Vicherrious

The Crushing Force of Choice

Romeo and Juliet

Lombard

Police Interview

Release

Lovestormy

The World is Wrong

Languorage

The Beach of Flames

Never

Run

This is a fiery novel  
about the perils of teenage love  
set amid a languorous summer  
in the upper-sixth form

For J.A.

Visit https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com  
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and receive a free eBook

I never felt this alive before. It felt like speeding in a dark tunnel deep underground. As fast as I could run, adrenaline prickled through my veins like a forgotten friend. My rebellion against them drove me further. I wanted to taste it, I wanted to push it. I wanted to feel the warm smoke drag me down and then rise through my throat as it tainted my bruised soul with its deathly breath of decay. She sat beside me the whole time, holding my hand as we drank in the mellow sweetness of nicotine oblivion.

The pale filter hung from her lips as blue fumes erupted from her mouth. She swung a delicate Prada handbag in painted fingertips, back and forth, as though it were a toy. Words were redundant in the face of my baby's innocence so flagrantly corrupted.

I felt the horrible absence of her hand as she skittled to the kitchen to fetch a plate of brownies, laced with cherry kirsch and paint-stripping vodka. The momentary withdrawal set doubt wandering amongst my thoughts, a familiar companion welcomed back into the fold. I wanted her back as quickly as her short legs would carry her, back with me, where I could scoop up her lithe body in my arms and throw kisses on her dainty neck.

It would not happen. I would not summon the courage. Not now, not in a million years. It was the sight of _her_ that kept me alive. The mere presence of possibility that I wanted to remain with and keep my soul company for eternity.

That day, that bittersweet day. Her words resounded in my head, clarion calls to a tender memory. The touch of her skeletal caress against my skin haunted me, a crawling sensation as pervasive as it is irresistible.

I knew now she would never leave me again.

Stone Circle

Waves tore at the sides of the boat like fatal impostors, like threatening flames, like tongues of fire. Two pairs of hands clung onto the only rope available in the silver dinghy as it rode and bounced the deep waves of the North Sea. The wind whistled around them like a lasso – a cacophony of shrill and sudden whooshes. Combined with the bass rumbling from below, the sound underlined the familiar watery terror facing them both.

The night had fallen fast, much like that same night over a decade ago. Amid moving planes of vast cloud Robin spotted blinking stars. In her mind she drew the constellations. A sheet of icy rain fell upon her cold face but she brushed aside the water with ease. She was used to it. Her lank hair fell about her sodden face, framing it with two brown curls. Watching the sky, she saw the faint moon disappear behind another cloud, the persistent downpour from the heavens continue, and she smiled.

Flambeau was at the back of the boat, negotiating a path through the fleeting storm. As water gushed in from the port side he casually flicked a pump with his foot and the couple of inches that had already built up quickly dissipated back into the open sea. With a majestic one-handed motion he pulled on the motor string and the dinghy lurched forward like a tiger, rising up over a steep wave and out into calm, blue and twilit sea.

After an hour Flambeau turned the motor down and steered the boat into a narrow fissure between the stone cliffs. As the dinghy trilled in the slender stream, the faint engine hum echoed from the cavern ceiling. Although equally cold, here it was also quiet. Asleep at the front, Robin allowed the familiar damp smell and squawking sound of local seagulls to wake her. They had arrived.

*

Olive Spritser sat amid tall grasses growing from the lilting dune. The sound of sea caressing shore felt subtle foreplay to the way she stroked Benjamin Sprite's neck. For twenty minutes they avidly kissed, Olive's lips twice getting caught between Benjamin's teeth. She had not screamed or exclaimed. Benjamin's thin, muscular arm attempted to grasp the essence of Olive, but the girl's submissive force had gained control.

She poised her hips, rubbing them against Benjamin's with glee until he ceased pushing her hand away each time she went for his belt. As the buckle unfastened, the tension of a whole year's studying seemed to release. The pair accelerated their lustful game. Olive's hand rushed through Benjamin's fair, ruffled hair. Benjamin raised his knee slightly, surrendering to Olive more leverage with which to mount him.

Olive's own jeans were decorously and dangerously adorned. A three-inch wide belt slung round her waist. Fastened by a purple clasp, its rim was crusted with metallic glitter. Benjamin scrabbled at it with thick fingers. It stuck firm, such was the complexity and tightness of its fixing to Olive. Instead he tried for beneath the back of her black lycra top. Here he discovered success, grasping the hinge of her brassiere and deftly undoing one of the two hooks.

'It's all in my hands now,' he whispered into Olive's gold hooped earring, allowing the bra to disassemble between his fingers. Moving his hands to the front, Olive leapt back and raised her voice for the first time.

'Bloody hell Benjy – your hands are fucking cold!'

Benjamin grinned. Rubbing his hands together for heat, he reinserted them under Olive's tailored yet accommodating top, and allowed her contented sigh to smother him like a blanket.

*

Five hundred golden shards of glass scattered dazzling rays of light across the room. The bright mirror ball spun gently from the modest lounge's ceiling. It lit in buttergold light the drunken revellers: chatting, singing, resisting their lips and then yielding in time to the pumping stereo.

On an arm of a brown leather sofa perched a warm-faced eighteen-year old girl. Blonde streaks ran through her caramel hair. Amanita Walmer chatted furiously to a young man on the opposite arm, a tall, lanky lad bearing mischievous sparkles in his expression. Between Timothy Gaunt and Amanita sat another young man. He remained silent, his only concession to the conversation the odd foot tap in time to the music.

'Another drink?'

Sandi cooed into the belly of the sofa. Three arms expectant arms extended glasses in unison. Their refills would be an exotic yet potent punch Sandi's mother had prepared for her daughter's eighteenth birthday.

'Great party!' Amanita gushed. 'Love the decorations!'

'Thanks!'

Sandi felt pleased someone acknowledged the effort she and her sister Mercy had gone to. They had spent the entire afternoon adorning the lounge for their beloved friends. Gold and silver ribbons hung from the walls and white fairy lights draped every picture on the wall, transforming the room to a twinkling grotto.

'How about you Tim? Having a good time?'

Languidly turning his head Tim nodded, gazing at Sandi up and down. She wore what seemed to be a glorified nightie. A silver dress, all one piece that finished somewhere above her thighs. Her silver gloss lips rippled in glittering light. Danny lifted his head also, gazing into her eyes. He recalled the plenitude of memories he'd shared with her, from only two years acquaintance. Auschwitz, Burnett mountain, hypnosis. Brownleaf beach, Gatwick airport and the sixth-form bar they reluctantly left at closing time that evening before making their way to her house.

'Sandrhina – you look positively chic!'

Danny beamed, releasing a smile that flooded Sandi with warmth. She looked down at Danny and reached for his hand, pulling him up off the sofa and into her arms. She hugged him tightly.

'Danny – I'm so glad you're here. This year is going to be much better, for you and for me.'

Danny reluctantly withdrew from her tender embrace. He glanced into her eyes which reflected the living room: the dancing mirror ball, the lustful frivolities of Dawn Russet and Michael Vitus behind him, the drunken attempts of Brandon Wood and Benjamin Sprite to insert a pornographic DVD into the player.

'I wouldn't count on it, but thank you for the sentiment all the same,' Danny replied without missing a beat. 'You'll be a gorgeous eighteen-year old.'

Sandi grinned and embraced him again.

*

The dew from the morning rain shower clung to riotous green grass. A man watching from the aperture that formed a makeshift window saw how single drops claimed each blade, finding a alternative route to the bottom than the one before it. Down the edge of the apex, along the root, skating down the safe flatness. Some twirled around the grass, twisting and turning into a dance between air and stem until finally consumed by damp earth.

With deliberate movement the grey haired man slowly poured olive fluid into the fragile test-tube. It filled too quickly. Twice today he already burnt clumsy fingers on the deceptively flammable fluid. Water cascaded down gutters outside. It had not ceased raining since the end of the previous day. The metal half tubes shook with the weight of the downpour. The waiting never stopped. Sometimes he wished he could end it all, return to the start and choose a different, more sanguine path. But it was impossible. He had chosen his path and selected his route carefully. Dwelling upon times gone by was nostalgia simply for the sake of it. That time was dead.

Laughing lightly, a young girl walked in the room and glanced out the rain-spattered hole in the cliff-wall. There were fields all around here to play in, but not today. There was no chance of even taking a short walk. Somnolent-looking cows sheltered beneath leafy trees, unaware that occasional pourings of sweet rainwater on their irritated heads originated from the same leaves that gave shelter.

Robin looked at Olivio Flambeau. Sinking her chin into her arms, she gazed at him with soft eyes.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

Flambeau merely raised his eyebrows.

'That we shall see...very shortly.'

*

The silver rainbow of the reflective disc was hastily inserted into the stereo a few minutes to midnight and Bryn Straw shouted for Sandi. This was her moment.

'Come here birthday girl,' he shouted and Sandi pirouetted towards the music, momentarily embracing everyone she could see, as Bryan Adams sang out the song that had been reserved for her coming-of-age.

Everyone was dancing. Amanita with Tim. Olive with Benjamin. Hazel with Mary. Liam Flicker with Ian Phalanger. Deeply inebriated, the flirty teenagers fell over each other in the small living room, and relished their morphing into sub-prime adulthood. It felt to Danny a dark cloud had lifted high in the sky as to become invisible. All the events of the past year, the search for Penny, the hopes of meeting Robin, the encounter with Flambeau; all the horrific colour had faded in the past month. It was as if Danny had sunk below the water line, blocking all sound, sight and anything that could remind he was alive. He didn't want to remember or to feel. Memory was a demon who prosecuted the ultimate torture.

In the lamp lit corner of the room Richey Athurston relaxed in an armchair. Chatting to Squish Ambrose, the new groom, he glanced hesitantly at Danny. Cherry Trove rushed in the room, strawberry tequila threatening to spill from her conical cocktail glass. Half-heartedly she tried to pull Richey away from his conversation and into a slow dance to James Blunt's _Goodbye My Lover_. Richey resisted, rolling his eyes to Squish when Cherry turned away.

Sandi danced alone, her eyes shut tight, euphoric as if in some blissful reverie. As Cherry's flicked hips posed a question to the room, and raised male eyebrows, Danny instinctively held out his hand. He didn't see how it had happened. One second she beckoned several boys to dance with her – Brandon Wood, Sol Castle, Charlie Shackleton, the next she flung her arms around Sandi's neck and was revolving slowly beneath the glitterball with the birthday girl. The gleaming orb sent a thousand tiny golden reflections of the pair spiralling onto the languid adolescents who watched, simultaneously bemused and enchanted.

*

Charcoal embers flaked and burned at the centre of the stone circle. Grey wafts of woody smoke rose from the glowing hearth while a distant black tide hissed and soothed. A solitary ghetto blaster sang soaring rock melodies. Liam Flicker had built the fire earlier as a special birthday treat for Sandi. Now he stood before the flaming rage contained by rocks, wearing a cheerful grin on chiselled features.

'Thought you'd like a little beach party to celebrate your birthday sunrise.'

Everyone ran past Danny on the beach to dance. Olive and Benjamin. Brandon, Charlie, Tim and Sol. Hazel, Sonia, Mary and Amanita. Richey, Michael and Edmund. Florence, Saffelia and Emily. Sandi and Cherry were last, tiptoeing onto the cold sand before joining the others, dancing around the fire as gleefully as if it were their golden mirror ball.

Danny sat on a stone and watched the scene for a few moments. He removed his socks and shoes. Like the rush of the oncoming tide, like a railroad truck emerging from a concealed tunnel, a revelation punctured his tired thoughts. These were his friends. Ever since he could remember these were the people who had grown up with him. No matter if they played on the opposite side of the playground; it didn't really signify anything that they all lived in different, disparate parts of town. They were all one now. The way they exchanged banter, swapped jokes, held each other's glances – it seemed nothing could separate their friendships.

As they frolicked by the flames, their eyes reflecting the dancing fire in the darkness of dusk, the realisation struck Danny one day he would miss these people. It was not the physical distance but the geography in lifestyles that would eventually divide their group. But he wanted to forget that for a moment. Throwing his socks into an amorphous bundle in one of his trainers he ran off across the sand and joined the others. They danced into the night. Their innocent, wasteful joy became an epiphany of their last moments of a golden summer together.

*

Let. Me. Out. Danny felt his thoughts would explode from his head if he didn't find somewhere quiet to repose and express himself. Isolation never filled him with fears of loneliness. Unanimity was a warm blanket, always comforting in times of need. It need never let him go. Silence. Beauty. Complete mastery over one's own environment. It was an unspoken and sacred joy that secretly visited Danny when he most needed it. The location didn't matter. It used to be his bedroom. Then it was the Snowfall Grove. Now it was this small and dusty disused place. A minor miracle had led Wonder to show it them last year. Here he was again. In one of the highest pinnacles of Amberleigh Castle, inviting lofty thoughts to exit his teeming brain. Through the arched window he watched the usual crowd play on the beach. They were enjoying the last week before school resumed.

It would be a precipitous year.

The buffer of twelve whole months remaining before the final departure had mistakenly made them assume teenage revels would last an eternity. It had vanished, much like a sandstorm disappears in the ether of the ocean's haze after it breezes its irritating purge through. An era of uncertainty was descending with alarming speed. Much like the sun as it meets the ocean's edge, kissing its jasmine rim before the sea cruelly slices and subsumes it in a drop of water, this day was closing. The darkness of invisibility, and the annihilation of familiarity loomed.

It was so long ago now. He could barely remember. The only residing memory of her remained stuck in his head. He had been sitting in a pushchair, waiting to be wheeled round the shops. She had perched before him, tempting him with a purple liquid he now knew to be apple and blackcurrant squash. Memory didn't preserve so much the specifics of her facial features, but the feeling of kindness and generosity that emanated from inside her core. That profound feeling now persisted in his own heart. It was encased with a fondness so tender he dare not admit it.

He reached the string to pull the arched window ajar, and allow in some air. The growing wind outside coursed through the gap. The pleasant rush felt like a terrier discovering new found freedom after being unleashed. It circulated and swam and skirted the dusty wooden floor as spiders and insects crawled into hiding places.

As Danny breathed he smelt the summer's simultaneous dwindling, intermingling with the once distant autumn. Sea salt fused with the threat of damp rain. The slight chill refreshed after summer's onslaught of blazing humidity. It was the hint of the oncoming cold, the bitterness of heat suddenly lost that communicated the relentless passage of time. Until the seasons once again decided to replace it, warmth was evaporating. Stressful, uneasy thoughts seeped from Danny's mind. They flew away, far away from his berating conscience. Wisps of air carried Nature in the small room, lulling Danny with a pacifying absorption of worries. Here, they were just dim reminders of eternal cycles within a reassuringly uncaring universe. Here Danny was alone, isolated and unseen. Here, he was perfect.

*

Benjamin Sprite had been the one to suggest it. Slouched against the student bar, pouring himself a rum lemonade, Liam Flicker had looked into the ceiling and denounced all A-level examinations as instruments of torment. It preceded a confession to the group before him – Sandi, Cherry, Hazel, Danny, Olive and Benjamin – he had no idea how to study for the upcoming Religious Studies exam. Benjamin was also struggling. The demands of spending time on coursework was to be matched against time spent with Olive, a tantalising temptation to which he regularly succumbed. The following week they gathered at Sandi Burrill's house for their first A-level study group.

Desire pours from every orifice of my being. I can feel it. I want to kiss her on the mouth in front of everyone, partly for the shock value, partly just to taste her lips. It is not enough just to watch her, waiting patiently for the delicate opportunity to present itself. Like a child sitting on the edge of her bed waiting for Father Christmas, I am now poised. Scouring, searching, evaluating every single syllable that drops from those precious lips like solid gold snowflakes. My words are nothing compared to the shapes her mouth makes, seductive power echos through her entire being, whispering the promise of sweet oblivion, the glorious consumption of thought, everything absorbed in one ascendant, sublime climax that would unite our souls permanently.

Danny gazed at the ceiling, allowing his thoughts to permeate dark secrets of his spirit. Everything was hidden, nothing on display. Here, he might be invisible. Here he might be a small cloud among many in a vast and airless sky. Nobody could see, feel or understand. Reaching him was beyond comprehension. He had suffered too much. Life was beginning but then again life was over. Why bother with examinations when the iceberg's tip melted to reveal dramatic seascapes of sorrow. Sudden relief told Danny all the sadness ever experienced could forever be his.

Sandi skipped over. Taking his hand silently, she pulled him to his feet.

'Dance with me Danny. I don't want to think about the damn exams.'

As Manchester indie echoed from the speakers above, they waltzed slowly across the living room. In Danny's bare and translucent arms Sandi felt like a glorious prize. In the corner a girl looked on jealously.

*

A photograph of a smiling family stood on the ochre mantelpiece. Sheltered beneath a dark acacia tree, rich dark green leaves threw their bright faces into stark shade. An older man, his fair hair thinning, gazed proudly down at a plump, pretty woman and two girls. One was thin with long flowing black hair. The other with shorter roast-toffee hair heaved a deep bosom even at sweet sixteen. Her face was unmistakeable. Sandi Burrill.

'Mercy was born precisely two years to the day before me. Some people think that's a bit freaky. My folks say it's fate. She's always been there for me. It's not easy growing up, especially when lots of female hormones fly about, like wasps in summer. But I've never forgotten all the times she's calmed me down and helped me through my difficulties. When a teacher tried it on with me at my last school. When I failed my first driving test. When I thought I'd never make anything of my life.'

'Surely you never thought that?'

Danny was surprised. To him Sandi was a sexy teen superstar effervescing with assurance. She turned to look at him, pouring the glowing fire of wide irises into her gaze.

'Of course I did. Doesn't everyone?'

Danny tapped his foot in time to the tune from the stereo, something about a waterfall.

Sandi's lilting chirp seemed to trickle through his brain, circling endlessly like an winding helter skelter.

'It always seemed to me...I always thought I was the odd one out,' Sandi gazed at Danny. 'I was always too plump, too short, slightly too buxom for boys. I wear the fire engine lipstick as a disguise. It's a protective measure because deep down I know I'm not pretty. I don't feel confident without it.'

'But you are!' Danny oozed, resting his freckled fingers on her pale palm.

'Thanks Danny. That's sweet.'

Somewhere a bell clanged. Hazel and Cherry's heads peered round the edge of the door.

'Grub's up!' Hazel shouted,

Olive, Benjamin and Sandi proceeded into the kitchen, leaving a confused-looking Danny to pick up the lipstick Sandi had accidentally dropped.

*

Sweet cherry juice stained their teeth. Melting chunks of cocoa glistened in the chocolate brownies, offsetting the juice with endorphin-inducing glee. The Burrill recipe remained an unspoken surprise for those yet to taste their mystery. Cherry buzzed round the table like a bluebottle, flitting in and out of everyone's conversation with manic paranoia.

Olive and Benjamin had not succeeded resisting their desire; textbooks had long been neglected on the arm of the couch. They had quickly fallen to the floor, along with their owners' reserve. Cherry and Hazel sampled the brownies, savouring the rich indulgence of chocolate chips submerged like sunken treasures in the sticky cake. Olive and Benjamin were too busy tasting each other to notice. Sandi accidentally on purpose nudged Olive with her swaying hips, temporarily releasing them from their lustful reverie.

'Food guys!' Sandi uttered, winking at Benjamin who grinned back.

I want to feed her brownies. I want to rip her bra off her chest and suckle on those dainty nipples. I want her to place her hand on my dripping cunt and have her taste my own fragrant juice. I want to feed her brownies...

Danny grabbed a brownie and ran back to the living room. He didn't want to miss the next song.

*

Mercy

I. Don't. Want. To. Don't tell me what I can and can't do. So what if I want to go out all night and hang out with boys who smoke. So what if I want to lay in his lap, my mouth tantalisingly close to the vessel of his desire. So what if I go clubbing and dance all night til my body is ridden with sweat and I am completely and totally and utterly wasted. So what? So what if I let him kiss me on my chest, so what if I whisper sweet lies in his ear and then go off with someone else? There's no-one here to stop me. So what if I want to fuck him and then run off and leave him in the middle of the night. He'd do the same to me no doubt. So what if I want to experiment with drugs, hashish, weed, ecstasy, THC? So what if I want to experiment with sex so what if I let him put something there just to see if it'll get me off so what if I let him tongue me there and scream with utter delight so what if I experiment with girls so what if I want it backwards sideways on top underneath tangled up behind a bike shed? So what if I want to kiss her gently on the lips and let her tell me she loves me that she'll never let me go ever until the day we both leave this earth forever. So what? I don't want to. I. Don't. Want. To.

*

'I'm telling you Danny you've got to let her go. We're in our prime now. You behave like the anguished anti-hero of the school. We've only got one more year so let's not waste it dwelling on the past. There's a whole life out there for us. We should be embracing it, man! Women, women, women! I'm telling you, you can do a lot better than the little girls who parade around this establishment thinking they're cool because they're allowed to wear fishnet tights and matt cream lipstick. I'm talking about real women! Women who have experience, wrinkles, a gaze more serious than giggly. When one of these women looks at you she won't look away and laugh about you with her mates, she'll just carrying on looking at you until you look away, or until you let her seduce you.'

Danny twisted his head to look at Tim.

'It's a big world out there mate,' Tim said.

They walked side by side along Amberleigh beach. Golden sand stretched before them in a gentle arc, a sweeping bow delivering an arrow of tide. The restless sea advanced. It disturbed before departing, stranding grey-green pools amid jagged rocks. The sky could have been an artist's palette. A mutable feast of vanilla and pale yellow shades criss-crossed a wild honey sea, filling the air with its tempest. It felt darker out there in the void of Amberleigh bay. Danny could sense the animosity. Autumn was coming, and Danny felt ill-prepared for what awaited.

Robin weaved in and out of his mind. She was still out there. Somewhere. The sighting before the summer had added proximity, even though he knew not where she was. Before, he could forget. Now, he would never. Chardelia's death had removed from him something he could never replace. Robin's absence implied a similar fate, both for him and her. But now it was confirmed. His own eyes had gazed into her steady rainbows with a surety he relived every night when he dreamed. Robin was alive.

Why was this the way he was built? To always be the reflective one, the one plagued with cascading thought. One after the other, until they piled into an oppressive torrent of dread, threatening obdurate collapse.

Seaweed washed ashore and wrapped itself round a nearby rock. A solitary vine clinged to stability before the unfaithful tide betrayed it again. The air hung rich with sea salt. Breathing in slowly, Danny nodded to Tim. He agreed life was all to play for, while secretly wishing he was up in the painted sky with Chardelia.

*

'Come away.'

Her voice echoed like a lilting song.

'Come with me.'

Benjamin stepped forward. Olive extended her leg and caught Benjamin's heel, bringing him tumbling down on top of her.

'Hello big boy!' She greeted his arrival with a kiss.

Benjamin caressed Olive's shortcake skin, and stroked her toffee hair. He allowed his tongue to linger on her bottom lip, as if coated with sugar. It was raspberry chapstick today, he was sure. Her body squeezed beneath his. An exhilaration long promised, only recently fulfilled, now felt anti-climactic.

Their first kiss had been a drunken fumble. Olive had been crying in the middle of the road after watching her cousins depart for Australia. There had been rumours, tiny gossips that Olive had become too friendly with Wayne, her male cousin two years older. Forbidden love that was never to be repeated, she told Benjamin later. As she stood, tears fell in the road's shiny puddles. Benjamin allowed himself to hug her until the tears stopped and her sodden hair intermingled with his jacket. Olive had looked in his eyes, her pleading gaze generously inviting him to numb her from the pain. She was surprisingly warm to the touch. As she opened her mouth he felt the dual luxury of undeniable moisture and lubricating access. It symbolised the zenith of euphoric achievements for an insecure teenager. Acceptance.

Their lives had slowly intertwined like their young bodies. Benjamin visited her every Saturday after cricket practice. Olive bought him little presents. Bags of his favourite sweets, a new pair of wicket keepers gloves, a miniature rugby ball. Benjamin caressed with a tenderness hidden when he hurled a cricket ball with exponential speed towards the stumps.

It was a happy and joyful union. Both sets of parents looked on fondly. Benjamin was a sports hero. He wasn't intending to go to university but stick around in Amberleigh and work in the local sports centre for a year, building his experience. Olive hadn't made her mind up yet. She was considering Blackpool or Sussex for Psychology. Benjamin prayed it wasn't Sussex. Surely that would mean the end of them? Friends could see love in both pairs of eyes, and wondered why they waited so long to find each other.

As Olive cradled Benjamin's head in her lap she leant over and tickled beneath his arms until he laughed uncontrollably. A few passers-by glanced as the pair straddled each other on the park bench. Benjamin was oblivious. Olive gazed into his indigo eyes, stroking his muscular cheekbones.

'Why wasn't life this easy before?' she asked, as a small magpie flew between two trees.

'It was,' Benjamin said. 'We just didn't realise until now.'

He winked, before they both fell into a set of giggles. Their lusty sound drowned out passing traffic and dissonant thoughts that could disrupt their happy kisses.

*

Amberleigh Abbey remained a secret hidden to most residents. From a distance you could believe it was complete and still a fully functioning church. Close up the gothic beauty of its romantic ruins overwhelmed. Carpets of grass stretched between rising stone walls that reached for heaven. Years of weathering had left it with no roof other than God's own. The Abbey stood obstinately on a patch of earth a few hundred yards from a cliff edge which accommodated the North Sea's frequent crashes and erosions. With no discernible road leading to the ruins, the Abbey was sheltered from casual intruders and irresponsible vandals, apart from the odd seagull flying in off broad sea winds. Clumps of trees rose either side of the Abbey before the forest descended toward Amberleigh town, offering no indication of the architectural treasure they hid on the other side.

It was a two hour walk at least to the spot known as 'Plunket's pulpit'. At the pulpit, a sudden gap in the tree cover overlooking a high rock, walkers enjoyed stunning vistas over the Abbey to the forest beyond and the vast, rock-shattering sea.

Mercy Burrill stood on the broken stump and gazed at the verdant wetness. It calmed the soul, seeing this place again. A small notebook rested at her feet. A handmade pencil poked beneath white parchment. It was the hesitancy, the unwanted silence when she had asked him the question, that planted a creeping doubt in her mind. It had taken root, like a weed. Now it grew with the rapidity of her breathing during last night's intercourse. Brazil Trove, known to his friends as Razzy, had surged with the adrenaline of two month's sexual abstinence. As the headboard banged against the wall, Mercy had screamed out her namesake. Tingling pleasure spilled from the tip of her clitoris to the extremities of her fingers, toes and neck. Razzy continued until her exclamations dyed into barely audible squeaks, akin to a plunging dolphin, and he erupted inside her like a waterfall breaking through a dam wall.

Thinking of it, Mercy heard the small waterfall as it trickled through Amberleigh's cliffs, absorbed by the trees, falling to the sea. They had cuddled for five minutes. Mercy had gazed in his eyes with little subtlety but it was his abrupt departure from the bedroom to make tea and toast that gave her pause for thought. The cuddles were getting shorter.

She pushed the end of her pencil on the page and began to compose a poem. Something that would give precise articulation to her feelings. To permit her mind to relieve and release itself of responsibility. Thunderously ominous thoughts spilled out, into the infinitely dense space.

*

It was DVD night at Cherry's. The thick summer air had subsided and a lighter breeze with its autumnal bite flowed in off the coast. Danny pulled his black cardigan across his shoulders, kicking the front door of Dunkinley shut as he left for a relaxing Saturday night. It had been three weeks since Richey Athurston had publicly announced his split from Cherry. Danny had bought an extra bottle of aftershave that afternoon.

The swirling lights of Shox erupted on the cobbles as Danny meandered through skimpily clad women and police patrolling the streets. He nodded to Sergeant Lombard as he passed him. Lombard was trying to help a drunken girl up off the floor after one too many Bacardi breezers.

Shox. That had been the scene of the infamous betrayal, nearly a year ago. How times change, Danny reflected. Now he was marching to her house, wearing an intent and purpose he hadn't felt since the pursuit of Robin. Perhaps there might be some way to snatch a little joy and satisfaction from the year before it concluded with damp Autumn and the bitterness of a cold Christmas.

Tim Gaunt stood erect on the top platform of the Amberleigh fountain, stopping one of the hoses with his right foot.

'I'm gonna fuck a little missy tonight if it kills me. Damn it, Danny. I got to gets me a woman!' Tim shouted.

A few passing girls giggled at the sight of him.

'Since when did you turn into a boyz from the hood?' Danny called up at Tim.

Knees bent and arms splayed, Tim jumped down and landed beside Danny with uncharacteristic finesse, splashing water on Danny's jeans.

'Sorry about the water, fella. Feet got a little wet.'

Danny rolled his eyes and marched off. He remembered the idiom. He wouldn't mind getting his feet wet too.

A historic market town by day, Amberleigh's charm was transformed to a raving hub of hedonistic debauchery by night. Danny never ceased to be amazed by the metamorphosis, activated as soon as sun fell. Tonight their destination lay elsewhere. Danny walked the steep steps leading up the old part of the town. Cherry's parents owned a deluxe town house here.

'Damn I've got something in my shoe,' Tim complained as they fell through the metal gate.

Throbbing music sounded within and Danny knew he'd reached the right house. Silhouetted figures danced through the window, intermingling with occasional light inside. Danny saw Sandi's voluptuous contour pirouette to the arms of a fellow dancer. His pulse skipped a beat like a record player's pin missing the track's groove.

'I thought it was DVD night.'

'You know how girls like to dance.'

Tim still shook his foot as if his toes were possessed.

Inside Cherry's house walnut veneers gleamed everywhere. Around the picture frames of the happy family in the cream hallway; bolstering the three piece suite in the beige lounge; the sturdy table dominating the large dining room; high backed chairs with mauve cushioning. Cherry's parents were rich. Danny felt struck by the difference between Sandi's house – all distressed interiors stripped back to floorboards – and the plush décor of the Trove home.

'Nice place,' Danny murmured to no-one in particular. Cherry poked her head around from nearby doorway.

'Hello boys – in the mood for a party!'

It was more a statement than a question. Her petite hand reached for Tim's and she dragged him through the doorway to dance. Danny followed, looking on jealously.

Inside Cherry had hung pink and purple fairy lights from the ceiling and the back wall facing the huge bay window. Positioned at the sides of the room, on three walnut nesting tables, bowls of tzatziki and salsa stood next to carrot sticks and cucumber tubes. Cherry tomato crisps that appeared to have been bathed in sunflower oil completed the array of nibbles. A forty-inch television sat idle, balancing on top a small brick wall adjacent to a similar brick fireplace which roared and flickered in the early autumn air.

Sandi stood in the middle of the floor, eyes closed, dancing slowly with herself. A slow track seeped from the stereo, casting languid vibes on an already sleepy room. Dawn and Samuel curled on a couch in a corner, Dawn stroking Samuel's hair. Sol and Mary sat on the opposite sofa not as clearly a couple, but comfortable nonetheless.

'We were expecting Olive and Ben, but they haven't turned up yet.'

Cherry spoke excitedly.

'I don't know if we should start without them.'

Somewhere a buzzer sounded.

'That'll be the sausage rolls!' Cherry shouted. 'We've got chocolate cookies for afters, it's my special recipe.'

She disappeared from the room as Tim pulled up a footstool and sat next to Sol.

'Football results?'

Tim reached past him for the television remote, unashamedly pulling up the day's football scores on the text service.

Danny sat on the only place left, beside Dawn and Samuel.

'You okay Dan?' Samuel asked.

Danny nodded, not wanting to look at the couple. Something disturbed him about their union. Perhaps it was Dawn's desperation at the school disco a few years earlier, from which Danny had shrunk. Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

'Don't suppose you two know what we'll be watching?'

Danny reached over and picked a carrot from the bowl. He dipped it liberally with hummus. As he bit down the gentle crunch provided a decisive remedy to an internal struggle. He glanced again at the fairy lights. The room was intolerably pretty.

'Cherry picked them up earlier from Video Al's. My Summer of Love and some flick with chocolate in the title – probably a chick movie.'

'My Summer of Love. I've heard of that.'

Mary called from across the room, looking uncertainly into Danny's eyes.

'Any good?'

Samuel sat up and gazed at Mary, switching on a blazing glare. Mary did not answer. Instead she kissed Sol on the cheek and walked out, presumably to help Cherry in the kitchen.

'Women!' Samuel declared, before resuming his former position, and allowing Dawn to continue her stroking.

Tim was rifling through the CD collection that spilled from the brick cubby holes at the back wall. Van Morrison, Neil Diamond and Elvis Presley all came tumbling out as Tim reached to the back and pulled out a white and purple coloured CD, and boldly inserted it into the DVD player.

'Tim – what are you doing?' Dawn said.

'Yeah Tim – don't you think that's a bit rude?' Danny said, leaning forward.

'It doesn't matter where you go. Which county, which town, which house. All of them – they all have one.'

'What are you gibbering about Tim?' Danny said.

The speakers erupted with a sound more funk than electro-pop, more melodic than dance. The voice was familiar, the sound was so fresh Danny was confused he couldn't identify the track. Tim had already started singing along.

'Tim?!'

Cherry had entered with a plateful of golden sausage rolls. Their warm baked smell filled the room.

'What are you doing? Who is this?' she asked.

'The king of enigma,' Tim announced with pomposity. 'Prince.'

*

Danny stood on the Trove's terrace. Wrapping his jacket closely round his spindly torso he watched stars blink through the autumn dusk. Everything was wrong. Everything had changed. The biting wind was his, for him. It would forever wrap it's cold embrace round his shoulders. It would always whisper dark thoughts in his ear. Night-time was coming, approaching with insidious speed. He felt its slow drawl, its niggling pace. The rattling breaths of a distant enemy who knew time would catch you in the end. Life seemed petty anathema. A fleeting sparrow gliding through the hall, in one window and out the opposite. It was a fight he knew would end in death. He remembered the books he'd read that said it was the fighting that counted.

The water cascaded into rocks beyond the shore. In the blackness it sounded like an angry soldier. Searching for the life it lost in an arbitrary war, obscure and meaningless. Waiting for a sign that would reawaken hope from its deep sleep beneath impenetrable sand.

The voices were behind him now, he could not see any future for them. They were the people he had grown up with, who shared in his follies and madness. But now they were to be left alone, and kept apart. The will of experience called him now. A vocation revealed itself with a smirking head. The inevitability of the joker in the pack, smiling surreptitiously as the card is turned. Life was a cruel trickster. It allowed you to run off, build up a head of steam. It lulled you into thinking everything will be okay, everything will be secure. It deterred all thoughts it might be an illusion until the final hand is played. The cards are dealt and the truth finally becomes apparent, a smug villain who rejoices in the fact you couldn't see it from the start.

Danny dipped his palm in his pocket and withdrew a piece of metal. Gazing at for a few minutes he sank to his knees. He prayed to the God he had felt nearly twenty years ago, when the church claimed him for their own.

*

Mercy gazed into her reflection in the mirror on her mother's dressing table. A plain and stark face shone back at her. It did not sugar-coat the reality of her drawn, pained features. She pushed chocolate locks across her face to see which arrangement would hide the anguish best. It was no use. Capillaries had shrunk from the skin in her face. She would need L'Oréal, possibly even Rimmel London to mask the death-look.

She began with Max Factor. Blue eyeshadow with glitter. A little at first, and then smearing it at the top of each eye with an upward flourish. Underneath she applied a neat rim of neon green and then spent ten minutes blending each eye. The effect was bewitching at best, bewildering at worst. Thick clumpy eyelashes were next. She blinked a few times to remove the sandy mucus that had built there overnight. A smudge of foundation on either cheek helped balance the eyes. She glanced again in the mirror, beaming at the sight of her face reigniting.

Deep magenta lips with fluid sparkle followed. She was right, she would need Rimmel for this. God bless Kate Moss. She had not delved this deeply into her sister's make-up bag before. Like Mary Poppins' bottomless accessory, the lipsticks, creams, blusher and compacts just kept tumbling out. She half-wondered what everyone would see, and say. Especially Razzy. She creamed the colour on and dabbed smudges of gloss on each lip before smacking together and blending. She released the lips and pouted. Her look was complete. An artificial radiance gleamed at her from the mirror. Smiling one last time, Mercy reached into her sister's pack of Marlboro lights and fished out a speckled orange filter. She hung it from her new knockout lips as if auditioning for a fifties movie.

*

Embrace

From a standing start the bowler accelerated with noiseless efficiency. By the time he reached the stumps he was at maximum. The red sphere clutched in his right hand swivelled beneath gritty fingers. Upon release it sailed through the air, a tiny UFO, spinning and curving towards the ground and the waiting batsman.

Benjamin pocked his bat several times, his eyes fixed upon the swirling orb. He watched the spin as it glided through grey air and read the bounce a split second before it made contact with the earth. It would almost be a half volley. Arresting his posture, he swung his hips round and allowed the red bullet to meet his willow at the epicentre. Crack. The ball deflected into the nets.

'Four,' Benjamin shouted.

Flicker smiled.

'I don't think so. Are you sure it didn't catch your pads before you hit it. LBW, I think.'

Benjamin straightened up and looked affronted.

'Never. Think you need to get your eyes checked Liam.'

Liam smiled again.

'I'm sorry it was too quick for you Benjy. Really I am.'

Benjamin swore and dumped his bat into the nets, unwrapping straps which cradled his legs in white buttresses.

'What you doing tonight? Coming round Sandi's again?'

'Can't mate,' Sprite replied.

'Got a date,' Liam grinned. Flicker knew full well how Benjamin was going to spend his evening.

Sprite didn't reply directly.

'What time are they picking you up?'

Liam frowned.

'Who's picking me up?'

'Specsavers.'

*

From where Rosalind stood, it looked like the beach was on fire. As she adjusted spectacles on her short nose she saw the reflection of the orange streetlamp caused the illusion. She pouted pert lips into her hand mirror and ensured each hair on her fringe dangled in place. This was the big day, the council meeting. Today it would get approved, she was sure. Everything must be perfect.

Her phone in her handbag began tinkling a tune. The irresistible notes made her delay answering it so she could hear the tune's conclusion. She flipped it back, pushed the receiver to her ear and strode off at the same time. This phone call would not hold her up.

'Mum, it's me.'

A sweet, tremulous voice spoke in the ear piece.

'Hi darling, what is it?'

Rosalind quickened her pace.

'Me and my mates were wondering if we could have another DVD night tomorrow. I know you said no, but it's the last night before we go back to sixth-form. Please...'

The voice pleaded.

Rosalind straightened her neck and gazed at the street before her. There were far too many tramps in Amberleigh. That was just the women. She was positive her daughter would not become one of them. At least not without some resistance first.

'Darling, I think we've spoken about this already.'

Rosalind spoke evenly, and paused for effect. That usually worked.

'But Mum, Sandi and the lads already said they would come. Please!'

A car hurtled down the street and prevented Rosalind from crossing. She glanced at her watch. She would be late if she didn't get a move on. A late entry was as good as a declination in this instance. She needed no more distractions.

'Oh for goodness sake, alright then. But no smoking, no drinking and definitely no porn or you will be grounded this time.'

Rosalind spoke in short, clipped tones.

'Thanks Mum,' came the gleeful voice through the earpiece.

'You're welcome Cherry.'

*

Cherry assembled cashews and macadamias neatly in the bowl. Her mum would never realise she sprinkled a little love powder over them. DVDs on the shelf looked distant and unfriendly in late summer twilight. Evenings were drawing in, like a debt collector come to stake a pressing claim, inevitable and ominous.

She slumped in the sofa, and caressed the cushion to her right.

It had only been two days. Two days since she sat in this very place.

An ambulance raced past the front window. Its blue siren flashed and swirled briefly in the living room like a neon ghost. Cherry flicked a switch on the remote and set the stereo to play. A couple of clicks and she found the right track. Soft disco jazz emanated around the room.

Only two days ago.

She looked at the pictures on the mantelpiece. Three frames, all equal size. One of her and Razzy, him throwing his long arms around her as she tried to escape his playful grasp. That was two years ago, before raging hormones had kicked in and claimed her. Before she had had her first period, before she started needing to buy dresses with more room up top. The second showed Rosalind and Donald at Razzy's graduation a few months ago. Donald looked tired in his crumpled cotton suit, but Rosalind was the epitome of prim. Her small chest stuck out and her blood-red smile beamed beneath commanding glasses. Cherry hated the photo. She had nightmares one day she would turn out like her mother – a conformist and slave to the state in every respect. The final photo depicted the whole family. It was the only photo Cherry genuinely loved. This would be the one she would steal when she finally left home.

She clicked through to another track and closed her eyes. In just a few seconds she was there, in the embrace of Prince's lilting croon. As the sunlight faded grey clouds submerged the street into darkness. The music provided inner warmth and sanctuary. Cherry never really thought of herself as lonely. The feelings she had succumbed to lately had made her feel incredibly alone. No-one understood. Really. The whole of society could be against her. Her friends could be against her. Her sister could be against her. Her mother and father could be against her. But none of this scared her half as much as the terrifying prospect that the object of her affections could also, once all was revealed, transform into the enemy she dreaded more than anything on earth. Unrequited love.

*

'It's going to be fucking brill-iant tonight!'

Tim perched precariously on Danny's window sill.

'Last night before wretched school starts up again.'

Danny blinked and looked in his wardrobe for a suitable shirt. There was nothing without a faint look of wear. A pair of jeans, boot-cut and faded blue, hung neatly at one end of the rack. He pulled them out and already felt confidence begin to grow. It was wrong that his sense of self should be so tied up with the vain preoccupation of how he appeared. On nights like this his sense of depth bottomed out. The pressure to live in the now was all-consuming.

Eventually he decided on an old tee that would look cool for its sense of retro. Adorned with the face of a singer Danny had met last summer, he threw it over his head and allowed it to drape languidly over his abdomen. Splashing aftershave on his brittle face he hurtled down the stairs without waiting for Tim to follow.

'Don't be late tonight,' William Canterbury called, while Polly peered out between beige curtains at the duo disappearing down twilit cobbles.

'You know what I wish for tonight,' Tim said to Danny.

'A supersize woman with an arse the size of an elephant?' Danny responded. Tim shook his head.

'A mozzarella pizza with double-fried green tomatoes and lime pickle?'

Tim laughed. The sensation was refreshing.

'No, what I wish for tonight is just for everyone to be on it. Y'know everyone...content. All of us just having a fucking good time. All of us fucking on it.'

'Why tonight more than any other night?'

Danny idly kicked a stone down the cobbles.

'It's not because it's our last night of freedom. I suppose its because, I don't know, I feel like...safe, with this lot. Like they're not out for anything. Not on the make. Like we'll always be mates and hang out together and do shit and stuff.'

'I never had you down for a sentimental.'

'I'm not. It's just...this is our moment, isn't it? I don't mean you and me, I mean all of us. All of us who are going tonight. We'll never feel like this ever again in our lives, and...I think we should savour every second.'

For a moment Danny said nothing. He looked at the sky; clouds shifted across timeless stars. Love was personal to Danny. He rarely found enough strength to talk about it. But Tim could. After Saffelia, and Cherry. Even after Professor Chukchi Tim finally found some semblance of security. It was contagious. Danny felt the warm blanket too, whenever he joined his friends' company. Something that embraced you, didn't demand anything of you, and told you that if it was you against the world in the end then it would back you all the way until the world was wrong.

*

'I don't know. I just don't know Razzy. Don't rush me.'

Brazil Trove leaned against the rail that separated the beach from the road. With his arms and legs cocked at opposing angles, he appeared a mimic of the letter k. A small roll-up jammed between thin lips smouldered with earthy aroma.

'I'm not asking you to marry me,'

He exhaled a slender plume of smoke. It accompanied a tidal inrush on the sandy beach below.

'I know.'

Mercy looked at her feet. She wondered how much longer she could make Razzy wait.

'I know,' she repeated, stalling.

In the distance she heard a vague trot, walking at a familiar pace. She recognised it even before her sister called out, her excitement floating on the salty ocean breeze.

'Merce! Come here Sis! How are you?'

Sandi reached over and hugged her sister. Razzy eyed Sandi's necklace, dangling provocatively amid pallid cleavage.

'I'm good thanks.'

'I'm just on my way to Cherry's. We're having another DVD night to celebrate the last night of our holidays. But between you and me,' Sandi whispered, 'I think the whole thing might end up in a massive party. Why don't you pop by later if you're free? You can bring...'

Sandi motioned to Brazil with a cock of her head. He was still gazing out at the sea and puffing on his roll-up.

'Thanks Sand,' Mercy said. 'Maybe I'll see you later.'

Sandi winked at her sister and waved to Brazil. She continued trotting along the street, down well-worn cobbles.

A wind-filtered chill kissed Sandi's cheek as she proceeded through Amberleigh town. Tourist shops were closing for the end of the summer season, stock lines changing to welcome the oncoming autumn. She opened her Fiorelli handbag and checked she had a supply of stocks for the evening. Trademark fire engine lip cream, smoky black mascara, twenty Marlboro lights, pocket mirror, sweets with a special ingredient, the book she was reading by Aldous Huxley and the precious, dog-eared card she'd received on her birthday. She touched it lightly with her fingernail, caressing the edge as if it was the sender's lips, or better still the moistness represented by her name.

A gaggle of younger teenagers stood in the glow of a lamplight as she passed. One of them wolf-whistled, who she recognised as Pigment Marvel, the school football sensation.

'How about a snog sexy?

She smiled, and turned her head slightly. There was one last stop to make before she took the bus that led to Cherry's house. The travel agents cum concert box office had advertised only yesterday for a new assistant. Sandi spent all afternoon polishing her CV. Not that she thought she'd need to try very hard. What could be complicated about taking money and handing over tickets to old ladies and grungy teenagers? She posted the package through the letter box. It made a satisfying thud on the floor beyond. It was in the arms of hope now.

She moistened her lips and pulled her coat tighter across her bosom. Glancing to her right she saw midnight blue steal the paleness from the ocean. Surf pounded unseen rocks beneath the sea wall. It was not a night to spend lingering along the embankment. Rushing on, her breasts' tips tightened as she hurried through windy lanes.

*

Flambeau gazed at the wild beast he'd tamed he knew not how often. The nomadic North Sea, a blazing fire, relentless. He never succumbed, always manoeuvred to find a path to ensure complete survival.

Water was constantly at the heart, each time never far away. Even those years ago, when it all began. Even when He took her, the one who was always with him, water beat steady and irresistible retreats and advances. Its low and high tides rising and falling like an operatic cadence.

Flambeau knelt. Horrible images of failure swarmed his mind again. The rock was cold but dry. He sat and waited, watching the calm pool, shivering. The smallest flicker of fear tempered the reassurance he felt clutching the viscous olive fluid. It defined his future now. The dark green liquid glistened in its perspex container. Moonlight sparkled occasionally on the rim, catching Flambeau's eye, making him smile. It was a potent, neat solution. The very implement that could point to its perpetrator would be destroyed as it fulfilled its mission. No trace but ash. Innocent debris and the regretful but inevitable charring of human flesh.

*

'Come here baby' Olive plunged fleshy coral lips on Benjamin's mouth, only releasing them a full five seconds later. The faint imprint of Olive's kiss remained on Benjamin. He smirked, wiping away her saliva with the back of his hand, and using the moment to catch his breath. This was one romance he intuited he wouldn't escape with his bachelorhood intact.

Everyone was dancing again. Cherry and Mary were attempting to do the lift from _Dirty Dancing_. Tim and Amanita tangoed across the Trove's living room floor. Even Sol Castle and Hazel Brock swayed in time to the Elvis CD. The throbbing party held the adolescents firmly with its alcoholic grip. As Sandi poured another bottle of rose into the punch, Danny felt enough confidence to stroll over and place his hand on her shoulder.

'Looking good tonight?'

He had meant it as a statement but it sounded more like a question. If Sandi could sense his nerves, she glossed over them as smoothly as one of Amberleigh's seagulls flying over the tempestuous embrace of the North Sea.

'You too babe.'

A song blasted from the stereo more contemporary than those before. Danny felt the relief of familiarity wash over him. It felt like the settling of his spirit when ingesting caffeine from tea leaves. Cherry slumped on the sofa, Hazel stood swaying while Sol propped her up with one hand, alcoholic fruit punch in the other.

"I need to find the time. I need to remind my life. I need to keep my deep glows as they go. I seem to see the sea...and feel its rush."

'I want a smoke,' Olive declared abruptly.

'I thought you'd given up,' Benjamin answered, sighing as he fell on the sofa beside Cherry.

'I had. But I want one now.'

Cherry delved into Sandi's handbag, glanced quickly, then withdrew one of her orange-speckled Marlboro lights, and handed it to Olive. Lighting up from a candle on the window-sill Olive breathed in pungent fumes before exhaling with a satisfied sigh.

'Ooh, that's good,' she muttered to no-one in particular.

'Not good for your health though,' Benjamin said. Olive glowered and pursed her lips while the cigarette tip glowed and fumed.

'Smoking will always be with us. Did you know the practice of smoking is dated as early as five thousand years BC and it's been recorded in loads of different cultures across the globe?'

'No, we didn't know that,' Sandi said, reaching inside her own pack and attempting to pull one for herself. The pack was empty. Sandi frowned.

'Olive. That's my last one.'

Sandi pouted, disappointed.

'Oh sorry, _Sandra_ , I didn't know you were that addicted.'

The slur seemed to come from nowhere. Sandi's eyes filmed over and Danny felt cold fury enter the room.

'My full name is Sandrhina, if you must know, _Olivio_.'

Danny stood. Before he knew it he was shouting at Sandi, unintentionally entering the argument.

'Don't call her that Sandi!'

Both girls gazed at Danny.

'She's not anything like him.'

Danny's cheeks were aflame. Silence gripped the room for a few seconds before Olive spoke again.

'Come on Benjamin, I think I'd prefer to enjoy the rest of my ciggy in peace. Let's get out of here before we exhaust any more supplies!'

Olive slammed the door on her way out. It was left to Benjamin to apologise with his eyes as he followed her from the house.

This is it. My opportunity. I could have her tonight. Could consume those sweet lips, could cradle her head in my lap, could kiss her soft white neck. She looks so sad. I wish I could cheer her up. I wish she would let me cheer her up. Let me, go further than I have ever been allowed to go before. To hold her. Feel the gentle weight of her bosom on my chest, the satisfying proximity of her entire body beside mine, to know she does not exist anywhere else in the world except for me.

The voice when it spoke was uncharacteristically small.

'Sandi, I think I might have an old pack of Benson & Hedges upstairs. Want to come and see?'

Danny slumped back in the chair as the two girls exited the room. He closed his eyes, and allowed the smooth rap of American hip-hop to wash over him as he fell asleep.

Cherry's room was smaller than Sandi's but it bore intricate disorder, adorably expressive. Sandi paused on the threshold of the sight, not knowing where to direct her eyes first.

Stood on the dressing table, a statue of the Virgin Mary peeped through piles of clutter Sandi slowly identified as various scents Cherry had procured. Bottles of DKNY, Christina Aguilera, Le Baiser du Dragon and Burberry's Brit lay open haphazardly in front of a wide oval mirror. It was swathed with fairy lights, intertwined with sprigs of artificial cherry blossom. A half-eaten fruit cake sat on the window-sill beside a bronze metal cylinder out of which poked chocolate lip liner. Pale sweaters and skimpy tops draped the stool in front of the dressing table. Flared jeans lay across bed posts and cardboard boxes of gaudy shoes stood on a walnut sideboard. A couple of raffetta dresses, one auburn, one black hung across the back of an easy chair at the far side. The room seemed an accumulation of feeling and sensation. There was no apparent logic other than confused emotions of a teenage girl guiding its design.

A bunk bed covered the entire wall along one side of the bedroom.

'I sleep on the top,' Cherry said, pointing.

Sandi gazed into the bottom bunk, again, full of junk. Clothes. Prada sunglasses. Black and white speckled shoes Sandi suspected were Jimmy Choos. A brown floral print holdall out of which various Clinique lipsticks and Rimmel eyeliners overflowed. It was all an elaborate expression of female chaos.

'I love it,' Sandi murmured, faintly ashamed her pristinely organised bedroom was not anywhere near as interesting as this.

'Oh it's nothing. Mom's always on at me to tidy it up but I'm allowed this minor rebellion. As long as I don't get sucked into drugs. She's terrified I'm going to embarrass her.'

Cherry rolled her eyes to indicate dissatisfaction with parental pride.

'I love it,' Sandi repeated.

Cherry smiled and launched herself onto the bed, digging into her holdall.

'They're in here. I know I've got a pack somewhere. I always keep one in case of emergencies.'

Sandi turned her head to look at Cherry.

'I didn't know you smoked.'

Cherry smiled again, and poured her gaze into Sandi's eyes a little longer than was necessary.

'There's a lot you don't know about me Sandrhina.'

The pregnant pause as Sandi looked back caused Cherry's eyes to water. She lingered for another moment and then turned back to rummaging in her holdall.

'Are you okay?' Sandi asked delicately, simultaneously perching herself on the edge of the bed and placing a soft palm on Cherry's knee.

It is no use. She has guessed. I can't resist any more. What will mother make of me?

*

The crystal clear night permitted a blanket of universe to peep through into Amberleigh. Stars needed no light pollution laws to uncover their disguise tonight. Danny felt overwhelmed. He admired the exhilarating dislocation that came with just standing and looking at the blackness. Peppered with flashing crimson and cornflower dots, the sky stretched over Amberleigh like the inside of a magician's cloak. Danny wished one day he would be among them.

'Great night.'

Tim shoved his hands in his pockets, and stood by Danny, watching. He did not speak, waiting for Danny.

'What do you think will happen this year Tim?'

Danny thought with helpless fear how each year seemed to steal something in his soul. He felt less now than he did last year, but even that was less than he felt the previous year and so on. Like some exercise in reduction, Danny's personality, when it should flourish, became consumed in loss.

'You've got to keep faith, Danny,' Tim said, sensing what Danny was thinking.

'Keep faith – with what?'

'You've got to keep faith with yourself,' Tim replied. 'Look at that – a shooting star! Saffy would have loved that,' he said in a sadder voice.

'Have you seen her recently?'

Danny waited delicately for a response before speaking again. A few precarious seconds passed before Tim felt strong enough to speak.

'No. I have been a fool Danny. I loved her and then like a fool I have lost her. Do you think I will ever get her back?'

His voice cracked. Danny had never seen Tim quite as broken as this.

'I guess it's easier to analyse other people's lives than your own.'

Danny pondered, remembering Tim's positivity earlier, before it was replaced by his own depressions.

'Tim, if you love her enough then I say you can get her back. She is yours, and always will be until you say different.'

'Or until someone else claims her?'

Danny noticed the water streaking Tim's face, yet it wasn't raining. There wasn't even a cloud on the horizon. He looked like an Olympic athlete, drained after pounding the hundred metres.

'No Tim. You were her first. She was your first. You'll always belong to her and she to you. Some things are sacred and can't ever be touched or tainted. Some things remain pure forever. You have to believe that. I have to believe that.'

They were walking again. Along the narrow path that led them back to the centre of Amberleigh. Into the cobbled lanes with the arced camber that gave the heel-wearing clubbers anguish. Stilettoed girls giggled and gossiped as they stumbled towards the thumping beats of Shox in the opposite direction. The air smelt of smoke. A smirk crossed Tim's face and Danny felt relieved.

'Have you heard Wonder and Pry are putting on another Shakespeare play this year?' Tim told Danny. 'I thought I might audition.'

Danny burst out laughing.

'You? Audition for the school play? And Shakespeare at that? Who would you play? The court jester? The fool?'

He had only meant it as a joke, but Tim looked hurt. Danny realised too late how insensitive his words sounded.

'Sorry mate – didn't mean anything by it. Just you've never had a thespian streak before. Why now?'

Tim stared straight ahead. Another shooting star blinked across the black sky, partially obscured by smoke. Danny had a revelation.

'Oh.'

'Yes oh.' Tim said. 'Never was there a tale of more woe...'

'...than Saffelia and her Romeo,' Danny said.

They approached the harbour wall, which looked a little misty tonight, despite the clear sky. Sea fog perhaps. It sometimes rose quickly as dusk approached. 'Need I ask which part you're going for?'

'I won't get it. Especially if Wonder's doing the auditions.'

'What do you mean? I thought you two were as thick as thieves these days.'

'Yeah we are but we both know I'm not the best man for the job. I just don't want anyone else to get it, especially not that little shitheel...'

Tim's voice faded into the accumulating air.

'Who? Which little shitheel?'

Danny's curiosity inflamed his sense of loyalty. It blinded him to the sight before him. Tim shook his head silently. He gazed straight ahead at the smoke plumes rising behind the harbour wall.

'Tim?'

Slowly Danny turned his head. Suddenly, he was running full pelt like Tim. Along the clumsy cobbles. Towards the sea front. Onto the pavement. Into the harbour.

This was no mist, nor no ordinary fisherman bonfire. Soon they came to a stop at the harbour wall, Danny putting out a hand to stop himself go tumbling over. Black smoke seared his eyes and he raised his arm to shield his face from the burning heat. All he could make out was grey air and red flames beyond.

The wind flew in. It changed direction like a flock of birds altering course a split second before the eagle strikes. It blew the smoke in the opposite direction and the scene became visible.

A circle of flames erupted from the centre of Amberleigh beach. Each flame rose six feet in the air. The circle was at least five yards wide, and the dancing flames looked prohibitive to rescuers. Not that they would get there in time anyway. Danny saw with a painful clarity the two bodies at the centre were beyond human help. He gasped, falling to his knees as Tim rushed away to alert someone. Call an ambulance. Raise the alarm.

Blackened, charred, but infinitely recognisable from their idiosyncratic embrace, Danny realised with a solemn gulp and lurch of his heart that Benjamin Sprite and Olive Spritser had left Amberleigh forever.

*
**  
** Politix

My first snog was with Callum. He was the brother of my best friend Tracie, but we always called her Trixabelle or Trixie because she always played tricks on grown-ups. Callum was a hoot. Seven years older than Trixie, and far cooler. I used to dream about him all the time. One night when I was thirteen Trixie and I were playing netball in her back yard. Callum appeared at the window and we waved him over to come play with us. At first he just stood at the door, munching on an apple, watching us. I used to twirl unnecessarily so he'd be able to see up my skirt. I think he liked watching me but I was never sure. He just gazed with empty eyes at the two of us.

Then Trixie fell and hurt her knee. She'd grazed it on some gravel and some stones got in the wound. She went in to put antiseptic on and after that she hobbled around with a limp so she couldn't play for a couple of weeks. So I used to go round and play with Callum instead while she got better. He didn't seem to mind. In fact he seemed more interested in playing with just little old me. One summer evening, after we had been playing for about five minutes and we had both got really hot and sweaty, he threw the ball at me. I caught it and then threw it to a part of the garden that couldn't be seen from the window. Deliberately. He went to fetch it and I followed him, taking care to move quietly so he wouldn't notice me creep up behind him. When he turned around he didn't know I was there and he knocked into me, pushing me over onto the grass. I lay there laughing and giggling at him. The next thing I knew he was on top of me and we were kissing. His tongue tasted of blackcurrant chewing gum and apples. I didn't mind. I liked boys kissing me. It was exciting.

Callum didn't speak to me after that. I think he'd realised that he'd done something he shouldn't have. He was never even in the house when I went round to play with Trixie, let alone would he allow himself to be in the same room as me. It was only a kiss, I was afraid he wouldn't talk to me because I was doing it wrong. That was before my mum had a go at me about the wet patch on the front of my skirt. A few years later I realised what had happened.

My memories of that time are mixed with memories of the growing unpopularity of the prime minister. Callum was dead passionate about politics. In fact it would be the only thing he would really talk about with anyone. He kept saying how even though the current prime minister was unpopular and a suspect leader, he didn't want to see a chump who looks good in Gucci elected over an honourable man with moral integrity. I didn't really understand what he meant at the time. Later that year, the leader of the opposing Conservative party got in and things began to change in our country. I was only fourteen at the time so didn't understand it all, but Dad used to come home every night fuming. He said there was no public money for the school textbooks he needed to teach anymore, that it had all been swallowed up by the middle classes. The kids in his class who had rich parents could afford to buy them books, but others did without. Which led to more problems in the classroom, and fights in the playground later. One night my Dad came home with a bloody nose. One of his students had thrown the textbook his parents had bought him at my Dad as he tried to break up a fight between him and another boy who didn't have the book.

Other things started to change too. My mum, having brought up me and Razzy wanted to go out and get a job. Despite having a degree and being a woman of reading, she could only get a part time job as a receptionist at the local council, which she found infuriating, although not as infuriating, she told us, as 'the arrogant Tory councillors who think women should be seen and not heard, and at home doing the washing and the cleaning'.

Pretty soon there were fewer jobs around, and we used to see homeless people on the streets, especially when we went down to London for Christmas shopping. Trixie left for a public school, as her parents decided they could afford it (although my Dad kept on moaning that he was sure he had seen Trixie's father chumming up to the headmaster at the local Conservative club).

Politics didn't seem so much a subject to be studied as part of the way of life in our house. I was sucked in. I inherited and began displaying radical values I didn't know I had. I started watching the Sunday morning political interviews. I would analyse the leaders to see if I thought they were telling the truth or not. I stopped reading the Mirror and started reading the Independent. I started reading books by previous political leaders like Blair and Clinton, but found these unreliable and so turned to Marx, Lenin and Kafka. I discovered philosophy within politics.

None of it was enough to reunite me with Callum though. He'd left home at twenty after having a huge argument with his father. I think it was something to do with his career choice. Callum had always wanted to be a male nurse whereas his father was determined that his only son would follow him into the police force. Callum had said something about wanting to repair the class divisions in the country, not restore them and they decided that night to part their ways. I never saw nor snogged Callum ever again after that.

I still see Trixie from time to time though – she works at the council with my Mum.

*

Cherry did not know from which latent embers her crazy writhing at concerts had come. It had begun at a Supergrass concert the year before. Now, with The Hoosiers energetically pumping guitars on the stage at Shox, Cherry's spinning and lurching and touching became wilder with each song. Sandi stood next to her, smoking furiously on a Marlboro light. She didn't dance, but the crimson grin on her painted face radiated the room. Cherry danced round her, slinkily up behind her, running her hands down Sandi's arms, blowing softly into her jasmine hair as blue-grey smoke surrounded them both like an enveloping shroud.

Outside, the cool air offered a refreshing venue into which teenagers could smoke and canoodle freely with each other. Cherry bobbed on her heels, while swinging a hand which clasped Sandi's in hers.

'What a wicked gig!'

'What now?'

Sandi tossed her head back, sweeping hair from her gleaming cheekbones and the protruding stick of tobacco.

'We could go back to Wilfields?' Cherry offered. 'The gang are hanging out back there.'

Sandi paused, taking a long draw on her cigarette. Her lips crumpled around the suck, making her red cream pop.

'Do you really want to go back there, or shall we go somewhere more private?'

Cherry smiled.

'Where though? My parents are home at my place. Mercy's got Razzy round at yours?' Cherry eyes flashed with hope, at the possibility.

'Fuck it,' Sandi said, 'let's have a couple more Bacardi's and get trashed.'

*

Quinine sat alone in her office, calmly reviewing the staff reports of five unruly students. They would need addressing.

'Come,' she called. Samantha Dew entered.

*

' "Away to heaven, respective lenity, and fire-eyed fury be my conduct now."'

They both stood at the harbour wall, black smoke billowing into the void. Tim's eyes began welling but Danny's remained dry. He wished to remain faithful to his internal wish to channel pain into anger, grief into action. In these moments Danny felt mild euphoria, from an indistinguishable source. Maybe someone else could explain from whence it came. It was the feeling life had kicked into gear, that something had jolted them from the monotony of existence, the heavens had opened a crack to reveal a shattering truth like the meaning of life or the futility of living. That especial feeling lasted a few seconds before it was replaced by a dull, deep terror. Together, fear and a sharp twist of fate had completely turned him over.

A broad, steady hand rested on his bony shoulder. Sirens flashed, bathing them in blue light. No sound emitted from the two squad cars that had pulled up quietly beside the harbour wall. A silent disco beside the raging inferno.

'Did you know them Danny?' Lombard whispered.

Danny waited a moment before nodding solemnly.

'The parents,' Tim said, experiencing difficulty getting his words out. 'The parents – who's going to tell them?'

Tears fell down his smoke-streaked face.

Lombard sighed and reached into his jacket pocket. Danny gazed at him. He wore a luminous yellow wind-cheater. Luminous Lombard, Danny thought. A couple of officers had descended on the beach. Together with a couple of fireman they inspected the scene and collected samples of evidence.

Lombard pulled out a small black notebook.

'Do you know their addresses? We'll need to go now, before word gets out.'

'We won't tell a soul,' Danny said, wishing he could live his whole life with no memory of the sight on the beach. Let alone have to communicate it to anyone.

'I know you won't son but these things...They always have a way of coming out sooner or later. Tell me, do you know anyone who'd want to hurt them? I've never seen anything like it. A circle of six feet flames. It's beyond anything we've ever seen in Amberleigh.'

Danny looked at him, and wondered if he had forgotten the terrors that had befallen the town over the past three years. Perhaps these were simple matters to them, dealt with and dusted down in some filing cabinet with the casualness of routine policing. But of course, they could not be. Flambeau was still out there.

'No. No-one, Sergeant.'

Disgust raging in his gut, Danny slowly walked away.

*

'Since time immemorial there have been clashes and confrontations. Wars and misunderstandings and cultural disagreements that unfortunately end with death on a mass scale. People suffer and die for their beliefs. That is what history has taught us.'

Danny scratched at his notepad. He scrunched the crimson cuff of his tartan shirt and looked at Wonder. The professor stood in the middle of the classroom, his arms open and students circled around him, rapt with attention. Early in the day Danny wandered round Pentangle, the grassy place of solitude in the centre of Amberleigh Castle. It was the only place he could escape people. He had wanted to be alone. Luckily he had stumbled across the cloistered den, at first invisible to the naked eye, but one of those happy secrets Amberleigh Castle seemed willing to reveal when you took the time to search.

'There have been political wars over the ownership of some small patch of soil. There have been religious wars over the ownership of different Gods. There have been wars because people feared difference, and change, and lack of understanding of another's choices. I pray none of you ever get drawn into or ever begin such wars.'

Wonder paused, sucking in the autumn air.

'We are all, in the end, just small accumulations of dust. Living on a rock floating in some obscure, redundant space around a mediocre, insignificant star. We are all mortal, and one day we will all die. Until that time, let us choose peace over war wherever we can.'

Danny scanned his notepad. He'd doodled for much of the lesson, but in the corner he'd scribbled a few words he had caught occasionally floating through the ether, into his subconscious. Difference. Culture. War. Peace. Mortal. Dust. In the end, they were just words. It was only the cultivation of some story, a narrative, that could make sense of them.

'Our country is not always perfect,' Wonder continued. Danny wondered if this lesson was straying into dangerous, forbidden territory. 'We are sometimes faced with difficult decisions and, contrary to the fairy tales we all grew up with, we do not always make the correct ones. Sometimes the fairy stories become fiery tales instead.'

Tim passed Danny a note. Apparently Cherry was burning a hole in the back of his head with, as Tim put it, 'a demonic stare'. Danny quickly scribbled a question mark on the note and attempted to push it back to Tim but Wonder, in typical predatory fashion swooped and unfolded the scrunched paper.

'Ah-ha' he declared, seemingly glad of the distraction from his own lesson. 'Here we have an interesting dialogue between Masters Gaunt and Canterbury. Miss Trove, it appears you are the subject of their musings.'

Wonder smiled but left it there to continue with his meandering lesson. Later Danny looked back to see if Cherry was still looking at him. However her gaze remained fixed on the front of the class. Danny returned to his notepad, where he noticed he had absentmindedly scribbled a few words without consciously realising. He looked to Tim to check if he mischievously wrote them while Danny was distracted. But it was impossible. It was the far side of his notepad, and the handwriting was discernibly his: wild, pointed and undulating. The words sang from the page with venomous ferocity: 'Wonder political animal. War is same as peace reversed. Life is same as death. Cherry bra purple I hope.'

It was in the corridor Cherry finally caught up with Danny.

'Are you going?'

'Of course,' Danny said. 'They were my friends, why wouldn't I?'

Cherry looked nervous.

'I don't know,' she said, biting her lower lip and causing Danny to fantasize about licking off her pink gloss with his tongue. 'I mean, with all the history, I thought you might want to...'

Her voice faded into intuition while she fixed her eyes on his.

'What history?' Danny said stupidly. 'Anyway, what's it to you?' he continued, not kindly.

'I just wanted to know what you thought happened to them. I mean you and Tim were the first ones there...'

'So why hassle me then?' Danny said, raising his voice. 'Why not ask Tim? You must know he had a thing for you?' Danny could not believe the words coming out his lips, yet the rage inside told him it was right, needed, justified, satisfying. A small imperceptible voice replied. To Danny the sudden change in tone made it seem like Chardelia speaking from the grave.

'So did you – once.'

She knew. It was too much. With Benjy and Olive, it was one woe too far.

'I haven't got time for this.'

Danny stormed down the corridor to join his history class. It was time to escape the voyeurism, the questions and the madness. Him, it was always him at the centre of these things. Was it some unseen force cascading torrents of malice? What in the name of Hades had he done to deserve it?

*

Razzy Trove leaned on the edge of the wooden fence. He loved just sitting. Watching the clouds. Formless one second, they resembled a picture of heaven the next. Or at least some manifestation of the divine. Or even, if he angled his neck and imagined, the representation of an earthly dilemma. Was it any good? Mercy Burrill had stood fully clothed in front of him, and told him she was not sure what the best way through this mess was. She had worn that blue cardigan he loved burying his head in as she read to him from Sidney's magnificent opus. Artifice before substance. It was just masking the problem. Mercy occasionally replaced the recognised masters with her own poetry and Razzy's ignorance of the transition thrilled them both. His ear had leant momentarily on her stomach, rumbling with hunger. It was becoming harder not to love every inch of her; perhaps the background knowledge of hesitancy on her part even accelerated him forward.

The clouds were reshaping. A brisk wind blew in from the north, shifting them across Amberleigh with increased frequency. They reduced the patches of brilliant blue and replaced them with a grey damp Razzy hated. He loved sucking her bottom lip, especially when she wore blackcurrant matte. She was an innovative enigma, constantly reinventing her look. It kept him interested. At moments she was all he ever needed, or felt he would ever need. At others he knew she caught his sideways glances at the girls in the year below. Their development from innocent Lolitas into sexy mean sophisticates seemed too sudden to be real, and the fascination they offered was compelling.

His mind wandered as he flipped between his fingers the lipstick Cherry asked him to bring to school for her evening appointment. He extended and withdrew the slice of grease from boredom. Lunch was next break, he would hand it to her then. She too was changing, although Razzy never allowed his thoughts to rest for too long on his little sister. Cherry could take care of herself. The fierceness of her black tights and short skirts told him something sexual was going on in her swirling female brain. The whipping effect her hair took when she spun her head in a frenzy told him she would direct boy's sexual fantasies rather than succumb to them. No, Cherry was okay, stable, confident, independent. Normal.

*

' "O, speak again, bright angel for thou art

As glorious to this night, being o'er my head,

As is a winged messenger of heaven

When he bestrides the lazy-passing clouds

And sails upon the bosom of the air"'

A pregnant pause hung like fragrant air freshener in the middle of the classroom.

'Florence Croft, in the passage I just read please could you tell the class Romeo's real message?'

Danny sat in Pry's literature class and drummed his fingers lazily on his exercise book. He glanced at Cherry. Leant forward, the rounded flesh of her breasts thrust out the v of her black top. What he wouldn't give to bestride and sail that bosom, he thought. Florence cleared her throat.

'He, Romeo I mean – likes listening to Juliet. So he wants her to carry on talking.' Florence blushed, not used to speaking up in class.

Pry shook her head slowly.

'Yes, but so much more than this, Florence, more than this. Can anyone else enlighten us?'

Pry moved her head around the class, an owl surveying prey beneath. Danny still drummed his fingers, and glanced upon Dunkinley which he could see in the distance through the classroom window.

'Danny Canterbury, why don't you have a go?'

Awoken from his reverie, Danny looked up. He tried to blink away gritted sleep that had accumulated in the corner of his eyes.

'Romeo is not only enraptured with Juliet's sweet-sounding voice, he is contemplating how disappointed he will feel if the evening were to continue without him feeling the repeat sensation of her speaking into the night. Perhaps it is even the very fact she is unaware of his existence below her window that draws his desire on. Seducers are all the more effective when they are unwitting.'

Pry blinked, suppressing a proud smile.

'Yes, Danny, that will do, that will do very well indeed.'

Danny smiled, and went back to drumming his fingers on his exercise book.

'I think we should have a little demonstration in front of class. This is a drama after all and is meant to be observed as well as read. Who shall we have?'

Pry looked round as the class slunk back in their chairs. Only Amanita was leaning forward to actively volunteer, puffing out her chest in a most undignified way.

'Miss Trove, I think, will play Juliet and...'

Danny sat up suddenly, desperately trying to catch Pry's eye.

'Samuel Mills will do our Romeo for us. Up, up, up you two, to the front of the class. We shall require some ascendancy for this scene. Cherry, you may sit on my desk, Samuel you may sit below, on the floor. That's right, Cherry, be careful not to kick poor Samuel.'

It was the other end of the classroom to Danny. He could barely see and craned his neck to get a better view. A surge of hot feeling rose up in him that felt like jealousy. Only infinitely more tantalising. He was curious as to how the two would enact the scene.

'Please read from this place here.'

Pry indicated a part of the play from where they would start. The class sat back, or in Danny's case, sat forward, to watch. Samuel's affected voice pronounced in a twee drone.

' "O, wilt thou leave me so unsatisfied?" '

' "What satisfaction canst thou have tonight?" '

' "Th'exchange of thy love's faithful vow for mine." '

Samuel stood up to his full six foot. Facing Cherry he recklessly threw one hand behind her neck and the other beneath her bum. With no warning he launched a deep, unresisting kiss onto her painted lips. He lifted her a clear inch off the table.

'That's quite enough Samuel, thank you very much,' Pry said, snatching back her copy of the play.

'Just wanted it to be authentic.'

'But that wasn't in the script?' Pry said, quizzically looking him up and down, and casting sidelong glances at Cherry who didn't really look like she minded too much.'

'I was improvising. Professor.' Samuel said, before seating himself brazenly on Florence Croft's coat. 'And it's a play, not a script Professor.'

*

Karaoke

I fucking hated cherry drops when I was little. I still do. I remember one day walking hand in hand with Callum to our local sweet shop. He asked me if I wanted him to buy me some cherry drops. I told him to fuck off. Playfully. He laughed. It wasn't just because of my name, and those simpering idiotic adults who offered them with an ironic smile just because my parents happened to call me that. Twats. No, it was the taste – that bittersweet saccharine taste that stuck around your mouth and resembled anything but real cherries. I actually liked real cherries. They had an awesome power. I loved the way the red sticky flesh, like globules of sweet blood got stuck between your teeth. I fully appreciated their potency at the age of three when I ate a whole bowl of them and then proceeded to throw up on my Mum's favourite Persian rug for an entire evening. Or so my Mum says.

Of course there were other sweets in the shop. I remember the full gamut. Sherbet lemons, pear drops (much better than cherry), those pockets of fizzy orange and cherry dipping sherbet, with an edible twizzler. Although we just used our fingers mostly. Strawberry shoelaces were another treat that routinely made me throw up, such was their sheer sugar content. The mix-ups we used to buy with our spare pocket money consisted of flying saucers, love hearts, white chocolate mice, edible pink shrimps (what were those things?) liquorice fountains, pink and blue liquorice jelly sweets, black jacks, fruit salads, mojos, jelly gummy bears. Once I bought forty of them for just twenty pence, just because I knew it was the cheapest thing in the shop.

Callum never ate any of them, he never wanted to. I used to offer him mine as we walked back to my house. He just talked, or walked alongside me in silence as I munched my way through the bag. I never realised I would miss something like that so much.

*

'Get my Shox off get my Shox off!'

Danny bleated unmelodically into smoky air as he and Tim gyrated on one of Shox's three podiums. A poster adorned the base of a podium below. It advertised weekly karaoke nights at a pub called The Bridge. Tim had inconsiderately bumped a gaggle of first year girls off the podium as he ascended to the platform in his pinstriped silk when he helped Danny up to dance next to him.

'Get your Shox off get yer Shox off!!' Tim shouted in response to Danny. The two cast disdainful dance moves towards girls shuffling below their feet. Like chaotic statues pirouetting with the grace of two drunk rock stars, they fell on each other laughing. They retained their balance on the podium, seeing off pretenders to their makeshift throne.

When the song came to an end Danny sprayed his gaze across the club. Swathes of gleaming puce light cut through hedonistic air like shafts of heaven sent diamonds. Strip mirrors reflected tight sewn hems of short white skirts fluttering as their wearers moved and grinded. Somewhere Cherry Trove was writhing too. Twirling and posturing, no doubt under the influence of several rum and cokes. Danny saw Sandi, again wearing her glitterball dress in a dark corner of the club. Who she was with was not distinguishable. Mary Oconee's arms draped the nape of Sol Castle's neck. As he softly held her the stereo system blasted another pounding dance classic.

The night had begun three hours earlier in Wilfields. The unanticipated evening unfolded spontaneously. Always the best way Danny thought, winding his hips round the new track. A group had gathered to grieve the loss of Benjamin and Olive. Hazel and Mary had arrived in tears. Sandi and Cherry physically supporting each other. Drinks had been raised to the framed photos sitting in the middle of their table. After several silences when Danny wondered if he should have come out at all, Sol suggested the only way to honour them was to continue those leisurely pursuits Benjamin and Olive would have advocated, adhered to and appreciated. Tim had replied there was no way he was locking tongues with Sol and the atmosphere lightened. Soon a plan was placed before them: to get trashed at Shox even though it was only a Tuesday night. Danny had texted Janna on their way from Wilfields but so far she hadn't shown up. After all these years Janna had managed to claw back the mystery that once enchanted him to her in the first place.

Every spare square inch of the dance floor rapidly filled. Such was the clamour in the heaving auditorium Danny could not distinguish individual people from the gyrating mass. The air, thick with beer and desire, pulsed and throbbed. Danny lost himself in the rhythm and beat of the cacophony erupting from the speakers. Stood atop his podium, with the euphoria and exultation of a mystic lost in a maze of music, he closed his eyes.

When he opened them, it seemed like it was much later in the evening. Perhaps it was even the early hours of morning. The dance floor was virtually empty. Two teens stood in the centre, embracing as they slow-danced in time to a classic ballad. Danny rubbed his eyes. The rest of the nightclub appeared deserted. Even the DJ was absent. A strange mist-like smoke circled the couple, while gentle syllables soared across the room.

All at once, it was Benjamin and Olive, Chardelia and Phoebe, Robin and Flambeau. Danny rubbed his eyes again. The smoke had cleared. In the crisp white light of the flashing strobe he saw with utter clarity. In his mind's dreaming eye, one touched the other with her lips. Purposeful and sobering. Brimming with desire. A submerging kiss followed. Delicately pursed pink lips enveloped by ample cushions of riotous red. Danny watched with equal horror and sexual ecstasy. While he was still basquing in the ignorance of his imaginary reverie, Sandi had succumbed to Cherry's advance.

*

I am a writer. My mind calls me inside myself and seduces me with sweet release. Words fall on my page like rain on the long grass. Droplets hit the tip of each blade before rolling slowly down. Embracing oblivion and consumption, and communion with mud.

I feel my soul resonate as I write. Like the irresistible rhythm of a well-grooved pop song. Like the whooshing waters of the storm as they reach their ardent epicentre. My euphoria feels solitary. Like one given only to me and a few others. No-one else can, will or need to understand my melodious melancholy. The one that exists between the human brain and the blank page.

There is safety in words. They hug you, soothe you, diffuse your intentions, and apply your meaning with hidden embellishments and grandiose subtlety and sophistication. They do not betray you, they remain constant. They are always there, they never depart from you, like the culminating terror of a terminality that sweeps across your life like wind through a field of barley.

Words are meant to console. They are here to help us get through dark times. Times when your soul shrinks and light shrivels away. Words will take over and lift you in their arms and carry you to another place. A distant, happy, unbound, unbidden, free and wild place. Words can be a sword to pierce your enemy upon. They can be the armour and the weaponry to defend an unwanted onslaught. They can protect and they can wound.

In the end, words are just another tool for humans to distract themselves from inevitable perils of existence. Pain, frustration, bitterness, anger, depression. They can all come on top of each other, like carriages on the same train blustering through the station of life. Hope, love, comfort, exultation, achievement, desire, fantasy. Words can express optimism too. But words are ultimately redundant. Redundant in the face of unbearable hardship like despair and grief. Like death. Like death.

*

'Did you recognise the idiot shouting out in the corner?' Sol asked Danny as he slumped in an alcove. Strobe lights illuminated pasty flesh hanging from his cheekbones, like starlight illuminating frost.

'Nope,' Danny muttered, sipping cold lemonade as if a precious elixir.

'I gotta tell ya fella, bumped into Anjalie the other day.'

Danny looked up as his heart nosedived.

'You ever see her?'

'Of course,' Danny said hesitantly.

'Oh,' Sol said. 'Didn't seem like it. She didn't mention you much.'

Danny's gaze hardened. Unconsciously he clasped his hands in front his mouth, unaware it was a defensive posture.

'Well it's not really any of your business is it Sol. I doubt she'd mention much about us to you, would she?'

'Of course there's not really an 'us' for you two anymore, is there?' Sol continued, unfazed by Danny's growing antagonism. 'It's her and Squish now isn't it? And little Ackley.'

'Ackley is my son,' Danny said simply, trying but failing to keep the self-righteousness from his voice.

'Doesn't look like it to me. You never see him. You leave all the hard stuff to them. Anjalie's run off her feet. They're bringing him up. To all intents and purposes Gabriel is his Dad. You're nowhere mate, are you? Because you don't really want to be.'

Danny leant forward, a thousand ripostes battling for attention in the forefront of his mind. It was never in his thoughts to plant a punch on Sol's arrogant jawline, yet this was the exact consequence of Sol's interrogation. Danny remained stunned by the action as Sol crumpled to the floor. A line of blood rolled from his cavernous mouth.

Tim sat down next to Danny, shaking his fist in relief.

'I heard everything. He was really asking for it.'

Danny glanced at Tim's hand. He had bruised one knuckle and cut another on Sol's jawbone, which was now beginning to bleed. '

You shouldn't let people speak to you that way Danny. I know we're all suffering because of Benjamin and Olive. It's not an excuse for anyone.'

Danny's heart swelled. Tim had not sought Danny's approval, he had just gone ahead and exacted retribution for the disloyalty. All he could do was pat Tim on the back, still wordless at the kinship.

In a corner, Amanita sat scribbling furiously beneath a reading light angled over her floral notepad. A Californian songstress' rebellious tune drowned out the dance beats. As the crowds cleared they revealed a kissing couple, and a single girl dancing in the centre of the floor. Janna's blonde hair spun golden arcs through the air as she pirouetted. Twirling her head idiosyncratically the punchball lights made her bleached wisps glimmer. Danny's last memory of that evening was her sky blue eyes burn into him like iridescent sun rays as he reflected on what he had given away.

*

'Cometh the hour, cometh the man. Or the woman,' Foss proclaimed as he strode, tall and lanky, down the aisles of his second year A-level history class. 'Soon you will all trot off to this country's finest educational establishments. Before you go you have the opportunity of choice. I hope you will all use your choices wisely.

'Let's move on to today's lesson. I am going to tell you about a startling, beautiful anomaly in the course of British history. A small town, much like Amberleigh, became the humble centre of a lesser-known but potent love story. Allow me to set the scene for you. It is the seventeenth century. Thousands were dying across Europe as the Black Death swept through swathes of cities, towns and villages. Britain readied itself for the onslaught as the disease moved further north. Measures were put in place to prevent the swell of the plague, but when a piece of infected cloth arrived at the local tailors in the small Derbyshire village of Eyam no-one foresaw the hidden consequences. The tailor shortly contracted the disease and died. Other families soon became affected, or should that be, infected.

'It was painfully apparent to locals from previous outbreaks the disease would soon spread. Worse, its nature was to become uncontrollable unless severe restrictions on movement were put in place. The village rector, William Mompesson, urged villagers to see the bigger picture. To look within themselves to make the right choice, to prevent others dying. In their case it meant effectively sacrificing their own lives. Not only would they be ceasing all contact with people from outside the village, they would be cutting themselves off from the best chance they had of being cured, or escaping the clutches of the illness.

'It was a hard decision to make. There were waverers. Their Christian beliefs helped them. After the local stonemason passed, residents found themselves in the awful position of carving their own gravestones. One family buried their father and six children in the space of little longer than a week. Because of the cordon that had been set up – a perimeter of death around the village – no-one could pass beyond a certain point. It was Eyam or the great beyond.

'Neighbouring villagers left parcels beside the border for the Eyam people to collect. The villagers left payment doused in vinegar to prevent the spread of the disease. In this context I would like you to imagine the tale of two young hearts who had fallen for each other, sadly with the Eyam village boundary passing between them.

Emmott Sydall was a local Eyam girl. She could see the church from where she lived, and her house was a stone's throw from the local tailor. She came from a family of eight, herself, her mother and father, one brother and four sisters. The family lost all but her mother and Emmott herself in the autumn of 1665. For Emmott's grief at this we can only imagine. Even in these circumstances our imagination might fail. Further beyond our imagination is the way she valiantly dealt with the fallout of these tragic events.

'Her love and sweetheart since children, Rowland Torre, comforted Emmott but Emmott was acutely aware their time too must end soon. She told him they should separate. For the sake of his health and that of his family, and the wider country he must not cross the perimeter the village had put in place.

'However young love breaks free of delicate constraints like these. From time to time they used to meet at the edge of the cordon, at a place called Cucklet Delph. Always speaking, never allowing each other to touch. Words were the one solace in which both young Emmott and Rowland indulged. During one of these trysts they agreed to marry each other once the plague had faded.

'The plague did indeed fade, after a time. The rector's decision proved fruitful. Sickness did not spread outside Eyam, even to close villages like Bakewell, home of the eponymous tart. By the autumn of 1666 the outbreak ended. The rat population that brought the disease died out. Eyam slowly recovered from the horror that had plagued their small community. Ancestors who live in Eyam can still trace relatives who survived – those fortunate enough not to become one of the two hundred residents who died, out of a population of little more than three hundred. Sadly, for Rowland, Emmott was not among these fortunate few.'

As Foss surveyed his silent class he wondered where the soft giggles were coming from. This was not a remotely funny story. Then he realised that the giggles were not giggles at all but soft sobs. They poured from Amanita, Sandi, Hazel, Mary and Liam. Danny guessed what they were thinking. It was too close to the knife for some. So soon after Benjamin and Olive. For a moment Foss had brought an event four hundred years old back to life. Danny sat in quiet awe thinking how loss was an enduring, cascading theme of human nature, as Foss resumed position at his desk, and began to mark exercise books.

*

' "We waltzed onto the painting and we waltzed into the fire" '

As Danny entered The Bridge for the first time a demure girl with wavy brown hair belted out a seventies classic on a small karaoke stage. The instant he crossed the threshold, it felt like his heart leapt all over his body. There was something sexily potent about this place that Wilfields lacked. Who was that girl?

' "You singled me out; you tore my dreams in two and made me whole" '

Danny joined Cherry and Tim who were sat a table watching. Danny smelt the rum in Cherry's coke. Tim sipped a pint of amber nectar, as he would call it. She was really going for it, this girl. Not tall, her voice screamed into the microphone as if a set of talent show judges were in the audience.

' "We made it in our youth, when flames were young and our desire fresh" '

Startled by his entry mid-song, the girl with demure brown hair looked up at Danny as he walked to the bar and ordered a lemonade. Sipping it slowly and turning round, Danny met the wide smile from the girl on the stage. As the instrumental kicked in, she swayed in time to the music. Danny tried to describe mentally to himself the aura that the pub seemed doused in. A desire-soaked chalice glistening in heady aromas of alcohol that wafted through thick glass double doors. An enveloping atmosphere of dreamland rising from the exuberant hedonism of karaoke.

'"Then you let me go like a spinning fool, the only one to leave"'

Glancing over at the long table opposite the stage, Danny watched his friends. Sandi sat leant forward on naked white elbows drumming cigarette-stained fingers in time to the music, her burning desire to get up on stage and start singing pouring from her expression. Tim chatted to Amanita who seemed to ignore him as she, once again, scribbled furiously into her leather bound notebook. She must be going through pages at the rate of knots, Danny thought.

' "You snuffed me out; you killed my caffeine dreams when they were still alive" '

He sat down just as the girl on stage finished her song. To much clapping, cheers and wolf-whistles she rejoined her friends at the long table. Danny had only just taken a mat for his drink when Cherry shouted across the table,

'Let's here it for my best mate, Joely Mirenne, the mirror ball songstress herself!' More cheers followed. Danny smiled at the returning joy. It had been a while since his group of friends had reached this level of exuberance. The start of term and Ben and Olive's passing had dampened their spirits; but now he felt them begin to return. Joely sat down next to Danny, and he quickly introduced himself. When she spoke he noticed her glasses masked deceptive innocence.

'Hi – great song. You performed it so well.'

'Really, really? I was shaking like a leaf. Honestly I was.'

'It didn't show. Honestly.'

Danny watched the DJ beckon Sandi onto the stage and instinctively turned his head. As she stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray she smiled at Cherry.

'Knock 'em out,' Cherry said, beaming at Sandi.

The music started. It was a familiar tune, but Danny couldn't place it. Distinctive, big juicy chords. Uplifting melodic pop. Sandi started swaying in time.

The table turned to look at the singer, as she moved round the stage with gusto. Leaning forward, she belted the big notes into the microphone. She looked for a moment as if she had not just stepped from a table of A-level friends, but on to her true home. The confidence was effortless.

There was a mystery Sandi was slowly beginning to unfurl. With a wave rising on the jolting chorus Danny realised with utter clarity the hidden lives of teenage girls. They didn't broadcast the fact that they danced around their bedrooms when they were little, singing along with Joni Mitchell, Amy Grant, Carly Simon and Kate Bush, hairbrush in hand. But they did. It became apparent quickly. By the ferocity of their singing, the demonstrable competence of their soaring voices, that hope, desire, fear, passion and love mingled in their veins just as fluently as it did in his. Music was the carrier and it was the only way he could have understood that the chords and cadences were the true bridge between depression and epiphany.

*

Dinner Party

The glossy walnut veneers of dining table and sideboard shone in the soft lamps Rosalind had procured specially for the occasion. Neatly adorned with wedgewood china, the rich furniture filtered the glow of muted light to throw out a rosy aura across the Trove dining room.

Both kids were out tonight. Brazil had taken Mercedes to Amberflicks, the local cinema to see the latest movie. It was a fantasy about a little boy running away to a land populated by imaginary monsters. Cherry had defected shortly after ravishing Rosalind's spaghetti carbonara. Running late as always, Donald would no doubt claim he was stuck in no traffic. Why couldn't he be on time this evening of all evenings?

Rosalind paused as she delicately placed paper doilies on the polished wood surface. He was usually averse to evenings like these: dinner parties with colleagues from work. To him it was a necessary evil in support of his wife's advancing career. He put up with it for the sake of a quiet life. Deep down Rosalind suspected an ominous well of fear grow within her husband. It was betrayed in twitches he made whenever he offered the wine or passed the apple sauce. No-one else would know, but his affable table manner disappeared when the Conservative intruders appeared in his home.

Rosalind checked on the bourguignon and placed another clove in the heavily scented rice. The food was cooking smoothly; it was the imminent arrival of guests minus her husband that set her on edge.

Tonight could be a crucial evening for the business development project. For months Rosalind had prepared papers, reports, commissions to investigate the feasibility of each site. Every one had been fully scoped and diligently documented. Her department would shortly put forward their recommendations, carefully preserving those community hubs that many poorer residents still used. It was vital to warm up the councillors before she submitted her proposal.

As she removed the Fratellis from the stereo and replaced it with the muted sound of Annie Lennox, an insistent rat-a-tat-tat echoed from the frosted window pane in the front door. Rosalind sighed and pushed strands of her dyed russet hair behind her ears, straightened creases from her suit jacket and opened the door.

'Hello councillor, and you must be Jonquil? How lovely to meet you!' Rosalind gushed. 'Please come in. Let me take your coats.'

'Thank you,' bleated Norman Davis, Rosalind's boss.

He wore a crumpled navy double-breast wool suit offset with a pale silk tie. Jonquil bowed her head as she passed the Trove's grandfather clock (Rosalind had been hoping they would notice and comment upon its antiquity). She stooped into the dining room and, being a couple of inches taller than her husband, gazed intently at his thinning hair. A dark brown raffeta dress hung from bony shoulders but the main feature she wore was an unsmiling face and aggressive posture.

'Norm, I forgot my cigarettes from the car. Would you mind?'

Her voice drawled with entitled vocal fry. She muttered her command in an offhand casual way; it had already assumed compliance before the sentence was complete. Even though it was early in the evening Rosalind felt duty bound to intervene. Donald would have a fit otherwise.

'I'm really sorry Jonquil, may I call you Jonquil? We don't allow smoking in the house.'

Norman paused, caught in the indecisive moment of the preliminary skirmish between colleague and wife. Jonquil turned her head and gazed through Rosalind as though she were not there. Allowing a few seconds to pass in frosty silence, Jonquil stepped forward and addressed Rosalind without shame or reproach. It was as if she were the householder and Rosalind the guest.

'Dear, I am sure you can make an allowance just this once. After all, we don't want to let those pathetic smoking-ban nannies tell us what to do in our own home, do we?'

Before Rosalind could point out the only person telling her what to do in her own home was Jonquil herself, Norman had nipped out the front door at his wife's behest to fetch her smouldering addiction. Rosalind didn't quite know what to do next, so she went to check on the beef and fix drinks for the couple. Where the fuck was Donald?

'I'll take a gin and tonic with a frosted lemon spiral, darling.' Jonquil drawled again as she sat on the sofa adjacent to the neatly ordered bookcase.

Inspecting the tomes crammed into the shelves, and accepting her packet of Lambert and Butler King Size from her returning husband, she called out to Rosalind.

'A little too much Keats and not enough Archer for my liking.'

'Did you say an Archer's and lemonade?'

Rosalind called back confused, as stubby fingers failed to help her grapple with a resistant lemon and a slippery knife. Unseen to Rosalind, Jonquil looked at her husband and raised her eyebrows who mirrored her sardonic smile.

Donald Trove was reading a new local history book called Wartime Amberleigh. As he slowed the family Volvo in the drive behind the golden glow of the Davis' Jaguar, he reached over to the passenger seat to make sure he didn't leave it behind. There might even be an hour or so he could find tonight to read the next chapter. Replete in favourite tweed suit and salmon shirt he walked in the kitchen and kissed his wife on the forehead just as she dished a starter of vine-picked yellow tomatoes, creamy buffalo mozzarella with fresh basil and extra virgin. She grimaced as he undid her apron for her.

'Hi, Donald Trove,' he said, extending his hand to Norman Davis who shook it with an unusual telegenic smile. It succeeded in displacing Donald momentarily.

'This is my wife, Jonquil.'

Donald kissed her on the cheek as she dropped her cigarette into the makeshift ashtray, and pulled horse-like features into as an attractive smile as she could muster. To Rosalind's surprise Donald did not duly detonate at the lit cigarette. In fact he hadn't seemed to have noticed. Jonquil still bared fleshy gums at him. As she took another drag he politely extended the dining chair back to allow her to sit down more easily at the table.

'Of course,' Jonquil pressed as she picked indelicately at her basil leaf, 'the town suffers from an overlong tenure of abominably do-gooding socialist councillors.'

Donald flinched, but did not interrupt.

'The town could be so much more than this. As I often say to Norman, there is plenty of room for new business in Amberleigh. We just have to dispose of some of the council's weaker policies, shall we say?'

'So Jonquil, have you and Norman ever thought of having children yourselves?' Rosalind asked, hoping she could direct the conversation onto safer territory.

'What policies?' Donald asked starkly.

'Oh you know,' Jonquil continued as Rosalind gathered up the plates and went to dish up the main. 'There is more commercial development that could be implemented, if we were for example, to get rid of some appalling indulgences. The salvation army building for one, the fucking mosque for another, and Wilfields for a third.'

Jonquil calmly lit her third cigarette of the evening. It was only when Norman produced a cigar from his suit pocket did Donald ask for him to refrain, citing the smoke alarm as being especially sensitive to cigar smoke. He knew how important this evening was to his wife; he also knew how vehemently his daughters pledged loyalty to their local pub. Any whiff of a plan to remove their favourite meeting point would inflame her.

'But some of these places are necessary surely, for the town's social and religious life. Wilfields for example, is a small business itself. Many of the Plunket's students meet there,' he said equably, confident this would be a harmless intervention to what was surely an amiable debate.

In unison Jonquil and Norman turned to face him. It was Jonquil who spoke. Norman merely nodded vigorously at his wife's pronouncements.

'But my dear, I am afraid you must be mad. Wilfields is nothing more than a breeding ground for reprobates, immigrants and immorality. It brings nothing but a misplaced vandal element to the town. And the location would be wonderful for a new office block for accountants and solicitors. Darling, we must see some sense about these issues. Amberleigh can no longer be held back by the wishes of socialist dreams. As one famous and eloquent lady put it, there is, I'm afraid, no such thing as society.'

Donald's face fell like an overripe apple separating from its branch. Rosalind appeared in the doorway, clutching the beef bourguignon in an orange earthenware dish. The delicious smell of dark red wine and rich beefy gravy filled the dining room, overpowering the stench of Jonquil's tobacco.

'Here we go,' Rosalind soothed, pretending desperately she had not heard Jonquil's last comments. 'The potatoes are in this dish here.'

As she lifted the top off another dish, delicate aromas of rosemary fused with lemon drifted into the air. Norman peered forward, and helped himself to a couple of potatoes before spooning out a generous helping of the beef. Donald did the same.

'Can I offer anyone any wine?' Rosalind beamed.

'What is it?' Jonquil purred, her plate still empty.

'It's a Faustino Rivero Rioja,' Rosalind said.

'Oh,' Jonquil replied, disappointed.

As the evening wore on, the hearty dinner Rosalind cooked had been consumed. Several satisfactory grunts from both men clashed with a half-eaten plate from Jonquil that Rosalind begrudgingly cleared half an hour after it became apparent she was going to eat no more. They decamped to the living room while Norman went outside to smoke his after-dinner cigar.

Jonquil sat leant forward, a pose that slightly irritated Rosalind although she could not put her finger on why. A refusal to settle after dinner, to even acknowledge Rosalind's cooking.

'I see you have submitted an alternative motion,' Jonquil said ominously. Rosalind nodded.

'I think it sensible under the circumstances,' Rosalind said.

'And what circumstances might those be?' Jonquil asked calmly, although Rosalind sensed the unspoken weight bearing upon her answer. To add more momentousness to her response, Norman reappeared in the doorway, looking intrigued at the conversation.

'In the circumstances that the original motion is declined.'

Jonquil pursed her lips and closed her eyes. Norman stepped into the room, and spoke.

'Rosalind, I'm not sure that is going to happen. We had a board meeting yesterday. While the paperwork has not been signed yet, and there are a couple more obstacles to overcome, I'm afraid your alternative proposal has not been looked on favourably. For, as one of my colleagues Mr Rodgeburn put it, "it suffers from sentimental motives, not sound commercial ones." '

Norman looked at his wife, who reopened her eyes and sat beaming at him. Full of beef and red wine, and nauseated by his wife's work colleagues Donald announced he was retiring to bed.

'Yes, we ought to be departing too. There's still some work to be done on the winding down of that charity shop. A new solicitors will shortly open in its place.'

Jonquil smiled, lighting yet another cigarette and blowing smoke directly at the alarm which, thankfully to Rosalind, resisted.

'Well goodnight,' Rosalind said, her best attempt at being agreeable. But the smile wore thin and she knew tonight had not gone well. Donald had been late, and slightly rude. But no ruder than their guests who unfortunately were inextricably tied to theirs, and Cherry's livelihood.

'Goodnight. See you next week.'

Norman shut the front door, making the glass in the windowpane shudder. As the engine in their Jaguar ignited and then roared them away into the night, Rosalind swore loudly and kicked the grandfather clock that had been in their family for centuries.

*

_' "We're gonna inflame ourselves in red and rouge, in cream and beige"_ '

Cherry's singing calmed her down after the day's excitement. Their joint trip was a success. First to Monsoon, then Jigsaw, then finally Wilfields where Sandi had presented her with a dress she bought whilst Cherry looked the other way. It was beautiful. A scrunchy white and black dotted number with cerulean and chocolate hem. The combination of blue and brown she loved so much.

They rested on the bottom bunk together. Cherry had cleared it of her usual junk. Together. Cherry had never felt so close to anyone before.

Sandi carefully picked the foliage from Cherry's hair. The giggly walk back had taken a sudden lustful turn when they found themselves on a country lane with no-one else around. Discreet hedgerows tempted them into delicious debauchery. Cherry had needed some persuading, her panic-freak mode overtaking her usual reckless spirit. Sandi had caressed and stroked her cheek. All at once they had been on top of each other, rolling around passionately amid olive-coloured leaves, coating themselves in dust and mud. Damp clouds lubricated their tumble with gentle showers. Puddles formed slowly on their makeshift bed as Cherry kissed Sandi's suprasternal notch. The lazy hissing of thick rain drowned the shrieks of glee, that subsided to ecstatic moans when Sandi placed her hand beneath Cherry's jeans. The invisible obstacle, the stop barrier, the point of no return had been reached. Cherry had thundered through with abandon. The euphoria felt more intense because of its illicit nature. One with a girl. Two outside. If Sandi knew how her heart was thumping... It didn't bear thinking about. How could anyone understand, cope or deal with that quantity of love? It was a league beyond being overwhelming for words. It was greatly in danger of misdirecting their relationship. It was best to be casual, pretend her hard sardonic exterior was the reality. It was best to retain a shield of ambiguity and mystery that protected Cherry as much as it attracted Sandi.

The stereo cooled their passion. Sandi gently kissed Cherry's cheek, her lipstick long worn away. There seemed no point in speaking. Words were just an ornament, a prelude to desire already consumed. Words would only create more distance between sublime emotions. They would interrupt a proximity which filtered feelings of incomprehensible love.

Outside a lanky teenager sat on a dead tree stump and popped a couple of wine gums in his mouth. He glanced at his watch. It was nearly time. Just a few minutes more and he would leave to walk home.

*

'What do you think?' Danny said.

Amanita curled up in her editor's chair, an indigo blanket spread over her lap. It was late and she had been working on the latest issue of the Communiqué for almost four hours. She'd started at seven and not eaten. Prompted by an earlier text message from the stricken editor, Danny's arrival had brought cold pizza, ginger beer and useful relief from the lead story she was failing to finesse.

'It has to be the right tone, Danny.' Amanita replied. 'Too investigative and we risk being insensitive. Too indulgent and we'll be accused of being sentimental.'

'But we were their friends. Surely we have the right to indulge.'

Amanita gazed at him idly, twiddling a wave of her hair.

'The BBC weren't forgiven when Jill Dando died,' she replied, reaching for another slice of the American sausage pizza.

'Yeah, I know. It's difficult isn't it. Maybe the story shouldn't be Olive and Benjamin,' Danny said.

'What do you mean?'

'I mean perhaps we should focus on the reasons why they died.'

'It was a tragic accident Danny, the police are investigating but it just looks like they fell asleep. Someone accidentally tossed a lit cigarette butt into the ring of alcohol they spilt. I know it's hard to take they're gone Danny, but launching some ill-advised inquiry into a non-existent conspiracy won't help heal the pain.'

'It needn't be some ill-advised inquiry,' Danny said, anger growing. 'I want to write something that won't be tossed aside or used in lessons to scrunch up and throw at people's heads. Something people will want to read and reread. Something that will stir the school's soul. Something that will make people feel as well as think, something that will make people realise I am still here, I am still here despite everything that happened to me. That I'm willing. I'm willing to make a break with the past, to explore the future. Not unfettered by the pain in my personal history, but brave enough to take the next step, to look beyond Amberleigh, to look beyond the simple elegies placed upon my friends' passing.'

'What makes you think looking beyond Amberleigh will help you find out why they died?'

Danny stared out the window. He heard the reassuring fizz of the sea outside. It only just occurred to him that the sound of the rushing ocean had been the eternal backdrop to all their editorial conversations about the Oracle and the Communiqué.

'Danny,' Amanita placed a hand on his shoulder. She was warm. He bent his shoulder into her palm. 'You can't keep chasing after her grave forever.'

'Whose grave do you mean?' Danny asked, his cheeks inflamed. 'Chardelia's?'

Amanita removed her hand.

'No,' she said. 'I didn't mean Chardelia's.'

A light noise behind made them both jump. Dunstan Blackbuck had appeared from the cleaner's staircase, sweeping the bare floorboards in his slow, meticulous way.

'Dunstan – you frightened us!' Amanita asked, exasperated.

'Sorry miss, I didn't mean to disturb.'

He deliberately glanced at the clock. It was nearly midnight.

'I was just making sure the room was clean for you all. I can't come in early tomorrow, so I thought I'd come tonight instead. I didn't expect anyone to be here.'

Danny continued gazing out of the window. He sensed Dunstan sweep behind him. It felt like a soft admonishing aura surrounded him.

'I heard about your friends, Master Canterbury,' Dunstan said, as he swept out one corner of the press room.

'What did you hear?'

'I heard there had been an accident.'

'See Danny what did I tell you?' Amanita said, unable to keep the smugness from her voice. Dunstan took a step forward to Danny, so he was only a metre behind him.

'Why don't you turn and look at me Danny?'

Danny was mesmerised by the ocean's rolling. It didn't matter who was behind him. Who could erase the pain? Mountains of emotion saturated his past. Years of pain stretched in front of him. Slowly he turned to face Dunstan. In the time it took him to move, a flicker of realisation of what he eventually would have to do ignited deep down. Dunstan spoke in a faint whisper only Danny could hear.

'I heard there had been an accident. It certainly appeared to be an accident. But, like you, I didn't believe it was an accident for one second.'

*

Painting

Mondrian and Monet, Picasso and Cézanne prints sat at the foot of his bed. Streaks of sunlight poured through the long windows. They illuminated reams of dust that milled and sashayed in sultry air. Boards of wood lay at one end of the room, propping a rudimentary work bench. Upon the bench puddles of paint, creams and browns, deep seablues and forest greens lay scorching in the midday heat.

She curved an arm round him as he sat, nearly numb on the bed. Not one word had he spoken in the past five years, but Cherry sensed response when he nestled his head in the snug of her armpit.

'It's a very nice picture Robbie. Is it your favourite? Shall we go to the beach this afternoon? We can play catch-ball. I know how you like that game.'

It had been just under a year since Cherry began visiting Robbie. The Amberleigh Careers centre placed them in touch after her request for practical work. Her growing ambition was to train in real-life settings prior to becoming a social worker. Or even better, a professional autism supervisor. She liked the physical proximity, the way it communicated when words failed. The cuddles she gave and received in return – the simplicity of life laid bare when language was stripped away. Robbie was unusual but not unique in his inability or refusal to speak. Many autistic children had social and communication problems. But few manifested that so bluntly as to cut away the one tool that so often sank as well as elevated humankind.

He reached for her hand as he pulled himself off the bed and led them toward the door. It was cooler outside than Cherry expected. A wispy breeze removed an edge from the stifling heat.

'We can only go for half an hour.'

Cherry remembered how Robbie's mother would react if he missed his scheduled tea slot. Robbie ran off and Cherry chased after.

On the beach Robbie started to build a sandcastle. It was perilously close to the ocean but he used the incoming tide as the source for a tightly built moat. As the ocean spray hissed and bubbled across buttergold sands it poured into his self-made cavity, unable to escape to its source. The tide was going out, and Robbie had established his perimeter.

Cherry watched while she dipped painted toenails in the water. It was nice to watch him lose himself in activity. He behaved in exactly the same way he did when he was painting. She had witnessed the miracle of his absurd talent. A blank, cream canvas coming to life in vivid shades. Each one bore a singular unity. Robbie seemed to know instinctively how to bind colours and mute dissenting tones. Cherry could not place her finger on precisely how he did it. There was emotion and intellect behind the brush strokes. Art was the one medium in which Robbie felt most comfortable expressing himself. Their house was full of canvases he had painted. In the living room, hanging on the walls, propped against the sideboard, in the kitchen, above the toilet. His mother could not bear to throw any away and they were having to give serious thought to donating them to charity, or investigating holding an exhibition just so others had the opportunity to see them. Not that Robbie would be remotely interested. In fact, Cherry was sure Robbie would not understand what an exhibition was for. The painting was a way for him to release himself, not a channel for critical consumption.

Robbie had recently begun deploying lighter shades more consistently. Cherry had seen how Amberleigh's cream tones: the sea greens and the pale ceruleans infiltrated his palette. Robbie was responding to his environment, reflecting it, mirroring it, with precocious subtlety.

Cherry hummed while Robbie skipped along playfully on the walk to his house. After cuddling Robbie goodbye Cherry doubled-back and returned to the beach. She had an hour before she would meet Sandi. As the waves drew from the sand, the majestic curve of Amberleigh beach became apparent again, like an old friend. Cherry bathed in the reassuring familiarity. A contented feeling of protectiveness surged in her. She could not receive that love from any other source but Robbie.

*

I always got horny in summer afternoons. I think it was something to do with the heat and wanting to take your clothes up. As the heat haze smashes into the windows, I place my hand against the glass and smile. I can feel my burning secret consume me. It's a clandestine instinct, rising up inside me. I love those little summer dresses that cling to your body. They accentuate my thinness, make me feel cool. Little breezes rushing along my thighs, tickling my fire. It was too much when she arrived. It precipitated a flame of an altogether different order. I couldn't control my body any longer. I had to rush off to the girls' fifth-year corridor to let it out. It poured like a torrent of loving tension unleashed. It provided that feeling. That withering no-one can put into words. Of consuming, of being consumed. Of being one with eternal annihilation.

*

It felt an achingly long time coming. Truth washed Danny in graduated grayscale. Tints of thickening darkness. When he watched Benjamin's parents walk behind the priest, all dressed in black. All arrived at the moment when they would join Amberleigh's community to commemorate their dead son. Approaching the altar, the priest opened his arms and spoke.

'The injustice of life. Death follows life. Nature consumes all. We are all part of nature, returning to our roots. It is inescapable. Existence is not about us. It is the reclamations of mother nature that keep the eternal cycle moving. When our time comes, we finally understand the goal has been to cherish every second because it is all we have and it is all we will ever have on earth.'

Tim shifted in the pew next to Danny. Amanita brushed a brown curl from her forehead. Or was it a tear? Across the aisle, being comforted by Samuel, Danny saw Dawn sob noiselessly. Liam stood near the front, erect and motionless. A line of teachers rose along the adjacent front pew, their heads bowed in silence. Danny had never seen Pry this serious.

'I would like to invite Benjamin's best friend Liam to say a few words.'

Danny and Tim looked up; they had not known Liam would say anything. He was not the type for public speaking. With what seemed to be incredible pain, Liam slowly moved toward the altar and turned to face the congregation. For a moment there was silence when Liam opened his mouth to speak. He took a couple of breaths, composed himself and began again.

'Benjamin Sprite – Benji or Ben to most – was my best friend in the world. We did everything together. We played cricket, football, squash, tennis, basketball, hockey. We went running together. We did athletics together. He knew my best times and I knew his. He knew my flaws and I knew his.

'When he died – last month – I couldn't believe it when I heard the news. It seemed so sudden. A life just emerging into manhood – snuffed out, never to return. Sometimes life seems so unfair, so – painful...'

Liam paused and Danny wondered whether he was going to be able to continue. Eventually Liam lifted his head again.

'It can be so painful – sometimes we wonder if we can live with that pain.'

Again another pause. Amanita moved as if to go up and help him from the altar. Just as she would exit the pew, Liam spoke again.

'We must never think we cannot live with pain. Pain is life. It is what we are here for. We should not complain. Benjamin lived a short life to the full. This is what we all should try to do. That is all I want to say.'

Danny breathed heavily as Liam returned to his pew, head bowed. Somewhere near the back of the church rose the sound of a small voice weeping. Looking round toward the back corner of the church Danny barely saw Cherry crying cross-legged on the floor.

*

Let me out. Let me run away. I cannot take it anymore. Life is too much. It is a glass of poison. It is a bush of thorns. It is an endless dark well from which there is no escape.

How do they manage to cope? How does Liam cope with his loss? His best friend. Dead. No-one to replace him. I can't imagine how he feels. I just wanted to walk right up to him and hug him when he spoke in church. Love is too much. It's too strong an emotion for humans. How would I feel if it was Sandi? I love her. I love her so much it hurts. I want to squeeze her, kiss her, caress her, love her in the most intimate way possible.

*

Danny walked from the church ahead of the throng. He was sure Cherry had left early. A minor crash towards the back. A hymn book falling off a shelf. The sound of a wooden chair being pushed out of the way. He knew it was her. As he passed the spot where she had sat nothing remained, except a purple plated lighter which he clasped in his hand.

Behind the church reeds and tall grasses bordered a large pond. Water lilies floated peacefully amid darting goldfish. Danny had visited this pond once before, with Robin when a child. They had played hide and seek and Robin nearly fell in. Danny had reached his arm for Robin to clutch, pulling her onto safety. They laughed raucously at the time but Danny knew not how deep the pond might be and how precariously close the danger was.

He could not tell why he suspected the early exiter had come here, or that it was Cherry. Intuition. Treading over grass carefully so as not to disturb anyone hiding he finally arrived at the glistening pool. There was no-one here. Silence intermitted with the birdsong from the trees. A heavenly tranquillity momentarily bewitched Danny. Glancing at the clouds, which passed in a furious sky, he sighed. He had taken a wrong turn. About to return to the church the sound of a breaking twig interrupted the peace. Danny did not flinch. With an internal scrambling of his brain he desperately tried to locate the source of the sound. It was behind him, he was sure of that. Should he move and turn around? What would he see? He felt a second longer would tell him all he needed to know. Yes, there it was. That familiar scent. Cherry blossom mixed with alcohol. It was her. He hadn't moved an inch. It felt like he was playing the old game with Robin. Then she spoke.

'Are you going to let me go Danny Canterbury?'

'That depends,' Danny replied, still staring into absurd reflections from the bottle green pond.

'On what,' came Cherry's shrill voice.

'On how much you are hurting,' Danny said calmly. 'Besides I have something that I think belongs to you.'

A pause.

'Oh yeah, what?'

Cherry abandoned the elegant charm of the lower-sixth. She was now a forthright and direct young adult. But perhaps scared? Danny turned and presented his open palm on which the purple lighter sat.

'Oh.' Cherry said, surprised. 'Where did you get that?'

'I found it inside the church. I trust you weren't planning to set fire to it?' Danny half-smiled but it wasn't returned.

'It isn't mine,' Cherry answered coldly. 'I am keeping it for somebody though, let me take it.'

She reached out a lightning quick hand to take the lighter, but Danny saw the snatch coming.

'Just a moment, Cherry. Isn't it time we had a little chat?'

'What about?' Cherry asked, again in an interrogative tone.

Danny sighed again. He didn't know how to begin. People were always telling him he needed to open up more. Open up and you leave yourself open to attacks.

'You know what.' Danny said quietly. 'I did like you once.'

'Once?' Cherry said, half-smiling now.

'Okay, still do.' Danny said, forcing the admission out with all the effort of his plummeting soul.

'What would you like me to do about it?' Cherry asked.

'Acknowledge it, please.' Danny said, curtly.

'Okay. I acknowledge that Danny Canterbury has a crush on me. But I don't have a crush on him. Sorry Danny.'

'Thank you,' Danny said. The green pool in front of him reflected the shadow of Cherry's smaller figure as it approached him.

'Give me a hug Danny.'

'Why?' Danny said. 'You don't feel the same.'

'We all need to feel loved, Danny. As for me, I don't know what...What would you...If it was someone close...'

Danny looked closely at her and saw the tears come before she felt them herself. Embracing her he asked,

'What is it, Cherry?'

'It's her,' she said over loud sobs. 'I don't think I can take it anymore. What if...what if it wasn't Ben and Olive? I mean I liked them, they were my friends. But what if it had been Sandi? I love her Danny. I love her so much it hurts. She's just too cool for me. And generous. And the way she lights up a room when she walks in. She's larger than life, and I'm nothing. I can't help it. I'm afraid I'm going to lose her before I've even got her. Does that make any sense at all?'

Danny hugged her closer. He smelt the shampoo she used on her dark hair: pear and avocado. He felt the warmness of her tummy as she pressed against him. She felt too good to be true. Did he really have to let her go?

'I'm sad to say that yes it does. It makes complete sense.'

*

He was smiling. Within a flash an empty canvas had been lit with vivid colours. Subtle ochres competed with crimsons and shining sapphires. Here, he was happiest. A couple of people stood behind as he worked. He could not communicate when he painted, and when he wasn't it was little better. Cherry paused the video and smiled herself. A little smile could communicate more than a thousand words she thought.

She turned the computer off and lit her first cigarette of the day. She had never smoked this frequently before. Was it the influence of Sandi that was changing her? Or was it the protective blanket her parents had pedantically thrown round her and Razzy since they were small. Even their house was rigged. The slightest whiff of smoke setting off their ever vigilant alarm.

She fingered the letter hanging from the edge of her desk. An invitation to visit. Would she enjoy it? Would she meet anyone there? A whole life of wonder and uncertainty awaiting her.

*

The train rolled down the tracks, thundering over rivets between the joints, jolting nerves in Cherry's stomach. It was an odd letter. Not quite an offer. Half an open day, half an interview. What could this mean she thought, as she clutched her record of achievement closely to her chest. She had chosen a dainty white dress dotted with tiny pink and red hearts, and cerise coloured tights for a flash of glamour. She didn't really know what was appropriate. She had made slightly more effort than usual, and felt more uneasy in what she wore as a result. Lipstick or no lipstick? Converse one stars or heels? The number of decisions unexpectedly facing her when she jumped out of bed that morning daunted her. The feeling was unfamiliar. Swamped by a lack of confidence she usually bathed in, she clung tightly to her father's arm as he kissed her goodbye. This was her trip, on her own. A prelude to the great departure, now only months away.

The train slowed. A tall clock tower came into view, clad in the ubiquitous red-brick. Other purpose built buildings, just as dominating, rose behind trees and the station's façade. The signs just said 'University'. It was here. She pulled the letter from her handbag and read every word.

'We will make you an offer, but the conditions of your offer will be determined after we have had a chance to meet you.'

Was this kind of pressure fair to place on a meek teenager's shoulders, she thought. But she brushed the thought aside. She was not meek, she knew it. It would only be a matter of time before she was thrusting forward in whatever place she chose to call home.

Yet she felt the final year of sixth-form seemed to be passing her by. One moment extraordinary romance in which her compressed emotions exploded; the next she hurtled forward to the prospect of interviews, judgement, exam pressure and a future apart from Sandi. An enormous weight pressed to make the most of every second. It seemed to be more important than any impending education strategy the teachers and her parents bleated about, or a plan for her prospective career.

She sidled off the train and pressed pause on her iPod. Crystal Castles had switched to David Gray. Plinky beats surrendered mellow vocals into her eardrums. Cherry zipped away her music device when a girl approached her.

'Excuse me, do you know which way to the English department?'

Cherry smiled. She saw in the girl before her a mirror image of her own nervousness and lack of confidence two years before. All her insecurities, her fears, her desire not to humiliate herself in front of more intelligent students had diminished. She too was heading toward the English department. They could find it together.

'I don't I'm afraid, but I'm on my way there as well. Are you here for the open day?'

Cherry noticed the girl bore striking green eyes. She assented. Her blonde locks fell on her shoulders as she nodded vigorously.

'I've got a map in here somewhere,' said Cherry rummaging in her black handbag. The girl stood gazing at Cherry. 'Here we go, now just a minute, I think we should go down this main road here, leading out of the station.'

Cherry pointed at the map with her finger. A split-second later the girl was next to her leaning over so she could see. She raised her finger to the map and pointed out the location of the English department. As Cherry moved her hand, their fingers touched. It was a fleeting brush. A tiny spark of electricity ran down Cherry's arm. She jumped.

'Ooh. I think I just got an electric shock off you.'

The girl gazed at Cherry again, her green eyes as deep as swimming pools. She extended her hand.

'Hi. My name is Dee.'

*

The lecturer sighed, exasperated. She had been trying to excite the group of A-level students before her, but was failing spectacularly. In workmanlike fashion she outlined the course syllabus, university facilities, topic-based modules, sports ground, the union bar, the uni canteen. Cherry had hoped for much more than this. She could have read all this online. She wanted to taste part of the experience. Cherry drummed her fingers on her lap as the hem of her white dress slipped back to reveal a cerise-covered knee. Later on they would talk to existing students. That could be fun.

Dee sat beside her. Taller and slightly thinner than Cherry, she presented unspoken elegance, but her choice of clothes displayed a charming lack Cherry couldn't place her finger on. Her aura portrayed unremitting innocence shining from desperate attempts to be adult. With Cherry it was the opposite. A kitsch attempt to recapture cute kaleidoscopic moments of childhood. She warmed to Dee instantly. Something felt unthreatening about her, warm and accommodating. The old confidence flooded back.

'Sod this,' she whispered across. 'Fancy sneaking out for a ciggy?' Cherry asked.

'I don't smoke,' came Dee's predictable reply.

'Okay. I smoke, you talk.'

Dee smiled and Cherry's insides turned over.

Outside the sun filtered through grey cloud and cast dim light onto campus. Early morning rain lent the air a freshly laundered odour. As Cherry lit up, Dee glanced down.

'I love your dress,' she said.

'This old thing? It was a present from my grandmother. She's not with us anymore. Kind old thing.'

'It's lovely,' Dee said, still gazing.

'How about a walk?'

They strolled across campus. Talking was easy. Dee was a brilliant listener. She barely said a word herself. Cherry unfurled the past two years, what life was like in Amberleigh. Her brother Razzy who was acquiring a reputation as a womaniser. Her Mum and Dad who often clashed with their kids. How she felt about leaving home. Dee didn't give anything away about her own life. Cherry realised after half an hour of walking they had returned to the English department, and Cherry knew little more about Dee than her name. Even that was abbreviated from something unsaid.

'What about you, though?' Dee pressed. 'You must have had boyfriends?'

The invisible wall rose up. Cherry reached into her handbag for her nail varnish to distract attention from the question.

'Some,' she answered vaguely.

'More than me, then.' Dee said.

Cherry did not know how to respond. She rummaged in her bag again and emerged with neon pink Rimmel.

'Like some?' Cherry offered, noticing Dee's face contained not a flicker of make-up. Dee took the silver tube and looked at it curiously.

'Do you think this shade will suit me?' she asked.

'I don't see why not,' Cherry replied irritated. Dee's innocence was disarming her. She hated feeling vulnerable. Dee raised the lipstick to her lips, applying it as lightly as could be. When she finished only the slightest film covered her lips. It was barely visible.

'You've hardly put any on,' Cherry said. 'Here, let me. It's always easier with another person.'

Cherry took a step forward to Dee. As she encroached her personal space she smelt violets and chlorine. Dee stood politely, her head held still, her lips faintly parted. Cherry pressed the stick on her bottom lip until it depressed slightly. She slid the stick across, leaving a silky layer of shimmer. She withdrew, admiring her handiwork.

'Press your lips together like this.'

Cherry slapped her lips together as if sucking on a juicy lolly. Dee obeyed, and the silkiness extended to her top lip.

'Just a little bit more,' Cherry said leaning forward and smudging a similar layer on to Dee's top lip. They repeated the manoeuvre. Cherry took a step back and glanced at the effect.

Dee looked dazzling. The absence of foundation, eyeliner and mascara accentuated the temptation of the lips. Golden coins on a sheer, sandy path.

'But what if I eat anything. Or lick an envelope. Or kiss anyone?' Dee asked.

The question hung in the air as tantalisingly as the university letter. Half an invitation, half a request to prove yourself.

'We could test it if you're concerned.'

Cherry ventured, hope dangling on the smallest thread. Dee gazed again, sliding her tongue softly over her newly empowered lips. She said nothing. Cherry leaned in, paused for a moment, the thought of Sandi interrupting her anticipation, then pursed her lips until they met Dee's. The sensation was soft and moist, pleasant and liberating. Cherry met Dee's pressure with equal force.

*

Granddaughter

The curtains rippled. Dramatic folds behind which a certain Juliet and two uncertain Romeos hid. Tim bit his nails. Samuel adjusted his loose fitting shirt. This would be a modern adaptation, the cast free to suggest as many ideas as director Professor Pry. Saffelia stood motionless, waiting for Pry's call. Tim stole a glance at Saffelia. She looked demure and poised.

'Okay' came the call from front of stage. Saffelia stepped forward, touching fingertips and clasping what appeared to be a branch from an olive tree, off which hung a couple of wrinkled olives.

'Romeo number one please!' came another call. Samuel swaggered on stage, taking care not to notice Tim languishing in the shadows. He heard it all. Samuel's dialogue was despatched with ease. Effortless enunciation, pitch perfect. Saffelia's cooing voice lifted the scene. Tim found himself disappointed as he listened intently, enraptured by the interplay.

It was the moment he had dreaded. He sensed it coming, his nerves undulating like the curtain. Words led toward it. The atmosphere on stage was tightening. He did not want to see it, he did not want to hear it or be cognisant it was taking place.

The kiss.

A silence covered the drama beyond the curtain. In that moment, Tim's imaginings soared into desperation. Cold fear gripped him. What if she liked it? What if she liked it more? The lack of words was crippling. While they flowed there was movement, fluidity, something between, separating them. A river perhaps, which Samuel was now crossing. Not knowing, the casual uncertainty he endured behind the screen hurt more than the picture silence conjured in his mind. A terrible union. The final betrayal. That one words lodged in his unconscious.

'Timothy Gaunt please,' Professor Pry's voice called from nowhere. Tim looked up from his reverie. His forehead dripped with the clammy perspiration crawling his body. He took a couple of deep breaths and stood up. Remember the words, he thought. Remember what the right words are, if there are any.

As he appeared a hush drew over the stage. The few people in the audience looked on, one of them his rival who would seize an advantage Tim never had. He would watch. Saffelia glanced at the wooden floorboards as Tim treaded slowly towards her.

'How is't, my soul? Let's talk. It is not day.'

Tim's voice trembled.

' _It is, it is. Hie hence, be gone, away. O, now be gone! More light and light it grows,'_ Saffelia replied, meeting his eye.

'More light and light, more dark and dark our woes.'

_'Then, window, let day in, and let life out,'_ Saffelia countered. Tim took a breath that seemed to shudder within him and shake his ribs.

'Farewell, farewell! One kiss, and I'll descend.'

Tim stepped forward, which Saffelia matched. Only there was an intrusion, a discordant note, something awry which threatened the happy union.

'Okay, we'll leave it there Tim. We're not going as far as the kiss today,' Pry shouted from the front row. Tim paused, glancing at Saffelia, his own Juliet.

'We didn't go as far with Samuel either,' Saffelia said softly, so only Tim could hear. In a louder voice she addressed Pry.

'Professor, I think perhaps we should give it a go, just to see how the next few verses go. Is that okay with you Tim?'

Heart leaping, veins bursting with adrenaline, Tim nodded wordlessly. Hardly able to believe the drop of luck, a dancing feeling in his stomach told him forgiveness may have been granted.

*

The swish and swoosh of salt in the sea air rising and falling through the open train window like a decadent wave tickling its favourite rock on the opposite coast to home and here is my first hen count her with indie pen dance I might come to live here I might belive here I might beehive here I might be free here one day who knows what the future holds I'm tired I think I might rest my head against the glass which of course comes from compressed sand that's just like me or my name at least names are something parents give us so we can be labelled told what to do identified by society but very rarely for good at least they gave me quite a poetic name wish I was nearly asleep now I'm tired and that boy opposite me I think he's going to the open day as well but I don't want to talk to him there's something about him makes me slightly uneasy I'll just switch my ipod to him again always calms me down his hippyish voice undulating through my auditory canals vibrating the tiny little bones and drums in my ear with glee oh is that one of the lakes Cherry was telling me about when she used to come here as a child with her Mum and Dad and Razzy it looks a pretty nice place for a cuddle and a smoke I no doubt oh no he's looking at me again he thinks I can't see him underneath those big black sunglasses but I can see the roll of his irises like big waves building I hope he doesn't climax like the great North Sea that is my home oh I could really do with a ciggy now how long till we get there just under an hour oh we're coming into a station now oh it's Kendal wish I could stop out and get some mintcake although bad for your teeth I know my dentist is going to kill me when he finds out I haven't given up smoking oh he can wait until next month this looks like a nice little station full of quaint Victorian features oh that reminds me they do a Victorian special course that would be good give me a chance to study Dickens and Eliot and the Brontes and oh that would be wonderful reading and studying another one of those beautifully written novels from the heart of a Yorkshire eloquent beat every word every sentence flowing as perfectly as a smooth crisp dress and making me feel oh making me feel like they had written it just for me oh we're moving again now gathering speed um I love it when it goes fast Cherry knows that now hee oh no another person is coming to sit next to me another boy wearing sunglasses why can't they all just fuck off shit they're all here for the open day wish Cherry was here if only to take the seat shit he's sat next to me and looking at me like he wants to start a conversation how do I let him know that I'd rather barf up my

'My name's Roger.' The boy held out his hand. Sandi giggled.

'I'm Sandi.' The boy opposite looked disgruntled he had been left out, or someone had beaten him to it.

'I'm off to an open day,' he said casually, the boy opposite casually fuming.

'Oh, me too,' Sandi squeaked excitedly. 'Where's yours?' she asked.

'Lancaster.'

*

Danny fumed. How could she? He was tired of the designs she made on his time and his life. Who was she to make secret plans on what he should be spending his time doing? It was his time, and always was. Just because she now claimed some family influence she thought she had the right to effectively end his life, channelling all his energies into helping. Well she could just fuck off. She had a nasty surprise coming her way. It was not his responsibility to deal with her shit. She would have to learn, she would have to take it on. It was not his deal, his life was his, not hers.

What was worth waiting for? A sudden burst of electricity pulsed round his brain, when ultimately the goal was to become brain dead. A living, beating heart sending surges of blood round his body. When one fails death triumphs. But what is death if not to be embraced? What is this great fear of the unknown, when it might be the most wondrous anticipation we should ever behold. Who knows? Nobody on earth. Nobody in the world could tell him not to believe in the sanctuary of divine consummation.

He thought of Janna. One day she would belong to someone else again. Probably get married and have lots of kids. Could the same be said for him? Was his destined to be a solitary life?

*

'Michael Vitus. Perhaps you could read for us.'

Danny glanced at the clock. Nearly lunchtime. The day was dragging. A long, drawn out film with no satisfactory ending. Turning a corner only to find another.

'I'm not sure sir?' came Vitus' booming voice. Several students looked in his direction. Vitus' posture, straight as always, gazed directly into Wonder's blue eyes.

'What is this Michael? Refusing to read a passage from our set text, the bible? Why?'

'It's not that I have anything against the bible sir,' Vitus replied, 'it's just that this particular passage...well. It's difficult.'

'And why is it difficult?' Wonder asked, again pressing his point. Vitus remained silent. 'I shall reprise, then?' Wonder said. Danny saw Vitus visibly relax as Wonder began to speak again.

'The bible says the following: "Thou shalt not lie with mankind, as with womankind: it is an abomination." It goes on to say "If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination." '

The class gasped. Danny picked at the corner of his book. He heard it all before in the summer school his father made him attend since his mother died. He didn't really give it much thought then; at the time he harboured his own lustful thoughts towards Janna Chisely. That was hard enough, let alone to think about boys in the same way. But now a new revelation came upon him. Wonder was trying to provoke the class into a discussion of the bible's and possibly Christianity's values in modern society. How would he react if he knew two students before him were already putting each others' hands in the holiest of holies.

After class Amanita chased after him.

'We've got a meeting of the _Communiqué_ later – can you come?'

'What about? I thought the next issue was pretty much sorted.'

'Something's come up,' Amanita said cryptically, with a smile on the side of her mouth. Danny hated it when she had that look. It usually meant trouble.

In the pressroom, Amanita swivelled on her editor chair, picking furiously at a clementine. Tim sat on a stool, his hand in a bag of Doritos.

'You know Wilfields?' she said, momentarily halting the swirl of her momentum.

'Oh, that place we go to nearly every weekend.'

Danny's voice dripped with the sarcasm for which he was becoming famed.

'Yeah, that one.' Amanita said, drawing it out.

'What about it?'

From the corner of Danny's eye he saw Tim lean forward.

'It's getting closed down.' Amanita said.

'WHAT!' Tim and Danny cried in unison.

'And Cherry's Mum is the one who's going to be leading the closure.'

'WHAT!' again came a mutual scream of shock.

'Thought that'd get your attention. I think we need a story on it in the next issue. Yes?'

'Yes but how? The next issue is about to print. We don't have time.'

'I've put the printing deadline back a week. We've got a week to get together a story on this. Danny, I need you to speak to everyone at Wilfields and Tim, anyone you can get hold of at the council. Steer clear of Cherry's mum though. She is not that keen that me and my "little student friends" interfere in this matter. At least that's what she told me last night when I rang to ask her about it.'

'Amanita, you've got balls' Tim said admiringly.

'Hardly. Having the phone slammed down on me is becoming an occupational hazard.

*

A dark cloud brewed Amberleigh like an oak casket fermenting rich fluid. A portent of black mystery, it didn't release thunder until night fell. Danny lay on his bed listening to cadences of choral piano. Over the top of the melody a singer implored relief following death when the first clap sounded. At first he thought it was an irregular chime in sublime music, a malfunction on his hi-fi. As lightening lit the room slashes of rain scratched at the window and Danny realised moisture was exerting revenge.

Cherry had called earlier. A simple query on a homework question she needed answering. Another bible question on homosexuals. Though their words had been brief, Danny sensed a chip in Cherry's usual swagger. When Danny had the answers and Cherry didn't, he knew something had changed. Amanita had rung, more pressure on the article for the _Communiqué_. Danny would prefer to wait until he had a response to his initial enquiry. He'd left a message on the pub's answering service but Amanita didn't think it was good enough. She wanted him to race down this evening and interview the staff. It wasn't like he could just walk in and interrogate whoever was serving behind the bar. He was a regular, and didn't want to suddenly become a nuisance, or worse get kicked out. The alternative was more worrying. Amanita calling and texting until he relented, a submission he knew would arrive at some point, even if it felt imprecise when. The song concluded, gravelly notes echoing into indiscernible bass. On the back of his door Danny's anorak was lit up by another lightning bolt streaking the grey sky. It dangled like a ghost above the ocean. The tipping point arrived with nature's prompt; he jumped up, grabbed anorak and notebook and stormed from the room. Hurrying out of the front door into steaming rain he didn't even say goodbye to his father.

Down at Wilfields the next day it was understandably quiet. He walked round a pristine range rover as he entered. In the porch a few umbrellas stood near the coatstand in the holder. A statue of Oliver Plunket guarded their sodden and leaking fabrics. Danny ordered a lime and soda and took a seat to collect his thoughts. He didn't want to dive straight into the mission Amanita had given. The air seemed thick with memory. Somewhere out there. They were all out there somewhere. Chardelia. Phoebe. Robin. No. Robin was alive.

A couple of girls sat in the corner booth. Danny distantly recognised them as second-years, probably playing truant from Dr Slattery's tired physics class. He downed his lime and soda and plucked the courage to make another foray to the bar. The girl behind the bar looked at him strangely.

'Drank that fast, didn't you?'

It was almost an accusation. Not a good way to start. Have to get her on side.

'Very thirsty you see. This weather, it makes me very thirsty.'

Danny blushed. It was a stupid comment.

'Like another?' the girl offered.

'No thanks. Actually I was wondering if you could help me with a little enquiry I've got.'

The girl half-smiled.

'Oh yes. I should warn you I've got a boyfriend.'

Fuck. Why is it girls always assume you're trying to pull them, like they think they're this precious species waiting to be hunted by every male on the planet.

'That's nice. Actually I wanted to know about the rumour Wilfields is going to be pulled down.'

He said it half-facing the door but turned at the critical moment, at the end of his question. Eyeballing her she would know he wasn't joking, and really wasn't going to ask her for her number. The half-smile disappeared.

'I can't help you I'm afraid.' The faint disappointment in her voice told Danny she was lying.

'Okay, sorry to bothered you.'

He turned, ready to walk from Wilfields and report back to Amanita. A little voice in his head told him not to give up. Do it, he thought.

'Just one last thing,' Danny said on the half-turn, catching the bar girl as she pulled another pint glass from the sink and began drying. 'I was wondering if you could tell me whose car that is parked outside?'

'I could,' the girl answered. 'What's it worth?'

Danny put his hand in his pocket. She shook her head.

'No, you can leave that where it is. I want something else.'

'What?' Danny asked, caught unawares.

'Come here,' she said.

*

He was too young to remember her funeral. Only images of black and being too small to reach the biscuit tin. She always pulled it down for him. No longer would she be able to do that.

Memory intertwined with subtle feeling. Buried deep but still discernible. They gave Danny warmth sometimes, sometimes anxiety. It's presence was its own comfort, a reminder death is not the end, that true death starts when indifference begins its cold grip.

Danny typed furiously on the press room computer. He was adding finishing touches to his latest article for the _Communiqué_. Haunted by the memory of Benjamin, the words flowed and filled the screen. Danny could still hear his voice. Persuading, urging, insistent about the latest England cricket team, or the oversized tennis courts down in Forradern. Yet he did not mention Benjamin's name once. It would be too obvious. He wanted readers to infer the pain, to provoke feeling readers would recognise instinctively not explicitly. So instead he concentrated on the pain of others lost to fires. A warehouse blaze a few miles down the coast two years ago. A small housefire in which a single mother and her only child perished on the Scottish border. He delved into these stories, discovering the people behind the curtain who were not present to make the story more dramatic but who were touched all the same. The prosaicness of grief, the common singularities of endless pain experienced by so many but unreachable in their own way gave Danny a context in which he could weave his own reflective mourning. He realised he had begun to articulate the beginnings of a new philosophy, should he wish to adopt it.

A cough behind made him jump.

'Hello Master Canterbury,' said Dunstan.

'Danny, please call me Danny,'

'Okay then, Danny.'

Blackbuck took a seat on the dusty bench by the rain-spattered window.

'Why don't you sit on the sofa?' Danny said, pointing to the fluffy couch Pry had let them purloin from the staff room refit.

'Oh, that's for you and the other students writing for the school paper. I don't want to interfere.'

Danny looked at Blackbuck. His affected mildness amused.

'How can I help?' he asked.

'It was several years ago when she first came to me,' Blackbuck began, 'she was a young girl with golden locks. Even then she was a prodigious netball talent. Even then she had the ability to charm by deploying her unique style of disarming silence. Even then I felt the feeling – the feeling you felt the day she left for another world.'

It was shocking how quickly Danny could be brought to tears these days. He wiped his eyes, pretending to Blackbuck he wiped sweat from his brow. Blackbuck paused until Danny was ready to hear more.

'She and I used to spend many a night talking. Talking about her mother and her father. Talking about the stars and life beyond earth in other worlds, in other universes, if there are such things. Chardelia believed, Danny. I think that is what people found so striking and elusive about her. They did not realise it was not that she believed, but that others did not, that made her stand out. In the face of accidental cynicism, Chardelia floated above it all. She waltzed through life with a grace and poise her disbelieving friends found strange because of her idiosyncratic eloquence was anathema to them. We talked about toys she used to play with. We talked about boys. We talked about her grandmother, long remembered by Chardelia for supplying her with delicious sweets at an early age.'

'How come?' Danny asked, 'How come you got to spend all this time with her?' It was almost an accusation.

'Isn't it obvious? She was my granddaughter, Danny. She was my granddaughter.' A tear spludged onto the faded wood of Dunstan's broom. 'I miss her every day.'

'So do I,' Danny said immediately. 'I miss her all the time. I want her back. I want her back so much. I want to know – what it would have been like. What she would have said to me, if she had got the chance. But I can't have her back, can I? I can't, because that's just the way it is, here in this world. Here in this life.'

Silence filled the room. Danny wiped away another tear.

'There is something else, Danny' Blackbuck said. 'There is something else I need to tell you. Something I should have told you three years ago. Something I should have told you on the day Chardelia died.'

Danny looked up. Dunstan's eyes brimmed with leaky fluid. The melancholy forced out the words he didn't want to say. He sighed deep breaths of pain with each one. Danny wanted to hear, but he didn't want to witness the pain anymore. He just wanted it to stop. He wanted the pain to stop. Was it possible to acquire that kind of relief in life?

'Chardelia was a precocious young person, but she was blighted by tragedy. Her life was cut short. That was her destiny. She knew it was coming. It was as inexorable as it was inevitable.'

'It wasn't,' Danny said, waiting for numbness to spread and protect him from this new pain, the old lie Chardelia brought it on herself.

'She was dying Danny,' Dunstan said simply. 'She had leukaemia. She was very, very sick. A few months. A year at the most. She would never last. No-one does Danny, not in the end. More than most, she knew that. She was too curious to keep outside the plans to halt Flambeau and his ghastly plan, a plan of which only now are we beginning to uncover the extent.'

Danny placed his hands out to support himself and closed his eyes. When he opened them Dunstan had disappeared.

*

Flammable

Water teemed from unforgiving clouds. Cherry rushed through slashing rain, pushing the glass door open. A empty building faced her as she stood dripping with her sodden brolly. Above the door hung the lettering: 'Amber Arts'.

'Hi Joaquin, is it ready?'

Cherry had been preparing for weeks. With Joaquin, the first exhibition for Robbie's paintings would be a vibrant success. She'd dropped leaflets all over school, pinned them to lamp-posts all along Amberleigh cobbles. Typically Robbie had made himself oblivious, hiding in his den as per usual, painting furiously. It was a spiralling irony the nerves this exhibition generated drove him to produce greater work. That work would one day need to be exhibited, and would increase the nervousness he may encounter in the future.

With one of Robbie's most colourful canvases taking centre stage Cherry had designed the leaflet simply. She received nearly seventy RSVPs on her email. Now, an hour before the launch would take place, Cherry carried into the gallery one hundred paper cups and a couple of bottles of champagne from Marks & Spencer. She had almost punched the shop assistant when she demanded to see some ID. Joaquin added finishing touches to one wall, and draped the fairy lights from Cherry's bedroom over an archway.

'Wow babe you look stunning. How is the weather holding up out there?'

'Shite,' Cherry replied, throwing her brolly into the bottom of the coat stand and flourishing champagne provocatively against her chest.

'I got these. What do you think?'

Joaquin examined a bottle.

'Hmm, not the finest but it'll do I suppose.'

'Hey! I saved for a week to get these. I hope you know I'm forgoing my weekly jaunt to Shox so I can make sure our guests have something to wet their mouths.'

Joaquin grinned cheekily at Cherry.

'How about your mouth darling? Suitably wet at the moment I hear.'

'What is that supposed to mean?'

Cherry turned around so Joaquin wouldn't see her cheeks turn her eponymous colour.

'You needn't be coy with me darling,' Joaquin said, brushing off water droplets that sprayed onto his shirt from Cherry's coat. 'I've been there, done that, bought the dildo.'

'Joaquin!' Cherry squealed with delighted shock. She could not hide her glee that things had moved on with Sandi.

'What does little Mummy think of all this?'

Cherry grimaced and remained silent. Joaquin's expression matched hers.

'She was round here earlier. Sizing the joint up.'

Cherry looked puzzled.

'Why on earth would she be round here?' she asked, her voice tremulous, fearing the answer.

'Well honey. I'm sure you don't need me to answer that one. It seems like Amber Arts is next on the council hit list. They reckon an accountancy firm or a bank would be better for the community.'

'Bullshit!' Cherry said, knowing she had little power to influence the decision. 'We can't let this happen Joaquin. What about Robbie and all the other artists who exhibit here?'

Joaquin just shrugged.

'I don't know honey. Money talks nowadays. I'm not sure I can compete. Any ideas?'

Cherry slumped down on a step. She looked up and gazed at Robbie's paintings. Locked in his own little world, he produced striking and vivacious outpourings of optimism. Cherry did not know how he did it. The more he crawled inside himself the more he was able to deliver surprising creations. One painting in particular seemed to sing to her. It was a fantasy landscape. A crimson and orange sky blurred into alien cream. Obscure figures huddled in a corner while an explosion of emerald erupted behind what Cherry thought were rocks. It was boldy chaotic yet clearly co-ordinated. It made sense. Not in a linear way but communicated emotion with pristine clarity. Looking at it replicated the squirming feeling when Sandi's eyes turned full beam on her. Sandi. What would she do in this situation?

'Is there any point in fighting it?'

Desperation crept into Cherry's voice.

'Oh, there's always a point in standing up to bullies honey. Look, the first guest is here.'

Cherry stood and wore her best seductive smile, as she opened the door to Saffelia Forrest and Samuel Mills.

*

Clouds cast light shadows over the silver sea. Eloquent lyrics drifted over the pair. The hum of running water a gentle background to the acappella track. A pink fleece blanket covered them. The thin divide represented an eternity of difference to the young lovers. Here was their hideaway. Here was solace and hope.

Sandi moved her hand gently up and down Cherry's leg. She allowed her wandering finger to caress the frilly edge of Cherry's panties, finding excitement in the thrill of one more secret kept between them. Her painted nails tickled Cherry who murmured quietly as she dozed. Both were somnolent, but Sandi carried the lyrics in her head, as the stereo switched to a plangent song.

'Let us follow on this road

We traipse and tramp in the silence'

Whispers of movement echoed below. No-one could really know how Cherry and Sandi spent their private time. Studying. Lip gloss. The latest Prince album. Boys. They were all suitable disguises for the only activity that really counted in their lives.

Cherry stirred. Sandi held her close and threw a gaze in her eyelids as they opened.

'Hello lovely.'

'What time is it?'

'Gone seven o'clock. You've missed the start of Emmerdale I'm afraid.'

Sandi smiled. Leaning forward Cherry kissed Sandi's plaintive lips with her faded ochre.

'Thank you honey. Should we be moving now? Your Mum will be home soon?'

Cherry grimaced.

'That cow.'

'What is it this time honey?'

'She's only gone and told Joaquin they're shutting him down. Do you know how long he's been running that place? How much effort he's thrown into supporting local artists? And Robbie as well? He's never asked for anything, but now they're shutting him down. I hate her.'

' "Hate" is a strong word honey. Can you try and talk to her? Get her to change her mind?'

'I can't be bothered to argue the toss with her. I know what she'll say. It's just her job, she's doing it cos her boss tells her. Her boss's wife more like. That witch. Do you know they had her round to dinner the other week. I can still smell her disgusting perfume. You know she's making donations regularly to the fucking cabinet. Buying influence. Joaquin doesn't stand a chance now the whole council's set against him. I hate them, I hate the lot of them. I have no fucking idea who voted for them. Who was it Sandi? Selfish bastards who just wanted their tax cut, that's who. They don't give a damn about society's rich colours, just their own grey spectrum. Just their fucking duck houses and dirty moats. Just their non-exec board positions and their climbing wisteria. I hate them Sandi, they are doing nothing but fucking up this country.'

Cherry's voice had risen steadily as she vented. By the end she was shouting.

'Well!' Sandi exclaimed. 'That was quite a rant young lady.'

Cherry smiled apologetically.

'Sorry hon. Let's do something more enjoyable. Something we can do together.'

Cherry threw the pink fleece over their heads and they snuggled beneath, giggling as they thrashed wildly about.

*

Danny awoke, sat by the window and watched mist roll in off the sea. It poured into Amberleigh like a soporific drug. Autumn distilled the body of water into an array of shades. One day you watched coffees and burgundies of maple leaves reflect glints of gilded sunlight from the surface. At other times the sea turned rich cobalt, portraying the depth of consumptive power that threatened to swallow those who ventured near. Mostly it was slate-blue, washed out, distressed. Gradually stripping its colour as winter neared.

His phone beeped. It was Tim. He was rehearsing again for the play. Samuel had been rejected as Romeo but cast as Mercutio instead. So Tim was not available for lunch anymore.

A few more university prospectuses had arrived and Danny casually slung these on top of his clothes piled high in one corner of his room. He wasn't interested anymore. Not since he'd had the letter from York, inviting him for an interview in two weeks time. The butterflies had begun instantly. He hadn't told anyone, not even Tim or Amanita. He wondered if any of his friends were going for the big ones. Amanita had been adamant she didn't want to study in a museum although both Tim and Danny thought she would be a definite for getting accepted. Tim had been quiet on his applications. Danny suspected he was trailing the places Saffelia was applying, even though she aimed to study sociology and he biology. Danny warned Tim of the dangers of trying to manufacture these things, trying to persuade him the best way was just to 'let things happen.' However Danny had known Tim long enough to see when he nodded along for appearance's sake, his heart lodged elsewhere.

There was nothing else to do but revise and write the next _Communiqué_ article. Maybe take a morning stroll along Amberleigh beach. Danny reached out to put his shoes on, not bothering to take a shower. He threw on a cream woollen jumper and ran a comb through untidy hair. Polly was out with friends, and Dad was downstairs painting the dining room. Again.

'Just off out Dad.'

'Okay son.'

*

The beach was cooler than he expected. His hands had lost the red warmth from home heat. He quickly began running. At first the North wind met him with ferocious glee. After a time it jostled alongside like a friend, teasing and taunting each time the sea lapped his trainers. Amanita and Tim waited for him at the far end of the bay. They asked to see him here for an unknown reason. Danny thought it expeditious to combine the outing with a jog – his new hobby. He had not failed to notice the annual piling on of pounds, especially as autumn merged toward Christmas. He resolved this year to not let it take hold, and had consumed three clementines for breakfast as a harbinger of his good intentions.

As he tore down the beach the promenade rushed by. The bandstand, Wilfields, Slick Nicks, Amber Arts. In the distance he spied Amberleigh Abbey, it's ruined walls peeping up over trees that rapidly shed rich leaves. It felt good to allow the air brush past as sights that insistently reminded of their identity popped out and disappeared again. At times like this Danny treasured the deep meaning of the word "home".

'Where have you been, you dirty stop-out?'

Amanita had her tail up as Danny slowed to a canter, still jogging around them in a circle.

'Nowhere. Why?'

Danny wondered if it could have been the domineer in Amanita that made her grow nosier with age. Or perhaps it was a fear of losing control.

'I heard a rumour, Mr Canterbury, that you have been loitering, shall we say, around a certain Miss Cherry Trove.'

The flushing glow in his cheeks betrayed his thoughts, but he shrugged at Amanita aggressively and she knew not to take it further.

'Why are we here?' Danny said, force still present in his voice.

'Wanted to show you something mate. Something about Ben and Olive.'

'What is it?'

Danny's curiosity was piqued.

'Walk this way.'

The three of them walked some way further down the beach. In the distance the Abbey grew larger. From this distance it looked like a counterpoint sentinel to Amberleigh Castle. After a while they reached the point that was the scene of the murderous fire. A faint acrid smell lingered as charred remnants of driftwood lay brushed up against the sea wall.

'What is it?' Danny said.

'It's this.'

Amanita pointed beneath one of the burnt logs. Danny looked. It was not clear at first so he moved closer.

He turned over the log.

He looked at the ground.

Buried and broken, half in the sand, half out, sat a tiny plastic beaker, within which sand had piled in. On the side of the beaker was a sticker, again only part of it still remained. However one word sang out from the top of the sticker.

'When did you find it?' Danny asked.

'Yesterday. We didn't move it and came away quickly. We didn't want to draw attention to it. It might be nothing,' Amanita said.

Danny looked again. The word was blatant. How could the police have missed it?

'We think it might have been thrown in the sea and then washed up later.' Tim added, glancing at Amanita who Danny saw from the corner of his eye gave him the faintest of nods.

'What do you think was in it?'

'We don't know Danny, but it was provided by a chemist. Those labels are standard issue.'

Danny looked again at the beaker. It was so small, seemingly so insignificant. In fact Amanita and Tim would not have noticed it or discarded it from their thoughts, had it not been for that one word. A word that kissed Danny's thoughts and told him something pre-meditated had gone terribly, awfully awry. Or worse, gone to plan. A word so close to the name of his nemesis. It hurt him to read it again.

"Flammable."

*

Sandi

God I searched and searched for the red lipstick you know the one with crystals that pop when you pucker up but Boots only had the virtuous mauve cream that I wear every now and then when I'm feeling down although no-one really recognizes it as a signal apart from Mum who sees it but doesn't quite understand it yet yeah and Superdrug only had the Dior range that I find gets too crusty after an hour or two it makes my lips go all crackly I mean I know some boys like that tainted corrupted look but I like my lips to feel conditioned tender soft to touch an overwhelming experience of subtlety and suppleness two pillows on which my warm breath can rest ready for each imprint and seal God I could do with a cigarette right now I can't believe that churl took my last one no-one loves tobacco as much as me in our house I know it's a bad habit but it's one I can't seem to break well that and Cherry God she looked so fuckable today in that little toffee dress I could have taken her there and then in the supermarket in among the peaches and melons she's irresistible a walking ball of desire and I can feel her becoming ready ready ready for me when we do it it's gonna feel so natural and then there's tomorrow at the festival I wonder if anyone will notice if we both cop a feel while they're all distracted by the sounds coming from over there oh no I've just remembered I never finished that essay fuck I don't think Pry's going to let me off it this time fucking Mercutio why can't he do his business and then bugger off scene like Autolycus or Antigonus pursued by the lion or bear or whatever oh well I suppose there are worse plays to be reading it's good preparation for university I got Sussex through the other day and while I like the appeal of Brighton I'm worried it's just gonna be full of people who want to spend their whole day at the beach or those who have gone deliberately to be alternative in an effort to mask a lack of academic credentials God I can be such a bitch sometimes it's also so far from home I think I'd miss it too much not that I want somewhere particularly close by still waiting for Sussex Manchester Plymouth Southampton Exeter oh and what was that other one Lancaster I think and Hull they can keep Oxbridge don't want to be taught in a load of old buildings crumbling all round me with mould up the walls and noses in the air plus I never went for big hair and stripey jumper tights oh when will this hair get dry honestly the men don't understand what we women have to go through I hate the frizz love it when it's straight and neat and smart and my protruding cigarette sticks like a refreshing interruption in my self-crafted sleekness is that snow over there I think I'll go and watch it drop tiny flakes like gifts from God

*

Sandi gazed from the window at the falling snow. Christmas trees stood behind a glittering panel of fairy lights. Each one for sale. The water was beginning to freeze in the pipes. Sandi had already placed a bucket under the sink to catch any leaks caused by straining metal expanding and cracking. The heating broke three days ago, the boiler had been on its last legs for a few winters and finally died when the first deep frost settled. Cherry brought hot soup and casseroles as some comfort. The only comfort she needed was Cherry.

Danny stood on the front door step. Piercing icicles dropped from the overhang and he dodged them perilously. He had knocked twice with no answer. It was frustrating. All he was doing was delivering Christmas presents to both of them. Perhaps they couldn't tear themselves away from each other's pale flesh. He could hardly blame them. He would be the same.

Inside Sandi cuddled up to Cherry who snored loudly on the bed. The patchwork quilt enfolded her lithe body, a Cherry-sized lump displacing the neatness. The only other clue identifying the hidden inhabitant was a rush of chestnut hair. Her pert lips fluttered and pouted, withdrawing with each breath. It was so easy to be consumed in silent admiration when she slept. Sandi untangled herself from her lover and wandered down stairs to the front door. Quietly she opened the door for Danny.

'I was wondering when you were going to let me in. I brought these. They're from the editorial team at the _Communiqué_ and some gifts sent in from anonymous readers.'

'Why would they do that?'

Sandi's pitch sang out with the vulnerability that frustrated Danny with latent desire.

'I don't know Sandi. Perhaps the article you wrote about you and Cherry?'

'Is that published now then?'

'I have it here.'

Danny proudly thrust a copy of the latest _Communiqué_ into Sandi's hand. He wondered if Sandi had any concept of how her life was about to change.

'There was something else as well,' Danny said.

'Yes?'

'I was hoping you could help me with something. Something I found on the beach the other day.'

'What is it?'

Sandi put the kettle on and placed heaped spoonfuls of powdered hot chocolate into three mugs.

'I'm hoping your Dad can tell us. Does he still work in the lab at the pharmacy?'

*

Leah Burrill wiped her brow and pushed another dish in the dirty sink. The child below beamed up at her with a wide smile. Bearing a rusk in her dainty hand she made Leah's soul tremble. She was hers. All hers. It felt wonderful to be a mother. To be someone who had borne a child. Just like her own mother.

Now she waved the rusk around as if it was a toy, still with that same smile, as if she fully comprehended the privilege of having been given life. Craig came into the kitchen and lifted Sandi up from behind, surprising her. The toddler emitted a gleeful shriek and she dropped her rusk. It hit the floor and smashed into a thousand pieces.

Sandi could remember it as she could yesterday. She treasured the warm feeling that sustained her and Mercy throughout their childhood. No matter what ramshackle shed they moved to next, both of them knew with a resolute faith their parents loved them.

Leah had been injured as a child. A car struck her as she strolled along the pavement to school. So she was not able to do most jobs. Craig had not finished college and traversed one manual job to the other, a cycle that decelerated when the Tory government rose to power. They shattered job security with unalterable self-righteousness. Now of course he worked as an assistant in the pharmacy in Amberleigh town centre.

Sandi glanced at the beaker Danny had left him. It was pretty ordinary. A jagged top where some of the glass had cracked off. Sharp edges. Sandi saw a tiny green droplet, the size of the ball of a pen, reside behind a clump of sand inside the beaker. She would give it to her father later.

The kitchen door slammed open against the wall. Mercy burst in, a torrent of tears and wailing.

'It's over!' she cried, between sobs. Sandi embraced her sister and caressed her cheek.

'What's over? What has got you so upset Merce?' Sandi asked.

'Razzy. The unfaithful bastard has finally gone and done it now.'

*

Adorned generously with twinkling lights and red tinsel the Oconee Christmas tree became obscured by the growing mountain of presents which lay in front. Small parcels had been squeezed beneath the lowest branches but now there was no disguising additional presents needed to be placed around, in front of and even in the tree if there was to be any space left at all for dancing.

Mary Oconee and Sol Castle were the hosts at Mary's three storey-terrace. Mary panicked there wasn't enough food, and made a last minute dash to Iceland to collect more hors d'oeurves, booze and bucks fizz. Sol was catching up with the local football results as the first guests arrived: a slightly sozzled Liam Flicker clinging to a stunning Janna Chisely, robed in a shimmering cerulean dress.

'Drink?'

Sol offered to Janna, presenting her with a glass of home-made mulled wine. Liam collapsed on the sofa. He reached a beer from the coffee table, grabbed a handful of crisps at the same time and asked Sol what the scores were.

'Looks rubbish mate. They all lost. Amberleigh need a new manager and fast.'

Janna raised her plucked eyebrows as the boys settled in front of the television. They became drawn to it like a warm fire they purloined heat from. She sipped her mulled wine and wondered when the others would arrive. Deciding the boys were unlikely to awake from their football stupor anytime soon she wandered in the kitchen to greet a frantic looking Mary.

Mary's normally tamed hair looked wild and her wavy brown locks now poked in all directions. Her lipstick was smudged, no doubt from endless tasting of the mincemeat she stirred on the stove.

'Smells gorgeous.'

Janna wanted to put Mary at her ease.

'Thanks. Sol hasn't helped. Not like I expected him to, but please – he's been obsessed with the football all week.'

'Boys will be boys.'

Janna realised what a cliché it was, and thought instead of Danny.

The doorbell rang again and without waiting for an answer they all trooped in. Rosetti and Emily, Saffelia, Anjalie, Squish, Hazel, Cedric, Edmund, Charlie, Samuel and, at the back, Tim and Amanita. Within a few moments the party was jumping. The television was switched off abruptly by Hazel prompting Sol and Liam's cries of mild despair. The music was turned up full blast. Wizzard followed Britney Spears, Slade and Greg Lake. The chatter and dancing accelerated and alcohol flowed easily in glasses as if it would be the last opportunity alive to consume it.

As Saffelia danced round the Christmas tree, Tim desperately tried to wedge himself between her and Samuel. It was hard. Saffelia kept prancing about and he never knew when Samuel, who was lurking dangerously close would try and grab her hand or curl his arm around her mid-riff, in a mock attempt at joviality when really Tim knew he was after a quick fumble and a cheeky grope. After a few fast Christmas songs, John Lennon and Yoko Ono came blasting through the speakers and Samuel leaned forward, a clear attempt to steal the slow dance for himself. Tim accidentally-on-purpose stepped on Samuel's toe, leaving it there for a few seconds, stamping hard as if trying to crush some drifting snow. Samuel let out a yelp and an oblivious Saffelia casually danced into Tim's arms.

Another ring of the doorbell presented Cherry and Sandi, arm and arm, beaming and kissing. They appeared as two Christmas devils. Cherry wore a fire engine red dress with black fishnets, while Sandi wore the inverse – a lacy string black top that revealed as much as it covered, above a red skirt and red stockings. Atop their crowns sat painted red horns. The dual combination was effective and overpowering. They plunged into the party like it was a pool of vodka in which to swim.

As dusk fell and dawn still hours away, the winter blackness revealed a dark canvas of winking stars. The party grew raucous and unstable. Sol staggered from person to person trying to hug them, and turning aggressive if they resisted. After her earlier anxiety Mary gradually got drunk, and began splashing mulled wine at people for no apparent reason. Tim placed his hand on Saffelia's bottom who gently removed it. Amanita started arguing the origins of feminism with Hazel Brock who, in a fit of temper threw a strawberry daiquiri at Squish Ambrose's face. A glass-framed picture of Amberleigh Cascades fell from the wall and smashed on the ground. Anjalie's drunken attempts to clear away the shards met resistance from the dancing group, who saw it as an invitation to vandalise the rest of the house. The stereo was turned up full and as neighbours gathered in the street at the growing racket, two of the girls slipped away from the beating heart of the party on the ground floor, escaping to the privacy of the third-storey loft conversion. It was the only bedroom in the house, Mary had told them drunkenly hours before, that had a lock on the inside.

At first they were nervous. This was a friend's house and someone else's bed. But as Cherry ran her finger over Sandi's stockings, deliciously lingering at the edge of her thigh, a sudden lustful rush gripped them. Sandi placed a fleshy palm in the hollow of Cherry's back and pushed. Cherry was thrust into Sandi's mountainous cleavage which she duly kissed and sucked, removing the edible glitter Sandi stuck there earlier in the afternoon when she had got ready for the party. Cherry moved her hand to the back of Sandi's skirt, finding her discreet zip easily. With one fluid yank she pulled down. The tightness across Sandi's bum dissipated and revealed enough space for Cherry to grasp Sandi's right buttock. Cherry bent to kiss Sandi's stomach before lowering to her navel. A trail of saliva led Sandi's gaze to peer at Cherry's mouth at the precise moment her lips enveloped her labia. Excruciating pleasure rocketed through Sandi as Cherry pummelled with her tongue and tugged with her lips. She placed her hand on Cherry's chestnut bob, gently pushing her deeper in, stroking and encouraging with tender movements. When Sandi began moaning with desire, Cherry desisted, took Sandi's hand and walked to the bed.

Sandi ripped Cherry's fishnets and spread her legs wide. Diving in the space between she launched herself at Cherry's slim thighs. She left crimson lip stains each millimetre closer to her destination. Inserting her tongue in Cherry's cave, she refused to leave any part of her rim untouched. She realised that as well as their love being sacred as well as their sensations one sublime epiphany of union, their desire was insatiable. As she approached her core, Sandi stretched her decorated hand where Cherry grasped it, holding it tighter and tighter as they progressed their love as far as their writhing bodies could reach. She felt at once, wildly uncontrollable and profoundly perfect.

*

At the end of the street, a hundred yards from the scene of imminent confrontation, Jonquil stood sucking on her cigarette. Her mobile twinkled malicious lights as she punched in the numbers of the local police station.

'Lombard, is that you? Is Tobias there please? Just get him. It's important.'

After a few moments of silence Detective Inspector Tobias Duchous came on the line.

'Hi Toby. Yeah it's just a few youths, well vandals really. They're tearing up the street down at the Oconees. A few hours I think.'

Jonquil told the lie knowing charges could only be brought if the offence was persistent and in light of requests to desist.

'Could you? That would be great. Doesn't need to be a huge fuss, just three or four squad cars and a night in the cells. I think a little effort here would save you a much larger problem further down the line. Some of them may well be off to university shortly but from the likes of the dum-dums I'm looking at now, some of them may well stay in Amberleigh and be tempted into crime. That's no problem Toby, see you at the Council Christmas party.'

Jonquil clicked her phone shut and smiled to herself. She walked from the avenue as two police cars, blue sirens wailing, turned the corner and headed for Mary Oconee's house. They needed to look no further than the fairy-light draped garden, into which the dancing had now decadently spilled.

*

Oh my God oh my God oh my God that was fucking sensational oh my God if I could just taste that again just once just for me she is cool super sexy sweet delicious delectable luscious yummy awesomesauce oh I could just eat her out again my when she pressed her tongue there it made my insides runny and I wanted to scream yes yes yes I want you love you fuck you all night long all day long from here until the end of perspicuity articulacy fluidity lucidity those little whispers in my ear as she pounded me deeper she maybe small but she sure knows what to do with her little body twisting and writhing a spinning wheel you never know where she'll pop up next and when she wrapped her oh my God around my princely princess it felt just like heaven growing sweeter and nibbling neater in ecstasy euphoria elation rapturous waves rolling through my body from tingling toes up my feet and my oversized thighs like thunder through my squirming belly round my ribs hurling my heart spreading my boobs like pistols and punching them up like bullets from my arms in my head letting my mind spin as fast as she lapped and lilted like seasalt singing oh that's the best I ever had she permeated and permitted her hair to sail softly on my cheeks brush my eyes as she placed palms on my breastplate and now she sleeps now she sleeps softly by my side cradled by my pale arm and bleached locks swimming in a sea of dreams unfettered by intruding sight stomping sound or smelly odour and I am awake thinking is it possible to love this much and I want to do it all over again oh my God please let me

*

Mary was laid on the grassy gravel when the first car pulled up. Sol jumped up and ceased fighting with Squish as he stared at the swirling blue, the colour of distorted sky.

'What is it?' Janna said. She emerged from the throbbing house, from where booming music still resonated.

They came at them in a group. They didn't say a word. Truncheons raised, hats pushed firmly down, handcuffs dangling from their wrists shining like baubles in the moonlight. Sol was first. They grabbed him and dragged his arm behind his back. He screamed in pain, more than a yelp, a hurling gasp that made watching neighbours wince. Liam succumbed quickly. When Mary sat up to protest a police officer launched his truncheon at her face and a stream of blood flew into the black night. Sol screamed again but was whacked with a truncheon to the back of his neck and bundled into a squad car. Officers from following cars rushed in the house and grabbed as many people as they could see, smashing the stereo with their truncheons.

Janna's tears rolled from her eyes, melting her mascara.

'If you come quietly miss there will be no need to hurt you.'

She looked at the watching street. She could not see Lombard anywhere. Janna knew he would never have anything to do with this. Looking again at the officer she spoke in a steady voice that surprised her with its calmness.

'I will come as you wish. Please listen first. You are no different to me. You have not been granted by God any greater superhuman powers. You are just another human being. We are both equal in the eyes of religion, nature and science. The way you have treated my friends this night casts shame upon your soul!'

She reached out her hands for the handcuffs. The officer stared at her. No-one had ever addressed him like that. She must not be allowed to speak again. He drew back his truncheon with the anger that pumped down his arm, with the privilege of the police. The truth was he was better than her. He was greater than her. She was about to feel the truth. The truncheon struck Janna across the back of her naked legs and her open mouth emitted pain but no sound. A horrible crack rang out in the now silent room, where trashed pieces of furniture and shattered glass mingled with blood. Through the broken windows streaks of moonlight illuminated the glossy sheen of dancing transformed to despair.

*

A small battered-looking Christmas tree stood in the corner of the police waiting room. For two hours the upper sixth-form friends had remained locked in cells below. A snow-sodden group of parents crowded in front of the desk, gathering in volume. Their stern gazes held fast to the young officer sat behind the desk.

'We need to talk to you before we release them.'

'They are just kids, not criminals.'

'Unfortunately Mrs Oconee we'll have to be the judge of that.'

At the back of the waiting room a tall woman stood smoking a cigarette. She looked considerably less concerned than the others.

'Okay. Let's talk, and then I can take my daughter home.'

'We need to decide if charges are to be brought, Mrs Oconee.'

'For what?' shrieked Georgia Oconee, eyeballing the young officer, 'for enjoying your youth? Idiot!'

'Steady Mrs Oconee or you'll be joining your daughter in the cells.'

'Hmph.'

Sergeant Lombard appeared through a door.

'Hi Georgia,' he said kindly.

'What's going on?' Georgia asked, adopting a less aggressive tone.

'They're all downstairs. They're safe. Apparently a complaint from a local resident.

'Well that's no reason to send in the bloody riot police! My house is an utter state! You should see it.'

Lombard frowned.

'Yes. That does present a difficulty. The officers who brought the kids in said that was how the house was when they got there.'

Georgia looked at Lombard with incredulity. He felt ashamed delivering the message. A message he knew was probably false. There was nothing he could do. There was no proof.

'Let's take you down now. We'll show you where they are, then we need you to sign a couple of papers before we let Mary go.'

Lombard walked Georgia and the others to the cells. As she walked steadily down the concrete floor, she knew not what to expect. A dank stench of drains filled the air. The large cell at the end of corridor housed all of them. Georgia ran to the bars when she caught sight of Mary, the blood still dribbling from her nose and streaked across her face.

'You bastards! What have you done to my daughter?'

'Again, I'm afraid Mrs Oconee, this was how your daughter was when the officers arrested her.'

Georgia refused to look at Lombard this time but as the other parents rushed forward to greet their offspring, she spoke in a voice deliberately slowed, filled with shards of metal and grit.

'Sergeant. We shall see whether this is how she was when the officers arrested her. This is NOT finished.'

*

Building Rage

Ethereal white light struck Sandi's bleached cheek. It filtered to her eyelids, transferring her from slumbers to consciousness. Tumbling out of the feather-down duvet she walked to the window to investigate the source of the light. White curtains bore pictures of small flower buds emerging from green enclosures. They cast a light shade across the room. For a moment Sandi wondered whether she ought to amend the curtains' location lest it disturb the sleeping Cherry. She glanced over at her - she still snored softly. Sandi pulled one curtain back enough so she could poke her face through the gap. A foggy mist had steamed up the windows so she waved her palm over the pane to see out.

A scene straight from a fantasy-world picture-book greeted her eyes. Undulations of land had vanished beneath a sea of snow. The blanketed landscape reflected back dim light from the winter sun, beating through slate clouds. Sandi saw several children building snowmen already. They threw snowballs and rolled amid the frosty coating. They pulled sledges and tumbled down Amberleigh hill. Smiles and laughter broke on their small faces. Sandi grinned. Today would be a good day.

*

A lantern feebly emitted candlelight in the corner of the group cell in which they languished. Amanita noticed it before the lights went out. She walked over to sit by the elderly gentleman. He clutched it as if it contained the elixir of life.

'Hallo' she said, not knowing whether to talk into the man's face or the lantern. The man slowly turned his neck to glance at Amanita. Tim appeared at her shoulder, placing a hand there to divert her attention.

'Careful Amanita - we don't know why he's here. He could be a criminal,' Tim whispered.

Amanita did what she always did when Tim presented something dissonant to her desires. She ignored him.

'I couldn't help but notice your lantern. It's so dark in here,' Amanita continued unfazed by the man's grizzled appearance, 'and your lantern is so pretty.'

'Thank you Miss,' the man said, looking carefully into her stained face. 'I been here for two nights already. They took me when I was sleeping.'

Amanita gasped. The man continued.

'I never thought it would come to this. All I wanted to do was make sure my daughter would have a future worth living.'

'What did you do?' Amanita whispered, hoping against hope impudence hadn't triumphed over curiosity.

'It was a dreadful day. She just come back from university with no more funds to carry on. She desperately wanted to become a doctor, to help other people. She was in tears for a day. Wouldn't come out her room. I had to help.'

'What did you do?' Tim whispered, his initial suspicion melted by the man's tale.

'I'm an IT specialist by trade. I had been offered, on't side an 'uge sum of money if I could break a company's firewall. I resisted for a time, but when Pearl came home I knew I had to act.'

'Which company was it?' Amanita and Tim whispered in unison.

'Her Majesty's Revenue and Customs.'

*

It would be a full car. Danny had never seen his father so angry before. Polly jumped in the back and Danny pulled the seatbelt over his thick blue jumper. The blue estate lurched into gear and William Canterbury tore down snow-covered cobbles towards the police station.

Danny's phone had beeped at approximately three am. He had rolled over, still dozing to read words that emerged staccato, orange and gleaming; strange and alarming.

'Arrested. With Tim. Need to be bailed out. Charges imminent. Ax'

The lights illuminated even more falling snow. Crisp flakes poured from a translucent sky. Harbingers of the deep downfall yet to come.

Amanita looked wasted, Tim looked weary. William bundled them both in the back of their car and went to speak to a police officer again. After posting bail on his card he returned to the car. The three friends sat in the back and Polly took the front passenger seat, squealing with delight at the rare opportunity to eclipse her brother. Danny placed an arm around Amanita and his other over Tim. It would not be answered tonight, nor even the next night but the injustice would not remain unanswered forever. Danny looked at his friends and in his heart felt sure of that.

In the distance a woman stood in the middle of the road, watching the trio pull away from the police station. She smoked an elegantly long cigarette. She smoked it halfway to the filter, stubbed it out aggressively on her heel and headed for home, her work done.

*

I am finding this very hard, I have to admit. The words flow sometimes but then they stop and break. Like brittle treacle toffee needing more moisture before they can bend, stretch and become useful again. I am like that. Perpetually wandering in and out of being useful. Death is like a shadow. Always here, haunting me. I am wondering if it is right to make it a friend. I wanted to be alone. I didn't want anyone else around. Yet now I've got it I feel lonely again. I just want that feeling, that driving, thrilling feeling that carries on its speed the rushing realisation that you are alive. That is what life is. Those moments when you fleetingly realise the power you have. That one day and eternally after you will no longer have any power at all. But these moments are few and far between these days. I wish one would return now, to remind me, to refresh me and revitalise me. I need love like any human being. Perhaps one day it will be bottled so it can never desert us, leave us in ruins and imprison us with fear.

*

'Dad?'

'Yes son?'

'What did you say to the police officer in the station?'

Danny's curiosity was piqued by something he saw in the rear view mirror of his father's car as they drove away from the police station.

'Nothing much,' William said.

'But you were in there a good fifteen minutes. Something must have occupied you.'

'It took a while for the credit card payment to go through, that's all. Blimey, is that the time? I better call Mrs Walmer and Mr Gaunt about Amanita and Tim staying here tonight.

'Don't change the subject Dad.'

Half-smiles formed on both his own and William's lips at the knowing deception.

*

Smashing fucking crushing that crumble into infinitesimal pieces until the tiny crumbs dribble into melting rich mauve plum like her breaking fist into my joy when she takes the spoon in her mouth all I think is how I want to feed and consume and feed her some more and drink her until both spent we become and fill up yet she sits there smiling filthily with plum crumble staining her cheek tempting me even further with words the words she whispered to me while she dreamt a silent alarm like fragmented pieces of some elegant mosaic not quite making sense but still conjuring a picture of some kind of love I know the way Mom and Dad feel about me is love and the way her Mom and Dad feel about her is love yet we are two separate children they don't care what I become as long as I become happy but her happiness depends upon what she becomes as if a natural unquestioned consequence it must come second she worried when she told me about her Mom and I wondered if one day she fears that she may end up the same I just told her to keep the fire alive just keep the fire alive Cherry and you'll be who you are meant to be don't worry about it don't force life is not something you can control it's something that happens when you're looking in the other direction she looked serious for a second and grunted in response but then later when I put crystal castles on and passed her a potent parma violet she danced round the living room like a grinding dervish and I know Leah and Craig won't mind if she bumps into some furniture or breaks a vase accidentally and I know it's a kind of liberation for her staying here because her eyes glow with some long lost flame when she is alone with me and it's all I need to warm me up warm me and keep me safe forever

*

Danny typed furiously into the keyboard until the characters were worn away. Faded black type turned grey on the most used keys like 's' and 'f' and 'k'. It was an abominable deal. The local police had submitted to the demands of a power-crazy dilettante just because her husband was a local councillor and attended the university college with the PM. Pausing to reflect, he wondered what Amanita would make of the story. It was easier to blunder on with embittered, impassioned writing. He hoped he would somewhere strike a metaphor commanding enough to convey the burning hatred he felt for this woman. He wanted to express with the bursting power of language the blinding truth of despair she created among his friends.

A provisional charge hung over those arrested at the party. If prosecuted the charge might give them all a criminal record and land a blight on their futures. Like a scythe dropping from an unseen height Danny reeled from the callous forces of conservatism condemning his friends. Their policy denied any need for care or affection. Ruthless and strutting, shattering and evil, Danny realised the fight against them was only beginning – a war they were waging with no provocation but their own entitlement and born-to-rule mentality.

A picture of Jonquil adorned the right side of the article. It was difficult to feel impartial looking at those features which Danny had trained himself to find disgusting. Weary eyebrows, vodka stained mouth and a cold stare to the camera, almost threatening it with her gaze.

He closed the computer down and sipped the mug of coffee that had appeared on the windowsill. Dad must have brought it up, he thought. Warm and creamy, once the steam had evaporated he poured the brown liquid down his throat as if it were a molten elixir. His phone began vibrating. Buzz. A quiet vibrate, only discernible to Danny. He punched in the answer button.

'Hello Am. How's the headache?'

'Terrible. How's the article?'

'Coming along,' Danny lied. 'When do we get to see you?'

'Wilfields tonight. 8pm. We're convening an extraordinary meeting of the Communiqué editorial team. Cherry says she's got something on Jonquil Davis. We need to decide whether to go with it.'

'What is it?'

'Don't know. She refused to say until we're all there. She said it's big though.'

'Okay, I might be a little late. I've got somewhere to go just before.'

*

Danny carried the locked make-up box all the way up the hill to Sandi's house.

'How come you left it at school anyway?'

Sandi didn't reply, but beamed a luscious pink smile at Danny while she lit her eleventh cigarette of the day. She wasn't dressed properly, wearing a pale blue dressing gown with pictures of little rabbits. As he looked closer he saw they were humping each other on it. She motioned for him to come in for a cuppa. Danny hesitated. She looked like a beguiling angel, but completely unwitting of Danny's battle with temptation.

'Go on then,' he said. She blew smoke into the hallway in celebration.

'Having an early night then?'

'Not sure. It's difficult for me to attend the meeting tonight. Amanita texted me, but I'm snowed with this bloody assignment for Pry. I mean who gives a flying fuck whether Romeo goes before Juliet or vice versa – it doesn't change the fact I'm going to be thousands in debt after uni.'

Danny sipped the tea, an ayurvedic blend of ginger, cardamom and mild spice. It was refreshing. Spotting a fissure in Sandi's gown, Danny spied two centimetres of deliciously curving breast through it. How can they be so big? When did they start to grow? And why, despite all the maturity he had attempted to cultivate, did his sexual desires always resort to a boyish fantasy of submerging deep into a buxom woman's breasts? If only he could put his hand there.

'Where are you applying?'

Danny didn't know how to answer. He had decided a week before he would keep his York application a secret, but which mystery university would he choose to plug the gap in his six spaces.

'Erm...Manchester, Southampton, Birmingham, Hull, Exeter and, erm, Cambridge.'

'Cool. I've heard Manchester is good.'

Danny didn't know as he hadn't applied to Manchester.

'How about you?'

Sandi immediately looked downcast.

'Actually, it's not certain I'll be going now,' she said, looking at the floor.

'Why not? You're plenty clever enough.'

'It's not the grades. It's the money. That's all life seems to be about these days. It shouldn't be like this. Mom and Dad are looking seriously at whether they can afford to send me. Even with a job I couldn't afford to feed myself let alone pay accommodation and tuition fees.'

'What about the grants?' Danny asked hopefully. 'Maybe you could get a scholarship?'

'I'm afraid things like that don't exist for people like me. We're right on the cusp of the budget line, so we don't qualify.'

'Shit!' Danny said. 'That seems such a waste of your...talent.'

The word came out involuntarily, and Sandi smiled at Danny's double-meaning.

*

Wilfields was packed. Even though the smoking ban was in full force a metal fog of slate-blue rose over the gathered throng. The doors remained wide open. Even though the cool evening shivered many, students stood outside to enjoy the sound of ocean lash the beach. About to leave the shore, the Amberleigh lifeboat made its usual roar as it sped into the blackness.

Tim chatted with Liam Flicker by the doorway as Mary, Hazel and Dawn sashayed into the pub. Tim's attention was briefly diverted when shortly after he watched Samuel arrive Saffelia, who had gently bid him good evening. Cherry and Sandi glided in softly, arm in arm. Although they made their niceties and were polite to everyone else, it seemed clear they were had passed over to another sphere of communication, luxuriating in a separate dimension to the rest of them. Last of all Danny followed Sandi in. At that moment Amanita stood on a table at the back of Wilfields, and began hollering.

'Thank you all for coming.'

Amanita winked at an unknown student at the back of the pub.

'Our paper, our school, our whole town is coming under the attack of a group of neo-conservatives of the severest kind.'

Amanita took a breath. She spotted Danny sidle through the crowd at the back and glanced at Cherry, already fingering Sandi's dress. Could she really do this?

'The next article of Communiqué needs to expose these reprehensible, loathsome, despicable...'

'Yes, yes Amanita we get the idea,' a voice from the front shouted. Danny was shocked to see it was Janna Chisely. Amanita continued.

'We need to expose these people, and their real motives. All they care about is money. All they want is what will preserve their existing life of luxury and excess at the expense of all of us. They will use any means, including the law, to turn over those people they view as second-class.'

'But shouldn't the paper be an impartial voice, politically I mean?' Amanita looked down at Michael Vitus, whose eyes sparkled with sincerity. 'If we want to be proper journalists would we not be better off writing something balanced rather than a polemic?'

Amanita had been about to respond but a voice from the back of the room boomed out, surprising even its owner.

'Do we want to write for the purpose of mildly entertaining our audience, inform but not persuade, recite facts like a robot but not offer guidance? Insult people by pretending they can't tell the difference between objectivity or subjectivity? Do we want to rest in the doldrums forever for the sake of a small chance some discredited Fleet Street hack will take note, or do we want to influence what is going on around us, in our own environment, in our own locale, to people we actually know?'

Danny was breathless. He didn't know where his outburst had come from. A pointless quest to impress Cherry, still residing in his unconscious? Michael limbered up to respond.

'That's not what the Communiqué is for, Danny. It's a piece of student journalism, not local political activism. It is...'

Danny was about to shout out again, but someone else cut Michael off.

'There's absolutely nothing wrong with local political activism. We can be a force for good. Tell me Michael, do you side with these people?' Cherry asked.

'Of course not Cherry,' Michael said, 'but is it wise to masquerade as a newspaper when we are really a viewspaper? All I am asking is would it not be better to temper our voice so we can reserve it for more pressing issues.'

'These issues are pressing!' Cherry screamed, 'Those bastards are shutting my friend's art gallery down for a start! They're twisting the law to treat us all unfairly. They're wielding police brutality as a defence against anyone who attacks them. And they're threatening my mother with the sack if she doesn't do what they say.'

Everyone was silenced by Cherry's last comment. Sandi's hand trembled in hers. Amanita sighed. She'd hoped the meeting would be smoother than this.

Michael breathed deeply before he spoke again. He looked directly at Amanita.

'I'm sorry Amanita, I cannot continue on the Communiqué. Perhaps in time you will understand why, perhaps not. I think the paper is better than this. And besides, I don't want to be bent to the whims of one particular student.'

Amanita was about to protest but was cut off by Cherry.

'Does he mean me? Do you mean me!' she demanded, as Michael began to walk to the back of the room and out of Wilfields. Sandi had to hold her back. 'You don't know fucking anything about me and my life so just fuck off!' she shrieked out the door.

'Intelligent,' Michael commented before exiting.

*

The printed edition sat on the polished walnut veneer. Cherry spotted it as soon as she arrived home. Donald said they would need to discuss it that evening. Cherry hoped they could get it all done before nine. She wanted to be inside Sandi by ten.

Rosalind Trove walked in the door at half past eight, wearing an inscrutable expression that Cherry immediately recognised as an ominous sign.

'Cup of tea Mum?' Cherry offered, hoping an advance gift may cut her some slack.

'Sit down young lady,' came Rosalind's terse response. Donald had already prepared coffee for himself and his wife, and a lonely glass of water stood in front of Cherry's place at the table. Cherry wished she could drown herself in it. She thought she knew what was coming. However she had only forecast a droplet of pain compared to the tidal wave that was, like a tsunami, invisibly approaching to annihilate her dreams.

*
**  
** Asunder

Bolting awake, as if starting from a sudden drop in a fleeting nightmare, Danny sat up in bed. He had been having the dream again. The one with his arm pointing at Janna to save her and the bullet entering Chardelia's temple. Although just as dead, it was much slower in his dream than it had been in reality. He wished it had been that slow in reality so he could leap down and permanently cease its momentum. But in his dream his movements too faltered; a temporary paralysis gripped his arms, legs and chest, restricting his sluggish movement until it was too late.

He leaned to the window. The motion of grey air through sparse branches, and the frost that lay on the ground transmitted the cold from outside within. Resting his chin in his hand he reflected he really needed someone to talk too. It would be torturous to let this proceed more. It was at least half an hour to Sandi's. He wouldn't call a cab at this time, he would put on his coat and walk. It would clear his head. Would Sandi be receptive? When had Sandi ever not? Her generous spirit, her kind soul never wavered, unlike his. As he crept downstairs and slipped into his leather jacket, he hesitated and pinched a hob nob first. He would munch it on the way. Quietly he shut the front door to Dunkinley and stepped into the winter evening.

The cobbles were slippy with frozen dew. Clouds shifted insidiously across the sky. They partially obscured and revealed the sneaking starlight. Glowing beams from across the galaxy, thousands of years old. The street was deserted, no-one was about. All the dog-walkers had exhausted their pets and retired to bed, the nipping chill forcing them to hurry and curtail where they might have lingered to chatter in balmier weather. Danny glanced at the silver watch his father had given him for his eighteenth. It was approaching eleven, and Danny grew nervous that maybe he had misjudged Sandi. Maybe she wouldn't receive him after all. After walking amid the cold alleys he turned a corner across a grass verge that told him her estate was about ten minutes away. The part he walked through was ramshackle and run-down, known colloquially as Old Amberleigh. Victorian houses with wooden beams and overhangs adorned either side of the cobbled lanes with steep cambers.

Danny knew Sandi to be a heavy sleeper from the various parties where they all slept where they had fallen. Her delicate snores were legendary amongst her friends. Danny put it down partly to her heavy smoking, partly to her ample frame. As he hurried along Amberleigh's lanes which, in the darkness, appeared like scenes from a sinister horror film, he spotted a movement in the houses to his right. His eyes darted to the source of the movement, but looking directly he saw nothing. He stopped walking and tried to focus. Nothing. As he resumed walking from the corner of his eye he sensed the movement begin again. Confident of his assumption and rejecting shadows or reflections Danny discreetly recognized a hooded figure lurk beneath one of the Victorian overhangs.

As his heart skipped a beat Danny tried to pretend he hadn't noticed and walked nonchalantly on. He became aware from the quiet tread behind that the hooded figure was following him.

What to do now? Run? It might turn into a chase. Redirect to the local police station? He quickly dismissed that idea. The local police were no longer friendly with people of his age.

The footsteps behind grew louder. Danny wondered if he would be forced to defend himself. He had never felt this frightened on the streets of Amberleigh. Perhaps it had been stupid to venture out this late alone. Without warning the clouds opened and a steady drizzle transformed to a torrential shower. Danny now had his excuse. He ran for it. With no idea if the figure behind was running after him he knew one thing with relieving certainty: Sandi _was_ going to let him in now.

*

Loose gravel crunched on the path leading up to Sandi's front door. Below the rotting wood of her shutters a trellis hung. It bore a couple of coarse vines which weaved their way to the ground. Danny grabbed a few gravel chips and threw them at her window. The rain had subsided but plink plonks of tender drizzle still dropped in small pools to form on the uneven tarmac. It took four throws before he started striking her window, but only two more before the window opened. The moonlight lit Sandi's caramel locks which drooped over the damp-infested window ledge.

'Danny. Is that you? What is it?'

Danny sighed. Even when only just awoken, Sandi resembled a sleeping angel.

'Can I speak to you Sandi?'

Sandi's face disappeared from the window. A couple of seconds later plumes of smoke drifted out of the opening and Danny knew he was in.

Inside her bedroom a sodden Danny clutched a mug of warm tea while Sandi lit her second. The room was lit by a strange, pulsing jar on her windowsill. Catching Danny gazing at it Sandi explained.

'It's a moon jar. It remains a normal jar during the day where it collects the sunshine which it then lets out at night. I'm not sure how it works. There are no switches. I just know it does.'

Danny's eyes traced the pale ball of blue fire which the jar seemed to contain. In its pasty light Sandi looked ghostly. When smoke fumes drifted from her mouth they glowed purple as the light shone through.

'I'm having the dreams again. I don't know what to do. Bartholomew again perhaps?'

Sandi sucked on her cigarette. Steel-blue vapours billowed in spirals from her mouth.

'What happened this time?'

Danny breathed in and out.

'I was on the rock again, looking down. Only everything was in slow motion. Flambeau was on the rock opposite, pointing a rifle at me. Chardelia and Janna were below. I could smell Chardelia's violet perfume. I pinched myself to make sure it was real. It felt real. Look, I've got the nip on my arm where it happened.'

Danny rolled up his sleeve to reveal a raised red scar on his upper left forearm.

'My arm was pointing towards Janna but it didn't feel right. It was an involuntary movement. At the same time I shouted out for Chardelia but no words came out my mouth. I tried to move, to leap over the rock, but it felt too high and my legs wouldn't work. It was horrible Sandi. Then she shot her, and I saw everything. Again. Over and over and over again with ruthless force.'

'Was that all?' Sandi said leaning over and touching Danny on the knee. Part of her breast peeped out her dressing gown as she did.

'No, it wasn't. There was another body in the water, Sandi. It was Robin.'

Sandi leant back and pulled her bedclothes over her. She stubbed out her cigarette on the saucer beside her bed. Danny shuffled uncomfortably in his seat. He had no idea what Sandi would say. Perhaps it had been a mistake after all to come here.

'You...er, you've had the dream about Robin before?' Sandi asked.

Danny nodded silently.

'Even before last year?'

Danny thought for a second. He could not remember. Grief upon grief. Everything seemed so fresh, he could not distinguish dates.

'I don't know.'

'What about your eating habits? What did you have for tea last night?'

'Er...cooked meats and cheese. It was my Dad's idea – he loves a cheese board.'

'Cheese can give you nightmares, Danny.'

'Yeah. So can the kind of life I'm living.'

A scratching sound cut through their conversation. Small taps at the window echoed into the room, their force no more than a fingernail.

'It seems I'm popular tonight.'

Sandi leant her head out the window to see who the second visitor was. When she re-emerged her expression altered from ponderous to panic.

'Shit! Danny, you better hide. Quick – my wardrobe, now!'

'What! What is it?'

'Now Danny!'

Unsure of the emergency and wary of the police, even though he had no reason to hide from them, Danny bundled himself in among the silky dresses, patchwork coats and knee-high boots of Sandi's packed clothes closet. He pulled the door shut. A few minutes later he heard Sandi call down from her bedroom window. Danny looked at his watch. It was five to one in the morning. He could faintly hear the voice at the bottom of Sandi's window. If he could not recognise its owner, he could recognise it was sobbing.

'I'm...I'm coming up,' the voice called.

'Let me let you in. You're soaked,' Sandi replied.

'No, no let me climb up. I don't want to wake your parents again.'

Sandi called out again.

'No – it's too dangerous. I'm not sure the vines will hold.'

Danny thought of the vines in the underground chamber of Plunket's, when he had dreamt of Chardelia. He imagined Sandi leaning out of the window, and wondered what she was saying. Then a sound of fumbling echoed as Sandi pulled the visitor through the window and into the room. Through the sobbing Danny instantly recognised Cherry's twisting voice.

'I'm so...sorry. They...they...'

Cherry was uncontrollable. Her words broke down into intense weeping. Danny had never heard anyone wail like that before, not even at Chardelia's funeral. He adjusted his position in the wardrobe and his watch caught on a nail in the door.

'What was that sound?' Cherry asked as Sandi held her to her bosom.

'Nothing honey. There, there – what is the matter Cherry?'

Cherry withdrew and looked at Sandi.

'They want to stop me seeing you. They're pulling me out of Plunket's.'

'But that...that's ridiculous! We're only months away from our exams. Why, why do they want me to stop seeing you? I won't, I won't, I can't!'

It was Sandi's turn to break down. All Danny could hear was the crying and sniffing of the two girls. Then their words became audible again.

'Dad's going to teach me at home. I have to take the exams at home. Then they're going to make sure I go to a different university. They won't let me accept offers to any of the one's you're accepting.'

'But...why?'

Cherry gazed into Sandi's face again. She grabbed it with both hands and kissed it all over.

'Why Cherry?' Sandi asked again, tears welling in her sand-filled eyes.

'It's...I don't know the reason. My Mum's friends, her work people. They don't agree with it. They think we're outcasts. Oh Sandi, she doesn't know how I feel, none of them do!'

Sandi said nothing.

'Razzy told Mum Mercy accused him of raping her. Mum's pretty mad.'

Sandi ran her hand through Cherry's walnut coloured hair, and buried her face deep within it. All she wanted, all she ever wanted was in her arms right now. Nothing would ever take it away from her.

*

The plan the defiant and secret plan I must now create inside my mind inside our reality it will forever be me and Cherry Cherry and I we will never escape our love but we will escape the world's fear of it and we will run and run and run until we melt into oblivion or liberation whichever comes first whichever seems the most attractive whichever that is if they are both different things when she cries I can feel her tears falling like shards of ice on my heart why does life have to be so hard so suffocating for two people who all they want to do is love fuck it's like that first moment when I knew I had this awesomesauce amazeballs power inside me to love and be loved to give and be given to hold and make other people understand this prodigious sensation like what you feel when adrenaline grips and won't let you go like the beautiful addiction I remember the first time I saw Vonny Jedda the hairs on my arms standing up my neck like feeling he breathed down the back I wanted to move I wanted to rush to the front and there was a mountain of girls to get past my boobs jogging in my black top I wanted Vonny to see them I finally made it for the last song and there he was strutting and strumming away screaming into the microphone like a beautiful crazy person and his dreadlocks bouncing around his face like kindred spirits like falling friends and the penultimate note he leant into the microphone and spat the last line diverting his eyes down at me down at my top which I breathed out deliberately and his eyes connected with my eyes with my soul with all my desires and doubts for the future and he smiled and winked at me I thought from that moment forth I would never find another moment no not another moment to top it but I was wrong like I perpetually am in this life but gladly wrong because I knew then I would never find another man as good as Vonny and if I couldn't have him I was going to have girls but other girls got intimidated because of sharp black mascara and fire engine lips and my constant smoking contradicting with my generosity suddenly I was a threat when I never meant to be I wanted to be a friend to be more than that but they were all frightened away and I was an outcast like the true outsider everyone feels at one moment in their life like they are but I wasn't going to compromise who I was for the sake of other people I am who I am so I went to more gigs and became a goth and became an emo and became a sophisticated young lady who could turn on sex appeal with a flick of her skirt or a tap on her fag and I went to lots of parties and there I met her drunk out of her brains because some lad she had grown up with and fucked had run away and she thought she would never see him again and it made her all fucked up and angry and frustrated and then she fell apart drinking vodka shots and fell in the pond wearing her little black dress and I was the one to fish her out dry her down and make her a cup of tea while she thawed out and I knew it was love from that moment on she had such fire such a dancing soul such life within her and I swore that night I would do everything in my power to prevent her feeling that way again and bring her to some kind of liberation within herself and now time has moved on and it seems it is not me who can fix this or maybe I am being asked to fix it by removing myself from her life but I know that would only make her sadder not better more depressed and not recover that joy she felt when we first kissed oh the singular ecstasy I felt the moment my red grease slid over her pink gloss and the pressure the sweet pressure of her mouth on mine felt like submission and admission acceptance and responsibility fire and water earth and air all coming down on me in that second because I knew I had changed her changed her from what she was about to become to what she is now mine mine mine and I feel utter responsibility for every second of pain she'll feel for the rest of her life because I was her first true love the one you lose yourself in and for the one you make yourself so vulnerable the one you dangle your soul over the precipice for the one you say to yourself its justified giving up everything in your life because your life has just arrived at its ultimate destination and remaining still in this place forever and ever can only ever be bliss heaven euphoria ecstasy and I drove her on as she drove me on like a wild child and her mother pirouetting slowly and effortlessly into bright light that consume and leave you bereft and exhilarated frightened and excited confident and nervous a bag of emotions that don't have names you just know that they're a potent cocktail of hormones making you more confused and more clear than you can possibly ever feel again in your entire life and then that was it we kept our love secret at first glowing bright under our bush but not something that could be kept secret eternally the light must be let into the light and the rays dazzled everybody else and drew them to us and made us the centrepiece of their fucking desire but we didn't care about anything like that only to be in each other's arms every fucking night and now they want to take that away for a whole host of reasons I don't quite understand like Mercy and Razzy like Jonquil and Norman like Rosalind and Donald but not because of the reasons that should matter the only reason why I can think of continuing to live the only reason that will ever feel like a solid ground and an endless sky to me the reason of Cherry and Sandi like fucking Romeo and Juliet but that will not occur to them because they are blinded by accusation by fear of what they do not know by fear of falling foul of the lines that bind us and offer us security in exchange for the surrender of our souls those bastards want to take us away from ourselves and transform us into Stepford wives living lies doing the honourable thing well fuck the honourable thing I want to live my life it would be different if I thought Cherry didn't feel the same but by God she does I know she does the way she wakes up in the morning and goes to sleep at night and every fucking thing in between makes me realise she belongs to me like I belong to her and now I must set my mind to the plan the one route out of this eternal mess like an inferno of peoples' opinions we must be enslaved to I never fully understood the political passion before but now I get it I get it with all my life because the personal is the territory that others now invade I will not have them invade it I will not have them encroach on the innocence we have cultivated like a haven of desire lust love why can't we just fly into the fucking air like the angels Danny thinks we are oh how that boy is misguided oh if he could only feel with one second the delight I feel when Cherry touches my skin it's like a moist sweetness the kernel of love the centre of my desire the fund of my hope the damaged source of my heroin my very own heroine cursed and damaged broken but always fighting dark brooding excellent and lamentable sweet sexy little Cherry

*

Verona

A small pigeon, dirty and bruised, hurtled through narrow lanes and grimy alleys. It searched for respite from the arid air. Under lines of drying washing, over upturned bins and metal drums the bird flew, rising and falling as his path permitted. As footsteps behind him accelerated, he soared past the final lamppost to meet the open square with relief. With glee he soared into an indigo sky, alive with glowing stars, and a wide moon.

As a stream of running water trickled down the drains along the side-streets it gradually opened into thicker, fast-flowing tributaries. Two small girls reached an abrupt halt and gazed at the sight facing them. A quiet square dominated by a dark church at the east end; an ascending fountain in the centre was home to what looked like a thousand pigeons. Mercy opened her mouth to gape with awe while little Sandi rushed forward into a silent, undisturbed mass of birds, causing a nearby group to spontaneously erupt into the sky.

'Where are we?' screamed Mercy at the unrestrained girl. 'Sandi come back – we must go back.'

'Never,' Sandi squealed, joyfully running up to another ten pigeons and watching with delight as they flew into the air and glided to the top of the church steeple.

'I'm having too much fun,' she shouted back at her hapless older sister.

Sandi ran and ran until not a single pigeon remained standing in the square, forcing all to rise to safer perches, or find a home somewhere else in the city. Sandi spied a final bird on the steps to the church but as she approached the huge oak doors opened, swinging with surprising ease on creaking hinges. Sandi stared up as a man in a dark cloak emerged from the door and stood, gazing down at her.

It was only a second's gaze, a moment's look into the man's eyes and then Sandi turned on her heels and ran back across the square into the arms of her waiting, admonishing sister.

'Let's go,' Mercy said. 'We might still make dinner.'

Sandi nodded, fearfully glancing back over her shoulder across the square. The man stood still gazing out at the night. A vast silence hung over the piazza. The two girls had, this time, escaped his grasp.

*

Sandi picked at her pink nail varnish. It peeled off with a satisfying unity. She gazed at the sky, unfettered and blue apart from the odd Italian pigeon. Mercy looked glum as usual. Having been denied a trip to the Veronese ice cream parlour she spied yesterday morning, Mercy resolved to wear an expression of misery during their two hour boat trip on the river Adige.

Leah and Craig Burrill sat back on the small boat, allowing the rippling serenity to encompass their mood. Leah's alternative remedy business was starting to take off and she'd just opened a small shop on the south side of Amberleigh, catering to pensioners whose primary preoccupation was their own wellness. Craig had recently lost his job thanks to cut backs at the visitor centre. He had never been entirely sure what he wanted to do with his life; it was only when he met Leah that his existence took on new meaning. It was Thatcher's fault, all Thatcher's why he had lost his job. Britain was being decimated by money.

Sandi cooed into her small hands, trying to imitate the sound a pigeon makes. A small bird swooped on to the boat in answer to Sandi's call before just as quickly flying off again. The river wound a gentle route through rolling hills, and the alps in the far distance occasionally peeped through when the boat turned.

'Mum?'

'Yes honey?' Leah replied.

'When I grow up what will I be?'

'Beautiful,' Leah said.

Sandi giggled.

'Yes but what will I be Mummy?'

'Sandrhina, your future is yet to be determined. You can be whatever you want to be.'

'Really? Can I?' Sandi asked. 'In that case I'd like to be a pigeon.'

*

I remember my first time in Verona I had never been abroad before and everything was strange I wanted to taste see hear touch sample everything that crossed my path nothing was forbidden we stayed in a cute apartment with magnificent views an absolutely gorgeous smell of hyacinths blew delicately from the window garden across the street I used to just sit at the window reading my book or whatever Shakespeare play I had been set and breathing deeply so I could embed that aroma in my soul I'll never forget the lady who watered those flowers once a day with tender devotion it made me want to grow up and own a garden with a million varieties of plants to make something grow to tend and care for something other than yourself to make it live nothing excited me as much at night we used to wander the narrow streets as a family before settling on a restaurant usually somewhere where the pasta was fresh egg and the wine was vintage my parents Craig and Leah they didn't restrict me or my sister in any way at all they let us roam free if we decided we wanted something else they'd give us the money and we'd happily go off into the night and find an alternative they were the best parents ever to us both honestly it was my first day of secondary school when I began to get the feelings it wasn't much at first just a gentle twinge in my arm I ignored for much of the first year the netball teacher used to shout at me when I dropped a goal but I didn't care

*

Hazel, Mary and Dawn stood at the front of the classroom. They had practised for hours, or so Tim informed Danny at the lesson's start. Danny had asked Tim if he was a fully-rehearsed Romeo. A typical euphemism had followed.

'Do you mean am I a fully qualified lover?'

Their wry smiles submitted to Pry who ushered them into the classroom. They began to run through act one scene one.

' "Two households, both alike in dignity

In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,

From forth the fatal loins of these two foes

A pair of star-crossed lovers..." '

'No, no, no Mary! You missed out a line, a very important line – "ancient grudges, civil blood and civil hands"?'

Danny cupped his chin in his palms. He was tired. Arriving home at barely touching six he had managed another hour's sleep under his warm duvet before the alarm rang like a death knell to his somnolent bliss. A sticky cold was coming on. Blowing his nose furiously into his handkerchief he made the swollen blood vessels subside. Tim had been shocked at the way he looked as he fell through Plunket's school gate.

'Look at the state of you. You won't even make it to Mercutio.'

'Don't. Been up all night. Then bad dreams. Sandi and Cherry arguing.'

'What's this? A fly in the ointment of love?'

'It's more than a fly mate. More like a loathsome cockroach. I was stuck in Sandi's wardrobe for two fucking hours. Couldn't get out until Cherry left.'

'What was it like? All fake fur and black fishnets?'

Danny glanced at Tim who grinned incorrigibly.

'It was terrible, the whole thing was terrible. Tim, I think this has something to do with you all being arrested that night. I don't know but Cherry's Mum is mixed up in it all. Cherry said her parents' had forbid them to see each other.'

Tim played with the corner of his notebook.

'Cherry's Mum works at the council. All grey skirts and subdued make up. You can't imagine Cherry came forth from those "loins" can you?' Tim was laughing again. Danny's expression slumped deeper.

'This is bad news Tim. Not just for those two, for all of us.'

'Why?' Tim asked.

'Not sure yet. I just know it's bad. Have you ever seen two people as much in love as those two?'

'Not yet, but I'm gonna try!' Tim said, again laughing.

'Fucking hell Tim can't you take anything seriously?'

'Settle down mate. So what if two women are on the blob at the same time their hormones rush and race and dictate their emotions. What's new? They'll get over it, their parents will eventually lose interest and Cherry and Sandi will be free to pursue their lady-love.'

'It's more complicated than that Tim.'

'Why?'

'You know Razzy?'

'Yeah – top bloke. He's DJing at Shox next weekend.'

'I don't think so now. He was accused of a sexual assault the other night.'

'No shit! Who by?'

Danny didn't say anything and let Tim join the dots.

'Oh fuck man. That is some fucking heavy fucked-up shit.'

'Can you squeeze any more expletives into a single sentence?' Danny asked exasperated.

'Probably,' Tim replied, 'Shitting mother-fucking arsehole wank bugger-faced shitstorm!'

'Okay,' Danny said, 'you can.'

*

'Earth and bullets and mud and shit and dirty water come flying at you. You have a gun. The sound of sirens echoes in the distance while ranks of artillery fire nearby. Your squadron commander shouts to advance. Into the dirty water, into the shit, into the mud, into the bullets, into the earth. What do you do?

'This was the dilemma our ancestors faced when we were plunged into a deadly and bitter war with Germany in nineteen fourteen. However, there were some people around to give the soldiers hope.'

Danny glanced at Sandi. She appeared enraptured by Foss' words.

'A group of young men gathered in the brief pauses of war. They wrote. Some of the words they penned outlived them, and continue to. Who would have thought in the arena of physical battle and mental torments, in that limbo region between life and death they would produce some of the finest poetry ever written. I know I may be crossing into Professor Pry's territory, but I would like you to sample, for the sake of historical record, a short but significant entry from one particular scared but brave young soldier.'

The class breathed in. Foss began.

'...someone still was yelling out and stumbling

And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime.—

Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,

As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.'

Foss gulped as he read the last line, looking at Danny as he did so. As he held the book from which he was reading closer to his face he continued, his voice wilting and cracking at the ends and beginnings of each line:

'In all my dreams before my helpless sight

He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning

...watch the white eyes writhing in his face,

His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin,

If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood

Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,

Bitter as the cud

Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,—

My friend, you would not tell with such high zest

To children ardent for some desperate glory,

The old Lie...'

Foss stopped. The book still covered his face down which Danny felt sure tears fell. Danny did not know why. Foss had been a source of immovable fortitude at the loss of Chardelia. He guessed Foss must have his moments as well. Those moments the timing of which are known only to God.

'This poem was written to enforce the reality of war upon its readers. To dissuade those who think it might be glamorous dalliance. To disenchant and repel those who believe they might find salvation in fighting for their country. He knows, Wilfred knows all they will find is death, or if they are lucky, depression.'

Amanita raised her hand.

'Thank you sir for reading us the poem. Perhaps I could ask the situation of the poet?'

Foss smiled a short smile, and spoke softly.

'Of course Amanita. Wilfred Owen was a poet first, a soldier second. But he was a first class soldier. Awarded the military cross posthumously, Wilfred must have sought enormous comfort from the solace only words and their rhythms provide. His mentor, Sassoon, was also a fine poet and Owen learned and developed in his presence. Owen was only twenty-five when he died. Although much different in style and era, comparisons with Romantics such as Coleridge and Keats are justified.'

Danny fought back burning tears. His face aflame, he wanted to escape the classroom. When he closed his eyes, and even when his eyes were open all he could picture were Olive and Benjamin in the middle of that circle, their bodies extinguished, their flesh blazing. The charred smell had filled the evening as quickly as their last sorrowful kiss. The rank odours carried realisation on bitter drifts. Despite his wobbly posture on the small wooden seat in his mind Danny was back there, back on the beach, staring down at the corpses, wishing. The room had disappeared. The waves were crashing on the beach, threatening to drag the bodies into the sea. Sirens flashed above the harbour wall illuminating the ghastly scene with intermittent beams. Suddenly in the quiet of Owen's famous poem Danny felt as strongly as his love had been for Chardelia that this had not been a quiet accident. It was difficult to tell how he knew. It was not through proof or analysis of circumstance. It was instinct. An intuition that speaks the truth while it still wears the mask. Of deceit. Of knowing Benjamin and knowing Olive. They were too much in love with life and each other to feel star-crossed or suicidal. Dying was impossible for a couple with such a dazzling future. But it had happened. It must have been forced upon them. It must have been premeditated. Just like Wilfred Owen, knowingly marching towards his own death, someone had progressed this sequence of events to result in the dark and tragic accident the local newspapers reported. It was no accident. He didn't care about facts and he didn't care about proof. He only cared what he felt. Olive and Benjamin were inside him, shouting at him to lift up his arm and point the finger. He had a good brain. For fuck's sake, he must use it.

*

Feet pounded the heavy stone of the corridors. Danny ran as fast as his legs would go. Veins pulsed blood through aching limbs. Sores grew on his soles. Class windows flashed past in a blur. Fuzzair must have been teaching surds. Wonder must have been telling second years about St Mark. Alessandro must have been in his study, counselling some poor distressed student like himself three years ago. Danny's heart raced, pumping adrenaline through his body to help him go faster. He was searching for somewhere to hide. Not for the first time after one of his articles had been printed, circulated and read, Danny wanted out.

The weariness of lactic acid crept into his legs. Danny paused for breath. Tiredness dragged his calves down as if heavy ropes pulled him to the ground. He was a couple of corners away from Pentangle, the school quad. If only he could make it he could find refuge in the cloistered den he discovered earlier in the year. He turned the corner, and saw the stout figure of Professor Pry advance toward him. One millisecond he thought he might evade her, the next he knew she'd spotted him. Her eyes peered out from crescent spectacles like an omniscient presence gazing through portholes.

'Canterbury, what's the rush? A word if you might. My office, close of play.'

With that swift flourish, Pry took herself off to her next class. Danny knew he had done it. He often sailed close to the wind when deciding which tone to deploy. Amanita didn't help, she only egged on the most controversial articles (except when it compromised her feminist principles, of which Danny often thought were sometimes flexible). Now he sensed the oncoming dread of an encounter with Pry. Why did she had to make it the end of the day? Now the afternoon would drag with fear and apprehension.

Later on Danny presented himself at Pry's door. He remembered the time four years since when he'd thought he was in for a bollocking only for her to praise his writing. If only, he thought now. Her expectations had been raised and it was a battle to keep up with them.

'Enter,' Pry spoke in cut-glass English.

Pry was seated at her desk, spectacles clutched between two fingers.

'Danny, thanks for coming. I wanted to speak to you about the _Communiqué_.'

'I know,' Danny said, rushing to conclusions. 'The article was too much, wasn't it?'

Pry lifted her spectacles to her face.

'On the contrary Danny I'm not sure it went far enough.'

'But...but...I thought,' Danny muttered into nothing.

'Danny, you have written a piece that is at once an elegy to Benjamin and Olive, a reflection on life at the cusp of university freedom and an investigation that casts doubt on the official cause of death of our recently departed friends. It is an astonishing achievement, yet I wonder where you meant to locate your focus when you were planning it?'

Danny remained silent. He hadn't planned it. That was the point. It had come out in a rush. A torrent of emotion. In those precious and prided moments when writing saved him with oblivion. The page always listened. It never argued.

'I guess...I guess I didn't plan it. Or I planned it while I was writing it.'

Pry stood up and walked over to Danny.

'It's a good piece Danny, you mustn't think it isn't. Yet, I wonder what you wanted the effect to be? Could it have had more power? Did you think about that? Unleashing your soul onto the page invariably results in interesting words put together, and beautiful literary sentences. But sometimes they can leave the reader thinking it is all a bit of a challenge to relate to their own lives. What do you want people to do when they have read your article?'

Danny looked up at his Literature teacher. He knew this would be one of their last tutorials together. The future beckoned. A future away from Pry's guiding hand. Instead he would face expert tutors, whose interests were far more embedded into the fabric of English literature and technical literary writing than hers.

'I just wanted to feel the release of writing, Professor. To plan is to err.'

Pry shook her head.

'All the great writers planned Danny. Shakespeare, Joyce, Keats. Dahl.'

Danny half-laughed.

'You would place Dahl up there with those other writers.'

'No I wouldn't Danny, but that doesn't matter. It's immaterial. The real question here is: would you?'

Trust

The boat trip was advertised on gaudy posters all over Plunket's. Mercy had designed them and plastered them far and wide. Sandi had helped her. They pictured a baby-pink boat with a profusion of ambergold lights erupting from its interior. Mercy intended these to represent dance, music and friendship, the whole point of the trip, but instead it just looked like the boat was on fire.

No-one dared broach the subject of Razzy since the news circulated of his arrest. Danny watched Cherry slumped in the corner of the library the previous day, tired, alone and Sandi-less. Mercy had not been seen in school, and this stoked the fires of school gossip even further. Sandi just smiled sweetly at anyone asking her questions about it, and changed the subject. The effortless way in which they closed ranks offered no clarification to the rabid speculation. No-one was given any indication from the centre of the circle as to either Razzy's guilt or the fallout between Cherry and Sandi. Were they still an item? Were they allowed to see each other. Had they irrevocably fallen from love because of this disaster?

Wonder sat on his stool at the head of the classroom, eyes closed, tapping his foot in time to some silent beat. The class settled down and Danny glanced at Sandi as she adjusted her dress over her bum. Her purple leather bag lay open beneath the table. He saw all manner of female detritus lying there: mascara, chewing gum, fancy notebook, light cardigan, tampons, lipstick and cigarettes. Wonder stood up.

'Jesus is facing the greatest test God has yet set him. He is going to be crucified. He is going to be publicly humiliated. And he is going to die.'

Wonder let his words hang for a moment, their lingering on the air allowing students to fully absorb his meaning.

'He is with his friends in a quiet garden. Yet he cannot bear it. The pressure. The expectation. The desire to abide by his father's wishes. The instinct to stay alive as long as possible. The desperate entreaty that burns within each one of us. He has to leave them alone. He turns towards the dark sky. Sweating blood through the severe disquiet thrust on him he prays to his father – a father he trusts beyond life – to be pardoned and excused. He prays quietly and is denied.'

Danny glanced at Wonder, now sat cross-legged on his desk. Wiping away beads of his own sweat, he jumped off and started gesturing to his class.

'Look! Look at the pain this man is about to endure. He is praying to God for his life. God, his father, has to say No. Every living man must die, and Jesus is no exception. Please open your exercise books. I would like you to confer with your partner and discuss whether the story of Gethsemane represents Jesus as the son of God or Jesus as the son of man.'

Danny turned to his partner. She threw her hair back trying to rid a fly from her sky blue eyes.

'What do you think Janna?'

'Are you going on the boat trip Danny?'

'Might be. Why?' Danny asked.

'No reason. Emily and Rosetti are going with me.'

'Rosetti – I didn't know you still hung out with her. I heard she was too busy attracting local squaddies to have girlfriends.'

'Well you don't hang out with me anymore, do you?'

Danny raised his eyes, and pointed towards her exercise book. On the front she had drawn a picture of a tree with branches intertwining a girl's legs. The picture was impressionistic and well-drawn.

'Who's that girl?'

'Ah Danny. If only I knew the answer to that question...'

The rest of the lesson passed quietly. Upon leaving Danny saw Janna hang back to speak to Wonder. What was it she did these days? Did she really hang out with the Duocorn twins? Last year's episode had brought them closer but still Danny did not want to retread a path once travelled and abandoned, especially when university would interrupt the development of anything new. Her hair was as pale as ever, and gleaming blue eyes radiated from her face like beacons of hope, or harbingers of something more tragic yet to come.

*

'I never wanted to do the stupid fucking thing in the first place.'

'Sandrhina please don't talk to your sister like that.'

Sandi sighed, exasperated with her family. Fuuuuuuuucck.

'I want to go see Cherry.'

Leah Burrill continued doing the washing up, and tried to pretend she had not heard her daughter's last question. Mercy glared at Sandi and retired upstairs.

Sandi gazed at the exercise book left on the kitchen table and eventually picked it up, to redeliver it to Mercy.

'Did you look at it? Did you read?' Mercy demanded when Sandi appeared in her bedroom doorway.

'Of course not sis. As if I would.'

Mercy seemed satisfied.

'Would you sit down next to me please?' she said, in a softer voice.

Sandi obeyed as Mercy flicked through the exercise book.

'After...it happened, I wrote in here. I wanted more than anything to forget, to rid myself of what he did. But I knew that a record, a faithful record was going to be necessary. So I grabbed his pencil off his dashboard and half-crying wrote my journal as I ran off into the night. This is what I wrote:

"He pinned me down. His arms were too strong. I writhed. I struggled. My wrists stung with sharp pains every time I wriggled. I screamed for him to stop. He didn't. I softened my voice, and asked him nicely to please stop. He didn't. I tried everything. I kicked him, scratched him, pulled his hair. But he never stopped. He reached his hand down my leggings. He pulled away my knickers. He undid his zip. He forced his way inside me. Every inch was an inch of pain and terror. He wouldn't stop until he was satisfied."

Mercy continued reading while tears rolled silently down her cheek. Sandi watched her closely. Embracing her sister, forgetting their recent argument, she received an inkling of the pain her sibling endured. Compared to what she thought was her own world of despair, it was nothing. Cherry and Sandi had been rent asunder, but Mercy had been irrevocably invaded by Razzy. This would be with her for the rest of her life. Bittersweet versus just plain bitter.

'I'm sorry sis. It sounds...horrifically awful. I can't imagine how scared you must have been.'

Sandi stroked Mercy's face, much like she did when they were kids.

'I can't believe he would do such a terrible act.'

The last few words hung in the air, unanswered and unresolved.

*

She's not here even though every thought that passes through my troubled mind rests on her the kindness of the dress she bought me the fruit salad she made me the way she held me when we heard the news not fair ever why are people in love plucked asunder at the whims of other people who can never understand never appreciate the depth intensity power profundity of love Cherry came into my life when I thought that boys were the way forward I could sense that Danny was developing feelings for me sweet boy even though I tried to help him with the hypnotherapy and his missing friend I could never quite conjure up enough rampant desire to hold him and fuck him that wasn't a problem with her with her there was this fire that lit the room I would happily warm myself against her hearth in the cold night than spend a chilling night in some bar with men I don't want not in the way I want her and now she has been forbidden to see me and I don't know what I've done wrong and now I'm the one left with all these feelings redundant and empty and despairing not knowing if I'll ever stroke her hair again not knowing if my lips will ever touch hers again and feel that sublime feeling of escape that thundered down my spine and stormed into my lungs her perfumed breath but Danny Danny Danny maybe he could help me now

*

Bartholomew stood by his bookcase, carefully replacing the bottle of malt behind a faded copy of _Great Expectations_. He flicked through his desk diary. Today Sandi Burrill and Daniel Canterbury were due to see him. Again. He had thought all that business was done with last year. A knock came on the door.

'Come!' he boomed, taking a seat on the rich brown fabric of his leather-backed swivel chair.

Sandi entered, closely followed by Danny. The room was lit with dim warm light. Danny remembered his sessions with Bartholomew, and recalled Robin. He hoped she was okay. Wherever she was.

'Thank you for meeting with me Doctor,' Sandi said, falteringly, 'I am recently having...I would like...things have become difficult for me.'

'I see,' Bartholomew said, his bass voice echoing round the small room. He walked from behind his desk so he stood face to face with Sandi. After pausing for a few moments to look at her, he took a seat in one of the roomy armchairs that faced the long red-leather couch on which Danny had lain so frequently last year. 'Please – won't you take a seat.'

At first Sandi sat down on the leather couch, but soon she felt herself becoming extremely tired. Before she knew it her feet were resting on the opposite end and powerful heaviness dropped on her eyelids.

'I see you have been crying young lady,' Bartholomew said, as he motioned Danny to take a seat in the corner of the room. 'When I click my fingers three times you will drift into a peaceful relaxing state. You will be safe here but you will also be at the core of your troubles. You will be at that point when despair first touched your heart.'

Bartholomew clicked his fingers three times. Danny saw the transformation on Sandi's face instantly. The brow furrowed, creasing the foundation she had applied. The lips crumpled, squeezing tiny lumps of purple grease from her lips in mini bubbles. Her eyes squinted, forcing black mascara to concertina and leave contact with the flesh.

'Tell me where you are Sandi.'

Sandi's voice was different. Not anxious, but affected. Disturbed.

'I am sitting on the floor in the middle of a dusty empty circular room. There are windows all around. People are looking through them, watching me.'

'Okay Sandi, time has moved on an hour. Where are you now?'

'I...I don't know. I am with... She is holding me. We are kissing.'

'Who are you kissing Sandi?'

'Cherry.' Sandi smiled. 'I am kissing Cherry. She won't let me go.'

'I see,' said Bartholomew. 'What happens next?'

There was no warning for what occurred in front of the two men. Sandi lifted a clear foot off the couch, and let out a blood-curdling, ear-piercing scream.

'Noooooooo!'

'Okay Sandi when I click my fingers three times you will be wide awake, safe in this room and you will not recall the past ten minutes.' Bartholomew clicked his fingers three times. Sandi awoke. She ran over to her handbag and pulled out her hand mirror, and gasped in shock at the falling of her face. Danny nodded to Bartholomew.

'Same time next week Sandi,' he said.

*

Cherry sat at the back of the interview room.

'Do you know when it will come to trial?' Rosalind Trove asked Lombard who stood, grim-faced in the corner.

'I'm not sure,' he said, 'it could be quite a while. There are a lot of things for the force to consider in this case, not least the feelings of the victim.'

Rosalind rolled her eyes.

'And who is the victim in this, Lombard, tell me that!'

'I'm trying to remain calm Rosalind. I suggest you do the same. Mercedes Burrill has accused your son of rape. We have to take that accusation seriously.'

'Yes, but you've known me and my family for years Lombard. You can't seriously think my son would commit such a heinous crime!'

Rosalind paused, as if weighing something up. The dusty air allowed only a little grey light from outside to peep through. Rosalind's voice was wary when it recommenced.

'Look. I can have a word with Norman at the council. You've been involved in some good work in Amberleigh over the years, and everyone was impressed with how you handled the Janna Chisely case. Perhaps we can put in a good word for your next promotion.'

'Mother!' Cherry exclaimed, shocked at what she was hearing.

'Stay out of this Cherry!' Rosalind replied.

Lombard looked at them both hard, and then spoke impassively.

'You're right I have been in the same position for a long time. Perhaps it is time for a change. However I don't need you to help me Rosalind. I am a police officer and a representative of the law in this town, and it is my duty to remain impartial.'

Rosalind's expression hardened. Cherry leaned forward. Her mother's face looked like granite.

'If that is the way it is to be Lombard, then I shall remember what you have said, and no doubt I will see you in court, or around the town, whichever comes first.'

Both Cherry and Lombard felt a veiled threat lurked within Rosalind's last comment but neither could tell of what it consisted.

*

That bitch. Bitch bitch bitch. Fucking bitch. Can't believe she'd fucking screw me over like that! Well that's the fucking end of it now there's no way in hell I'm taking her back now, she can rot in hell for all I care. Rape? I mean for fuck's sake as if I'd need to force myself on her. Half the fucking town has ridden her. It wasn't even as if she was the best-looking girl I could have gone with, I was doing her a favour. Oh fuck.

I guess it wasn't all bad. Those nights round her place when we just used to chat and kiss, listen to music, smoke together. We were friends for a long time and then it just developed into something more. I guess I'll never forget the first time she let me kiss her. I mean I've kissed other girls before, but this had so much anticipation and yearning behind it, driving me on. I felt so alive when our lips touched, and the soft transferral of her lip gloss and my saliva began.

In the end it was one word she spoke that seduced me. Knocking back a couple of beers in my bedroom one evening she started telling me how this song by Vonny Jedda really knocked her out. It wasn't one of my favourites, in fact to this day I don't rate it particularly, but I listen to it loads, especially now. Because it reminds me of her and what we had. The way she described it, the way it affected her, the way she sought solace in it and how she thought the song had been written only for her. She used words like 'authentic', 'fusion' and 'sad', in a way only a Vonny Jedda song can be sad.' I don't know, it's just the way she told it. At that point I had no idea whether she felt the same way about me as I did her, although I noticed she held my glances a second longer than usual. Then she put the song on my stereo with the CD she had brought. We listened in silence and then, as the final few bars echoed she reached across where my hand lay on the bedspread and touched it lightly with her fingers. She looked at me again and it was because she didn't say anything, because there were no more words to say I knew it was the right time to kiss her. Now or never.

'I'm sleepin' with this sexy teen babe

I'm sleepin' with her, my crazy freak

We groove together all night

We groove at mine'

Fast forward a few months, seven if you please and we're sitting in the same bedroom holding hands. There was some resistance yes, but it was indiscernible. Unquantifiable. She'd made me wait so long. In the end I thought she wanted it as much as I did. She didn't stop me, didn't slap me across the face when I gave her a love bite on the neck or kick me with her legs when I ripped her panties off. She just lay there, half smirking, half frowning. Like the fucking Mona Lisa. Repeating over and over and over again. No Razzy no. No Razzy no. But her smile betrayed the truth behind the lie. Tell me this: what is a man to do when his girlfriend is lying there legs apart, smiling at you and almost daring you to defy her. She wanted me to do it, she wanted me to defy her, she wanted to regain the intense sexual thrill we had the first night, just from kissing. She wanted it all. To tempt me, to tease me, to deny me and now to prosecute me.

When the police came I thought it was a joke. I thought she was extending the joke. They knocked on my door and I laughed. Not the best first impression to make when you're about to be arrested. When it sunk in that it wasn't a joke, that's when I got my first inkling about trust and women, two liquids that, if mixed can form a lethal cocktail. I'll never trust another woman as long as I live. For that I have Mercy Burrill to thank.

*

Slow Burn

**S, I want** **u, Cxxxxxxxx**

C, lst nte rocked me, luv u Hun Sxxxx

S, OMG mom was in a rage last nte bad day at work I think how u b luv u babe Cxxx

C, just nipping down to Boots do you need anything, lip gloss, hairspray, mascara, femdoms ;o) Sxxxx

S, nothing for me but treat ur self to sum Chili Max Factor on me, pay you later when we can curl up together and forget about everything luv u hun Cxxx

**C, thanks Hun that's sweet. Just bumped into Danny. Looked miserable as per usual. Think he still wants you ;o) wanted to know are we going to Wilfields tonight, another bloody** _Communiqué_ **meeting Am's holding. Any interest? Sxxxx PS we will have sex tonight! Yay xxxxx**

S, ooooohhhh don't think I can hold it in any longer do we really have to go to another infernal newspaper meeting doesn't that girl ever give up? Cxxx

C, think she's planning some sort of special issue about gay rights, we might find it interesting hun, we can always get luvved up after what u think want u too hun more than u know Sxxxx

S, Okay then. Do us a favour and pick us up twenty benson and hedges I might need them after tonight Cxxx PS gonna do u like u've never been done b4!

S, OMG last night was ace. Never thought it would be as good as that. Danny was so funny when I asked him that question about lesbian lovers going right back to Sappho, see his little face light up like a traffic light. Had nice time after too babe, you hit the spot Cxxx

C, something's come up at home, need to talk to u urgently, Sxx

C, can you text me or call me or sum thing, need to talk to u right now! Love u Sxxxx

C, honey why you not text call me anymore have I dne something wrong. Think I can probably guess what it is, but text me please soon. Sxxxx

S, Mum confiscated phone. She's out, she left it in her handbag. new rules she says. I can't see you, she says. What will we do? Can't live like this. Need u. Cxxxxxxxx

C, hang in there babe, we'll work it out Sxxx

Sandi Burrill, this is Mrs Trove, Cherry's mum. Please refrain from texting this number, Cherry no longer has access to it. Also please be aware we have forbidden Cherry to see you anymore. We will not tolerate lies being told about our family members!

S, I've swapped the sims and bought a new phone. My savings are now next to nothing but I just couldn't bear not talking to you. Mum doesn't know I've done this so hopefully this will work for a while, love u so much honey why are they doing this do they not understand what it is to be young anymore? Cxxxxxxxx

S, r u there? I'm back. Going to go round to Danny's tonight. meet u there? Cxxx

S, please reply, need to hear from u Cxxx

C, Yes will be there at Danny's bout 8. Can't wait to see u and get my filthy little hands all over u again. bring em. We're going to need em Sxxxx

S, so excited can't wait to see u tonight. U can have me anytime u want. Cxxxx

S, last night was awesome. Felt so good, felt so naughty, felt so right. want to feel that way again soon. U belong to me C xxx

C, it's scary what they're doing to us. I never thought life would get so difficult. Should we be careful? How did you think Danny took to us commandeering his room?!! Was sweet of him to offer it again? Think we might need it... Luv u cherry socks S xxx

S, Danny will be cool I'm sure he'll let us do it again. He's a mixed up kid. The whole Robin thing last year really screwed him, I think he really thought he was going to get her back. Do u know all his history? I mean about Chardelia and everything? Cxxx

C, do you mean Chardelia Foss, that girl we used to see at nursery? The one who died? Was Danny mixed up in all that? Sxxxx

S, oh yes. We really need to talk. I would have thought he would have told u. Let's catch up later babes Cxxxx

S, Razzy's in a bit of a state and Mum's demanding I stay in while we all have a family evening together, Won't be able to come and see you I'm afraid. Love u babes Cxxx

*

I need to get out. I need some fresh air from this. Razzy, Sandi, Mercy, Mum - it's too much. I know I shouldn't go to meet her, it was just a one off when we met on the open day. These things are better left buried I know. The text was innocent enough - let's meet for a coffee. But I know what's on her mind. It's the same thing that's on my mind. She's only had it once and now she wants it more. Perhaps that will be it after this.

Oh my God there she is! She looks fuck off gorgeous.

'Hallo sexy. Haven't seen you in ages.'

'Hi Dee.'

*

With slow deliberation Danny struck the match against the side of the matchbox. A flame materialised from nothing. It quickly burned a linear path along the thin yellow wood. At the centre of the flame Danny saw nothing but blackness. He'd heard you could see a thin sliver of blue if you looked hard enough. There was no blue. There was just blackness.

He walked along the street which bordered Amberleigh's promenade and heard the grey hiss of the sea in the distance. Several people passed. The fading light was not yet allowing twilight to claim its afterglow but like an insidious worm the creep of darkness began. Danny had picked up the matches in the press room earlier that day. They had lain on the interview table. He presumed Amanita had faltered again and left them by mistake.

Smoking. It was never something that attracted him, although he had become indifferent to others who smoked. It was their choice. It had not always been like that. He was more aware of the dangers than most. The unpleasant smell left stale odours but he marvelled at the suspension of wisdom the addiction invoked in those who indulged. Like most addictions, it _was_ an indulgence; life sometimes called for it. Everything in moderation. He stuck another match and watched the dancing orange teardrop fall to his finger before he blew a casual puff and it vanished as quickly as it sprang into life.

There were always lovers walking this way. Pensioners who had been teenage sweethearts now reconciled to a life together. There were the middle aged couples dragging kids along in their wake, usually shouting and screaming. Throwing tantrums or running over other walkers' feet on their trikes. These were the awkward ones. They expected you to be grateful for their sacrifice in bringing new life into the world and rearing it with decadent indulgence. Danny wanted to reprimand them for ruining his silent contemplation. Their absorbed parenting masked a darker reality. The world was growing full, but he had been guilty too.

Besides, he was not sure this was a world fit enough to bring young children into. They would be subjected to an early life where they had no power whatsoever over anything. As soon as you start to develop power you have to learn responsibility, an antidote that smothers the freedom of power, whatever anyone says. Then you have to endure growing pains and humiliating trials of making friends and finding partners, realising life is a cruel joke from start to finish with only a few glittering moments of fun and desire to puncture the despair. On reflection, they are too few and far between to matter. To top it off, when your life looks like it might be getting on track one of your parents, responsible for bringing you in to this world, decides to check out. Congratulations. A lifetime of pain awarded.

In the distance. Cherry. Not Sandi though. Not Sandi though. They are kissing. They are kissing. He would have to remind himself later he was not crazy, that he had seen what he had seen. He needed evidence. Ever since Robin's visitations had addled his mind. Danny took his phone out, Click. Now there's a dilemma.

*

Tim threw on the costume without looking at it. He didn't want to. This was the worst part of doing this stupid play. If only he could do it in his leather jacket. A modern interpretation, that would be good. And he was sure Saffelia would think he looked sexy.

He straightened his tie. Or cravat as it should be known. He looked like a lunatic. An Italian businessman in a school play. A comedian playing it straight. A lover of laughs playing a lover of clothes and women. But he did love one woman - Saffelia - which was why he was doing it. The suit made him look thin. The winkle pickers made him look an asshole. The mirror reflected an image back that was not him but someone else. He was an actor now, given to playing feelings.

Danny walked in, holding the latest _Communiqué_ under his right arm. His exposé on Lesvos had been well-received. The interpretations he had put to Sappho's poetry combined well with quaint descriptions of olive trees and cicadas. The evening hum of basking crickets and dappled sunsets had won acclaim from a few teachers: Pry, Wonder and Alessandro, whom Danny had not spoken to in a while.

'What's that?' Tim asked, pointing to Danny's other hand.

'Pry asked me to get it for you. For the play.' Danny was almost laughing.

'No way. No fucking way. I'm not wearing that piece of purloined shit!'

'Hey,' Danny said, 'This wasn't exactly a simple purchase,' referring to the unattractive wide brimmed hat he clutched in his left hand. A hideous, garish black and purple band wound round the bowl.

Tim looked at it suspiciously as if it might attack him. Then he took it from Danny's hand and placed it on his head.

'How does it look?' Tim asked.

'Actually, it goes with the suit,' Danny lied. 'Anyway, I need to talk to you about something.'

'Shoot,' said Tim.

'It's the situation between Sandi and Cherry. Sandi has asked me...'

'To provide the sperm for hers and Cherry's love child?' Tim asked.

'No,' Danny said, annoyed by Tim's intervention. 'They need a place, a secret place to meet. The whole thing with Razzy has meant their, well, Cherry's mum has forbidden them to see each other. You know how they are with each other. They'd fucking die before they'd give up on their feelings. I just don't know.'

'What does your Dad think?' Tim asked, still manoeuvring the hat around his head.

'Don't know,' Danny replied, musing the possibility. 'He's out a lot with work at the moment. I could probably swing it without him knowing.'

'Hmm...risky,' Tim offered. 'Depends whether Cherry and Sandi just want to talk or, y'know...' Tim made a short whistling sound to indicate the obvious.

'I need to see her,' Danny said absentmindedly.

'Oh you're not still bloody hung up on the whole Cherry thing are you?' Tim said exasperated, easily so considering his recent reunion with Saffelia. 'Can't you see she's moved on?'

Danny looked at him as if he hadn't understood.

'No. Not her. Sandi. I'm waiting on some news from her regarding...' His voice trailed off again.

'Regarding what?' Tim said, after a time.

'Regarding...just regarding,' Danny said, with a tone of finality.

'Well I say go for it. When again are you going to get the chance to see two girls go at it in the flesh, so to speak.'

'Tim, as always, you are wise counsel.'

*

Pine-littered hills in the distance formed an undulating backdrop to the email Jonquil was about to send. Beauty disguising mendacity, as always. She sucked on her cigarette and reread the draft. In it she explained why the operative in question seemed "inappropriate" for the post, even though he was already employed in it. A trifling inconvenience that a few letters and mild threats would correct. Although he had, the email pointed out, an impeccable performance history since being recruited by the firm, Jonquil eloquently restated there were many people who could fulfil the role's obligations. There were people who practised an out of work lifestyle more in keeping with the firm's long-term ambitions. Ambitions which she delicately alluded could be helped by Norman's influence at the council. Craig was a common and dubious character, and the forthcoming trial their trashy offspring had brought upon the town would likely reduce his commitment and concentration. No, it was with the deepest regret the email needed to be sent, but it was necessary to issue an unfortunate reminder that there are standards and echelons in life which some people must learn are permanently not meant for them. A small correction and this firm could look forward to a decade of free market power, and a sympathetic view from the council.

The wind had ceased. This was only the first holiday of the year. The sun rose high in the sky and the swimming pool beckoned, with it's scurrilous gossip-mongers and delicious margaritas at the poolside bar.

*

'Inside quickly before someone sees.'

Cherry bundled herself over Danny's threshold, stumbling on the wooden lip of the door frame. Pine furniture decorated the Canterbury family home Dunkinley. Slipping into the kitchen she gazed at an emaciated Sandi who languidly sat on a pine chair.

'Hallo lover,' Cherry said smiling, glad at last to see her girlfriend. The first time in a week, even if in this state. Using subterfuge, borrowing another's home.

'Dad's been sacked.'

Sandi spoke bluntly, drawing heavily on her ash-ridden cigarette.

'What! Cherry gazed into her eyes, realising. 'They can't do this, they can't!'

'They are Cherry. They didn't even bother to make up some excuse about restructuring or redundancy. No, they sacked him plain and simple. Now we don't even have any redundancy payment to fall back on. No university for me. Shelf- stacking here I come.'

Sandi's tears were valiantly being held back.

'Then I'll shelf- stack with you. They'll see they can't keep us apart with this. We have to be strong Sandi.'

'Don't be silly hun. You can't hold yourself back for me; you've got your whole future ahead of you. You're worth more to me fulfilling your potential than cooped up in this small destructive town, with it's parochial prejudice and small-minded malevolence.'

Cherry began to cry. Danny fetched drinks, for the first time reaching inside his father's whisky cabinet.

'I think we need something stronger tonight,' he said.

The glum mood around the pine table became doom-laden. Danny didn't know either what their next move should be. He needed them to leave before ten. His father would be due back from his brass band rehearsal then, and he had an intimidating pile of coursework to begin. If he wasn't careful he'd be doing it all night. But when he rested his eyes on them – their desperate love ripping and tearing like a straining strip of leather finally dissembling – he couldn't bring himself to kick them out. Apart from the poignancy of their attempts to escape the cleaving, they looked ravishing together.

'Danny, tell us, have you ever felt this way about someone, the way Cherry and I feel about each other?'

It was a careless question, borne of naive innocence that accompanies true love. Danny forgave Sandi's blushes immediately as he glanced up at the class photo from four years before, in which he stood directly behind Chardelia Foss.

'My tragedy, ladies, is that I never really knew her. When my interest was piqued, it was too late.'

He glanced at another photo, this time of him at the age of five, standing on a concrete slab on his front lawn, his arm placed firmly around his childhood friend, Robin.

'Sometimes I think tragedy is just another word for life.'

Danny cleared the glasses and rinsed them in the sink.

'I hate to say this ladies, but I've got coursework to get through. Wonder will kill me if I don't at least hand something in.'

'I'm sure he won't kill you,' Sandi said.

'What will you do?' Danny asked.

'Danny, I'm a teenager with no rich family to back me up, living in a small town who's just come out as a lesbian. Options are pretty slim on the ground at the moment. Oh, there was something I had to give you - that beaker test you asked for...'

It seemed so unimportant now.

'Please don't worry about it, it's fine, let's forget about it.'

'Let's not!' Danny was surprised by Sandi's vehemence. 'It was one of the last things my Dad did in his job. It's not much, but he found a trace of nitromethane and ethylenediamine with miniscule quantities of olivine. It's called something like Pixatin. Highly flammable. With the right amount, very combustible, highly dangerous. There you go. Dad wasn't able to tell me much more than that.'

With a curious look on his face, the two girl-lovers left Danny. They parted to return to their respective families, at the opposite ends of Amberleigh.

*

Permission

'Will the court please rise?

Everyone stood as an elderly gentleman shuffled inside the mahogany-panelled courtroom. He carefully sat down in a seat at the centre of the raised dias at the back.

'Thank you' he murmured, before everyone sat back down. 'Counsellor?'

The judge motioned towards a middle-aged woman sitting beside Brazil Trove on the left front bench.

'Thank you your honour.'

She strode to an assembled panel of men and women at the left of the courtroom. Danny strained his head to see them. These were the people who would decide Razzy's fate. Danny considered the panic of losing complete control over his life. It felt beyond his understanding.

'Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, welcome to courtroom A. This will be a complicated trial for many of you. Rape trials notoriously are. But I would like you all to remember one thing while you hear the evidence before you. You are here to determine whether Brazil Trove, who sits before you on your right,' she motioned to Razzy who briefly glanced at the jury before continuing to stare at the judge, 'To determine if he is guilty, or innocent,'

She paused again.

'Of the crime of rape against Ms Burrill. To convict Brazil of this crime you must all agree unanimously that there is no reasonable doubt he committed the act of rape. Reasonable doubt. It's an easy phrase to say yet a difficult one to define. Reasonable doubt in a legal context means if you have any second thoughts, no matter how small or inconsequential, you are, one hundred percent, obliged to return a verdict of not guilty. Thank you your honour.'

Razzy's lawyer sat down. Mercy's lawyer rose and Danny saw him indulge in two trivial yet mildly interesting acts. He gazed out of the only courtroom window as if in a trance, and then twirled his pencil between his fingers deftly. It was as if the verdict was a foregone conclusion and this trial just another easy way to spend the day. After a few moments he approached the jury.

'May I extend my thanks to you all for arriving promptly today, and performing your national duty. Jury service is a noble institution. I will be frank with you. Some trials are easier to cope with and decide on than others. Rape trials, necessitating as they often do the very definition of rape, are not the easiest. I am here to help you all through that process, and I hope as the trial progresses you will come to look on me as a guide, a guardian of the truth, a friend in this rather claustrophobic courtroom. My role is to assist you. To assist you in arriving at the verdict, the very sad verdict, the extremely sad verdict admittedly, that Mr Brazil Trove of no known address did rape one Mercy Burrill of Amberleigh town. You shall hear from both parties, from doctors and from witnesses. None of the evidence will be able to convince you that on the night in question Mr Trove did not breach Mercy's trust, her dignity, or her body without her consent.'

The lawyer returned to his seat, a small smile breaking on his weathered features, before the judge spoke again.

'Defence! Call your first witness.'

*

The wind whistled across branches, forcing leaves to shudder and halting Danny as he attempted to climb Burnett Mountain one more time. The weather had changed overnight. From a serene sea northern fronts swept in under cover of dusk. A cyclonic pressure now hung over Amberleigh.

University was but months away, provided he made the grade in the forthcoming examinations. He remembered his last examination, when Saffelia had collapsed. It seemed so long ago. Two years had passed with the swiftness of a winter gale. From that time until now he felt as though his life, like a cassette tape decaying, had been placed on slow unravel. With the tragic and romantic tumult of the upper-sixth so far this year it felt like apocalypse lurked round every corner. Sometimes he wanted to run and hide. Sometimes he wanted to confront it. The fervid pain often felt throttling and suffocating but he'd found a way to channel it into something better. Perhaps that was the so-called secret of life.

When he contemplated Cherry and Sandi and their families, he felt naive for even believing in simplistic solutions his childhood made him entertain. There were no simplicities anymore, only the transience of fleeting clarity amid muddy confusion. To watch your brother endure endless interrogations against your lover's sister's accusations, and not know if he told the truth must be a trial of its own. Of that case Cherry would have to be the sole defence and prosecutor, both judge and jury.

It was on this mountain Danny witnessed Cherry's capacity for kindness. Subtle thoughtfulness laced latent anger with her unique seductive quality. She could make you feel sorry for her when she shouted at you.

Just a bit. Further now. To the top which. So often. Eluded. Him. From there he would be able to see anything. The sea, the town. The abbey, the cobbles. The vast moving plane of cloud which sheltered him from the void of sky, and rained with a wish-washing frequency. He clambered over large rocks, and pulled himself up on sodden rushes of grass. A few stones lay at the centre of the summit, remnants of its days as an active volcano. Danny walked over to them. Drops of rain began to fall and the wind drew up again. Some small engravings in the stones angled in the grey light. A forgotten and withered bunch of roses lay in a plastic wrapper at the circle's focal point. Close to everything, yet remote as well.

Danny cast his gaze out to sea. A few ships sat like anchors on the horizon. Waves crashed into rocks at the foot of the headland on which Amberleigh Castle rose into the pewter sky. He made his eye follow limestone rock up from the churning froth. Up jagged metres of mossy darkness until his glare reached the familiar stone of his school. Only for a few months. The future beyond Amberleigh, the concept he'd tried to forget existed, now lay on the horizon, unmovable and unshakable. With every step he took, he drew closer to his unknown destiny.

*

'Mr Trove. Perhaps you can tell us in your own words what happened on the night in question?'

Razzy sat in the witness box. Dressed smartly in royal navy suit and sober tie to match, he leaned forward when speaking, as if the microphone might run from him at any second.

'Mercy, I mean, Ms Burrill, was in my bedroom. We were listening to records. As we had done, like, _countless_ times before.'

'Pardon me, Mr Trove, but how many is countless?'

'Pardon me, but I thought I was telling this in my own words.'

The judge intervened.

'Mr Trove will answer the question.'

'Okay. Well. We had been going steady a few months. So I guess around twenty or so.'

'Hardly countless, is it Mr Trove?' the prosecutor asked.

Razzy sat and glared at the crusty man. They had him by the balls up here. He couldn't tell his story as he wanted to. Not if they kept interrupting and altered his facts, one by fucking one.

'As you well know, it's a figure of speech. At the time I thought Mercy and I were in love, and we would be having many more times like this together. So countless seemed an appropriate word, considering our past, present and future.'

Shit, that was a good answer Razzy thought.

'I'd sooner we all understood the plain facts. Do go on.'

'We were in my bedroom neckin'. We had chatted 'bout 'aving sex for the past few weeks. Things....developed. One thing led to another, we both got naked. Then, we had sex.'

Razzy paused. He knew a question would not be far away.

'Please could you slow down Mr Trove. Please furnish us with more details. Who removed the clothes?'

'I removed mine and Mercy removed hers. How does it work with you and your missus?'

A few sniggers drifted over from the public gallery, giving Razzy a much-needed pause in proceedings to gather his thoughts at what was coming. His own defence lawyer was, almost imperceptibly, shaking her head at him, wearing a dark frown. 'Don't antagonise the court,' she had warned him.

'Silence in court,' uttered the judge, who looked down at Mercy Burrill. The prosecutor continued unfazed.

'During the period when you were about to have sex, and during the sex itself, did Mercy say anything to you?'

Razzy leant forward again, this time for emphasis.

'No. She said nothing.'

He leant back in his chair and Danny thought he saw a moment of eye contact between him and Mercy. Whatever he had seen was overtaken by what happened next.

'LIAR!' screamed Mercy, now on her feet. Security guards rushed to restrain her. 'YOU BASTARD, YOU KNOW WHAT I SAID!'

'SILENCE!' bellowed the judge, but Mercy seemed not to have heard him.

'I NEVER GAVE YOU PERMISSION. NEVER!'

Razzy stared straight ahead. He avoided eye contact with Mercy, the prosecutor, his own lawyer and the jury.

'Guards, please escort Ms Burrill to a holding room. We will have a ten-minute recess. Court adjourned.'

The judge ceased proceedings swiftly. Before Danny knew it everyone was standing, Mercy had disappeared and the jury, judge, lawyers and defendant vanished through side doors. He glanced at Sandi sitting further forward in the public gallery. A solitary tear stained her mascara and marked a visible course down otherwise unblemished skin.

*

I can't believe it's come to this. Poor Razzy, my beloved brother. I never thought I'd see him on trial for a repulsive crime. Sitting in a witness stand in a court room. Things are so fucked up. Poor Sandi, her broken face as Mercy screamed out. I've never seen such a confused picture. All I can think is how much I love her. I need to protect that love at all costs. We both do. It is incomprehensible to me we could be plucked asunder by this, by anything. Dee is still hanging about. She doesn't know what she's getting involved in. I wish I could resist her but her tight little thighs are too sweet to be denied. I know she's glamming up for me, wearing lacy little stockings and lining her lips with pink paint. It works every time but it is nothing. Just a way to cope with everything that is going on. A safety valve. Another way to relieve the tension.

It is kind of Danny to offer his place. Mum is unbelievably mad at the moment. Fucking insane woman. If she knew what I was up to I really believe she would kick me out, cut me off, permanently disown me. But fuck! I need her support through uni. Sandi is too important. Nothing makes me feel the way I feel when she presses her hand on my stomach, and squeezes me down below. Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

*

Poor little Cherry she looked so sad today I imagine thoughts traverse her mind the confusion she feels the horror of split between family and love are those two things the same in this instance I would wager not the amount of pressure her mother lets on her the lax attitude her father has the way she was sexualised early they take their toll I hope she copes okay the courtroom scary at times I wished I could hold Mercy's hand through the hard parts but I'm not allowed on the front bench I have to watch from afar it's funny I thought I could see the first shafts of spring through that dreadful window it can't be far away now I dreamt about spring and Verona last night where I was running through those narrow alleyways and all the time this dark man from my childhood was chasing me and my legs gave way and I couldn't run any more and I opened my mouth to scream for someone to help no sound came out and I was in this vast desert where I sat cross-legged watching these Arabs go by on camels while I sucked hot chocolate from a thermos steaming rich chocolate how strange when you're in the desert still I suppose it is only a dream and then the desert became a deep pacific blue and I was a fish in the water swimming and shimmering through coralgold waves away from something I can't put my finger on what is went on for an eternity I saw all kinds of fish yellow and black striped fish that were as tall as they were long little clownfish that looked like Nemo and those scary stone-fish that just sit there and look at you waiting to poison you and then I was back on Amberleigh beach lying in a circle of stones as the sun beat down but then night overtook day without warning and the stones erupted into flames and I woke up in a horrible sweat I've never had a dream like that before ever

* * * *

Carrying it made his hand ache. The heaviness he had been warned of yet believed he would cope with was telling now. The distance he was hauling it dragged him down. Twice he dropped it. The first time it bounced off a rock undamaged. The second it sunk beneath the sand and took five minutes to retrieve it. It would take him another week to permanently remove the tiny grains of sand now lodged between the jewels and diamonds and the gold casing.

Finding it had been nothing short of a miracle. After years of clues and false trails and trips to European neighbours, the swerving path wound right back where he started. When he first saw it words failed. The wind was howling, threatening a storm for the journey back. All he could do was bow in its presence, his eyes feasting on the opportunity lay before him.

There was no one about on the beach. Just as he liked it. Spots of rain fell on the damp sand but he'd nearly reached the boat. As he tip-toed down Watershoot, planks creaking, images of his former life sprang to mind. Countless times he walked this path a legitimate figure with legitimate power. He'd decided to give it all up, become an outcast, a vagrant and a criminal. Was it worth it? He reflected on the memory of his dying lover, and mentally closed the question down. Robin was waiting for him.

* * * *

The Golden Crown

Delicately the barman removed the old sign from creaking hinges and set it down on the cold earth. He lifted the new sign from its shiny wrapper, now flecked with small droplets of rain. Gold paint gleamed and engraved copper shone out the new name. The pristine polish made the old one seem faded and rickety. It was more in keeping with the town's history and culture, and matched the local senior school identity.

The drive to make Amberleigh more of a tourist hub would start to pay off. The Tories had teeth but they would bring in new money. Vote Conservative they had commanded, and he had acquiesced. As the days grew longer the trains arriving on the coastal line brought more shoppers and day trippers. The summer might be heaving. Wilfields had been spared the humiliation of closing down. It had been given a reprieve from the local council once they saw the potential for a more sophisticated hostelry. And so they had asked him, told him really, to change the name of the establishment back to the original used decades ago. With a grant, to refurbish the place. To transform it to one frequented by peace-loving locals not noise-hungry youths. He did not know how he would square this last part but if it meant keeping his licence it was fine with him.

No more local grunge bands. The jukebox would need a clean out. Nirvana would be gone. Bryan Ferry back in. The retro posters would disappear. Muted colours. Distressed pinks. Pale browns. Warm beiges. A better menu, a new chef. It would be a challenge and a change.

He descended the step ladder and admired the new sign. It swung freely in the gusting wind. The Golden Crown had been reborn.

*

The doctor took the stand. Reluctantly Danny thought. Everyone in the courtroom watched his wrinkled hands stretch at his sleeves like a parsimonious banker. Amorphous tentacles grasped for and finally gripped the metal bar lining the seat. A clerk pushed forward the microphone and the doctor frowned. It was so close it almost touched his face.

'Doctor Bartholomew, please place your hand on the bible. Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth?'

The doctor nodded, but met with a disapproving look from the clerk.

'I'm afraid you must answer verbally. Doctor?'

'Yes, that will be fine.'

The clerk sat back down and the prosecuting barrister rose.

'In your opinion Doctor, was Mercedes Burrill raped?'

'Objection!' screeched the defence lawyer, standing to enforce her point. 'The doctor cannot possibly know the answer to this question. He was not a witness.'

The prosecuting barrister looked amused.

'I was merely asking the doctor for his opinion,' he murmured. 'That is what he is here to give. His expert medical opinion.'

'Objection!' screeched the defence again, 'the doctor's medical opinion cannot be used to speculate whether the victim...I mean, Ms Burrill was raped, only to ascertain if intercourse had taken place.'

Both looked towards the judge, the prosecutor enquiringly, the defender pleadingly.

'Overruled' the judge said, 'Please continue.'

Crestfallen, the defence lawyer sat down. Unruffled, the prosecutor repeated his question to the doctor.

Bartholomew regarded the prosecutor, frowning.

'In my opinion it is certain that Ms Burrill had intercourse on the night of the alleged attack.'

'Oh come come Dr Bartholomew,' entreated the prosecutor, 'you have conducted extensive hypnotherapy sessions with Mercedes have you not?'

'I have,' answered Bartholomew.

'Then, as a result of these sessions you should be able to tell us whether Mercedes believes, under hypnosis, if she was raped or not?'

'Yes. I can tell you that. Under hypnosis Ms Burrill believed she has been raped.'

Murmurs drifted down from the public gallery although in the courtroom no-one shifted. This revelation may have been a surprise for the locals, but for the principals the admission was clearly already known.

'Dr Bartholomew, please can you confirm to us that, if a rape victim under hypnosis confirms to you she has been raped then it is the overwhelmingly likelihood that she has indeed been raped?'

The prosecutor smiled slightly at the jury as he completed his sentence.

'No, I cannot.'

Bartholomew answered firmly, his eyes blaring into the prosecutor.

The prosecutor paused, as if struck by a sudden misunderstanding.

'I'm sorry,' he said. 'Perhaps the court misheard you. It sounded like you said you cannot confirm this? Please could you correct yourself?'

Danny looked over at the prosecutor. He was wiping something away from his cheek. A black beetle, perhaps.

*

Cherry lapped Dee's ice cream as if drinking milk from a teat. Sweet and satiating, she continued in silence. Dee looked on in mild approval. At the back of Cherry's mind the thought of what was next plundered her calmness. She only wanted respite from the agony of the trial. Someone neutral to talk to. Sandi's love had a stark hold on her. Sometimes it felt so unyielding she would be crushed by it. Dee was unsuspecting and innocent. She only wanted Cherry's company. But the precedent had been set, and Dee now had the right to expect something more than ice cream would follow.

*

'It was probably the most passionate kiss I had ever seen. His hand cupped her neck. She pressed her chest towards him, and while they danced she grinded into his groin.'

A few whispers rose from the public gallery. They were muted by stern looks from the clerks of the court.

'They danced for like...half an hour. Occasionally kissing. They were furtive...in the way they looked into each others' eyes. Every girl knew not to approach Razzy.'

'And why was that Miss Oconee?'

'Because they knew if they did Mercy would go for them.'

Gasps rose from the gallery; this time the looks from the clerks could not silence them. It took a few sharp taps from the judge's gavel to restore order in the room. The defence lawyer gazed at Mary. The innocence of youth supplying potent evidence. She smiled encouragingly before asking her next question.

'Please could you tell us, in your own words, what you think the status of Miss Burrill and Mr Trove's relationship was?'

''Objection!' announced the prosecutor. 'The witness is here as a subjective not a direct witness. Her opinion can only be speculation and should be discounted.'

'The witness had first-hand access to public displays of affection between Ms Burrill and my client. She is in an excellent position to offer crucial information as to the status of their relationship.'

The judge frowned. He hated having to intervene so frequently on superfluous points. It made it the jury think he was taking sides. And the media always pored over the tiniest sensitivity in rape cases. He would prefer to let the evidence do the talking.

'Overruled,' he concluded, beckoning the witness to answer the question.

'In my opinion, they were having a sexual relationship,' Mary uttered, to more gasps from the gallery. Mary continued unabated. 'An _aggressively_ sexual relationship.'

Danny bowed his head and closed his eyes. Beneath his eyelids he saw the slow tearing apart of a community. Perhaps that was what people wanted. Easier to conquer when divided. Easier to plunder when in disarray. Among those in the public gallery he spotted Jonquil Davis. Her head craned towards the witness box. A thin smile formed on her square mouth. She must have been the only person in the courtroom deriving salacious satisfaction from the trial.

Mary looked uneasy on the stand. Her wavy hair, disgorged by stale hairspray appeared displaced. The curving locks acted like wild curtains to painted mauve lips. Like the whole courtroom, Danny guessed the next question.

'Ms Oconee. In your opinion, do you think Ms Burrill was raped?'

'Objection' hurled the prosecuting lawyer, injecting as much bass gravitas as he could into his commanding plea.

The judge paused, hesitating over something. Then he beckoned both lawyers forward.

'Approach the bench.'

Both the defending and prosecuting lawyers walked to the bench to consult with the judge. Danny could not hear what was being said, but after a few whispered remarks both lawyers retreated. The defending lawyer did not look like she would wait for an answer.

'No further questions your honour.'

*

Twilight descended too fast in those joy-drenched days. Spent hours of exhausted energy finally struck their breaking point. The moment of departure arrived without notice or warning. Robin and Danny ran the length of the street, raced each other to the farthest lamp-post to see which one would raise their small hands to touch the rough metal first.

Salmon-pink skies conspired with inky blackness to hasten the finish of play-time. Street lights offered shelter, though they had to pick the ones across the corner from the edge of the street so their fathers would not discover them. Without a grown-up the playground in the field the next road along was forbidden territory. It was during these dark sojourns under faint purple clouds they discovered freedom. Double swings that dangerously threatened to spill you over the top and a roundabout oiled to the point at which it may spin and launch like a frisbee during motion. Their favourite was the see-saw, a sapphire-glistening pivoted plank on which they walked along to keep balance. They jumped on it to dislodge the other. They pushed and swung it, testing it for weak points. And, in moments that reverberated through the years most to Danny, they sat and talked and held hands across the great hinge that would plunge one of them up, one down.

Danny never knew if he was as innocent as he remembered Robin to be but this quality cast shade over his other memories of her. Like an eclipse, it was total. Her unremitting honesty beguiled his first days. They glowed with happiness from the time that passed between them. Complete surrender to her infectious joy. In retrospect days like those were more precious for being so few now. Surely more days like those had been stolen from him by Flambeau. Would he ever get them back? Would anyone else ever comprehend the broken bridge that punctuated his past and like an invisible portent endangered his future?

*

'May the court please rise!'

The summons, as swift as an executioner's scythe echoed through the wood-panelled room as Judge Michael-Barren entered, surveying his notes intently.

This was it. The verdict would now be read out.

'Will the foreman of the jury please rise?'

A thin man stood slowly. Spectacles covered his gray eyes. The judge cleared his throat.

'Have you reached a verdict of which you are all, or a majority of you, are unanimous?'

The foreman looked anxious. Danny couldn't read the cause of his anxiety.

'Yes.'

At once there was muttering behind. It seemed to carry forth a wave of discontent and animosity.

'Guilty!'

'Send him down.'

'Bitch!'

'Give him life!'

'Get rid.'

'Not ours.'

'Lying cow!'

The voices rose in pitch. Both foreman and judge looked bewildered at the outburst. After a couple of raps of his gavel Judge Michael-Barren restored order to the courtroom. A piece of paper was passed to the clerk and then to the judge, who read it closely, before letting it rest on his bench. He drank a few sips of water to sustain the silence until he was ready to proceed.

'Will the defendant please rise?'

Razzy, Brazil Trove, Mercedes' ex, Cherry's brother, Rosalind and Donald's son, stood up, a fiery defiance lighting his expression.

'On the charge of rape of Mercedes Burrill, do the jury find the defendant guilty or not guilty?'

Like a child sucking a sweet amplified a hundred-fold, deep intakes of breath were audible as the Judge asked the foreman the pivotal question. It was in this, the briefest of moments, Danny's thoughts turned not to Razzy and Mercy, but to Cherry and Sandi. The testing choices facing their relationship would seem nothing to decisions others would thrust on them, and attempt to make in the days to come. For those two, there would be no happy conclusion to this drama. One side would always lose, so they would both lose. Guaranteed heartache and pain, the only assurance or sure bet possible. In the kernel of Danny's empathy, his prayers became a guttural wish they would find strength and courage to run the gauntlet of Amberleigh's judgements. That they would run their lives according to their own sense of virtue and desire not the town's prejudice and gossip. That this verdict, whichever way it swung, would not prevent them finding a way to run into each other's arms once more and embrace the burning innocence that lies at the heart of thunderous love.

'We find the defendant _not_ guilty.'

The merest silence hung in the room while the court processed this nugget of new information. It was the strangest thing. Usually there are leaks with revelations or scandals. The internet, Twitter. Newspapers, gossip. People talk. It is so rare for a whole room to be held rapt, not knowing either way what the news will be. The embargo enabled a moment of purest quiet to pass before it ceased, and the wall of humanity came crashing in again.

The defence jumped to their feet and punched the air. The prosecutor's faces drooped and the Burrill family's tears fell as they gazed unhappily in the middle-distance. As for Razzy and Mercedes, Danny noticed that the expression on both of their faces was exactly the same. It was an expression of sheer relief.

*

'Hold me.'

Her words fell in a hollow stillness. The desperation, the stinging tone of voice pierced Sandi, but she did not know what to feel now. The sting of her sister's betrayer, with his own sister now opposite, begging to be held. Blood is thicker than water. Love is stronger than war. Which ones were true, which ones were merely statements of convenience – fine for their context but when circumstance wedges them between two lumps of granite do they crumble to dust or withstand the pressure? Sandi could not bring herself to connect her eyes with Cherry's, it would be like falling again.

Instead she sat on the bed, closed her eyes and breathed as deeply as she dared, allowing thoughts to pass before her mind so she noticed but did not act upon each one. Gradually she felt somnolence descend. She reminded herself not to fall asleep otherwise she would surrender emotions not yet understood to the whims of her wounded lover.

'I know you feel hurt Sandi, I know Mercy must be devastated Sandi, but you have to remember it doesn't change the fact that we love each other Sandi.'

The continual use of her name meant to assuage her, irritated Sandi precisely because it succeeded. She felt soothed and comforted yet the dissonant note would not diminish. She did not deign to speak. Overwhelming pain was cossetted by her breathing exercises and the blackness of her lidded eyes warmed.

'Please. Please. Speak to me. Hold me. I love you Sandi. You can't shut me out like this. Our families – they don't care about us. How can they? Or they wouldn't try to keep us apart. Please let's show them we will be united despite this. Let's show them we will be firmer because of this. Please.'

The silence greeting Cherry's words was another balm Sandi took comfort in. It was not time yet to speak because there were no words to say. They hadn't arrived. She could say it was fine, but it wasn't. She could tell Cherry they would come through it, but she wasn't sure they would. The words existed but the meaning had not been delivered yet. Their purpose and direction still undefined. Until this changed Sandi could not end Cherry's purgatory. Destined to fall into each other's arms, perhaps they were also destined to one day fall apart. Sandi's unspoken doubt rested on the prospect that one day might exist. Worse still, it might exist soon.

*

Aftermath

'Deirdre darling, _so_ good to catch you.'

'Good morning Jonquil. How can I help you?' Quinine said in her best telephone voice.

'Well dear, it's just a gentle enquiry really. I suppose you've heard the news dear?'

'No,' Quinine deadpanned. 'What news?'

'Oh dear darling.'

Quinine did not quite know why Jonquil was oh-dearing so quickly but allowed her to continue.

'Such a terrible case. Such a horrible trauma no doubt for both families, but I feel...the right result was reached in the end. The gifted Brazil Trove, known to his friend I believe as "Razzy", was cleared of all charges of the rape of Mercedes Burrill last week.'

'I see,' Quinine answered.

'I _know_ you see, I _know_ you do,' Jonquil said, expertly weaving Quinine's responses into her preplanned narrative, 'so you _do_ see what must be done now, don't you, of _course_ you do dear.'

Like lightning a bolt of dread passed through Quinine's bespectacled frame.

'No. What must be done now, Jonquil?'

She tried to keep fear from her voice, knowing beyond doubt what Jonquil alluded to.

'My dear, the true victim in all of this has been a young man who has had to live with the prospect of his entire future swiped from his grasp at the whim of a merciless young waif of whose clutches Brazil was spectacularly unfortunate to fall into. This tramp must be removed from St Plunket's without delay.'

Jonquil's voice was as serene as ever.

'Now wait a minute!' Quinine barked. She had not expected the dictat to be delivered so quickly and without any room for manoeuvre. 'I think it is my decision what happens in my school.'

Somehow Quinine knew she would have to pay for her assertiveness. There was a pause on the other end of the line. Quinine knew it was not because Jonquil was working out what to say next; Jonquil would have foreseen every obstacle in advance. Her needling approach would have been constructed already, possibly weeks before the verdict. The pause enabled Jonquil to both extend the torturous misery a moment longer, and reinforce her point with quiet deliberation.

'Dear Deirdre, of course you must decide what happens in your school. That is why I have called. To help you dear. To help you reach the correct decision. I'm sure we don't need to get into the whole whys and wherefores of me getting the board of school governors to support your appointment to the position of Head, support still required dear I might add until your probationary period expires. Deirdre, I only say this dear to help you reach the right decision. This girl is a bad egg, from a ghastly home. She is mixing with the wrong family. We need these type of people gone from Amberleigh. They are what is driving down the fabric of our community. She is a known liar, fabricator, deceiver and I believe her aberration of a sister is also conducting herself in a shameful manner, while attending a Catholic school no less.'

'But Sandi Burrill is one of Plunket's best pupils?'

Quinine felt unable to let Jonquil to besmirch the academic record of a perfectly good student.

'My dear, my dear, I _do_ wish you'd see sense in this matter. That girl is a disgrace to the reputation of St Oliver Plunket's. Carrying on in such a disquieting way. My dear, are you aware that girl is having a improper relationship with another student?'

'What has that got to do with anything?'

'My dear, it has everything to do with _everything_. My dear, I'm afraid I have another meeting. I need to go. I trust I can leave this decision in your hands. And that you will make the correct decision. And that the board of governors can continue to support your recommendation when the time comes for your review.'

'Goodbye Jonquil,' Quinine said, but the line had gone dead before the response from the Head of School could be received.

Quinine glared at the opposite wall. Within oak frames photos of previous Heads adorned the mustardy paint-spattered wall. Appalachian. Flambeau. Most left the school under some cloud or other. Whichever way she turned, she felt irrevocably bound to do the same. She was learning that being Head of Plunket's was akin to balancing one's soul upon the blade of a razor.

Rain sliced against the glass. As Quinine gazed on the school playing fields on the isle of Fourlawns, students flitted about in a blur of rushing activity. Hockey and football, rugby and running. She would give nothing more to return to the day she was a student too and responsibility was just a word parents used to threaten you with.

*

Sandi sat outside the entrance to Shox and wept quietly into her wine glass. Fairy lights hanging over the pub opposite twinkled slowly as the evening invaded. Words floated through her subsiding consciousness and gradually tried to attach themselves to meaning. That boy had tried to pull her. She had seen it happening casually through beer goggles. The grinding dancing alongside her, before she felt warm hands rest on her jutting hips as they swayed. Occasional forays on her curving buttocks, shielded only by silk. He had not hurried. The music changed at least eight times before he tried the hand move, touching her fingers softly with his before clasping her hands and lifting them above her head. It was a weary manoeuvre but one to which she had seen girls succumb in nightclubs time and time again. Many girls were just icebergs floating above a sea of throbbing desire. Their early iciness melted as music and alcohol pulsed them into acquiescence. But not for Sandi. Not this night. Sandi had clasped his hands in hers. At the moment his eyes flashed, that telling motion of pre-kiss. His lips pursed, ready to steal her initiative. Leaning in he made sure her thick bosom touched his chest with every breath she took. At that moment, when indecision faltered precariously on the cliff-edge of submission, she whispered 'Sorry' and retreated from the dance floor.

Now she was here. In the damp rain and earthy air. Night lights made the street appear lonely and cold. Yet the temperature was mild for the time of year. Many of her peers wore skimpy dresses just like her, although not in the same violent shade of red. She had become used to playing the magnet for boys on the pull, the few unintimidated by the vision of burgeoning female assets in full deploy: smeared red lips, black tights, deep cleavage, smoky eyeshadow and short skirt. Using them was the privilege of a well-endowed teen.

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a Marlboro light. The gentle cylinder rolled easily in her finger tips. She tapped the end against her palm, stuffing rogue strands of tobacco back into the thin tube. When she pulled back the tiny metal lever of her Zippo – a birthday present from Cherry – the flame danced erotically into the darkness of the early hours. As it met the tip the flame melted away into the night. Weaving smoke rose to the sky in dark wisps. For once, Cherry was nowhere to be seen.

*

Danny trudged towards Religious Studies but his path became blocked. A jubilant Tim frantically waved two pieces of paper in the air about his head. Passing students pushed him back when he waved it in their faces.

'What is it Tim?' Danny said.

'You'll never guess.'

'You're right, I never will.'

'An offer!!'

'Really! Who off?'

'Leeds! My first choice! I can't believe it.'

'Well done mate.'

'It's better than that mate. I've got tickets for the cup final in May too! Wanna come?'

'You kidding?'

'Nope. My Dad's mate at work had them on corporate but he couldn't make it so he sold them to me Dad, and hey presto – early birthday pressie!'

'Sure thing. I'm there!'

Professor Wonder was at his desk marking papers when the class trooped in. Danny watched Cherry and Sandi carefully. They remained at different positions in the snake as it wound its sluggish way into the room. Their body language gave nothing away. They could have been a couple in crisis, ignoring each other for fear of the pain each communication may cause, or quite simply they could just have been at different points in the line.

Wonder raised his arms and then lowered them again, indicating everyone should sit.

'Class – in a few months time this school will be saying goodbye to you. Many of you will travel off to cities around the country, to further your studies at this country's fine universities. Some of you will join the world of work and begin to earn a living. Some of you may take a gap year, squeezing in some travelling before life's next step grabs hold with both hands. And some of you may be entering work-placed training. The life beyond school is an exciting one, as I am sure you realise. Today's class is intended to help prepare you for the obstacles, including spiritual and moral challenges you may face as you depart Plunket's, and begin to make your way in the world.'

Wonder paused. A few students sighed. Another lecture, they thought.

'A few of you may already be facing these challenges.'

Danny raised his head. Wonder gazed out at class from the front. Sandi returned his stare but Cherry's head was buried in her exercise book. He continued.

'We shall start with those of you already making plans to leave education completely and enter the world of work.'

The class rolled on with Wonder's predilection for group exercises. Wonder got students into fours and fives and asked them to share ideas of what challenges they think they would face over the next three years. Danny, Tim, Sandi, Hazel and Cherry formed one group.

'I think my main challenge will be to convince my mother not to barge in my room when I bring a boy back home from work,' Hazel giggled.

'I think my main challenge will be to earn enough money to put down a deposit on a flat one day so I can move out of home,' Sandi said. Cherry gazed at Sandi, but said nothing.

'Are you not going to university then?' Tim asked.

Sandi shook her head.

'My parents can't afford the tuition fees let alone the maintenance costs.'

'But there are grants, aren't there?' Cherry said determinedly.

Sandi shook her head again.

'Ineligible,' she said simply.

Danny looked at Cherry, then back at Sandi. An atmosphere was forming.

'I think my main challenge is trying not to wear out all the bed springs at uni with all the girls I'm going to bed,' Tim said. Everyone ignored him.

'What about you Cherry?' Sandi asked. The group breathed in, waiting to hear Cherry's reply.

'I just want to keep hold of the one I love,' she said quietly.

Sandi gazed out the window onto Fourlawns to hide crowning tears. In the distance a group of hockey players battled for control of the puck. Their sticks clashed aggressively as sweating legs tangled. Frustration beat onto the divoted turf. In one silent moment it seemed everyone in the group viewed the world through Sandi's eyes. Then she turned to Cherry.

'Who might that be Cherry? Me, or your brother?'

'I just want...just to be together,' Danny saw tears form in Cherry's eyes too, threatening to smudge her thin layer of mascara.

'Yes but who with?' Sandi said, sharply. 'I mean there are a whole host of possible people with whom you could be together with. Your deviant brother. Your wicked councillor mother. That fucking woman Jonquil Davis who seems hell-bent on despatching our family to oblivion. You do know, don't you, what that bitch has done now?'

'What, what?' Cherry asked, in unison with everyone.

Sandi turned her head away, contemplating Fourlawns again. The hockey match had ended and girls trooped to the dingys for their row back to shore. Clouds accumulated over the verdant isle. In the distance Sandi saw the astronomy tower, random bursts of sunlight glinting from its shiny dome.

'Nothing,' Sandi said.

'There's nothing wrong in wanting us to be together,' Cherry said quietly.

'No,' Sandi replied, 'but tell me how is that possible? How is it possible when I have a wounded sister to comfort, a vulnerable family on the bread line and a whole town set against us?!'

'I have it bad too,' Cherry said meekly. 'I have my brother to look after.'

Sandi glared at Cherry in a ferociously sinister way Danny had never seen from Sandi before.

'My sister...' she began, before Cherry cut her off, standing up.

'What Sandi? He was found innocent in a court of law. What evidence do you have he was guilty?'

'MY OWN FUCKIN' SISTER'S TESTIMONY!' Sandi shrieked.

Cherry looked at the floor and spoke quietly.

'I'm sorry Sandi. That isn't enough any more.'

Danny could hear the whooshing of the air before he saw the hand. He ducked and recovered in time to see Sandi slap Cherry across the cheek, knocking her off her chair. Danny looked round. Wonder hadn't seen, he was engrossed with Amanita's group.

Cherry repaired from the floor, clutching her face as if broken.

'I'm sorry,' she said through hot tears, 'I'm sorry. I wish things were different. But they're not Sandi and I can't change them. I never asked for any of this to happen. IT'S NOT MY FAULT! IT'S MY FAMILY TOO,' she shouted.

'I know' Sandi said in a small voice, her face pink with anger but demeanour shamed by her outburst.

'Right class, gather round. I'd like one or two from each group to present back. Where shall we start? Yes, over there.' Wonder pointed towards Amanita Walmer and Liam Flicker, who stood up.

'Well the biggest challenge I will face is not embarrassing the rest of my university year when I take to the football field – embarrassing them with my skill of course!' Flicker said. Amanita rolled her eyes.

'My biggest challenge will be to...fit in.' Amanita said simply.

'Good, good!' Wonder announced. 'Who's next? How about you over there – Cherry Trove.'

Cherry stood up. Heads turned.

'Sir. We had a discussion. I don't really know we concluded it, to be honest.'

'Well just summarise Cherry,' Wonder barked.

'I don't think I can,' Cherry said. 'You see it seems...' Her words faded as her eyes fell on Sandi who looked at her feet. 'It seems we will all face different tests sir. Different, yet in some way...they are the same. We will all need to grow up.'

Wonder sat at his desk.

'Good,' he said. 'You have learnt an important lesson. Life consists of different trials. When you leave this school it will not be possible to predict what paths or difficulties you may encounter. One thing to be sure is you all will face obstacles. It is how you react and attempt to overcome them that is important. It is not the final grade in your exams that will dictate your future, nor the first job you secure upon leaving education. It is how you perform after these, the attitude you adopt, how you react, and the openness to which you allow life access. It is your resilience that matters. These will be the ingredients to make your individual stories successful ones.

Do not forget your friendships, cultivated over the past five years. I know how treasured these are to you now but do not underestimate the insidious nature of time to pull those friendships apart. Friendships will be an essential support as you embark from Plunket's. Embark on exciting and adventurous times. Do not relinquish your friends. It is a cliché, but you never know when you might need them.'

As the class packed their exercise books, Danny caught Sandi gazing at him.

'What is it Sand?'

'That substance I found out for you?'

'Yes? Oh Sandi I haven't had time to look into it yet. Amanita's pressing me for it as well. She wants to do an expose into the deaths.'

'Oh it's not that. It's just. Well. I thought you should know. There's some more. I found some more.'

'Where?' Danny whispered. He did not want others to overhear.

'I can't tell you here Danny,' she said. 'I'll meet you down by the beach at six.'

*

Sunlight faded into mauve clouds as Danny hit the cobbles to meet Sandi. The wind was up; a pungent smell of salt blew up the hill. There was no-one else out. Most of the Plunket's contingent had retired to the city for an evening out, it was Friday night after all. As he crossed the hill's brow the descent revealed the road all the way to the sea. In the mid-distance he saw the distinctive figure of Sandi. He could tell it was her because of her perfect hair.

'Hi honey. How goes it?' Danny said.

'You know. Pretty shitty.'

'Yeah I know. What was it you couldn't tell me in the classroom?'

'Danny, it's all fucked up.'

'Tell me about it. I'm dreading the exams. I'll never get into York.'

'It's not exams worrying me Danny. It's what I found the other day – in Cherry's house!'

'Cherry's house?! Are you sure? How do you know? Surely they didn't let you cross the threshold? No offence.'

'They had gone shopping for the afternoon. Cherry invited me over. We didn't say much. She's just as screwed up as I am. But we're nothing compared to poor Mercy. To make matters worse they've decided to remove her from Plunket's.'

'What!'

'I know. Quinine said she had no choice. I know who's behind it. It's so obvious. This whole place has gone to shit since that fucking Tory councillor and his demonic wife came to town. Anyway, Mercy's gonna get a job. She's got a plan, or so she says.'

'Shit.' Danny said.

'So I was round at Cherry's. I don't like being there now obviously, as you can imagine, but she wanted to explain. I needed to at least give her the chance. It was there I saw it. Pharmaceutical quantities of the stuff. They were stashed in their outhouse in the garden. I wandered out there for a smoke, looked under a tarpaulin sheet I thought was covering a garden table. There must have been five large sacks of the stuff.'

'Sandi – how do you know it was Pixatin?'

'It was labelled. It had flammable stickers all over.'

'But he's a history teacher and she's a councillor. What would they want with the stuff?'

'Maybe they're storing it for someone. Maybe, like Quinine, they were given no choice but to store it. I don't know what it's for, but I do know it's dangerous.'

'Amanita will want to do something on this in the _Communiqué_.'

'Please Danny, no. This mustn't go any further. If this gets out, Cherry will find out and there will never be any hope of us salvaging anything. Amanita can't know.'

'But Sandi, Amanita's my friend. Are you expecting me to keep this to myself, to not tell another soul?'

'Yes,' she said simply. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a faint rouge imprint on his cheek. 'I know you'll do the right thing Danny. I just needed to tell someone,' she hesitated. 'Someone I can trust.'

Danny said nothing. He gazed back up the road from where he had walked. The cobbles were taking on the colour filtering from the sky. Pale butters and silver greys now enriched with sunset's lamp. A patchwork quilt God had designed. Upon the quilt, in the distance, walked two girls.

'What are we going to do about this Sandi? This stuff could have killed Olive and Benjamin.'

Sandi didn't say anything. She just frowned in the direction of the road. Danny took a step towards her. Her lipstick which he had at first thought was her usual fire engine red, was deep mauve, like the sky. It was unusual for Sandi. It matched the eyeshadow she wore. Her shoes he noticed were purple pumps. They met her sheen black tights incongruously. It didn't matter. She was always desirable. Always kissable. He wondered when she first realised she liked girls. Or maybe it was not quite as definite as that? A passing fancy that could switch back to the male gender just as easily? Maybe she wasn't homosexual, bi-sexual or heterosexual. Maybe she was just sexual. Wasn't it kind of natural to just want to fuck humans with no label applied? He looked at her again. Her face was narrowed and her eyes were locked on the road behind him. It was like having a conversation with someone possessed. Behind him he heard girly giggling.

'Come on. What's wrong?'

Moistness formed in Sandi's eyes, making them as glassy as her glossed lips. She remained quiet but her cold gaze up the hill made Danny turn to see what she was looking at. They were far away but they were distinguishable. To Danny and Sandi they were distinguishable, but to each other they were one. Two girls kissing in the street. And one of them was Cherry.

*

Family

'There's no way we can keep this off the front of the _Communiqué_ Danny. I'm sorry, I know they're your friends but this is bigger than that. This is journalism. If we don't cover it someone else will.'

'Amanita – it's a fucking school newspaper. Please. Have some sense of perspective. Please! We are not star reporters. We are students. And they are your friends too, or had you forgotten that?'

Danny sat back in the faded leather recliner lent to them by Professor Pry for their final year at Plunket's. Pry watching the three of them get the blasted thing up the stairs was the most amusement she had had in years. Amanita looked hurt. Any slight insinuation of fault on the part of the _Communiqué_ brought a reaction. The painful expression forming on her face was nothing new.

'I do have some sense of perspective Danny. These are two fellow students. They are at the centre of the biggest story to hit Amberleigh. Who is best to cover this with sensitivity and perspective than us – the student body?'

'It will destroy them. Do you want to be responsible for that? For fuck's sake Amanita, do you not remember what we, what you went through at the hands of the local press last year? It is a slippery slope that slides toward producing poisonous media.'

Amanita said nothing. She swivelled in her Editor's chair, which Danny knew meant she was thinking. Abruptly, she stood and walked to the window where she began pacing.

'Amanita. They are my friends. I could lose both of them if we print a story about them. Do you not remember what Wonder said in his last lesson about friendship?'

Danny knew this would penetrate with Amanita. As far as she was concerned, anything that fell from the blessed Wonder's lips was gospel.

'Do you not remember the code of ethics we signed up to when we began the _Oracle_? We would do nothing to intentionally harm our fellow students. This paper started as a resource for them, not to attack them.'

'I don't want to attack anyone Danny,' Amanita said quietly.

'I know you don't.'

'Who is she?'

'The other woman? She's called Dee. I don't know much about her. Cherry met her at a university open day. They've been carrying on, off and on for a while I believe. She told no-one. I only found these details out from Hazel who said Mary saw them together on more than one occasion. Cherry became wilder as the trial went on and on you see. Apparently Dee's nothing like Sandi.'

Amanita continued to gaze out of the window.

'Hmmm,' she offered. 'What if, no, that wouldn't work...' Amanita mused. 'How about we do a collaboration?'

'What do you mean?'

'We offer them the right of reply. We contact them both. We explain that there is a natural public interest in this story, and it extends beyond Plunket's. We explain someone else is bound to cover it. If they talk to us they can control the story that comes out.'

'Amanita – I thought we were never going to use the line "If we don't cover it someone else will"?'

'It's a sad but true fact Danny. I'm trying to help your friends. If we do this the right way perhaps it'll be a source of strength for others around the school who are struggling to come out.'

Danny paused, and walked to the window. A light shower was beginning, turning the grey pavements a slick black. Out amid the bleak sea he watched sallow clouds shift and ferment, leaking mild rain on the ocean. He thought of Sandi and Cherry's extraordinary journey. From friends to lovers, to victims, to betrayers. Well one of them at least was a betrayer. Perhaps both? Was it right to profit from their life in this way? But what profit could come? None to either Danny or Amanita. Was there profit due to Sandi and Cherry? Could he, Danny, get them back together? Could that be the objective of the story? To help his friends reunite during their own trial, a challenge of super-adolescence? He realised he loved them both and wanted them both in his life. Comprehending an existence without them was hard but an existence where they might be alien to each other was even worse. It was a secret locked away, a truth not expressed but strong as titanium that they belonged to each other. He owed it to them to show what was obvious to everyone else in this damn, small-minded town.

*

Saffelia Forrest seated herself on a small wooden chair at the front of class. Walking around her slowly, occasionally berating, sometime menacing, was Rosetti Duocorn.

_'_ _Well, girl, thou weep'st not so much for his death,_ _  
__As that the villain lives which slaughter'd him,_ ' _  
'_ _What villain madam?_ '

Saffelia asked.

'That same villain - Romeo!'

Rosetti shrieked.

_  
'_ _God Pardon him! I do, with all my heart;_ _  
__And yet no man like he doth grieve my heart,'_

As Saffelia spoke she buried fake tears in her hands. Rosetti circled Saffelia, taking time and pacing softly. Arriving to face Saffelia's pale features she knelt before her. Extending one heavily varnished nail she lifted Saffelia's face up and sank a penetrating gaze into her eyes.

_'That is, because the traitor murderer lives._ '

Rosetti whispered, just loud enough for the rest of the class to hear.

'Good. Well done you two, back to your seats. Thank you Saffelia and Rosetti.'

The class settled down.

'In _Romeo and Juliet_ betrayal becomes a complex theme. Can anyone say why?'

Amanita's hand rose as usual. Sandi gazed out the window. Cherry furtively applied lip gloss. Danny raised his hand.

'Yes, Mr Canterbury.'

'Shakespeare portrays many characters with sundry motives. They carry separate beliefs about the actions other characters should take. Therefore, each character may carry a different interpretation of what constitutes betrayal. To Juliet, a betrayal would be Romeo gallivanting off with someone else. To the Capulets, betrayal is the precise consorting with Romeo with which Juliet persists.'

'Teacher's pet,' Tim whispered to himself.

'What's that Gaunt?' Pry whispered equally, not missing a word.

'Nothing Miss, I mean, Professor.'

Pry smiled enigmatically.

'Very good Danny. Very good indeed. Mr Gaunt, you would do will to learn from your friend here – especially if you are to portray Romeo accurately for the whole of Amberleigh. Including the town Mayor.

Tim gulped and the class awoke from its slumber.

'Yes that's right class. It won't be just your parents who will watch this year's school play, but residents from all over Amberleigh. In a special final performance the town's Mayor will join us. I hope all students, whether performing or not, will be on their best behaviour for this occasion.'

Pry finished. Tim turned to look at both Amanita and Danny, both of who grinned back with unenvious delight.

*

On the bus ride to Anjalie's Danny felt suspended from the pressures of student life. Gazing out the window at the brooding coastline, rock clusters and cascading cliffs subsided towards stretches of sweeping sand. Frothing torrents of roiling surf washed the sub-baked land.

He saw his thoughts revolve and turn towards the delight of visiting his young son, existing an almost parallel life in Forradern with Anjalie Marjoram and Squish Ambrose. The fields sped by as the bus entered the dual carriageway. Slim traffic loosened the driver's foot on the accelerator. Soon the bus was overtaking smaller vehicles, stretching its mechanical legs.

Danny remembered the last time he saw Ackley. He had gurgled and giggled at every step. It was a curious feeling watching him. Love and fear mingled with the spice of fatherly pride. Anjalie had been keen to settle him down for bed. In those moments when Ackley was asleep, and Anjalie entertained Danny with a glass of Merlot, he recollected the feeling that prompted their romantic encounter, that had produced Ackley. It was but a moment though. Squish was now living with Anjalie and, to all intents and purposes, behaved as Ackley's father. Danny did not feel displaced. Danny was working through education for good reason – so he could give Ackley a better future.

The bus slowed as fields surrendered to residential estates. It passed a post office, the signal Danny knew to collect his bags, readying to leave the bus. Outside Anjalie and Ackley were waiting in the bus station to greet him. Now two and a half Ackley walked alongside, holding his mother's hand, a wide beam on his fresh face.

'Hallo son!' Danny said.

'Dada!' Ackley burbled.

Danny subconsciously tried to hide his pride from Anjalie. Somehow, he thought it would not be welcome.

Back at Anjalie's, Danny helped Anjalie with the tea.

'How've you been?' he asked.

'It's not been easy. Squish thinks there might be a job being lined up for him at his Dad's. We've been surviving on charity from our parents. Really Danny, we could do with more of a contribution from you.'

The casual statement felt like a piercing bolt to Danny. Surely she knew he was on the cusp of his examinations? He looked at Anjalie to see if she was joking. She looked deadly serious. The image of Janna and her jewellery fetish swam into his mind. He looked round. The kitchen appeared well-stocked, and in the living room rich brown leather sofas adorned two walls.

'You look to be well off enough.'

Danny did not like being taken for a dupe. Besides, did she think he was going to sacrifice his entire future and get a job so he could give all his money to Anjalie? He could see it now. What a rich seam of income Anjalie and Squish could rely on from here on. Anjalie scowled.

'Danny, I thought you'd be more willing to help than that.'

The sentence hung in the air, a sentence in more than one way.

'Where do you expect me to contribute from Anjalie? My pocket money?'

Anjalie said nothing. Clearly the implication was that yes, he should give her his pocket money.

'Can you get a job? That way you could contribute towards Ackley's upkeep?'

'Anjalie, for Christ's sake, I'm trying to get into university? Can't you see that is a better way forward, for both you and Ackley? If I can get an education I can get a better job and will be better placed to support Ackley in the future?'

'We need money now Danny. What do you have?'

Danny began to rummage in his wallet but then stopped himself.

'No, Anjalie. This is not how this is going to work. You can't just spring this on me and expect me to cough up straight away.'

'Danny – he's two and a half. We thought you would have worked it out by now and offered. But seeing as you haven't had the good grace to, we need to remind you of your responsibilities.'

Again Anjalie's sentence hung in the air. A perfectly rational and perfectly poisonous sentiment. She only wanted him here for money. Danny didn't want an argument this early in his trip to see his son. He thought of a compromise.

'How about this? I can get a part-time job while I'm at university. I can use that to contribute towards Ackley's upkeep?'

'Danny, when the fuck are you going to man up to your responsibilities? It's too little too late. It's not enough. You need to forget about going to university and get out there and get a job to support your son. Forget about your future, it's only Ackley's that matters now. Don't you also think that I need some money, for clothes for me? I've been surviving on only three pairs of shoes since Christmas. I've only been able to go out one night a fortnight. We need more money Danny, and you need to go out there and earn it.'

Danny stood there, red-faced, shaking with rage. Who the fuck was she to dictate his future? To take away his dream of studying literature and meeting new friends and having a life away from home, away from Amberleigh where so many painful memories remained? A life filled with poetry and narrative and story-telling and fantasy and expression. Who was she – a small-minded girl who got herself pregnant too soon and wanted to pin the blame on any passing fella? It was no use. He knew his thoughts were unfair and untrue. A million possible replies shifted through his mind. Things he could say to close the argument, but they would also close his opportunity to see Ackley again. Perhaps that was what Anjalie wanted. An excuse to shut Danny out of his and her life for ever. He breathed in and smelt a delicate aroma of tobacco and bubblegum. Anjalie's aroma. The one he recognised from when he had first kissed her. Fuck! Things had become so fucked up. He had been so looking forward to seeing Ackley. He didn't want to admit it to himself, or Anjalie. But he hadn't anticipated this. Fool! Why had he thought things would carry on as before? Things always change. While Ackley had grown, Anjalie had grown into a put-upon harridan. There was no use. He had no sensible words he could say to her now, overcome with anger and shock.

'I will write to you,' he said. With that he slammed the door, and Danny was gone.

*

Seduction

The bus ride back to Amberleigh was fraught. Danny continually checked his phone. No apology was offered from Anjalie, nor was one sent from Danny. Stale-mate, he thought. The bitch, he thought. Why did women always have to nag, to bring the tone down, to not embrace the possible joy in the visitation but to overwhelm it with practical drudgery? Fucking bitch, he thought.

His phone beeped a familiar five note trill to indicate an incoming text message. Finally, he thought. Tail between her knees, she better make the apology good. He flicked open his phone. It was not Anjalie. It was Sandi.

Clubbing tonight at Shox. Seventies and Eighties plus Indie Classics. You in? Sx

Just one more letter, Danny thought mischievously. This was the tonic. It did not say who else was going. Probably the whole gang. Amanita and Tim. Mary and Sol. Hazel, Lorraine and Dawn. Probably that twat Samuel. Maybe even Florence and the Duocorn twins, whom he had started to see out and about at the weekends now (the Duocorn parents were notoriously strict). He knew one person would definitely be absent. He had not seen Cherry since the discovery. Rumour had it she'd temporarily left town although no-one knew where to. Even a discreet phone call from Amanita to her Mum and Dad failed to reveal anything telling.

Yes, this was what he needed. He texted her back.

Of course. I'm there. Cx

Although visually a step further from his desire, the sound of his sign off was closer when read outloud. Sx. Cx. Sex. Yes, Danny thought. Something new he could focus on, to distract his mind from the disastrous visit to Forradern. What about Squish though? He wondered what level of influence he exerted on Anjalie. Maybe all this was his idea? Maybe his job was not as certain as he informed Anjalie, and he preyed on an easier source of money. Danny did not want to be their fall guy, a patsy for them to rely on to save their own skins going out and earning an honest living. Some people were meant to go on to university to further mankind. Some were meant to be workers to make sure the bins were emptied and there was someone there to service the boiler. Who were these fucking mind-planktons to tell him the way it should be? That was his responsibility.

Sandi. He wondered what she would wear. No. Those thoughts were prohibited. But it had been so long, his heart ached for romantic action. He thought about texting Tim to see if he would come, but couldn't quite muster the resolve to do it. This was Sandi's party. It was best to let her decide who would go.

Friday night in Amberleigh throbbed with a new class of people. The usual haunt of Wilfields was no longer possible. Middle-aged commuters now packed The Golden Crown, parking BMWs and Audi's in the newly surfaced car park. Both interior and exterior appeared entirely different. It lost the ramshackle look that appealed to Danny and the gang. The crumbling steps and dilapidated portico which led to the wooden entrance had now been replaced with a smart painted white terrace complete with parasols and outdoor heaters. A few yummy-mummy's sipped cocktails while overadorned babies slept soundly in designer prams.

As a result and with nowhere else to go many teenagers hung out on the cobbles and the promenade and down at the skate park. They languished under lampposts smoking, until a regular police patrol moved them on. Danny wondered what the owner of The Golden Crown would say now, if he could get past the Armani suits to speak to him. Probably that revenues were up. Money. It was the answer to a thousand questions, and nearly always the reason friendships failed. Cop-out. Sell-out bastard, Danny thought.

He wore his flowery seventies shirt, decorated with florid lilacs and plum teardrops. He hoped it would match the colour of Sandi's lipstick. A light covering of post-shave Gucci moistened his jaw. By allowing his hair to part he added volume to his molten quiff. The cobbles ate hard into his smart shoes. He walked delicately, trying to avoid the trench-like gaps between the stones where his ankle could twist. Sandi texted him to say they would meet at hers and then go from there. There was a couple of hours to fill before the club opened. She must have a bar in mind. The whole thing felt like a date. A vague assumption from which he would be quickly disabused when he discovered the rest of the gang at hers, Danny thought.

He strolled up Sandi's front path and all looked quiet within. Pressing the knocker against the front door, he smelt the familiar aroma of Sandi's Marlboro Lights. He pushed thoughts of Anjalie from his mind and concentrated instead on Sandi and her cleavage. Mmmm.

Sandi opened the door. Danny's eyes widened, his jaw fell slack and his right knee began shaking involuntarily. Although the words describing what Sandi wore seemed to float in and out of his mind like fishes swimming through a dark pool, or flames consuming a charred log, they did not do justice to the impact of their associations. Encased in sheened black tights, dainty feet sat upon clodding platforms. They lifted her height a clear two inches. Her legs rose high up until they met the hem of a slinky dress which barely touched her thighs. As it stretched upward, the red silk clung to her hips, defining the contours of her curves before almost disintegrating into ridiculously thin shoulder straps. Round the back it tied in a criss-cross fashion, revealing pallid unblemished flesh. At the front the swooping neckline barely contained the bounce of Sandi's bobbing bosom. The full curve of each mammary was distinguishable, from top to ball to bottom where the dress finally met them, making no attempt to conceal modesty or leave imagination unaided. Sandi had stuck tiny glitter strips to the top of her breasts so when gravity claimed them they gleamed crimson and gold. Her caramel hair was loose, but through it she weaved black and red tassels, and dangled shiny hairbands which glimmered at the bottom. Primrose eye-shadow and smokey mascara complemented copper-rust lips. She appeared like a debauched angel, a devilish guardian, a heavenly sorceress. A burnished temptress.

'Er...You look good Sandi,' Danny said, still not acknowledging the words flowing through his exploding brain, nor the swirling nerves in his stomach.

'Remember Danny. Inside, I'm even sexier than the dress!' she whispered huskily.

As they walked down the cobbles alone Sandi grabbed Danny's hand and began swinging it in hers. It had been a long time since Danny felt like this. He finally associated the sensation at the root of his stomach with happiness. It was like a small but growing flame set dim heat rising. He welcomed it like an old friend.

In the bar at the back of Dreamland Discs Sandi treated Danny to a rum and coke, while ordering successive vodka shots for herself.

'I don't know Danny. The hypnosis is not getting me anywhere. I go in feeling happy and then, without knowing what the hell happened in each session I leave feeling completely depressed. I think I'm gonna shknock it on the shead.'

'What does Bartholomew recommend?'

Sandi looked into the bottom of her latest vodka shot, disappointed to find it empty.

'He shswants me to continue,' she said flatly, still looking at the bottom of her glass.

'Perhaps you should. Perhaps it will get better.'

Danny wasn't sure he should guide Sandi away from therapy, especially when Cherry had been found canoodling with another girl, and while her sister's name was being blackened all over town. Sandi shook her head and ordered another vodka shot.

'What shdo shyou thshink Danny? Dsho Yshou think she's a bshitch like the others?'

'I don't think she's a bitch. I think you've both been put through the grinder and it's telling.'

'But it all shtarted with that...hussy, way back when. Way before it happened, before Razzy gshot arrested!'

'Yes, I know.'

Danny sipped his rum and coke quietly.

'Come on let's dance.'

Sandi grasped Danny's hand, and pushed him off the bar stool. His foot was still dragging part of it while she led them to the wooden dias that delineated the dance area. Danny managed to free himself and they found themselves the only two dancing, trying to press some cha cha moves to what sounded like a ridiculous tune from the twenties.

'Come on!' Sandi screamed, raising her hand provocatively above her head, and doing heel flicks after every swivel. She wanted to dance. Occasionally she fell into Danny's arms and demanded he spin her again, or join her in arm pushes, jazz hands or ballroom leading where she pressed herself up against him and he saw close up her fluttering mascaraed eyes and bubbles of creamy pigment pop on her lips. She looked and felt sexy. Dancing alongside her sloping moves, he allowed her room to swivel, gyrate, pop, flick and jive. Although alcohol had stripped her of perfect speech, they had not altered the grace of her impressive dance manoeuvres. A raucous hip-hop tune blasted from the speakers, and Sandi began performing distinct moves from the music video.

Danny unhooked his shirt from his jeans and let go of himself. He grabbed Sandi by the hand. At first she feigned mock surprise but then squealed with delight as she fell in his arms. It looked like she would fall to the floor but at the last minute she turned and trapezed between his legs from where he lifted her up on the other side. Smiling filthily she dirty danced with him. Grinding her reddening groin against his she grinned coquettishly before stumbling to the bar to order a tequila slammer.

Danny took the time to glance at his watch. It was past eleven. If they went before half past they would get into Shox for free with the flyers Sandi had picked up.

'Are you ready to make a move hon?'

Sandi turned to him, beamed a wide red smile, and from the corner of pursed lips lit her fifth cigarette of the evening.

'Sure thing sexy let's go.'

Many other teenagers had clearly also picked up flyers as Shox was near to capacity when they arrived. Disco balls spun and twisted, casting squares of silver light into the dark corners of the club. The spiralling beams illuminated the furtive couples already formed on the dancefloor and now glued at the mouth.

Sandi ordered tequila slammers for them both. They downed them in a rush before joining the plush throng as a seventies classic erupted from the speakers.

'Yeah!' screamed Sandi, swinging her body and nudging her bum into several males. They immediately began eyeing her buxom chest. After a few forays and winks to even the shyest men on the dance floor, she reached a hand for Danny and pulled him close, wrapping cool arms round his neck, as he'd seen happen so often with other lascivious women, and to other men. So what if she is using me? I'm gonna fucking enjoy it, Danny thought. It's no more than what Cherry did to her. And to me, he thought vengefully.

He placed his hands on her hips, feeling the thin silk of her dress and the landscape of Sandi's tender skin beneath. It felt good. Underneath her dress he ran an index finger along her hipline, tickling naked skin with his nail. She sighed and allowed her lilting arms to let him in closer. The pounding beat dictated their swerving dance moves. Amid the crowded revellers there was little room for twirls and lifts but the pair compensated with some feline slinks and stealthy cheek-to-cheeks. By invading each other's space they expanded the room in their thudding hearts. Twice Sandi excused herself to grab a drink and touch up her smudged foundation. Each time she returned a little drunker and a little sexier.

Danny didn't know how much longer he could wait before the fucking barriers fell down and the temptation to plant huge snogs on her billowing willowy sticky pillowy lips overcame him. Another glance at his watch. It was one in the morning. Time had flown and no-one else had showed. No Tim. No Amanita. No rest of the gang. It was just him and her, and the luscious, inviting, fuck-me-quick dress.

She pinched his bum, placed her hand over his groin and tweaked his chest. It was when she groaned softly in his ear he knew it was time to leave the club. Before he could issue an invitation she bit his ear-lobe and whispered softly.

'Please Danny. Please, can't you find somewhere to take me and fuck me senseless.'

Instead he immersed his spurting soul in her dancing body, placed his hand in the small of her back and pushed her into him. With her arms wrapped across his neck he softened his mouth with his tongue and drew her face closer to his. The liner of her lipstick applied hours earlier marked the stained territory in rich red lines. Tiny hairs, soft as the plumage of eider, sprouted and crowned beyond the rim of the painted grease. It wasn't just a siren call, but a disguise too. Only this close would a boy know.

Her proximity was an invitation, a lusting desire, a sublime need waiting to be fulfilled. As he allowed his lower lip to slide against the saliva-coated underbelly of her upper, he felt damp submission, sweet and warm, smooth and sexy beyond words. There were no other options. The only way forward was to open his mouth and push harder.

Kissing in the middle of the local club dance floor was not Danny's style. Nor was it Sandi's. Especially with a boy. Nevertheless they carried on in this debauched way for another hour, dexterously exploring each other's mouths with tongues until Sandi's pigmented lips faded and Danny's face bore marks of her red cream on his cheek and chin. The supple transferral of grease was just the beginning. Danny could still taste Sandi's saliva. As three o'clock neared she dragged him from the dance floor and coaxed him toward the exit.

In the salt-enriched air beside the crashing shore Sandi wrapped herself around Danny once more. She lifted a sheened leg across his mid-riff in an attempt to gain traction and pull his groin closer to hers. He could tell what she wanted. It was not sex, but oblivion. The feeling that everything doesn't exist, that everything is annihilated. He didn't care either; the instinctive messages his body was sending him ruthlessly rode over any latent morals. She was too sexy for that. He was going to give it to her.

'Come on,' he said.

The path to the beach was nearby. He helped her down the pebbly steps.

Once on the beach, they fell on the damp sand and continued kissing. Danny lifted strands of toffee-coloured hair from her eyes. He kissed each of her lips, mallowsweet pillows of supple tenderness. He caressed her lashes and ran his hand along her thigh, teasing her as she pressed him to raise it to her cavity.

'I want you.'

'I love you.'

The sand gave way as Sandi's dress fell undone. Danny threw his jeans towards the ocean. He didn't care if they got wet. Not now. Moistness was a union. The foetal juices to which he felt he belonged, and to which privately he secretly regressed.

All he cared about was here, between his hands. His. Hands. Sandi. A perfectly-formed bundle of desire yearning for his love. His. He kissed her again. As he entered her she moaned and placed her hand on his buttocks, pushing and pressing him deeper.

Danny heard the tide roaring and subsiding behind him. Whshh. Shhh. Whooo. Ssssh. The rhythm gave him something to concentrate on. With each thrust of the sea, he followed a wave of his own. The moment at which the tide touched his naked toes Sandi released a beautiful whisper into the blackness of the night. She had reached the zenith of her pain and excitement.

'Please Danny. Love me until the surf rolls over our naked bodies and silence sings soft heaven in our ears. On this beach, in this sodden sand, let us lose ourselves to each other.'

*

The Red Issue

Eighteen-year old Harrow Wonder walked from church to chapel. All their contents seemed sacred to him. Symbols of peace and serenity. Visual depictions of the holy spirit's fire. Stations of the cross displaying His son's distress and eventual triumph. The single straight figure, a kindly-looking priest stood at the front of the altar, dispensing the body of Christ.

Wonder paused a few rows from the front, genuflected deeply and entered the pew. He sat beside an elderly woman, murmuring her prayers quietly. He sank to his knees and closed his eyes. The weight of the forthcoming dilemma pushed him into the earth. To serve or not to serve. His parents wanted him to be happy. They would be content whatever his choice, he knew that much. Strangely it did not help. He was having real difficulty deciding. A little pressure would have been welcome. There were plenty of guiding hands from the Church but he did not trust them all. A strong voice from outside the Church may have crystallised his ambitions. There was no question he felt, on more than one occasion, the call. It was, to him, a sublimely personal sensation. Like God spoke directly to him and no-one else. Priests advised him to share his vocation with others. Wonder questioned everything, it was his nature. The more he was advised to abandon his questioning nature, the more he clung to it.

A young girl strolled up the aisle, admiring the light streaming through the stained glass. Wonder's eyes temporarily opened. Like the breaking of dawn into dusk, his eyes focused on the gliding figure, almost like a ghost. Gossamer strands of copper hair poured down her back. He smelt the faintest aroma of honey as she approached the rear confessional. How could he rid himself of these desires? How could he not drink in the sight of someone so alluring? Was this life? Constantly to encounter temptation in order to resist natural impulses put there by God, which at times threatened any mental resolve he had been cultivating? To what end? Should he blind himself for the rest of his life? Not notice when a enchanting female would gaze at him that way, give a signal, let him know she wanted more than friends?

He closed his eyes again. The smells of incense swam up his nostrils. It was a holy smell, purifying and strong. Every church expelled it somewhere. A reminder that the church was different from the rest of the world, above worldly concerns. O God, why was it necessary to go through the church to speak to you?

*

A soft wind caressed Danny's cheek and made him realise he was not asleep at home in his bed, but outside amid a blistering sunrise. He opened his eyes and saw beyond the half-naked buttocks of his companion, the beginning of the ocean.

Danny gazed at her. Her dress lay over her like a blanket. Only her knickers and bra protected her from the gritty sand beneath. Yet she lay lightly snoring in her slumbers, mascaraed eyes still fluttering with dream-laden sleep. Danny wondered what time it was. The blinking sun warmed gently behind a low cloud. It could be ten. Saturday morning. They could visit Wilfields for a fry up. Oh shit, no they couldn't. It wasn't there anymore. He'd forgotten. They weren't welcome anymore. There was no fry up, apart from the one in his head. What had they done?

He scanned his brain and remembered the previous evening. Drinking. Dancing. Kissing. Thrusting. Loving. Murmuring. Moaning. It seemed sweeter in the memory. And she was still here. She hadn't run off. She hadn't told him she had something better to do or had somewhere to be. She hadn't tried to call Cherry, to confess, to explain away her guilt, to reconcile herself with her ex, the girl she loved more than anyone else. She had just thrown herself into the sex and whatever came after was for then.

The whatever that came after was a cuddle so long it stretched deep into the arms of oncoming sleep, until both eventually rolled away from each other. Despite the absence of blankets her smooth skin felt hot to the touch, as if heated by inner fire. Danny remembered. She might conceive? No. Sandi was too streetwise for that. Her tummy was soft and potent. Pliable flesh yielding and returning, like her breasts. He felt loved in her chubby arms. Like pillows of sugar her lips enveloped themselves round his every now and then, as if to remind themselves they were still stealing this deed of complicity. It wasn't over, it wasn't finished yet.

Danny inspected her face. Sandi's beloved make-up had faded to reveal pale skin, unadorned lips, nature's pink not artifice's red. Few were privileged to see this face – the one she masked day to day, her newly hatched pre-day visage. She appeared original to him this way. A Sandi unconcealed.

Her eyelids lifted open. She poured a cognisant glance on Danny's doe-like gaze.

'Hello,' she murmured. 'What time is it?'

'About ten I think, I don't know really. It could be later.'

'I see,' Sandi said, reading Danny's questioning eyes adroitly. 'It's okay Danny. I remember every moment. I have no regrets. You were a wonderful lover.'

Danny's cheeks flushed and he turned to look at the sea. No-one, not Janna, Phoebe nor Anjalie ever said that to him before. He leant over to Sandi so they were face to face once more.

'We can't continue, can we?'

The question was laced with hope that Danny knew must be shot down.

'I'm afraid not Danny. Things would get too complicated. We would not make a good couple, would we?'

In his heart Danny screamed 'Yes! Yes, we would make a good couple!' but he knew they were empty words that belied the situation's reality, that too easily dismissed its emotional heart, which lay elsewhere. He could find the logic necessary to build an argument, but no argument would convince Sandi. She'd made her mind up. She had made her mind up before they had even met.

Sandi stood up and, wiggling and shuffling, pulled her dress back on.

'Breakfast?' she proffered.

'Yes, but where? We can't go to Wilfields any more can we?'

'I know a place,' Sandi said simply. She held out her hand for Danny to grasp. He entwined his fingers round hers, caressing her still crimson-painted nails with every step they took away from the beach.

*

As he climbed the dusty stone steps to the press room Danny wiped away a cobweb resting between wall and ceiling. A small house spider climbed on his hand, crawling rapidly across until it vanished up his sleeve. Danny smiled. Most creatures in this world craved warmth.

Amanita was already sat at her desk typing furiously for the next issue of the _Communiqué_. He saw a flash of the front cover and was surprised to see Amanita leading the paper closer to the look and feel of tabloids, especially given last year's misadventures. It looked like _The Sun_.

'What do you think Danny? I want it to look like _The Sun_.'

'I think you've succeeded,' Danny said, gazing at the screen. 'You've got the tone and type down and everything. One question: why?'

'We need to make an impact with this issue Danny. It's ironic. Although something tells me not many people around here will get the joke.'

Danny read the headline article. Conspiracy amongst chemists. Where did she get that one from? He read on. Some kind of turmoil within a local science park. Owners conspiring with murky investors somewhere in the Middle East. Chemical waste traces found in a river leading to the sea. Where did she find all this information?

'Impressed huh?'

'Amanita, how did you uncover all this?'

'Perseverance Danny. While you and Tim are busy drooling over the next lesbian love affair to hit Plunket's, I'm furthering the journalistic reputation of the school paper. Our paper.'

They looked at each other, then burst out laughing. Between the giggles Danny managed to get a sentence out.

'I don't think the love affair is alive anymore.'

'What makes you say that?'

Amanita poured a suspicious stare in his eyes and made him blush.

'The whole thing with Cherry and her new partner, Dee I think her name is. The cat's out of the bag now. With the whole thing between Mercy and Razzy glowing in the background I don't see any way they'll get back together.'

Danny wondered who he was trying to persuade – Amanita or himself. He waited for Amanita to confirm his view. She didn't. Amanita merely sighed and returned back to the screen.

'Stranger things have happened Danny. You know that, especially round here. If I were in Sandi and Cherry's shoes I would think Cherry's betrayal or Mercy's persecution were the last things on their minds right now.'

'What makes you say that?!' Danny asked, wondering what on earth she could mean. Amanita harrumphed.

'Time will tell,' she said mysteriously. Before Danny had a chance to interrogate further Dunstan Blackbuck appeared in the corner of the room, sweeping away the rubbish Tim had left from his last pizza. Danny couldn't tell if he had been there all the time and had chosen that specific moment to emerge from the shadows, or if he had craftily snuck in through the back entrance.

'Don't mind me please,' he said, 'I won't be a moment.'

'Thanks Dunstan,' Amanita said.

Danny was about to dive in again to the matter with Sandi and Cherry but another interruption paused him. Tim crashed into the room, and Amanita and Danny realised Tim had thought the room was empty as he was not alone. His attentions were not directed toward the existing occupants. Hungrily snogging Saffelia, his arms embraced and lightly stroked the back of her black leather pants. Tim continued unabashed for a few minutes. Saffelia blinked a couple of times, and clocked Danny and Amanita staring at them. She withdrew from Tim who seemed annoyed at the disruption to his debauchery.

'What?! Why have we stopped?!'

Tim received a peck on the cheek and a whisper in the ear from his newly-found girlfriend. He slowly looked round.

'Oh, hi guys,' he said sheepishly. 'So Saffy, why have we stopped?' Tim added cheekily.

Saffelia walked over to the window and looked down on the school below. The sea and the beach were visible in the distance and Fourlawns stood proud beyond Watershoot, the school jetty. Restless waves caressed the shores with endless affection.

'It's so pretty up here. I wish I can live in a place with this kind of view one day,' Saffelia said.

'You were just about to explain what you meant about Sandi and Cherry?' Danny said, addressing Amanita again after the two interruptions. He hadn't forgotten his thread.

'Danny – it's Jonquil. Not only has Sandi's father lost his job but it looks like their house will be repossessed. We can't pin it on her. It's clear someone at the council leant on the local bank providing their mortgage and they are rejecting all reasonable requests for more time and lower payments. They are going to have to move from Amberleigh. To top it all off Leah, Sandi's Mum, lost her part-time job cleaning out the council's toilets. The whole thing is despicable Danny. Why does she have such hatred of Sandi's family?'

Amanita sounded desolate. Saffelia placed her arms round her. Amanita patted Saffelia on the head. Tim sat down. Danny stood up. He found it hard to breathe. He'd never felt so powerless.

How could he cope with this after what just happened? The euphoria in the nightclub, waking up with Sandi on the beach. Those memories he thought would remain sweet forever now tasted sour. He had not seen, he had not questioned enough. Their shared love was not the beginning of a wonderful romance but either prelude or epilogue to a mendacious deceit. It was naive of him to hope. To wish something good might come from Cherry's betrayal. But long-desired sex was fleeting; like a cloud it looked sublime from below but close-up water vapour disassembles before merging indistinguishable into the past, like stardust or grains of sand. Like relentless rain that defined their damp summer, grey sky cast mediocre light on Amberleigh. The evil of this woman, Jonquil Davis was unalloyed. Untempered by remote compassion. How could she? Sandi and Mercy were young people with their whole lives ahead of them. Why was she determined to drive them out of town? Amanita raised her head.

'Danny – I need you to write something for this edition. Something important. Can you do a bit of digging into the council's history? Something stinks over there. We know Jonquil is dangerous but the problem is she operates behind closed doors. She uses the influence of her husband when no-one else is looking. She has tentacles everywhere. In banks, the police, local businesses. She was the reason Wilfields got closed down. She was the reason Cherry's artist friend lost his gallery. It's dire what she is doing to Amberleigh. I don't believe she will rest until she's blighted all of Amberleigh's youngsters not born into Conservative families.

'There must be something we can find to expose what she is doing. Does her husband realise what she does? Why are people scared of her? What will happen if they disobey her requests? Is there a blackmail or a bribery scandal waiting to be uncovered? I'm not asking you to make it up. Just do a bit of digging. You don't know what you might find.'

Danny nodded wordlessly. Amanita was right. He had been recklessly blinded by Sandi and Cherry's romance, but behind that bright sun the whole community into which he had grown up now threatened to unfurl before him. Next year they would troop off to university. Maybe he thought it wouldn't matter. But then he thought of Sandi. Her chance of attending had been scuppered, not because of intelligence but because of money. He thought of the times he would return to visit. To spend time with his friends. He did not want the town changed beyond recognition. He needed his friends and his hometown. Yes, there had been dreadful terror-filled tragedies that had scarred Amberleigh. There had been murder and fear and abduction and deception. But the instinct of a point of origin overcame all. To Danny, Amberleigh was still his only home.

*

The young Harrow Wonder sat in the corner of the bar, a glass of orange juice between his thin fingers. He sipped slowly. The taverna was almost empty. A couple of old men stood by a fruit machine chatting but it was quiet in the corner. He felt his soul calm after the passion of church.

'Another?' the barman asked as he collected empties.

'Aye,' Wonder replied, draining his glass.

A few moments later the barman brought his drink. Wonder reached for his newly filled glass shining with viscous yellow liquid, when a voice to the left of him spoke.

'That looks nice. Just the ticket. I could do with one of those.'

Wonder turned and saw a young woman. Between curtains of flowing hair a thin nose and pursed lips protruded. Her hair was the colour of a thousand ravens in flight. It fell limply over bare bony shoulders. She approached the barman, close enough to Wonder for him to smell a scent of honey and buttermilk. The barman poured her drink. For some reason the fluid appeared more inviting when seeing it served to someone else. He drained his glass again.

'My you must be thirsty!' the woman said. She walked over with her drink. 'My name's Kate – Kate Wheatley. How do you do?' Kate smiled at Wonder and he half-smiled back.

'Nice to meet you.'

'Have you just been to the religious seminar up at the church?'

Wonder nodded.

'Bit overwrought, isn't it. My school sent me up here but I'm getting sick of it. No wonder my mates sneaked into town to visit a club. They'll get punished if they get found out but that's their lookout. Well, actually it isn't just their lookout. I'll get scooped up in it all as per usual, but hey ho, I can't control what they do. I'll just have to lump it. Hey – I've just realised you haven't told me your name?'

Wonder frowned. He hated this bit. His parents named him like Morse. It wasn't even Morse that had inspired them, but Shakespeare.

'People just call me Hal,' Wonder said, hoping she wouldn't ask more about his name.

'Ooh that's interesting! What's it short for?'

Shit, Wonder thought. Would he ever escape the embarrassment? He tried to think of something quickly to distract her but it didn't matter anyway because she was speaking again.

'Did you hear the rumour about the missing bible? You know, the one which the Church held in their possession centuries ago? It sounds like an interesting story, doesn't it?'

'I haven't heard it,' Wonder said meekly. His soft voice faded to a yearning gaze in Kate's eyes. They were nice; wide and hazel coloured.

'Let me tell you all about it. It's fascinating!'

Wonder knew he wouldn't find the story fascinating but he let Kate tell him it anyway. Her lack of guile made her more beguiling. She didn't know it but it was her who he found fascinating.

*

The Council

Biting weather arrived at the start of April. Just when people thought Spring was on its way the mercury dived. Danny recalled T.S. Eliot and smiled. Tantalisingly close to the warmth of the sun but not yet within reach. Perhaps that was a torture worse than the bitter frosts of winter. He stood outside Amberleigh council offices, waiting patiently for someone to open up. The doors had been locked since seven, but Amanita tipped him off the cleaners usually arrived around half past. If he used his charm he would be able to sneak in. Danny wasn't so sure. He didn't have Amanita's confidence in the effectiveness of his charm nor his ability to sneak anywhere. He glanced at his tartan shirt, draped over a stone-washed tee. Thin jeans hung loosely from his hips. He wiped away a curl of hair from outside his eyes and raised his gaze. Someone was coming.

A girl wearing unflattering blue overalls was walking up to the council doors. Slung over one arm was a Prada handbag; in her other hung a plastic crate containing detergents, disinfectants and brushes. Dangling off one finger were a large set of intimidating-looking keys. As she drew closer Danny saw sallow skin hanging loosely off a thin frame. She was not unattractive. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and her pale face was highlighted by barely discernible mocha eyeshadow and a light film of rose-pink lip gloss.

'Hallo,' she said as she bounced up the steps to the offices. 'Can I help you?' Danny approached her.

'Perhaps you can. I was wondering if it would be possible to have a word with you?'

'With me?'

'Yes. It's about a friend of mine. A mutual friend?'

The girl shrugged, indicating no objection but also little encouragement there would be much to talk about. She unlocked the large wooden council doors, pushed them open, slid inside and beckoned for Danny to follow.

Danny found himself inside a large hallway, dark and dusty. Directly in front stood a large stone staircase. It led upwards to two more staircases which diverged at either side. The chamber was empty. Without the lights on darkness shrouded them. Shafts of sunshine sporadically broke through tall windows either side of the staircase, illuminating patches of cold stone floor in intermittent gaps. Gazing at the sunbeams cascading through the glass Danny wondered how anyone made it up there to clean those.

'This way,' the girl said, carrying her cleaning materials down a corridor and into a small side room. Again, she beckoned Danny to follow with her bending index finger.

She laid her cleaning materials on a side table. Seating herself on a rickety wooden chair, she pulled a cigarette and lighter from a pocket in the blouse beneath her overalls.

'So, what would you like to talk about?'

'You know you really shouldn't smoke.'

'So that's what you want to talk about?' the girl said.

An incredulous smirk broke across her thin mouth. She took a long draw on the smouldering tobacco.

Danny didn't know why he said it, it had just popped out. Lots of his friends smoked, including Sandi. He never berated them; he had come to accept it. But in this context her addiction seemed shameful. A young girl performing a lowly job. He sensed her potential and energy being wasted. He felt compelled to say something, however incongruous.

'No, that wasn't it,' Danny said, gazing at her. She looked absurdly sexy as she smoked. 'I was wondering if you...if you happened to work with a friend of mine. Her name is Leah Burrill.'

The girl laid her cigarette in an ashtray and blew smoke at the ceiling.

'Yes, I remember her of course. It's not long since she left. We used to do the toilets down on the East wing together. A right pain they were. All the doddery old councillors used to use it. Filthy they left it. I won't tell you about some of the things we had to clean up. You'd be surprised what they get up to.'

Danny took a seat. They were getting somewhere.

'Leah – tell me about her.'

'Well, she was like really kind, very generous you know.' The girl blushed, as if embarrassed for getting sentimental.

'Sometimes I thought she wasn't cut out for this kind of work. I think you have to have a bit of an edge about you. You know, be willing to not put up with the kinds of shit you get asked to do. She wasn't like that. She would have got trampled on left, right and centre. In fact, I hear she did.'

'Hear – what did you hear?'

The girl shifted in her seat.

'I don't know your name laddy. Fancy telling me?'

'Dan – it's Danny. And yours?'

The girl looked away, picking her cigarette up and placing it delicately between her lips and sucking.

'Laura – my name is Laura.'

'Nice to meet you Laura.'

'I'm not sure I should be telling you all this. What are you going to do with the information?'

Danny scratched his head. He knew it was emotional leakage but needed the distraction for time to think. How could he get information out of her whilst lying to her about the fact it would end up in a newspaper.

'She's a friend. I'm just interested,' he tried.

'If she's your friend, why don't you just ask her?'

Danny knew he had to persevere. The fact Laura had clammed up told him she had something useful to say.

'I have, of course. Like you say though, Leah is very modest. Even though this happened to her, I still don't believe she knows the full story. It's often those watching from the sides who can see what is genuinely happening.'

Laura looked at Danny and sighed. She appeared to accept his riffing explanation. She took one final puff and abruptly stubbed her cigarette out in the ashtray.

'I think you're right about this. She doesn't.'

'You sound pretty sure?'

Laura stood and walked briskly to where Danny perched. She halted a couple of inches from his face.

'What's that? You think I'm pretty?'

She smiled at him mischievously. Loitering before him Danny felt she was waiting for him to offer her something.

'I said you sound pretty sure,' Danny paused. 'But you are pretty, yes.'

Laura smiled again.

'What's it worth?'

'What?'

'The information! What's it worth?'

Danny sighed. She was after something. Payment.

'What do you want? Another pack of Lambert and Butler?'

'You're pretty cute too you know. You know, I've got a bit of time before everyone else arrives. Do you fancy making it worth my while?'

She leant forward and began fiddling with Danny's collar.

'You can have one kiss,' Danny said, with an air of finality.

'Better make it a good one then,' Laura returned, before moving her lips closer to Danny's. There was the slightest pause before contact. A second, a millimetre of hesitation into which the full fantasies of his desire poured their excitement. Then her lips were entwined with his, her cheek pumping saliva into his mouth and his hand reaching beneath her overalls where she stored her contraband fire and fag packet. Underneath her blouse and circling her belly button with his finger. A few moments later Laura locked the door, lowered the blinds and undressed both herself and Danny. Lying on the table she guided him inside her as they both screamed with ecstasy.

*

Thirty minutes later Danny pulled his pants back on, fully spent. He grinned guiltily at Laura. She returned the grin before pulling him back to her and kissing him longingly.

'You didn't disappoint,' she said.

'Good I'm glad. Now it's your turn to fulfil your side of the bargain.'

'Oh....I had forgotten about that.'

'I hadn't,' Danny said. 'So?'

The question hung in the air, the smell of sex still rich between them.

'The rumour was, so I heard from some of the younger councillors who occasionally meet me here for a few, er, cigarettes...'

Danny looked at her raising an eyebrow.

'...Yeah, so I heard from them that it was all coming out of one office – Norman Davis. You know, he's very high up here. Apparently his wife had been seen in the Facilities department. Apparently she took some records back up to Norman's office, records about Leah.'

'What did the records say?' Danny asked.

'Fook's sake, I don't know,' Laura said, 'jus' tha' his wife had taken them.'

'Can you find out?' Danny asked. He reached for her hand and squeezed it.

'What is this? I'm not a fookin private investigator you know!'

'You're a resourceful girl Laura, I can see that.'

'Hmmm,' she murmured, reaching over to grab his collar and pull him closer for a final kiss. 'Don't you forget it honey.'

*

The stadium filled slowly with people. As Danny watched with awe it felt like the arena's pillars decanted an exquisite blue and red wine which threatened to spill out on to the pitch. Tim and Danny had made their way down on the coach. The M1 had become a riotous cacophony of red and blue flags and scarves flying from cars as both sets of opposing supporters made their way to Wembley. Neither Tim nor Danny were an avid fan of each team contesting the game but as passionate football neutrals they could not let the opportunity that had fallen fortuitously into their laps pass them by.

Burger vans and hot dog stalls littered the route with growing frequency as they drew closer to the ground. Fans sang and cheered, shouted and jeered before they pushed their way inside. The atmosphere around the famous arch was unlike Danny had witnessed before. A bucketful of optimism. A bowl of brimming confidence. Hope stretched impenetrable against the cloudless sky.

Tim handed Danny a programme for the day. It contained introductions to each team from the managers of the respective sides. Danny flicked through, reading one of them. It described how the club had undergone positive and destructive transformations in the past, but all the supporters should concentrate on this historic occasion. Years later football writers will remember today as a landmark in the club's history. Danny didn't buy it. They were the favourites to win on the day, but something of the presumed victory reeked of complacency. The manager was notorious for trying to influence the referee. He would stalk the touchlines, occasionally harassing the fourth official until a decision went his way. The most telling effect of his behaviour was all season long they had not conceded one penalty, home or away.

Fans inside the stadium sang local chants. Danny smiled at the raucous, cheeky lyrics to questionable songs. As kick-off approached, in a matter of a few minutes thousands poured in the ground from all available entrances. Lines of fans sidled past Tim and Danny to reach their seats, precariously carrying cans of lager and juicy burgers squeezing from greasy paper wrappings. Soon the smell of fried onions filled the air. The noise grew louder as chanting songs adopted the broader chorus. Stewards and police officers moved by the tunnel where eventually the players would emerge. A man in a suit with a microphone walked up to a small white podium to address the massed throng.

'Ladies and Gentlemen,' he boomed 'before this historic F.A.Cup Final, as is customary we invite you all to join in the traditional F.A. Cup hymn, _Abide With Me_.'

The man stepped down from the podium. Walking up to take his place was a blonde haired girl in a pretty white dress, as slim as she was tall, her long wispy hair floating behind her like a veil. Danny recognised her from somewhere but couldn't put his finger on from where. However Tim had no such doubts.

'Fuck me, that's Velvet Byatt!' he exclaimed, rubbing his forehead to wipe the sweat away. 'What's she doing here?'

Velvet Byatt had been riding high in the charts recently with her pop anthem, "Balling out the boys". It was more of a hypothetical question, but Danny had the answer.

'She's shagging that whatshisname from The Bearded Bronte's isn't she?'

'Oh yeah,' Tim laughed, 'I can't say I blame him.'

Velvet's clean bright face beamed on the big screens. A smile that seemed as wide as the goal mouth prompted rapturous applause. Composing herself she began an acapella introduction to _Abide With Me_ , singing with a crisp purity that seemed to crack the amplifier's cherry.

Aaaabide with meeee; fast falls the eeeventide;

the darkness deeeeepens; Lord, with me abiiiiide.

About halfway through the hymn, Velvet was joined again by the man in the suit, the identity of whom Danny had not the faintest idea. He gave her a two armed hug, his arms encircling her lithe body before they duetted on the final verse.

Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows fleeeee;

In life, in death, O Looord, abiiiide with meeee.

It was a hymn Danny had heard many times before. This time every year on the television. Hearing it now, with the proximity of the performance to expectant fans, Danny felt the tune move him . The light-headed sensation was one akin to witnessing an eclipse. Maybe it was because he was watching it live. Maybe it was because the performer was young and innocent. Maybe it was because of Benjamin and Olive, whom he couldn't forget, and because how much he knew Benjamin would have loved to be here with him and Tim, watching the epoch of a young male's sporting year. Hiding his eyes so Tim couldn't see, Danny very quietly began to cry.

*

Kicked Out

'Here it is.'

Laura waved a single sheet of A4 in front of Danny's face. Blank on the back, Danny saw through the slim paper to the printed type written on the other side. He reached to take it but Laura pulled back as his fingers caressed the edge, cruelly granting him a soft paper cut.

'Come on,' Danny said, 'Let's have a look!'

Laura placed the sheet back in her black leather bag.

'No you come on,' she said, taking a step closer to Danny, 'I don't think we're done here yet.'

Her breathing was fast and heavy. Her heavily glossed lips pulsated with stickiness and the black rim of eyeliner beneath each eye accentuated the impact of her silent request.

'Come on,' she whispered, her face moments from Danny's. 'Come on baby, I know you want it.'

She licked her lips and gazed into Danny's eyes longingly, placing her little finger on his trouser zipper. Danny caught her wrist with an instinctive downward movement.

'No,' he said. 'I need the information, you're right, but I'm not going to prostitute myself for it. And neither should you be so loose. You're an attractive girl, you could make more of yourself with a little direction.'

'I like your kind of direction,' Laura whispered. This time she moved her finger to Danny's chest where it slid a serpentine shape up his shoulder and round to caress the nape of his neck. Danny was tempted. The ball of her finger pressed into the sensitive part of his skin. One kiss, he thought, one snog on her ripe face. But he knew it wouldn't be only one. He knew one thing would lead to another, as it always does. She was pretty but Danny couldn't escape the thought she was damaged. Few girls behaved in this way with near-strangers. He wasn't sure what it was. Sex was just sex after all, a narrow stream in the gulf of love. Nature's command, a biological imperative for survival. Danny didn't want to just survive. He wanted to live.

'Laura - you are a very becoming and seductive young lady. But I can't. Not today. Not anymore. I'm sorry.'

Laura stepped back, disappointment etched into her expression.

'I thought all boys wanted it deep down.'

'You're right, they do. I do,' Danny insisted, 'but maybe that's because their better natures are not strong enough to overcome their baser instincts. Maybe they rely on the reinforced fortitude of women's morals to stop them. Maybe it's because they are not presented with enough opportunities from which they can reject some girls confident in the feeling that it won't be too long before they get another chance. Maybe it's because all boys are curious. But maybe at the end of it all, it's because I am not like most boys, and that's the reason I can't.'

Laura dished back into her bag, pulling out three items: her cigarettes, her lighter and the sheet of paper.

'Would you like a cigarette?' Laura asked, offering the open pack to Danny. He took one, and then proceeded to snap it in two, the thin cylinder spilling flakes of crumbling tobacco all over the floor.

'Another thing. You shouldn't smoke. Smoking causes cancer.'

'Wow you're really on a roll aren't you?' Laura said, lighting one up and blowing smoke at the closed window. 'You're really not making me feel like I want to give you this sheet of paper.'

'That's up to you.' Danny sat down on one of the rickety wooden chairs that was folded up against the storeroom wall. 'I can wait until you decide.'

*

They sat in an open air cafe. The butterlemon sun scorched their table, making them squint when they looked at each other. Despite the bleached light Kate refused to lower the position of her sunglasses, currently perched delicately on the top of her head. They successfully held back thick brown curls from her babypink face.

'Tell me more about this bible then,' Wonder said, sipping lime juice slowly, and making a mental note to buy some sun cream later.

'I don't understand how you can drink that without sugar? Isn't it really sour?'

Wonder shook his head and smiled at Kate.

'I like it just the way it comes. It's very refreshing.'

Kate leant forward. Wonder tried desperately hard not to observe her cleavage. The top button on her blouse had popped open when Kate nipped to the loo, either accidentally or deliberately. Her voice became husky with bass vocal fry, for seductive effect.

'It all began hundreds of years ago,' she said, 'there was a very famous bible, reputed to contain spiritual powers after its owner reportedly performed miracles while it remained within physical contact. A small volume, originally bound in brown leather, the sun transformed it to a deep burnished colour. Hence the name - _The Red Issue_.'

'What miracles were performed?' Wonder asked, intrigued.

'Oh you know the usual. Rapid recoveries of people who had been at the point of the death. Blind people being able to see again. Mad people becoming sane. I even heard that the owner was able to locate a missing girl who had been lost to her mother for over a year.'

Wonder leant forward intrigued. He felt a surge of adrenaline rush through his body, but not this time from spying Kate's chest.

'For real?' he asked.

'Yes' Kate said, demurely. 'That is how the legend goes.'

'Where is the bible now?' Wonder asked, breathing in Kate's honeymilk smell and noticing her pursed lips move closer to his as she developed her story.

'That is the real mystery,' she whispered, 'Many Churches across this region claimed at one point to hold the bible as a relic of Christ. It is seen regularly in tapestries and art in these churches. There is a mural featuring it in the church we've just walked from. However, none of these churches have been able to trace it for the past few decades. It is missing. It is now thought perhaps that it will be lost forever.'

Wonder's mind jolted through the various scenarios of how the bible might have been lost. Theft. Destruction. Or maybe mislaid and forgotten. What a bible! Could the legend be true? There must have been something in his eyes that signalled confusion. In the intervening period Kate moved her face closer to his, fluttering eyes and parting her lips, her stark intention made plain. However Wonder stared into the middle distance, a rabbit caught in headlights that blinded him to what lay ahead.

'Hal?'

'Yes Kate?' Wonder replied, still absent minded.

'I would like to kiss you now. Let me kiss you?'

Wonder turned his eyes to Kate's face, now inches from his. A decision beckoned. _The_ decision. He gazed in to those wide liquid pools, consumptive lakes of fire, neither retreating nor advancing. As she advanced, her cheekbones filling his view, he hesitated. Was this what he wanted? Was he supposed to resist? Why was she taking advantage? Then, like a thunderbolt from God coursing through his molten heart the momentary reluctance vanished, and he pressed his lips on hers as she circled his neck with thin fingers.

*

A long cigarette tumbled out of the packet like a matchstick from a matchbox. She caught it expertly between her little fingers, and twirled it between them until her grasp became firm. She flicked it up. Momentarily it spun in mid air until the filter landed on her bottom lip, stuck like a fly trapped in a spider's web. Within a millisecond she lifted the lighter's naked flame to the stuffed end of the tobacco tube and it smouldered and glistened like Christmas lights.

'Are you sure she's going to come?' Cherry asked Danny, pulling on her cigarette as if it might escape. She blew grey fumes thickly into the evening.

'I think she will,' Danny said, uncertain if Sandi could ever forgive Cherry for her betrayal. He also wondered if Sandi's subsequent betrayal with himself may have worked to make herself more compliant for reconciliation. Had he been used? He was certain of it, but he had been a willing victim. He wanted her to use him before he knew what that might mean for later on. He had just wanted the memory of kissing her in the club. To be selected by her, if only for a second, was wonderful. He remembered his heart's leap, the sweet relief when their lips acquiesced and they felt their supple softness merge together. Oh Sandi. He did not have words to describe how triumphant she made him feel. If he lived the rest of his life never kissing another girl he would always keep that moment locked away in his memory to sustain him. To Danny it was like a silver bracelet, a golden ring or a holy grail, never to be disturbed or tarnished.

He glanced up and saw Sandi's buxom figure walking towards them both along the path to The Golden Crown. Danny glanced inside the pub through the window. It was busy tonight. Many of the more well-off students, feeling the pressure of upcoming exams, were letting off steam amongst the other middle-class patrons – local businessmen and wine drinkers.

'Good evening,' Sandi said, unsmiling.

'Hi,' Cherry said, looking and feeling nervous.

'Let's go in,' Danny said.

They found a booth near the back just vacated by a besuited man and a woman in a chiffon dress. Their glasses and a wine bottle remained on the table. Danny clocked the lady's purple lipstick mark on her half-empty glass of Pinot Grigio. He moved them to the bar, ordered drinks for the three of them and returned to the table. With a practised swiftness Cherry discreetly poured rum from her hip flask into hers and Sandi's glasses of coke.

'I'm sorry Sandi,' Cherry blurted across before she had taken a sip of her rum and coke. Sandi didn't say anything. She just looked fixedly at Danny.

'Maybe I shouldn't be here,' Danny said, 'you two need time on your own.'

'No!' Sandi and Cherry both shouted in unison, fear burning in their voices.

'Stay.' Cherry offered quietly. 'We'd like you to stay.' Sandi nodded.

'Well at least I got you to agree on something.'

The three of them laughed tentatively.

'So why did you do it then? How long has it been going on? How long have you been cheating on me Cherry?'

Sandi's questions poured out in a torrent of free-flowing angst. Like the fiery release of a volcano, finally given the signal to cascade its teenage lava. She held her glass of rum and coke threateningly, as if she would chuck it if she did not receive the right responses.

Cherry reacted by remaining tight- lipped for a minute before erupting in tears. Wails of anguish darted from her convulsing body. Sandi did nothing to comfort her, just glared as though it were another act of deceit. Danny had to climb over Sandi to get to Cherry to calm her down. People at the bar turned to see where the noise was coming from. Danny watched their disapproving glances with distaste. Worst was the ruthless gaze from the owner who stood behind the bar arms folded over each other. Danny knew he was not beyond throwing them all out should he receive one complaint. Teens were no longer his market; their disposable income was paltry compared to the new regulars.

Danny extended his arm around Cherry. She melted into his shoulder, thick tears falling on his sweater, leaving tiny damp patches like sluggish rain. She shook less now but the infrequent pulses from her small body made her voice unable to form complete sentences.

'I....never...meant...meant to...to hurt...hurt...you!' Cherry said between sobs. Sandi shifted in her seat, still choosing not to reply.

'Please...pleeeaaase Sandi. I love you.'

A single tear the shape of a tiny flame formed in the corner of Sandi's right eye. Danny watched it emerge and followed its slow progress through Sandi's silver eye shadow and over the gleaming fell of her cheekbone. It marked a gold streak all the way to her chin.

'Say something. Please,' Cherry pleaded.

Sandi sipped her drink. She gasped at the instant relief of sugar and alcohol.

'I would have forgiven you anything Cherry. I would have forgiven you your past indiscretions. I would have forgiven your mother's attempts to rid me and my family from town. I would even have forgiven your brother's attempt to rape my sister.'

Sandi spoke in a dangerous whisper.

'Please explain to me how I can ever trust you again? How can I forgive you for cheating on me? I thought you loved me Cherry.'

More tears crowned the tearducts in Sandi's eyes. Danny sensed an imminent explosion and wasn't sure he would like it.

'I'm not the only one!' Cherry shouted.

Danny realised with regret, and a sinking feeling slipping down his throat, he had made a mistake confessing to Cherry.

'You cheated on me too. So don't act all fucking holier than thou. You cheated on me with a _boy_!'

The accusation hung in the air like stale smoke. Several punters turned from their drinks and watched the unfolding drama in the booth at the back of the pub. Danny shrunk in his seat. He did not want to see Sandi's gaze.

'You told her?' she said with incredulity. 'It appears I misplaced my trust twice,' Sandi said, her voice breaking.

Danny attempted to respond but Cherry leapt up. He underestimated the fire in her belly, the feistiness that once attracted him now punished the brief embers of his desire instead.

'Yes he fucking told me, of course he did, when you fucking rejected him after you'd used him up and all his come. Just like you did to me.'

Several customers behind Cherry gasped. Sandi also stood, towering over the animated Cherry, her intimidating bosom heaving with sublimated anger.

'Yes that's right Cherry, I rejected him after because I realised I still wanted you! I don't want anyone else but you. But I can't forgive you Cherry. I can't. I don't understand why you did it? How can I ever trust you again?'

Danny motioned to them both to sit down but, having pleaded for him to stay a moment ago, they were now oblivious to him, lost in the fire and fear of a splintered desire.

'HOW CAN I EVER TRUST YOU? I DON'T UNDERSTAND!'

Sandi's shouts prompted two burly security guards to race through the throng of drinkers towards them. He knew it was game over, they were about to be ruthlessly turfed out.

They grabbed Sandi first and then pulled Cherry from the booth, and finally Danny. They dragged them across the floor of the pub until they reached the entrance and pushed them roughly outside.

'Get out of here before we call the police,' one of them said to them in a low voice. 'The owners won't tolerate your messing around. They don't want the likes of you in this pub any more.'

'But this is our fucking pub!'

Cherry screamed into the security guard's ear. He responded with an ironic smile before slamming the door in her face. When she turned back she watched Sandi race away in the distance. She fell to her knees on the wooden steps. Danny caught and embraced her as she dissolved once more into loud sobs.

'I've lost her, Danny, I've lost her forever.'

Danny, who realised long ago the limp powerlessness of loss, caressed her chestnut hair and kissed her ear.

'No you haven't Cherry. I'll get her back for you if it's the last thing I do. I promise.'

As Danny looked at the happy revellers through the The Golden Crown's window he saw Jonquil Davis behind the bar, gazing directly at him, smiling wickedly.

*

Calculated Risk

'I always thought I would be celibate. I thought I would give my life to God.' Wonder said. Kate shuffled around him, and settled her head on the pillow. She lifted a finger and pushed it up and down his chest.

'It's okay,' she said simply.

'I don't know where this will take us. I didn't plan for this. I thought I would become a priest. You kissed me. I didn't mean for this to happen.'

'Do you regret it?' Kate asked. Wonder saw the hurt concealed in her eyes.

'Thats the thing. I don't,' he said.

'Maybe God didn't mean for you to be a priest. Maybe He meant for you to do something else. To serve Him in a different way. It's okay to not know what you want to do when you grow up. No one really knows. Some people never figure out what they want their lives to become, they just...muddle through.'

Wonder glanced over at her as she gazed up at him, her wide irises as sharp as a winter frost.

'What are you doing later?' he asked.

'I've got to wait and see if my friends are okay. Maybe we could meet up tomorrow. I have another free afternoon. I would like to show you something, if you have time?'

'Sure. I'd love to meet tomorrow. What is it you want to show me?'

'Oh just something I think you'd like. Something....' she paused before completing her double-entendre, giggling madly, 'like me. Full of wonder.'

*

Amanita watched furious gusts blow leaves from the trees on Fourlawns across the isle. North Sea winds were notorious for developing abruptly. They often caught many a walker on the small island by surprise and every autumn the local lifeboat had to rescue at least one poor tourist who had fallen into the water's deceptive current. However the trees never wilted. They bent and danced in the wind, but never broke. They had seen it all before.

It was a dilemma. The investigation was growing too close for comfort. Like the sea on a winter's day she was sure Danny would not want to go this far in. He was too immersed in Sandi and Cherry's break-up. As she pondered her options she heard familiar footsteps on the stairs outside.

'Come in Tim,' she shouted, before he had entered the Press room or could even see him. As usual his mouth overflowed with crisps.

'Alright Am. Everything okay?'

'Not really Tim.'

'Still worried about Danny?' Tim said, chucking his empty crisp packet in a bin full of them.

'I have reason to believe there is a link between the deaths of Olive and Benjamin and the Trove household,' she said calmly. 'The paper trail I've uncovered shows the chemical found on the beach where they died, the highly flammable chemical, is being stored at the Trove house.'

'Turn it over to the police,' Tim said simply.

'Don't you want to know what the evidence is?' Amanita asked.

Tim walked over to Amanita's computer and, bravely doing something he rarely did, touched Amanita. Picking up her resting hand he led her forcefully to the table away from the computer, sat her down and seated himself opposite her.

'What are you doing?' Amanita said, offended and thrilled simultaneously by the force Tim used. Her cheeks glowed red. She could feel them like a burning hearth beneath her flesh.

'Am, before we dive into this thing, let's just take a moment to look back at the last four years. We haven't exactly had a smooth ride have we? A terrorist ring infiltrating the school, killing a couple of our school friends. Drug running. Kidnapping. Perhaps we should leave this one to the professionals? Danny has had enough. I think this may break him if we push him any further. You know how he feels about those two girls. He would do anything to keep them together.'

Amanita gazed at him, still thinking of the moment when he picked up her hand. She still felt the wiry strength of his palm on her back as he led her to the table. It was nice to be led for a change. Despite the deliciousness of his momentary physical domination, she was quite sure Tim was wrong. Journalism was not about taking the easy way out. If there was one thing she'd learned from the last four years it was factually worthwhile journalism inevitably led you into conflicting decisions.

The elite in Amberleigh were changing the town to reflect their own image, destroying traditions incompatible with their own prejudices. Pretty soon the youth in Amberleigh would put aside their alcohol-soaked dreams to wear a desolate future instead. As the council diverted more resources to private schools out of town, all their social venues were gradually redefined for the benefit of new money. Worse still, the injustice was committed under the guise of upholding the law. It was a travesty that burned and boiled her blood. She knew the screaming injustice seared an invisible stain, as irremovable as a billion grains of sand sat quietly on the seabed.

The police were not an organisation Amanita trusted. Lombard was the only person to whom she would have spoken, but his advancing retirement date had been brought forward, no doubt at the request of Jonquil Davis and her passive councillor husband. The _Communiqué_ was one thing Jonquil had not managed to destroy. Perhaps it could destroy Jonquil before she got the chance.

'I'll give it some thought,' she whispered to Tim, hoping he would lead her away from the table as he had led her to it. He didn't.

*

Quinine sat in her office reviewing another set of mock exam results. The results were not as high as teachers briefed they would be. Gentle lies for fear of confronting the truth. Either to her or to themselves, or both. It was disappointing. The council may threaten another investigation if word got out. It could be another nail in the coffin of her three-year development plan for the school. She wanted to invest in vocational subjects, to build a new CDT and Home Economics block. The school budgets would not sustain a project by themselves. She faced an uphill battle not just with resources. She had seen the cement-minded comments from the council meeting: "It is the view of this quorum it would be more a priority to secure adequate results in the core subjects of English, Maths and Science, than fritter away money on peripheral non-essential qualifications, which in all truth are not really worth the paper they are printed on."

The word among teachers was that pupils were growing more unruly. The implication filtered to the board had been that it was a direct result of Quinine's lax influence. Events in the town: a heavier police presence and sudden arrests of young people for disturbing the peace, the rape trial of a former student and a story emerging about a fight in The Golden Crown; they led Quinine to despair. From which hidden flame was this animosity igniting? She was sure a rebellious streak had fanned these events but it was impossible to tackle them directly, or to know if they were its direct cause or just a scapegoat. It was like trying to fight smoke.

There was something more worrying on her desk, something to spark further flares in the Amberleigh community. Oh Amanita. Why couldn't you just deliver something safe for once? But she knew the answer as immediately as the thought formed in her head, and what Amanita's likely response would be. She was as predictable as she was steadfast to her principles. There is no such thing as safe journalism. Quinine recognised the conditions needed for rupture. It seemed in this case they had all been met. A community on the brink. Youth in rebellion. A clique of unseen criminals masquerading as authority. The raw passion of young love. It seemed everything flowed from two families, but Quinine knew it just _seemed_ that way. Actors behind the curtain conspired to keep them divided, as if Amberleigh's spirit could be conquered through the destruction of common bonds.

Quinine glanced at the early draft of the next issue of the _Communiqué_. She read the lead story again. She'd requested, no demanded, to Amanita that she review it. Amanita had acquiesced with no words, apart from a written submission requesting Quinine to provide permission to print or supply direct amendments by a certain deadline. Quinine had run out of time. It was ridiculous being held to the whims of a domineering power-hungry student, but she could think of no other options without causing an unneeded student uprising. With the teachers also considering revolt she realised how weak her position was. She was trapped.

She could of course try to delay the decision, but that too risked uproar among the student community. She remembered the threats made to shut the _Oracle_ down two years ago, over which Amanita eventually triumphed. Damn Professor Pry – it had been a fatal mistake to delegate Amanita the authority to run that bloody empire however she wished. Over the course of four years Amanita had assembled a loyal following of junior reporters who came to trust her vision and direction unquestionably. Her reach extended beyond the straight A students, into the geeks, trouble-makers, the casual smokers, the girly girls and the football boys. She had contacts everywhere. Quinine recognised that Amanita could mobilise these groups at a moment's notice. It was a strange thing to contemplate battling a student's kingdom. Hell, she had such close links with the printers and advertisers that she could run off and get the issue printed independently if Quinine cut her off. There was no way this story wouldn't get out, it was just a question whether it would bear the Plunket's crest or not. She looked up at the photos of previous headmasters again, and wondered what they would do. Flambeau – the fugitive criminal. He wouldn't have cared one jot. But then again, he had more murderous plans than Amanita.

The story was concerning. It didn't mention the alleged family name directly, but it was clear to her and to anyone else with a modicum of sense to whom it referred.

Two hopes crystallized in Quinine's mind. One, that adult readers and the police would take into account Amanita's youth and inexperience when reading the paper. That there were gaping flaws in her logic, although they were not yet visible to Quinine. They might conclude she was just playing at it. Two, she might be telling the truth. If so, a bumpy road lay ahead but the end result might be a positive reflection on the school and its pioneering of the rough and tumble of student journalism. It was a calculated risk. She knew if she had the money, she would not bet on it turning out well.

*

Amanita decided to wheel the carts round herself. Normally she recruited younger fifth-years to distribute the paper. They were often keen to get an advance preview of the editorial before anyone else. Everyone knew this was Amanita's last year as editor-in-chief and her reputation for delivering thrills in her incisive polemic had only grown.

However this time Amanita had a singular motive for wanting to do it herself. She wanted to see the job done. She had not erased doubts Quinine would step in at the last moment with some obscure reason to confiscate all the copies. As a contingency, Amanita had prepared a protected PDF copy of the paper, attached to a draft email to the whole student body, all the advertisers, the police and local councillors, which she would release from the relative security of her smartphone should anything happen with the printed copies.

Amanita smiled to herself. She had been so nervous when Pry asked her four years ago to rally the student body and give them a voice by leading a student paper. Over time she had learnt how to motivate, cajole, persuade and crucially, the times when it was right to give in. This was not one of them. This was a time to push forward and meet the evil in their town eye to eye. She had not embellished or exaggerated the evidence. She had not made anything up or written anything she could not prove. But reading the lead article again this morning even she was struck by its force. How the police could not act after reading it, she did not know. They could call her in but she was prepared for that. All her files were in order. Everything was documented. She knew which sources she needed to protect. Amanita remembered the time four years ago when chemical explosions rocked the school. She wasn't going back there. Maybe some people had forgotten. She hadn't.

The cart was exceptionally heavy; the increased page count of this issue was taking its toll on her arms. She was relieved when she reached the school reception and she could unload her first deposit. School busybody and receptionist Margaret was on the front desk.

'Here you go Margaret. Fresh copies of the _Communiqué_.'

Margaret looked her over suspiciously. Amanita thought Margaret was an old bag. A woman only interested in spreading student gossip among dinner ladies and friends. Some of those to whom she loosely confided were parents of students, and her careless indiscretions consequently caused unwarranted conflict. To Amanita, she was someone with no real interests in her own life, who had to derive vicarious pleasure from those twenty years younger. She needed to wind her neck in. Given the chance Amanita would happily have helped her with the task.

'I'm not sure we'll have room on the desk dear,' Margaret said, as Amanita glared at her stony-faced. 'We've got these flyers to advertise the school play. Surely you must have heard about the school play dear, a tale of star-crossed lovers.' Margaret spoke with a beaming smile Amanita knew was painted on. Inside Amanita smiled too. She had already planned her riposte.

'Thats fine Margaret. Perhaps I will inform the students they shouldn't visit reception to get their copy. Instead they can congregate around the local fish and chip shop to read the latest edition. The owner is only too willing to take copies.'

It did the trick. The blood slowly drained from Margaret's chubby face. The threat of seeing the beloved source of her daily gossip diverted from her reach was too much.

'Well I'm sure if we move some things around we might be able to make room dear for some copies.'

Amanita plonked the hundred red-topped copies on the desk and promptly disappeared, wheeling her cart away with more speed than had been possible when fully laden. Silly windbag, Amanita thought.

*

Wonder gazed at the tapestry draped on the cream wall. Kate held his hand. It was an abundance of mystery, beauty and death. The effect overwhelmed. He never thought of art as a rival to religion, something which could render more powerful feeling. Stood below the whole piece, with no instructions of interpretation between him and it, he felt a sensation flow through him similar to the first time he had had a religious experience. It was otherworldly, sublime, infinitesimal. In one hand Jesus was resting his hand on a girl who bowed her head as she knelt. In the other hand he held the red book. In the adjacent picture the girl stood and smiled, while her family gathered round her.

It was so simple, yet exalted. Could it be true? Did Jesus heal and pass on his power to this meek bible? If so, where could it be now if it still existed? With the bitterness of knowledge he realised chances were slim it would ever be found again. But knowledge did not stop his mind unravel thoughts of the latent power of The Lord returned to earth should it be discovered.

He squeezed Kate's hand and she squeezed his back.

*

Arrest

Late spring began dissolving the air's crispness that mid-winter promised. As an insistent sun defiantly lingered residents extended their beach walks and promenades along the Amberleigh shoreline. An occasional white cloud, fluffed into shapes of obscure sailboats, floated aimlessly in the otherwise blue sky. They were not enough to interfere with the solar grasp. Amberleigh town slowly cooked as earth's star inched to its zenith overhead. People had forgone jeans for shorts and skirts. Coats had been stowed away and around their necks Amberleigh's ladies wore flimsy silk sashes rather than the thick woolly scarf-monsters they routinely collected at Christmas.

A substantial crowd gathered outside the white pillars. Many clutched copies of the Communiqué. It seemed to scream scandal beneath its new red banner. A couple of photographers lurked down a side alley. The iron gates barring access to the long drive up to the Trove's house were shut, but the odd passer by occasionally stopped to peer in. Everyone was keen to see if they could spot any movement behind the burgundy sash curtains.

Danny read the latest issue with dismay. He could not believe Amanita ran the story. Worse, it accompanied a scathing editorial. It was true he in part supplied her much of the primary information, from sources he confidentially divulged to Amanita and Tim only. However, he expected her to show more judgement in its use. Not one part she had held back. It was all there, exposed as the parched sand on Amberleigh beach. Danny feared divisive consequences for his beloved hometown and his two friends, each of whom he'd grown to love without limit.

Although not explicit, three things were plain from Amanita's article. One, there was a conspiracy at Amberleigh council to oust Leah Burrill from her job, without proper basis. This could lead to an employment tribunal against the council or a libel case against Amanita and/or the Communiqué. Two, there was pressure from outside St Oliver Plunket's to expel both Sandi and Mercedes Burrill. Amanita could not directly state from where this pressure had come, but in a smart non sequitur she cited an anti-lesbian protest masquerading as a Christian Conservative demonstration which marched through town and concluded at the local MPs office. Amanita had successfully managed to source workers in the MP's office to state that demonstrators feasted on smoked salmon and champagne with Norman and Jonquil Davis themselves laughing along while they made homophobic jokes. It was not proof, but it could not be proved to be factually inaccurate either. It allowed the reader to draw their own conclusions.

Finally, perhaps fatally for Amanita Danny thought, she discovered a chemical link in the deaths of Olive Spritser and Benjamin Sprite. She had, and Danny did not know how she managed this, persuaded several chemists to go on record stating that a chemical found at the scene of their deaths was highly flammable, and furthermore its presence on Amberleigh beach was entirely incongruous with the chemical's proper uses. Again she left enough room for the reader to draw the unstated conclusion that the chemical had been deliberately placed there by someone. The insinuation, thinly veiled, was that Olive and Ben's deaths may not have been accidental as first thought, but murder.

Amanita had gone further. Using a paper trail Danny knew she would never reveal to the police in order to protect her sources, sources whom Danny believed were now out of the country on holiday to escape aspersions, she claimed several large containers of this chemical were now stored at a household within Amberleigh and she possessed solid evidence the household was home to a prominent Amberleigh council worker.

It was a devastating article. When he closed his eyes all Danny could see were the tracks of Sandi's and Cherry's tears staining the newsprint, and how this would prolong their separation and exacerbate their pain. Was this wise journalism? Had Amanita been blinded by her search for the truth? Was it right to put personal advancement above the feelings of your school friends? Danny felt ashamed of Amanita. Despite their long connection on the paper, he mentally wrote his resignation note to her. As he watched the crowds thicken and multiply in front of the Trove's gates he knew he felt an agony she had deliberately shielded herself from.

It was only yesterday the paper had been published, but Amanita had blind copied him into an email to Sergeant Lombard of the Amberleigh Police Department containing an electronic PDF copy of the paper. Danny knew then it wouldn't be long before the police took action. Granite-faced Lombard was nothing if not responsible. Upon walking up today Danny watched his car drive into the station, not normal for a Saturday morning. It could only be a matter of time. How everyone else knew something was about to happen Danny could only speculate.

With a weary sigh he brought to mind how salacious news always travels fast in Amberleigh. Maybe some of the local advertisers got wind of it. That would have lead to a gossip snowstorm overnight on the social networks, and an inevitable deluge of people at those houses they suspected. There was only one house really that was possible. To those who followed events over the past few months, including Razzy's court trial where Rosalind's status and career became public knowledge, it was obvious.

The crowd at the front gates was now four people deep. Someone had spotted movement in the house. A light's hazy glow perhaps, or the soft contours of a person at a window behind the curtains. Danny looked towards Cherry's window. Nothing. Maybe they were all in the lounge, waiting. He checked his phone. Nothing from Cherry. Nothing from Sandi. Nothing from Amanita. One text from Tim:

Yo bro. How's it hanging? Seen the latest edition yet? Deep shit huh? T

Danny replied:

Deep shit isn't the half of it. We're all gonna be covered in it...

He had not signed off with his initial or name. He didn't want to associate himself with this debacle any more than he needed to. Danny knew what it was to feel out of control of events but this time the interlinking of everything seemed catastrophic. About to depart Amberleigh for university, this was supposed to be a celebratory year. Their community was collapsing. Friendships and loves had become fucked up beyond belief. At the heart of it stood Sandi and Cherry. The love they shared flowed from a source pure and untarnished. The crushing pressure under which that love had been placed made it creak and buckle. Danny feared the end.

A murmur rippled amongst the crowd. People close to the gates at the front turned to their left and parted to clear a route. The gates were still closed but three vehicles were slowly creeping through the throng towards them. The first was a police squad car driven by two uniformed officers. Danny glimpsed that one of the officers was Lombard. Sensibly, no siren wailed. The second car was an unmarked estate. Its blacked out windows suggested plain clothed detectives, Danny supposed. The last vehicle was the most ominous. A large police van advanced silently but the sight of its blue lights flashing urged the crowds to disband. It was driven by men wearing some kind of protective gear. Biohazard suits, Danny realised. This was it, he thought. It was the end for the Troves.

As the first police car approached the gates it slowed to a stop and Lombard climbed out, immediately clearing people from the vicinity. He opened both gates, got back in the car and drove to the side of the gates to allow the other two vehicles through. Danny watched as they made their way up the long drive to the Trove's house. The squad car then reversed to permanently barricade any exit or entrance on the Trove's drive. Both officers alighted to invite the crowds to disperse. Several people moved back but with recalcitrant curiosity they refused to vacate the street. Residents this side of Amberleigh knew their rights. Danny gazed at Lombard. His weathered frown communicated frustration with the locals. Danny wanted to approach him, but from his demeanour he sensed it was not the right time.

As the minutes elapsed Danny fidgeted with his phone, hoping for a message from Sandi. She must have heard about the paper by now. He desperately wanted Sandi's forgiveness, but could not bring himself to text first for fear of making the situation worse. Nothing from Cherry either. Should he text her and find out what was happening up at the house? Would he tell her? He looked up at the house again, and saw some movement outside the front door. Detectives were emerging, leading a couple of people to their car. It was Rosalind and Donald. Danny squinted. Both were handcuffed. He gulped. He could not believe it. Amanita's story had led directly to Donald and Rosalind's arrest. They both knew they were not the real villains of this drama. Danny hoped somewhere along the line the trail would inevitably lead to Jonquil, but he also knew she had good friends in the police force. That was fucked too.

The men in the biohazard suits were now unloading material from the back of the van. They disappeared round a side entrance and shortly after they emerged carrying what looked like three large water butts. They lifted them delicately into the back of the van and spent time strapping them in. When all was complete three men got in the back of the van and the other two climbed in the front. The detectives' car turned round in the drive and headed down the drive followed by the van. They were coming this way. Lombard quickly got back in the squad car blocking the gates. He reversed to allow the other vehicles out. Danny couldn't see inside the back of the detectives' car, but he knew at no point he had seen neither Cherry nor Razzy. They must be still inside, Danny thought. As the unmarked car and police van disappeared unhurriedly down the street, some of the crowd gradually subsided. Danny glanced over at Lombard's car. It now sat before the closed gates. This was a problem. Danny wanted to go and see Cherry. Then his phone beeped. It was Tim.

I'll be there in five. Saff's with me.

Danny breathed a sigh of relief. He would not have to face this alone. Danny started walking over to the gates. Lombard got out, clocked him immediately and held out his hand.

'Sorry Danny, I can't let you through,' Lombard said with quiet authority.

'It's Cherry. She's my friend. I want to see if she's okay.'

Lombard looked sympathetically at Danny, but didn't move.

'That's not a good idea right now.'

Danny's phone beeped again. This time it was Cherry. Her message was pitch-perfect simplicity.

Danny - I need you. Please come. Cxx

Danny gazed at the message on his phone. He would have given anything for a message like that from Cherry a year ago, but he dreaded the desolation in its tone today. Cherry was on the edge. Danny held out his phone for Lombard to see, but he merely shook his head. He texted her back.

I'm right outside the gates. They won't let me up x

Danny waited but there was no reply. All the other rubberneckers had now left. It was just Danny and Lombard, eyeballing each other outside the gates. Lombard's accompanying officer remained stationary in the parked police car. Danny knew it was no use arguing with Lombard. He prided himself on serving the public by conducting a meticulous, professional job. If he had been given orders not to let anyone up to the house, there was no way Danny would make it. Lombard would never be bought.

A cloud shifted overhead. It threatened to encroach on the sun's position in the sky with dim grey shade. The house appeared cold in the fading light. Where white pillars had gleamed in the early morning, they now look tired and functional. Danny gazed across the Trove's front portico and watched the swinging of the deep mahogany door. It opened and Danny saw a small figure erupt from the opening. Growing bigger and bigger as it advanced Danny realise it was running at full speed down the drive. He motioned to Lombard to open the gates. Lombard reluctantly moved the police car and allowed the gates to open and Cherry dived into Danny's arms.

'It's over, Danny, my life is over. I've lost everything. Everything I love. My family, my friends, my future – and....and....Sandi!'

She could hardly get the words out.

'What about Razzy?' Danny asked, his voice a tremulous squeak between Cherry's deep sobs. Her throbbing skin felt like a baby's.

'He flew to the States yesterday. He's secured an internship in Chicago. He said he's had enough of Amberleigh and our family. My mum told him never to come back. Oh Danny!'

She sobbed into his black tee, leaving a track of damp mascara where she rested her head. It was everything Danny feared. As Saffelia and Tim arrived, each embracing Cherry in a group hug, he thought he heard a distant bell chime at Amberleigh Abbey. Like some portent of doom, Amberleigh – their point of origin for all time was marking the moment when youth ended and the stark realities of life ignited. With brutal efficiency their hometown was burning away all the embers from their days of innocence.

Origins and Exits

Janna Chisely brushed her blonde hair vigorously down. It fell from almond eyes and reached all the way to the top of the checked skirt which circled her slim waist. She could have been Juliet but instead it had gone to Saffelia. She couldn't begrudge Saffy the role but whenever she sat through rehearsals she held a tinge of regret she had not auditioned. She had Juliet's hair, she was sure of that. Juliet was never curly haired, the purity of her love was best expressed by straight blonde locks. She even learnt the part in preparation but bottled out of the audition at the last minute. Nerves overcame her. She couldn't quite put her finger on why but she always felt inferior in Saffelia's presence.

Janna glanced at the paper on her bed. She'd read the main pieces, including Liam Flicker's appraisal of the top ten netball players at Plunket's which had made her smile. She had made it into the top three and a becoming photo of Janna scoring a goal, her skirt straining to cover her tight rear, adorned the feature. Liam never asked permission to use the photo and she would need to have words with him later to gently reprimand him for the intrusion. She would enjoy that.

She hadn't dwelt on the hubbub around Sandi and Cherry; Danny could keep that one. They were mates, but after her own dramas in years gone by she was ready to relax into the bleached background of pale Amberleigh, a discoverable solace if you looked for it. For once in her life she would concentrate on her upcoming examinations and school work. She had offers from five universities, but only two appealed and she knew she would have to achieve her maximum expected grades to get in. Still, she gazed at the photo on her dresser. A photo had stood there since nearly the start of the school year. Two star-crossed lovers now lost to Amberleigh. Janna sighed. She had loved them both.

On one drunk night after a school cricket match, in a place no-one knew about, she found herself in a brief clinch with Benjamin. She remembered with fondness the muscularity of his arms as they held her, even at fourteen.

Simultaneously her phone started ringing and a knock sounded at the door downstairs. She picked up her phone and looked at the caller ID. Then she put down the phone and went to answer the door.

'Hi,' said Danny. 'Can I come in?'

Janna looked him over. His forehead was dripping with sweat and she wondered if he'd run all the way here. Normally she would have invited him in straight away but she was all ready for bed in her blue rabbit pyjamas. Also, she did not want to get dragged into whatever drama Danny intended on dragging her into. She hesitated.

'What is it Danny?' Janna said kindly, but unmoving.

Danny gazed at her. Ordinarily he would have contemplated her glistening combed hair, the cuteness of her attire and the fact she wore blue eyeshadow to bed, but his heart was performing somersaults of a different kind. Janna was the only person he could think of to turn to for advice.

'I just want to talk. Just talk,' he repeated.

Slowly Janna opened the door. After thanking her Danny shuffled inside.

*

The examination schedule had only been posted on the school noticeboard an hour ago. Already several students came up to Danny to tell him when he would be sitting for English, when he would be sitting for Religious Studies and when for History. The timings didn't really make much difference to Danny. He would have to take all the examinations at some point, it didn't matter to him which order. Amanita had pointed out that on a particularly full Wednesday, he would have Religion in the morning and both English and History in the afternoon and so had better be fully prepared on that day. Danny grunted in response. He was not sure if he was still speaking to Amanita after the trouble the red issue of the _Communiqué_ had caused. Her unsympathetic tone demonstrated she didn't fully understand the true extent of her meddling. He reflected what Janna said to him. Simple and obvious really. You don't want to lose her as a friend as you'll only have to make it up again, but likewise you need to remain true to your own feelings and thoughts or you'll betray yourself. After a couple of hours chatting he had let her retire to bed, the same bed he remembered occupying four years previous. Janna had changed in those four years. She was no longer the confused blonde temptress, but an independent young woman with a poise and grace she had cultivated gradually since their split. There were times when they chatted he momentarily forgot the painful choice he made those years ago, the decision that filled him with bittersweet regret, even though he had known it was the right decision. He was reminded of it every time he set eyes on Janna. When they talked, gilded glimpses of those moments when it was like the old days momentarily flashed. When she had first invited him into her bedroom and he couldn't believe his luck.

Danny gathered his books and his bag. He was late for the urgent assembly Quinine had arranged for the GCSE and A-level finalists. Danny joined many other students who jostled and knocked together as the nervy throng progressed along the pale corridor to St Basil's hall.

*

The black curtain at the back of St Basil's billowed and rippled in the draught. Quinine looked out over her lectern at the mass of teens before her.

'Good morning students. Welcome. I want to talk to you this morning about your upcoming exams. No doubt you are all aware of the momentous importance these exams will represent in your young lives. I have spent some time over the past week consulting with my teachers. Unfortunately their reports have not been positive. I have heard tales of unruly students disrupting classes with jokes and tomfoolery. I received reports of students sneaking out of school early, to join friends for a crafty fag or a drink down town. So, I have a message to give to you.

'Do you all realise how these exams could shape your future lives? How these exams could dictate the direction you travel in life? I do not think you do, otherwise you would not be behaving in this way.

'Now is the time to knuckle down. Now is the time to revise hard. This time will not come again. You need to make the most of it now.'

Quinine paused. Danny looked over at the stage. In addition to the other teachers was another lady sat beside Professor Fuzzair. She was instantly recognisable to Danny. Amanita, sat next to him, nudged him on the knee with hers but he did not respond. He did not need to. He had already seen her. Danny looked around. He could not see Sandi anywhere. Quinine continued.

'For those sitting their GCSEs this summer, it is crucial you revise properly for all the subjects you are taking, especially English, Maths and Science. Grades below C in these subjects may halt your progress onto more advanced qualifications, or into work-based training. Please work hard with your teachers. They will support you in preparation for these important examinations.

'For those sitting their final A-level examinations, and afterwards will depart St Oliver Plunket's school, and who require specific grades for entry into university, I would like you to remember you will never have a bigger chance in your lives to influence your future outcome...'

It was too much. The blood was boiling; the adrenaline fired silver tracks into his brain. The old anger flooded back, unstoppable and explosive. Danny was on his feet, shouting.

'But that's not true is it Professor? Some of us have had that opportunity taken away from us. By the very woman sitting behind you!'

Students gasped. Jonquil looked unruffled, sat in her seat checking her nails. Quinine opened her mouth to exclaim but another voice spoke. It came from beside Danny.

'Danny's right Professor. What has happened to our friend Sandi Burrill this year is, we think, disgraceful. She is an innocent party who has been unfairly victimised, and excluded without cause...'

Quinine attempted to interrupt.

'Amanita, please I am talking...'

'Excluded without cause,' Amanita continued unfazed, 'all of the whole student body think so. DON'T YOU STUDENTS?'

Slowly the whole assembly of students, including the GCSE finalists two years younger than Amanita and Danny, pushed their chairs back and stood up. The sound of scraping chairs and chants of 'Yes' amid murmurs of confrontational assent and nodding heads filled St Basil's. Danny looked around, beaming. He did not know if Amanita planned it but the impact on Quinine and the teachers was immediate. They all stood up, which left Jonquil Davis as the only person remaining seated in the hall, still checking her nails. Louis Foss was the next to speak.

'I do not know why Sandi Burrill has been excluded either Professor Quinine.'

Then Wonder spoke.

'I agree with Louis, Professor. Sandi has been an exemplary student. Why she is not here with us now is beyond me.'

Then Pry added her thoughts.

'Professor Quinine, I have to say I agree with Danny and Amanita, and my fellow teachers. Perhaps you could explain to us all why Sandi has been excluded?'

Students gasped. Their solidarity expressed too boldly was one thing, but teachers overlooking that boldness to join them in their quest to have Sandi reinstated was something they would never have predicted. Danny was sure he caught Pry give him a quick wink as she finished speaking.

Quinine stood at the lectern ruminating her next move. Privately she agreed with them all. If they applied the logic in their exams they had shown just now she would have a stream of straight A students on her hands. But she had been given orders, uncomfortable as they might be. She raised her hands, entreating the students to sit down again.

'Okay, okay. Students you have made your point. Now, please take your seats.'

Slowly, and with glances to Amanita for approval, which she gave, all the students sat down again. Quinine continued.

'Thank you. I understand there is great interest and consternation amongst the student and teacher body about this recent incident. I would like you all to know that Sandi Burrill's exclusion was a special request from the board of school governors.' Quinine smiled surreptitiously. 'Today we are fortunate that one of the school governors is present. So I would like to pass the lectern to her, Jonquil Davis, to address us all about the reasons for this exclusion.'

Quinine turned behind her to invite Jonquil to speak to the students.

The black curtain at the back shuffled with the ripple of a hasty exit. Jonquil had disappeared.

*

Professor Azure Pry patrolled the front of her class with beady-eyed stateliness. They were all experienced students, all A-level finalists and had, to some extent, managed to build a rapport with the fearsome tutor. Through the years they had learned the chinks in her stolid armour, the literary jokes she permitted that would make her smile rather than admonish. However Pry still retained full control of this group. One steely gaze could silence them. In an effortless instant she could remind them of past disciplinary reprimands. However, all her students were on her side today. They didn't mind total obedience to a teacher who demonstrates robust solidarity to their student body, and unflinching loyalty to one of their own.

'Class, today we will reflect upon the origins of the greatest love story in the English language. For it was not William Shakespeare who came up with the idea for our star-crossed lovers, he just added the star quality. Today, we are going to discuss the unsung hero of this dramatic tale - one Arthur Brooke.'

Pry began handing out printed sheets of paper. Danny reached out and accepted his. He looked it over and saw it depicted a sixteenth-century illustration of a manuscript with shoutout bubbles offering commentary. The heading said: "The Tragicall Historye of Romeus and Juliet: A Narrative Poem (1562)". Pry continued.

'Arthur Brooke was one of William Shakespeare's key sources for his romantic tragedy. Brooke translated it from a short story by an Italian called Matteo Bandello, although some literary critics believe Brooke's text comes from a different version by Frenchman Pierre Boaistuau.

'Brooke was reportedly drowned in 1563 at sea. He died in a shipwreck while crossing to help Protestant forces in the French Wars of Religion. It is notable how often the theme of shipwreck recurs in Shakespeare's other plays. For example _Twelfth Night_ and _The Tempest_. Also Brooke's poem is not completely the same as Shakespeare's play. In Brooke's version the nurse is exiled and the apothecary is executed for deceit. Friar Lawrence leaves Verona to live as a hermit until he dies.

'In pairs I would like you to review the key sequence of events of Brooke's poem as detailed on your handout and then compare it, from memory, with Shakespeare's version. I would like each pair to come up with five key differences between the texts. These needn't be just structural, I am looking for people to comment on literary style and language also. Indeed you will get extra marks for this kind of commentary in your final examination, so this will be a good exercise for you.'

Danny turned to Florence Croft, his partner, to ask where she would like to begin. As their discussion dived into the highs and lows of Jacobean history, Danny couldn't help glancing over at Janna Chisely who was, Danny presumed, avidly discussing the play with Liam Flicker.

*

Janna leant back in her armchair. Both Mum and Dad were out, at some foreign French film. Janna found it hard to concentrate during foreign language films. Not because her French was poor – she was quickly becoming fluent and hoped to spend the summer in between A-levels and university in Paris. The subtitles distracted her from the action. She picked up the mock examination paper she had been working on all evening and reread the question options it listed:

In your own words, describe how Romeo suffers to attain wisdom.

Discuss the idea Juliet should obey her parents and shun Romeo

The Montagues and the Capulets are a symbol of the divisions in Shakespeare's England. Discuss.

Who is your favourite character in Romeo and Juliet, and why?

Janna had written that last question in, below the printed options, as that was the one she most wanted to answer. It would definitely be Mercutio she had decided. All that suppressed rage on the side-lines. The dark brooding Mercutio would fuck her violently and then carelessly leave her. It was the best sex she'd never have.

She sighed. Janna detested examinations, they were so tedious. Why couldn't all assessment be coursework-based? It was a more mature and civilised method of assessing. Besides she was much better at coursework.

She walked over to the stereo and switched the radio on. A stream of adverts about floor tiling, traders and motor insurance preceded her favourite DJ – one time Amberleigh resident Amatory Poise. Janna had grown accustomed to her playlists – a mixture of bleached ambient and summer trance. The radio exploded into life as Amatory launched into her first mix with Beach House and Alexandra Stan. As the thudding beats cascaded into her bedroom Janna rested her head back, allowing flowing yellow hair to extend down the back of her armchair until it almost tickled the floor. The music felt freeing. Something lifted when those harmonies built and soared.

Janna wondered about the path Amatory had taken since leaving Plunket's prematurely. It had been publicised in the recent edition of the _Amberleigh Post_. She had secretly DJed in her spare time throughout all her studies. When it came to staying on to do A levels or leaving she had not hesitated. It was an easy decision. Already smart and independent at a young age, Amatory had already lined up an internship at Radio One in the summer following her GCSEs. Word was she was an immediate hit at the station, but trouble was not far behind. Her boyfriend Nick Fasco got jealous she was hanging round with all the male DJs. So when her internship finished she moved back to Amberleigh and got a permanent job DJing on the local commercial station Amber FM. She was still with Fasco, but the word was the course of true love was not running smooth. Several of Janna's friends had seen them arguing around town.

A dissonant noise from outside interrupted her thoughts. She cocked her head. Were her parents back? No, it was probably just a cat.

*

Vicherrious

'Take your headphones out of your ears Gaunt and listen to me.'

'But Sir, it's Rizzle Kicks' latest!'

'NOW GAUNT!' Wonder boomed. Tim reluctantly

removed the scourge of Wonder's irritation and sat back to gaze whimsically at the Religious Studies teacher.

'In today's lesson we will explore the origins of the relationship between Mary and Joseph.'

'I thought Mary was dating Sol Castle. Bloody hell, you move fast Oconee.'

Although Tim spoke beneath his breath, he couldn't help laughing louder to himself. Wonder heard him but glazed over the remark, biding it for later.

'In both Matthew's and Luke's gospels we discover Jesus' parents' were Mary and Joseph. Both gospels also tell us Mary was engaged but not officially married to Joseph when she fell pregnant.'

Rosetti Duocorn raised her hand.

'Sir, why use the expression "fell" pregnant. It always makes it sound like an illness when actually it's supposed to be one of the most delightful moments of a woman's life.'

The class turned to look at Rosetti. Like everyone in the upper-sixth Danny had heard the rumours she was having a relationship with a twenty-six year old mechanic outside Amberleigh. Danny saw her flirting with an older guy outside Plunket's' gates a few weeks back but thought nothing of it. It was so difficult to keep track of all the flitting relationships these days. However he also knew via Amanita that some girls had been gossiping about Rosetti putting on weight. With her twin sister Emily constantly around it was so easy to spot any differences in their outward appearances. This intervention would definitely not help quell the rumours.

Wonder gazed back at Rosetti.

'That is a good point Rosetti. Perhaps it is a vestige of the sexist language religion has accidentally created around female procreation.'

'Sir, if you please: "accidentally"? And when you say female procreation, what other kind is there?' Rosetti asked politely though her eyes blazed.

Wonder smiled, not cruelly. More to himself.

'Rosetti. When Mary became pregnant it almost _was_ like falling. It was not intentional as you know, because there had been no intention. She was still a virgin. In the eyes of society at the time to be pregnant outside of wedlock was like a falling. I would defend my use of the term there on that basis. I do not believe all religion deliberately attempted to demean women throughout its history. Of course, there have been some within the Church with conservative agendas. But I think it's wrong to say the whole Church deliberately intended to malign women. It's not a conspiracy Rosetti.'

Rosetti began to speak again but Wonder cut her off with his hand.

'...and just to finish Rosetti, when we talk about female procreation you are correct in implying that without women there can be no procreation. But there is a distinct role females must enact in procreation. It is that role to which I was referring when using the term. It also true that there can be no procreation without men either.'

'Apart from in Mary's case, sir,' came back the swift riposte.

Wonder smiled.

'Hands up how many of you buy it? How many of you believe Mary conceived a child without intercourse?'

The class looked surprised at this sudden opening of the debate to them, the question unleashed on them from nowhere. Wonder often liked to spring pop quiz questions on his students to energise his lessons. A few hands rose in the air. Danny's remained by his side. Amanita's fingers fluttered in the dusty air, almost as if she couldn't decide whether to keep it down in concert with what Danny knew were her own beliefs, or raise it to quell the risk of offending Wonder. But to both Amanita's and Danny's surprise, Tim's hand was the highest, his arm held straight like an arrow.

'So Tim, you are a believer then?' Wonder asked, eyebrow raised.

'Oh yes sir. I am a complete believer. It is entirely possible that Mary conceived without intercourse. I mean, I have seen the photos of Mary, she had the whole angelic thing down to a tee but I would hardly call her a "looker".'

The class gasped, but Wonder merely smiled as Tim continued.

'There was always artificial insemination, wasn't there sir? I mean I know science and technology hadn't developed that much back then but I reckon Mary was a wily old bird. I reckon she had some in the freezer and...'

Wonder raised a hand for Tim to stop.

'Okay Tim. As entertaining as your theory is, I fear we must move on if we are going to cover any ground today. I do not know what planet you inhabit Gaunt but I do hope there is psychological help available there.'

Tim laughed, more to himself than anyone else.

'As I was saying, both gospels tell us Mary was not married to Joseph when she became pregnant. What becomes pertinent to our discussion are the differences between gospels in how this news is despatched.

'In Matthew's gospel, Joseph is filled with anxiety when he finds out Mary is pregnant. He is so consumed with fear at society's opinion he wants to divorce her. In those days, when two people were engaged they were in a kind of contract, so a bill of divorce would have been necessary. Because Joseph wants to spare any embarrassment for Mary, he wants to break it off quietly rather than humiliate her in public. Before he does so however, Joseph receives a revelation in a dream that the pregnancy is God's work. The angel who delivers this revelation says this unusual birth will fulfil a prophecy by Isaiah that "the virgin will be with child and bear a son, and they shall name him Immanuel, which means 'God with us' ". Calmed by the angel's message, Joseph resolves to continue with the marriage. The gospel confirms the child isn't Joseph's by telling us he didn't have relations with Mary until after Jesus' birth.

'Luke's gospel also says Mary is a virgin when she conceives Jesus. However in his version the angel comes to her in a dream, rather than to Joseph. He tells her of God's plan before the conception. Mary is confused and upset. She doesn't understand how she could be pregnant because she knows she never slept with a man. The angel reassures her it is God's will. Mary finally agrees, saying, "May it be done to me according to your word".

'When addressing the Immaculate Conception we need to consider how much of this information is historical fact. It may be helpful to think of it in these terms: historians call things facts only if they can be proven. The gospel accounts confirm Jesus's parents' names and the mysterious circumstances of his conception. However beyond this it is not really possible to demonstrate the virginal conception and the role of God in Jesus's birth. This doesn't mean these events didn't happen in the way described; it means historians can't prove it. What is more akin to historical fact is Matthew and Luke's intentions to communicate another message through these details. They wanted to explain the unique nature of Jesus's origin. The stories of the virginal conception were the best ways to articulate Jesus was the son of God. Does anybody have any questions?'

Tim sat on his hands and glanced round the classroom. He was ruminating over the broken relationship that could have and probably did occur between Mary and Joseph. It made him think of those moments when Saffelia was lost to him. He wondered if the tides of hurt and grief that washed over him were experienced centuries before by Joseph. The window pane rumbled as the rain slashed against it. It felt like someone secretly entered inside you and decided to rip out your hopes and dreams to replace them with an empty numbness that rapidly embeds its root. Like a fog that threatens to envelop you. Like a snow drift that slowly submerges your soul. Like a flood that has risen inch by inch without you noticing until your head is under water. Like a sun ray or solar flare that warms you before burning.

*

Fuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuck. Fuck. Fuck. Here we are again. Heartache and heartbreak. Pain and shame. Arrival at my destiny, perhaps. To remember what it was to kiss her, to touch her lips with mine, is another tantalising torture. Memory plagues me. I want to rid myself of memory and be just one clean sheet of paper, nothing marked, nothing stained. Like a bed of snow, untouched. Freshly fallen. That is how I feel. Like the leaves that rest on the road in Autumn, waiting for the rain to wash them away, waiting for the sky to strip itself of colour, a spreading numbness that sets in, takes root and bleaches the life from things. I always tell myself to enjoy the moment and not dwell on what could go wrong, what will go wrong. I miss that the pain is coming, ignore it like a fool, shutting off the truth, before it beats down my door. Did she love me? She told me she did but how can I believe that now, after she so casually excommunicates me from her life, from my existence. Will she shut me off from all her friends too? I hate this. The uncertainty, the sudden calamity, that appears from nowhere. From behind a cloud, from behind a silver lining. What is love if it can be so easily disregarded and dismissed like a vicious sun melting winter snow as if it never fell?

*

Louis Foss strode up and down the aisle, dishing out exercise books as if they were free sweets.

'Good. Bad. Poor. Needs more effort,' he muttered as he arrived at the front of classroom with no more books to give out and a lethargic-looking class before him. 'Today class we are going to explore a world war legend.'

Some of the boys in front of him – Flicker, Gaunt, Castle and Shackleton perked up a little, or at least started to show that they at least might have heard Foss.

'It is a love story,' Foss boomed, as a few more students began to make motions that indicated their somnolence was ending. 'A love story that had the courage to tackle the awful circumstances of their time, and will provide a suitable template for those teen lovers in this room to judge yourselves against. As we all have heard, Wilfred Owen wrote an "Anthem for Doomed Youth". Well this is your anthem for doomed love.

'After a hundred years of family discretion, a secret relationship was recently uncovered. Anthony James, a soldier during the First World War wrote dozens of letters and postcards to Joyce Burgess, the girl he loved. As he trained with the 17th Battalion North Yorkshire Regiment he wrote from his training camps. When sent to fight he wrote from the filthy trenches of France. Joyce responded to him with her own tales, and stories of the drudgery of domestic home life during those dark days.

'We have heard of their story because a discovery of these old writings has been found. Over one hundred letters written in the first years of the war were concealed in an old wooden trunk in a Northumberland attic. Whilst they do not reveal any unknown military revelations the letters have offered historians a unique insight in the mental states of soldiers during this great conflict. The letters possess a profound ability to entertain as well as their primary purpose, no doubt to reassure his partner Joyce of his continued existence and instil hope of his return. Anthony expressed his love for Joyce, often in intimate terms, whom he refers to several times as his future wife. Anthony always signed off his letters with the rejoinder:

'Yours for perpetuity, Anthony.

'It's a love story to delight the hardest of hearts. Sadly, Anthony was killed by a shell blast in Belgium in 1917. Joyce's final letter was eventually returned to her, unopened.'

Foss glanced around the classroom and once again saw several of his female students with their mascara smudged, while male students wore silent, stricken looks. He knew his job was done.

*

Professor Azure Pry opened the door to her final upper-sixth A-level Literature class and allowed the students to file in. Amanita clutched her copy of _Romeo and Juliet_ to her chest adoringly. All year they had been moving toward the final climactic scene and Amanita hoped today her two heroes would reach their mononucleotic apotheosis. She sat down at her usual desk and allowed her dog-eared Signet classic copy to drop on the wood with a satisfying soft thud.

'Today class, we will not be studying Shakespeare. Please put away your copies of _Romeo and Juliet_ ,' Pry announced in a weary voice.

Amanita's face fell as suddenly as water reaching the edge of Amberleigh Cascades, the local waterfall. Pry sat at her desk and for a moment became half-hidden behind a pile of books. The pile rose into the air almost supernaturally. Soon Pry's silver hair emerged above the pile like the lining of an ominous cloud as she carried them to the first aisle of desks. She began handing them out to students.

'I would like to introduce you all to one of my favourite authors, and my most favourite novel,' Pry passed a copy to Emily Duocorn, who exclaimed with delight at seeing the title. The photo on the front cover bore a sight of plain countryside but lit by a singular phenomenon that arced and illuminated the sky. 'You may keep these copies. This is my gift to each and every one of you, as you embark on the next stage of your educational lives away from Amberleigh.'

Danny gazed down at the pristine paperback in his hands. The creamy smell of fresh print rose to his nose. It smelt gorgeous, like a newly born babe ready to enter a world of new adventures and hidden joy. He caressed the trimmed edges of the pages with his finger as delicately as if he were seducing it; it felt divine fetishing the delight of a fresh new book. He'd never read this author before. Once again the familiar thrill of discovery coursed through his mind.

'As well as being a examination of the social mores of the time, Lawrence introduces the reader, many for the first time, to desire shared by two women.'

The sentence hung in the air like a threadbare rope catching fire. Like a match at the moment of striking Pry punctuated the silent atmosphere with glances at her students. She tried to read their expressions as if they were the pages of Lawrence's masterpiece. This was the bit of teaching she most loved: reaching children at the moment their minds were activated, and began to race. A few boys started flicking through, probably trying to find the dirty bits.

Danny sat still, staring at the luminescent cover, wondering if the story contained within the thin pieces of card could do any kind of justice to the tremulous shot of fire Sandi and Cherry had injected into Amberleigh.

*

It was on Amberleigh beach that Danny found Cherry. Alone and silently sobbing, her soul seemed to shine like glitter under the grey sun. It seemed to dim and ebb like the transient reflections on the eddying tide. He placed his hand on her bare shoulder tentatively, as if she were a wounded animal who might strike back at any second. Her skin felt like parchment. He was reminded of Pry's gift, and how it had felt between his fingers. Hunched, she twisted her head to identify her friend. Mahogany locks fell away from blemishless ivory skin. As her pupils absorbed him Danny gazed into the richness of her charred eyes.

'Are you okay honey?' Danny whispered.

Cherry nodded, mascara stains marking her cheeks temporarily.

'It was just...it could have been so good between us. You know?'

Danny gazed into her face, drinking in every millimetre of skin like it were a precious drug. Not to be spoilt or wasted. Though Danny knew she wielded the latent spice within, that often made her soul burst and conduct her fiery temper, she appeared too vulnerable and diminished to deploy it now. He'd never seen her like this nor ventured this close to her face for this long before. He moved a finger to her cheek, expecting her to pull away. Her skin was warm and soft like satin; she allowed him to wipe away the stains.

'What is love really all about Danny?' she whispered, her voice squeaking and choking. 'It comes into our lives like an intruder, unsolicited, unwelcome and takes over. Every. Fucking. Thing. And we dwell in it. We indulge in it like it's going to stick around for eternity. But it doesn't, does it Danny? It leaves just as quickly as it arrives. It takes what it needs from our lives and then buggers off into the night, leaving us as empty as broken shells on a beach full of the detritus of other broken souls.'

Her lyrical tongue finished with a final flourish of desperation. She burrowed her chin into Danny's chest and slung her limp arm around his shoulders.

'Hold me Danny. Hold me like you held her. Give to me what you gave to her. It's the only thing I don't know about her. I want to know everything. I want to know and to be everything about her and I want to...be her.'

Heart beating like an electric pulse Danny did not know if he could do it to the two girls. To come between them or to come and join them. What was the answer? Her short body trembled. As he nestled his face into her warm brown hair he smelt what Sandi must have smelt that first time. Hazelnuts and coffee, chocolate and chewing gum. She was an enticing bundle of craven love. He thought back to those times when she punished him with Richey in the club. Did she know? She must've known. Did she do it deliberately? Was she manipulating him even now? For once the thoughts were secondary; they didn't matter in the moment. She felt so good between his fingers. That was the cold simple truth. Living sensation overtook deathly thought. He was a man, and she was succumbing.

'Cherry. I can't give you everything. It wouldn't be right.'

Cherry didn't say anything but lifted her chin up so she could place her eyes opposite his, and breathe on his face from a centimetre's distance. She held it there, breathing her soft cherry breath slowly in his mouth. She tasted of salt and grease and sex. Her lips, thinner than Sandi's, wrapped themselves around his upper lip, tugging and teasing and biting and sucking. Like a sea moving in and out on the shore. Like a tide turning and twisting away into the thing that hurts it. Like the flicker of a tiny flame, burning steadily beneath the scorched sand.

*

The Crushing Force of Choice

Tim climbed to the battlements atop Amberleigh Castle. He wished to watch the sun set one final time before his dramatic performance as Romeo. It had not been easy reaching the solitude of the crenellated roof. He only discovered the route after Wonder took pity on his first night nerves and roughly pushed a key in his palm. After giving a few rough directions he had told him to go up there and sort himself out. Tim had smiled weakly and failed to offer the obvious humourous reply Wonder's clumsy words invited. Also into his hand he thrust a small bottle, which Tim had clutched all the way up. He had wondered for the entire climb what it contained. He was just about to throw the contents down his neck when a familiar voice spoke behind him.

'Don't drink it all at once, you don't want to get drunk too quickly.'

Tim swung on his axis to see Amanita sitting at the other end of the battlements.

'What the fuck are you doing here?' Tim shouted in shock.

Amanita wore a pretty dress with purple flowers that showed off the arcs of her curvy figure. She strode towards him calmly.

'I've been coming up here all year. Wonder gave me a key ages ago but I never bothered to come until all the stress of this year gave me need for a better escape than the press room. I guess you're here because of stress too?' Amanita pulled out a pack of Lucky Strikes and lit one, extending the pack to Tim.

'Want one?' she said, cigarette wedged between her teeth. Thin spirals of smoke rose slowly into the summer air.

'No, I don't smoke,' Tim said, 'You know I don't. And neither do you.'

'It's an emergency pack,' Amanita said, clasping the filter between her fingers and drawing heavily. 'I've smoked ten cigarettes in the last three years, I don't think one more will kill me.'

'Oh,' Tim said, instantly forgetting Amanita and remembering he still had to perform in front of a room full of Amberleigh's judgemental parents this evening.

'Do you think it makes me look sexy?' Amanita asked.

'No?!' Tim shouted, almost too quickly.

Amanita smiled.

'Looking forward to it then? Your big moment with Saffelia? Should be lots of fun,' Amanita said, perching herself on the same stone bench Tim was seated upon, and blowing smoke over the battlements towards the sea.

'No. It's going to be hell. I hate acting. You know I do.'

'Why the hell did you volunteer for it then, you fool!' Amanita laughed back, not unkindly placing her non-cigarette laden hand on his.

'Because I love her Am,' Tim replied simply.

Amanita gently removed her hand. They gazed out at the sun. As its circumference merged with the dark ocean it forced salmon-rose scarlets, pale pinks and scorched violets to glimmer on the horizon.

*

Danny placed his hand beneath her jeans, round the frilly hem and into her knickers.

'Are you sure about this,' he mumbled between kisses. He was speaking more to himself than Cherry. She didn't hear him anyway; she was too busy tugging on his earlobe with her canines.

'Do you like it, do you like it?' she whispered over and over again ruthlessly, like the insistent hook of an addictive pop tune. Danny couldn't stop himself. This was Cherry Trove and she was loosening his belt. This was Cherry Trove and she was unbuckling his jeans. This was Cherry Trove and...oh, she was slipping her hand inside his pants. She gripped; he let out a tumultuous lingering sigh. It was too much. Wetness dissipated between her fingers.

'I guess you do like it,' Cherry said in a disappointed voice.

Danny lay back and gazed at the heavens. The edge of the battlements of Amberleigh Castle formed a crisp silhouette against the darkening canvas. He thought he could see two figures shadowed against the glowing mauve sky. This was disaster. A betrayal, and then a calamitous miscalculation with someone he had long desired.

'I'm so, so sorry,' Danny tumbled out the words as he blushed. 'I'm so so sorry,' he repeated, hoping repetition would annihilate history.

'It's not the first time I've had it happen to me,' Cherry whispered. 'It's okay Danny. You're just a boy.'

Danny sat up, wounded.

'Just a boy?'

'I didn't mean it like that. Just that...well desire is a simple thing for blokes isn't it? They just undo their trousers and get on with it. Us girls take longer, we like more variety. Interest has to be held, maintained and piqued. It's about our whole bodies, not just one organ.'

'I'll calm down in a minute and we can try again?' Danny said hopefully, desperately trying to retrieve the moment from the ether into which it was rapidly vanishing.

Cherry smiled and reached into her handbag for chewing gum.

'I think we both know that's not going to happen Canterbury.'

*

A gleaming black beamer pulled into Plunket's car park for the evening's entertainment, only to be met by a stream of placard after placard. The simple phrase shone out from shining boards held by aggressive looking youths: 'Jonquil out!'. These were the same youths, now wearing disguise, whom the driver of the car had sought to get arrested earlier in the year. It had been a relatively minor infraction outside Wilfields but they hadn't forgotten their momentary incarceration, and their overwhelming humiliation. Indeed nothing could remove the searing burn that Jonquil Davis inflicted.

The car pulled up and the engine ceased as it became clear a group of three angry looking boys were not going to budge. Jonquil clicked open her car door, prepared to release a self-righteous diatribe to these delinquents. She had not even realised this was her second mistake of the evening. The gap was enough leverage for one balaclaved youth to insert his bicycle pump-turned-crowbar. As the door opened, the evening's summer air, as well all the bile, vitriol and rage of the year fell inside the car. Jonquil was pushed into the passenger seat, squealing with despair for her errant husband. Norman was already inside, too busy chatting up the latest bit of totty – a young classroom assistant newly arrived at Plunket's – to care. Two youths climbed in the back and the third gained the driver's seat. With Jonquil trapped in the car, shouting helplessly against thick, soundproof glass she had insisted upon on in the car showroom, the vengeful youth turned the BMW round and drove off in the opposite direction from whence the car had come.

'We're gonna have some fun with you bitch,' he mumbled as dirt spun from the tyres. A few onlookers stared for a moment at the engine's sudden roar, before returning delightfully to the latest salacious gossip.

*

Deirdre Quinine stood at the front of the stage, while the newly acquired red velvet curtain billowed behind her. She couldn't wait for the night to be over and finished with, much like the entire year. There were murmurings on the school board about the way she'd handled the year's incidents. She had been brimming with ambition and optimism for the role a year ago, but gradually each incident had worn that optimism down. Like three coats of paint gradually being stripped back to its primer she had gone from being a bold lady to a troubled woman. Now people wondered whether what remained would be strong enough. It was only when you were tested that people saw what you were really made of, she reflected. She stood forward, hands clasped together, almost as if she were praying.

'Welcome everyone. I am delighted to welcome you to St Plunket's school for an evening of what I am sure will be compelling entertainment, put on entirely by our energetic sixth-form. All students have worked _remarkably_ hard over the past few months, rehearsing their lines and breathing life into these famous characters. Their dramatic skills have been teased out by the skilful, tenacious Professor Pry.'

At this moment Pry stepped forward from a chair on the front row. She gave an imperceptible bow before nodding to Charlie Shackleton, who stood by the side of stage waiting to draw apart the curtains. Quinine continued.

'Without further ado, let me introduce to you Plunket's own version of a story never with more woe, than of Juliet, and her Romeo!'

The curtains drew back to reveal a backdrop more of devastation than romance. Industrial ruins, broken bottles, tumultuous clouds and bleak skies were streaked on the canvas that hung limply at the back of the stage. Florence Croft walked on, the chorus for the performance. She stood for a couple of moments in complete silence, waiting until the moment when every member of the audience's attention was held in her lucid gaze as she moistened her lips to speak.

'The two hours' traffic of our stage...what here shall miss, our toil shall strive to mend.'

Backstage, Tim was certainly toiling. Mentally regurgitating the lines in his head, he had gone over them more times than he could count. He called to mind a nativity play he had performed when an infant, when he was too young to know nerves. It did not seem so funny or light now as it had then, now he was a gangly teen attempting to learn far more challenging monologues. He told himself he must remember the first line. The first line and the rest would follow. Saffelia would help him he was sure, although another awful thought crossed his mind. He hoped she wouldn't black out. She hadn't blacked out since her mother died but the vague threat always seemed present, lurking under the surface of her bouncy and bubbly exterior. It was more a fear Tim bore than Saffelia. Irrational, he thought. She had been the pillar of strength since those traumatic days two years ago. It was one of the reasons he loved her.

*

'We're going to miss the play you know,' Danny said, realising their romantic interlude was now permanently at an end.

Cherry chewed furiously on her gum. Her eyes darted from Danny to the sea. To the rocks on which Amberleigh Castle stood, and back to Danny again.

'Did you want to see it?' Danny tried again.

Cherry sighed, pushing a cocoa-coloured curl from her forehead.

'I'm not sure Danny, that it's a wise idea for me to go up there tonight.'

'Why?' Danny said without thinking. The use of a dwelling pause on his name prompted him to think deeper. Seafoam bubbled on the sand inches from his feet. Then realisation dawned. 'I don't think she is going to be there Cherry. Plunket's is hardly her favourite place at the moment.'

Cherry sighed, and then pulled herself close to Danny. She leant in for another kiss. Danny summoned all his willpower to pull back. With one arm across his chest he physically restrained any forward motion, much against the throbbing instinct in his jeans.

'No Cherry. I won't be your diversion. Why can't you stay faithful for at least five seconds, eh?'

He blurted it out carelessly, not measuring the full impact his words would have once absorbed. Within moments she was in tears, shaking and throbbing uncontrollably like a wild heartbeat. A shaking snotty wild mess. Danny realised for the first time since he met the sarcasm of the frosty Cherry at a midsummer party two years ago how vulnerable the tiny girl of seemingly steel will actually was. She fell into his arms like a crumpled leaf falling from an autumn tree. Withered and bruised and about to break she buried her sodden hair in his chest, vibrating and shuddering out her own teenage earthquake. Danny fought tears himself. Her sadness was contagious.

'I know Cherry. I know. I know what love is.'

'Do you?' she squeaked between sobs, 'I don't think I ever thought love existed until I met Sandi. I always thought love was an illusion, an excuse older boys use to get girls to have sex with them. Meeting Sandi was like a door opened on new colours. New feelings. New senses. Y'know? Like when you realise your whole life has been sepia-tinged, monochromatically programmed, but a hidden glory of technicolour lives inside and without you, that you never knew until that moment.

'She frightens me Danny. She frightens me so much because this feeling...this love that exists between us...it's completely out of my hands and I'm totally...owned by it. It could crush me if it chose. I have absolutely no control over it. I hate it. I hate the ruthless power love has over me. I wish I could be free. I think...I think that's the reason I went astray. I wanted to prove to myself I was still independent. That I could still exercise a choice away from her. But it crushed me even harder Danny. Love made me feel so small and worthless...but betraying that love felt far, _far_ worse.'

'Betraying yourself, your own instincts is possibly the worst thing you can do in life. Even if those instincts take you somewhere dangerous, unknown, uncertain. To opt for the safe life, to withdraw from testing yourself, to protect your soul in a cocoon – it's unnatural,' Danny murmured back.

She wound her fingers between his, and squeezed them tightly, while she rested her chestnut hair on Danny' shoulder.

*
**  
** Romeo and Juliet

Michael Vitus sat at the back of St Basil's, watching his school perform the second Shakespeare play in four years. He had auditioned for Tybalt, but in the end he was happy to give way to Pigment Marvel. It wasn't nerves that dissuaded him; he wanted to dedicate more time to preparing for the final A-level exams. They would dictate his future away from Amberleigh.

To be honest, he was keen to get out. It was a pretty town, it was his home, but in the past year it had not escaped his attention how parochial it all was. All the concerns the town persisted with, all the miniature crusades that people – parents, teachers and students combined – embarked upon, were just petty ignorances. They had at their heart the sacrosanct belief that Amberleigh was the centre of the universe. It illustrated a lack of imagination, a failure to consider possibilities from outside the town's boundaries, that presumably kept the locals content. It was was an insidious self-serving belief that worked to make the town prosper on its terms. But it was entirely false. Michael knew it wasn't snobbery that made him feel this. It was just a desire to experience truth. When he returned with his degree he knew he would be a more enlightened man and would never, ever believe again the perimeter of his existence was defined by the circumference of Amberleigh town.

The play proceeded well. Tim had made a good start – bold, convincing and dynamic. He had been surprised by both Tim's presence on stage and by the demure vulnerability of Saffelia's performance which, as the play progressed, gradually built its impact on the watchers. Both were unfamiliar, both were elaborated acts and Vitus smiled at watching his friends blossom. But at the end of the day it was just a play, just a show, a mirror or perhaps a lampfire. His group of friends had undergone a real tragedy of their own at the start of the year. Michael recalled all the times he played cricket and tennis and football with Benjamin Sprite. Benjamin would have been brilliant in the play – a great addition to Romeo's gang. That was the chief loss he felt watching Shakespeare's lines unfurl with their traditional horror. It was common to human life but many people chose not to look on it for too long. That was part of Shakespeare's genius, Vitus thought. He made people look on it for longer than they would in real life. He made people consider that this could happen to them. He absorbed them with poetry before shaking them with drama. He made people feel alive, not dead.

The music had been revelatory. Plunket's music teacher, a new arrival at the start of term helped Pry pick a soundtrack both romantic and relevant to the play's modern setting. It bore its distinct west coast vibe nakedly. Plinky plonk keyboards mixed with ethereal washed out beats defined the moods of the play. They created auras, switching between calm and optimistic, sinister and menacing. There had been few vocal performances so far – Janna Chisely had delivered a short verse of Keats to music at the intermission – but Michael heard that there was another song towards the end, that he had been particularly looking forward to.

'Musicians, O musicians, O, an you will have me live, play "Heart's Ease."'

*

Amanita sat towards the back of St Basil's a few rows from Michael Vitus. In her palms rested a flat black electronic device on which she typed with blinkered fury. If she could write the review of the play before it finished she might be able to edit and print the final bonus edition of the _Communiqué_ before classes ended and exams began. It had been an enjoyable if woolly interpretation of Shakespeare's famous play. Tim had done well; a perfect counterpoint to Saffelia's troubled damsel. When they were on stage together Amanita was disappointed to find a magnetic force seemed to bind them together, which she was sure the audience noticed as well. She could tell by the way they had abandoned their interval gossip and their leaning postures, that they were as enchanted as Tim.

The words tumbled out, onto her screen. She was in full flow. One ear and one eye on the action above, and the others blanked out in concentration of her eloquence. A couple of times she accidentally elbowed the parents sitting either side in her manic typing quest. They looked at her curiously but said nothing. However, because silence was now engulfing the hall Amanita could not type with the same rapidity lest she disturb more people around her. The play was approaching the critical moment. Amanita looked up, enraptured by Tim addressing his audience, allowing her luminous tablet to slip back into her open handbag.

"O you, the doors of breath, seal with a righteous kiss

A dateless bargain to engrossing death!"

The scene had been played countless times throughout the centuries and across the globe. Still the audience gasped as Tim withdrew a vial of green liquid from within his robes, pursed his lips, and poured the contents in his mouth.

"Thus with a kiss I die."

Amanita watched as Tim fell to the floor, meeting the sleeping Saffelia with his lips. She was simultaneously horrified and entranced. Here he was: her friend the lanky joker since she couldn't remember, performing a dramatic role in front of a hall of people, and surprising everyone with exceptional subtlety. True there had been a few wobbly moments. One when he had nearly forgot his line, another when he nearly kicked the nurse by accident. But mostly he had lent his effervescent confidence to the role with a hidden panache. She spied Wonder near the front of the hall, watching with the same arrested eyes as the rest of the audience. The motion on stage ceased. Everything fell silent. Then, in the heartstopping moment written four hundred years earlier, Saffelia awoke. Faint music started in the background. With a tremulous but exceedingly pretty voice, Saffelia began to sing:

Hold me dear gilded North Sea

Restless not abhorred

From boy to man though summer's gone

Your love forever stored

Grant thy dreams remain distilled

In waters rich and gold

Let the crows come full willed

You'll kiss me when it's cold

When we wish and wake again

We'll be together laid

Your mask is split, your voice renewed

Through death we end this bitter feud

*

Danny walked up to school alone. Cherry had told him she wanted to be by herself for a while. He supposed he missed most of Tim's performance by now. His best mate would probably kill him, that is if he found out. He could always claim he was somewhere at the back of St Basil's and get the full lowdown off Amanita, whom he was sure would not miss this night for anything.

The summer sun had parched the rocky path of any moisture. As dusk finally fell Danny could barely see where he placed his feet. A couple of times he misplaced his footing. Rocks and stones crumbled away beneath his toes, and he twisted his ankle.

It's funny how things often turn out far from what you expected. Danny always thought this night – the night of the annual school play – was the perfect opportunity for unification. He would be with his two close friends, as they always were when the school came together. Instead he had been seduced by a kiss from Cherry Trove, and left Amanita in the audience while Tim was up on the stage. Was this the way of the future? For their trio permanently divided? He did not dwell on the disturbing thought. Amberleigh Castle's sentinel turrets became visible as Danny peeped over the brow of the path. He could smell that familiar school aroma of disinfectant and cigarette smoke. It hung like a dark cloud over Plunket's.

*

Jonquil's face was slammed into the dirt. Twice she tried to lever herself free but incessant pressure from the lads holding her prevented hopes of escape. What had she done to deserve this, she'd pleaded with her captors. They showed no remorse, instead they just laughed at her. She had no idea where she'd been taken. They had stripped her of her mobile phone, passing through the final gate to complete distress. Here she was totally cut off from the world, her friends, her ingrained influence. Here she was another human soul just like any other, and could not call on the network of carefully cultivated powers to assist her.

Why oh why had she left Norman? Why couldn't she have stayed with him just this one time? She knew it was futile looking back like this. Who was to say she would be taken and attacked in this way? Jonquil had not calculated her actions throughout the year would have brought this rotten crime upon herself. Instead, like most of the self-righteous right wing, she deduced the criminal element was wilder and more unruly than at first feared, and must be met with even tougher action and sanctions. Her fate, which Jonquil adduced to chance, was actually inevitable. Without the curing of her own prejudice, she was destined to end up here: alone, scared, tied and bound. Jonquil's journey travelled so far along the path of 'them and us' it was unthinkable to contemplate they were all in it together, that her connection to other people was not power and money but a common bond of humanity. She remained totally oblivious she was guilty of anything. As one of the lads approached her face, smearing the wet mud with his boot he undid his zipper and reached for the inside of her thousand pound raffetta dress.

*

She wandered across the school park looking for inspiration. Looking for some kind of solace. Here make up had been applied with a wild recklessness. As a result most boys who wolf-whistled from a distance soon withdrew upon closer inspection.

Mercedes Burrill was lost. Tonight was the evening of the school play, she remembered. All those cars parked at the front, she worked through in her hazy mind, were parents come to see and adore their sickening children attempt to enact...who was it? Shapesphere? The bottle of vodka in her left hand swung idly as she sauntered between cars, looking for a bonnet that might make a comfy seat.

She had begun drinking at five that evening but had not stopped. She had now reached that delicious and persuasive point when normal sense and sensibility dangled like pride from the precipice over which wild justified abandon stood like the ruins of Amberleigh Abbey. Poor Sandi, Mercedes reflected. She had suffered this year, just like her. Tis too sweet when in one line two crafts directly meet, she thought. They had always been best friends growing up. At the critical moment of adolescence, Sandi and Mercedes' paths had diverged. Mercedes had fallen out of love while Sandi had fallen in love. Their tragedy was selecting the same family. It was threatening to destroy them all.

'Hey gorgeous,' a boy shouted from across the car park. Mercedes did not own enough sobriety to deflect this boy's advances. As she glanced across at his nearing presence, she saw with horror who it was that had spoken.

'You thought I was gone, didn't you? You thought I was out of the country, didn't you? After getting my family to treat me like an outcast, did you really think I wouldn't come back for revenge?' Razzy said. 'I've been following you all evening. You always were a bad drunk. Funny you should lead me here.'

'Fluck off Razzly,' Mercedes said, aware she was slurring her words.

'That's not very polite, is it?' Razzy continued. 'I mean, we used to be an item you and I. Do you have no sense of history Mercy?' Razzy taunted.

'Fluck off,' she repeated.

Razzy advanced and Mercedes stumbled to get away. She could hear noises and singing from the hall, if only she could get close to the entrance to St Basil's he wouldn't try anything then. She attempted to push her way between two cars but found the gap smaller than she first thought. She was trapped.

'Do you have any idea what I've been through, Mercedes?' Razzy said, his voice turning sinister. 'You've ruined my fucking life bitch.'

'DO YOU THINK MINE HAS BEEN A BED OF FUCKIN ROSES!' Mercedes screamed, hoping someone would hear.

Razzy smiled.

'Why did you go through with it Mercy? Why did you take to the stand, and lie?'

Mercedes looked at him. She could see the deceit in his eyes. How could she ever have trusted this guy?

'You wanted it as much as I did.'

'Fluck off,' she repeated.

'I think you've had enough vodka for one evening,' Razzy said, grabbing her bottle. He took a swig, and Mercedes watched on powerless. Razzy was six foot. Being nearly six foot herself in heels Mercedes could take down most girls in a skirmish but she was afraid of Razzy's strength. It was not wise to take him on in a fight. Running too would be pointless in her condition. She had to attract attention. But the sky was spinning and, despite her heightened state, she was sleepy. It would not be long before she drifted off and Razzy could do what he wished, for a second time.

'Shleave me alone.' Mercedes said. 'You won didn't you? You escaped, you bastard.'

'I didn't escape at all. I've got no life left. Not here anyway. Everyone still thinks I'm guilty, even though I was found innocent.'

'You were found innocent, but you're not are you? I mean, look at you now Razzy. You're threatening a girl who wants you to get away. What kind of guy would do that, if he wasn't a rapist?' Mercedes said, her voice trembling.

'What did you call me?' Razzy whispered, his voice dangerously soft.

'A rapist,' came a voice behind him, and as Razzy turned to see who had been watching he didn't manage forty-five degrees before blunted knuckles met his jaw and he tumbled against the car. Another blow in the ribs sent him doubling over, not able to breathe. Wheezing he glanced up as Mercedes shuffled by him, led away by another's hand.

'If I were you Razzy, I'd get the hell out of here before Lombard arrives with his men to arrest you for assault.' Danny said.

'But...but...'Razzy said, still in shock. 'You assaulted me.'

'And you can prove that can you? You're quite sure Mercy will testify to that are you, given she is the only witness?' Danny finished before walking away from Razzy, Mercedes' hand firmly in his grasp. However Razzy hadn't quite finished, shouting at them as they walked into the night.

'This town's gone to fuck. Fuck all of you – fuck all of you Burrills and fuck all of you Troves too! FUCK YOU BOTH! I'm going where you can't attack me anymore!'

*

Quinine sat in the front row of the play, observing her students as if watching water levels undulate behind a ship porthole. Soon it would be over. Soon another school ordeal would come to an end. With no more dramas it could be on track to at least finish smoothly. With luck she would be able to count this as one success she oversaw this year.

As Johnny Benedict stepped forward to address the audience as the Prince of Verona, Quinine emitted a final sigh. There had been no outburst. No teenage trauma other than the one planned on stage. No insidious interference from the Davis couple. We are nearly there, she thought. Nearly.

'A glooming peace this morning with it brings

Some shall be pardon'd and some punished

For never was a story of more woe.'

Johnny bowed shortly, and the watching parents, teachers and students rose as one, applauding, cheering and wolf-whistling. Several parents patted Quinine on the back and she returned their smiles with relief. Wonder launched into a guitar instrumental while the stage cleared for cast bows. When Saffelia and Tim returned to the stage, the rising cacophony shocked Tim. He whispered into Saffelia's ear: 'I never knew...'

'I know, you were brilliant!' Saffelia beamed at him.

'No I mean, I never knew acting...could give me this feeling. I feel so alive!' he said, in more than a whisper.

A chant arose from the cheering. It seemed the audience were inviting Tim and Saffelia to seal their romance.

'Shall we?' Tim said, a sly grin growing on his face.

Saffelia beamed at him again, her wide mouth rimmed with faded pink greasepaint. For a moment they plunged themselves at each other, and the audience roared.

Anonymously at the back of St Basil's, a short, buxom girl slipped inside. To fit into the crowd she wasn't wearing any make-up. She felt naked without it but needs must. She saw Tim and Saffelia embrace and the audience's enraptured reaction. Louis Foss and Azure Pry cheered along with the rest of them. It was delightful she thought. A poignant counterpoint to what she had already endured, and was still, enduring.

Lombard

Unravelling like a slim thread from a sturdy rope, it was only now Cherry fully appreciated the hidden fragility of relationships. Things that looked robust as oak could disintegrate under the mildest pressure. How could loyalty, that once reliable virtue, prove to be the biggest traitor of them all? Life seemed so smooth, continuous and unalterably flawless at the start of the year. With Sandi in her thin arms she felt the most formidable being on earth. Nothing could destroy her. It would be the last thing she would have believed. That the one falling-in-love experience she would look back on in her life as the sole epiphany that defined her, would turn on her like a treacherous monster.

In retrospect she could see it all flowed too quickly, like the water beneath the caverns that poked and peeped into the headland under Amberleigh Castle, gently eroding away the rock, hidden and unseen. The speed was part of the attraction. The acceleration of realising Sandi could be hers, the hastening of her hand over Sandi's sweet joy, the tightening of her lithe tongue on her tobacco-stained teeth. It was part of the rightness of it all. The truth was love like that could only be experienced at full speed, like a freight train hurtling down the tracks and demanding submission. You could not slow it down, only try to ride with it. And then, when Sandi and Cherry had become one, that was the moment, the epoch of their relationship. Just as Cherry thought it was the beginning, it was actually the beginning of the end.

Family feuds had been part of the Trove's history. Cherry knew from chats with her grandparents of the fiery gene that existed in their blood. It often drove them to ruthless despair. But she had failed. It had been a failure of her own parochial imagination. She would never had imagined a feud could intervene into her own sacred ecstasy and corrupt it, like the froth-boiled lungs of those first world war soldiers. Even when it began to kick off, hope kindled in her heart like a protective shield. She nourished it, even when she was driven to betrayal, even when Sandi had too, hope withered but never completely extinguished. Like the fake flame on the candle sitting atop the cake, it kept reigniting, however faint. Cherry wondered if it was possible Sandi could feel the same. With this fragile hope flickering, she walked home, clinging to it and inviting it to be her saviour, her own Emmanuel.

*

Lombard rapped loudly three times on the door to Dunkinley. Danny let him in. He was alone at home – William and Polly were out shopping. Danny received the call late last night that Lombard wanted to drop by, and was now expecting a difficult conversation.

'I thought I'd give you an update Master Canterbury. I think you are owed that much. You seem to be caught in the middle of this.'

Danny sat them down at the breakfast table with two steaming mugs of tea.

'Thank you Officer. That would be appreciated.'

'There is also a further matter I need to discuss with you.'

'Oh?' Danny said, half-wondering what was coming from Lombard and half wiping the sleep from his eyes.

'I'll get straight to the point. We discovered a range of explosive materials at the Trove's household, namely their shed at the back of their garden.'

Danny told himself to breathe slowly and say nothing.

'Initial tests show... the sample that was discovered at the site of Olive and Benjamin's deaths...we have reason to believe there might be a connection.'

Danny exclaimed, involuntarily, more to himself than Lombard.

'Shit! We were right. We were right all along.'

'I cannot comment further on that matter. The connection is being investigated by a team of specialist forensic scientists who have travelled down from Edinburgh. The Trove's deny all knowledge of the explosive's existence in their shed. It is feasible the explosives were stored there by someone other than the Troves. It is less feasible they knew nothing about it. That would rely on them not entering their shed for some time. The quantity we found was substantial Danny – enough for a significant explosion. Because of this, Scotland Yard are on their way up to help with the investigation.

'However, there is a back entrance to the Trove's garden that offers access to their shed. It is shaded partially beneath the shelter of a thick maple tree – that could be one line of investigation that bears fruit. There is only one room in the Trove's house that provides an accurate line of sight from this entrance to the shed, and that room is currently spare, having been the bedroom of...'

Lombard's voice trailed off, allowing Danny to fill in the gaps where it was obvious.

Danny breathed again slowly, allowing Lombard to volunteer as much as he would independently. Danny had learnt from his days with the _Communiqué_ this was the most effective way of gaining the maximum amount of information. People were keen to talk, and be listened to, and would do so almost endlessly when given the chance, because they were rarely given the space.

'There are...other lines of investigation to pursue as well. There is reason to believe this type of explosive has connections to earlier incidents in Amberleigh. To Olive and Ben's deaths, but also to the attempt to commit a terrorist act on Plunket's three years ago. Whether the Troves are involved or not won't alter the fact that in either scenario there are definitely other parties connected to this. We need to uncover them.'

Lombard stopped to sip his tea. He gazed at Danny, kindly eyes peeping out of his granite expression.

'Are the Trove's free...I mean, are they being held?'

'No, they are not being held. They are currently free but have to advise us if they intend to leave Amberleigh for an extended period of time. We have questioned both Donald and Rosalind. I have to say I believe Donald's version of events thoroughly. Rosalind's account...differed slightly. We do not know if it is nerves or something more. I cannot say more about it. I have told you too much already. But it is important to put you in the picture Danny. You especially.'

'Why me especially,' Danny returned, the last comment piercing him more than anything Lombard told him that morning.

'Because of what you have gone through son. Because of the potential link with Flambeau.'

'Have you seen him?' Danny whispered, not daring to meet Lombard's pitying look.

'No. We have had no sightings of him. But that does not mean he is not around Amberleigh. We know he is a wily fox who unfortunately has shown he can evade us easily. He has financial support, there is no doubt about that, but I believe he operates independently where he can, and travels alone.'

'Not completely alone,' Danny said, 'Has anyone seen Robin?'

'No, there have been no sightings of Robin Vernal either, not since yours last year.'

Danny drank the remainder of his tea. A gentle ray of sun was emerging from behind a cloud, and beginning to break into the breakfast room in which the two men sat. Did Lombard think that he lied, or imagined seeing Robin?

'As I mentioned, there is something else we need to discuss.'

Danny hesitated, about to confess to assaulting Razzy Trove, but again paused to wait to hear what Lombard would say.

'Where were you the night of the play?'

Danny hesitated again. Despite several excuses presenting themselves, he knew the truth would always be the best and, in the long term, less painful option.

'I didn't make it to the play Officer. I was on the beach with a friend for the beginning of it. Then I wandered up to the school hoping to catch the second half, but I...I never made it in time.'

'I see,' Lombard said, withdrawing his notebook. 'Please can I ask what friend you were with. We may need to question them to establish your alibi.'

'Alibi?' Danny asked surprised. 'Alibi for what?'

'We'll get to that Danny. Your friend?'

'It was...' Danny vacillated. He did not know if a reconciliation between Cherry and Sandi was possible but he did not want to damage its chances by showing he and Cherry had been alone together. If word reached Sandi no doubt she and everyone else would put two and two together. 'Officer, please can I ask with whom this information will be shared?'

Lombard smiled.

'For now Danny it won't go anywhere else but me. If there is a crime to be investigated and you are suspected we may have to share it with the investigating team. But I'm pretty sure it won't come to that Danny. I know you pretty well.'

'Then why all the questions then?'

'It's my job Danny. Plus by identifying your friend you won't only be providing an alibi for yourself, but for someone else.'

'You know, don't you?' Danny said.

Lombard said nothing. He shone on Danny a steely gaze he had perfected over years of service.

'It was Cherry.'

'I see,' Lombard said making a note. And what time was that?'

'It was about, erm, not long after the play started. About half seven I think. No later than that anyway, I passed by Amberleigh Post Office and the clock was seven twenty-seven.'

'Then, when you walked to the school, what happened then?'

'I walked up the path, then I...there was an altercation in the playground.'

'I see. Who between?'

Danny wavered again. He would prefer not to have all this come out before he had chance to digest it himself. Plus admitting Razzy's presence in Amberleigh to a police officer may lead to further repercussions the scope and content of which he could not estimate. Still the truth was the only option that presented him with a successful route out of this conversation. The truth and Danny was a relationship he could not see corrupted. The truth was Danny's friend, when everyone else abandoned him.

'Between Mercy Burrill and Razzy Trove, Officer.'

'And did you see anything untoward?'

Danny remained silent.

'I see,' Lombard said again, making a note. 'Those are all my questions for now Danny, you can breathe easy now,' he smiled.

'What's all this about?' Danny asked, his voice higher pitched than normal, even though Lombard was not pressing him further.

'There was a serious assault last night in Amberleigh that the Force believes was committed by students at Plunket's. We are questioning those we know were not present at the play.'

Danny sat back, looked into his empty mug, and wished it was full.

'The victim is now in hospital, in intensive care.'

Danny gulped.

'She may not make it through.'

Danny's eyes widened.

'You have not asked me who it is, Danny.'

Danny gazed out of the window. He did not want to know. He wanted to know his friends were safe, he wanted to have his innocence confirmed. Like any other human being he wanted to be free from harm and danger, but knowing these things...he had had enough of Amberleigh. It was time to get out and get away. There was nothing but trouble here. Pain and drama and grief and endless trouble.

'It was Jonquil Davis, Danny.'

Danny remained still while his blood pressure gushed.

'We know she was disliked around town Danny. We know many students had it in for her because of her actions through the council. I also know Plunket's student body, despite what the Davis' claim, is one of the most honest and law-abiding communities in Amberleigh. I have my own doubts as to whether Plunket's students did this. Nevertheless we have to investigate.

'We have spoken to Mercy and Razzy. Both confirm your story. Razzy also will not be pressing charges against you Danny for striking him.'

'He was attacking Mercy!' Danny exclaimed, before realising he was incriminating himself.

'Would you like us to pursue the altercation further?' Lombard asked calmly, already knowing from years of experience how Danny would respond.

Danny blinked wordlessly and gazed out of the window again.

'Was there anything else Officer? I have things to do today.' Danny finished.

*

The summer fair arrived in Amberleigh bringing with it several stalls of amusement and colour. Candy floss and hot dog stands, dodgems and wurlitzers, decorated in gleaming gloss paint. Sandi strolled down the rain-streaked cobbles in her pink pumps and light blue jeans. Through russet hair she wore a blue ribbon. She enjoyed these infrequent uninterrupted moments when she had time alone to think. She'd spent the past few days alone in her room, revising for her exams and listening to pop music. It had soothed her anguished mind and given her perspective. This was her first time out of the house in a week. Leah and Craig had taken off to spend time with family in the Northumberland countryside for a few days. The pressure had mounted and they needed time to help them deal with their disintegrating relationship. Mercy had spent most of the week round her best friend's place. The peace in the house granted Sandi a serenity she had not known since that light-filled morning last winter, when she first awoke in Cherry's arms.

Despite her exclusion Sandi was being permitted to take the examinations for which she had studied for two years. The school board had met to discuss the issue and agreed, provided Sandi did not attend her final classes she could sit the examinations along with the other students. The board had ruled against Jonquil Davis and her croneys, issuing a statement that it would be a shame to waste the untapped potential of an exceptional student for a misdemeanour occurring toward the tail-end of her studies. They wanted to send out a clear message they were not a one-woman body and, despite the view to the contrary, they held the education of the young as their guiding compass. Sandi felt confident about the examinations. She knew she would be able to secure her place at university. It was just the finances that would inevitably let her down. That discussion had been a fraught one before Leah and Craig had left for Northumbria.

Picking her way along the street towards the police station, to where she was headed, she stopped outside a sticky do-nut stall, and bought a tray of the glazed halos. Lombard would be pleased to partake in them, she was sure. It would make a charming accompaniment to their Saturday morning chat. As she handed over her coins Sandi heard the turbulent North Sea gurgle and whoosh beyond Amberleigh harbour. The sound made her feel safe.

The police station was bustling. Sandi supposed Saturday mornings were a fairly busy time for them, with all the overnight drunks sleeping in their usual cells. The number of homeless in Amberleigh had steadily risen over the past year. Sandi was sure many of them deliberately caused minor crimes in order to find a warm bed for the night, even if it was in a police cell.

She popped the do-nuts down on the counter and asked for Lombard.

'I'll have to take these off you madam. You can't take them with you into the interview room,' the officer behind the counter said.

Sandi looked slightly taken aback, but acquiesced gracefully and passed the large white box to the constable. She hoped the uniforms would not eat them all before Lombard got a chance to taste one. They were all glazed with a delicious toffee coating, the same colour as her caramel hair. She took the remaining seat in the waiting area and, after checking she had a full pack of Marlboro Lights in her handbag, applied a light film of Rimmel's Shocking Pink to her lips and waited.

*

Police Interview

Cherry sat at the empty table with her head in her hands. Now she knew how Razzy must have felt, she thought. To be accused, to be thought guilty, regardless of whether you were, was to have invidious torment thrust upon you without choice. The questions had only just started when the tears began. Then she was afraid that, because she was crying it would indicate unwarranted guilt or involvement on her part. Actually, she only cried because this was the last straw in a year that initially cultivated much hope, only to see it torn apart, ripped to shreds. She still had no real idea of the crime that was committed, but had put enough together to work out that on the night of the play, in some hours for which Cherry could not offer an alibi, Jonquil Davis had been seriously assaulted. It was made clear to her an aggressive police hunt for the perpetrators was underway. Lombard had been explicit to Cherry the force had not made the assumption the perpetrators were male, cutting off another line of hope for Cherry. They had given her ten minutes to compose herself. She was not under arrest, but Lombard indicated unless she could provide a more solid account of her time on the night of the play, an arrest may follow. She had opportunity. She had the motive. And the way Lombard looked at her told Cherry he believed she had means.

The room was deliberately plain. Painted pale grey, a small grated vent in the ceiling allowed a small flow of outside air. The blankness had a soothing, soporific effect. Cherry wiped away her tears and sat up straight in her chair, readying herself for the next round of questions. A few moments later Lombard walked back in with a fellow officer and they seated themselves at the table.

'Is this because I'm a lesbian?' Cherry blurted out. 'Discrimination is against the law you know,' she shouted at the room in desperation. 'Even in the police force.'

Lombard smiled kindly.

'We're not questioning you because of your sexual orientation, Miss Trove. Personally I couldn't care either way. We're questioning you because a crime has been committed and we think you can help us with our enquiries.'

'But how?' Cherry persisted. 'I've told you where I was and what I was doing. I'm not sure how I can help you any more than I have done already.'

Lombard stroked his chin, something he was wont to do when contemplating a witness' veracity.

'Miss Trove, on the night in question, please can I ask if you happened to see or speak with Miss Sandi Burrill?'

Cherry looked puzzled more than offended.

'Why? Has she got something to do with this?'

'Just answer the question please,' said the other officer.

'No. I never saw her. I haven't spoken to her since...I haven't spoken to her. No, I didn't see her.'

Lombard gazed intently into Cherry's eyes. His capacity to detect when a witness was lying to him was legendary within the department but more recently, as he drew closer to retirement he supposed, he became more preoccupied with the human dramas and human sympathies of a situation than the facts. It had been pointed out to him that when he did this more often than not he made an incorrect deduction. Getting the rules of law correct seemed less important as getting the rules of humanity right, as old man time approached.

'Miss Trove, you are under arrest on suspicion of the murder of Jonquil Davis. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not say when questioned something which you later rely on in court.'

The fiery gene ignited.

'MURDER?!! COURT?!!' screamed Cherry. 'WHY THE FUCK AM I GOING TO END UP IN COURT?!! I HAVEN'T DONE ANYTHIN' WRONG!!!'

She belted out her words as if they were a raucous pop song while standing up and pointing menacingly at the pair.

Lombard and the officer stood up in visible readiness to restrain her.

'Apart from fall in love with the wrong girl,' Cherry murmured to herself, seeing the battle was lost. She sat back down, resigned to her fate.

*

Amanita sat behind the steering wheel of the small white Alfa Romeo, and gazed out the window. She stared at the building in front of which many cars were already parked. Amanita wondered who was being held this morning. A student, one of her most reliable sources, texted her late last night with a tip off she would want to be at the station this morning. But she had no pretext, no excuse or even any kind of dialogue with which to approach.

This was the first time she'd ventured out on her own in the car. Mum had let her drive as she was jogging to the gym this morning. It had been several weeks since she passed her test, and almost a year since she first set her fingers on the steering wheel. She liked the feeling of independence it conferred. She loved the roar the engine made but she was permanently afraid of being caught out by another driver. Or worse, being humiliated whilst attempting to reverse park. She eyed the available spaces in the police station car park, and saw no easy chances. 'Fuck it' she thought, and pulled out to park down by the promenade. There were plenty of easier opportunities there and it was worth the two pounds parking charge, she thought. It would only be a short walk from the sea's edge to her destination.

It was breezy as she walked to the pay machine and plastered her sticky ticket on the inside of the windscreen. Her hair blew up behind and she regretted the hour she'd spent that morning trying to mold it into something that looked respectable, if the wind wouldn't treat it with even a little respect. She had pulled out a couple of clod-hopping heels for today's trip. With the police it always paid to look that little bit taller. She entered the station in time to see Lombard escorting Sandi Burrill down to one of the interview rooms. Amanita immediately withdrew her phone and texted Danny.

I'm down at the police station. Sandi is here. Am x

It was sufficiently obscure to pique Danny's interest. Amanita smiled at her own gently manipulative methods.

*

Cherry walked down to the photograph room and held the the serial number in front of her as if it were diseased. They had nothing, she kept telling herself. She had no idea that Jonquil Davis had died, let alone been murdered. The earth was spinning beneath her, it was difficult to hold balance. But some small voice inside kept speaking to her, telling her it was alright. It was alright because she was innocent. They had nothing.

Lombard then showed her into a room where he asked her to wait. Cherry didn't ask for how long. The room had an armchair in the corner and Cherry sank into it and curled up in a ball ready to go to sleep. She was exhausted from the mental effort the inquisition had drawn from her. Lombard locked the door on the way out and went to fetch the other one.

He showed Sandi into the interview room and closed the door behind the second officer. Lombard reached over and turned on the tape recorder, freshly supplied with new tape after Cherry's interview.

'Interview with Miss Sandi Burrill,' Lombard spoke into the recorder.

'This is all very formal, isn't it,' Sandi offered jovially into the blank stares of Lombard and his fellow officer. She hesitated. There was something disturbing in the air.

'What is it?' Sandi finally asked. 'What am I here to discuss?'

'You have no idea?' Lombard asked, with one eyebrow raised. Sandi shook her head. 'In the early hours of this morning, Jonquil Davis, a woman who is known to you I believe...'

Sandi cut Lombard off.

'That evil bitch. Yes she is known to me. What has she done now?'

'This morning Sandi, Jonquil died. She was assaulted on the evening of the St Oliver Plunket's school play. She succumbed to her injuries this morning. We are now treating the case as murder.'

Sandi gulped.

'May I smoke?' she asked, not waiting to hear their reply before reaching into her handbag for a cigarette and lighting it with trembling fingers. She blew smoke upwards into the dusty air of the interview room, and felt the pacifying mildness of nicotine enter her bloodstream.

'Miss Burrill, I am afraid you are a suspect in this investigation. A prime suspect. Please can you tell us what you were doing on the evening of the play?'

'I...er...I'm a suspect? Why?' Sandi said.

'Please – just answer the question Miss Burrill.'

'But Sergeant – you've known me since I was a nipper. You can't possibly think...'

Lombard gazed at her steadily. Sandi straightened up.

'What evidence do you have?' she asked, taking a long draw on her cigarette.

'Please Miss Burrill. Please just answer the question.'

'You know that both my parents are away at the moment. Why, this is tantamount to harassment. Drawing a young girl into your station on a bright Saturday morning. I have better things to be doing with my time than answer pointless questions.'

'No. You really don't,' Lombard said. 'You will be staying here until you can answer our questions satisfactorily, and if you don't we have a right to hold you...'

'TO HOLD ME?' Sandi exclaimed. 'WHAT DO YOU MEAN?'

'I find it surprising Miss Burrill, that since we have informed you of the death of Mrs Davis, you have not asked how or where she died,' Lombard said equably.

*

Danny rolled into the station, still wiping gritty sleep from his eyes, and sat beside Amanita. As usual, she was scribbling furiously in her notebook.

'What the fuck's going on?' he asked. 'Lombard came to see me – someone has assaulted Jonquil Davis.'

'It's worse than that Danny,' Amanita said, not looking up from her notes, 'They're interviewing Cherry and Sandi. I think they have evidence Danny. Lombard wouldn't hold them this long unless he had something to pin on them.'

'They wouldn't. They're not stupid,' Danny said calmly.

'Are you sure Danny?' Amanita asked, finally looking at Danny, and the pain etched on his face.

'Am – you can't possibly think...these are our friends!' Danny exclaimed.

Amanita bit her bottom lip, which she always did when she did not know what to say. Eventually she spoke again.

'She's dead Danny. Jonquil Davis died this morning. Lombard is treating this as murder.'

Danny gazed at her for a moment and then dropped his head to his palms.

'Oh fuck,' he said softly. 'Do they both know...I mean, they're not speaking are they. Do they know they're both being interviewed?'

'I don't know Danny, I only got here to see Sandi being taken down for questioning. I didn't get a chance to speak to her. The whole thing is very odd. I haven't seen Cherry yet. Have you?'

Danny looked guiltily at the floor.

'I haven't seen her since...'

'Since the night of the play...when you snogged her,' Amanita finished for him.

'Nothing happened Am – she was just lonely and scared.'

'Well she's going to be even more lonely and scared if this continues. Norman Davis is likely to press for the harshest charges possible.'

'They wouldn't though,' Danny repeated. 'Sandi would never, she would never lift a finger to hurt another human being.'

'And Cherry?' Amanita said, again maintaining eye contact.

'Well, she is fiery...but no, she would not assault someone.'

'Even if it is someone who had set out to destroy her relationship. Love is a powerful and often destructive emotion, Danny.'

Danny felt annoyed at Amanita's patronising tone. If anyone knew the cliché well out of the two of them, it was him.

'No Amanita. Cherry would not have done this. Someone is trying to frame them. This is terrible. Like Jonquil's last cruel trick from the grave.'

His sentence hung in the dank air of the police station waiting room as the last of the vagrants from last night's exertions was signed out. A strange silence settled over the pair of budding journalists.

'Where's Tim?' Danny asked.

'Where do you think?' Amanita said. 'Probably cosy in bed with his Juliet.'

'Okay, there's no need to be bitter about it,' Danny said mischievously. Amanita ignored the remark. 'What do we do then?'

'There's nothing we can do Danny. We wait.'

*

Lombard escorted Sandi down the narrow corridor to the one remaining vacant cell. She had clammed up completely after the slanging match and needed time to calm down. Lombard thought about letting her go; about letting them both go. He was well aware of the relationship between the two girls. However, the strength of their love was now counting against them; it was providing a motive for the murder of Jonquil. He could not allow either of them to be set free on the evidence he recently received, evidence he would soon have to present to both in order to prompt further answers. The witness had been unshakeable in their conviction on placing both girls with Jonquil on the night in question, and the witness' own alibi had checked out with three independent witnesses. That was enough for Lombard to want to pursue it further, even when it was two young vulnerable girls whom he had known for all of their short lives. Everyone knew he was about to retire from the force but he refused to leave with the blemish of letting another serious crime slip through his fingers. On his own doorstep. Regardless of how close he was to the perpetrators. The accumulating mistakes in recent years would then become his legacy. He wouldn't allow it. The reputation he had gathered over the years as Blind Eye Lombard, a reputation he always felt people deliberately misinterpreted, would stick permanently if he didn't see this one through to the end.

He let Sandi into the cell at the end of the corridor, but not before a shriek from the other end hollowed out the cavities in the ears of Lombard and his assistant officer. They turned to the room where Cherry was being kept and saw her tear-stained face at the window, mouth agape, eyes locked on the back of Sandi's caramel head now turning to see what the commotion was. There was no time at all to prevent Sandi seeing what Cherry had already seen – her ex-lover imprisoned by the local police.

*

A rustling rose from behind the hedge separating the police station car park from the rest of Amberleigh High Street. Danny turned to see out of the dirty window. Cameras, vans and smart suits and expensive hair dos. The press had arrived, and Danny muttered something incomprehensible to Amanita under his breath. She could guess what it was.

'What do those fuckers want?' Danny asked.

'I can tell you exactly what they want Danny. The same thing we want. The truth.'

Amanita had become accustomed to the abuse the press received. She told herself she would have to if she ever wanted to make it as a journalist. She gazed out the window with Danny to see if there was anyone she recognised. Samantha Dew, who Amanita knew had recently interned with _The_ _Guardian_ , now stood at the edge of the car park. Dressed in a ludicrous frilly pink dress, she was blocking the way of any other journalists into the station.

'I have been informed,' Samantha announced in a sickly sweet voice reminiscent of her older deceased sister, 'the police will not be allowing entrance to any journalists and a press conference will be held shortly.'

'Where has she got that shit from?' Danny asked. 'We've been here for two hours and there's been nothing said about any press conference.'

Amanita stood up and began pacing around the perimeter of the waiting room. She drew a few strange but silent looks from the officer at the reception.

'What are you doing Am?' Danny asked.

'If I don't burn off some energy I am going to go out there...'

Her voice stopped, realising where she was.

'Go out there and...?' Danny asked, wondering what Amanita would say.

'Nothing Danny. We are best waiting here. I don't think they'll let Samantha Dewdrops in.'

'Perhaps we should wave to her, to let her know we got here first?' Danny offered, smiling. Amanita smiled back as she gazed back out the window. The sun had started to descend over the ocean.

*

Release

'Why have you got her here?' Cherry demanded.

Sergeant Lombard sat down on the chair in front of Cherry and switched on the tape recorder.

'Interview with Miss Cherry Trove,' he said clearly and slowly. It was just the two of them this time. Lombard told Cherry the other officer had to nip out on an errand. Really Lombard thought they would progress quicker if Cherry was in a less threatening male-dominated environment. Before it was two against one. Now, it was even.

'Tell me about Sandi, Cherry.' Lombard said simply.

'Why?' Cherry demanded again. Her eyes were dry and she was determined to keep it that way. She would not show the police any weakness. Fucking Tory bastards all of them, she thought.

'Sandi is here the same as you Cherry. She is assisting us with our enquiries.'

'You've arrested me. Have you arrested her too?' Cherry said almost sarcastically, but Lombard's silence in response spoke volumes. 'You have?!' Cherry's voice dropped from anger to concern and puzzlement. 'For God's sake man, you've really got it in for women who don't like cock.'

Lombard ignored the vulgarity.

'We have a witness who saw you with both Sandi and Jonquil on the night of the assault,' Lombard presented her with the fact calmly and efficiently.

'LIAR!' screamed Cherry. 'You have no such thing.'

Lombard nodded quietly. 'We do I'm afraid. It doesn't look good for either you or Sandi, Cherry. Unless you speak up and tell us what really happened.'

Cherry's thoughts scrambled. How, why, how could there be a witness to witness what never happened? She and Sandi had not even made it up let alone joined forces to launch a violent and murderous assault on their common enemy. How could Lombard believe it?

'I have already told you where I was and what I was doing,' Cherry said quietly, 'and I can't tell you any more than that, because it's the truth, over and out. Hold me as long as you want Lombard but you won't get any more out of me because there is nothing more for me to give.'

Cherry sat back, arms folded, pointedly looking away from Lombard. She fixed her gaze at the wall.

Lombard pondered his tricky dilemma. He wanted to tell her who the witness was. Doing so might loosen her tongue a bit. But it was strictly against his code of practice and, more tellingly, against his police instincts.

'Have it your way then Miss Trove. You will spend the night in a police cell.'

Lombard got up and motioned for her to follow him back to her cell.

'We will get you some food before long. Is fish and chips okay?'

Cherry nodded sullenly and sank back into the armchair in her cell, which she now found surprisingly comfy.

*

It was starting to grow colder in the waiting room. Danny had nipped out through the back exit for two coffees and was returning back inside when Lombard walked over to the reception area to speak to his colleague. Simultaneously he clocked Danny and Amanita waiting patiently.

'You two still here?' he asked brusquely.

'Apparently so Sergeant,' Amanita said standing up. 'What can you tell us about the investigation into Jonquil Davis' assault?'

'You know Amanita, you're awfully forward for a young girl,' Lombard said, sipping his own mug of steaming coffee, handed to him by his colleague. Amanita blinked, and waited. 'There's nothing we can tell you, and there's nothing those hounds out there are going to get tonight either,' he said.

'Can we quote you on that?' Amanita asked without missing a beat.

Lombard chuckled as he walked back down the corridor towards the interview rooms, sipping his coffee as he went.

'I think it's time to go Danny. I've got revision to do. There's no point stopping if we're not going to get any official comment from Lombard.'

'But what about Cherry and Sandi? We can't just leave them here for the night?'

'I'm afraid Danny that I don't think we've got much choice.'

They collected their things and shuffled out the rear exit, managing to avoid Samantha Dew and her cohorts. Amanita withdrew her smartphone and took a few surreptitious pictures of the press pack and their cameras, which she supposed would make a good front page picture for someone.

*

Lombard glanced at his watch. It was ten o'clock and if he was going to get home before midnight he needed the second and final interview of Sandi Burrill box ticked. He wondered if the town would despise him for his actions this evening. Even though the council and Conservative movement across Amberleigh had gathered traction – the Golden Crown filling with besuited businessmen and mature ladies (dressed as if they were ten years younger) evening after evening was testament to that – there were still a lot who had sympathy with the liberal movement. Particularly, they wanted to see Sandi and Cherry's young plight resolve itself with a happy outcome for both concerned, even if that meant accepting their love. For the local police officer to arrest them both after the tumultuous year in the community could at best be seen as insensitive and worst as persecution. But Lombard knew beneath all those assumptions and counter-assumptions he was following the rule of law, and the law of evidence. The evidence he had was enough to hold them for a night, and he calculated the risk of flight for both of them was high. Lombard was not to about to abandon his duty at this late stage of his career.

He knocked on Sandi's cell, unlocked the door, and opened it.

*

Amanita had gathered the decorations from friends, and from her mum's secret store cupboard. She was determined to welcome both Cherry and Sandi back and try to put right, at least partially, the something that had gone horribly awry through the year. Plus it might give her an exclusive scoop on the interviews, what they had been asked and what they had revealed. Of their innocence she was in no doubt, but their story was uncertain. She knew Lombard could not hold them any longer than he had done already. He would need to either charge them or let them go, and she wanted to give the pair one night to try and bring back those days over the previous summer when the friendship-unit of the final year of Plunket's felt so strong as to be unbreakable.

Tim and Saffelia were helping her. She had hired out Amberleigh Barn and Tim was bringing over the music system. With his hands full with the hi-fi and wires dangling everywhere, a huge pack of cheesy wotsits hung precariously from his mouth. Saffelia rushed up to Amanita and embraced her warmly. Amanita reluctantly permitted her arms to pat Saffelia on the back in mute response.

'Oh Am it's such a beautiful idea! I'm sure they'll love it!' Saffelia said.

'Yeah. They've just got to start speaking to each other first,' Tim added, grunting as he popped the hi-fi down on the table in front of him.

'Oh Tim, I'm sure they will. They love each other really. Nothing can stand in the way of true love can it hun? You and I know that.'

'Yeah,' Tim said, returning Saffelia's glowing face with a sentimental smile of his own.

'Excuse me while I go and barf,' Amanita deadpanned. Tim laughed.

'Who else is coming Am?' he asked.

'Oh the usual gang. Mary, Dawn, Florence, Lorraine, Liam, Sol, Charlie, Johnny.'

'Cool.' Tim said. 'Should be a good night. Have we got enough alcohol?' Tim said, gazing in front of him at the cupboard he knew housed the drinks.

'Everyone's bringing a bottle and I've got six cases of beer to draw on. Fancy one Tim?' Amanita asked throwing him a Budweiser. The lid was off, and as he caught it one third spilled over his neck and down his Ramones t-shirt. Both Saffelia and Amanita laughed in unison.

'I fail to see what is so funny,' Tim said, wiping as much beer from the damp stain on his t-shirt as he could. 'This is a genuine Ramones first print tee. You have just ruined a collector's item Amanita Walmer!' Tim said, prompting more laughter.

'Better your t-shirt than the hi-fi Timothy Gaunt,' Amanita said, taking the wotsits off him and handing them to Saffelia lest Tim eat them all before the others arrived. 'I've got a surprise for you.'

Amanita walked over to the far timbered wall where an old paint-spattered sheet was hanging. With a single flourish she removed the whole sheet, pulling out a couple of nails as she did. What remained on the wall caused both Tim and Saffelia to gasp and step back. The large canvas that was revealed depicted an artistic impression of Olive and Benjamin's faces united in a kiss.

'It was created by Cherry's friend – Robbie. Beautiful isn't it? I'm going to give it to the families after tonight. I thought it'd be a nice reminder. Even though we're all about to embark on our exams and new futures, we haven't forgotten our friends.'

Tim stood there gazing silently at the picture of his old buddy. It was stunning. Robbie had captured something very real about Benjamin – his liveliness and mischief but also a vulnerability. A feeling that made you always want to put your arm around him and look after him. Benjamin was like everyone's kid brother – always larking about, always in need of protection. When Amanita wasn't looking he wiped away small moisture from his left eye. Saffelia on the other hand did not bother to restrain herself. She flung herself at Amanita again, floods of tears pouring from her pink and yellow mascaraed eyes.

*

Danny sat alone in the police waiting room. He had been there since eight o'clock am. A phone call at seven had secured the information he was seeking. Cherry and Sandi were to be released in the morning, the time wasn't specified. He was determined not to miss them. Lombard refused to confirm whether they would be charged, or any other information about the case other than to reassure Danny he would not have taken the action he had done without good cause. He had explained the purpose of an arrest was not just to deprive those arrested of their liberty, albeit temporarily, to teach them a lesson, or to punish them. It was also to protect them, and to ensure that whatever drama, storyline or trauma that had led to the arrest, was also arrested. Danny had sighed with fatigue, as well as early morning somnolence, as he had stumbled out of bed and rushed down town to meet his two friends. Danny gazed at the entrance to the cells, waiting for something to happen.

Five minutes passed before there was some noise and movement from down the corridor. Danny leaned forward. Eventually Lombard walked forward, leading a figure behind him. It was Sandi. She was alone.

'Oh Danny!' she rushed forward, embracing him with more force than he had felt from her before. Even when they had made love. 'Thank you! Thank you for waiting for me!'

Lombard spoke next.

'Remember well what I have said to you Miss Burrill.'

Sandi nodded, and reached into her handbag for her lipstick.

'I must look terrible Danny. Come on, shall we get out of here?'

Danny hesitated and glanced at Lombard, who remained silent.

'What about Cherry?'

Sandi's face hardened and was about to speak, but Lombard saved her the bother.

'Danny. Please can I ask you to escort Miss Burrill home. I think that is the best thing you can do right now.'

Alarm bells ringing in Danny's ears and questions popping to the front of his mind, he hesitated again. Sandi wanted to leave, and Lombard wanted them both to leave too. To assert himself here would take steel.

'I would like to wait for Cherry,' Danny said, eyeballing Lombard as he said it. Sandi sighed, and sat down.

'Danny Canterbury – I must ask you to leave the station now with Miss Burrill. I am not asking you,' came Lombard's reply.

Evaluating his options and eventually concluding the only sensible one was acquiescence, Danny grabbed Sandi's chubby but tender hand and led her out the door of Amberleigh police station. For Sandi it would be the first and last night she would spend in their cells. For Cherry, the future was still uncertain.

'What's the plan Dan?' Sandi asked as soon as they were outside in cool sunshine.

'Amanita's sorted a party for tonight. You're both invited.'

'Danny – Cherry and I are no longer a couple. You know that.'

Danny ignored the remark and continued to hold her hand as they walked down the cobbles. The breeze was up again along the beach. It hit their faces full and fresh, with a hint of foamy spray. He was going to lead her the long way home. It was prettier, and she might tell him more about her ordeal.

'What did Lombard ask you?' Danny said.

'Oh Danny. Isn't it terrible. About Jonquil I mean.' Danny looked surprised.

'Yeah but...she had it in for you and Cherry didn't she.'

Sandi didn't say anything for a moment.

'The death...the death of anyone, is a sad thing, Danny.'

'Sure, sure. But after what she did to you, to Cherry, to this town...' Danny's voice trailed off. He knew he would lose this argument with Sandi. 'What did he ask you?' he tried again. Sandi sighed.

'Oh Danny. Do I have to relive it?'

'No. Not if you don't want to. I just thought...' His voice faded again. Instead of talking more he decided to just listen, and gaze out at the ocean. The sea was swirling and boiling from the wind, with waves bigger than Danny had ever seen. He squeezed Sandi's hand and they strolled on in silence towards her house.

When they reached her home Danny let go of her hand, but held her gaze stiffly.

'You will come tonight, won't you? We're meeting at the Amberleigh Barn.'

'Of course Danny. I'll be there. I wouldn't miss it for the world.' She smiled at him, and kissed him on the cheek, leaving a light film of newly applied lip gloss.

'Bye for now, hun.'

'Goodbye Danny,' Sandi said fatefully.

*

Lovestormy

Tim gyrated across the barn floor with a half-eaten slice of pizza in his right hand and a can of Carling in his left. A rocky anthem from a sisterly trio of American angst-ridden popsters blasted from the stereo. Saffelia was sipping on her glass of rosé, and growing gently tipsy. Liam and Charlie were in the corner, arguing about who would make the most money when they left Plunket's. All the lads had loved the painting Amanita unveiled for them when they arrived. Liam particularly was too choked to say anything. He had just given Amanita a massive thumbs up as Tim had passed him a beer. Amanita went to answer the door, and soon Mary, Lorraine, Dawn and Florence trooped into the barn, now exceedingly crowded. Florence couldn't help brushing up against Charlie, her low cut top revealing pert breasts Charlie had trouble averting his eyes from.

'Hi Florence,' he said.

'Hi Charlie,' Florence winked back, revealing pristine white teeth beneath sticky mauve lips.

A few beanbags were littered in corners. Amanita had draped fairy lights over some of the wooden beams that criss-crossed the barn from the timber walls, as well as the painting of Olive and Benjamin. She had done her best. The atmosphere it created was potent. When Danny and Sandi finally arrived a hush descended over the group. Tim turned the stereo down. Sandi had managed to change into a flowing lime green dress. Everyone was eager to hear about her experience at the police station, and some news on when Cherry might be released. Mary passed Sandi a Budweiser, and between sips she told them more than she had told Danny on the walk home.

'It was awful. I thought I was just going in for a friendly chat with Lombard. I always thought he was a great guy. I even bought do-nuts. When they took them off me I thought something was up, but I wasn't prepared for them arresting me.'

'They arrested you!' screamed Mary.

'Yes of course. Why ever would they have held me in over night if they hadn't?' Sandi replied calmly. 'They arrested me on suspicion of murder of Jonquil Davis. Apparently Lombard had received a phone call that morning to say she had passed away in the early hours from her injuries.

Mary clapped a hand over her mouth in shock.

'Lombard let me go this morning saying they were not charging me but that I could well be called in again and I was not to leave Amberleigh without letting them know.'

Tim shook his head. Amanita was sat behind the rest on a beanbag, furtively trying to make a few notes on the back of a balloon packet. A tear started to well in Sandi's eye. Danny leaned forward and placed Sandi's hand between his, caressing it slowly as he gazed in her eyes. Nobody said another word. They were waiting for Sandi to continue.

'He challenged me on where I was the night of the play. I told him I was at home revising but because Mum and Dad are away, and Mercy was round at a mates, there was no-one who saw me to verify this. Lombard told me there was a witness who had seen both me and Cherry with Jonquil Davis that night. I have no idea who this person is – they are clearly either mistaken or lying. So you see – someone has got in for me, well for me and Cherry. Someone other than Jonquil,' Sandi said, the sobs starting to rain from her bulging eyes thick and fast. Again no-one dared interrupt her monologue.

'I didn't see Cherry, well I didn't speak to her at least. They kept us apart and interviewed us separately. I saw her face from the other cell door. I've never seen a look like that before. Her face was so pale, there was pure terror in her eyes. It was at that point I knew how much trouble we were in. I mean, Lombard has evidence. This witness who says he saw us with Jonquil Davis. I mean, what if this goes to court? What if we, I, get convicted of murder?' Sandi asked the group, fear looming large in her moist and tender eyes.

'That will never happen,' Amanita said. 'We are on your side Sandi. We will never let that happen.'

Sandi smiled at Amanita, and sipped her beer slowly.

'There's one thing I don't fully understand though,' Amanita said, going slowly, and purposefully letting her question hang in the air until she was asked to clarify.

'What?' Sandi said.

'Why they let you go this morning but not Cherry?'

It was the question everyone was thinking but had not dared to ask. Sandi sighed, and dipped into her handbag for her ciggies.

'I'm afraid I cannot help you there Amanita. I have no idea why they have not let Cherry go,' Sandi replied, lighting her Marlboro Light with shaking fingers. Some of the group looked at each other but said nothing. Tim stared straight ahead and Amanita went to the stereo to turn it back up. Danny had two thoughts. One was that Lombard may not have let Cherry go because he suspected her as potentially being more guilty than Sandi. The second thought was something he wasn't prepared to admit to himself yet but as it crystallized he too clapped his hand over his mouth, as if trying to prevent something coming up. Sandi could not have killed Jonquil Davis, Danny was certain. But he wasn't certain about Cherry. Was it possible that she had the potential to murder someone? A deep well of kindness gleamed from within Sandi's soul. It was there in Cherry too, but everybody friends with her knew Cherry possessed something Sandi didn't. Some kind of fire within her. Some desire to change, alter the world around her in a permanent way. Some burning, crusading light that was so dazzling it often threatened to overshadow anything in its way. What exactly was Cherry Trove, after all she had been through and endured? Had she, underneath it all, been driven to become a killer?

*

As the alcohol flowed and the music blasted out the party was a huge success. Amanita sat on one of her beanbags as the group danced and chatted and ate and drank and admired Robbie's painting. Dawn and Liam danced cheek to cheek along to Solomon Burke. Mary and Sol were snuggled in another beanbag whispering to each other. Tim and Saffelia were dancing, Tim wearing the biggest grin on his face Danny had seen all year.

Sat on the last beanbag, Danny was contemplating Robbie's painting of Olive and Benjamin. The brush strokes were staggeringly accurate for a young boy. Although he couldn't communicate in a conventional sense – the need to experience sensation through different means such as art, music, and movement presiding his other impulses – this somehow created a more meaningful form of communication. In some ways this created stronger connections between people in spite of, or perhaps because of, the absence of speech.

Sandi sidled up to Danny, a glass of white wine in her hand, to join him in admiring the painting.

'It's special isn't it,' she said.

'Yeah. I miss them. Both of them.' Danny said. 'I used to play tennis with Benjamin over the summer, and Olive was really kind to me, I've known her ever since I was little. They were both part of Amberleigh, part of the fixtures and fittings around here. Until what happened...happened, I never thought...I thought they'd be around forever. Stupid really, considering...

'Considering what I've been through. I should know better than anyone that forever is not forever. There is no such thing.'

'Oh don't say that Danny. Love is forever, even if people aren't with you any more. If they've moved on, married someone else, died, or got left behind. Life can take away relationships, it can take away people you care for, but it can't destroy the love you feel for them. Love exists forever. It is the purest form of energy,' Sandi said.

'That's really nice Sandi. I wish I could believe it.'

'Please _do_ believe it,' she urged.

'I'm surprised you're being this optimistic, considering what you've been through over the past couple of days.'

'I didn't kill Jonquil Davis, Danny. I know that, and deep down so does Sergeant Lombard. I don't blame him – he is just doing his job.'

'This year would have been so simple if it hadn't have been for that woman eh?' Danny said, sipping his coke.

'If it hadn't have been her it would have been someone else. It's happening all over the country. The right wing never fully go away they just lie in wait for their time to come again, and then unleash their self-righteous hatred on everyone just to show how insecure and inhumane they really are.'

'Funny, you sound a bit like Cherry,' Danny said chuckling. Before he realised it the remark had slipped out. 'I'm sorry – I didn't mean to remind you of her.'

'It's okay Danny, it's okay,' Sandi smiled. 'I did sound a bit like her, didn't I?' 'I loved her Danny. I don't think she's coming back to me.'

'Would you take her back though?' Danny asked.

'Do you know Danny I...' but as Sandi attempted to get up she tripped on a wire of fairy lights which came tumbling down on top of her. With her green dress, and the lights draped round her shoulders, she looked much like a human Christmas tree. She laughed and took a selfie with a pout. Soon the alcohol took over and they were all laughing uncontrollably. Danny grabbed a handful of crisps and attempted to chew them whilst still laughing but ended up coughing and choking and the room erupted into more laughter. Amanita turned the stereo up even more as the Arctic Monkeys blasted from the speakers.

'Oh Amanita, I'm having the best time! Thanks so much for throwing the party!' Sandi gushed, drunkenly embracing Amanita for the tenth time that evening. Amanita stopped in her tracks, for she could see behind Sandi what Sandi could not see. Tim turned the stereo off, and the rest stopped talking as they turned their gazes to the same sight Amanita was fixed on.

'What is it hun?' Sandi said, withdrawing her arms from Amanita's and turning round for the second time in two days to see Cherry's tear-stained face shining back at her. The sudden silence was overwhelming. Sandi's smile vanished. It wasn't just the confrontation of their relationship but the reminder that out there, the police believed they were guilty of a terrible crime. In one instant Sandi had fallen from flying high to sinking to the lowest depth. And yet here she was – her ex-lover – and she looked like she had been crying all evening.

Cherry gasped to prompt her voice into speech but it was with a fast-mobilising composure that Sandi who spoke first.

'Cherry, I have to say to you now words that may sit like fiery daggers in your intellect, but I know they will not puncture the deep compassion you keep like a lake of cool water in your breast.

'Our relationship was always doomed. We were not given even half a chance to demonstrate that our love could overpower this poisoned community. From the start, the evil forces of Conservatism have conspired and consoled and condemned in order to conquer. Divide and conquer – that is the only way this group of pseudo-politicians know how to behave became they were born with an unshakeable sense of entitlement, a born-to-rule and decide mentality that perpetuates the elites and the class system in this country, that starts at the very top – at the palace itself – and filters down through the greed of aristocracy, through the locked middle-classes until this vision, this plan of life, of Britain, of England, our country where we born, where we live, and where we will surely die, reaches us as an alien notion – two girls in love with each other, and threatens us because they know our love is more powerful than their hate. This above all, you have taught me Cherry. Your smiling passion for political theory is merely the tip of the golden iceberg, that burning fire you have ignited in me.

'As for us, and our recalcitrant feelings...'

When Cherry spoke her voice wavered, but she poured her rich brown gaze into Sandi's eyes with every last syllable.

'Sandi, I never meant to hurt you. If I'd known how my actions would have affected you I never would have carried them out. I'm sorry. I've loved you all my life, even before I met you. I think our souls must have been twins in the ether, and when we were made flesh we found each other again. I remember when we shared our first illicit cigarette I knew from that moment my life was about be transformed. Into what I could not say but I knew your presence was earth-shattering, for me. When we slept together the first time it felt like a whole kaleidoscope of feelings and colours and sensations was opened up to me and you were my guide. You were my soul mate. Because I'll never have that experience again with anyone for as long as I live and as long as I love. When you were prepared to speak in public about us it was both the scariest moment and most uplifting moment because it injected me with the confidence to believe in myself. I knew my life would change forever but also that I was strong enough to do it, to make that kind of brave choice, both as an independent woman and with you by my side. You opened up a side of love I'd never seen before. I was so hungry for it, it spilled into all corners of my life, even when you weren't there. I know it's a lame excuse but I think that's why I seduced Dee, because I wanted to keep that feeling alive and also because I needed to check in with myself what I had with you; I wanted to see if what I believed, that no other girl would make me feel like you did, was true and I'm sorry for what it did to our relationship. It was unbearable when I found out about you and Danny, because besides you he's become my best friend. It was then I realised how seriously I'd hurt you and what a mess I've made of our relationship. I'm so so sorry and can only tell you with these things called words because they're the only thing I've got left. Sandi, I love you. My life without you is a grayscale version with the sound turned off. Please, please, please. Take me back. I love you.'

Cherry was breathless. Perspiration sprouted on her brow and rolled down her gleaming cheekbones. The light from above accentuated the water on her naked face. Nobody said a word. It seemed the whole room was holding its breath, waiting for Sandi to speak again. It seemed an eternity before she did anything. Her arms prostrate by her side, her green dress quivering in the gentle draught from the bottom of the garage door, her lips parted with either shock or wonderment. Then she spoke, her voice as tender as a kind mother.

'Cherry, whether I can forgive you or not – I think that is a question for another day. But if you are asking if I love you, well how can you ask that? You know the answer. It always has been and it always will be you, that I am in love with.'

Tears streaked down Cherry's face with relief and disbelief. Sandi stepped forward and placed her finger on each of them, stroking each one away and whispering softly in her ear.

'I love you Cherrybaby. Always.'

As they draped their bare arms round each other's shoulders and drew their faces closer to kiss, Amanita cheered loudly before turning the stereo back on. As Cherry and Sandi fell into an empty beanbag to continue their reunion, snogging and caressing, petting and gazing, the group discreetly returned to their conversations, all wearing satisfied glows on their drunken faces.

*

The World is Wrong

One after one after one. The carriages proceeded slowly, chugging through the station, across the points, along the line. George Pembrooke pulled back the red lever after the last coach left the block. Freight trains scuttled regularly through Amberleigh train station on their way to delivering goods and products to the North of the country and beyond. At sixty-eight, George was coming up to celebrating his fortieth anniversary at being a signalman, and he wanted to reach it before he retired. It was an achievement of which he was hugely proud. He cared not for what others thought of his occupation, indeed his existence being mostly a solitary one he cared very little for interacting with people full stop. However he was acutely aware of the many little pleasures his job afforded him, and over the years had taken more time to revel in them. From his vantage point he could see clearly all the way down the track towards Forradern and in the other direction the sloping town of Amberleigh, from the cobbles of the high street which progressed down towards the sea, to the grim limestone sentinel of Amberleigh Castle which interrupted the horizon as a lighthouse would on protruding headland. Below him stood a clear view of the two platforms, and he could discern where they started and where they ended. It was all visible to George. He prided himself on seeing everything, and he didn't just mean the landscape. The people who frequented Amberleigh station: commuters, tourists, locals, youths on their way to a night out – they were like characters in a novel George was writing in his head. When he saw someone he recognised it was like a little flame ignited somewhere within, and a new chapter began writing

itself.

This morning as usual at eleven he munched on his cheddar and pickle sandwiches with his flask of coffee, and gazed at the trains arriving from the west and leaving to the east. Small single-carriage shuttles, the medium cross-country services that ran all the way over the Pennines towards Manchester. The long multi-coach trains that pulled into the station in a blitz of glamour, announcing their arrival with gleaming red carriages, shiny black engines and loud hisses and whooshes of smoke from their wheels. Their formidable mechanical power rested beneath the passengers, but they also carried impressive precision. They always stopped at exactly the same places on the platform. In his forty years George had seen many trains, but none had ever failed to fascinate him. They were his life.

*

Like a lost puppy yapping aimlessly, the young Sandi Burrill wandered round the dark lanes of Verona searching desperately for her sister. Mercy Burrill, always the source of Sandi's reassurance, safety and security. She loved her sister with an instinct she had been born with. It had only been one wrong turn she'd taken to lose her but it had been enough. She retraced her steps but realised Mercy must have also taken a wrong turn too. Pretty soon they would be several streets from each other with no way of knowing where each other was. Sandi began to cry. There were no people to ask, not that Sandi would know how to start communicating directions in Italian. Their parents Leah and Craig had trusted them. They had trusted Mercy as the protective older sister in the pair to guide Sandi through this diversion, but it had proved a disastrous decision. Sitting with her legs crossed in the middle of the pavement Sandi's tears welled in the crack of a paving slab, creating a small puddle.

Angry shouts rose from a nearby house. The TV was blaring and Sandi could hear a couple arguing in Italian. It was frightening and disconcerting. Being amid a strange place, where aggression could steal her from her family without them knowing. With a bolt of terror she realised she would not find Mercy by sitting and remaining where she was. She tried to think. What would Mercy do, where would Mercy go? Back to the hotel where Mum and Dad were staying. But how on earth would Sandi be able to find it? Here she was in this strange place amongst unmarked streets and no kindness to call on. She could barely remember the name. Hotel Adagio or something similar.

She decided to walk to the end of the street. After a few steps she could see that there was more light at the road's end. As she approached, the sound of the arguing couple faded and she saw the street opened into a piazza where several lights lit up the square. There was also some kind of tall monument in the middle. It was deserted. No people or pigeons.

Suddenly aware of her vulnerability, Sandi gripped tightly to the play-red lipstick her Mom gave her at the start of the holiday, as if it were an emotional crutch. She stopped walking and retreated to the shadows, where she could not be seen. Waiting a few minutes, she caught her breath and tried to tell herself to calm down. She had seen her father do this when he was stressed and wondered if it would work on her. The terror subsided but panic remained liked ice at the base of her stomach. The shivering chill throttled her heart like an alien pulse. She decided to advance into the light.

Approaching the monument at the centre of the piazza, Sandi paused to gaze up at the shaft of light which shone directly into the apex of the stone faces. It was a kiss between two people. A tender kiss. The right arm of one leaned over another, holding the head while the left arm circled the waist. The stone touched and joined, where the lips met. While each person's lips were distinguishable, it was clear the sculptor had carved the two individuals from one block of stone.

He had carved the kiss.

Sandi stepped forward, touching the dress of the one. Then she stepped forward and touched the stone dress of the other. She gazed into the kiss, looking for some kind of meaning. Some kind of map that would take her home. As the yellow light lit the two frozen lovers in Sapphic glory, Sandi saw and felt something she had never before sensed: the erotic purity of innocent beauty.

There was a noise from the other side of the piazza. Sandi peeped her head round the side of the statue and saw Mercy running full pelt towards her. Behind Mercy was Mom and Dad. She was saved.

*

I still have nightmares about it being locked away in that cell with no-one to talk to about it not even Sandi locked away from her physically mentally emotionally spiritually it's the hardest thing I never thought I would find myself here deep down I know Lombard just wants answers he's only doing his job but how can he possibly believe me or Sandi would be involved in a crime so heinous is it because of what happened with Razzy and the rape case or what happened with all that explosive stuff being found in Dad's shed I have to be honest with myself I have not understood a single thing that has happened this year logical truth has abandoned me as Danny would say huh but emotional truth has come crashing through like the sea crashes onto Amberleigh beach that surf pounding and pounding that rhythm all the way through my life all the way since I was the little Trixiecherrybelle for Callum first the wave rises building and building as it gets closer to the shore you wonder when the moment is going to come when it reaches it's highest height and gravity forces it back down onto the sand pounding and beating and licking that rhythm it's the only thing I can rely on anymore I don't understand how I have ended up here witness there was no witness how could there be I was not there someone is lying someone is trying to frame me it wouldn't surprise me if it was Jonquil herself faking her own death to imprison Amberleigh's youths I wouldn't put it past her but this is Lombard he wouldn't be taken in like that oh fuck what if they pin this on me what if I end up in court like Razzy just a family of criminals sent down taking the rap for the town's fucking corrupt Conservatives I would just like to punch all their fucking lights out one by one but I'm only little and I'm only vulnerable and Sandi did understand that once yes she did understand me once yes it was perfect for a time yes I remember that time yes I will never forget the way we were yes when she placed her finger on my lips and leant in and she brushed her lips lightly on my neck firm and pungent with her sticky grease yes it felt like very very very yes and the water was dripping from the bathroom tap while she bent me double over the bath with her face buried in my fur and yes I remember the way she screamed out when I did the same to her yes that is my truth it doesn't matter what they do to me yes it doesn't matter what becomes of me yes they will never be able to take those moments from me yes nor the truth it represented she did love me once yes she did yes she fucking did yes and that will keep me warm forever it will yes I said it will

*

Slim ravishers. Shapeley phosphorescence. Steamy wetness oozing out of the gold canister. I love my lipsticks. The full range. Maybelline L'Oréal Yves Saint Laurent Clinique Rimmel. Red cream. Purple cream. Mauve cream. Tangerine cream. Cerise cream. Violet cream. Cherry cream. That one is my favourite. Not just because of her. The colour enriches my complexion. Makes my lips seem more pouty than they are. It's the darkness, the metallic sheen, makes me look hard. Especially when I wear the black leather jacket and the plunging red top Cherry bought me that makes my breasts bounce. And the purple bra to give additional lift. Makes boys think they can't handle me. Sometimes I squeeze them late at night. Sometimes I rub my wet finger over the nipples to make them hard. Dreaming of creamy Cherry. The girl not the lipstick. In my dreams she is permanent resident.

Those days have gone now. It's all collapsed into a sinkhole. You never think the ground will crumble beneath your feet. Dreams replaced with despair. Lust replaced with reimagined love. Stability replaced with rollercoaster uncertainty. Plans replaced with glorious disaster. Where will we go now? Arrested for the murder of an Amberleigh resident. Will this stain be on us forever? Is there a path out of this nightmare that keeps us together?

Verona keeps calling to me in my dreams. Those days when I was little and didn't understand much about the world. Those days were happy and unrestrained and free. It seems to me the older we get the less free and the more trapped we become. Trapped by the poisonous opinions of our enemies, and our friends and our families. Entombed by expectations. Confined by convention. Wedged by conformity. Imprisoned by the law. Incarcerated by our own fears. Locked away by words. Verona. Sometime, someday – somehow, I'll return.

Does love always mean despair? That marriage vow, until death us do part. Separation then is always on the cards, it is an inevitability. Every union must disintegrate eventually. No-one can escape. Each alive alive-o on this planet – the only known planet with life – dies by itself. Is there any way out of this dichotomy? I refuse to tolerate this stain on my character. I don't need to hear others will accept it, I only need to know that I don't believe it. And her. I need to know she doesn't believe it either. It is her, or bust. It's us against the world until the world is wrong. And I am beginning to realise that the world may well be fantastically wrong.

*

Danny was back in dusty St Basil's Hall with an examination paper in front of him. Several ecumenical and theological discussion points awaited in the upcoming three hours. It was just him, the blank sheets of paper and his teeming mind. He recollected the last exams two years previous, when he, Tim and Amanita had the chance to go to a separate college to study for their A-levels. The daily journey would have been longer but it might have exposed them to new experiences and new friends. Really, Danny concluded, it would have been unthinkable. All his friends remained at Plunket's. He had established good relationships with the teachers, especially Pry. And Sandi and Cherry had joined the new sixth-form. Why waste all of that?

Five minutes had elapsed already and he had not yet glanced down at the questions. Instead he gazed around at his friends. This could be the last time they were all together. A few rows in front sat Hazel Brock – lively, diligent and fiercely protective of her best friends Lorraine Carr, Dawn Russett and Mary Oconee. They were all sitting other examinations this morning. It was hard for Danny to imagine those four not patrolling the corridors of Plunket's with their sexy sixth-form swagger in the days to come.

The desk next along from Hazel belonged to Johnny Benedict – close friend of both Liam Flicker and of course, Benjamin Sprite. Danny bowed his head remembering again the school sport's whiz. Benjamin always valued his friends above both his sports activity and his school work. Sol Castle, the chubbier friend of Liam and boyfriend of curly brunette Mary sat behind Johnny. Danny remembered fondly the jokes Sol used to crack in class, especially when a teacher advanced on a student. Breaking the tension was his speciality. His presence among his friends was always felt, most especially when it was absent.

Then right at the front of the hall but on opposite rows from each other sat Amanita and Tim. Danny's best friends, who despite everything – despite all the arguments and incidents, the adventures and dramas – remained there, with him and beside him, for as long as he could remember.

The two desks immediately in front of Danny were occupied by Sandi and Cherry. Thoughts of those two had filled his entire year but now they were nearly at the end. Nearly at the end of their school life. Danny wondered how it would be possible to fill the enormous chasm he would feel when they all departed. It was at this point he turned his attention to the first question, and read it with a wry smile:

Describe the significance of the events leading up to and including the fateful kiss in the Garden of Gethsemane

A kiss. Danny had certainly understood this year what power a kiss could contain. Whether to express love, sexual or platonic, desire, or in this case, betrayal. It remained in Danny's eyes, against popular opinion, the most intimate act one human can convey upon another. Judas and Jesus. Their names were so alike yet their souls a chasm apart. Sandi and Cherry. Was it similar? Betrayal – it seemed a theme Danny should be more familiar with this year than any other but he found it difficult to write a word. Cherry's betrayal of Sandi. Sandi's betrayal of Cherry, with Danny. The betrayal of both Sandi and Cherry by persons as yet unknown. The pain was too fresh, the wounds were too sore. To write about betrayal would be to pour salt into open blood.

Instead he concentrated on the Sanhedrin and the Pharisees and their political discussions prior to Jesus' arrest. It was an intricate and complex situation Danny had taken trouble to meticulously learn and revise rigorously. Now amid the dust and silence of St Basil's he could visualise the whole sequence of events with a diamond clarity. The pen sat poised in his hand ready to write. Before he finally bowed his head and applied it to the blank paper he took one last lingering glance at Cherry and Sandi, both of who were busy scribbling. He hoped they would pass this test.

*

Languourage

Louis Foss patrolled the dusty aisles of St Basil's. An invigilator for the A-level history examination, for which Danny was a candidate, he periodically cast his eye at the large clock above the centre of the stage. Danny couldn't help thinking that instead of modern and renaissance history they could easily focus on the events of the past year in Amberleigh. It would surely provide enough fodder to be written about but, maybe, he smiled to himself as he allowed the thought to be absorbed. Maybe that was just his own, skewed perspective. Instead he faced a question about the Great Fire of London:

Describe the impact at the time, and in historical retrospect of the Great Fire. You must refer to the political, cultural and social issues it created in your answer.

It was the area Danny had focused on least in his revision. There was something about the Great Fire that felt too abstract too him. Too distant. I mean, how could a fire consume a whole city like London? It was unthinkable in modern times, with large steel skyscrapers and the grey permanence of Whitehall. But Danny remembered these were days when technology was nowhere near as fully developed as it was today. Many properties back then were constructed in ways that would exacerbate rather than calm the spread of flames. It must have been awful. To see your friends and neighbours consumed by fire and knowing that your own fate is not far away from sharing the same. It is only a matter of time, Danny thought, his imagination taking hold. Danny knew the examiners were looking for a knowledge of the facts and an understanding of the ramifications – changes – that the Great Fire forged within British society. But those flames rose in his mind's eye. He could not tear his thoughts from what was at the centre. What was at the very heart of fire, in the middle of the blackness. Was there anything more than pure nothingness? In the end did those who die surrender to sweet oblivion with acquiescence? In the end, did the attraction of sublime annihilation tempt victims from their survival instinct? Danny placed his pen on the paper, and began to write steadily.

*

The note was dropped casually into his bag when he wasn't looking. Danny fished it out whilst in the corridor outside St Basil's. The examination had just finished and he was glad of the relief from being away from the question paper, looking forward to some rest at home. He recognised the handwriting immediately and cursed loudly. Amanita wished to meet at the end of the day in the press room. Something about a final issue of the _Communiqué_ for the summer, to report on Jonquil's murder, and to say farewell to the readers before leaving for university.

Danny wasn't sure he could summon enough energy. He was tired after the three hour exam and Amanita's persistence was draining. However, a kernel of curiosity grew by the minute about what she would print. He hated the idea that Amanita and Tim would discuss the issue without him. With a sigh he slung his bag over his shoulder and trudged through the cold corridors and up the stone staircases of Amberleigh Castle. Finally he reached the stretch to Pry's classroom where the entrance to the press room lay.

It was quiet here. Danny was in no rush. He wanted to enjoy the silence for a few moments. The windows here looked out over the whole of Amberleigh and the North Sea. In the distance he saw Dunkinley, peep out behind a couple of houses. It was utterly serene. You wouldn't think a quiet market town on Britain's north east coast could harbour such drama and secrets.

Danny smiled. His impending escape from the town filled him with nothing but excitement and delight. If he made his predicted A-level grades he would be on his way to the University of York to study English and Related Literature. He couldn't wait. There might even be weekends away at Leeds and Durham if Tim and Amanita managed to get into their chosen universities. Amanita had selected double honours in French and Politics and Tim had picked Sociology with the logic it was an easy subject to get into and there were bound to be plenty of fit women studying it. This was not a logic he had shared with Saffelia whom he had told he wanted to make a big contribution to society and studying the science of people was the best way of making a start. She had smiled sweetly until Amanita whispered in her ear something unheard by both Tim and Danny. Saffelia had then pointed threateningly at Tim and said 'I'll be watching you Gaunt.'

Whatever the future held, all their Plunket's days were coming to an end. Somehow, with the events of the past year and the previous three it seemed to Danny it was all ending with a whimper than a bang. It was all fading away, like the dying chords of a cherished pop song or the moment when a favourite film finally fades to black. Danny would miss Amberleigh, but he would not miss the drama. He wanted to be the observer behind the port hole, rather than the one in the dinghy being tossed about by the rough sea, while electrical storms brewed overhead. He thought studying literature would give him the chance to do this. It was time for a change. It was time for a future that did not involve constant reminders of Janna and Chardelia, of Phoebe and Robin. The sun beat down as he stood in the window gazing on the parched town. He smiled again whilst he removed his crimson and purple checked shirt. It left just his white music tee over dark blue jeans. Here, alone in this dusty corridor, euphoria gripped him. He felt alive, free, able to choose his own path. Placing his hand on the stone windowsill he allowed the smooth coolness to run through him as he closed his eyes.

'What are you doing there fella?' Tim shouted, as he sauntered over to the windowsill.

'Oh you know, just reminiscing.'

'About all those happy times you mean,' Tim said. Danny looked at him.

'Yeah those,' Danny said laughing.

'There have been some, haven't there?' Tim asked, before continuing without waiting for a reply. 'I mean that pizza we had last week was lush. And I remember our first curry we had together. There was also that time we nicked a whole box of Dairy Milk from the Roasthouse.'

'Does every happy memory you have involve food?' Danny said, at the almost stick-thin Tim, feeling envious at his ridiculous metabolism. Tim thought for a moment, scratching the faint stubble on his chin.

'Yeah, I think so,' he concluded. 'Hang on, there was that time...'

'Yes?' Danny said.

'Nope...that involved food too.'

They both laughed and walked to the press room where Amanita sat furiously typing at the computer. As usual she did not even bother to look up at the two.

'You're late boys,' she said.

'Oh how I'm gonna miss these happy days Danny boy,' Tim said falling into one of the armchairs, and slinging his bag on the remaining empty bench.

'Boys – we're doing a final issue of the _Communiqué_ for the summer. We have to provide the paper's view on the murder of Jonquil Davis.'

Tim walked round to Amanita, and knelt down so she had no choice but to look directly into his face.

'Am, darling, it's over. We're all leaving Amberleigh this summer for our future. The _Communiqué_ is over hun.'

'We're not leaving Amberleigh until the autumn and the _Communiqué_ will continue when I've left. There is a takeover team already being appointed by Pry. Don't worry boys, our work will never die,' Amanita said calmly. 'Furthermore we have an opportunity to make this the best issue we've ever done. This is the biggest story the town has seen. We can't ignore it.'

Danny sat on the floor with his legs crossed.

'They didn't do it Am, and we don't know who did. We can't make the situation worse for Cherry and Sandi.'

'I don't intend to. The issue will feature editorials from both of them, they can give us statements of their versions of events.'

'Geez Amanita!', Tim cried, 'they've not been cleared by the police yet. Don't you think we ought to wait for that.'

Amanita and Danny gazed at Tim.

'Don't you think they are innocent then?' they asked in unison, and Tim blushed. 'Look Tim, we are closer to the ground than the police. Lombard is doing this one by the book because he's close to retirement, and the Conservative council are monitoring in the shadows. There is nothing stopping us being a free press though.'

'What do you propose we print Am?' Danny said.

Amanita took a deep breath, and sipped from her glass of water before speaking.

'We need to identify who Lombard's witness is. Name and shame them. The police can't do that – confidentiality and data privacy. But we can.'

'But first we need to find out who it is...' Tim said, exasperated.

'And then we need to identify who actually murdered Jonquil, and expose them.'

Tim and Danny looked at Amanita.

'What, exactly are you drinking Amanita?' Tim said.

'Vodka tonic. Want one?' Amanita smiled.

'How are we going to find out who murdered who Jonquil Davis?' Danny said, absentmindedly thinking of all those fellow fresher girls he might chat up at university.

Amanita smiled.

'I have a plan,' she said.

*

His mind full of Amanita's reckless intentions and how they might backfire on her, Danny passed his hand into his bag for the tenth time that morning, just to double-check his set literature text was with him. This morning was his final and most important examination. He didn't want to let himself or Professor Pry down. She had believed in him from the first, even when he had not believed in himself. That moment, four years ago when she pulled him aside in class, and he'd feared she was about to reprimand him for some terrible literary crime. And something unanticipated had dropped from the clouds like a gift from heaven. That rare pleasure – unexpected praise. From that moment he had only wanted to read and write and write and read. The authors who had spoken to him most: Joyce, Shakespeare and Bronte, they devoured his spare time. Countless enjoyable hours spent on his bed with his head resting on his pillow and words floating in front of his eyes as fresh as if they had been written that day. Now was the moment to prove how much he understood. To demonstrate that literature reflected life, and that life's lessons deepen when placed in the context of those writers who have seen it all before, with a critical and penetrating eye.

He knew there would be one question on Shakespeare. He had spent the previous evening rereading the play, exploring the minor characters' narratives and plotlines. It was a habit of Literature examiners, Pry warned them all, to spring a range of questions on minor characters to explore the depth of a student's reading of a play. With that in mind, Danny had refamiliarised himself with Mercutio, Benvolio and the Friars. He had skipped over all the love passages between the two principals, hoping he had already committed to memory their unflinching tragic narrative over the past nine months. It was then with an ironic smile he gazed down at the first question – the first and only question he would require – on the examination paper.

Discuss the methods in which Shakespeare uses language to demonstrate the intensity and depth of Romeo's and Juliet's love for each other.

Of course, Danny thought. The language. It was the language that was key. More key than the characters, the narratives or the plotlines. This was what marked Shakespeare out as genius. Everything else was probably borrowed anyway. The language would reveal the truth over the lies.

The words in that first speech by the Prince: rebellious, brawls, mistempered, partisans. Shakespeare had a way of using poetry to give a word more meaning than its pure definition permitted. The arrangement of words and sounds added emphasis; their stunning beauty pierced understanding like a scythe through corn. Danny moved his pen slowly over the paper, gradually gathering speed as he progressed. All the thoughts of Amanita had vanished as he called to mind phrases and lines that had rung in his mind all year, as he and the rest of his gang witnessed the passion and gravity of Amberleigh's own Juliet and Romeo.

*

**  
** The Beach of Flames

She had hung white ribbons in the window. It looked like an act of surrender. Danny walked up Janna Chisely's driveway, a bottle of Rioja lying heavy in his arms that Danny's father had presented him as a gift for finishing his exams.

It was over. All the examinations were concluded and tonight Janna was throwing a party gathering the whole year – or whoever wanted to come – to celebrate, and say goodbye. Danny's leg twitched involuntarily. He was nervous. He had seldom seen Janna since he last visited her house to request advice. During their meeting, and his reunion with her beautiful pastel bedroom, he'd felt the old spark reignite. It was hopeless he knew but old instincts took time to wear off. Sometimes they never do. At least tonight he would be amongst friends – there would be other people present to distract any possible return to the old days.

Janna was holding an offer to study biology at Oxford Polytechnic, at grades far beneath what Janna was capable of. Once she was gone there would be several hundred miles between them, whether Danny got into York or not. He loved her, in his own twisted way, but any romantic return was impossible. Chardelia always silently interfered, her voice stronger from the grave than it had been in life. Janna was alive because Danny had chosen her, or as he remembered it, because he refused to choose Chardelia.

Inside Sol and Mary prepared snacks in the kitchen, and Dawn and Lorraine danced round the large living room to eighties pop. Hazel was the only one not wearing a smile. Danny knew Hazel was bound to remain in Amberleigh after school. Her predicted grades were not high, and she had not selected any university. She was likely to stay around town and work for her Mum. However, Danny was also aware Hazel had another reason to feel disheartened. Best friend of Olive Spritser, any gathering of their year just highlighted her absence and her death. Most likely Olive would have remained in Amberleigh too. Hazel's loneliness had become even more lonely. Danny walked over, and put an arm around her.

'Hazel, the school year's over – the rest of our lives is about to begin. Let's try and have a good night.'

Normally the feisty and lively one, Hazel this time rested her head on Danny's shoulder and snuggled up against him.

'Just hold me for a bit Danny. Hold me.'

When she walked back into the living room, carrying a plate of cherry and chocolate brownies, Janna's raised eyebrows were not lost on Danny.

The party was in full swing when Sandi and Cherry arrived. Cherry wore a black dress with small floral designs above sheen black tights, and dark cherry red lipstick. Sandi wore satin-red leggings, and a white blouse with a plunging neckline. The effect was transfixing. For a moment the lads could not tear their eyes from Sandi's huge breasts. Her pert nipples protruded through her blouse. Everyone's gaze remained on the pair that evening.

They danced and kissed and grinded and caressed each other. Few words were spoken between the two, it seemed they had achieved an unspoken level of communication. Like destiny, nods and winks were the only transmissions each needed to feel their mutual claim on each other. Amanita tried to wrest Tim from Saffelia for one dance but it was at the unfortunate moment hunger descended, and he went off to scour the kitchen for more brownies, the last of them being eaten over an hour before by a hungry Liam Flicker.

Danny followed him. It was too hot in the lounge. Sandi and Cherry were dancing cheek to cheek, mouth to mouth. Although he was happy they had now found each other again, the residual lust he felt for both as individuals meant he did not want to see Cherry's hips grind up against Sandi's red-clad legs for a second longer than he had to.

'It's been a good year eh Dan?' Tim said, reaching for some pretzels inside Janna's cupboard with no shame.

'It's been eventful. It's not over yet though. Looking forward to results day?'

'Hah! Like fuck, Danny boy, like fuck,' Tim said drunkenly, necking another Budweiser even though his mouth was still full of pretzels.

'What do you make of the whole Jonquil thing?' Danny asked, as he sat himself up on the working surface.

'I think she's dead mate. Good riddance.'

'A bit harsh, don't you think?' Danny said, remembering how despondent Cherry was when Robbie's art gallery had to close, and remembering himself how many happy time they spent in Wilfields before it's transformation into The Golden Crown.

'Nope,' Tim said, finishing his Budweiser and drunkenly smashing it back down on the working surface. Splinters of glass flew off into every direction. Danny leapt off the working surface before a shard reached him. Danny helped him clear the glass away into the bin. Amanita walked in, an unopened and unstamped envelope protruding from her fist. She threw her arms around Tim.

'Time for that dance Timmy boy,' Amanita slurred.

'Careful Am,' Tim said, laughing as he placed his hands on her wide hips and moved her closer to him, 'Saff's only in the bathroom you know,'

'Just one dance, you promised,' Amanita persisted. The faint music of indie rock echoed from the hall: 'We'll not have those usual qualms/let us die in each other's palms...' drifted in from the lounge. Tim silently swayed with Amanita as she gazed into his eyes, smiling wickedly.

'Saff's your friend,' Tim whispered.

'So are you,' she whispered back.

Danny decided to give this moment to Amanita.

'I'm off to get some fresh air. Enjoy your dance,' he said. Amanita winked back, her eyes full on Tim's.

'See if you can catch up with ShandiCheddy,' she slurred, 'said they were going for shmoke. Want to shpeak to them before they leave 'bout something'

'Right,' Danny said, smiling to himself.

Amanita was right. The lounge had been vacated by both Sandi and Cherry. In the corner Danny saw Janna being chatted up by Liam Flicker. It was not the right moment to intervene. He was so tired of relationship drama. Living outside it seemed the best route to take for now. Not being a direct participant, not having to think up replies for questions with hidden emotional agendas and not being the one who ends up disappointed when it all crumbles to dust didn't sound very enticing.

But he knew that it was.

It gave him freedom. It gave him the right to choose how he spent his time, and who with. If he wanted to be alone, he could give himself permission. He didn't have to wear the guilt. If he wanted to take off at a moment's notice, nobody could stop him. It takes strength to be on your own in this world, he thought. For the first time since the beginning of the year, Danny felt stronger than ever.

He strolled from Janna's columned porch. As Amanita predicted, he smelt the familiar aroma of Sandi's tobacco. They were nowhere to be seen. Probably fucking somewhere in the bushes, Danny thought. Still, he resolved to find them. He did not want this night to end with them drifting off, not saying goodbye. This was their celebration night.

Stepping beyond the Chisely's gates and onto Amberleigh's cobbles Danny couldn't help reflecting on Jonquil's death. Who had actually murdered her? Since the death there had been no more news from Lombard. Danny was surprised there had been no public statement of sympathy or bereavement from Norman or the council. Nothing neither from Rosalind Trove. Did anyone know anything? He remembered Laura at the council – the lustful cleaner who knew a couple of secrets. Perhaps she knew something. Perhaps he could try and pay her a visit in the morning. He tossed it over in his mind. Would he be tempted again? Sometimes it is best to let sleeping dogs lie.

Still the questions Amanita had posed persisted in his sparking neurons as he walked down the cobbles, shiny dry in the moon's glare. Who was the witness who saw Sandi and Cherry that night, and if they were lying, why? Did they know something more about Jonquil's death. The whole thing was as confusing as Olive and Ben's death, officially an accident. The lingering questions had faded but not died. The lack of resolution was familiar. It was a fleeting concern to Danny, but it must have felt like a direct threat to Sandi and Cherry. They were still under caution. They were still advised not to leave Amberleigh. They could still face charges. The smell of Sandi's cigarette continued on the light breeze down the street. He was walking slowly towards the ocean. He hoped he found them before he reached the sea.

This was it. The last hurrah before they all left Amberleigh. The breeze changed direction. In the same instant that the familiar aroma died Danny conceived of the pain he would feel with Cherry and Sandi no longer within touching distance. For twelve months they had been his life. They were the life and soul of the party. Sandi's generosity, Cherry's fire, together they fascinated, attracted, stimulated, aroused and enraptured him. Although he knew his life was just beginning, or so everyone around told him, he could not imagine meeting two people with their amount of rampant teenage energy.

It was love – he loved them both.

He had to tell them.

He began running down the cobbles but his trainers kept slipping. He ripped them off his feet and carried them in his hands as he ran. Faster and faster down the street he hurtled, hoping beyond hope he would catch a whiff of Cherry's perfume or Sandi's cigarette before long.

But he smelt neither. As he saw Amberleigh harbour before him he refused to acknowledge the well of foreboding slowly filling the pit of his stomach. Amberleigh beach was just beyond. With blank terror he saw around one hundred yards away what looked like pieces of driftwood arranged neatly in concentric circles.

Further in the distance he watched a tall figure strolling away from the circles towards the cliffs. Away towards the imposing bulk of headland upon which Amberleigh castle stood.

Danny would not have noticed the figure had it not been for the wide-brimmed hat he wore, which peeped out either side of the figure's head, silhouetted against the moonlight. In a moment the figure vanished, and Danny's glance returned to the circle of driftwood. It was a serene scene. Two incongruous pieces of driftwood seemed to be located at the centre. Then one of those pieces of driftwood moved. It was late and the exhaustion from exams was catching up with him. He knew what he had seen, but he was willing to be mistaken. Danny rubbed his eyes, and decided to move closer, to check his failing vision. He jumped over the wall and skinnied down the path along the harbour where all the boats had their moorings. Advancing towards the beach, he began jogging lightly as he went.

When he reached the far wall, the one remaining obstacle to the beach, he breathed in a long and deep breath before this last exertion. The salty air from the sea mixed with a darker, putrid smell. Danny climbed the wall to reach the beach and, as he did his heart filled with hope Sandi and Cherry might be hiding on the other side, ready to pop up and surprise him, or to embrace him and thank him for being their close friend through the year.

Flames, burning as fiercely as the pale moon shone in the star-winking sky rose up from the centre of the beach. At least six feet tall, perhaps higher, the rising devils of heat reached much higher than the wall in place to protect Amberleigh's residents from seasonal flooding. Anyone watching the sea that night on that stretch of wall would have been instantly incinerated. His eyes fixed on the flames, Danny was instantly captivated by their darting motion, by the sprightly nature of their life, and by the blackness of each flame's core. For some reason the sea and wall, each adjacent to his left and right sides seemed to be rushing by Danny at increasing speed. He looked below and was surprised to see the sand beneath his feet performing a similar blurry trick of motion. His legs were a hazy dizziness, like viewing an image through a kaleidoscope – everywhere at once. He realised that he had begun running fast unconsciously. He was running to the cause of the fire, running as recklessly yet as steadfastly constant as he could muster. Instinct had overridden consciousness.

Danny's sluggish brain gradually caught up to comprehend the danger. The horrid implications if Cherry or Sandi were close to the fire. Thee alcohol he'd consumed that evening made his motions clumsy and inefficient, and his thought processes were similarly slow. He was going to save them. He was sure. He would be their hero. This would not happen again. This would not happen to him again.

Ten yards from the circle Danny grinned. Confidence filled his being, it didn't matter if they were unconscious, knocked out by carbon dioxide poisoning or if they were injured. He would drag their breathing bodies away from the fire and back to safety. Inches from their prostrate bodies surging hope burned in his aching limbs.

At that moment scorching sand blew into his eyes. Buckets of sea water washed over him, coating accumulations of caustic salt in his ardent eyes. Although he could not see, he sensed an explosion erupt from the centre of the driftwood.

The noise awoke local residents. They tore from their houses, congregating as close as they could get to the burning fire and black smoke without harming themselves or their curious children. In the distance a siren wailed. But Danny could not hear the explosion, the onlookers or the siren. Face down in the chafing grittiness of Amberleigh's sand, a universe of pain in itself, Danny found he could no longer hear a single thing. Attempting to stand up he found to increasing despair that as well as the loss to his hearing, he could no longer move.

*

Leah and Craig Burrill confirmed to Sergeant Lombard what he had already heard from Rosalind and Donald Trove. That their daughter had not returned home the night after Janna's party. Forensics were still analysing the scene of the massive explosion on Amberleigh beach but Lombard was already able to let both sets of parents know. With a burden of guilt from which he would never recover, he told them. While the terrific force of the eruption made identification of remains impossible, DNA from both girls had been found at the scene.

As he conveyed this news Lombard knew the expressions on their faces would haunt him until his dying day. It was his fault. He was responsible. Living with it would be his punishment. The justice system would not penalise him, his own conscience could exercise far more torture than a distant judge could. It was over for him. Amberleigh had won. The shame he had fought so hard to avoid had come upon him in an obliterating plague. He had succumbed to the simple trap. At the last, he had fatally over-compensated.

*

William Canterbury stood beside Dunstan Blackbuck and Amanita Walmer at the end of Danny Canterbury's hospital bed. It was visiting hours, and both Dunstan and Amanita had asked William if they could visit.

'He's still delirious I'm afraid,' William said. 'Keeps quoting at me "take them from their borrowed graves".'

Amanita looked at Dunstan whose gaze was fixedly on Danny.

'Has he said anything...has he mentioned the name of anyone...'

'No,' William said, shaking his head 'he hasn't talked about him.'

'I see.' Dunstan said finally.

'I don't,' Amanita said. 'What are you two talking about?'

William placed his hand on Amanita's.

'We don't know who is behind this Amanita. It could well be...well he came back last year, didn't he? This is his style after all. He must have something to do with it.'

Amanita reached into her jeans pocket and gently stroked the letter she was carrying. It was a letter she had read with consternation the night of the explosion. The letter she wished she had never read. The letter that gave her a shot in the arm. The letter that had roused her from her alcoholic infatuation with Timothy Gaunt. The letter that unwittingly reasserted her as the true journalistic power in the town.

It was the letter that Cherry Trove had passed to her, before she and Sandi went outside for a smoke.

*

Never

They are trying to place those earphones on me as a last resort to get me to hear again but it is worth NOTHING it is worth NOTHING because I never want to hear another single sound as long as I live _engrossing death unsavoury death sea-sick death the lightning of death has sucked the honey of their breath_ I will forever be haunted my hateful haunting continues oh why oh why oh why didn't I keep them closer _the lean abhorred monster keeps them in the' dark_ there are people by my bedside there is Polly and there is Dad but _how oft at the point of death have they been merry!_ the nurses are pouring something into a vial but it is probably poison I am never going back there never NEVER NEVER NEVER

*

Amanita Walmer

Editor-in-Chief

The Communiqué

The Press Room

St Oliver Plunket's School

Amberleigh Castle,

Amberleigh

Dear Amanita

The events surrounding our arrest for the murder of Jonquil Davis

We wish to place on record a joint statement which gives our final account of the above events.

With regards to the explosive materials found at the Trove's residence, neither of us had any involvement in it's procurement, distribution or concealment at the aforementioned address. We believe the materials were placed there by someone known to the Trove's, who stored the materials for safe-keeping on behalf of someone else until they could be moved or prepared for use. We repeat, neither of us had no involvement whatsoever in those materials' procurement, distribution or concealment at the aforementioned address. We have no evidence to prove this factually but we believe the person who placed these materials at the Trove's residence was Jonquil Davis herself.

The police have presented us with evidence of a witness who saw both of us together on the night of Jonquil Davis' murder. We are unable to identify this witness and the police have not revealed this witness' identity to us. Regardless of this however is the fact that this witness is lying, or otherwise mistaken. We did not see nor speak to nor otherwise communicate in any way with either each other or Jonquil Davis on the night she was murdered.

We believe if the above information is taken on board as true and correct by the authorities, it clears us both of any involvement in the tragic death of Jonquil Davis. By the time this letter is read by the authorities they will realise we have no further reason to lie or deceive. That is all we ask for.

As for Amberleigh, our home and our origin, we wish to make clear the kindly community we were born into has disintegrated into the divided town it has become. Compassion has given way to ignorance. Understanding has been divided, and conquered. Tolerance has been redefined as weakness. These are the values of capitalism, these are the evil forces of Conservatism.

Our love was condemned and allowed no chance. It was destined to be destroyed by those forces in society that decide it is better to appear stronger, than to truly be strong. To be able to accept change is the sign of a strong community and in this, Amberleigh has failed us. At the last it left us with little choice as to our remaining course of action. We only wanted to be together in life. If we are not afforded that chance, we will choose for the next best thing.

Signed by us both

SandiCherry

**  
**_"It is better to burn out and pass boldly into that other world, in the full glory of some passion, than fade and wither dismally."_ **  
**

*

A single butterfly flew past Danny's window. It had been exactly twenty-eight days since the night of scarring. The hospital released him after a few days observation. They had told him his hearing would return, and gradually it did. It was strange. At first his family created indiscernible mumblings around him. It did not bother him not knowing what they were saying. Whatever they could say could not rip away the pain. It was better to remain in the world of silence. Polly communicated with him through sign language, and they drew closer because of their new equality. She started to open up to him about her life, her experiences at school, her friends, and her crush on this cute little deaf boy she knew.

Then everything got louder. Tim had popped round to see him, and told him partially through sign and lip reading that Lombard had resigned from the force – or taken early retirement, whichever way you wanted to look at it. It was when he was in Shox that the music broke through his ears. It was a revelation. Instead of disappointedly stripping away the pleasant mind-numbing sensation he had revelled in the week before, he rediscovered the catharsis he'd forgotten music offered. The regular pang of sadness he experienced of returning to normal in a world no longer normal was a rhythmic drumbeat in his head. Why not add to it?

Today was the day his path out of Amberleigh would be decided. The squirming sensation he awoke with told him, for once, he had had to think about the future not the past. He had an insurance of course, but he had not seriously considered going to Exeter. His mind was fixed on reaching the academic epoch: York. It's excellent teaching reputation in Literature had surpassed Oxford in the rankings. He wanted to escape Amberleigh yes, but the lure of those medieval buildings, those narrow lanes and the winding Ouse like a wandering spirit had made his mind up when it came to decide. Now all he needed was the grades.

Tim was knocking on the door below. He knew Amanita would not be far behind. They had resolved to go along together to pick up their results, although Danny had misgivings. It was an individual performance they were being judged upon, surely it made sense to collect them individually? But they were his friends, and they were friends shortly to depart in different directions. He owed it to them to show solidarity. He feared what was in that envelope. Three simple letters that would decide his destiny.

A breakfast was laid on the table but Danny walked straight past it. Polly signed to him good luck, and William shouted 'Good luck, son,' as he bolted out the front door, terror lurching in his stomach.

'Ready for the first day of the rest of your life?' Tim said as Danny emerged. Even though his hearing had returned, he still pretended not to hear him.

'Didn't Saff want you with her?'

'Nah – she's going with Lorraine, Mary, Hazel – that lot. Fine with me. I get to impress you all with my academic prowess!' Tim grinned.

'How can you be so...cocky?' Danny said.

'Easy. Life is a beach. Doesn't matter where we end up, there's always the same troubles and unpredictabilities round each corner.'

'I think there's more in Amberleigh,' Danny said as they set off for school, for the last time in their lives. 'Where's Am?'

'She's going to meet us on the way. She went out for a morning run.'

'A run?!' Danny said. 'Since when has Amanita being interested in running?'

'I know mate. It's the nerves. You know what's she like. Anything less than straight A's and she's gonna be downing vodkas all day.'

'Where's your insurance?' Danny said, realising that he hadn't asked Tim yet.

'It's er...well, I haven't got one. If I don't get in to Leeds then I'll go through clearing or stay in Amberleigh and do resits.'

'This wouldn't have anything to do with staying a bit longer with Saffelia would it?' Danny said, suspiciously.

'Nah – she's got her own plans mate. I mean we'll still be together, even though we'll be apart. Shit, that sounded a bit naff didn't it? I didn't mean it to be.'

Danny laughed, and put his arm round his old friend.

'It's alright mate, I know you're an old sentimental at heart.'

'I'm not, I'm fucking not!' Tim shouted as they approached Amberleigh Castle and through the rising sea fog a tense looking Amanita materialised, sat on a rock and looking at her feet.

'Okay Am?' Tim asked.

'Oh my God oh my God oh my God. It's here, it's finally here. Oh my God.'

'Cool. Shall we do this? Tim said, eyeing up the snake of students now filing into St Basil's to receive their results. Danny couldn't breathe. Amanita had trouble walking straight so Tim grabbed each of them by the arm and pushed them forward into the hall. A line of teachers stood over menacing looking cardboard boxes, each containing bundles of unopened envelopes.

'Here goes nothing,' Danny said to himself, as he stepped forward into the metaphorical void.

*

Summer rains had swamped the grasses on the long walk to Amberleigh Cascades, the waterfall that ran down by the back of Amberleigh Abbey. Although the clouds had now cleared, rain water from the ferns underfoot kept sloshing into the sides of Danny's trainers, and he remained determined to keep those parts of his socks not already saturated as dry as possible. His destination was a small wooden bench which sat a few yards from the mighty downfall that was Amberleigh Cascades itself. Danny always thought of the Cascades as falling angels. The white spray at speed resembled, to him at least, angels speeding toward the ground, with their wings outstretched and a divine white train flowing behind them.

He had done it. He was going to university. The grades which sat beneath the unopened envelope had hit each one required on the nose to read Literature at York. In English and History he had achieved two Bs but in Religious Studies an A. Jesus had saved him, he thought ironically. He had waited a long time before picking up his envelope, not wanting to spoil his own or friend's delight at their grades. Tim had got two Bs and a C and was on his way to Leeds to read Sociology. Blood draining from her blue face Amanita had fainted as soon as she had placed a palm on the envelope. It was left to Professor Wonder to pass her a glass of water when she came round, along with the news that she had earned three As and was going to read French with Politics at Durham. Amanita had blinked and then thrown her arms around Professor Wonder, a little too keenly for Wonder's liking. Danny smiled.

It was only when three envelopes were left did Danny pick his up. He remembered at the last moment, with a thudding pang of horror, the final two would not be collected. It nearly broke him – the wasted potential, the untapped future of the two girls, never to be experienced, known or shared with him again. With trembling fingers he had cut open the envelope and slid out the single sheet of paper which revealed his results. In the end it was not delight, joy or even relief that consumed him. It was a devastating numbness. A feeling that now he had the results, they didn't matter one jot.

The bench stood before him, sodden and grey. It was, for the first time Danny had ever seen it, occupied. A large bulking figure in a dark blue trench coat sat on the bench, his face gazing at the waterfall.

'Good afternoon Sergeant,' Danny said, careful to wipe away any excess water from the bench before he sat. 'It looks like it might be a pleasant afternoon.'

'Please don't call me that Danny. I'm no longer in the force, and quite rightly too,' Lombard grunted back, before adding, 'Congratulations on your results, I hear you're off to university.'

'Yes that's right officer, I mean sir...' Danny's voice trailed off. He did not know what to call Lombard now he was retired. It did not matter. Lombard turned his attention back to the falling water. For a while neither said anything.

'Will you miss it?' Lombard said after a time. 'Amberleigh, I mean.'

'Oh of course, sir. I mean, it's my home.'

'What? Even after what's happened to you. Even after all the tragedy and the deaths and the blood and the terror.'

Danny shrugged his shoulders.

'That stuff is indeed horrible sir, it haunts me all the time. But I have learned to live with it over the years. Perhaps I have had a rougher time than most, but tell me this sir: which teenager struggling through the ides of adolescence has it easy? None of us take much pleasure in our raging hormones taking over our lives for a few years. Maybe what I have been through has taught me lessons earlier than my friends. I know that control is just an illusion, I know that life is temporary and transient, and I know that even as life becomes more complex, more complicated, and black and white issues become separated into infinite shades of grey – I know there is still good and evil, still love and hate in this world, and it is always better to be on the side of love.'

Lombard nodded.

'Tell me boy, like the rest of the town do you blame me for what happened to those two girls?'

In all the years Danny conversed with Sergeant Lombard, he never knew his voice shake as much as when he asked Danny that question.

'Sir, I don't blame you, and neither does Amberleigh. What you were doing was your job. You had a murder to investigate, and you had evidence. If they had been guilty and you had let them go earlier, you would have a much larger shame on your hands if they had gone out and done it again.'

'But I knew Danny. I knew in my heart they were telling the truth. I knew deep within me they could not kill anyone. Yet I still kept them. And now they're both dead.'

Lombard began sobbing, his great hunched shoulders shuddering and pulsing beneath his blue coat.

Danny didn't know what to say, but he sat closer to the Sergeant and lowered his voice.

'Maybe you saved them. Maybe if you had released them earlier, they would have died earlier. Did you think of that? You protected them in those cells. From the public, from the town and from each other. Maybe some quiet time alone was what they both needed. After their arrest they got back together. Perhaps your actions helped reconcile them to each other. I have never seen them as happy as the night they...they were perfect for each other. While a night in the cells could not have been pleasant maybe it was the jolt they needed to remind them that they still had each other, if they wanted it. All they wanted was each other – they achieved that...in the end.' Danny paused, allowing his words to sink in. 'And sir, I don't think of Sandi and Cherry as dead. Because to me, they're not dead, and they never will be. Never.'

*

Run

Samantha Dew sat varnishing her long nails in an empty booth toward one side of the Golden Crown. She had chosen pink for today, and she found it pleasing the way the shade matched her shoes. From her beige crocodile skin handbag – fake of course – she withdrew a notepad and pen, and a single sheet of paper in readiness.

Although she would never admit it to anyone, least of all to herself, today's drinking companion still intimidated her. She resented not being able to take the editorship from her while at school and, even though she was now going places – _The_ _Independent_ offering her a temporary summer job after _The_ _Guardian_ internship – there was always that bulldog attitude she maintained that made Samantha's efforts to derail her narrative all the more difficult. Neither of them tolerated bullshit, but Samantha was able to hide it a little better, and she felt a slave to her feminine wiles because of it.

Amanita strode over to the booth, hurled her handbag into the corner opposite Samantha and ejected a curt one-word offer.

'Drink?'

Samantha shook her head, still sipping on her orange juice laced with vodka. As Amanita ordered for herself at the bar Samantha calmed herself and mentally braced her demeanour. She remembered her late sister's memory and how Amanita had been one of the trio that caused her downfall, despite the Greek police immediately clearing her. Ahe would not let this little pig-faced trollop dictate the terms of today's interview. Amanita returned.

'I did not think you would want to meet here,' Samantha said, 'I thought the Crown normally frowned on serving Plunket's students.'

Amanita laughed. A cold hard laugh.

'I'm no longer a Plunket's student, remember Samantha? Besides they will never stop me coming here. I've more right to be here than most of the staff. This will always be Wilfields. It's just a matter of time before we get it back.'

'We?'

'Yeah, "We".' Amanita said, knocking back her rum and coke in one confident gulp. She leant forward, slamming her glass down on the table and causing a few concerned looks from the few other drinkers at the bar.

'So? I believe you have some information I would be interested in.'

'Possibly,' Amanita said. 'And you?'

'And I what?'

'Don't play games, you foolish little girl. I'm not here to waste my time.'

Samantha eyeballed her. The rage rose up in her chest, which she puffed out in response. Amanita's bosom was much larger though and she did the same to greater effect.

'There might be something,' Samantha conceded.

'Good. Let's have it.'

'You first.'

Amanita smiled.

'How do I know I can trust you?' Samantha tried.

'You can't Samantha. Nevertheless I will play along with your charade for the moment. If you are interested in the true murderer of Jonquil Davis – this could be your scoop of the century – then I suggest you divert your attention from Cherry Trove and Sandi Burrill.'

'All the evidence pointed to them Amanita. No alibi. A witness placed them both with the victim on the night of the murder. Now I don't know much about police matters, but all that doesn't sound very good to me.'

'They did have alibis, they just weren't very good ones. The witness was lying, as you well know Samantha.'

Samantha swigged her orange juice to the dregs. She could do with another, but she didn't want to leave the table. This was a critical moment.

'I don't know that for a fact.'

'But you do know who the witness is, don't you?' Amanita pushed. Silence from Samantha confirmed it.

'Okay then, tell me what you know about the murderer.'

'I don't have anything solid, but I can give you the scent.'

'Oh please, I hope it's not that God-awful perfume you usually wear,' Samantha said, trying her hand at ironic mockery.

'You know what I mean. And please do not take the Lord's name in vain in my presence.'

She had done it, the bitch. With her patronising demeanour she had humbled her into involuntary respect again. They were going round in circles, Samantha longed for something a little more tangible. Something that could set her off and give her a story to make her name. She realised it could be a trap. The thought had crossed her mind a thousand times since she received Amanita's call. And there was nothing that Amanita would like better than to lure Samantha into a false narrative, one that could imperil her future career. However, Amanita's journalistic desperation for the information Samantha held was genuine. She knew, because she recognised the same desperation in herself.

'What do you have?' she said, leaning forward so Amanita felt the breath Samantha's question was carried on.

'It's a lead. Nothing one hundred percent you understand. But I'm confident in it, and I don't have time to pursue it. Tell me Samantha, have you ever been to the States?'

'No,' Samantha said, starting to worry this would turn into a brow-beating contest.

'Well I have. There are a lot of interesting things over there, especially in the Deep South. If you really want to know the state of things, perhaps you can start there,'

'That's it?' Samantha said.

'That's it.'

'What the fuck are you on about bitch, I mean just what the – ' Samantha stopped, allowing Amanita's sentence to sink in. Amanita sat back, satisfied. For a moment neither of them said anything. 'How did you find out?' Samantha asked quietly.

'A couple of sources. Neither of whom will go on the record, nor who I can reveal. This has implications Samantha, these are my friends. You have to do this responsibly, something I guess you've not had a lot of experience of.'

Samantha sat back, deep in thought. It fitted together, yes, Amanita was talking sense. But getting proof was going to be hard. Confronting the perpetrator would be one way, but it might take some investigative work first. She wanted to start as soon as possible. Samantha reached for her handbag and motioned to leave.

'Er...excuse me Miss Dew, I think you owe me a little more than that.'

'What? You want another drink?'

Amanita crossed her arms, and stood up. In heels Amanita looked as imposing height-wise as she was chest-wise.

'Okay, since we're trading riddles, let me finish with this one. I don't fancy your chances of reaching this witness. It's a very hard nut to crack.'

Amanita walked over to the bar and ordered another drink as Samantha scurried out, busily applying lipstick as she noisily clopped down the cobbles. Amanita was satisfied. Her suspicions had been correct.

*

The tiny chapel was packed. In the absence of coffins and the bodies, two plinths with large framed photos of each girl stood at the front of the altar. Both were completely covered in flowers. Danny, Amanita and Tim had clubbed together to get two bouquets – one for each. For Cherry they had picked a range of scarlet roses and mauve tulips, for Sandi a stunning wreath of white orchids and jasmine lilies. Flowers to suit each personality. The service had been delayed as it had taken time for the police investigation to conclude, but the coroner's verdict of suicide by incendiaries had not been a surprise to anyone. They had motive, opportunity and thanks to Jonquil Davis, the means.

At the front the Troves and the Burrills stood together. Rosalind and Donald both in tears, Leah, Craig and Mercy likewise. Rosalind was comforting Leah as if she were her own sister. Donald placed his hand on Mercy's shoulder, something Danny thought would have been unthinkable months ago, at the height of the court case. They were truly united in grief. They would not have realised it, but Cherry and Sandi's last act on this earth was to finally bring their two families together.

Danny stood between Tim and Amanita. This would be the last time he would see them before he departed for university the following day. He held Amanita's hand, while Tim cradled Saffelia's head in his arm. When the priest walked forward, the same priest who delivered the service for Chardelia, Danny gulped. It was here again, it was happening all over again. The priest's words washed over him as if they were his own.

'Sandi and Cherry left this life with nothing but the gift of love. For their families, for their friends, and for each other. If there is a lesson we should take from their short lives it is that love wins out in the end. It doesn't matter what troubles life throws at you – indeed that is life's very point – our mission is to spread love, wherever we go, whoever we become. Sandi and Cherry exercised this mission to their very last moments. Now, if you will join me in singing their favourite hymn, chosen by both families.' The priest nodded to both Leah and Rosalind, each sobbing deeply into the other's arms, as the chapel organ began.

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide;

the darkness deepens; Lord, with me abide.

When other helpers fail and comforts flee,

Help of the helpless, O abide with me.

Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day;

earth's joys grow dim; its glories pass away;

change and decay in all around I see;

O thou who changest not, abide with me.

I need thy presence every passing hour.

What but thy grace can foil the tempter's power?

Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be?

Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me.

I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless;

ills have no weight, and tears not bitterness.

Where is death's sting? Where, grave, thy victory?

I triumph still, if thou abide with me.

Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes;

shine through the gloom and point me to the skies.

Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee;

in life, in death, O Lord, abide with me.

The hymn was over. With a ruthless flourish the chapel organ finished. It was time. Danny shuffled past Amanita and walked up the aisle, each footstep on the stone floor resounding like a mental thud in his brain. In his trembling hand, a sheet of paper contained words he'd already memorised, rendering the paper unnecessary apart from its use as a prop. He stopped in front of the lectern, over which a microphone angled. He opened his mouth, and hoped a strong voice would come out. When he did speak, he was surprised at the strength and volume of his tenor.

'When I first saw Cherry, dancing prettily across a moonlit garden some three years ago, I knew I wanted to grow to know her more. When Sandi Burrill first introduced herself to me, outside the gates to Plunket's I knew I wanted to become her friend. It has been my privilege to become close friends of both these two...both these two...both...'

It was no use. The blackness was coming. Danny hoped it would come and obliterate him completely this time. The last thing he saw as his knees buckled and he fell to the floor, was William Canterbury striding up the aisle, a father coming to rescue his flailing son. Rosalind and Leah got there at the same time, and all three of them helped him on his feet again, as an unimaginable quantity of tears stained his pale cheeks, dripping loudly on the cold callous stone.

*

George Pembrooke sat on his stool and munched on his cheese sandwich. He had run out of pickle, but it was no matter. He had inserted a substitute gherkin just this once as a treat. The morning had run smoothly, the local shuttles had been in and out at the usual times, and the commuter services had come and gone. The signals were operating well. Last week they had cleaned the points, late at night on a Sunday. It was noticeable how slickly they now operated. There was nowhere near as much inconsequential tugging any more, which was helpful. The arthritis in his elbow joint was not getting any better with the onset of autumn.

There had been a few people he recognised. The regular commuters. A couple had waved to him in his signal box, kindly souls George thought. He felt supremely lucky to have the job he had. An edition of the _Amberleigh Post_ lay on his signal box. George had spent ten minutes completing the crossword; it was particularly fiendish today. Two down had been a especially devilish conundrum. Once he had solved Two across it gave him the capital letter and after that it had been plain sailing. Flicking through the paper he saw the previous week had seen the memorial service for those two girls, tragically killed on the beach at the end of the summer. It had saddened him. He often saw those girls take the train to Forradern, for a trip to the big shopping mall. Time after time he had seen them unfold off the local shuttle with large paper bags, bearing fancy designer labels, always giggling, always laughing, always smiling. It brightened his day to see them. George reached over and turned on the radio, and the programme he had looked forward to listening to – a review of classic fifties songs – was just beginning.

The London express train was pulling into the station, and the points required switching before it exited the platform. George got to work, waiting until the train reached a standstill before pulling the yellow then black lever until they set and clicked into place. From the corner of his eye he saw all the passengers move forward onto the train. It was early. It would be stood in the platform for a few moments longer. Letting it go too soon could mean complaints. Especially if a passenger arrived to board the London train on time and found it already departed. George turned up the radio. They were playing a winning song from 1958.

'I can still recall the year we met, you were young like me

We lived down the road from the salted caramel sea

Radio music was all there was

It provided our soundtrack of loss

The future was unspent

All that mattered was intent'

It was a beautiful nostalgic ballad, reminiscent of his own youth and romances.

'My mates were falling in love across town

One by one they all fell down

Suzie was the girl they took their chance

She never stayed once she'd got romance

Haunting memories, gone forever

Yet their smiles shine like silver

From our postures now, stumbling and dying

I would give me heart to see that girl again.'

Their creative blood, George reflected, second to none. A lovely song, reflective on the golden days of the fifties. Anyhow, back to work. All of the passengers were now on the train. The station guard was running down the platform, checking the doors were shut properly. There were a couple of minutes to go, and George was counting them down on the large Amberleigh station clock which hung at one end of the platform. Once the train had left the station George had to move the points back, ready for the next train to come in.

He gazed at the train as it waited and listened to the song. All the passengers seemed quiet and still beyond the glass. Some were going to sleep, it being three o'clock, that time of day when the blood sugar runs low and siestas tempt.

In one corner he noticed a passenger rest her small raven-haired head onto her companion, a buxom girl, all caramel hair with blonde streaks. He concentrated on this second girl for a moment; he thought she was familiar from somewhere. She turned her head slightly out of the window. For a split-second their eyes met. The girl's brilliant fire engine red lips parted in a flame-shaped pout. As the train rumbled out of the station he could have sworn that this young girl, this fresh teenager, with a captivating and almost tragically pale face – this girl, had blown him a kiss.

'And those days are all gone now

All we have is snatches of favoured tunes

Falling down from speakers like kindly snow

Filling our hearts like balloons

Words and sounds that took us higher

Reigniting those passions

In a once lost fire.'

* * * * *

THE END

COMING SOON

Amanita Walmer  
and the  
Amberleigh Flower

The Danny Canterbury Tales  
Book V

Author's note

Thank you for reading _Sandi Burrill and the Beach of Flames_.  
I hope you enjoyed it.

The novel was inspired by the many friends I made as a sixth-former, and by the great damage successive Conservative governments have done to the United Kingdom.

I'd love to hear what you thought of the novel, so please leave a review or get in touch with me through my website. I read all reviews, good or bad, and take into account comments for future writing.

For more information on the inspiration behind Sandi Burrill, and for bonus content not available anywhere else, visit my website at https://dominicjericho.wordpress.com. You can also receive a free eBook when you sign up for The DJ Fiction Newsletter.

Dominic Jericho

P.S. Don't forget to read the next volume in The Danny Canterbury Tales: _Amanita Walmer and the Amberleigh Flower_

Amanita Walmer

and the Amberleigh Flower

The Danny Canterbury Tales: Book V

'Amanita reached into her jacket and prised the letter from between her iPod and her headphones. She gazed at the writing on the front for a moment. It's eloquent loops and scrawl communicating her father's handwriting style – something she had never known before. Then she opened it.'

Amanita Walmer never knew her father, the renowned botanist Dr Virgil Walmer. But through her growing independence during her first year at university, she comes to understand the man of whom she will always be the daughter.

In this eloquent exploration of burgeoning independence, Amanita Walmer and the Amberleigh Flower portrays what it is like to leave home for the first time, the strains put on friendships that were once thought eternal, and the lasting marks of an unknown fatherhood.

ALSO AVAILABLE BY DOMINIC JERICHO

The Chardelia Diaries

The Saffelia Diaries

Songs from the Rainbow Girl

SandiCherry **  
**

**Chardelia Foss and the River of Fear: The Danny Canterbury Tales Book I**

Saffelia Forrest and the Snowfall Grove: The Danny Canterbury Tales Book II

Robin Vernal and the Brownleaf Spring: The Danny Canterbury Tales Book III

