 
### Church Group

### By Michael Brightside

### Text copyright 2014 Michael Brightside

### All Rights Reserved
To my little Bee for her tireless patience and support. To everyone else who helped; knowingly or not.

### There's more to life than nuts and bolts.
Table of Contents

Prologue

Ten Pairs of Eyes

Loo like the toilet?

A Tired Old Desk

A Nice Pebbly Stone

Surely All Schools Are The Same?

Like a Cloud of Shit Particles

Thanks Santa

Salty Meringues

Worm-like Varicose Veins

Where Numbers Go On Forever

Stroking an Imaginary Beard

There Aren't Any Jellyfish at School

When He Woke Up CDs Had Been Invented

We Needed Alcohol, Even If We Didn't Know Why

Little Red Toy Sports Car

Liquid Honey to My Ears

Returned With a Box of Eggs

It Was Just A Way to Pay for Beer

Cold Soulless Eyes That Gave Nothing Away

We Were Grown-ups Now

A Group of Hungry Looking Ducks

How The Fuck Does a Man Get Pregnant?

See the Planes Fall Out of the Sky for Ourselves

But How Do You Describe Ecstatic?

Some Red Carpet Has a Regal Quality to it

Like One Giant Entity All Thinking and Acting Together

The Reluctant Gold Piece of Crap

Bright Green and A Hundred Feet Tall, In The Middle Of the Sea

A Big Yellow Spark Flew Out and Landed on the Bench

Like Some Tight Shorts Wearing Gestapo

All the Acting Lessons in the World Wouldn't Get You Eyes Like That

If Kyle Were a Ghost Then Al Probably Would Be Too

Unicorns an Butterflies Every Weh

I May Have Mistaken Him for a Chrysanthemum

If We Lived Together We'd Both Be Dead in a Year

I Told You Not To Give Me Them Fish Finger Eyes!

We All Know a Lot Can Change With the Arrival of Friday Night

Drink and Drugs Brought Him to Life

Just the Four of Us, In the Company of the Ice Cold Night

Quoting Bible Verses at People Is One Thing

Fresh-faced At Fifteen and Excited about Biking and Life

They Want You to Put Your Hand In

It Was Too Delicious an Irony Not To Be

Try Some, It's Dirty as Fuck

The Brightest Of White Rooms

It took a Minute for My Eyes to Adjust Again to the Dark Outside

Epilogue

### A candle burns longer than a firework, but no one wants to see a candle display.
Prologue

I watched him through the murky darkness. Swaying back and forth as the boat rode the swell of the sea, taking my stomach with it. I looked closer. Maybe there wasn't anyone there at all. Maybe I was just watching myself. It was hard to tell in the night's thick black.

A crack of lightning came down outside, illuminating the cabin just long enough for me to realise it was Al sitting opposite me. Thank fuck for that, there are worse people to be stranded at sea with than your best mate.

Behind him the sea rose up against the row of small rectangular windows that stretched the length of the boat, drops of water clinging to the glass before slowly running back down again. We looked like two lost sailors from some clichéd disaster movie. It might have been funny if I hadn't been so fucking terrified.

"Al," I said.

Nothing. Just an empty look.

"Al!" I repeated. "We've got to get off this boat!"

Al finally responded and leaned towards me. "Why are we even here Lu?!"

"I think we're carbon Al."

"What? Why are we on this boat?"

Above us I heard a deafening roar of thunder, as the sky and earth settled a billion year dispute over who could shout the loudest.

"Because of the storm mate."

"Makes sense," Al replied. "What were you talking about carbon for?"

It took me a moment myself to remember why I'd said it. "When you said 'Why are we even here?' I thought you meant why do we exist? I was going to say I think we're made of carbon Al, from a thousand dying stars."

"Carbon?" Al's jaw started shaking and his eyes rolled into the back of his head. "I am a thousand stars!"
Ten Pairs of Eyes

September 1997.

Eight, nine, ten. Ten and me made eleven. Eleven of us sat facing each other in a circle, eleven like a football team. I hope we're not playing football, I'm fucking useless at football. Our ages ranged from early teens to late forties, a mixture of bored youths and over enthusiastic adults helping out. Men and women, mostly strange faces. The pastor of the local church I recognised, he had welcomed me in, a fat little man with a face as wide as it was long. Thin rimmed, perfectly round glasses, sat on his stumpy nose. Dressed all in black, wearing a smart turtle neck jumper and arrow straight trousers, he was far too cheerful for someone as young as me to relate to. I glanced to one side and Al gave me a grin. Other than the pastor he was the only person in the room I'd spoken to so far. We had met briefly earlier on, before the session had begun. When I'd arrived he had been waiting for the church hall to open, sat on top of a big BT cabinet, scraping the green paint off with his thumb nail and collecting it in a neat pile. He had blatantly stared at me as I'd made my way up the path, making me feel quite uncomfortable.

"Alright," I'd nodded at him when I got close enough.

"Alright mate," he nodded back. Trying to think of something to say I kicked at the grass with my right trainer, then I heard a thud and realised he'd jumped down and was standing next to me. I gave him a look up and down. He looked pretty normal which came as a pleasant surprise, could have easily passed for a kid from my old town. He was a couple of inches taller than me, maybe six feet tall like my dad. Dressed in a white t-shirt, blue adidas shorts and muddy white trainers. His dark scruffy hair poked out from under a yellow beanie hat. He looked comfortable, obviously this wasn't his first time here.

"You're the new kid aren't you?" He asked. "Moved into Elizabeth Avenue? Round the corner from me. I saw the van when you all turned up."

It was 1997, and while the country took a chance on a new government, brainwashed by Tony Blair and a theme tune by a keyboard playing physicist, my parents had decided our family too needed a fresh start. Colluding to up sticks and move near the coast.

Great. As happy as I was to be chatting to someone my own age for the first time since getting to this tiny little village, the last thing I needed was for him to have witnessed the fiasco that was our arrival. I thought back to my parents shouting, and the screaming of Jack my little brother. We'd made so much noise I bet the neighbours had been cringing as they'd turned up their television sets. I only hoped he hadn't witnessed it all and had just seen the van drive past.

"Yeah mate. I'm Luke," I smiled. "Thought this might be a good place to start meeting people."

"As good a place as any mate, not a lot goes on here," he smirked, then tossed onto the end of his sentence, "I'm Al, stick with me, you'll be OK."

It was then that the doors to the hall opened wide in front of us, and my attention was hijacked by the pastor, keen to welcome me into the fold. After assuring me of what a good time I was in for he placed a hand on my shoulder and guided me in. That's when he sat me down to form part of the circle and church group began.

The pastor introduced me to the rest of the group, "Everyone this is Luke, he's just moved into the village. I hope you will all make him feel welcome."

That's a good start, make me sound like a lost foreign exchange student whom everyone feels obliged to let tag along. Sympathy is just what I need.

Ten pairs of eyes simultaneously watched me, I tried not to catch them as I looked back.

We were told to pray. This was something both unexpected and new. I questioned whether it was right to pray to a god I didn't believe in, then watched as everyone else put their hands together and closed their eyes. I did the same.

The pastor started the prayer.

"Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy name."

I had an overwhelming urge to laugh, partly due to nervousness and partly because I'd never heard a man pray before. The pastor spoke with such commitment, such faith. He softly spoke a love song to a man who wasn't there.

"Thy kingdom come, thy will be done, on Earth as it is in heaven."

Oh fuck, here it comes, the part where I burst out laughing and get thrown out of church group, the only possible thing on the planet that is more embarrassing than having gone to church group in the first place.

"Give us this day our daily bread, and forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those that trespass against us."

Don't laugh. Don't laugh. Don't laugh. I knew I wasn't going to be able to stop myself, my insides hurt from holding it in. Why won't the fire alarm go off? Or the phone ring? Anything that will serve as a distraction. Then in the dark I heard faint sniggering. I opened my eyes just a crack and could see all the other kids had their eyes slightly open and were pulling faces at each other, I was the only idiot actually going along with it. Al smirked at me like I should have known.

"And lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the power, and the glory. For ever and ever....Amen."

The kids quickly shut their eyes tight and repeated, "Amen." Opening them a second after the pastor did to make it look like they'd had them shut all along.

Thank god that was over.

We were then given what the pastor referred to as free time, and we all got up and made our way outside. It was a warm summer, the kind of summer that gets left behind with childhood. The sun had all but set, leaving a thin line of light blue at the horizon before the navy of the evening sky. I looked up at the church itself. I'd not really had much time to take in its exterior when I'd arrived, what with meeting my first potential friend in the area. It was massive. With a tower housing a bell at one end, and a row of stained glass windows depicting Jesus and the disciples down the whole of the front side, until they reached the opposite end where a huge cross stood proudly on the roof. It looked spooky in the dark with the breeze moving branches around, casting finger-like shadows on the stone walls. I was glad we'd been in the hall out front and not the church itself.

Through the hall window I could see a few kids were playing table tennis indoors, others were kicking a ball around under the PIR lights in the car park. Al beckoned me over to the path by the main road where you came in.

"What year you in?" He asked me.

"I start year nine this year," I replied.

Behind Al a glass cabinet was screwed to the front of the hall. In it was one of god's adverts, printed on a poster like they put on the outside of cinemas when a new film is released. It read 'JESUS DIED FOR YOUR SINS'. Yeah whatever.

"Same as me," Al said. It meant we were going to be in the same year at school - when I finally started that was. Everyone else had already gone back after the summer holidays but because we'd moved too late, my first day was going to be exactly a week after that. "Shit this isn't it? But there's nothing else to do round here. What was it like where you lived before?"

I'd moved here from Branningham, a massive town in comparison. There was a BMX track that you could practically see from the terraced street I'd lived on. On Sundays they held races and we used to be able to hear the results being read out over the loudspeaker while we ate our Sunday roast. Past the BMX track was a main road you had to cross, then a field that led down to a winding river where I fished for roach with my old mates. If you carried on down the river there was a derelict textile factory where they had made parachutes in the Second World War. Hidden to the side were air raid shelters, most of them had been filled in but we used to explore in the couple that hadn't. My mate Jim found a bullet in one of them once. We sprayed it with deodorant and set it on fire in a fruitless attempt to make it explode.

"Shit mate," I replied, "nothing to do there either."

"You been down the backwaters yet?"

"Nah mate."

"Come on then, I'll take you down there if you want."

Al led the way to the field behind the church, where we followed a line of trees that marked the end of some people's back gardens. Then at the end of the field we turned left, where we followed another line of trees that led to a big grass sea wall. I chased Al as he ran up it.

On the other side was a vast expanse of water that seemed to run endlessly from left to right, it was only the row of bright yellow lights signalling land on the other side that persuaded me it didn't go on forever. They were literally miles away.

"What's that over there?" I pointed.

"The lights? That's Haywich."

"What all the way around the edge?"

"How do you mean?"

"Is it Haywich all the way around the backwaters?"

"Haywich isn't that big," Al laughed. "There are other places round the backwaters."

"Well I don't know, I've only just moved here."

"Right, where those lights are, that's the docks in Haywich. Then if you look to the left you've got places like Mansbury, Belmont, Thrope." He drew a semi-circle in the dark with his finger. "Right round to where we are in Kirk-Leigh, then there's Wanton to the right of us then it becomes the actual sea and goes round to Frampton."

"So this is connected to the sea?"

Al laughed again, "Yeah this comes in from the sea, it's sea water. It goes in and out with the tide."

"So when the tide goes out is it sand like the beach?"

"You wish," Al replied sarcastically.

"So what do you get?"

"Er....mud mate, miles and miles of smelly mud. You can sunbathe in it if you want to."

Al picked up a handful of stones and skimmed them one at a time across the flat water, flashes of reflected moonlight tracing out each skim. I joined in while he described Kirk-Leigh to me. It was soon obvious he'd grown up here, as he listed all these places we could go, but so fast that I forgot them as quickly as they were said. I wondered who Al normally hung around with but I didn't ask.

"So how come you've moved here?"

"The houses are cheap," I replied. "My parents have bought their first house, they looked at a few places that were a lot cheaper than Branningham, but they picked here because it was so close to the sea."

"Were they your brothers I saw when you were moving?"

"Yeah. There's Dean who's eleven and the baby is my other brother Jack who's not even one."

"Cool, I've got a brother Simon who's ten," Al replied.

By now it was pitch black out so we set off home. We went to Al's house first as it was nearest.

"Your place is massive Al!" I remarked. "How many bedrooms have you got?"

"Only four."

"Four? What one each?"

"Sort of, my parents share one so we have one spare. What about you?"

"Three," I replied, "but there are five of us so me and Dean have to share."

"Unlucky," he said. "So what are you up to tomorrow?"

"Nothing much, helping unpack boxes probably."

"Oh I was going to say I'll pop round and give you a knock but I'll leave it then."

"Nah mate," I replied quickly, "knock round for me, it will give me an excuse to get out the house."

"Alright mate, will do," Al said, unlocking his front door. "What time?"

"Dunno mate, whatever time you wake up."

"Laters Luke," he smiled and shut the door behind him.

I thought about tomorrow as I walked off down the road, I wondered if he was going to turn up or not? And if he did turn up, would it be before I woke, so my mum would tell him I was still in bed? Then I remembered....We were fourteen, there was no fucking way he was going to turn up too early.
Loo like the Toilet?

September 1997.

I got up at lunchtime and having chucked on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, went downstairs to wait for Al. It wasn't long before I heard the familiar clicking sound of a bicycle freewheel.

"Alright Luke, you up for going to Wanton?" He asked, again dressed for summer and wearing that same yellow beanie hat. "I'll give you a stunty."

Stunty was slang for a lift on the stunt pegs on the back of the bike. I knew because I had my own. I didn't reply.

Opening the door to the garage behind the house, I wheeled out my own Redline BMX, badly painted in matt black from a spray can and with one green tyre and one white.

"Nah mate you lead the way," I smiled at him as he started pedalling off. "Nice wheels Al."

"Yeah they're mags," Al called back as he pulled up on his handle bars before dropping off the kerb, his chrome plated frame sparkling in the midday sun.

We cycled down the road to begin with, you could see the backwaters to the left of us but we didn't get to it from the same way as last night. Instead we rode out to the very edge of the village, where the houses became fields. There we turned left down a dirt track that twisted its way to the water.

"This is Island Lane, Luke," Al said as we stopped at the end.

"Why's it called that?" I asked him. "By the way you can call me Lu, all my mates do. Well I suppose they used to now."

"What? Loo like the toilet?"

"Suppose so."

"Spelt the same? L-o-o?"

"Dunno mate, it's a nickname, I've never really thought about how it would be spelt. Probably L-u."

"Oh right. See that over there Lu?" He pointed at an island in the distance. It was too far away for me to tell how big it was. There was a white building in the middle that looked like it may have been a house, either side were either tall bushes or trees, just green blurs from where I was standing.

"Yeah."

"That's Oyster Island."

"How do you get there? By boat?"

"Nah, you can drive over mate, there's a road. Or you could go by boat if you had one."

"Where's the road?" I asked. "Can we go to Oyster Island?"

"It's right in front of us," he said, pointing at nothing.

"That's the sea Al."

"It is now, you can only see the road when the tide's out."

"So if we waited until the tide went out we could cycle over there?"

"We could do, it's a long way but it's not that far," Al replied. "Thing is, by the time we got there we wouldn't be able to get back."

"Why not?"

"The tide would have come back in, you'd be stuck there for twelve hours."

"So what's the point of the road? If you end up being stuck there for twelve hours?"

"Oh there's a house on the island, people live there, it doesn't matter if you can't get back if that's where your house is does it?"

"True," I said. "How do they get to work though?"

"They own a big island in the sea Lu, with a massive house in the middle. I don't think they need to go to work."

There was a pillbox to the right of us, at the top of the big slope that led down to the submerged road to the island. A dirt path started beside the pillbox and we set off down it on our bikes. To the left of us were the sea defences, joined up concrete blocks decorated with green strings of seaweed.

We soon reached Wanton on the bumpy path. Wanton was a lot bigger than Kirk-Leigh, we only had one shop in the village and that was mostly a post office. Wanton even had a Woolworths.

"Come on, I'll show you the pier," Al said, leading me down a few tight backstreets before coming out into the open again, up high and looking out over the beach.

"There it is," he said, pointing to what I'd already worked out was the pier.

"Are we going on it?"

"Have you got any money on you?"

"Nah mate," I replied without needing to check my pockets.

"Probably better off coming back another day to do that then," he said. "Have you been to Frampton? Where the school is?"

"Don't think so mate."

"We'll go there next then, follow me," Al said, leading me down to a wide pathway that followed the edge of the beach. We headed away from the right side of the pier, riding next to each other now, making use of the wider path.

"Do you know who your form tutor is going to be yet?" Al asked.

"My mum rang the school for me, it's Mr Panfold."

"Unlucky, he's a knob."

"Who have you got?"

"Mrs Kilbey."

"What's she like?"

"A twat," Al laughed. "She's better than Mr Panfold though."

We continued on the sea path, passing occasional people on the way. Al didn't slow down, just weaved round them like a madman. I did the same as I struggled to keep up.

"What's it like there Al?" I asked him when he finally slowed to let me catch my breath.

"What the school? It's alright, well it's pretty shit but they all are aren't they?"

"Probably, yeah."

"Why? Not getting scared are you? Can't be any worse than your last one. Branningham wasn't any nicer than round here was it?"

True enough, but at least I'd known what to expect there. At least I'd started in year seven surrounded by people I'd already been familiar with for years. Better the devil you know and all that. I didn't want to let on that I was feeling nervous.

"Just can't be bothered with it Al," I made out I wasn't looking forward to school because it was boring. That was true, also true was that inside I was bricking it.

Starting a new school in year ten was far too late to be making friends, people had bonded all the way from primary school and in the back of their minds they were very aware we would be leaving soon. I knew because I was thinking the same.

"So what subjects are you doing?" Al asked as we stopped next to a lovely yellow sand stretch of beach. The beach all the way from the pier had been nice in fact.

"Business studies, history and geography."

"What?! You picked all the hardest subjects? What did you do that for?" He exclaimed.

"Why what have you got?"

"Art, PE and drama."

"What, none of the same subjects I've got?" I didn't even know why I'd chosen them and would have done anything to change them now, but how sad is that? To choose your options based on what your only friend had chosen to do.

"We'll both have all the other subjects Lu, maths and science and that, we might have the same classes for those," he replied. I hadn't thought of that. Even though we weren't in the same form, that was only the first ten minutes of the day, we'd always have breaks at the same time too.

It had begun to cloud over so Al suggested we head back to Kirk-Leigh. As we passed through the centre of Frampton itself I noticed it was filled with posh cafes and tea shops. Nearly everyone was old. Walking stick old.

"Why are there so many old people everywhere Al? Have they all escaped from a retirement home or something?" I called out to him.

"You'll find that round here mate, they like being by the seaside. Kirk-Leigh's the same," he replied, swerving round an old lady on a mobility scooter. "You don't really notice it, apart from when it gets late and there's literally no one on the streets, even in the summer."

I could remember the route from Kirk-Leigh to Wanton, then from Wanton to Frampton. You couldn't really get lost, as long as you made sure you had the sea to the left of you all the way. The route from Frampton back to Kirk-Leigh was a maze of streets however. I'd never remember it after just this one time. It would be good if I could though, because as we came out into the open again after cutting through a farmer's field, I suddenly realised we were at the top of the road I lived on.

"What are you up to tomorrow?" I asked.

"Gotta go for Sunday lunch with my mum and dad and some family."

"What time are you getting back?"

"Dunno yet, it's in Norfolk, if it's early enough I'll give you a knock."

"That'll be cool mate."

"If not I'll come round on Monday and we can ride to school together, yeah?" He said. "If you don't see me tomorrow I'll be round on Monday at eight."

"Nice one Al," I replied, "catch you later."

It looked like my friendship with Al was going to continue. He'd knocked round for me like he'd said he would. Whether he enjoyed today or not didn't make a lot of difference, seeing as he had to go the same way to school every day as I did. For the first time since I'd moved here I suddenly felt like everything might be alright.
A Tired Old Desk

September 1997.

I woke around five-thirty in the morning. Woke being a loose term, I'd hardly slept. Al would be knocking on my door at eight so I had plenty of time to get ready. I got dressed slowly, trying to make the time last longer before I'd have to leave. I'd never enjoyed spending time at home but today I'd do anything to be staying in all day.

I could remember being tense when I started at my old secondary school; new teachers, new buildings, not knowing where my classes were. This time round though it was going to be a hundred times more daunting. This was going to be totally new. I was terrified.

I found my mum downstairs in the kitchen making breakfast, putting out a box of cornflakes and some milk in the middle of the dining table. She was still in her pink dressing gown, made from what looked like the fur of camp polar bears. She was on yet another diet and was substituting eating breakfast for a cup of tea with several sugars.

"Morning Lu, all set for your first day at the new school?" She asked, her face all enthusiastic, despite having had no need to get up so early except to see us off to school.

"Not really Mum," I replied, "haven't got much choice in the matter though have I?"

"That's the spirit," she said. My mum had a funny way of not really listening to what you were saying and just hearing what she wanted to hear. It didn't matter as she proudly looked me up and down in my uniform, her face beaming, even as far as her dyed blonde morning hair with just the hint of roots beginning to show through.

As I was getting myself a bowl from the cupboard I heard Dean run down the stairs, having just slammed the bathroom door shut. This was closely followed by the sound of Jack screaming.

"I'll go and sort Jack out then shall I?" My mum growled as she stomped upstairs.

"Alright Dean," I said, looking at him dressed smart in his new school uniform. It was identical to mine, even in size, only his hung on him loosely to give him room to grow into it. I'd already done most of my growing. When I thought about it properly, it wasn't really a new uniform, only the tie and blazer. The white shirt, black trousers and shoes were the same as we'd always worn.

"Lu," he replied.

"Looking forward to the first day at your school are ya?" I asked.

"Not really, waste of time ain't it?" Dean was only eleven so had to go the lower school in Thrope. Neither of us had actually seen where our schools were, it didn't matter so much for Dean as he had a school bus laid on. Mine was close enough that I could walk.

"Tell me about it," I replied.

"What time are you leaving?"

"Eight," I said. "Al's coming round, we're going to ride there together."

I saw a jealous look in his eyes. He must have known that as apprehensive as I was about the day, at least I had someone to talk to. Dean didn't know anyone in the village, when I'd invited him to come to church group with me he'd muttered something about bible bashers and wandered off.

My mum put Jack in the high chair at the end of the table and he stopped crying, instead turning his attention to watching Dean and I. I think the reason he cried a lot of the time was because he was on his own. It was hard work including him in anything though, he couldn't do much apart from annoy you. And what do you talk about with someone who can't actually talk?

"You're going to need to leave in a minute Dean, where's your coat?" My mum asked, having finished making us our lunches for the day.

Dean went to the airing cupboard to get it. "What the hell?!" he shouted. "Mum, Whisky's on my coat."

"Well move her then," my mum replied.

"Hiss!"

Dean jumped back, making Jack cackle the way only babies can.

"Sod that, she's going mental."

"It's alright, I'll do it." My mum walked round to the airing cupboard, squeezing Dean out of the way.

"Hiss!"

"What's wrong with you today?" my mum asked the cat. "Let Dean have his coat."

"Hiss!"

"Lu come and help me move Whisky will you, I don't know what's wrong with her today. She must be hormonal or something."

On the way to the airing cupboard I pondered whether or not cats even have a menstrual cycle.

"You pick her up and I'll pull Dean's coat out."

"Why do I have to pick her up?" I asked, contemplating turning up for my first day at school and having to explain why my hands were covered in cuts. You could tell from the way she'd already ruined the stairs carpet that her claws were sharp.

"You're the man of the house while your dad's at work, help me move her."

I put my hands into the cupboard and gently tried to nudge her from Dean's coat.

"Hiss!" I'd never seen her like this before.

In the kitchen I found a tea-towel, wrapping it around my hand for protection. Then I eased my protected hand into the airing cupboard as slowly as I could. Dean watched from behind while my mum waited for her opportunity. In the kitchen Jack sat at the table alone.

I got to the point where I was almost touching the cat and so far she seemed OK. Her eyes were fixed firmly on my hand but she didn't seem to be unnerved at all. Then it suddenly dawned on me that although she was calm now, one loud noise might scare her into attacking me. A loud noise like Jack crying.

"Dean," I whispered. "Go and talk to Jack so that he doesn't cry."

"Jack's fine Lu, just get my coat."

"Seriously Dean, I don't want her going mental on me."

Dean poked his head over my shoulder and looked at the cat sitting there serenely. "What are you worried about? She looks like she's going to fall asleep."

"If she attacks me Dean it's your fault, I'm going to grab her and throw her at you."

"Go on then, I'm just gonna stand here, I'm that confident she's not-"

Bang-bang-bang came the knock at the door. The cat changed into psycho mode before I even had a chance to turn my head to see who it was. Both sets of front claws came out, ripping at the tea-towel repeatedly, pulling the threads of the fabric out into long loops. My mum opened the door to Al and Whisky shot out through it.

"What the?!" Al shouted as he nearly fell off the step trying to get out of Whisky's way. "What's wrong with that cat?"

I laughed, "Nothing normally mate, she's been really weird today, no idea why."

"Probably the change of scenery," Al replied. "Must be weird for a cat, living somewhere then being put in a car and driven somewhere totally new."

He was right. The lot of us had been so caught up in our own adjustment into the new home that we'd not even thought about the cat. She'd loved sitting on the warm towels in the airing cupboard back in Branningham, she spent so much time in there that my mum even let her have her own towel. It went on top of all the clean ones so that they didn't get fur on them. The airing cupboard was probably the one place in Kirk-Leigh that didn't feel totally alien to her. With the door shut she might even have been able to imagine she was still at the old house, and we'd taken that from her. She had every right to be angry with us.

Now wearing his coat Dean left with a, "Cheers Lu." Running off to the bottom of the road to get the bus. I fetched my BMX from the garage while Al waited.

"Have a good day Lu," my mum called to me from the front door as we cycled away.

"You too Mum!" I shouted back.

Slowing at the bottom by the main road, I saw Dean stood chatting in the bus shelter with another kid of similar height. His school bus came past us a minute later and when I looked back to check it had stopped for them, they were still chatting as they got on. I stopped worrying so much about Dean then.

Al reckoned it was a few miles to school. As it was dry out we made it a mile by cutting through the fields. He speculated about the new term as he pedalled beside me, talking about people I'd never met, teachers I didn't know. I tried to join in with his laughter but to my ears it sounded very fake. Laughter boarding on hysteria, fortunately he didn't seem to notice.

Then I saw the school for the first time. 'FRAMPTON TECHNOLOGY COLLEGE'.

A massive grey box blotted on the landscape, the windows having taken on the colour of the overcast sky. Or maybe a manic depressive's Rubik's cube? Either way it was far from inviting. Swarming around it were several years worth of kids who I didn't know, wearing identical uniforms with coats over their blazers and accountants' shoes. From the corner of my eye I saw a group of lads without ties on, they were obviously too cool to wear them unless they had to. Mine was in my bag. The lot of them crossed the road without looking and I had to turn sharply to avoid running into them, fucking lucky I thought as I followed Al to the bike shed.

"What do you think Lu?" he asked me.

"Er, yeah, looks alright mate, same as any other school really," I replied. I built a little bubble of false confidence around me that I thought might stop me from being hassled by anyone.

"See, told you it wasn't that bad," Al said. Good, my bubble was working.

We walked round the side to a big door that everyone seemed to be filing in through, then I remembered I had to report to the reception as I had selfishly turned up a week late.

"See you later Al," I said as he kept walking.

"You'll be alright," he replied. I hoped he was right.

In the reception, a tired old lady sat behind a tired old desk. She didn't talk to me when I walked in, just peering up from her screen for a moment, her eyes having aged while the people around her remained in perpetual youth. I got the impression that at some point years ago she'd wanted to leave this place. It was probably now some years since she'd really wanted anything. She was in no rush and waited for me to talk.

"Morning, it's my first day, I'm new," I said with a false cheerfulness.

"Name?" She'd either detected my bullshit or more likely was past caring.

"Luke Keane," I replied.

"Luke Keane? You're in Mr Panfold's form. Room 302. The second room on the third floor."

She somehow made me feel like she was doing me a favour in doing her job.

"Nice one," I said as I set off to find my room. She didn't look up, just tutted instead. When she'd gone to school people probably still said thank you.

By now the hallways were empty, with everyone already where they were supposed to be. It made finding my room a lot easier. Actually walking in was the hard part.

Having mouthed the number 3 - 0 - 2 to myself a couple of times, to make sure it definitely sounded like the number she'd given me downstairs, I put my face up to the thin sliver of glass in the door and peered through. I was already late I thought, no point in rushing in.

A big lad with a shaved head sitting in the corner by the door spotted me almost immediately. Fuck knows what he was doing looking at the door, most likely waiting for the moment when he could get out of that room. I couldn't blame him, if I'd been sitting there I'd probably have been doing the same.

"Mr Panfold, there's someone outside waiting to come in," he said, taking from me the one thing I had, the element of surprise.

The rest of the class turned to face the door. They couldn't all see me yet. But I could see every one of them. All sat there staring in my direction, waiting to see who would emerge from behind the door.

Mr Panfold opened it with a, "Yes?"

For a moment I could have sworn I knew him, so much so I almost called him by the wrong name. "Morning Pasto- Mr Panfold," I quickly corrected myself. He so closely resembled the man who'd invited me into church group, with his round glasses and his round face and his round body. He looked like one of those guides on how to draw cartoon people that children are given, a series of differently sized circles on top of one another, with the detail added later on. It was only the fact that I'd told the pastor that I was starting at the school and he hadn't mentioned being a teacher that made me think it probably wasn't him.

"You must be Luke," he said. "You're late. Come in and sit down where you find a space."

The rest of the morning went by in a blur of what felt like a hundred different faces. I didn't see Al until lunchtime, when he found me sitting on a wooden bench by the exam block.

"How you getting on?" he asked me.

"Alright, mate," I replied.

"What do you think of the other people here?"

"Dunno yet, I've not even been here a day."

"They're alright, won't take you long to get to know them."

A couple of lads walked past on their way towards the playing field, "Al!" one of them shouted.

"Pete you twat!" Al hollered back. It was easy for him to say they were alright, he knew everyone here already. I told Al about my morning while we ate the sandwiches that our respective mum's had made for us. Al's were nicer than mine, he had corned beef while I had cheese and salad cream. Then at the end of lunch we split up to go back to our classes. I had history next, a subject Al hadn't chosen. I enjoyed history lessons.

We learned about the world wars, just like we had at my old school. Our young and unashamedly trendy teacher, Mr Michaels, enthusiastically trying to turn the facts into a story. Forging in us pride for our country, but also a sense of respecting the points of view of others. He reminded us that in the battle rich history of the world, everyone fighting, no matter what they stood for, believed that they were in the right. I was never sure why we learnt about those two wars, whether it would somehow be useful in our adult lives or if it was simply out of respect to all the people who had died. As much as I enjoyed hearing about it, and respected the actions of the men we sent to war, I struggled with the idea of all those Germans dying because they had been brainwashed into killing for something that they thought was so right.

The rest of the day's lessons were boring in comparison and I was relieved when it was time to go home.
A Nice Pebbly Stone

September 1997.

By the end of the first week I was blending in. No longer seen as the new kid in school. Camouflaged in my generic secondary school uniform with pompous blazer and identifying tie, I looked from the outside like I belonged. Inside though, school wasn't somewhere I ever felt like I belonged.

I put this to my dad one morning.

"You're running late Lu, do you need a lift?" he asked as I came down the stairs with my school bag over my shoulder.

"I'm early Dad, I don't leave until eight o'clock."

"Oh don't you? It's alright for some, I've already been at work for an hour by eight o'clock."

"This is school Dad," I said, "it's different. Anyway why aren't you at work today?" I'd just realised he wasn't wearing the jeans and work boots he normally put on before going to the factory.

"I've got a doctor's appointment in Frampton Lu, about this thing I've got," he replied. The thing in question was a big boil that looked like he was growing a new head on the back of his neck.

"Dad," I said in that way that sounds like you're asking a question, when in reality you're actually asking whether it's OK to ask a question, only without actually asking.

"Yes Lu."

"Why don't I like school? I mean you're supposed to like it aren't you? Everyone always says your school years are your best years."

"Why? Don't you like school?"

"Not really."

"What don't you like about it?"

"I don't know, it's not like there's one particular thing I don't like about it, I just don't like it in general," I said. "I just feel like I don't fit in, like it's not meant for me."

"It isn't meant for you," my dad replied. "There are a lot of other kids there too and you're all going to be different and want different things. The school has to try and help all of you, what you have to do is adapt to it as best you can."

"I suppose," I said. "If it was there just for me we would do BMXing for every lesson."

"Yes but then you're missing the point," he said. "You're never going to do that for a job and school is there to get you ready to go out to work."

"So how is work different to school?" I asked.

"Your school is there to help you, isn't it?"

"It's supposed to be."

"Whether you think it does or not is irrelevant. The reason you go there is for you isn't it?"

"Yeah."

"Well work is the opposite. You go to work because they think you can help them."

"So do you feel like you fit in at work then?"

"Ah, that's another point, you don't need to feel like you fit in at work. Whereas with school you are all forced to be together, when you go to work you do it to get paid, as long as you are earning the money to pay the bills fitting in doesn't come into it. But then that in itself is the fitting in part. You are surrounded by all these other people who are only there to pay their bills and that's what you've got in common, you're not all going to like the same things but you'll find that in life. It's just something you'll have to get used to."

"So did you like school?"

"To be honest with you I don't remember actually liking being there when I was your age."

"So you wouldn't say your school years were your best years?"

"I didn't say that," my dad replied. "Anyway I think you're misreading it, when people say their school years were their best years they aren't just talking about school, they're talking about everything they did at that age."

"So it's not that they particularly enjoyed school, maybe just that they enjoyed being that age."

"Exactly Lu, the age when they don't have bills to worry about or kids to feed," he replied, quickly adding laughter on the end to cover having moaned about me being alive. "Anyway, you can't really know whether or not you like school at your age."

"Why not?"

"You don't get the perspective to really have that opinion until you've been out and worked for a few years," he smiled at me. "But that will soon come."

Al arrived while my dad and I were sharing a plate of crumpets and strawberry jam, letting himself in through the back door and helping himself to one. My dad looked like he was about to moan, then seemed to accept the fact that he now had four sons to feed not three. I wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

My dad gave us a lift to school in the beaten up old diesel Renault he had at the time. Mid journey I spotted Al in the back staring at the boil on my dad's neck. With his finger he subtly drew a smiley face in the air, meaning he had the same idea as me, that it was the beginning of a second head.

That evening Al turned up after dinner, and we rode down to the old pillbox at the end of Island Lane. He pointed out a hidden tunnel that you could crawl through to get inside it. I hadn't realised when we'd come here the first time that you could actually go inside.

Having crawled through the claustrophobic tunnel, I stood up and put my face to a thin slit window in the flat concrete side. As I looked out through one eye towards the backwaters I pictured what it would have been like to be a soldier. Waiting for a German boat to come in across the water, packed full of people who wanted to kill me. It sent a little shiver down my spine.

BANG! Something ricocheted off the side of the pillbox. What the hell was that?

BANG! Another noise in exactly the same place.

"You'd better move Lu! Next one's coming in!" Al shouted up at me from outside. I took a step away from the window. BANG! This time from the inside of the pillbox as a stone came in and bounced off the walls.

"What are you doing?!" I shouted as I quickly crawled out through the tunnel.

"Scared you did I?" Al asked as I emerged.

"Course not mate, you couldn't have hit me if you'd tried," I lied.

"Go back in then and I'll see if I can get you."

"No, you go in this time and I'll see if I can get you."

"You're alright," Al replied. "Tell you what, if I can get this stone in then I would have got you first time, if I'd been aiming at you."

"And me," I said, picking up my own stone. Al swung his arm back and totally missed the window, his stone pinging off about two feet to the right. I took a deep breath, carefully aimed my shot, and threw the stone straight in the hole.

"Told you Al. I'm the fucking stone throwing champion."

"Beginner's luck," Al said. "Let's see you do it again."

"No point Al, I don't need to prove anything."

"More like you know you won't be able to do it twice."

"I could get one in from all the way over there," I said, pointing out where we'd left the bikes, a good twenty feet away.

"No way! If you can get one in from there, I'll stand inside with my face in the window and let you have three shots at me."

"Deal," I said, thinking there was no way he'd actually let me throw it, the consequences if I got it in being far too great. I walked over to the bikes, picking around for a nice pebbly stone.

"Ready?" I asked, taking aim at what was now a pretty impossible target, much smaller and also angled away slightly meaning I'd need to avoid the square edge around the window.

"Throw it then."

It missed the side of the pillbox entirely, just catching the roof of the building and making that familiar concrete pinging noise before bouncing off into the field.

"That was rubbish," Al ribbed me.

"I know," I said, "I did it on purpose."

"Bollocks, you didn't do that on purpose."

"I did mate."

"You didn't," Al said. "Why would you miss on purpose?"

I looked at him and laughed, "I didn't want to have to go back to your house and tell your mum I'd murdered you with a stone."

"Murdered me with a stone?" Al sniffed. "You couldn't even hit yourself with a stone."

I walked back to where we'd started playing from and picked up a perfect throwing stone in the shape of a school eraser. Then without putting myself under any unnecessary pressure I lobbed it straight in through the window before turning to Al.

"Like I said Al, stone throwing champion."

He gave me a look of disbelief, "Jammy bastard more like."
Surely All Schools Are The Same?

November 1997.

After two months I had decided that this school, just like the last, was trying to mould us into clones. The world had, to my fourteen year-old eyes, at least a million different exciting ways to exist. School seemed to be focused on a very small part of that, the part where we all graduated and went out to find jobs wearing grey suits to match our grey lives. Having given it much thought, even to the point of contemplating running away and travelling around Europe with a sleeping bag and a tent, I had an epiphany one day that would stick with me until the end of my exams.

Everybody had to go to school, and surely all schools are the same? So these people with exciting careers such as racing car drivers, fighter pilots, deep sea divers, all of them had had to go through the same boring education as I did. It might even have been that that spurred them on to become the person they are, so determined not to lead a normal life. It was with that in mind that I continued on through year ten, well aware that like it or not I had nearly two more years to go. The easiest course of action would be to try and avoid attention, paying lip service to the teachers where I had to.

There were exceptions however.

One of the few lessons I shared with Al was science. Of the three disciplines; chemistry, biology and physics, physics stood out as the most boring, and for one simple reason. Nothing ever got dissected or set on fire in physics.

While Mr Vagables attempted to teach at us, I would occupy myself by admiring the unnatural shape of his body. By far the tallest teacher in the school, he would start each lesson by complaining that the top of the blackboard hadn't been wiped clean, before doing it himself while muttering something inaudible under his breath, making full use of the advantages that come from having a body that's probably six feet long on its own. To finish off the look, a long time disinterested face resided on the front of a head that was probably two sizes too small. If you looked at him through half shut eyes, which I often did, he could have been a giant pink stick insect, were it not for the fortunate smattering of grey hair on top of his head.

Either in an attempt to stay awake, or possibly just out of spite, Al had taken a box of Pritt Sticks from the back of the class and was carefully winding the glue all the way out before cutting it off at the base with a pair of those red, plastic handled scissors that you only see in schools. Pushing it down the drain in the sink between us, before finally winding them back in. Leaving them for the unsuspecting person who next came along.

I heard a sigh, well not quite a sigh but the sound it makes when someone quickly inhales just a little bit of air.

"That's not good," Al muttered. I looked at him and he was looking down at his hand, it ran red with blood, drops contrasting on the desk against the white laminate top. The drops quickly joined together to form a pool.

"Sir," I said.

"Yes Luke?"

"I think you need to come and look at this."

"If you haven't noticed I'm trying to teach up here, what is it?" he replied abruptly.

"Al's cut his finger sir." Two girls sitting at the desk opposite looked over at Al's hand, one of them went white as the blood drained out of her face in sympathy.

Mr Vagables reluctantly made the journey to the back of the classroom, to see what all the fuss was about. He took a good look at the bloody hand and the red pool below it, taking a breath then pausing while he thought of the gentle words required for someone in Al's situation. "Get out of my classroom will you Al, you're no good to me in here like that."

"Where should he go sir?" I asked.

"To the nurse's office obviously," he replied. "Where else is he going to go?"

Blood had made it to the middle of the desk now, sliding down the edge of the square sink we shared, the steep sides making it speed up before it ran down the plughole.

"On second thoughts maybe you should go straight to the doctors. I'll tell the office you've gone for the day." Mr Vagables looked worried now, although he had nothing to do with it I still don't think he wanted the hassle of trying to explain to anyone how it had happened.

"What if he passes out on the way sir?" I asked. "That's a lot of blood to lose."

"Luke you go with him then, but as soon as you get him there come back," he said. I considered his request, but decided a friend who truly cared would stay with Al for the rest of the day, in case he went into delayed shock or something.

I took one last look at the desk as we left the classroom, it looked like a scene from a horror film. I was glad it wasn't my job to clean it up.

I got Al some toilet paper before we left the school, to try to stop the bleeding. Then we set out against the autumn wind. He reckoned it was only a fifteen minute walk to the doctors near Frampton seafront, we could have cycled it in five but our bikes would have to stay at school for the rest of the day, on account of Al being unable to grip the handlebars.

"Ha, I bet you're going to need stitches mate," I joked, trying to make Al feel better. "I'll ask if they can do them in some nice pink thread."

He just kept one hand squeezing the other, holding that wad of tissue paper tight around his digit.

"Bollocks! I just thought," he said as we reached the front door, "I'm not registered with this doctors."

I looked at him to check if he was being serious. "You're joking Al, why the fuck have we walked here then?"

"Dunno Lu, he just said go to the doctors, this is the first one I thought of. Mine is in Wanton."

"Mate I'm not walking to Wanton, we've just walked fifteen minutes in the wrong direction," I informed him.

"What am I going to do then? I can't just turn up and expect them to see me."

"You're going to have to pretend to be someone else," I said.

"What?"

"Pretend to be someone who will be registered with this doctors. Who do we know who lives nearby?"

"AJ."

"Andrew?" I replied. "Nice one, he must be registered here."

We would cycle home with AJ some days, splitting up when we got as far as the fields. He would carry on along the main road while Al and I dropped down into the village. Al had known him since primary school, the pair of them looked pretty similar with their dark hair and skinny faces, maybe even similar enough to be brothers. There was actually a chance this might work.

"Good morning," Al said to the old receptionist. "I'd like to see a doctor please."

"Can I take your name and the matter that is wrong with you, then you can take a seat and I'll find out when someone will be available."

"AJ, er- Andrew Richardson," Al replied as he held out his hand, finger wrapped in thick tissue that was now completely red. "I've cut my finger."

The receptionist was a bit more sudden now. "Have a seat and I'll see if you can be seen straight away." She got up and swiftly walked out the back.

"Nice one Al. I mean – AJ," I said, punching him on the arm.

The old receptionist returned in no time with an attractive young nurse. She took Al through the corridor that led towards the back of the building, quickly so as not to let the blood upset the other people in the waiting room.

I was left alone to read the germ ridden magazines. Having searched through piles of Housewives World and Cake Bakers Weekly I found one about shooting, though I couldn't imagine there was enough to know about shooting to fill a whole magazine. By the time Al came out again I had learned something from that magazine that will stay with me forever. Everyone in the pictures holding the shotguns wore only brown, not brown with denim jeans, or brown with a red hat, just brown. I now knew never to mess with anyone dressed all in brown.

"Did they give you stitches then Al?" He gave me a funny look for not using his pseudonym. I don't know why, it was too late now, it wasn't like they were going to cut his finger back open if they found out he'd used a false name.

"Sort of. I got butterfly stitches."

"Butterfly stitches, what are they?"

"They're like little thin plasters that hold the wound together."

"You got a butterfly plaster then you gaylord?" I ribbed him. "Come on, let's get you home before your butterfly plaster flies away."

He was back at school as normal the next day, it would provide us all a good laugh later down the line when, while at an appointment for something else, AJ was asked by his doctor how his finger had healed.

Anarchists we weren't.
Like a Cloud of Shit Particles

November 1997.

I never lacked ability in subjects but definitely lacked motivation, struggling to see myself doing a job that involved any of what we were learning. English took this struggle to the extreme.

"Everyone understand what they need to be getting on with?" Mrs Holt asked. A big smiling woman who I imagine had gained weight from a life spent either sitting down reading or sitting down telling others to read. I gazed blankly back at her along with at least eighty percent of the class. Even those of us who had nothing at all in common outside of school were joined in the overwhelming sense of boredom. The boffs had their pens at the ready, eager to get going.

She had just read us an excerpt from Great Expectations, and now we had to write an explanation of what it meant to us. It didn't mean anything to me. I'd spent the whole time I was supposed to be concentrating looking out of the window in the direction of home. I was thinking about later on and what we'd get up to as soon as we'd made our escape from here. As well as the BMXing we'd also started spending a lot of our spare time on the Kirk-Leigh beach. It wasn't a proper beach, just a sandy bit at the edge of the water, surrounded on all sides by mud. To us though it was as good as a beach, and in a village as small as Kirk-Leigh you always knew you would have it to yourself. When the tide was in we would swim, and when it went out we would mess about on the sand or see who could crawl out the furthest in the stinking mud. I remember once trying to come into the house caked from head to toe in mud. My mum had hosed me down in the garden before I was allowed in to take a shower, though you wouldn't have known looking at the gravy coloured water pooled in the bottom.

Mrs Holt cleared her throat loudly bringing me right back into the classroom. Her eyes bored into me, eyebrows raised as if surprised that I'd felt the need to let my mind wander rather than focus on the task in hand. I knew she never really liked me, but I never could work out why.

Looking down at the blank page in front of me I had no idea at all of what I was going to write about, all I knew was that the book was from a time when everything was in black and white. I tried to blag my way through it, making up some rubbish about feelings and the hardships people faced back then. It got me an F. That didn't bother me. The fact that I'd had to lie did.

Leaving the class feeling pretty dismal, I passed the art department. Looking in through the window I could see students still studying, and found myself feeling quite jealous of them. They stood and sat and worked on making their imagination tangible, all in the hope that they could add to the best works from previous years hanging in the corridor outside. Bright colours and abstract, or quiet shades and serene, it all looked perfect set against the drab grey backdrop of the 1960's built comprehensive school. A big part of me yearned for the creative freedom the students seemed to have, a stark contrast to the rigid structure that comprised most subjects. I'd decided not to take art lessons, as much as I'd wanted to, because I was no good at drawing. Looking back, I wasn't particularly good at speaking German before I started foreign language lessons, but maybe that was the whole point, the clue being in the name, lessons.

* * *

That evening Al called round for me as usual and we headed out on our bikes. It was becoming an almost daily occurrence now, and I'd grown accustomed to being ready to leave the house as soon as I saw his lanky form swaggering up to the front door, running out before my mum could ask where I was going, or why I was never at home anymore. To be honest home was the last place I ever wanted to be, but this wasn't something I gave a lot of thought to. Just avoided it as much as possible.

We set off but less than ten minutes later our plans appeared doomed.

"It's starting to piss it down!" Al yelled out as the heavens burst, his bike skidding to an alarming halt and almost swerving into the path of an oncoming moped which sped past at what must have been its top speed of thirty miles an hour, rider beeping with annoyance, one finger stuck up at us as he disappeared into the distance. My heart sank, I didn't want to head home yet, it was still light.

"No worries," Al said, "let's go back to mine, I've got a wicked video we can put on."

I followed him back wondering to myself what video he was talking about, but more than that I had a question regarding who would be in when we got back to his. I liked going to Al's well enough, when it was just the two of us, what I couldn't deal with was seeing Al's mum.

As a teenager there is something you learn about your mum very early on, and that is, you are the worst behaving child in the world; and just to rub it in further, your closest friend is the best behaving child in the world. When you bring a friend home it is obligatory to cheek your mum back at every opportunity to prove that you are an independent young adult and that you don't take being told what to do by anyone. To emphasise just how bad you are, your mum will then ask your friend whether he talks to his own mother that way, the response to which will always be a smile and an overly polite no, combined in a single lie. Giving the impression that you are the only teenager on the planet who doesn't do what they're told. I don't remember ever being told to act that way so assume it is in our genetic code somewhere, regardless it was the way it was and the way it always had been, so it was with this firmly in mind that I asked him, "Where's your mum mate?"

There was no need to worry. "She's out at some quiz night shit," Al replied, not a clue that I couldn't have actually cared less as to her whereabouts. I breathed a sigh of relief. Quietly though. One rule of friendship, never, ever, slag off a mate's mum when there's just the two of you. When one person does it it's insulting, when a group joins in it's banter.

"Good plan Al," I smiled, lying back in their big beige living room with a whole sofa to myself. We'd had to sort out our own drinks and food, but how much easier was that than having them presented to you alongside questions about your own family and how you were getting on at school. Plus we had free reign of the fridge.

"No worries," Al replied.

Paaaarp!

"Was that you Al?"

"Obviously," Al said. "There's no one else in the house. Unless it was you?"

"You know it wasn't me Al. Seeing as it was you," I said. "That's rancid, I can smell it over here where my crisps are."

"I know mate, I willed it to go over there. It's like a cloud of shit particles," Al said. "I actually made it come out of my arse just so it could flavour your food."

I sat in the dining room while I finished my crisps, more than happy with just the salt and vinegar taste they were supposed to have. When I came back images of motocross bikes danced across the screen, the ever present sense of danger to the riders giving me a warm feeling inside. Even though I knew it wasn't live, I was hypnotised, feeling that a mistimed jump could have killed one of the riders magnetically imprisoned on the VHS. I wanted to experience what they were experiencing, as they flew through the air. I wanted to feel that close to the edge, to have people watching me with their hearts in their mouths. I knew that for now life would continue as it was, but I felt on the verge of something new, something exciting.

* * *

School carried on and English carried on being a subject I struggled with.

Our teacher, Mrs Holt, never stopped smiling, no matter how much the other kids would try to wind her up. She would shout but that expression never changed. I kept quiet in lessons, trying not to be noticed. Everything going to plan until, a few months into term, we were asked to write an autobiography.

Some of the other kids groaned, the more self confident ones put their pens straight to paper.

"I'm not doing it Miss," I said. That very nearly but didn't quite wipe the smile from her face.

"Why don't you want to write an autobiography Luke?"

"I didn't say I didn't want to write it Miss. I said I'm not writing it."

"Oh Luke...." she paused dramatically. "To live is to be a second's tick in the relentless universe. But to write is to have an hour's grace to tell the story of your soul."

Wow! That had to be the most amazing thing I'd ever heard. My head went weird and I felt a strange sensation I'd never felt before build in the bottom of my tummy. So this is why people write? To make other people feel the way I felt now? If so then I knew in that moment how I wanted to spend the rest of my life, and I would forever be indebted to her, Mrs Holt of all people, for giving me the passion for words that I have now.

Would make a nice story that wouldn't it? A revelation in school as a fourteen year old, lost and bewildered with the idea of so many years to come. Unfortunately I just made all of that up, what she really said was far less romantic. Something along the lines of, "Everybody else has to write one Luke, what makes you think you're so special that you don't?"

"Exactly Miss, I'm not special," I replied. "I don't have anything to write about."

She looked at me scornfully, "You must have something exciting to write about, just put a story down that has happened in your life."

"I don't think anything has Miss, I thought maybe that would happen when I leave school."

She'd clearly had enough of me by this point. "I don't have time to argue about this with you. If you can't think of one single thing to write about and you really don't think your life is going to get interesting until you leave school then so be it. Just write about what you want to do when you grow up."

One of the troublemakers, Gary, a big lad with a shaved head who had an obsession with fishing, and talking about fishing to anyone who would listen, willingly or not, asked, "Does that count for everyone Miss?"

"Yes Gary. If you can't think of anything from your whole life then do that as well."

"Sweet," Gary replied.

"That doesn't help me Miss," I said. "I don't know what I'm going to be when I leave school."

"Now it's really not as hard a task as you're making it out to be, is it?"

Gary sniggered behind me at the back of the classroom.

"What are you up to Gary?"

"Nothing Miss." He didn't even look up from his writing, unusual for someone who I wasn't aware even knew which end of a pen to hold, unless he was poking someone with it.

"You're up to something Gary, what is it?"

"Just writing about how my life's going to be when I leave school Miss, like you told me to."

"And what is this life you're writing about? Let me guess, you're James Bond or someone are you?"

"No Miss I'm going to be a porn star, I'm writing about all the women I'm going to get paid to screw."

That was it, the whole classroom erupted with laughter.

"You know full well that isn't what I asked you to do Gary."

"That's not fair Miss. If Gary gets to be a porn star then I want to be a footballer in my book," Kev piped up.

"Yeah mate, you'll get almost as much pussy as me if you're a footballer."

"I won't have women objectified like that in my classroom!" she shouted. "All of you from now on are only allowed to write about things you've done, not things you want to do or things you wish you could do."

The idiots and jokers in the class groaned.

I sat there in silence, staring at the blank page before me on the desk.

"That still doesn't help me Miss," I said.

"You must have some aspect of your life that you can write about, where do you live?"

"Kirk-Leigh, Miss."

"Well write something about growing up there."

"I can't Miss, I didn't grow up there."

"Of course you didn't, that would be too easy. Where did you go to school before you came here?"

"Branningham, Miss."

"Then write about growing up in Branningham."

There was an audible intake of breath from Gary at the back of the class. "That's not fair Miss, Luke could write anything if you let him write about a school none of the rest of us have ever been to. How would we know he was telling the truth?"

Mrs Holt had clearly had enough at this point, even so her face still bore an angry smile.

"Do you know what? Just write about whatever you want, you're not doing this to see who has led the most interesting life, it's just an exercise to get you writing from the first person perspective."

She sat down at the head of the room and let out a sigh, before crossing her arms, making an effort not to even look in my direction.

So I could write about anything now, it didn't have to be something I'd actually done. That still wasn't enough though, it wasn't just the fact that I didn't think I had any interesting stories, it was also that I didn't know where to begin, or how to make it all worth reading. Looking back on it now, if I could rewind the clocks and give myself just one piece of advice, it would be: the write words are the ones you want to right.

I never did do that autobiography in English class, but Mrs Holt still continued to smile.
Thanks Santa

December 1997.

Our first Christmas in the new house began with the sound of Jack screaming at six o'clock in the morning. He had developed colic which meant every time he fed, which for a baby is often, he would suffer excruciating stomach pain. This translated into head pain for the rest of us.

Having endured ten minutes of waiting for him to be quiet, I reluctantly got up and came downstairs to find him and my mum in the front room. The decorations and tree had gone up a week before but underneath it were now a whole host of presents that must have appeared in the night.

"Merry Christmas Mum," I said loudly over the sound of crying. "Merry Christmas Jack, for when you stop screaming."

"Morning Lu, Merry Christmas," my mum replied.

Having heard me come down, Dean and my dad soon followed. Both still in their pyjamas.

"Merry Christmas to one and all," my dad said.

Dean laughed, "Yeah- er happy Christmas and that."

"I know it's early, but you might as well open your presents now," my dad said.

In the background my mum held Jack over her shoulder and rubbed him gently on the back.

Dean went to the tree first and started searching through the presents, checking the name on the tag before putting them back if they weren't for him.

"You could hand them out while you're there Dean," my dad suggested.

"Do I look like Father Christmas?" Dean cheeked as he sat back down, two small boxes in his hands.

My dad sighed as he got up, then sifted through the goodies, putting them into individual piles in front of us. Jack eventually calmed down.

"Go on then," my mum smiled at Dean before he frantically tore at the wrapping paper on the box he was holding. In it was a chocolate selection box.

"Thanks," Dean said, while continuing to pull the fake smile he'd worn since he picked it up. A good tactic to hide disappointment if he needed to.

I got my fake smile in early in preparation, then took the safe option by opening a present that looked exactly the same size and shape as Dean's. Another selection box.

Then it was my parents turn to open a present each from the smaller piles they had.

"Thanks Jan," my dad said unwrapping a socket set, my mum threw him a dirty look. "Thanks Santa I mean."

My mum opened a bottle of the same perfume she got every year. "Thank you Father Christmas, you remembered which perfume I like."

My dad smiled.

Then it was Jack's turn. My dad unwrapped most of a box, then held it in front of Jack so he could finish opening it. He reached out with his tiny hand and tore off a piece of paper nearly as big as he was, before waving it back and forth like a flag.

"That's just the wrapping paper," my dad said as he went to take it off him. Jack's eyes welled up. "You play with that then, you can see your present later."

Jack cackled as he continued to wave his flag.

My dad put the box on the floor, in it was a red fire engine. I was looking forward to Jack finally opening it, I wanted to play with it too.

"Your turn again Dean," my mum said.

He opened a Game Boy Pocket this time. "Wicked! I wanted one of these."

My parents looked relieved.

The attention moved back onto me. I picked up a big box this time. I knew what it was, a Sony PlayStation. Or at least that's what I wanted it to be. I unwrapped it slowly, already smiling in case I was wrong. I was sure I wasn't though, I'd been dropping hints for weeks.

"Thanks Santa, this is what I really wanted," I said as I revealed the Sony label on the box.

My parents looked relieved again.

That was the things we'd both been looking forward to opened. It was only us two that had actually asked for anything good, parents don't seem to bother so much with Christmas.

I'd got my PlayStation and the morning had gone perfectly, a little too perfectly.

As we sat there, surrounding the tree while we smiled and opened presents, we looked like one of those families from adverts on the television, all laughter and japes as they play board games together or eat a turkey too big for a normal oven.

We might have liked to be like that, but we weren't like that. An almighty elephant had made itself comfortable in the corner of the room. I waited for the arguing to start. I didn't wait long.

"I'll put your chocolate in the fridge you two so it doesn't melt," my dad said. "You can have one each now but no more until after your dinner."

Then came the shouting.

"Jan! You better come and look at this!"

My mum left Jack with his wrapping paper and ran into the kitchen. "Oh no Whisky get off that!"

Dean and I followed.

"That's it now, Christmas is ruined! We'll have to throw the turkey away!" my dad shouted. "Why would you leave it on the side?"

"Where else was I supposed to leave it? It wouldn't fit in the microwave," my mum snapped back.

"Not on the fucking side where the cat could get to it!"

"Oh right and you're going to swear in front of the kids are you?"

"I wasn't the idiot who left Christmas dinner on the side was I?"

The scene was set for the rest of the day. Dean and I ran upstairs, only coming back down twenty minutes later when we were sure the arguing had subsided.

My mum ended up cooking the vegetables, roasting the potatoes and putting together some sort of turkey replacement using frozen chicken pieces. My dad got on the beer as he watched me set up my new PlayStation in the lounge, helping when I needed him to. Jack thankfully fell fast asleep. The atmosphere was tense and I felt a well of apprehension when my mum eventually called us in for lunch.

"How big are these potatoes Jan?!" my dad antagonised her. "They're barely cooked in the middle, I've told you before if you make them smaller they go crispier."

I bit down on my lip, trying to concentrate on the pain and the taste of blood, rather than the volcano that I knew was about to erupt....

Having bolted my food down as quickly as I could, I made my escape into the hallway where the phone lived, half closing the kitchen door behind me. As I dialled Al's number I wondered if this maybe wasn't the polite thing to do, phoning his house on Christmas day. I was pretty sure that his was going rather differently than mine. They had probably spent lunchtime laughing over tacky cracker jokes, complimenting his mum on the meal, generally being a normal family. Now here I was, about to interrupt their fun.

After three rings I decided to hang up, but as I removed the phone from my ear I heard Al's dad's voice, "Sutton household, good afternoon."

When I got put through to Al he sounded in good spirits. "Alright Lu, how's it going?" he asked.

"Yeah good mate, finished lunch now though so a bit bored," I replied, not wanting to make it obvious I was after either meeting up with him somewhere for the rest of the day, or even an invite round to his.

"You've eaten pretty early then, for Christmas Day I mean? We had late breakfast so Mum's still getting lunch ready," he said. "Did you get your PlayStation?"

"Yeah it's set up in the front room," I replied, immediately wishing I'd told him it was still in the box. He might have invited me over to try it at his then.

"Sweet! I'll come round tomorrow and have a go on it," Al said.

In the background I heard his mum, "Lunch is ready!"

"I've gotta go Lu, peace out."

Al's voice was replaced with a dull tone. Rather than put the phone down I carried on the conversation at my end, making my voice louder. "Yeah sounds good mate, you sure your mum won't mind? OK cool, see you in a bit."

I don't think my dad even really noticed when I announced I was off round Al's. My mum just rolled her eyes at me then diverted her attention back to some awful soap on the television, where someone else's Christmas seemed to be going even more badly than ours.

I spent the rest of the day wandering around Kirk-Leigh, most of it hiding in the pillbox by the backwaters. It was cold, an icy frosted cold that seeped into your bones. It was quiet too though, with just the gentle lapping of the water against the muddy shore. I tried to think about the next day and playing against Al on the computer, rather than dwell on the problems at home. Then when it started getting dark I knew I had to go.

There had been a Christmas service, and when I arrived at the main road people were making their way back to their respective homes. I thought back to what I was heading home to. Dean had been hidden up in the bedroom when I'd left, and Jack was grizzling between my parents on the settee.

As darkness fell I knelt to the ground and sneaked my way down the side of the house, feet crunching through the frost. Planning as early a night as I could possibly get away with.
Salty Meringues

March 1998.

Winter held on for as long as it could, but eventually passed control to spring. With the new season came a new term. I found it a challenge to enter the monstrosity we called school each morning, rather than walking past and making my way to the beach. Flowers bloomed and the seaside seemed to constantly be calling my name, the same as it was, or at least I imagine it must have been, the names of most of my classmates.

At least now it was easier to get out of the house and breathe the air. The smell of the sea is one I'll never forget, and would never want to. Branningham seemed long forgotten by now. The fields and the massive expanse of impressive trees couldn't hope to compare to the absolute wildness of the sea and its unforgiving nature. I became aware whenever I stood at the edge of the sand, white waves folding over each other then over my feet like salty meringues, that I was on the edge of an island. Standing alone, at the point Frampton beach juts out into the sea, you could look both ways and see nothing but water, making you feel like you had the whole island to yourself.

After school we would hang around in the public seating huts on the esplanade and take the piss out of each other. When they were full of old people we would go down onto the sand. As I watched the sunset I would imagine people on the other side of the world watching the sunrise at the same time, it always amazed me, though it wasn't something you told your mate when they were busy throwing stones at buoys in the sea. Addictive would be a word to describe it. I could barely remember the days of walking to school without the hint of saltiness in the air. For a kid who only used to be taken to the beach as a treat it was paradise.

* * *

Mother's Day came and went. It wasn't much of a success.

"Happy Mother's Day Mum." I'd forgotten to get a card, but knew I could do even better. "I'll cut the grass for you today shall I?"

My mum turned to me, smiling as if I'd offered her the moon. "That would be lovely Lu, how nice!" Things got off to a good start when, with my brother Dean's help, we managed to find the lawn mower and plug it in. Normally I would never have given up a Sunday morning like that, but then it was Mother's Day. And even more important than that, Al wasn't around, his family were taking his mum for lunch.

"Cheers Dean, I'll take it from here." I intended to do this one nice thing for my mum on my own.

Plus Dean hadn't made the mistake of forgetting a card so he didn't need to make it up to her, he'd been helped by my dad in that respect. I was now considered old enough to manage buying a card by myself, although this was obviously too much to expect.

I set off and immediately found it harder than I was prepared for, the heavy sun beating down as I pushed the lawn mower around the uneven garden, from one rut to the next. Eventually I was done though, and what a result. A vaguely neat and definitely very short lawn. I ran in, desperate to get the acknowledgement from my mum that I'd done good so I could go out before the sun was lost behind the ever increasing clouds.

"Oh Lu! What have you done to my flowers?!" was the response I got, on leading her out into the newly shaved garden. Fuck it, at least I'd learnt an important lesson. Never forget to buy her a card, and if I ever do forget a sorry will suffice. Most importantly never offer to do anything for anyone.

* * *

Back at school things carried on as usual. That was until one Tuesday. Cycling home, overexcited now the days were getting longer we were open to any opportunity for a new way to spend our time.

"Keep up Lu!" Al shouted out to me. We'd taken to racing our BMXs to and from school which at least made the journey more bearable, and gave us something to look forward to on our way home.

"Wait up Al!" I shouted back. "Take a look at this bad boy!" I'd found a piece of treasure laying beside the path.

In the unkempt front garden of a run-down bungalow, sat a faded yellow canoe, trying to conceal itself within the sun drenched grass. What made it stand out however was the hand written sign 'FOR SALE £20'. Al groaned and turned back, but when I pointed it out to him his face lit up as if he'd just scratched off the silver coating of a winning scratch card. "Wicked! You know we've gotta get this!"

We approached the front door having discussed our funds, we had fifteen quid on us, and could make up the difference from the change jar at the back of my dad's wardrobe.

A knock on the door summoned a skinny old man, bare chested and in a ripped pair of stone wash jeans. Faded tattoos on both arms and long straggly grey hair he looked like the lead singer from some long forgotten rock band. His face bore a frown but his eyes twinkled, I think he appreciated the company. "Alright lads, how can I help you? I don't need my grass cutting if it's money you're after."

"The canoe-" I started, then Al helped me out. "Hi there, we're interested in purchasing your boat."

The old man smiled, then quickly straightened his face, I doubt he thought anyone was going to want it, let alone that he'd find a buyer on the first day. "You want my canoe do you? Have you had a good look? It's not pretty but there's no holes in it so I can't see any reason why it won't float. Twenty quid cash and it's yours."

"We'll have it for definite, Lu's just gonna pop home and get another fiver," Al replied.

The old man slowly looked us up and down then smiled, "I know your faces, I've seen you before. Give me fifteen now and drop the rest through the letter box next time you come past. You look like good lads."

Money was exchanged and we loaded our new toy onto the bikes, storing the paddle inside it for ease. Al rode with the front end on his handlebars, one hand holding it in place. Behind him I did the same, the pair of us making a kind of unique four wheeled canoe, one for land use only. I doubt we would have floated. Not far into our journey I realised we'd cocked up. In taking it straight home with us we thought we'd made things easier, but there's a reason you don't normally see people using BMXs to transport a canoe. We reached my house nowhere near soon enough and I left Al optimistically rummaging through the garage looking for canoe paint, while I cycled off back up the road to settle the debt. I knew if we put it off we'd have never bothered, and that was only going to bite us in the arse at some point if we bumped into the bloke again.

It wouldn't be worth trying the canoe out until the weekend when we could have a proper go. I knew the next few days would drag even more than usual, but then Saturday would be here and we could get out on the water. I was going to go to Haywich and I was finally going to see what Kirk-Leigh looked like from the other side. I went to bed that night knackered but happy. The canoe slept out in the garage among the spiders and old off-cuts of wood that dad's accumulate, it didn't complain.

* * *

Al was round at a ridiculous time on the Saturday morning, if he'd come round any earlier he would have caught my dad before he left for work. I was also up early, we had things to do. Al looked surprised when I opened the door as I saw him walking up the drive.

"Ready?" he asked, opening the garage door.

"Yeah Al. You?"

"Yes mate, let's go."

We set off. It wasn't particularly heavy to carry and was definitely a lot easier going than when you had two BMX bikes as well. Crossing the main road would normally have been the hardest part, waiting for a gap to cross big enough for both of us and a canoe. Except this was Kirk-Leigh, and there were never any cars.

"You go first," Al said as we knelt down and lowered it into the water for the first time. Under my knees in the mossy ground, tiny green crabs scurried about. I rustled the moss with my hand to give them a chance to escape before I sat down. Then I slid my feet into the canoe, lifting my body up and shifting myself over until I was properly sat in it, Al holding it steady all the while.

"We know it floats then," Al said as I demonstrated how stable it was, by rocking to and fro.

I paddled out into the water, surprised at how fast I could go. It soon dawned on me I'd not done this before, I was fourteen years old and I'd never even been in a canoe.

"Go on Lu!" Al shouted as I headed out further and further. I had no idea how deep the water was but it didn't matter, I wasn't going to sink, we knew that much already, so what difference did it make how far I went out?

"I'm going to Haywich!" I shouted back, eyes firmly fixed on the docks in the distance that I had looked at so many times before. The soft waves of the backwaters wobbling me in the boat as I fought my way to the other side. When suddenly I didn't seem to be moving very quickly, I looked back at Al in the distance and realised I was quite a long way out.

"Go on Lu!" he shouted. "Bring me back a souvenir."

But I wasn't going anywhere. No matter how hard I paddled it was as if the water was going against me, I struggled and struggled before turning myself around and heading back to the shore.

"What happened Lu? I thought you were going to Haywich?"

"I was mate, there's like a current out there or something, I got to a point where the water was coming towards me, see where the water's hardly moving there?" I pointed. "It's not like that when you get right out, it's like loads of little waves, non-stop."

"Let me have a try."

We swapped places. Al looking up at me from the water as I passed him the paddle. "So what do you want from Haywich?"

"Something to eat mate," I joked, "I'm fucking starving."

"AIDS burger it is then," Al said as he pushed himself from the shore, before shouting, "Haywich here I come!" As he paddled away.

I watched him as he did exactly as I had, paddling out at full speed and full of optimism. It wasn't long before he looked very small, very far out from shore. I wondered if he'd gotten further out than I'd been because he looked so small, then I reasoned that he probably looked further away because he is so small. When I was looking back I was looking at the whole of Britain. He got a little smaller still, then he seemed to stay the same size.

"Al!" I shouted to him as he paddled frantically.

"What?!"

"Have you hit the current yet Al?"

"Think so!" he called out. "It won't let me go any further." He paddled back looking exhausted, until he reached me sitting on the shore.

"Do you see what I mean? One minute you're going really fast then suddenly the water starts fighting back and you can't move."

"Tell me about it," Al replied. "I believe you now."

"You know what it's like? It's like when you go to the airport and walk on one of the conveyor belts. It's like accidentally walking onto the one going the wrong way."

Al laughed, "Yeah I suppose so Lu, or when you're in a shopping centre going down on an escalator and you try going back up again."

"You've done that as well mate?"

"Blatantly. Everyone's done that at least once. Even the security guards probably do it when the shops are shut."

"I bet that's all they do," I said.

"Yeah that and sit in their offices looking at porn."

The pair of us laughed. "Yeah Al, bunch of wankers."

I looked down at Al in the canoe, then over at Haywich in the distance. Almost everything was perfect for us to finally make it to the other side. We were just in need of one thing. An engine.
Worm-like Varicose Veins

May 1998.

I was never last to be picked in PE at school. Looking back I can say proudly, and truthfully, that there was always one person left standing on the shelf after I was. I think on rare occasions there might even have been two.

Mr Keegan (yes this was his real name, and no he wasn't related) blew the whistle to motivate us into running onto the field, sending a flock of resting seagulls high into the air, squawking their disapproval as they landed again in the public park adjacent to the school. My concentration waned when I realised the tide must have been high, perfect for taking out the canoe.

The pecking order for football was this: Those who loved football upfront where the best goal scoring was done, then behind them in midfield those who equally loved football but either weren't good enough to play upfront or weren't popular enough to deserve a share of the goal scoring glory. It was the secondary job of the strikers upfront to spend each second they didn't have the ball shouting at the overenthusiastic midfielders to get back to where they belonged, every time they took it upon themselves to move too far forward. Then the losers and/or people who didn't really care's place back in defence. To make matters worse, ours was one of those schools that had people who actually wanted to go in goal, and not only that were good at it. Far better than the usual tactic of putting the most useless kid, who is also the one who runs away from the ball in a position where he needs to do the absolute opposite. I took my place in defence and waited for the ball to come to me.

I watched everyone running around chasing the ball, relieved every time it came near me and one of my team tackled the opposing player before it got so close that I might have to actually touch it.

"You're lazy Luke!" Mr Keegan shouted, running towards me in hideously short shorts that did nothing to hide his worm-like varicose veins.

"I'm not!" I snapped back, staring him in his old grey face.

"You are, you do nothing but stand there and watch, it's small wonder you actually managed to make it to the pitch."

I thought about Al and I, cycling to school every single day, turning up to the school gates and seeing other kids getting out of their parents' cars. Then all the time we spent walking, or canoeing, or in the pillbox, or down the beach. The only time I ever sat still was when I was at school and even that wasn't out of choice. In fact, come to think of it, he was working for the very institution that made me do it.

"Bollocks am I lazy."

Mr Keegan's face turned bright red as he screamed at me, "Go! You're excluded! Get out of my lesson! You can't talk to me like that on my playing field."

It was bollocks though, as was the way he could talk to me however he wanted on his playing field, and me being forced to stand outside the changing room door, which was outside, and locked, for forty minutes in my shorts and t-shirt like a twat.

When I got home from school they'd even gone to the effort of ringing my mum and telling her what I'd done. Surprisingly she took my side, in that she didn't think I deserved to be called lazy either. That didn't stop her and my dad having a right go at me though.

Man I hated being told what to do.
Where Numbers Go On Forever

June 1998.

As we were coming to the end of our penultimate year at school, we were informed we would be doing work experience to prepare us for the real world.

It was up to us to put forward suggestions for what sort of placement we would like, based on what we wanted to do when we left school. Assuming they wouldn't be able to find me something riding motocross bikes, I remembered back to something my mum had said when I was younger. "Buying and selling is where the money is, son," she had told me. Nothing is more expensive to buy than a house I thought, so I requested two weeks in a local estate agents. If I couldn't get someone to pay me to ride a motorbike, I'd need the money to buy one myself. A fortnight away from that pointless grey box mostly filled with strangers, getting to see behind the scenes of how businesses work, maybe even being treated like an adult for once. I felt excited and only a little nervous, having had to start a new school and meet literally hundreds of new people, the prospect of going into a poxy little office didn't scare me. I only hoped I'd be allowed to do some of the actual work, as there was probably going to be a lot that was too big a responsibility for me.

I knew I had made the perfect choice, even when Al told me he'd gotten into the primary school he went to as a kid. Two weeks of going down the slides and helping them with colouring in seemed like a total waste of time to me, although it was so close to where we lived he could cycle home for his lunch breaks, the lucky bastard. I was given a start time for the Monday, and took an early bus from Kirk-Leigh to Carlton. My excitement however was short lived when I was immediately sent home again, jeans and a t-shirt apparently not being smart enough clothing for me, even though I wasn't being paid. I made it back for about half past ten, properly dressed in what was basically my school uniform but with one of my dad's ties. I don't know why he owned any ties, I never saw him wearing them. He bought overalls home to be washed every other Friday evening so I knew he didn't wear one to work.

"That's better Luke," the manager Neil said when I rolled up for the second time. He was shorter than me, with a shaved head, he looked about thirty. "Luke this is Sarah, she's only here today then she's off on holiday for the rest of the week."

Sarah had a pretty face, slim and with long blonde hair tied behind her back, and wearing a tight white blouse and knee length black skirt, she didn't look that much older than me. I tried to picture what she would have looked like with her hair down, out of work. It was unlikely I would ever find out though, as I stood there in my school uniform, wearing my dad's tie.

"And if you follow me out the back this is Dave." Dave stood up to shake my hand, he was older than the manager, all his hair was grey and his face had lines in it.

"You'll be helping Dave today," Neil said. "Right I'll leave you two to it."

I looked down at the desk in front of Dave, on it were a stack of envelopes and two stacks of A4 paper with little pictures of houses on in black and white. On the floor at the end of the desk was a box of sealed envelopes that looked identical to the empty ones.

"So I'm helping you with this Dave?" I smiled.

"Not yet Luke," Dave replied, "first I'll show you where the kettle is."

"Luke's allowed to use the kettle while he's here isn't he Neil?" Dave shouted to the front of the building.

"I don't know, I assume so," Neil shouted back.

"I guess you are then," Dave said. I don't know why they didn't ask me, I was allowed to use the kettle at home.

Teas and coffees carefully made, and a hand written note of who has what taped to the kitchen cupboard for next time, I was allowed to move onto the proper work.

"This Luke, is called a mail shot," Dave said, sitting me down on a spare chair next to him. "All the envelopes are addressed to people on our mailing list, who are all looking for houses."

"OK."

"The leaflets have all the details of our latest properties for sale, which of course we want to make the buyers aware of."

"Of course."

"So you take one leaflet from each pile, fold them into an envelope and then place the envelope in this box." He pointed to the box on the floor.

"Then put stamps on them and post them out to people?" I asked.

"We don't need stamps here Luke," he said. "We have a franking machine that does all of that for us. Once they're all done I'll show you how to use it."

"Is this something you do every day?" I asked.

"A mail shot? No these go out every fortnight."

"But you do them?"

"There isn't a set one of us who does it, it's just whoever's got the time usually, and today that's me. Well us," he replied.

I started to do what he'd asked me to, Dave watching over my shoulder for the first few envelopes to make sure I was doing it right. One of the leaflets looked more attractive than the other so I chose to put that one on top, the rest of the job pretty much doing itself. It took about two minutes before my mind began wandering, my brain struggling to focus on the task in front of me. Luckily Dave had wandered off well before that. I daydreamed about motorbikes, and canoes, and space; and what Sarah would look like on holiday in her bikini. Then when I'd finished I went and found Dave. He seemed pleased with what I'd done and took me to an even smaller room at the back of the office with smart coats hanging from hooks on the wall.

"So this is the franking machine." He demonstrated how it inked a box and number in the corner of each envelope.

"Oh yeah," I said. "So you don't need a stamp."

I looked down at the box, filled to the top with un-franked letters. The thought of standing here watching him do them all made me feel quite claustrophobic. There were no windows in this back room and as I took deep breaths, it felt like there was no air.

"So are you planning on doing this when you leave school?" he asked.

I looked down at the bottomless box again, then past him towards the door out of this tiny room, my mouth went dry. "Er....that's what I was thinking, yeah."

"I did this for work experience too when I was your age," he said. "And I'm still doing it nearly thirty years later."

I pictured spending thirty years in this room with Dave, just the two of us and the franking machine. My heart started pumping panic around my body. I contemplated asking him if we could swap places, so I could stand by the door, but maybe that would sound weird. I'd only been there a half a day, I didn't want them thinking there was something wrong with me already. But then what if I had to run out, surely that would look even worse. And where would I go? Home? I couldn't go back to my mum and tell her I'd been unable to even get through one day of work, or my dad, what would he think? All that was left was to stand here and suffocate, and try not to let my head explode.

"All done Luke," Dave interrupted the turmoil inside my head. "You just need to post them in the box at the end of the street. Go out the front door and turn left, you can't miss it, it's the bright red thing."

I moved slowly past him, so he couldn't see how desperate I was to get outside.

"I'll be back as soon as I can," I said.

"It's no rush Luke," he replied. "Have a cigarette if you smoke. It's not like school, you won't get in trouble."

I walked out into the fresh air and took the deepest breath I could, the open space immediately calming me down. I had no idea what the fuck had happened to me in there, I only knew I never wanted it to happen again.

* * *

"First day any good then?" Al asked me, as we sat as we often did, on the old cricket pavilion in Kirk-Leigh.

"Shit mate," I replied. "What about you?"

"Really good actually. What did you do all day to make yours shit?"

I laughed, "I didn't really do anything, spent most of the day making coffee and putting letters into envelopes, after they'd sent me home to get changed that is. What did you do?"

"Not a lot, helped the kids painting, read some stories out of a book. That was it really." Al shuffled back on the white wooden decking we were sat on, trying to catch the last rays of light from the setting sun. "They're on breaks most of the time at that age, you forget what it's like when you're first at primary school."

From what Al had told me before it sounded like a good school to go to, I was glad, it was the same school Jack would be starting in a few years time when he was old enough.

"Sounds a lot better than what I'm doing," I said.

"I did tell you not to get something in an office mate, I knew you'd be bored. You're like me, you don't like being indoors."

An old lady with a dog walked out of the farmer's field, and onto the gravel track that led from the main road to the cricket field. I could only just make out her features in the failing light of dusk, she wouldn't have seen us at all.

"I know Al, I just wanted to do something worthwhile for when I have to get a job."

"We don't even finish school for another year, then you're gonna be in college for two years after that," Al reminded me. "There's still loads of time to worry about wearing a suit and sitting at a desk."

He was right of course, it would be at least three more years before either of us got a job, I probably should have been making the most of the time in-between.

"So are you thinking of working in a school now Al? I thought you wanted to do building."

"Nah mate, I still want to get into bricklaying, I'm still gonna do that two year course at the college. If I'd been able to get a labouring job for work experience I would have done, no one wanted me though cos I wouldn't have been allowed on site."

"See, that's why I'm doing what I am, because it's going to help me on my course," I said.

"What, the business management course?"

"Yeah."

"But you don't want a job in business management. You're not going to be able to work inside, you'd be better off being a bin man or something like that than working in an office."

I laughed, "That's the good thing about estate agency Al, you get to go off and meet people."

"So where did you go today?"

"Nowhere mate, but I'm on work experience."

"So you stayed there on your own while everyone else went out?"

"No they aren't all going to run off and leave me in charge are they?" I quipped.

"So some of them stayed there to look after you?"

I tried to remember who had gone out and who hadn't, it wasn't hard. No one had gone out, not during the time I'd been there. Dave had spent most of the day with me, in fact they'd all been there all day, in that tiny office. At points I'd wanted to go outside so much it hurt, but aside from that once to post the letters and for lunch-time, I'd been stuck there with everybody else. If I was going to have to be stuck in some tiny space and not allowed out, I'd at least want to have a good reason. Like an astronaut on the International Space Station, floating in a metal box in the coldest silence, where numbers go on forever. At least then I'd have a reason for feeling like I couldn't breathe properly.

"It's still a long way off Al, we'll see what happens."

"It's your life Lu, I'm not gonna tell you what to do, I just know you well enough to know that you won't like being indoors all the time."

He was right and I knew it, but I still didn't know what I actually wanted to do. I only hoped I could work that out before school finished for good.

I did get taken out, just the once in those two weeks, to a property with no one living in it. I wrote down room sizes for Neil while he called out the measurements. I enjoyed that side of the job, but for me it was what I'd have wanted to do all the time, not be stuck at a desk all day.

Anyway, with work experience over the school year came to an end, allowing me back outside again. Ironically the one place I fitted in.
Stroking an Imaginary Beard

July 1998.

The arrival of the summer holidays meant Al and I could finally relax, and do the things we'd spent all year wanting to. Until a chance encounter at the shop, while stocking up on fizzy drinks and crisps in preparation for a day's canoeing, changed everything.

"I'll wait outside mate," I told Al. I wasn't interested in making idle chat with the pensioners while they queued for stamps and bingo pens.

A few minutes later he came back out of the shop. Searching through his carrier bag for an ice pole instead of looking where he was going, he barged into an elderly man on the way in, nearly knocking him over. He was a funny looking bloke, with features too well defined, almost like a cartoon caricature of himself. Grey hair crept down over his collar and there were wiry whiskers sprouting out from his wrinkled cheeks and chin at all sorts of random angles. I'd not seen him in the village before, I'd remember if I had.

"You Boy!" he barked, peering at Al from over the end of his big nose.

You're for it now I thought, waiting for the usual barrage of anti youth drivel that accompanied pissing off old people. We normally got it when we overtook them on our bikes as they glacially shifted their way down the path. They would moan at us if we came within a hundred feet as we passed. Normally we'd only catch a word or two of what they had to say, ignoring them and carrying on. We couldn't do that now though, Al was going to have to take what was coming to him. Would it be 'In my day we had respect for our elders?' Or maybe something like 'I fought for you in the war?' I hoped it would be something funny, I'd repeat it to Al for the rest of the day in the best impersonation I could; saying it over and over until he hated me. 'That's the problem with you youngsters today,' I'd say stroking an imaginary beard while bent over at an aged angle, 'You never look where you're going,' then I'd chase him down the backwaters on the canoe.

What came next was a surprise.

"Do you want a bit of work Boy? Earn some extra money helping me out?" He looked back and forth at us both, so was obviously aware there were two of us standing there.

Al and I made eye contact, each unsure how to react. "Umm, what sort of work mate?" Al queried.

I wondered if he should have stuck a Sir on the end of his question rather than mate given the immense age of the man, but the old bloke didn't seem to be offended in the slightest at the over familiarity.

"Ten pounds a day Boy," he continued. "Hard honest work, it'll do you good."

What we could each do with ten pounds a day! Imagine if we could earn ten pounds a day, every day over the whole summer, we'd have a fortune! Provided that was each and not between us, I didn't want to be rude and ask though so we'd have to take a gamble. On second thoughts, we'd need a few days off, we'd want to spend some of our earnings on having a bit of enjoyment.... "Yeah sure mate. Sounds great!" Al interrupted my daydreams of fun and fortune.

"Uh, yeah, that would be great....er....Sir," I said, trying to show him a bit of respect, no way did I want him to change his mind.

"Righty ho Boy, be at mine tomorrow, nine am sharp mind, I don't tolerate idleness. By the way what are your names?"

"I'm Luke," I replied. "And this is Al."

"My name is Thomas Shipman," the old man replied.

"Tom?" Al asked.

"You can call me Tom if you want," he said, "but everyone else calls me Ship."

Al took mental notes regarding directions and we walked back to mine in the blinding glare of the summer sun, feeling a bit dazed. Ten quid a day, what a result! I still had no idea what we'd be doing though.

* * *

I woke up the next morning to the sound of my alarm, groaning as I hit the snooze button. I'd been up late the night before watching more motocross videos round Al's, and would have killed for another hour in bed. Forcing myself up I made my way to the window and drew open the curtains. I groaned again. The whole sky was grey, not a shred of sunshine visible. Typical. I'd have been much more up for a day working outdoors had it looked a bit more inviting. Oh well, I thought, rummaging through the wardrobe, best dress weather appropriate. I pulled out jeans, a t-shirt and an old hoody. Al turned up while I was still getting dressed, obviously eager to get his hands on the cash.

We biked down to the main road Ship lived on, wobbling as we pedalled slowly, trying to read the numbers on the front doors.

"This one I reckon!" Al yelled out, coming to a halt outside an old bungalow, following that up with, "Fucking hell, look at the state of the place!"

We were halfway through the village, but on the very edge of the side that faced the water, in the distance you could just about see the sea defences. The garden of the bungalow grew up with weeds and waist high grasses, mimicking the corn in the farmers field that lay beyond the boundary fence. The home itself looked long overdue a good tidy, white painted pebble-dash falling from the walls in clumps, and piles of mess everywhere, rusty engine parts and grease coated spanners.

"Our job to sort it out I reckon," I said dryly, looking into an open workshop at the end of the garden, floor to ceiling shelves covered in unidentifiable metal objects. "What have we got ourselves into?"

"You're here then? And on time too, good good. Do come in, don't mind the...."

Al went to unlatch the front gate, when a frenzy of manic barks sounded out. The pair of us jumped together.

"You, quiet! Boy here has come to help us tidy the place up a bit," Ship said, walking towards us. It looked unlikely he would be joining us in the day's events, in his smart black trousers and white shirt, albeit with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

A fuzzy brown and white blur appeared from over the top of the shabby fence, its tiny fluffy head disappearing and reappearing, again and again. What was this, some kind of overgrown hamster? I looked at the fur on Ship's face, whatever it was that kept jumping up and down was the same colour. Maybe it wasn't a hamster, maybe it was a piece of Ship's beard. Or maybe Ship's beard was made out of hamsters.

"Come in, come in," he welcomed us. "You got a dog Boy? No?"

We both shook our heads.

"You want a Yorkshire terrier if you ever get one. Loyal and intelligent. Meet Jasper."

We looked at each other, and then leaned over the gate and looked down at the dog. I was surprised it was possible to fit loyalty and intelligence in something the size of a rat.

"Hi Jasper." Al smirked.

"Hello Jasper!" I tried to put a bit more enthusiasm into my tone of voice. Sleepiness now gone, my mind was on the money.

We made our way into the front garden, Jasper jumping up at us but thankfully no longer barking. He ran between Ship's bare feet, brushing against the grey hair growing on his toes. I was deeply regretting my own outfit choice already. The sun had burned through the heavy cloud of earlier and was shining proudly in the sky, blinding me whenever I looked the wrong way. Al had planned ahead better than me and chosen shorts.

I would have cycled home and gotten changed, if it wasn't start time on our very first day.

"Your first port of call for today," Ship said, "is creosoting this fence. So neither of you has done this before then?"

We both shook our heads. It hadn't been so much a question as a statement of fact when he'd asked, even if I had done it before I wouldn't have contradicted him by telling him so.

"Righty ho, most important don't take too long about it. I've got lots more to be done over the next few weeks. Second most important, dress right."

He disappeared round the side of the house and was back moments later with two bundles of white fabric. Handing one to each of us, I have never been so relieved.

The overalls may have been full length in the arms and legs, but they were a lot thinner than the denim I was wearing.

I was tempted to strip off right there and then to swap my clothing, but Ship gestured towards the workshop at the end of the garden. We nipped in and changed quickly, I showed Al the endless shelves of metal bits I had spotted from outside, he reckoned they were engine parts.

Ship then gave us a pair of rubber gloves each, to put on first. Before handing us both a pot made out of a cola bottle with the top cut off, three-quarters filled with brown liquid with a strong chemical smell, and a couple of brushes.

"It's no different to painting anything else," he said, putting the pair of us at opposite ends of the wide fence at the front of his driveway. "This way you won't be tripping over each other, and when you meet in the middle you'll know which of you has worked the quickest."

We got to work, hard work. There was no way he was going to paint more of the fence than I was, and I could tell by the look on Al's face he was determined to beat me too. It didn't take long before my arm started to ache but that didn't matter, Al's would also be aching, it would be worth it to win, the money now being firmly at the back of my priorities.

As an added bonus Ship had locked Jasper away while we got on with the job. "No good for the little chap those strong fumes," he'd said as he followed the dog inside.

Sod the dog, what about us two? I looked over at Al, he'd pulled his t-shirt up to cover his mouth. Best just try and breathe less I thought.

By mid afternoon we were finished, Al having covered slightly more of the fence than me, though he was on the side of the driveway whereas I had the front lawn, meaning I'd had to be careful not to repaint the grass. We settled on a draw. Ship had come out once to tell us it was lunchtime but seeing that we were nearly finished he let us carry on uninterrupted.

We stopped for a late lunch of crisps and a drink of squash in his run down but comfortable kitchen.

"You finished quicker than I thought you would," he said, after going out front to inspect our work. "You might as well go home for the day, there's no use in starting something this late, and besides, you've done enough already."

"Do you still want us again tomorrow?" I asked tentatively.

"Yes, of course Boy," he replied. "Don't worry I've got plenty more to keep you busy."

Al visibly stuffed down the last of his food so he could speak, "So what are we doing tomorrow boss? More painting?"

"No, one day is enough spent doing that awfully boring job, follow me and I shall show you."

He led us down the garden path towards the cavernous workshop at its end.

Here we go I thought, we'll finally find out what all those spare parts are for, when he has us cleaning the grease off them with toothbrushes. Fortunately he walked right past the workshop, stopping behind it.

As we followed him past the workshop, to both of our surprise we found a massive boat.

"This is my pride and joy," Ship said. "She needs some work but that's where I'm hoping you two come in." I didn't even need to look at Al to know he'd be thinking the same as me.

"We didn't even know you had this," Al said excitedly, "you can't see it from the road."

"Best that way I thought," Ship replied, pulling back the tarpaulin cover draped over the top. You got a real sense of the size of it now, it was a proper boat, one that you could take out in the sea and sleep on, it even had a handrail on the top so you could walk around on deck. It was far from pretty though, all faded and yellow with loose panels of sea bleached wood.

"Lots to be done here. If you look inside," he pointed through the small rectangular windows. "I've got all of the bits for the interior, they're in the workshop. I can't put it in until we get that roof fixed though."

"That'll be wicked when it's finished Ship," I said.

"Indeed, she should make a good craft when she's done." He pulled the cover back over, spelling the end of our first day. Then he gave Al and I a twenty pound note between us and we all shook hands again.

Getting on our bikes and cycling home, for the first evening in months we had no discussion about how we were going to spend the hours before bed.

We were both absolutely knackered. We didn't say as much to each other, but both silently acknowledged it. My mum seemed pleased when I got back, she'd bumped into Al's mum in the village and found out where I'd spent the day. I don't reckon she thought I'd stick it out but she didn't understand. To be earning money whilst being outside and spending time with my best mate had opened my eyes. What a way to earn a living! What I'd always known inside had been confirmed. I could never work indoors in an office, it just wasn't what I was cut out for. Right then and there I felt that if I could make my career working with Al and Ship then I would.

That night, as I lay in the top bunk above my brother Dean, I was far too excited to sleep, restlessly trying to work out what the following day might have in store. Would we be fixing the roof like he'd mentioned or something totally different. Maybe Al could fix the roof while Ship and I bolted all the interior bits in place, the dog curled up on the grass outside.

I was asleep before I even knew it.

* * *

The next morning I woke up aching but optimistic about the new day. Following Al on his bike, this time also in shorts and a t-shirt myself, we found Ship at the end of his back garden. He'd already taken the cover off the boat and was stood looking up at it, a pipe hanging from his lips.

"Morning Boy. Are you all ready for another day's work then?" he asked us.

I'd barely gotten out of bed and had heavy arms but was still totally truthful when I replied, "Can't wait!"

"If you'll follow me then," he said, climbing the ladder onto the deck. "And Daisy if you don't mind the intrusion of these two young men."

I assumed Daisy must be the name of the boat, or Ship had gone senile in the night, he was old enough. Either way I followed Al up the ladder.

Ship handed us a bucket of gloves and cleaning products, and scouring pads that mums use in kitchens.

"You'll be cleaning her today, these dark green patches you see, down here." He pointed.

"Is that from the sea?" I asked.

"Oh no Boy, it's a long time since she's seen the sea. No that's from being out in the weather."

Ship got down slowly onto his old knees and began to show us what to do, spraying some fibreglass cleaner on first then scrubbing the green marks with a scouring pad.

"You might need to go over the same area more than once," he said, as nothing happened to the marks he was scrubbing. "That's fine, just keep going until it's all gone."

He slowly stood up again, his old legs taking a while to do what he wanted them to. Then he turned to us one last time as he climbed down the ladder. "That's all there is to it then Boy. If you need me I'll be in the house."

We got straight to work, just like the day before, in an effort not to be shown up by one another. Though try as we might, the green marks just didn't want to budge. I carried on regardless, and eventually found a technique that worked. All you had to do was keep on scrubbing the same spot until it felt like your arm was going to fall off, ignore the pain and continue until your arm actually did fall off, then use your other arm to hold your severed arm in place while you continued scrubbing and you'd just about clean one small spot the size of a two pence coin. We had a whole bloody boat to do.

When Ship came out a few hours later we were in agony, it hurt to lift the triangular cucumber sandwiches he'd brought with him.

"You seem to be getting on alright so far," he said, surveying our work.

"I thought we'd have finished by now," Al replied.

"Scrubbing the deck?" Ship laughed. "There's many a seaman out there who wishes it was that easy, that's why it's used as a punishment."

I could remember people in cartoons being forced to scrub the deck on television, I hadn't made the connection until now though.

"How long do you think it will take us to finish cleaning the whole thing?" I asked.

"It will take as long as it takes, you might be done by the end of the week," he replied.

It was only Wednesday, I couldn't imagine another two and a half days of doing this, surely it wouldn't take that long?

It turned out we were both wrong. By the time we'd finished we were coming to the end of our second week.

* * *

I was enjoying the summer holiday, despite the fact we were working, just being out in the fresh air was nice. Some days we worked in jumpers and other days it was a t-shirt and shorts, or just shorts if it was really warm. I liked Ship and I trusted him. Despite his funny way of talking and abrasive ways I could tell he liked us. Why else would he have stuck having us on his property all day every day for nearly two weeks solid? He obviously trusted us as well.

He never locked his front door when we were there, something Al had found out when desperate for a piss, and with no answer from a persistent knocking at the door he'd opened it and found the bathroom himself. Jasper still jumped up at us every morning when we arrived at the front gate, but he no longer barked. Like his owner he'd obviously decided we were trustworthy and not worth making too big a fuss over. With the boat scrubbing finished, Ship covered Daisy back over and assured us we would see her finished soon. We offered to help out but "Unfortunately," as he put it, "neither of you has the experience in boat building required."

The next few weeks were taken up by sweeping the workshop out, cutting the grass, weeding, cleaning his car, all the little jobs that needed doing. He gave us the occasional day off when his daughter would visit or he would go out for the day, we spent them on the backwaters in the canoe.

Ship came out to have a chat with us at the end of our fifth week of work.

"You know I haven't got anything for you now, don't you?" He pointed towards the pair of us with his pipe, before putting it back between his lips, lighting a match and puffing away.

So that was it then, an end to working at Ship's. I was gutted, but then we did have to go back to school in a week.

He breathed out the old-fashioned smoke. "But you've done so well I'm going to take you out in the boat tomorrow. If you'd like to that is?"

"We'd love to," Al replied. "In Daisy?"

"What do you think Boy?" he snorted. At his age he didn't have the time to explain himself. If you didn't understand that was your problem. The irony being that a no would have been easier for all of us.

"Which boat?" I asked.

"Oh dear boy you haven't seen it have you?" He fetched a step ladder from beside the house and leaned it against the workshop. "Go on, have a look."

Al went up first, coming down with twinkling eyes. "There's another boat up there Lu."

I climbed up and checked for myself, to make sure the pair of them weren't lying. Upside down on the roof of the workshop was another boat, a small white dinghy with no roof.

"Is that a spare boat?" Al asked.

Ship laughed deeply from his gut, "It's a tender. When Daisy is finally back in the water I will use it to get out to her."

"What's the tender's name?" Al asked.

"I suppose she doesn't have one, I never thought to give her a name. She deserves one though, if we're going to take her out."

"What about Jasper?" I suggested. "Like the dog."

"Jasper isn't much of a girl's name," Ship replied, "how about Jessica?"

Jessica was a good name for the boat, she looked like a Jessica. With a name agreed we carefully lifted her down onto her trailer, before parting company for the rest of the day. Having set a time that we would all meet the following morning, I was excited again about what was in store, I was still excited that night when I got into bed.

* * *

Ship was waiting outside for us when we arrived the next morning, sending smoke signals on his pipe. Our first mode of transport for the day would be his Volvo estate, which he'd already hooked up to Jessica's trailer. Lying in the back of the boat was a twenty-five horsepower outboard motor.

The three of us and the dog drove the short distance to Island Lane in the village, right up next to the familiar pillbox Al and I spent so much time at after school.

"You're not going to be getting sea sick now are you Boy?" Ship ribbed us as we rolled the trailer down the concrete ramp.

"We'll be alright," I replied. I was more worried about him over exerting himself, he was probably at least a hundred years old.

"Come on then," he said. "The tide is as good as it's going to get."

He was right. I could tell by the green stain on the concrete floor, the line that marked the highest point the tide ever got to. The water wasn't quite there yet, the fact that last bit of concrete was dry told me we hadn't missed it.

We set off, Al and I sitting at the front of the boat facing the wrong way, Ship and Jasper sitting opposite, all of our feet nearly touching in the middle of the small craft.

"I was thinking we'd head towards Haywich, there'll be places there we can moor up," Ship shouted over the noise of the engine.

I took a deep smell of the salty wet air that I loved and looked at Al, we were attempting the same thing we'd tried to do so many times before on the canoe. Only this time we had twenty-five horsepower on our side, we'd never even had one horsepower up until now. We had two red plastic petrol tanks, separate from the engine, connected one at a time by a tube. Ship reckoned the first one would easily get us there, we would swap over to the second one in Haywich before heading back.

We were making good ground. Looking back towards Kirk-Leigh then over at Haywich we seemed to be somewhere in the middle, about halfway there, when suddenly the engine began to splutter, before stalling completely.

"Bloody engine!" Ship shouted.

Al and I laughed, not having an engine didn't bother us. We'd just sit around and float all day.

"Bloody petrol tank is empty already," he said as he hooked the second one up. The engine coming back to life on the second pull of the cord.

"Sorry lads, we'll have to head back," Ship apologised, sounding guilty like he'd somehow let us down.

That didn't matter now though, not making it to Haywich was the least of our worries.

Jessica started rocking on the water, big waves lashing up against the left side of the boat. Ship yanked at the handle on the outboard and twisted the throttle to full power, pointing us straight towards home. Then behind us we heard a loud horn.

We all turned in unison towards the source of the noise. A massive ferry coming straight down the middle of the water. It was nowhere near close enough to hit us, but it wouldn't need to, the wake it produced would be enough to roll us over. In the distance on the deck of the ferry a man dressed in white waved frantically at us. Ship waved back, an old seafarers wave that said don't worry we know what we're doing. Whether the other captain understood it or not is irrelevant. He had already called the coastguard and they were here.

They pulled their blue and white boat up somewhere between the ferry and Jessica, then one of them who was dressed like a policeman began shouting at us through a loudspeaker, "Take your vessel back to shore! This is a busy shipping lane!"

Jasper cowered down, hiding between Ship's feet.

"We are at full power!" Ship shouted back, pointing out that we were already facing away from the ferry. They replied with language you don't expect from a coastguard, unsympathetic of the predicament we had ended up in.

Ship didn't appreciate being put in his place in front of the two boys and you could see it. He was captain of this boat we were on, I think if it wasn't for the fact we were already low on fuel, he might have tried to fight his corner and head back towards Haywich. In fact, had he put the suggestion forward I know neither Al nor I would have mutinied.

In the meantime, the wake from the ferry continued to try desperately to drown us, the three of us having to move our weight around the boat to counteract the rolling motion of the sea.

When the ferry finally went away, the coastguard also gave up on us, and we continued at full speed back towards Kirk-Leigh, almost making it to land on our remaining tank.

"Bloody hell," Al groaned when the engine gave out. He looked at Ship holding Jasper, and took one look at me in my denim jeans, then he pulled his t-shirt and trainers off, and jumped into the choppy water in just his shorts.

"That's it Boy!" Ship shouted to Al as he swam us towards the shore, holding the piece of coiled rope at the front of the boat. I'd never seen old Ship in such an excited state. Well, excited for him. He guffawed and gave another wheezy shout as Al pulled the rope taught and dragged us along with all his strength.

"Come on Boy, you can do it! Keep it up now, don't wear yourself out too soon!" Al grimaced as he took the strain and swam us back bit by bit.

"Ship," I murmured quietly to him at one point, having seen the unmistakable shimmer of colour floating on the top of the waves. A jellyfish, and Al was about to swim right into it.

He was concentrating so hard on keeping going that he hadn't seen it. I opened my mouth to say something when old Ship put his rough calloused hand onto my arm. I looked at him. He shook his head. And we both watched silently as Al's arm brushed the very edge of the quivering mass, and then the waves created by his swimming strokes pushed it far enough away from his body that we both relaxed. So fortunately Al wasn't stung and we made it back. We mentioned the incident afterwards. Al understood that we'd only kept it quiet because we couldn't risk him getting back out of the water. There was no chance I was getting in with the jellyfish and Ship certainly wasn't.

I realised something while Al was taking us home. I'd have been lost without him that day, floating aimlessly in the sea, just like Ship would have been lost too. Only without meeting Al when I moved to the village, I was pretty sure the rest of my life would have felt the same. I don't know what I would have done without him.

We made best use of the week's holiday we had left. We never went out with Ship or his boat again, and as for the money? We went back to school in September with a reasonable amount in our pockets and not a clue on how to spend it.
There Aren't Any Jellyfish at School

September 1998.

A loud ringing in my ears dragged me from my slumber. What the....?! Bollocks, alarm clock, no more holidays, back to school. Up with just enough time to shower, get dressed in my uniform and do my hair, I'd much preferred just chucking a scruffy t-shirt on and running out the door. Why bother brushing your teeth when you're going to spend the day scrubbing the deck?

Al arrived just as I finished putting on someone else's clothes. Trainers on feet and shoes in rucksacks we set off down the road on our BMXs.

"Sod this mate, I don't think I can deal with going back yet," Al said to me as we turned onto the main road, the morning sun lifting the smell of grass into the air. "Do you want to go back to Ship's and tell him we didn't realise we'd finished year eleven not year ten, see if he'll let us work there full-time?"

"Yeah....not sure he'll go for that Al," I replied curtly. "Even if he does believe us, the school probably won't have it. Anyway I don't think he had any more for us to do."

"I don't care, I'll work there for free!"

"Look on the bright side," I said. "At least there aren't any jellyfish at school."

"I'd rather eat a jellyfish than have to go to that fucking school again."

I laughed and secretly wished I had the authority to get him out of going back to school, I'd pick out the biggest jellyfish I could find.

We arrived to find the school had been converted into a funeral home while we were away, a queue of solemn mourners filed in to say their goodbyes to free time.

"Glad to be back!" Al shouted to a group of lads I barely knew, as they kicked a ball against the wall of the maths class.

"Yeah right!" they shouted back. I nodded, unable to think of anything to say.

It didn't take long to get back into school mode once we were inside, about as long as it took for my eyes to adjust to the shade.

This wasn't like the year before at school, there was an air of diminished responsibility to the teachers. They'd done what they could and were now concentrating on the next year's students, who still had a chance. It was now on us to cram as much of this shit into our heads as we could, to ensure we passed the necessary exams to get the jobs we didn't really want.

I was feeling fairly sure about how I was going to get on in the exams. I had split the subjects into two groups; those with binary answers like maths, science and German, which weren't going to be a problem if I knew the answers, which I thought I did. Then the remaining subjects including English, history and business studies where the question was put to you in a riddle, which you had to decode before you could work out what the answer was supposed to be. And that was if you even knew the answer.

That was all still some way off though, so I put the exams in the little box in the back of my mind with everything else that wasn't happening that day, locked the lid down, and forgot about it, keeping myself entertained with watching my classmates have mini-nervous breakdowns every time exams were mentioned.
When He Woke Up CDs Had Been Invented

October 1998.

A couple of weeks into the new term I overheard a short lad from my year, Phil, telling someone that his older brother was selling his motorbike. He had turned seventeen and wanted the money so he could start taking driving lessons and get a car.

Now this on its own wasn't that exciting, plenty of people sell motorbikes all the time. What made this one special though was that not only was it a Yamaha DT motocross bike, and 50cc meaning I was nearly old enough to ride it, it was also only a hundred quid. And I had a hundred quid! Images of doing jumps and sliding sideways like the riders in the videos I'd watched filled my head.

I quickly interrupted them and armed myself with all the information I would need to persuade my parents to let me have it, approaching my mum as soon as I got through the door.

"I'm getting a motorbike Mum," I informed her.

She gave me a stern look. "You're fifteen, you're not even old enough to ride one yet," she replied. "Anyway I don't want you having one, they're too dangerous."

"Dad had one."

"That was before I met him," my mum said. "He's never had one while we've been together."

"That's not the point I'm making," I said. "They can't be that dangerous, Dad's still alive."

"Your dad was one of the lucky ones. Look at what happened to his friend Mike Stacey when he was younger."

Bollocks, I'd forgotten she had that story, the one where my dad's friend had slid off his bike while navigating a roundabout and had his head run over by a bus.

"He's not dead either Mum!" I retorted.

"No but he was in a coma for two years. When he woke up CDs had been invented, and he didn't even know what they were." To this day I don't know why that bit of information was always included when she told the story, maybe it added credibility to it somehow, it wasn't something you'd think to just make up.

"There aren't ever any buses round here Mum, that's why I need a motorbike."

"You're not having one and that's the end of it," she looked me square in the eyes. "You might as well give up on the idea."

I stormed upstairs and found my brother Dean in our bedroom. I stormed back downstairs and round to Al's, maybe I'd have more luck when my dad got back from work.

Al was in agreement with me that my mum was taking the piss, so with that in mind I set off home again at six to get my dad on my side too.

"I've found this motorbike I want Dad, it's only a fifty cc. I was thinking if I get it now I can keep it in the garage until I'm sixteen," I told him.

"Oh yeah, how much is that then?" he replied, smoking his roll-up in the doorway of the wooden lean-to at the back of the house.

"A hundred quid Dad, I've got more than that still from working at Ship's"

"A hundred quid!" he spluttered. "What's wrong with it?"

"Nothing's wrong with it Dad, it's got Tax and MOT and it runs alright. I've seen the bloke who owns it riding it to sixth form. It needs tidying up a bit and it's pretty old but that's all."

My dad smiled just a little, I might have one parent on board now.

"You know you'll have to look after it Lu but I could show you how to keep it running right, I've got all the tools we'd need. We could get it all looking good over the winter then you could do your test on it." He was beginning to get excited now, my dad kept all the cars we ever had running, and worked with tools in his job. I knew he'd loved working on bikes when he was younger but had had to give that up when I was born not long after he and my mum got together.

"Have you spoken to your mum about it?"

"For some reason she thinks they're dangerous," I replied cautiously, my mum was still the one flaw in the plan.

"She will say that Lu, she's a woman. Let me speak to her." And with that he threw his roll-up in the hedge and went back in the house.

I waited a minute while he went and sat in the lounge with my mum, before going upstairs where I found Dean and Jack in the room Dean and I shared. I sat out of view on the landing, where the stairs turned one hundred and eighty degrees, and listened in.

"I've already told him he's not having one!" my mum's voice rang up the stairs.

"He's nearly sixteen Jan, he'll need to be able to get about soon, you can't keep having to drive him everywhere."

"Well if he's nearly sixteen he can wait until he's seventeen then and take driving lessons. I'm not letting him have one of those death-traps."

"It's not all up to you Jan, you're not the only one in this house with a say!" my dad shouted.

I'd sat through enough full scale arguments at home to know that was the kind of sentence to kick one off. There was no way I was staying in to listen to that, especially after I'd started it all. I climbed out of the dormer window of Jack's bedroom and slid down onto the lean-to roof, before jumping onto the garage roof and using the oil heating tank at the back to get onto the ground. I stayed round Al's until I knew everyone at home would be in bed.

* * *

The next morning I caught my dad in the kitchen running late for work, he told me my mum had finally given in, but that if anything happened to me then he would be held to blame. I didn't care about any of that, I was finally getting a motorbike!

When I got to school, I asked Phil if he could get his brother to ride the bike round to mine when we finished on the Friday.

The rest of the week went past in a blur of sleepless excitement, that peaked when I heard the little two-stroke engine coming up the road, just before the red and black paintwork came into view. I gave my dad the money and he chatted about the bike with the lad who owned it, while I sat on it and got a feel for the controls. I'd had a go on a bike back in Branningham, so I knew what everything did, though that had been a long time ago. Stood over the seat I could just about get both feet flat on the ground, it was the perfect size for me! With my hands on the grips and arms almost straight I was totally in control, bouncing the front end up and down on the long travel forks.

I wheeled it to the end of the driveway beside my dad's car, then sat on the seat and with one hand on the car roof to stop me tipping over, lifted my feet onto the footrests to see what I looked like in the reflection from the car window. Wicked! I looked like a proper motocross rider! Once I'd shifted my knees back so they no longer obscured the red DT50 stickers that emblazoned the glossy black petrol tank.

Once my dad had finished filling the paperwork in for me, I signed my name at the bottom of the log book, shook the lads hand, and my dad drove him home in his car. The moment I saw them turn onto the main road I ran inside and rang Al to come round.

"I'm just taking it up the field Mum to make sure it all works alright!" I shouted up as she watched me from her bedroom window.

"I'm not sure you're meant to be going out on that yet are you? I think you should wait for your dad to come back," she replied.

"Dad said it's fine," I lied, while pushing the bike up my road towards the field at the top.

Al carried the single crash helmet that had come with the bike, it was a bit too big for me but it would have to do for now. When we reached the top of the road we stopped.

"Island Lane, Lu?" Al suggested.

"Yeah mate, jump on." With the ignition turned from 0 to 1 the bike started on the first kick and we set off over the farmer's corn field. Everything came back to me from that bike I'd ridden before, my hands and feet quickly remembering their roles. I even managed to get it into third gear on the bumpy field, any higher than that would have meant we were going too fast. We cut down the parallel lines left by the tractor, to the main road that runs through Kirk-Leigh, Al holding round my waist with one arm, the other hanging onto the crash helmet. When we got to the main road we got off the bike while we crossed, then pushed it down the footpath until a gap in the hedge let us into the fields on the backwaters side of the village. Once safe in the relative cover of the tree lined fields we set off again. Crossing several more fields, some of which we had to go around and others we could go straight through the middle of, we found ourselves at Island Lane. Oyster Island was so sparsely inhabited that hardly anyone ever came down here. I pulled the bike up beside the pillbox, which sat at the end of the lane where the land met the sea.

"You having a go then Al?" I asked him.

"Too right!" he replied, unable to conceal his excitement.

"There you go then."

He sat on the bike, did the helmet up, and sped down the road, the little two-stroke engine screaming loudly as it spun as fast as it could. I walked over and climbed on top of the pillbox, sitting with my feet dangling over the edge above the rippling water. Click the bike went as Al snatched the next gear and powered down the gravel track, a cloud of yellow dust following him. The noise quietened until it became bearable, as he went further and further down the lane until I couldn't see him for the trees blocking my sight. I could still follow where he'd been though, by the dust cloud rising above the trees.

Then, after a short pause it began to get louder again, it was a different tone this time as the exhaust faced the other way. I could hear the sound of the tyres as they clawed their way through the crunchy gravel to grip into the hard earth below. Al came past the trees flat out, engine screaming as the bike bounced off its rev limiter in top gear. Flying towards me at what must have been sixty miles an hour, I focused on his eyes behind the open visor, locked into a wide stare. He tilted his head up to look at me for a second, giving me a nod before slamming the back brake on hard with his foot. Then he skidded past me, snaking from left to right as dust and stones and noise flew all about, finally stopping six feet short of where the moon had decided the water should be.

"How fast was that mate?" I asked as he switched the engine off and removed the helmet.

"Thirty-seven I got it up to," Al replied. "It felt quicker when I came round the corner though, the back wheel was sliding out," he laughed.

"Thirty-seven? It looked loads faster than that, it looked more like sixty," I replied disappointed.

"That's alright then, people will think you're doing sixty when they see you riding down the road," Al laughed again. He had a good point, I hadn't thought of it like that.

"Your turn then Lu, see if you can get thirty-eight out of it. You have to take it all the way up to the redline in every gear."

I got on and started my new beast, before fastening the crash helmet and gently riding away. There was no point in riding fast on my out lap, if I was going to beat Al's speed then I wanted him to witness it. I looked back in the mirrors to see where he was standing then noticed for the first time I didn't have any, a glance over my shoulder revealed he was sitting where I had been, on top of the old pillbox.

As I reached the end of the lane where it joins the main road, I wheeled the bike round in a little u-turn, trying not to let my feet touch the floor to maintain momentum. I shifted it up into second gear, winding off the throttle just a little, then twisting it back all the way. Second was soon over with so I changed up into third, accelerating through the gear as I glanced down every half second or so to check the revs. When the little white needle nudged the red area I fed in fourth gear, before putting my eyes back on the road. Thirty-eight here I come!

Suddenly the bike began to slow. I twisted the throttle back and forth a couple of times, it changed the burbling sound of the engine but made no difference to the speed we were slowing down. Bollocks. I put the brakes on and pulled to the side of the road, the engine lurching back and forth in one prolonged stall.

I stood the bike up between my legs and shook it. Hardly a splash. I'd run out of petrol.

I let it rest on its side stand, while I sat on the grass verge at the side of the track and waited for Al to come looking for me. After a couple of minutes he ran round the corner, red faced and out of breath.

"Shit Lu! Are you alright?!" he shouted.

"Fine mate," I replied. "Petrol's run out."

"Thank fuck for that, I thought you'd crashed or something when you didn't come back," he said, clearly relieved.

"Me crash a fifty cc?" I laughed. "I'm Evil Knievel on a bike mate."

"I think all Evil Knievel ever did was crash mate, he didn't land a single jump did he?" Al said.

"Come on then Al, you push and I'll sit on it and steer."

"How's that fair? You won't have to do anything. How come I have to push?"

"Because it's my bike mate," I replied. That'll teach him.

* * *

My dad pulled up beside us as we pushed the bike up my road. I'd had to help at this point, there was no way Al was ever going to get it up the steep hill on his own.

"Broken down already has it?" my dad asked.

"It's run out of petrol Dad," I replied.

"Already? How far have you been on it?"

"Not far Mark," Al said, "I don't think there was much in it to begin with."

My dad got out of his car and started feeling around under the petrol tank. "Give it here, let me have a look at it."

"Well you're not empty," he said, crouching down next to the bike. "But you're down to the reserve, you're going to need to fill up, and when you do, make sure you turn this petrol tap back to here."

He pointed out the different positions. "Look, down means the petrol will go down into the engine. Sideways means it will go sideways in the pipe, but it can't go sideways in the pipe so it won't go anywhere. You following?"

"Think so Dad."

"And if it's turned to up, just remember it will use up all your fuel."

"Cheers Mark," Al said.

"Yeah thanks Dad."

"So how fast does it go then?" he asked us as he got back into his car.

"Al had thirty-seven out of it. It ran out when I was having my go."

"Thirty-seven?" he laughed, putting his arm out of the window and slapping the driver's door with his hand. "This will do thirty-seven in second gear."

"I don't think I'm allowed to go over thirty on a provisional license anyway Dad," I told him.

"Think yourself lucky then Lu. With that extra seven miles an hour you might be able to get past the milkman on the way to college every morning."

And with that he wheel spun off up the road.

* * *

Al knocking on the door at eight o'clock the next morning bought my night-long dreams of 500ft jumps and tabletops to an end.

"Remind Lu he has to mix two-stroke oil in with that," my dad mumbled to Al through a mouthful of something, spying the petrol can in his hand.

"Do I? How much?" I shouted down from the top of the stairs.

"Does it not say somewhere on the bike?"

"I don't know," I replied, "I've not seen anything."

"Just mix it 30:1, that's what all my two-strokes used to take. I thought all the newer bikes had a separate oil tank on them but I didn't see one on yours, they normally stand out because they're clear so you can see how much it's got in it. Don't ever run it without oil in or it'll seize up," he said. "Bloody hell I'm late, right don't be stupid on it, I'll be back just after lunchtime, it's only a half day. I'll see you later."

He shoved the last bit of jam on toast he was eating in his mouth, jumped in the car and sped off down the road.

Having brought round the petrol can it was only right that Al walk down the road to get it filled too. We had an old-fashioned petrol station in the village, not far from the church, it isn't there anymore. They used to ask you how much you wanted, then put the petrol in for you. I remember my dad being surprised the first time they told him to stay in his car. One advantage of living in a village is that they will fill a petrol can up for a fifteen year old boy, they wouldn't have done that in the town I had moved from, through fear of watching the news that evening and seeing the local secondary school had been burnt to the ground. They'd even put a few squirts of two-stroke oil in for free, when Al had asked them if they sold it. With him back and the tank full it was time to see if it would start, the carburettor having run completely out of fuel before. I got it going on the fourth kick, whereupon it burst into life and purred away as well as it ever had.

Dean came running downstairs to see what the commotion was. I did what is customary for any fifteen year old lad to do, when their younger brother and best mate are watching them with their new motorbike, I revved it up and down until we were all deaf.

It wasn't long before Angie, who lived next door and was married to Shane the policeman, came to the end of the drive to greet us.

"Do you mind?" she said. "I've got a three year old child in there who's crying because of all this noise."

I turned the ignition off and was just about to apologise when Al jumped in with, "It can't be that loud, it's got an MOT, it's all legal." Nice one Al.

"I don't care if it's legal or not," she spat. "You've no good reason to be making all this noise on a Saturday morning. Why was the engine even running? You're not going anywhere."

"Yeah, sorry I'll try and keep it down from now on," I said, thinking a simple empty promise would resolve the situation.

"This is your driveway Lu you can do what you want here, you don't need to stop doing something just because of her," he stoked the fire further.

"I think you'll find I'm not the only one down this road who's had enough of that noise," she said as she walked away, before adding for no reason, "I don't know how your mother puts up with you."

"So how does your mother put up with you Al?" I joked, Dean laughing in the background.

We didn't bother going as far as Island Lane this time, just riding around in the field at the top of my road. We let Dean have a go as well, it took five minutes of chasing him before he'd give it back. Then at lunchtime Al and I went home to wait for my dad to return from work.

Instead a police car crept slowly up the road, slower than walking, before coming to a stop outside my house. In it were three coppers. A big ugly one driving, the next door neighbour Shane in the front passenger seat, who was also pretty big, and copper number three who was smaller, but still the size of Al and I put together, in the back. The three of them looked at us for what seemed like an age. Not staring, and not trying to look intimidating, but being intimidating in the way that having three policemen watching you intently from a car always is. After a short hour, or maybe ten seconds that felt like an hour, they drove the final few feet needed to take their colleague home.

I noticed as the car came back down the road that the policeman in the back had moved into the front.

"Ooh- I've called shotgun!" Al minced as he spotted what I had. It was the same as when my dad dropped me off anywhere in the car and my brothers were with me. Once I'd gotten out Dean would then get out and take my seat in the front, and if Dean wasn't there then Jack would get the front seat. By the looks of it the police force had their own pecking order too.

I craned my head forward and poked my arse out like some kind of gay duck. "Why do you always get shotgun Al darling?"

"With lips like these darling," Al pouted at me, "I deserve shotgun."
We Needed Alcohol, Even If We Didn't Know Why

March 1999.

The winter of '98 turned into the spring of '99. With the temperature rising, people at school began throwing final year parties. Several passed by without invitation and I had resigned myself to the fact that having started so late at the school, parties were something I was going to miss out on. Then Al and I were invited to Sally's birthday at a scout hut in Frampton not far from the school, along with most of my year.

I was honest with my mum, I was only fifteen but she was happy for me to go once I'd assured her that Sally's parents were going to be there. Her next biggest worry was how we were going to get home. I had to make sure neither she nor my dad collected us, telling her we'd walk home by the street lit roads and not through the black fields. She insisted on picking us up until I reminded her that it wasn't cool to be picked up from a party by your parents, she was disappointed but that didn't matter.

Neither of us knew what to do at a party, and deep down I don't think either of us really wanted to go. It was more a case of turning up to show people at school that we'd been invited. I'd rather have gone and spent the evening bored, than not bothered and been the only person in class on Monday who hadn't been. The one thing Al and I agreed on was that we needed alcohol, even if we didn't know why.

Out of school I normally lived in tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt. I had skinny legs so unless it was particularly hot out I hid them away, this made things worse because it meant they were the colour of skimmed milk. If we'd been out canoeing a couple of days in succession they might turn a more gold top shade of white but that was about the best it ever got. For tonight we were going to need smart enough clothes to pass for eighteen at the off-license, and also to fit in at the party. We arrived at the Circle Shopping Centre in jeans, checked short sleeved shirts, and school shoes. Making too much of an effort might have given the game away.

We walked past the shop window slowly to begin with, so I had a chance to pick out my drink. Al went in to actually buy it as he was taller than me, while I sat and watched from the bus shelter at the top of the parade. The door to the off-license sounded a buzzer when Al opened it, and a middle aged woman appeared from out the back of the shop, taking her place behind the till.

Al wandered around pretending to decide what to buy, mulling over a red and a white bottle of wine to make it look like he'd done this before, eventually settling on the eight cans of Stella I'd asked him to get me, and the same for himself. He confidently placed them on the counter, while wearing an unsmiling grown-up face. The moment of truth! Now I just had to wait to see if he handed over any money, or turned and walked out of the shop empty handed.

She scanned the first multi-pack, putting it into a plastic carrier bag. Surely if she was going to ask him for identification she would have done it by now, we were on for the party! Nice one Al! But then instead of scanning the other eight beers like she should have done, she looked up and started talking.

I watched as her lips moved relentlessly, up and down, up and down, without so much as a second's pause. I could only see the back of Al's head but I knew he wasn't talking, there wasn't time. She must have been telling him something, and if she wasn't telling him something it was because she was telling him everything. It wasn't a conversation, it had gone on too long for that, no, this was a lecture. I tried to gauge what she was thinking from her eyes. Maybe she'd pressed a secret button under the till that summons security and she was trying to stall him until they got there. She looked happy enough, not like she was complaining about anything.

I started to think about not going to the party, or worse still turning up without booze and spending the night standing at the edge of the dance floor drinking cherryade while everyone else got drunk. Bollocks. If she turned us away there was nowhere else we could go to, the next nearest off-license was in totally the wrong direction. By now all the supermarkets had shut. We had to be at the party soon, it was beginning to get dark. Then, out of nowhere, she finally closed her mouth and smiled, then finished selling Al the drink before sending him on his way.

I stood up and walked round to the side of the bus-shelter, where I couldn't be seen from the shop.

"That was close wasn't it? What was she hassling you about? I didn't think she was ever going to let you go."

Al laughed, "Nah she was just chatting to me. She works in there on her own all night, she just sits and watches the TV in the back room, waiting for the door to buzz."

"She seemed to be going on for ages."

"Yeah she does like to talk," he replied. "Anyway check this out!" He opened the bag to reveal our sixteen cans of beer. "That's gotta be enough hasn't it?"

"Enough for me mate," I said. "Give us a beer then."

We headed straight for the scout hut, opening the first can each as we walked. The beer tasted like shit, it wasn't even cold.

"Nice one Al, did you get these from off the radiator?"

"At least I got some. Next time you can get them if you want."

"You're alright mate, I wouldn't want to get between you and your bird."

"Fuck off Lu."

We walked fast and we drank faster. The only way to get over how disgusting the beer tasted was to drink it as quickly as possible, the warm bubbles tasting so wrong as they went down my throat. By the time the scout hut came into view twenty minutes later we'd drunk three each, and the stars had come out to join in the fun.

The buzz came on as a light-headedness to begin with, a dizzy kind of feeling, combined with an energy that I hadn't had before. The most surprising thing though was that I was beginning to look forward to tonight, it was only now that I realised how apprehensive I'd been about it before. I didn't know all the people who were going to be there the way Al did, having not grown up with them. Strangely that no longer mattered.

"You getting anything Al?"

"Yeah it's making me feel diz-"

"Yeah dizzy mate I feel the same, light-headed and that," I interrupted him. I was now less interested in what Al had to say but far more interested in the words that came out of my own mouth. "Better leave the beers in this bush Al," I said, "just in case someone tries to take them off us when we get in."

Having hidden the beers, we reached the gravel car park that led to the scout hut. From a distance we'd been able to see people hanging around outside but it was only now that I could make out their faces. I recognised some of them, they looked strange without their school uniforms, the girls especially in their brightly coloured summer dresses.

Dave Pritchard, who I knew mainly from watching being thrown out of maths lessons, was the first to greet us, "Al and Lu are here!"

"Dave you twat!" Al replied.

Sally came running over in a red flowery dress that hung below her knees, far lower than the mid thigh length dresses the rest of the girls had on and probably something to do with the fact that her parents were here somewhere.

"Alright Sally!" Al said. "Happy fucking Birthday!" He swung his arms around her and kissed her, pushing her mousey brown hair to one side and burying his face in her neck, leaning on her making her rock on her heels.

"Have you been drinking?" she inquired in a parental kind of way.

"Of course I have, it's your fucking birthday!" he replied. She gave him a funny look.

"Happy Birthday Sally!" I said. My words came out strangely, it was harder to articulate them than normal.

"You pissed as well then are you? I don't want you two coming in and ruining it for me."

"We'll be alright," I laughed, "only had a couple."

"Just try not to be idiots will you."

We entered the packed wooden scout hut. It was dark inside, lit only by a handful of multi-coloured disco lights on a stand in the corner. Even under our cover of darkness everyone turned to look at us. I knew some of them from school, but not well enough to interrupt them as they stood in their little groups. On a normal day I'd have wanted to get back outside as quickly as possible, but the alcohol helped me to ignore their glares. In front of the lights, on what looked like a school desk, was a portable CD player, and next to that were several stacks of CDs. On the opposite side of the room a couple of tables pushed together against the wall served as a makeshift buffet station, holding paper plates covered in food. Al grabbed a handful of vol-au-vents, each with solitary prawns on top. I went straight for the sausage rolls, taking nearly the whole plateful, I was absolutely starving. On the end of the table with the food were a collection of bottles of soft drinks; cola, lemonade and some fruit flavoured fizzy drinks that were bright blues and reds. The consolation drinks we might have ended up with.

It in no way felt like a party, as I stood next to Al and the food, watching people half dancing to whatever was coming out of the stereo. Unless this was what parties were like? A group of people that kind of knew each other dancing awkwardly while being watched by two lads bopping their heads and wondering why they were even there. Then "Pretty fly for a White Guy" came on the stereo, leaving us with no choice but to run outside and retrieve the beers we'd hidden earlier on.

"I need a piss," I said as I cracked open another can, sneaking round the back of the scout hut.

"You're not going for a piss here mate," a stranger's voice sounded out, making me jump.

In the dark I could just make out a circle of people. I counted four of them from the rings of light reflecting off the tops of their beer cans, and the hot red cherries on the ends of their cigarettes.

"What are you doing round the back?" I asked.

"We're having a drink. There's a toilet inside, you'll have to take a piss in there."

"I'm not going back in there, it's crap," I said. Al came round to see what all the commotion was.

"Have some respect, this is Sally's older brother," one of the lads said, gesturing towards another. I couldn't see the motion of his hand, only the movement of a red dot.

"Sorry mate, I weren't being rude," I said, gulping down my drink, "it's probably gonna get better later on."

Sally's brother laughed, "Nah you're right, it is crap. Why do you think we're out here?"

We all introduced ourselves. I forgot almost all of their names immediately, the exception being Sally's brother whose was easy to remember. His name was Al, the same as Al's.

* * *

By now I was on my fifth can of beer and was really beginning to feel the effects. I had a giddiness I'd never felt before, and as well as that I had trouble standing up straight. This was made worse by not being able to make out objects properly in the dark, vertical had become very vague. And everything seemed like a good idea. I knew this wasn't how I normally felt about things, somewhere in the back of my mind a voice was saying: You're not like this, you wouldn't be talking to these people, you don't like groups of strangers. But at the same time an overwhelming positivity was running through me, washing away any nervousness or doubt I'd normally have had. It was why when I was offered a cigarette I said yes. I could almost watch myself take it and set fire to it, even though I didn't want to. I wasn't entirely sure who was in control of my actions any more, it was almost as if another side of me had taken over, like I'd become semi-detached to myself.

"What's it like Lu?" Al asked.

"Alright mate, pretty good," I slurred back, trying not to cough.

"Let us try one then."

The pair of us stood there pretending to know what we were doing. The taste wasn't anything new, I knew the smell from when my dad smoked and the taste was just a stronger version of the same. The only real difference with smoking for yourself was the burning sensation within your chest that made you want to cough. I carried on smoking it though, until I'd reached the end.

THUD. I looked down and through the blackness could make out the silhouette of Al lying on the floor.

"What are you doing down there mate?" wobbled from my mouth.

"Dunno, just felt dizzy after having that fag," Al replied. The four older lads laughed. I knelt down to help him back up.

"Whoa, nearly," I said as my head spun from leaning over and I almost fell myself.

"Come on then you two," I heard big Al say. "You lightweights need to get back to the party where there are people to look after you. I don't want you passing out round here and us getting the blame."

An arm hooked round my shoulder and helped me to the gravel drive at the front of the building, then I was leant up against the wooden exterior with Al next to me.

"There you go, someone else's problem now," one of them laughed as they all walked back to their hiding place.

I staggered back inside with a beer in my hand, then after finding the toilet, was on the way out again when I got this uncontrollable urge to dance. "Red Alert" by Bassment Jaxx was playing on the stereo and the bass-line seemed to pick my feet up and put them down again in new places. I flew around in circles like a madman, throwing my arms in the air, totally oblivious to the circle of people on the dance floor who had backed away and were laughing at me. The alcohol, lights, music, all came together as one and made complete sense. So this was why people went to parties. It was as though I needed to express how I felt through my movements on the dance floor, to translate the sound into something everyone could see. Then, just as I felt I was beginning to get my message across, the song ended, cutting short my big finale.

I made my way outside to find Al, fighting to get my breath back. The fresh air hit me hard. My legs began to buckle at the knees and my vision doubled. Whatever state I'd been in when I went inside was nothing compared to the state I was in now, the beer had got me so bad I could barely see. I needed to find Al, he could look after me on the walk home, telling me which of the two parallel roads I was looking down was actually real. If we walked slowly then by the time we got back to mine the buzz would most likely have subsided.

A girl's voice came from the other end of the gravel car park, "You promised you wouldn't do this!"

A group of people stood round in a circle laughing at something on the floor, I couldn't make it out so walked over to see what they were looking at. As I got closer I recognised Sally in her red flowery dress.

She shouted at the floor, "Get up, you're ruining everything!"

I finally got close enough to see what they were looking at; between the people's legs I could see it was my best mate Al. He was on his hands and knees, throwing up while the older lads we'd been smoking with earlier, and some of the people I knew from school, took the piss out of him.

"Leave him alone will ya!" I shouted, staggering over.

"Look who it is, it's only that other lightweight from earlier," one of them laughed.

"Who are you calling a fucking lightweight?" I spat back, staring him in the face.

"I'm calling you a fucking lightweight, what are you going to do about it!"

Inner rage boiled my blood. I didn't know if I was more angry about him laughing at my friend or calling me a lightweight. Either way I broadened my shoulders as I walked towards him, barely managing two steps before someone grabbed me from behind and dragged me the other way. The last thing I remember is the slamming of a car door.
Little Red Toy Sports Car

March 1999.

It was as though someone was hitting me in the head with a hammer, and any attempt to move only made the hammer bigger, pain shooting through my face. Under my cheek was rough carpet where my bed should have been. Time to open eyes. The kitchen never looked so bright. Searing, blinding bright. Why was I in the kitchen?

"Mum!" my own voice hurt my ears.

"You're finally awake then?" she replied from the front room.

"Feeling rough are you?" she asked, as I collapsed into the chair nearest the television.

"Yeah pretty bad," I replied. "Why was I on the kitchen floor and why are my boxer shorts soaking wet?"

Dean sniggered, then went back to helping Jack play with his toy cars.

"I thought you might not remember much, the state you were in," my mum said. "So you don't remember the paramedics then?"

Paramedics? What paramedics?

"The last thing I remember properly was arguing with someone at the party."

"That was when Sally's dad took you both home."

"I didn't think I was that drunk though. Like drunk enough not to make it to bed."

"You weren't at that point. When you got back you took my bottle of vodka from the kitchen cupboard and drank it with Al in the field at the top of the road. All of it, the whole litre between you, on top of what you'd already had."

Half a bottle of vodka, on top of the beers I'd drunk. No wonder I was feeling rough.

"Sorry Mum, I'll buy you another one."

"You won't! I'm going to find out who sold you two alcohol last night and make sure they never do it again. Or anyone else for that matter."

"Who called the paramedics?"

Dean pushed a little red toy sports car round in circles whilst replicating the sound of an ambulance siren, before making a screeching noise as he stopped it and saying, "I'm here about the alcoholic."

Jack cackled.

"It's not funny Dean," my mum said. "We'll get to that bit. So after you'd finished the vodka, you two apparently came back down the road shouting your mouths off about something or other. Then you started making snow angels on the grass in next door's front garden."

"Not the policeman's garden?" I groaned.

"Yes the policeman's garden."

"He didn't wake up did he?"

"Wake up? It was him that woke us up. He was at his front bedroom window shouting at you, telling you to go home before he had you arrested. Fortunately your dad came out and took you into the house."

"Oh no, of all the gardens to do it in. So why did the paramedics come?"

"You'd passed out paralytic on the kitchen floor, Dad tried waking you up but you were unconscious, we thought you had alcohol poisoning."

"Did the paramedics just come round and say I was alright then?"

"No, you were sick love, everywhere, it was all over the fridge and the carpet. They worked out how long it had been since you last drank and said there wouldn't be any point in taking you to hospital to pump your stomach. They told us to just keep an eye on you and let you sleep."

"How comes my pants are wet?"

"You wet yourself Lu." Dean and Jack both burst into laughter.

Bollocks.

"What about Al? Where was he?" I asked, changing the subject.

"He ran away when your dad went out to get you from off the neighbour's lawn. He's banned, I'm not having him round here again, he's a bad influence on you."

"I'll just go round his then."

"You won't."

"Why won't I?"

"Because you're grounded for a month."

"Why?"

"You know why," my mum replied, "and don't even think about going out on that motorbike again, your dad's taken the keys."

How could they have taken it off me already? I'd not even had it that long.

"I'm going to bed then."

"You can but you're not staying in bed all day. Dad needs you to give him a hand getting rid of some rubbish down at the dump, he'll be home from work at lunchtime. I suggest you do, seeing as he sat up half the night watching you. If you don't you'll probably never get that bike back."

Great. That was really how I wanted to spend my Saturday, out in the car feeling like shit, watching people throw away things they shouldn't have bought in the first place. I crawled up to my bedroom and into my top bunk. It felt like a big pile of cotton wool as I melted into it. I realised then, that as much as it wasn't my own bed like I wished it was, it was still miles better than the kitchen floor. I was never going to take it for granted again.

* * *

The piss taking when we went back to school on Monday was horrendous. A whole day of people walking past us in the corridors pretending to be drunk out of their heads. Some of them I remembered being at the party, others must have heard on the grapevine. I wouldn't have minded but it wasn't exactly something you don't expect fifteen year olds to do. Fortunately Al took the brunt of it, seeing as he was the one who'd ended up lying in the car park vomiting through his nose. I suppose if Al had wanted to he could have shifted the focus to me, after all it was me whose parents had had to call the paramedics. Al would never mention it though, and that only made the bond between us stronger.
Liquid Honey to My Ears

April 1999.

My month of being grounded had passed, only it hadn't quite been a month. Five days of coming home from school and ruining my mum's evenings; either by sitting in the front room complaining about the trashy soaps on television, or going upstairs and fighting with Dean over whose bedroom it was, had proven too much. Terrified at the prospect of having me at home, moaning for a whole weekend, I was asked if I'd learnt my lesson, which obviously I hadn't, and released back into the world. I think a lot of the reason they gave in was because the whole being grounded thing was a wasted exercise. It wasn't to punish me, it was to stop me from seeing Al; pointless since we went to the same school.

Having nearly gotten in a fight at the first party I'd ever been to, on top of having had to be driven home by the birthday girl's dad, I wasn't holding out much hope of being invited to another. The only thing I had on my side was the fact that no one at school knew about the paramedics apart from Al.

So you can imagine my surprise when three weeks later, not only was I invited to another party, but I was invited by a girl I didn't think even knew I existed. Now I'd known she existed from almost the very start of my time at the school, and although she wasn't the only girl there who had caught my eye, she was the one who on walking into the room would make the others as good as disappear.

As I saw her walking down the school corridor towards me we locked eyes. Those big blue eyes I was sure I could swim in.

"Luke," she said in that soft, husky voice I adored. All the air I would normally have used to talk vanished from my lungs. "How are you?"

"OK," I squeaked. "You?"

"I'm good thank you," she replied, the sound was like liquid honey to my ears and the part of my brain that composed proper sentences stopped working.

"Good, er....I'm glad you're good," I said. She smiled again, she could obviously see the effect she had on me. I looked down, away from her blue eyes and long blonde hair in case I'd gone red, her waist was so thin I pictured putting both my hands around it and having my fingers meet at the back. If she'd only let me try.

"I'm having a birthday party next Friday, would you like to come?"

"I'd like that," I said, knowing full well that I might be making an empty promise as I wasn't allowed to parties after what had happened at the last one.

"And I'd like it if you came. Could you invite Al for me as well when you see him? I assume you'll see him, you two are normally together."

Fuck! She'd invited me before Al! I might even have been the first person she'd invited. It was just a shame I wasn't the only person she'd invited. I managed to articulate a thank you or something equally stupid sounding before I watched her walk away down the corridor. Then a familiar feeling of regret washed over me, the same feeling of regret I'd had all those times we'd passed in the corridors before. Me willing myself to talk to her, telling myself to just man-up and get on with it, right up until the point we'd meet and my mind would go blank and she'd smile politely and walk away. Next time Luke I'd say. Well that was next time, that was the perfect time! She'd done the hard bit for you! There was only one thing for it. I had to go to that party, and I had to make amends. But first I had to work out how I was going to get there without my mum knowing.

* * *

Like the last one, this party was being held in a hired venue, a social hall in Wanton well within walking distance. That meant I just had to leave the house on Friday evening without raising suspicion, not as easy as it sounds. I tried to gauge what the chances were of my mum letting me go to another party. I couldn't ask her straight out or she'd have been on her guard, so I skirted around the subject dropping infinitely subtle hints. The result of my indirect questioning was that it was unlikely. I formulated a plan instead and this is how it panned out:

On Friday I took the clothes I would need for the party to school with me, then at the end of the day I gave them to Al who took them home in his bag, plus the school shoes off my feet. Nothing out of the ordinary so far, my mum knew I always wore trainers cycling to and from school.

Having eaten dinner with my parents, I then commenced with my second line of subterfuge by showering and changing into an old pair of tracksuit bottoms and casual t-shirt. Then I remained hidden upstairs while I listened out for the sound of someone doing the dishes. Finally I heard the familiar clanging of crockery, my mum was in the kitchen! Climbing out of my bedroom window onto the roof of the lean-to, I made my way stealthily to the driveway beside the house, before sneaking to the end of the front garden.

"Mum!" I shouted, giving her just enough time to get to the front room window. "I'm going out!"

She smiled at me as she opened the front window, leaving me with no choice but to wave and run away. It was unlikely she was going to ask me anything of relevance, but I cleared off just in case. If she didn't have a chance to ask me where I was going then I wouldn't have to lie. Either way, she couldn't possibly have suspected I was going to a party dressed like this.

This time I went into the off-licence with Al, it was a big risk to take but I had to make sure he bought something cold enough to drink. The same woman appeared from out the back as before.

"Hello Al, how are you?" she asked. I remember thinking she'd done well to remember his name.

"I'm good thanks June, you?" Al replied.

"I'm OK, it's too hot in here though don't you think?"

"I noticed that as soon as I opened the door, why is it so hot?" Al asked.

"It's these fridges, they keep the drink cool but they get hot round the back and it heats up the whole shop, it's unbearable sometimes. Who's this? Is this your friend?" She looked at me.

"I'm Luke, I....er....know Al through work," I said, reaching out and shaking her hand from the other side of the till.

"Oh you two work together? What did you say you did Al? Building work wasn't it?"

I didn't know what Al had told her before so quickly tried to cover for myself, "No we used to work together, restoring an old man's boat when we were younger, a year before we left school. We don't work together now though."

"So what do you do Luke?" she probed.

"Me? I work with my dad, in carpentry, er....as a carpenter," I replied. There was no way she was going to be interested in the details of a job like that I thought.

"Oh that's nice, must be a better career than working in an off-license. I only do this part time though, my husband is the bread winner," she said. "So what are you two after?"

"We're having another quiet Friday night in," Al said, handing her sixteen cans of Stella, from the fridge this time. "Just these."

"And ten Sovereigns and a lighter please," I added.

"Better make it twenty," Al said.

"What two boxes of ten?" June asked.

"Yeah that's what I meant, two boxes of ten," Al replied.

She gave us a strange look, "And a lighter?"

"Better make it two," I said.

"That will be thirteen pounds ninety-four," she said, putting everything into thin white plastic bags.

"How much is that litre bottle of vodka?" Al asked, pointing at the shelf behind her head.

"Eight pounds ninety-nine."

Al counted out what remained of the money we'd pooled between us, to make sure he had enough. "We'll take one of those as well."

The cold beer tasted wonderfully better than the week before, we drank a few each as Al led the way, that familiar feeling soon coming back around. I'd been just as nervous about going to this party as I had the first one. Although I knew what to expect now, there was the added problem of having shown ourselves up before. Without a doubt there were going to be people I remembered from Sally's, and on top of that Emily was going to be there. I really didn't want to fuck things up.

The beer worked its magic as before, dissolving all the doubts I might have had, and Al soon announced we'd reached the hall, nestled down a quiet Wanton backstreet. A small brick building, like the sort of bungalow that people live in, marked out only by the words 'WANTON SOCIAL HALL' on a blue and white sign above the door. There were a couple of charity shops and a tea shop on the same street, but nothing that would be open now. Come to think of it the hall didn't look very open either.

We peered inside and I must admit to being more than a little disappointed to find people dancing away under a plethora of balloons and Happy Birthday banners. I'd have been content with finding the place empty and having to resort to drinking down the backwaters with Al. The empty pillbox was far more appealing.

To go over and speak to the people inside would have meant dancing, seeing as they were, or walking over and talking to them while they danced. I was still far from the stage where I wanted to do either, so being convinced that no one had seen us, we decided it wouldn't be impolite to hide behind the hall and have a couple more drinks and a cigarette.

As I breathed the smoke deep into my lungs, I was sure I wasn't addicted yet, I just enjoyed the taste with a drink. The two seemed to suit each other, maybe that was why they had off-licenses devoted solely to them.

"Starting to get a buzz now mate," I said. I liked the dizziness and the way all your stresses seemed to evaporate away.

"Tell me about it," Al replied. "Alcohol's the bollocks."

It wasn't long before a handful of kids from my year came out to have a cigarette, I was surprised to learn some of them smoked, never having smoked at school myself. We flicked our ash together while they tried to persuade us to come inside, Al telling them he'd only go in when they sorted the fucking tunes out. I was relieved when they eventually got tired of asking and went away.

I'd promised myself I was only going to have a few, just enough to pluck up the courage to talk to Emily properly. Unfortunately any self control I had went out the window when I caught sight of her for the first time. She looked perfect in her school clothes, or at least I'd always thought she looked perfect. If that was perfect then there wasn't a word to describe how she looked now, wearing a dark green dress so figure hugging it could only have been painted on.

"Hello Al," she said in her husky voice. "And hi Luke." She smiled at me. I was smitten.

"Hi Emily," we replied almost together. She looked so good it hurt me inside.

"Are you coming back in? It would be nice to have you both actually at the party."

"Will do Emily, just gonna finish this fag," Al replied. Emily turned and walked away while the pair of us looked her up and down from behind.

"She looks well fit tonight doesn't she Al," I said, he nodded in agreement.

"You gonna try chatting her up?"

"I might do later on," I said, drinking down the last of my beer and opening another can. "I've hardly ever spoken to her at school, I'll just have a couple more drinks first."

The pair of us stood there and laughed at each other, while the legs underneath us began to wobble. I've never enjoyed leaning against a wall so much in my life.

There were fleeting moments where I thought I'd built up the courage to go and speak to her, but every time I pictured in my head what I was going to say, I lost my nerve and put it off, working my way through the beers instead. On more occasions we were joined by someone from the party coming out for a fag, we'd find common ground in moaning about how bad the music playing inside was.

Al suddenly turned to me. "You should go and speak to her," he said, and do you know what? He was right. Now was definitely the perfect time, the false confidence from the alcohol had silenced any worries I had of being rejected by her, but I had stopped well before the stage of random fights and making drunken snow angels in next door's front garden.

I found her on the dance floor and took her outside so I could talk to her properly. We walked up the street until we were stood outside an empty charity shop where we were alone.

"I thought you two were finally going to come in," she said.

"I've got to speak to you."

She smiled. "What's up?"

"I know I don't really know you from school but obviously we still know each other pretty well."

"Yes?"

"Well, I like you," I said, trying to maintain eye contact and not look down at those perfect long legs of hers, finished in a pair of shiny black high heels.

"I like you too Luke," she replied. My heart skipped when I thought she might feel the same as me.

"I mean I really like you," I said.

"Oh do you? What is it you like about me?" she asked. "You hardly even know me."

I thought for a moment. "Well I like how you look. And now I've seen you out of school I like how you dress," I said. "And I really like your deep voice."

"Deep voice?" she replied angrily.

"Not deep voice like a man's, like nice husky sounding voice I mean. I like it."

"Thank you," she started smiling again. "I don't think I've ever had anyone say they like my voice before, that's really nice of you."

"I mean I really like it, I could listen to it all day," I said as she blushed. "Like if you read children's story books I would listen to them and I don't even like children's story books."

"You're very drunk aren't you Luke?"

"No."

"Well you've never said any of this to me before, so I don't know if you're only telling me it now because you're drunk."

"I'm not, I've just never had a chance to tell you before. We don't really ever see each other in school."

"Well maybe on Monday you can come and speak to me again when you're sober," she said. "Anyway, come back in for now and enjoy the party."

"Alright," I replied gutted. "Just going to get Al first, we'll be in in a minute."

I set off round the back of the hall to find Al.

"How'd you get on Lu?" he asked.

"Not good mate, she thought I was pissed or something."

"Why what did you say?"

"Just that I liked how she looked, and her voice and stuff."

"That doesn't sound too bad."

I opened another can of beer. "I might have said something to her as well about wanting her to read children's stories so I could listen to them."

He laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink, "You twat! That'll be why she thought you were pissed." He opened another can and banged it against mine. "Cheers mate, to us and the rest of the beers, seeing as we're probably better off out here."

"Yeah cheers mate!" I laughed. "Music's shit in there anyway."

* * *

We continued drinking until we arrived in that same blurry world as the party before, the pair of us taking up our old roles as staggering idiots. Having planted roots in a picnic bench at the front of the building, I could barely even talk in a straight line.

I laughed at the tall grey flats opposite us, as they split into identical pairs in my eyes, before merging together again. The Spice Girls song "Two Become One" popped into my head. Then my laughter was interrupted by the sound of a fire alarm behind us.

"Right, everybody out!" an old man who I hadn't seen before shouted as he threw open the doors to the hall. The music stopped and one by one the revellers gathered in front of us. Once everyone was outside the old man went in searching for the fire.

He returned a couple of minutes later. "Somebody's set the fire alarm off in there and the fire extinguisher in the kitchen has been sprayed as well. I don't know whose idea it was to do that, but it's not funny and you've ruined it for everyone else now. You're all going to have to go home."

The group let out a collective groan and began phoning parents to come and pick them up. I laughed at how everyone had ended up where we'd spent the whole night. Outside was definitely the place to be. As I sat there watching the party unravel piece by piece, the police arrived. The blue and yellow chequered car pulled onto the drive and my neighbour got out, flanked by another copper who might have been one of the ones from outside my house that time, though I only knew Shane well enough to recognise him for sure.

"It was these two then was it?" he said to what had turned out to be Emily's dad. "You're both under arrest for-"

"It wasn't them officer," Emily's dad interrupted.

"What do you mean it wasn't them?" Shane replied angrily. "How can you be sure?"

"Funnily enough they are the only kids it couldn't have been. When the alarm went off and we ran outside they were already out here sitting down, they've been outside for most of the night."

I looked at Al, he wasn't so much sitting down as lying in the seated position.

"Do you not think it's strange that these two have been outside most of the night?" Shane pressed on.

Al peered up through his one open eye. "Music's shit in there mate."

"Use language like that again and I'll arrest you for being drunk and disorderly," he said, turning away in disgust.

"Twat," Al muttered under his breath.

"Right I warned you, you're under arrest for-"

"I said it sir," I quickly butted in.

"You called me a twat?"

"No officer, I called Al a twa-, called Al the T word for swearing in front of you before."

He looked down at the pair of us with disbelieving eyes. "So they're all going home now then are they Mr Spalding?"

"Yes, parties over for tonight, I won't be doing that again in a hurry."

My neighbour turned to the pair of us. "I've got my eye on you two." We put on the biggest fake smiles we could.

"Thank you officer, that's comforting to know," I replied. "I will sleep soundly at night knowing you are watching after the pair of us."

He and the other copper stormed off defeated and drove away. We'd won that little battle.

That night I sneaked silently in the back door of the house when I got home, then in the morning I woke to a torrent of abuse from my mum. The neighbour had told his wife about the whole thing who in turn had told my mum who grounded me for another month.

It looked like it was one all now.

* * *

So that was it. School in the normal sense had ended. No more lessons, no more teaching, and no more Emily, seeing as she blanked me the first chance she got. Well Emily could fuck off, Mr Panfold could fuck off, shitty plastic school chairs and coursework could fuck off. With the exception of coming back for exams, we were free. To celebrate this we got drunk, we hid in fields at night, parks, anywhere we could be left alone to make noise and stupid decisions.

The daytime when we were supposed to be studying was spent at the beach, the fantastically warm summer leaving us with little chance of revising. Al didn't help much seeing as he was on his bricklaying course whether he passed the exams or not, I on the other hand needed five passes at A-E to get on mine, my problem being that I didn't really care. So beer was followed by cider, whisky, wine, anything we could lay our hands on. We would drink until we collapsed, each successive drink eroding the feeling of being in limbo that we had. Caught between the tides of growing up, and being a grown-up.
Returned With a Box of Eggs

May 1999.

The weeks had flown by, just as the teachers warned us they would. And here I was, totally unprepared, halfway back in a queue of people waiting to go inside and sit my English exam. You could feel the nervousness in the air. I had contemplated not turning up for this one, knowing that the outcome was never going to be good, but the grief from my parents would have been too much. If I tried and failed at least I would have tried. I walked in and took my seat in the pre-fabricated building, K being near the middle of the alphabet put me roughly in the centre of the room.

"You may begin."

I read through the whole question paper before I started, just like you are told. It didn't make any sense so I read it again. Bollocks. It still made no sense.

At the front of the room a white plastic clock hung on the wall, with two black hands and a red second hand. Three minutes had passed now. One hundred and eighty seconds. As each second passed gently by there was an audible tick. An hour would be three thousand six hundred of these, a massive amount of time when you're watching how slowly the second hand actually moves. It may as well have been three thousand six hundred years. Actually isn't this a two hour exam? For fuck's sake!

The first sounds of scribbling ball point pens began to fill my ears. People were starting to write and I was still staring at the clock. One by one I watched the people sitting in front of me begin writing, it wasn't long until it was all of them working away. I let out a perplexed sigh. So everybody knew what they were supposed to be doing apart from me? Surely there was somebody in that room as stuck as I was, they'd have to be sitting behind me though, where I couldn't see. Maybe it was most of them. Could it be that the people with surnames before mine in the alphabet were finding it easy, and everyone from K back was struggling? It wasn't likely. I'd need to start writing too. I read the questions again, they made no more sense the third time.

The room started to warm up, a result of the immense pressure we were all under and maybe in small part because of the beating sun on the dark felt roof. I needed to do something, anything, even if it was just to take my mind off being trapped in that room.

Then after a moment I realised what was wrong. It wasn't the fact that the exam paper had accidently been printed in the wrong language, or that it was missing the explanatory diagrams. It wasn't even the pressure of passing an exam that I'd already worked out wouldn't make an ounce of difference to getting into college.

It was something far more simple than all of that. The door was shut, and I was shut inside this hot room. I looked around and other people seemed to be suffering too; ties had been loosened and shirt sleeves rolled up, some were using the piece of workings out paper we'd been given to fan themselves. The same panic I'd felt at the estate agents on my work experience began to build in me again, a deep tightened feeling inside that seemed to rise from my gut, making me feel nauseous. I needed out, now, any way I could. Even if it meant getting up and walking away. I daren't look at the clock again in case it was bad news, for all I knew it might not have moved at all since the last time I checked.

My heart pumped harder, moving the chemicals that were causing this terror quicker round my body, ensuring that every part of me was saturated in fear. It was too much. I was going to have to go. Now. I shifted in my seat and grasped my unused pens, what else was left to do? Maybe we were nearly there, just check the clock. Ten minutes had gone. I need out! Now!

A draught came from behind me, the welcome breeze cooling my sweat. One of the adjudicators, a teacher I'd never had, had opened the door at the back of the room. Thin, clear air washed away the stifling heat we'd been sitting in. I could make it to the end like this, it was never going to be enjoyable but two hours of this I could take. There was just that small issue of actually answering the exam paper. I knew I would fail if I tried to answer it properly, how are you supposed to think of an answer if you can't understand the question to begin with? The choices were either do nothing, which hadn't really been working so far. Draw pictures all over the paper, just to make it appear like I was doing something, although my drawing would probably have been more embarrassing than my attempts at actually answering the paper. The third option was to write, but to write what I wanted to. Unfortunately that was the best of three bad options.

I began to put down a story about taking the exam. I wrote about the anticipation of walking into the room, the way we had queued in single file and alphabetical order. I wrote of how the warm weather had caused the teachers to open a door at the back of the room, and how up until that point we, as a collective group, had sweated away in a pressure cooker of overwhelming expectation. I continued on about how cool air blew through the room, giving us just a taste of the freedom we'd left outside. The breeze curling the edges of my exam paper up as it took a short cut through the building, on the way to meet up outside with its friends who had taken the long way around. If the paper would take off, I wrote, and fly out through the door, I would have no choice but to chase it. And if it didn't stop until we reached the sea, or maybe whichever piece of land came after that, then that was only meant to be. Surely a real piece of literature written now would be more worthwhile than yet another over analysing critique of a hundred year old book? And if not then at least it would help me make it to the end of the two hours. I churned those words out, page after page. Sweating and writing until I was rudely interrupted by the end of the exam.

It wasn't the last one I'd have to take, but it was by far the one I'd been most dreading, the rest being not nearly as stressful. With them all over, it would be some time before I received my results.

The only thing left was to join in the shenanigans on the last day of school. I knew some of the kids in my year had gotten tins of paint ready and were intent on redecorating the inside of the toilet block. Rumour had it there were some fireworks going about too. It all turned out to be in vain however when we turned up for what should have been our last day, and were told that the day before had actually been our last day, and we had been mislead to prevent us causing chaos. One of the lads who lived nearby went home and returned with a box of eggs, which he handed out to anyone who thought they could hit the school with one. It wasn't long before the police arrived, at which point Al and I went to the beach.
It Was Just A Way to Pay for Beer

July 1999.

Al's mum and Tabitha had known each other for years, so when Tabitha mentioned she needed some work doing, our names were immediately put forward. No small liberty taken seeing as we hadn't been consulted on the matter, although it was the summer holidays now. Well not so much the summer holidays as the gap between finishing school and starting college, so she'd rightly assumed we didn't have anything else to do. This suited my mother as well, it kept us out of the house during the day and gave us something to concentrate on that didn't involve drinking. To me it was just a way to pay for beer.

For £60 a week we would be working the land attached to Tabitha's house, a massive pile at the top of the village, hidden behind a cover of green so you could just make out the roof as you passed by on the main road. Given the choice I'd rather have spent six weeks in the fields on my motorbike, but even that took money for petrol, and at least we were going to be out in the sun.

As is usually the case with new jobs we started on a Monday. I didn't know what to expect but I definitely wasn't expecting what I saw. On the road I lived on there were houses down both sides, Al's was the same. Tabitha's house on the other hand had its very own road that it sat at the end of. A vast imposing white Georgian building, with thick pillars at the front and more windows in just one side than in the whole of my house, it was definitely one of the biggest houses I'd ever seen. Surrounding the house was a huge square garden, itself surrounded by tall trees.

Al nervously rang the shiny brass doorbell alerting her that we were there. After a short wait she appeared behind the glass of the black front door and asked us to come round to the tradesman's entrance. Al and I looked at each other naively, before we learned what a tradesman's entrance actually was when she followed up with, "The door at the side."

She was waiting in the doorway when we got there, a Superking cigarette hanging from her wrinkled old lips. Her time weathered face was framed by long thin black hair, the fringe cut short and straight, over brown eyes that showed little interest.

"Good morning Tabitha- I'm Al and this is Luke, how are you doing?"

"Follow me, I'll show you what needs to be done," she quickly reminded us we were there to work and not chat.

She led the way to a block of garage like buildings to the rear of the house.

"I need you to go through these and sort out what needs throwing away," she said, flicking through a vast set of keys in her hand. She walked over and unlocked the door to the first building. After Tabitha had unhooked the padlock, Al helped swing the door open to reveal every single piece of available space was used up. I could see why she'd got us in. There was dusty wooden furniture; chairs stacked on top of each other, upside down and the right way up; taped shut cardboard boxes and black bags full of who knows what. Leaning against the wall were paintings, absolutely loads of them, of old stuff that no one wants to look at any more; boats and fields and trees, all under a thick veneer of dust.

"Bring it all out and I'll tell you what to do with it," she rasped over another cigarette.

Al lifted a flowery chair from the top of the pile and placed it on the grass. Gouges in the dark varnish showed the true yellow colour of the wood, and in the corners cobwebs hung like ropes on a suspension bridge, keeping the legs square.

"Put that over there Al, that can go back in, get me one of those black bags next."

I leaned into the mess and picked up an old dustbin bag, a massive spider with a thick black body ran out and made me jump.

"Poof!" Al shouted. Tabitha laughed with him, a rattly smokers laugh.

"Yes, that's rubbish like I thought it was, put it over there so it doesn't get mixed up and end up going back in."

I carried the black bag full of empty milk cartons and plastic bottles over to where she had aimed her thin finger, wondering how it had ever ended up in the garage in the first place. Tabitha looked at her gold watch and suddenly seemed agitated. "Right, I can't stay here all day, I've got a friend to meet."

Al went to say something, but was cut off by Tabitha's next sentence, "If you don't know what to do with any of it, leave it to one side and I'll take a look when I return. You can have an hour for lunch at one in case I'm not back but I probably will be."

And with that she walked back to the house, leaving me to assume she'd answered whatever question Al had wanted to ask.

Al took his t-shirt off as the morning sun began to properly warm up, and the pair of us cracked on with the task we'd been set. First thing was the coffee table, she obviously didn't need it or it wouldn't be out here gathering dust. Rubbish pile. But then the chair went in the keep pile and this was better than the chair, maybe the two go together. Don't know pile.

Framed picture of someone else's house, keep pile, she obviously likes it as she picked it out from somewhere. But then, it is shit. Don't know pile. One by one we put things aside for Tabitha's judgement when she got back, the exception being when I found a solitary old shoe and couldn't find the other that matched it. Reasoning that it was probably in the central reservation of the motorway where most single lost shoes end up, I put it in the rubbish pile. In the background we heard Tabitha's car set off down the gravel drive.

"Come on Lu let's have a look around, she's not gonna be back for ages."

We walked off up the garden in search of something new. The work could wait, if it had been up to me the whole lot would have gone in the rubbish pile.

When we reached the end of what to most people would have been a sufficient garden, we found a tall hedge. A wooden archway in the hedge led to a small stables and paddock.

In the paddock were a few horses, two light brown ones and a dark brown one that was almost black. They were fenced off in their enclosure, craning their long necks down to pluck the last remaining threads of grass from the ground. I've never liked horses, something about their long faces freaks me out. They're unnecessarily big too.

"You wouldn't want one of them bumming you Al," I laughed. He had a better look at one and smiled, they were obviously male.

"There are baby ones over there Lu, even you'd be able to ride one of them."

"They're a different kind of horse I think mate."

"Oh yeah, I think they're Shetland ponies," Al replied, clearly feeling like an idiot. Then a fiendish look crept over his face. "The small ones are girl horses Lu. I've got an idea if you're up for it?"

I laughed again when I realised what he was planning. Tabitha hadn't been out long, the chances of her coming back were well worth it for what we were going to do. Al walked round to the gate separating the two lots of horses from each other. At the same time I went over to the smaller horses and tried to gesture them towards their dates for the day, while avoiding the oversized human teeth that sit at the end of their strange faces. One of them kicked at the floor with its hoof, sending up a tiny cloud of dust as it gave me a look of contempt. Then it returned to pulling grass from the ground. Al came over to see what was taking so long.

"Just push them Lu, they don't know what they're missing." He shoved one from behind and it reluctantly walked into the bigger horses' field. "Come on little horse, come and get it."

The differently sized horses just stood there, oblivious to the fact that they were now in the same field, chewing relentlessly with their wrongly-proportioned faces. It was no use, all of our attempts to get the ridiculously endowed males to mount the smaller females were in vain. In their defence I think I'd have struggled with two pubescent boys leering at me too. Al dejectedly pushed the little girl horse back into the paddock with its ilk, and we walked off to continue the work we had started earlier.

When Tabitha returned at twenty-five past one, she found us sitting on her lawn surrounded by piles of junk, eating pasties and crisps that we'd bought from the local shop. After lunch she went through it with us, one piece at a time, until nearly everything was back in the storage it had started in.

So that was it, the end of the first pointless boring day. She told us then that we weren't going to be paid until the Friday, so a quick loan off my mum was in order when I got home. I told her I needed money to get through the week. That was half-true, I needed money to buy the beer to get me through the week.
Cold Soulless Eyes That Gave Nothing Away

July 1999.

The incessant ticking of the clock filled the air, every sound a moment we wouldn't get back. While underneath stood a smartly dressed figure, staring up at the time.

What were they doing?

I called out, "What are you doing?"

The figure turned suddenly towards me, so for the first time I could see its face. But not a human face....it had a horse's head! A fucking horse's head growing from the top of a human body in a perfect black suit.

Oh no.

The horse-man stared at me with cold soulless eyes that gave nothing away, and with every breath he took, steam spiralled outwards from two stretched oval nostrils on the end of his face.

Fear trapped my voice inside me, leaving me barely able to whisper out a, "Why?"

I tried to get out of my seat to run but my whole body was frozen in terror, gravity pinning me down under my own weight. Looking around the room I was in a block of chairs, set out in perfect symmetrical lines that filled the room. Ten chairs long and ten wide, a hundred chairs. In every chair another man in a suit with an equine head, watching me, staring at me. While alone, they blew clouds of steam from the ends of their faces. Where the fuck was I? What the fuck was I doing?

The horse-man at the front of the room started to run towards me, his thin black tie swinging back and forth in time to the crashing of his hooves on the floor. Where his hands should have been another pair of swinging hooves bought the total to four. CLUNK-CLUNK! The legs of my chair carried the vibrations as he ran, his knees barely bending, most of his movement at the hips as he came at me almost robotised. CLUNK-CLUNK! He covered the ground between us until he was so close I could feel the heat from his breath; then I woke up in a cold sweat, just in time for my second day at the new job.

* * *

As we walked the long winding drive to the house for the second time, I told myself the other outbuildings couldn't possibly also be piled full of crap to be sorted through.

"You're going to be doing some weeding today," Tabitha informed us. "I've put some gloves on top of that wall over there, get a pair each and follow me round to the side of the house."

Unfortunately I'd been right.

Al quickly grabbed the new looking pair on top, while I had to make do with the tatty grey suede ones that looked like someone else had owned them. As we walked we passed what looked like an aviary, only with a cat sitting inside.

"Why's that in there?" Al asked as he walked over to take a look at it. The cat hissed at him when he got too close, its tail in the air as it paced up and down its chicken wire home.

"He's not right that one," Tabitha answered. "He was a kitten a friend's cat had and they didn't know what to do with him, I just give him food and water, he seems happy enough."

He seemed happier when we walked away.

As we followed the path around the house, I noticed all the little dandelions and slivers of grass poking out between the grey paving slabs. The thought of spending the whole day crawling around on the floor pulling them out didn't fill me with joy. So I was pleasantly surprised when we arrived at an ivy soaked brick wall, probably eight feet high.

"Open that door one of you will you," Tabitha commanded us.

"What door?" Al asked.

"There's a door there, can you not see it?" Tabitha walked up to the wall and pulled the dense ivy to one side, revealing a grand oak door, a big cast iron ring handle hanging from one side.

She jumped back and started searching frantically for somewhere to wipe the cobwebs she had accumulated on her hands, settling on my t-shirt. Al turned the thick handle and tried to pull the door.

"Push it Al. You push a door to go in, don't you know anything?"

Al pushed with both hands, letting out a grunt as he struggled. The door didn't move. I moved up next to him and helped, putting my shoulder against the wood and trying to push with my legs. Even with both of us it still wouldn't budge.

"I thought it might have gotten a bit overgrown, it's been a while since anybody's been in there. One of you might have to climb in."

Al didn't need asking twice. He took a step back then jumped up and grabbed the top of the wall, kicking with his feet as he tried to get a purchase on the red bricks.

I quickly grabbed the bottom of his old trainers and pushed him up the wall. He managed to swing one leg over the top, then sat there precariously while he got his breath back.

"How long did you say it's been since anyone was in here Tabitha?" he panted.

"Oh, not since my husband died," she replied. "Over ten years now, twelve maybe?"

The upward inflection at the end of her sentence was a ruse, she knew exactly how long it had been. She pulled a cigarette from the box she always carried and lit it up. The long drag she took reflecting the pain of having had to think about something that upset her so much. She obviously hadn't been able to bear going in the gardens since she was widowed. In that moment I felt sorry for her.

"Throw my gloves up Lu!" Al shouted, trying to change the subject.

He slipped the gloves on and dropped into the garden, the dull thud as he landed closely followed by the sound of plants being frantically torn from the ground. After a couple of minutes the solid wooden door before us swung open.

I gestured Tabitha in first, then followed behind. We were in a walled garden now; grass, thistles, weeds and brambles grew chest high. Thick ivy covered most of the bricks on the inside too, though in the corner I could just about see what looked like another door.

"This is a long time overdue isn't it?" she understated.

"You can say that again," I said. "Is that another garden through that door over there?"

"There are a few more Luke, one of them has a swimming pool in it."

Her eyes welled up as she realised what had happened to the garden since she'd abandoned it, since she'd been abandoned by him. She pulled out another long cigarette and lit it, maybe in an effort to see her husband sooner and ask him why.

"Right you two, there's a lawnmower and some garden tools in the big shed by the garages you were clearing out yesterday," she said. "Take what you need, I'm going to go and have a lie down, I've not been feeling too good today."

With that she left for the house, while Al and I headed off to stock up on tools.

We split the jobs between us. I was to clear out the garden we were in and Al, ever the explorer, was to go off and liberate the rest of the doors from their green prisons.

"If you find the swimming pool come back and tell me," I said.

"Why, fancy a swim do you?" Al joked.

"What in her twelve year old disease pool? Nah you're alright mate."

The work took longer than I expected. The grass was so long I had to cut it with the lawnmower at the highest setting to stop the blade from getting caught up, before going over it again to get it properly short. I was only halfway through the first garden and feeling like I'd gotten the rough end of the deal when Al came running back.

"Found it Lu! It's shit though."

I followed him through one identical overgrown garden after another, counting four including the one we'd started in, before we passed into the one with the pool.

It was a lot bigger than I'd expected it to be, a long rectangle that almost filled the garden to the brick walls, leaving just a thin sliver of grass to walk around it. It probably would have been nice had it been looked after, small patches of clean white tile shining from under a veneer of green mould. In the bottom was maybe six inches of brown water mixed with decomposing leaves, I spotted at least one frog in there unable to escape. Al smiled and gestured towards the water, as if to say you first. I gave him a look that said there was no way I was swimming in there. It wasn't a swimming pool, if it had a frog in it then it was a pond.

Having been disappointed by the pool, we spent the rest of the day working flat out in the prehistoric gardens, in an effort to finish early. The last of the weeding was done by a quarter to five, but by the time Tabitha had made us put all the green waste in a pile ready for burning, it was half past. Bollocks. It wouldn't normally have been that big a deal, were it not the thirteenth of July. My birthday.

* * *

Al cycled to the off-license while I was in the shower, then I met up with him at the cricket pavilion near to Tabitha's house. He'd already started drinking when I got there, handing me a can as I sat down next to him on the wooden steps. We smoked a cigarette and drank a beer in silence, as we gazed at the shrinking orange semi-circle made by the sun as it sank behind a row of tall conifers before us. The shadows of the straw bales in the field beside us slowly stretched out, before disappearing completely as everything came under shadow.

It wasn't until I opened my second beer that we started to talk.

"Happy Birthday mate," Al said. I turned my head towards him to reply, but couldn't see his face for the orange blur the sun had burned into my eyes. "How's it feel to be sixteen?"

"Thanks Al," I said, "the same to be honest, how did you feel last month when it was yours?"

"Same. Sixteen's a shit birthday, only good thing is they have to sell you fags!" Al quipped. "So you gonna finally do your CBT test and get that bike on the road? Be easy with the money we'll get from Tabitha's."

I laughed, "Not if I keep spending it all on beer!"

"I wonder what we'll be doing tomorrow Lu?"

"Dunno mate, have to see when we get there I suppose."

"Did you see the frogs today in the swimming pool, how long do you think they've been in there?"

"Fuck knows mate, I don't know how long they live for," I replied.

"Nah that's not what I mean. Do you think they've fallen in recently or do you think they're like frog descendants from other frogs that fell in years ago? She did say it's been a lot of years since anyone has been in there."

I thought about the frogs eyes, angled by evolution to be spent constantly looking up at a world they would never know. Telling stories to their tadpoles about the days when their ancestors used to be gods, walking around on the world up above.

"Do you think we should set them free Al?"

"Nah mate they're probably better off in there, what they don't know and all that." He was probably right, if ignorance is as they say, truly bliss. "Tell you what we should set free though, the fucking spastic cat. That ain't right having a cat locked up in a chicken cage."

"Yeah you're right," I said, "but what if we let it out and it goes on a killing spree, she did say there was something wrong with it."

"That's what cats do mate, they either sleep or they try and kill things. If it comes out and starts chasing birds that just proves there's nothing wrong with it. It's not like it's gonna start eating people is it?" Al was right, I was probably being melodramatic.

It was getting properly dark now, and cold. You always felt it cool down more in the summer, when temperatures changed the most. The stars came out to join us.

"We're gonna have to let it out," Al said. "I don't like the idea of a cat being locked in a cage on its own at the end of her garden, it would be better off dead than being locked up. And anyway, if we let it out and it wants to live with her then it will just go back, people have cats and they come and go but they always go back."

"Alright mate, it's a deal. When we finish working for her we'll free the spastic cat. I'm not doing it before then though cos I don't want to have to pretend to her face that I don't know anything about it."

"Deal," Al replied.

It was technically the next day by the time we'd finished drinking, and despite being pretty hammered by the time I got home, I still knew how hard it was going to be to get up for work.

* * *

I woke to a raging head. My body hadn't wanted to stay up as late as I'd forced it to, and now it was getting revenge by pretending to be asleep. The weeding job I was so pleased to have gotten out of the day before was waiting for me at Tabitha's; pulling out the dandelions on my hands and knees in the vomit position did nothing to help my stomach, as did the sound of the lawnmower when Al started it up halfway through the day. It was straight home to bed after work and can't fucking wait for the weekend to get here.

Then when Friday finally arrived we became weekend vampires, sleeping all day so we could stay out all night, leaving a trail of empty beer cans in our wake. It was turning into something of a habit, but then enjoyable things often do.

Mondays always come too soon.

"Morning Tabitha," Al and I said almost in unison as she greeted us at the door of her house, on the worst day of the week.

"You two will be working with someone else this week," she said. Al and I looked at each other in surprise. "Come with me."

She led us through the garden, past where the horses were kept, all the way to the point where her land met the farmer's field.

"Gus this is Al and this is Luke, they'll be assisting you this week," Tabitha said, gesturing towards us individually as she named us.

"Alright lads," he smiled. In the background Tabitha held on as if to make sure Al and I were going to be up to the job. Gus was wearing a green polo shirt that had 'Kirk-Leigh Landscaping' printed across the front, something the pair of us should have found daunting. Little did she know I already knew him, in fact the three of us knew each other. He was the bloke who'd sold us the canoe.

"I know you two lads don't I?"

"I'm going to go now," Tabitha said. "If you need me for anything I'll be in the house."

None of us acknowledged her.

"You sold us a canoe," I said.

"That's where I know you from," Al said, "I knew I recognised you from somewhere."

"Ah yes, I thought it was you two. How did you get on with it?"

"It was brilliant mate," I said. "I've still got it at home."

"Do you still use it?"

"Not really, I've got a motorbike now," I said. Al's face bore a look that said he wanted a motorbike too.

"You two must be leaving school soon if she's got you working here?"

"Already finished, we start college in September," Al said.

Gus laughed, "You'll be trading things like canoeing for the pub all too soon then."

"So what are we doing today?" Al asked.

"Some hard work to be done today, we're putting fence posts in," Gus replied. "Have either of you ever done anything like this before?"

"Never, just been clearing out rubbish and weeding so far," Al said.

"You'll feel this tomorrow morning then," Gus flicked us a knowing look.

"Why does Tabitha need a fence here?" I asked. "Her house is all the way back over there, this is just the edge of the farmer's field."

"They're building some new houses on that bit of land over there and Tabitha wants to make it clear to the people who buy them where the edge of her land is." Gus pointed in the distance. "She doesn't want their kids thinking they can just play around on her property. With a fence there they'll have to go out of their way to trespass on her land. Right shall we get on with it then?"

Al and I showed just the right amount of fake enthusiasm, how hard could it be?

"There are some posts laid out here where they need to go." He pointed towards a row of evenly spaced posts on their sides. "I've dug the first hole, I need the same size hole for each of the posts. If you look at how far the first hole is from where the farmer has ploughed to, that's how far away they all need to be."

"Have you got a spade?" Al asked.

Gus laughed out loud then reined it in again when he remembered we were only sixteen. "You don't use a spade for this."

Al and I watched as he walked back to his Toyota pick-up truck on Tabitha's drive, returning with two spiked metal poles like straightened out crow-bars.

He put one down on the ground behind him, knelt on his knees, and with the other began to stab at the earth, one hand halfway down the shaft to aim it, the other on top of the spike to really drive it in. It punctured deep into the soil, where he twisted it around, breaking the ground into fist sized chunks; veins in his forehead swelling as they became engorged with blood, his face becoming taught as he strained. He drove the spike down through the broken clumps and deeper into the soil, twisting it again and breaking the ground up further. His long grey hair tied into a ponytail swinging on his back. Then he pulled the spike out and laid it next to him on the grass. Wiping sweat from his brow he took a pair of worn gloves from the back pocket of his camouflaged trousers and put them on. Fuck this looked like hard work.

He dug down with his hands and scooped the soil from the hole, taking the bigger pieces and throwing them into the ploughed field where they instantly looked like they belonged.

"All done then? Ready for the post to go in?" I asked, looking down at him on his hands and knees in front of me. Gus laughed.

"Come over to the first hole I dug," he said.

We followed him over.

He reached his arm down into the hole. "Two feet deep it needs to be, as deep as this. Put your arm in to the bottom and see where the ground comes to, you'll know how deep you need to go with your holes then."

I tried after Al, the level of the ground came to just before both of our shoulders.

"So you know what you've got to do now then? I'll let you get on with it on your own."

Al walked over to the hole that had been started and put his hand to the bottom. The soil didn't even come to his elbow. We each picked up a spike and started digging away.

"Whoa! What are you doing?!" Gus shouted. "Don't both dig in the same bloody hole. I'm not taking you down the hospital when one of you has a piece of metal stuck through your hand. You carry on there Al, Luke you start the next one."

Al gave me a look that said unlucky mate as I walked on to the next post. I picked my spike up, while behind me I heard the other two taking out their frustration on the ground.

I lifted the spike above me and bought it down. It went in a few inches. I tried again, much harder this time. It still only went in a few inches. For my third attempt I put it behind me, using the weight of my whole body to swing it over my shoulders and into the ground. It went in a long way this time, it deserved to seeing as I had tried so hard. I twisted it around in front of me, soon finding it was easier to do this holding onto the top. I took a big clump of soil out with my bare hands, I wasn't yet in the habit of carrying gloves with me, and threw it out into the farmer's field. My arms were aching already and I hadn't even finished the first hole. With the sound of the other two still working to keep me company, I quickly got back on with digging. By the time the hole was deep enough the ache had spread to the rest of my body, but mainly in my lower back. We soldiered on for what seemed like days, Gus digging as many holes as Al and I put together, as we worked our way along the edge of the field.

When he finally stopped us for lunch and drove Al to the post office I was absolutely knackered, lying on my back on the grass, waiting for them to return. Al had bought pasties and sausage rolls, warmed up in the microwave in the shop. Perfect for a day of what we were doing.

"So what do you think of working here so far?" Gus asked us as he tucked into his food.

"Yeah it's not too bad mate, today's been hard work but it's all been alright so far," I replied.

"Good, that's what I like to hear. And what about working for Tabitha?"

"She's quite nice, just leaves us to get on with it most of the time," Al said.

"No, come on lads this is Gus you're talking to, what's she really like? When she's talking down to you."

"She can be a bit like that, but it's her house and we're working for her aren't we? She's the boss," Al said.

"What and you think that's right? That just because she's got some money and a big house her husband left her, that you have to put up with her talking to you like you're worthless and thinking she's above you?"

"I don't know mate," I said, "this is only the second job we've ever had."

"Right I'm gonna tell you two something, and this is from someone who's been doing this sort of work for a lot of years, as many years as you've been alive, both of you put together." He stared at the pair of us. "Listen. You don't have to put up with this from anyone. If you think someone's treating you like shit then just pack up and go, there will always be another job to go to. Remember that, you don't have to take shit from anyone."

"Er....cheers Gus," Al replied, not knowing what to do with the advice.

"She's just a moany old woman who gets off on talking down to people," Gus said. "Just so you know though lads, this is between us three. Yeah?"

Al and I nodded.

"I'll give you one last tip lads, before you go out into the world of work. If you do think your boss is taking the piss and you're planning to just walk away from your job, make sure you get your wage packet first. That was a lesson I learned the hard way," he laughed.

I liked Gus. Not many people treated us like adults at this age, but he did. Passing on wisdom to help us in life, I wondered if someone had done the same with him when he was sixteen. It felt good to go back to work after lunch, working for someone who looked at us as if we were grown-up, even if part of that meant doing a grown-ups work.

When five o'clock came around he even dropped us both home.

For once I was pleased to get inside, although it was a struggle to get upstairs as I was aching so much. Sitting in a steaming hot bath with some of my mum's lavender oil, I thought about the day. It was the hardest anything I'd ever had to do and I hurt like hell, but I wanted to get back there the next day to help Gus finish because I knew if I didn't that would mean more for him to do and I'd be letting him down. Going out into the working world suddenly didn't seem like such a scary prospect, not when it was us lads sticking together. I'd never felt like that at school.

* * *

The rest of the week continued the same as it had started. We had our little chats at lunchtime but mainly just Gus telling us stories of things he'd done when he was our age. It was all the same as we did; parties, drinking, motorbikes, only at a time when people wore different clothes. The rest of our time was spent working hard. The pain never went away. I don't think I'd done enough to get strong to the point where it didn't hurt, I maybe got used to it though because as the days passed I didn't seem to notice so much.

On the Friday we began to run out of posts to erect.

"Not many holes left to dig now then Gus?" Al said. "Do you know what's next for us after this?"

"Sorry lads I think this is it. Did Tabitha not say anything to you?"

"No, she hasn't spoken to us since Monday morning when she introduced us all," Al said.

"See this is what I was saying to you the other day. You're only here now because you're helping me, there's nothing left to be done after this. I bet she didn't tell you because she thought if you knew, you'd take your time to try and get more work out of her." He looked a bit sympathetic towards us. "Now do you get what I was saying when I said she looks down on people, she doesn't even trust you enough to keep you in the picture. I won't lie to you though, us blokes have got to stick together."

I was sad to find out we were on our last day there, and more sad to think we could just as easily not have known. I could tell Gus wasn't best pleased with the fact that we'd been kept in the dark, so when lunchtime came and we were nearly finished he suggested that we make the job last until five. A quick check to make sure Tabitha's car wasn't there and we spent the rest of the day sitting in the sun behind Gus's pickup, chatting rubbish.

I felt a little emotional as I collected my final week's wages and we all said our goodbyes. Having dropped hints to Gus about coming to work with him and the offer being politely declined due to us "Needing to concentrate on our education," I knew we probably wouldn't see Tabitha or him again. Even if we didn't, we'd be back. We still had to free the spastic cat. As an added bonus, because we'd only worked a fortnight of the holiday we'd still have four weeks to hunt the cat down, if it did, as there was a possibility it might, go on some murderous rampage through the village.

In the time we'd worked there, we'd cleared every one of her forgotten gardens and made them habitable. Nonetheless, I doubt she ever set foot in them again.
We Were Grown-ups Now

September 1999.

My exam results finally came through. I got a C in maths, four D's, an E and four F's. One of those F's being in English, my spontaneous attempt at storytelling in the exam having fallen on deaf eyes. Having done practically no coursework or revision, I was chuffed to bits with those results, even when I showed them to my maths teacher (not the foggiest of what his name was) and he tried to shoot me down in flames.

"You got a C? That means you got an A* in your test paper! If you'd actually done all the coursework like you were supposed to you'd probably have straight A-C's!" he said, before walking away to find a pupil worth taking up his time. And I suppose he was probably right. Looking at it the other way though, I'd managed to doss about all spring, sitting down the beach on the yellow sand while the rest of the school had been shut away either in their bedrooms or the suicidal library, and yet I'd still managed to get the grades required for college. I tried explaining it to my parents that way but they took the side of my maths teacher, as if it had anything to do with them. Al's grades weren't much better, but luckily entry requirements for his bricklaying course were short fingernails and a pair of steel toe-capped boots.

We had a good drink that night at the pillbox, relishing the fact that we'd never again have to go to school. This was it though; time to grow up, no more common enemy to rally against. What we did from now on would have to be what we wanted to do. There was no more having your life planned for you and just turning up each day, we'd need to pursue the things we wanted in life, as the men we would become. It was a good night that one, it will stay with me forever; the memory of Al and I side by side on our hands and knees, vomiting fizzy sick from the top of the pillbox into the water below. We were grown-ups now.

* * *

When the start day finally came it took a twenty minute walk to get to Frampton train station, followed by a half hour ride on the train with the commuters on the way into London. We chatted away while they either hid behind copies of the Metro or pretended to be asleep, a further ten minute walk to the college rounded our journey time up to an hour.

I was nervous about starting college, but nowhere near as nervous as I'd been starting the new school. We were all in the same situation this time, unlike when I'd joined year ten a week late. It also helped that we got there early enough to see other people arrive with looks of abject terror on their faces. Laughing at them as they panicked and tripped over their own schoolbags calmed me down.

The college itself was made up of several buildings, the tallest of which was covered in glass. I was to go to the top floor for my lesson. Al was at the bottom, the ground floor being shared by the construction classes and also the engineering department, who used machines that were too big to fit in the lift. We made a deal to meet up again at lunch. I made my way to the lift, but on second thoughts decided on the stairs. There was still half an hour before I even had to officially be there.

Three hours later and I gratefully squeezed into the closing doors of the lift, the stairs may be less claustrophobic but I needed a nicotine boost and this took priority. Al was waiting outside the main doors for me, and we shared a cigarette while he told me how well his first morning had gone.

Apparently they'd all been given a chance to lay some bricks. Despite the fact that their efforts had then been pulled down again, it still sounded preferable to how my morning had gone. I hadn't actually done anything so far on my business management course, apart from be told what the next two years would entail. I couldn't remember any of it specifically, just that none of it sounded as fun as building a wall, so instead I told him a story I thought he might find more interesting.

"I was one of the first ones at the classroom mate," I said.

"Yeah we were a bit early weren't we?"

"And this bloke walks up to the door in a suit, carrying a briefcase. I'm stood there in my jeans and t-shirt, casually dressed like everyone else. So I say Morning Sir."

"Yeah cos he's the lecturer."

"Exactly, so he says to me, 'Why are you calling me sir?'"

Al laughed, "You don't have to here do you? A couple of lads in my class did that, Nigel the lecturer had to keep reminding them not to do it."

"So I say sorry, yeah you don't have to do that in college do you. Morning Mr?.... Then he turns round and says, 'I'm a student too.' I felt like a right twat. I'd just assumed he was there to teach us."

"I didn't think you had to wear a suit for your course?"

"You don't, when the real lecturer turned up he wasn't even wearing a suit."

"You muppet, did many people hear you say it?"

"Nah, luckily it was still early so there were only a few other people there. They were laughing though."

Al smiled, "I'm not surprised. That was a good way to start off the next two years."

"That's only half the story though mate, he wasn't the only one. Two other lads turned up in suits as well. The three of them sat together at the front of the class."

Al gave me a look that said he knew it was going to be like this all along. "Change to what I'm doing, there's lads wearing shorts in there. Suits are for fucking weddings."

"It's not just that Al."

What do you mean?

"I had another panic attack or something, like the one I had on my work experience in that office."

Al looked at me. "You never told me about that."

"Did I not? Yeah I had like some claustrophobic panic attack at the estate agents."

"That weren't a panic attack Lu, that was because you're supposed to work outside. I'd probably feel the same stuck on the top floor listening to business lectures," Al said. "Change to the same course I'm on. There are still spaces going, apparently some of the lads have dropped out without ever even turning up. Probably got jobs or something."

"Maybe mate," I replied, "it's only the first day, I've at least got to give the course a chance."

Al laughed again, "Fifty quid says you don't make it to the end of the week."I arrived for my second day with a renewed enthusiasm, sure that having had the whole syllabus outlined to us already, we would be due some excitement. How wrong I was!

* * *

Listening to what the course entailed it turned out, was actually more interesting than the course itself.

Day two went something like this:

Sit on the train to college while everyone ignores each other.

Arrive at college where everyone ignores each other.

Get asked to make a plan of how you are going to carry out the first module of your course. (Something to do with market research and asking random strangers random questions about what shops they would like to see opened).

Wonder why you applied for this awful course when you could be downstairs mixing cement instead of trying to convince yourself that you're the next Richard Branson, when actually what you're talking about doing is chasing middle aged women down the road while armed with a clipboard.

Accept that suffering two years of this is still better than admitting to Al that he was right all along.

Sit on the train home while everyone ignores each other.

I could have handled all of these things. Just. It would have taken a lot of tongue biting, and midweek drinking, but I'm sure, looking back, that somewhere inside me I still felt that the qualification would be worth it. NVQ level 2 in business management. Surely that would be a good thing to put on my CV. Whatever a CV was.

Unfortunately there's still one more thing I've not told you.

Those three lads who mistakenly turned up in suits on the first day, well they turned up in suits on the second day too, despite the fact they didn't need to. The only explanation I could possibly think of as to why, is that they thought they were better than everyone else, and that spending two years overdressed would somehow make them stand out against the rest of us when we finally graduated and went out to pursue our careers. There's a word I reserve for certain people in life, although up until that point I'd never met anyone quite like the three of them. It's a word that I think but don't say, and think but don't write. All that aside, when they arrived on Wednesday looking as conceited as ever, I made the decision to make that my last day. I'd need to find a different career path, the risk I might end up working with people like them was a risk I couldn't take.
A Group of Hungry Looking Ducks

September 1999.

Having dropped out of college I was given the choice of either moving out or getting a job. Moving out actually sounded the easier option for a sixteen year old with sod all qualifications who lives in the middle of nowhere; but on giving it further thought even that would have meant getting a job, unless I planned on being homeless. Fortunately my dad came to the rescue when he got me a job with him, starting on the Monday of the following week. I knew next to nothing about what my dad actually did at work, aside from that it was something to do with wood and that it meant getting up at stupid o'clock in the morning, to be at work for seven. He cleared things up for me by explaining that they were a specialist furniture makers, building bespoke pieces for an upmarket clientele. That didn't actually mean a whole lot, so it was just lucky that on my dad's good word, and the fact that he'd worked there over ten years, I wouldn't have to have an interview. I'd rather have found something else but seeing as my dad had already taken the initiative and asked on my behalf, it would have been rude to turn it down. Plus it wouldn't have just been him who I'd piss off, my mum seemed to perk up when she heard I'd be out from under her feet again.

* * *

My dad's car was cold. Especially cold compared to the bed I'd normally have still been in at six in the morning. He began rolling a cigarette as soon as we pulled away, I went to grab the steering wheel to keep us going straight but he put his hand up to stop me. Instead we continued down the road while he steered with his knees. If it was cold before, it was positively freezing when he wound down his window and lit it. As the smoke billowed around the inside of the car it made me crave a cigarette. I couldn't have one though, at this point he didn't know I smoked.

"First day at work this Lu, means you're finally growing up."

"Suppose so Dad."

"No suppose about it!" my dad said curtly. "Once you've got a job and bills you're an adult. Even if you can't legally buy a beer yet."

"I'll have to get some bills next then wont I?" I quipped.

"You've got bills Lu. Your mum's going to be taking £20 a week housekeeping from you isn't she?"

"Oh yeah I forgot about that," I replied. "Still leaves me with £80 a week though."

"You'll be able to save some of that to put towards getting that bike on the road then."

I laughed, "If there's any left over after the weekends Dad."

My eyes were tired, far too tired for what lay ahead.

"What's the bosses name again?" I asked.

"Pete," my dad said. "There's only Pete and Keith there."

"How will I know the difference?"

"Keith's the young one, in his thirties."

"Thirty isn't young."

"Do me a favour and don't say that when we get there."

"OK. Sorry Dad."

The journey from Kirk-Leigh to Sandbury was just under forty minutes. We didn't say a lot the rest of the way, except for when my dad pulled into the car park outside the unit and parked next to a brand new silver Mercedes, apparently belonging to the boss. I made sure not to open my door into it when I got out, I bet just one of his mirrors would have cost as much as the old Renault Laguna my dad was driving at the time.

* * *

We walked in through the roller shutter door at the front, below the big wooden sign 'C.R.P Fabrications' that was made out of two different colours of wood; dark for the oval background piece that looked like it was cut straight from a tree trunk, then a light pine colour for the letters themselves, all covered in a shiny varnish. I was introduced to Pete first, in his fifties and worn out looking, with thin greying hair and a thick northern accent. Then Keith, who was old like I'd said, and in his thirties like my dad had said. He was pretty muscled, with his overalls tied around his waist and a tight green matching t-shirt that showed off his biceps. I could see why my dad didn't want me to piss him off. My dad and I were the tallest there, I'd caught up with him now and we were both a good six foot. We were skinny though, my dad had always been skinny, "It's in his genes," my mum would say, "Looks like you're going to follow after him." Clothes never fitted me right, I always had to wear a large for the length, meaning everything hung loosely on me. I'd have rather been Keith's build if I'd had the choice, but then Keith probably wanted to be as tall as me.

With the introductions over my dad gave me a tour of the unit. It was smaller than I imagined it would be, the rear of the building was rented out to another company so it only went back half as far as it appeared to from the outside. Apparently they used their half for storage. I don't know what of though, all we saw from our side was a stud wall.

As we meandered our way around, he showed me all of the machines; pointing out lathes, chop saws and a table saw against the edges of the interior walls, the gaps between filled with half finished oak dining tables and what I thought were wooden dressers.

Pete was working on one of the lathes, turning down a spindle. He looked up for a moment as we passed then carried on with what he was doing, a pile of sawdust forming on the floor at his feet. Then onto the rows of drills and belt sanders, all machines I had no idea of how to use, and to be honest doubted I'd ever know how to use. It was a lot to take in on a first day. We finally stopped at my dad's working area, where the intricately carved headboard of a four poster bed lay half finished on top of his bench. One side had had the rough edges sanded smooth and the other was waiting for the same treatment. It was obvious even to me it was a bed, the A4 diagram of what it would look like when completed being how I could tell it was a four poster. Propped up along the wall behind my dad's chair were a row of what I assumed to be parts for the same project; long thin packages sealed in bubble wrap that might have been the posts, and shorter thick ones that were maybe the legs.

My dad opened a grubby metal locker standing against the wall beside his bench, and handed me a pair of his old overalls that were far too big; the sleeves having to be rolled up several times before I could see my hands and the lowest button at the front for the fly being somewhere between my groin and knees. When he put his own on and they fitted the same, I realised maybe that was how they were meant to be. I'd brought my own steel toe-cap boots with me, ones bought for me by my dad. He laughed when I tried in vain to get them on while they were still filled with screwed up tissue paper, we must have been sold a different pair to the pair I tried on in the shop.

"What am I doing then Dad?" I asked.

"Not sure Lu, I'll see if Pete's got something for you."

"Brumm-brumm," Pete made a noise in the background like a car being driven. I gave my dad a puzzled look.

"Sweep up Lu."

Ah- broom.

I found one leaning against the wall and proceeded to sweep the floor, carefully moving anything I could as I went to make sure I didn't miss anywhere. The bulk of the sawdust was by the machines. Then when I'd finished I tracked down a dustpan and brush to sweep up the remains.

"What next Dad?" I asked eagerly.

"Cough-cough." I heard the sound of Pete clearing his throat, still working at the lathe. "Bit dry in here."

"It is dry in here isn't it?" Keith added, holding his clenched fist to his lips and making effeminate coughing noises.

"Dad?"

"Make the coffees Lu."

I wrote down what everybody wanted, assuming I was going to be doing a lot of this. With the exception of my dad who had strong white coffee no sugar, the same as at home.

"Am I going to be doing some actual work?" I asked once I'd handed everybody their drinks, all in their individual mugs to avoid confusion.

"I'm sure we can find you something."

My dad handed me a sanding block with some coarse paper on and asked me to go over the rough edges of the headboard on his bench, reminding me not to stay in one spot too long or I'd risk taking off too much. Assuming it would be hard work I immediately put all my strength into it and did exactly what I'd been told not to, ruining one of the chamfered edges.

"Maybe you're not ready for this yet Lu," my dad said, "it's eighteen hundred pounds this bed when it's done, plus VAT. Go and see if Pete wants a hand."

Hmmm. Job number one cocked up.

I found Pete still at the lathe, and he asked me to wash his car; handing me the keys so I could reverse it away from my dad's "jalopy" as he put it to give me the space to clean it properly. I reminded him I wasn't allowed to drive yet but he insisted. When I say he insisted I mean he just ignored my protests. Luckily I'd driven my dad's car a few times up and down the unadopted road we lived on, though I'd never been as worried about crashing that as I was the bosses Merc.

With the car cleaned it was lunchtime.

* * *

My dad offered to show me the nearest supermarket, which was a quiet five minute stroll beside a river. On the way back we stopped to eat on a bench next to the water. I swapped him one of my prawn mayonnaise sandwiches for one of his BLT's. I think I got the rough end of the deal, the BLT's were on wholemeal bread.

"What do you think Lu?" He stuffed his face.

"Not sure yet Dad, I don't know how to do anything yet." I stuffed my face and tried to ignore a group of hungry looking ducks that seemed to be approaching us on the river.

"Just stick with it Lu, you've only been here half a day. I'll try to find you something more interesting when we get back."

"But Pete said I'm not allowed to use the machines."

"What and you think we were when we started out? You'll pick it all up over the years."

"But in the meantime I won't actually be doing any proper work. What's the point of them paying me?"

"You're missing the point Lu. You might not be able to make the furniture yet but all these other little jobs you're doing are jobs we'd have to do. All the time you spend sweeping up or making coffees is time we can spend getting on with proper graft."

"I suppose."

"Don't look at it as we're only giving you the jobs we don't want to do. Look at it as these are your jobs now, regardless of whether we want to do them or not. Up until today we've all had to; even Pete, although he hardly ever made the coffees."

"So it's my job now to sweep up now?" I asked.

"Your job to sweep up?" my dad laughed. "You might as well write your name on the broom."

I threw my sandwich crusts to the ducks who had by now almost reached the riverbank. The sound of their excited quacking followed us as we walked back.

With lunch over I was given to Keith, who taught me how to stain furniture.

"Just a little at a time Luke," he said, "like these sample pieces of wood, that's what the customer has requested. Remember you can always make it darker, you can't make it any lighter."

Helping him with that and listening out for random coughing fits that signalled it was time to put the kettle on, kept me busy until we finished at half-past four. As it turned out I did more there on that first day than I ever thought I would when I walked in. I knew it wasn't for me though, after just nine hours. Even if I didn't know what was for me at that point. I just didn't find it interesting, and I couldn't bear the thought of spending my forever doing something I didn't find interesting.

By the time we'd driven home again I was knackered. I'd promised Al I'd knock round for him but didn't bother, instead showering and going straight to bed. Roll on Friday I thought, can't wait to get bloody paid, that would make it all worthwhile, and at £100 a week it was going to be the most I'd ever earned. Even if I'd rather have earned what I had at Ship's, to be back working there with Al.

* * *

When the end of the week finally came and I got my £100 in cash, I made sure to give my mum what I owed her before I had a chance to spend it. Then I hid half of the remaining £80 in my sock draw and rushed round to meet Al.

There was no time to waste, we were off down the pub.
How The Fuck Does a Man Get Pregnant?

October 1999.

It wasn't long before my life became focused on the weekend. Day after day the monotony of work wound me up like a coiled spring, so that by Friday night I would explode into the pub. I wouldn't even acknowledge anyone until I'd necked two pints. Alcohol to Al was like water to a dried up sea sponge; he was attracted to it, constantly on the lookout for the next opportunity to get drunk, and sometimes I could even have sworn it was attracted to him. A chance encounter meant Al was now also working full-time, having bumped into a local builder in the village called Trev. He'd asked in passing if he needed a labourer to help him on Saturdays. The idea of quitting college and getting a job was something Al had already considered, a lot of which was down to seeing me with a pocket full of money every Friday. When Trev replied with, "What are you doing wasting time in college? You want to get a job and learn while you earn son, that's what I did," the deal was nearly done. £30 a day cash and the fact that Trev had a nice big house quelled any lingering doubts Al might have had that he was making the right decision. That meant the pair of us always had the money to get hammered. I would drink until I couldn't see, using alcohol to blot out all the inadequacies I placed on myself. I became a confident, extrovert, social whirlwind of a person. The person wasn't real but I adored him nonetheless.

Having been turned away from a whole host of pubs, the nearest one we could find that would serve us without I.D was a two mile walk, then slightly more than that as we zigzagged our way home again. The White Hart in Hemford was one of those traditional style pubs, which sit in the centre of a village and predate everything around them. All wonky floors and wobbly tables, and ceilings you have to tilt your head to get under. On the outside it had its black oak bones on show. The air was always thick with the comforting smell of spirits and cigarette smoke; there was a pool table, a fruit machine, and best of all a bar with Stella on tap plus a whole host of random bottles we would dare each other to try. Pernod, Tequila, Gin, Whisky, Schnapps, Amaretto............you name it we threw it up in people's front gardens, on that lonely introspective walk home.

We met James there. Eighteen and from two years above us at school, he became a regular pub acquaintance. The first impression I had of him was that he was about as laid back as it is possible to be without actually being asleep. He spoke slowly with a chilled out tone, like everything in the world was always great; and once he had a few drinks in him he was infectiously enthusiastic. What he wore perfectly matched his personality. In the warm evenings he'd throw a pair of shorts on and meet us at the pub, which was only at the end of the road he lived on. If it was raining when he left the house- a hooded jacket and a pair of shorts. Even in the bitter icy wind he'd wear shorts. I never once saw him with his legs covered up. The rest of his wardrobe consisted of t-shirts with pictures of either surf boards or VW Camper vans on, that went perfectly with the dark brown ponytail that stretched halfway down his back. I was jealous of James being able to dress how he wanted. Both only being sixteen, Al and I had to wear jeans and shirts to make ourselves look older; the riskiest my clothes ever got was when I wore trainers instead of shoes, and even that was only because I'd forgotten to clean the mud off them from walking home the weekend before.

The three of us would sit and drink and put Oasis songs on the jukebox, chatting bollocks the way you only can when everything is still in front of you. Then one Friday night out of the blue, our social triangle became a square and the course of all those years to come was changed forever.

Like most chance meetings down the pub it started with an argument, in this case over who was the toughest movie star of all time.

It began when Al, for no reason whatsoever, and in a loose impersonation of Arnold Swarzenegger, shouted, "Get to the chopper!" In James's ear.

James replied with a, "Yippee kayee motherfucker!" In the second of a series of terrible impersonations that were to nearly get us barred from the only pub Al and I could get served in.

"Who the fuck was that?" Al asked.

"Bruce Willis you schmuck," James retorted. I don't know why he used to insult people in Jewish, he didn't look like a Jew, though I never took the time to ask him if he was.

"Yeah ain't exactly Arnie," Al said, before repeating, "Get to the CHOPPER!"

"What you think Arnie is tougher than Bruce Willis?" James said from what looked like quite close to the edge of his permanent state of calm. I laughed as I watched the pair of them from outside of their stupid argument.

"Course he is, look at the size of him."

"He's not really that tough though is he? Seeing as he was pregnant in one of his films."

"What do you mean he was pregnant in one of his films? He's a man, how the fuck does a man get pregnant?" Al said.

"You've not seen Junior then?"

Al looked at me for support. I'd so far stayed out of it but I had to join in now. "James is right," I said, "he was pregnant in Junior. I don't know if he had sex with another man or if they put the baby in there somehow but he was definitely pregnant. I've never seen it but I remember seeing the advert on TV."

"Fuck. I love Arnie. I'm never going to be able to watch his films in the same way again, knowing he was pregnant."

"I'll be back...." I tried to console Al. "For my ultrasound!"

"I guess that means Bruce Willis is tougher than Arnie," Al admitted dejectedly.

A second later a voice from the table next to us said, "You haven't seen The Jackal then?"

We all looked over.

"Who are you?" Al asked.

"That's Kyle, he lives in Kirk-Leigh. Don't tell me you've not met him," James replied on his behalf.

Kyle was a big bloke, not fat big, well he was fat, but mainly he was just big. Even though he was sitting down I could tell he was excessively tall. As he looked down on the tops of the heads of the people sharing his table, it looked like he'd been given the wrong chair. Fuck knows how he could have lived in the same village as me without me noticing. He slowly looked the three of us back and forth with his rounded yet strongly featured, almost caveman-like face, then put down the pint glass that his fingers stretched nearly all the way around. "What's your name mate?"

"Al."

"Nice one Al," Kyle replied in a strong London accent. He stood up in his smart denim jeans and tight grey designer shirt, and walked round to where I was sitting. I was right when I thought he was tall, he must have been six-foot-five.

He reached out with his shovel sized hand and shook mine.

"Luke," I said.

"I've seen you two a couple of times in the village, you're younger than me aren't you?"

"Sixtee-"

Al quickly cut me off with a loudly whispered, "Shut up mate."

"I'm nineteen bruv, I was in the same year as James," Kyle said. "So what was I saying? Oh yeah, Bruce Willis kisses a man in The Jackal, proper kisses him. So he's not that tough. If you want tough you want Jean Claude Van Damme."

"Jean Claude Van Damme's pretty fucking tough," I said, nodding in agreement with Kyle. He reached out and gave me a touch with his clenched fist. It must have been a London thing. "He doesn't even need a gun, he'd kick you to death in the face."

"You fucking know that! Anyone who chooses to kick people to death instead of carrying a gun is properly hard."

"He used to be a ballet dancer," James said smugly.

"What?"

"Before he made movies he was a ballet dancer. That's how he can get his legs so high when he kicks."

"Fuck off, there's no way he's a ballet dancer." The bold features on Kyle's face began to cowl. "Look at the size of him, ballet dancers are all skinny like women."

"I know he's not a ballet dancer now," James said. "But when he was younger he was, he used to wear a dress and do little spins on stage and that."

"Pirouettes?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah pirouettes," James replied.

"Fuck off! You're winding me up. There's no way he used to be a dancer. People wouldn't pay money to have him star in their movies if they knew he used to wear a dress and spin round a stage on his toes."

"That's why he doesn't need a gun, because his feet are so strong. He can kill you with his super strong toes, from doing all those little spins."

"Nah bollocks. You lot are taking the piss out of me."

The three of us started laughing. I didn't know if he used to be a ballet dancer or not, I didn't really care; but Kyle did, and the more we laughed the more he thought we were winding him up. Al coughed, choking on his cigarette as he wiped tears from his eyes. James's hair, which he'd let hang loose for the night swayed back and forth as his head rocked in joy. And I laughed because Al was crying and James had girls' hair.

In an instant Kyle turned really angry, like fighting angry. "I've had enough of this James, you must think I'm some sort of...."

"Come on then you lot!" the landlady Trudy shouted from the bar. "Stop arguing about nonsense and one of you get some drinks in. Carry on like that and you'll all go home."

Nice one Trudy. I didn't know where that was heading, but I know I could feel the tension die down at the table when she spoke. I sat with James while Al and Kyle went to the bar, Al was far from small but he disappeared completely from view when Kyle was stood in front of him. James seemed a little put out by what had happened, he didn't say it, but I could tell because he didn't say anything at all, just sitting there looking at his glass and playing with his hair. Luckily by the time Al and Kyle returned with the drinks, things seemed to have blown over, and the four of us spent the remainder of the night learning everything about each other that we wanted to know.

Kyle had moved to Kirk-Leigh at a similar age to me, to live with his mum when his parents had split up. The reason I'd not noticed him before is because he'd left the school in the same year I'd started there. He was into garage music, the same as we were, only he got mix-tapes from the events in London as they happened, whereas we made do with whatever was in the charts at the time. Mostly Garage Nation, which James referred to as Gay-rage Nation, a bit rich for someone who listens to house.

It wasn't long before Kyle became a full-time addition to our table in the pub, sharing the walk with us when the weather was good, and forcing taxi drivers to put his garage tapes on when it wasn't. It was just a shame he and James sometimes had to work weekends, leaving us with a gap at the table and a personality or two short. When it was all four of us though we argued and drank, taking turns to side with each other as we fought little battles over everything on our nights. Every one of us trying to upset the pecking order that naturally had six-foot-five Kyle at the top, followed by James who was oldest, then Al and I squabbling not to be at the bottom.

They were great times at that pub, in fact they were probably all that got me through the week working at the same company as my dad, the irony of it being that I spent all the money I ever earned from working on alcohol to forget the horror of work itself. We were all in the same situation though, none of us wanted to get up early every morning and with the exception of Al none of us was actually doing a job we wanted to do; but then even Al was fed up of working by Friday. I suppose that desire to block things out was the reason Kyle and James smoked cannabis, and was why Al and I were so quick to take it up too. It did make for some surreal moments; I remember laughing more in one night than I probably had in my whole entire life. The only downside I found being that the final, post pub spliff we smoked seemed to make the walk home take ten times as long.
See the Planes Fall Out of the Sky for Ourselves

December 1999.

The White Hart held an annual New Year's Eve party. We were nearly a man down but Kyle had phoned in sick at the last minute when, unsurprisingly, no one had been willing to swap shifts with him. We never met as a group during the week, we were all too busy with work.

We'd been there on Christmas Eve for a last drink together before the few days you are expected to spend at home as a family. The Christmas tree was still standing in the corner, its flashing fairy lights competing in earnest with the lights of the Simpsons fruit machine next to it.

For New Year's Eve the pub was transformed. Banners proclaiming 'HAPPY NEW YEAR' and 'HAPPY NEW MILLENIUM' hung from drawing pins in the beams above us; and over the bar, poorly drawn with felt tip pens on a succession of taped together pieces of white paper, was a sign that read 'HERE'S TO THE NEXT 2000 YEARS!' I could see it was supposed to be a joke, but the cynic in me read it as a reminder that everyone in the pub would be dead in a hundred; best to make the most of the time we had. I ordered a double Jack and Coke to go with my pint.

We were in the beer garden under the yellow street-lit shadow of the enormous monkey puzzle tree, smoking and drinking. You could smoke inside, but with all the talk of the millennium bug we wanted to be outside when the midnight bells chimed to see the planes fall out of the sky for ourselves.

The tree seemed to have caught Al's attention as he ignored the rest of us chatting away. "Why do you think they've bothered with that Christmas tree inside?" he asked, staring up. "They might as well have used this."

James put his drink on a picnic table and disappeared into the pub for a minute. When he came running out again he was holding the gold star from the Christmas tree. Before any of us had a chance to ask what he was doing he put the star between his teeth and jumped into the tree.

He climbed carefully, branch by branch, through the tree that had stayed defiantly green while those around it had turned brown. He was careful with his hands not to grip too tightly to the pointy evergreen leaves, instead doing most of the climbing with his feet as he wound his way higher and higher. When he reached about halfway up he stopped, unable to climb any further, and crouched down where we could no longer see him in the dark.

A middle aged couple came out into the garden both holding a flute of champagne, the man placing what was left in the bottle on the picnic bench next to James's glass. They were surprised to see the three of us staring into the tree.

"What are you all doing?" the woman asked. It was hard to see her face in the dark, I could however make out the large white breasts barely contained in her top.

"Our mate's up the tree," Al replied.

"What's he doing up there?"

Thinking quickly that we'd better not grass James up for stealing the decoration off the Christmas tree, I said, "Don't know, none of us know, I think he's just pissed."

The bloke laughed, "Is he stuck?"

"Nah he's just fucking about. James's always like this, he'll be down in a minute," Kyle said.

"James!" the woman shouted up.

"What?"

"Are you coming down James? You won't get any beer up there."

Al and I both took a sip of our pints, with an audible Mmmm to remind him what he was missing.

"I'll come down when I'm ready!"

The five of us stood there in the dark watching James, while he watched us watching him. Then the five became eight.

"Where've you been?" three blokes I loosely recognised from previous nights asked the couple we'd met earlier.

"James is stuck up the tree."

"James James?" one of them asked.

"Yes, me James!" he shouted down.

"What's he doing up there?"

Before any of us had a chance to answer, not that any of us really had an answer, the landlady of the pub walked into the garden.

"What's who doing where?" Trudy asked.

"Nothing." Those of us that weren't laughing answered almost at the same time.

"It doesn't look like nothing to me, why are you all looking at my tree? Has one of you done something to it?"

"No Trudy, no one's in the tree," Al replied in his usual speak first, think later kind of reply when he'd had a drink.

"Right who's up the tree?!" she demanded.

"No one's up the tree," Kyle said.

"Al just told me somebody's in my tree."

"I didn't, I said no one's in the tree."

"So when I find out who it is, I'll know you were lying Al and you'll be barred."

"James is up the tree," Al said.

"Nice one Al," James called down.

"Right James, you get down here!" Trudy shouted impatiently.

"I can't. I'm stuck."

"If you made it up there you can make it back down again," she said. She probably had a point.

"Honestly I can't get down, I don't even know how I ended up here."

Trudy wasn't standing for his lies. She knew full well that James knew full well how he'd gotten up there.

"If you're not down in ten seconds you're barred from this pub for life!"

"Ten seconds? Do you want me to just fall down?"

"Right, that's it. You come down here and you can leave, I'm not having you talking to me like that in my own pub."

"So I'm barred from the pub?"

"You are and it's your own fault. I gave you enough chances."

"If I'm barred then I'm not coming down," he said, "I might as well stay up here."

That was it, the group of us that had accumulated out here to watch him burst out laughing; we couldn't stop even when Trudy gave us all dagger eyes.

"I don't think he's coming down Trudy," I said, trying to keep a straight face amid the tears on my cheeks. "Do you want me to start a little fire underneath to try and smoke him out?"

"Yeah chuck me up a smoke!"

"Don't you chuck him anything up!" Trudy shouted, but it was too late, Al had already thrown his box of Benson and Hedges up. A little flame appeared in the tree and was then replaced by a glowing red dot.

"You're barred as well Al!"

"What?!"

"I told you not to do it, now leave my premises!"

Al frowned, and quickly finished the last of his pint. He handed Trudy the empty glass and walked out through the five foot high side gate of the beer garden, slamming it behind him. Then he turned and watched us, like a floating decapitated head, from the other side of the gate that hid everything below his neck.

"I thought I told you to leave!" Trudy shouted at the floating head.

"I have left Trudy, I'm not on your land anymore."

"That's not what I meant. You know what I meant!"

Kyle and I instinctively knew what to do, walking over to Al and standing right next to him, only on the privileged side of the fence.

"Alright Al bruv, fancy seeing you here," Kyle said. "Do you want a drink?"

Al smiled and nodded.

Trudy's lips scowled into an angry frown. "If I catch anyone giving him a drink tonight they'll be barred too, I'm not joking I'm close to kicking all of you out."

Yeah go on then I thought, ban all four of us just for having a laugh, we'll just spend our money elsewhere. Bollocks! No we won't. Al and I can't get served anywhere else!

"James!" I walked over to the tree and called up. "Come down!"

"He likes it up there Lu, let him be a squirrel if he wants," Kyle laughed.

I walked over to Kyle, still stood next to Al who was secretly rolling a spliff on the other side of the fence. "If we get barred mate we can't go out drinking anymore," I whispered, "me and Al can't get served anywhere else. It's alright for you two, you're over eighteen."

"Yeah come on James!" Kyle shouted up. "You've had a laugh. Come down and I'll get us all some tequilas."

"James is barred," Trudy reminded us. "He's still coming down though."

"See!" James said. "I might as well stay here."

"Just apologise to Trudy and come down. Come on bruv, you've been up there all night," Kyle said.

Trudy sighed, "An apology isn't going to cut it this time."

"Oh come on Trudy, it's not like he's broken anything," Kyle said.

Then I smelt the sweet smell of cannabis burning behind me.

"Al mate, what the fuck? She'll be able to smell that," I whispered to him.

"Fuck it. I'm already barred."

I stared him in the eyes so he'd be able to tell how serious I was. "We're going to get you two unbarred, otherwise where else are we going to go?"

Al walked off down the road to finish smoking.

"Come on Trudy," I said, "they're only having a laugh. There's no need to kick them out."

She scowled at me too. "If you think this is funny Luke then maybe you shouldn't come back either."

Kyle looked at me and I could tell immediately what he was thinking; this is going to take a fucking miracle to get sorted. I replied with my eyes to let him know he was right....

What a nightmare. How the fuck was I supposed to get through a week at work without The White Hart to look forward to every Friday night?
But How Do You Describe Ecstatic?

February 2000.

In February James moved into his own flat, above a row of shops in Frampton. It was massive inside, with two big bedrooms on the top floor; and a kitchen, front room and shower room below. Every room was filled with dated second hand furniture that had been there when he moved in. The walls were decorated in bland peeling wallpaper someone else had chosen, and the carpets were heavily patterned in strong old-fashioned colours; admiral blue and crimson red. The front room where we spent most of our time had two tatty pink and green flowery sofas and three matching flowery armchairs; for the benefit of our eyes James tore pictures of Beetles and Campers from his VW magazines and stuck them to the walls. He was the only person I knew who had their own place. Compared to the small bedroom I still shared with my brother it was magnificent, and I couldn't wait to get my own space for myself.

We started going back to his after the pub to continue drinking, smoking weed and listening to music until we fell unconscious. To fill the time we would each sit on our own chair or sofa in his vast front room and slag each other off. It felt good to have the piss taken out of you. It meant you'd been accepted. I'd have hated to have been left out.

"Your mum had a water birth with you didn't she Al?" I said to him one night, trying to keep as straight a face as a drunken person can.

"What the fuck's a water birth?" came the reply. Bollocks, I was planning to follow up with She told me when the midwife saw you come out she thought your mum had shit herself and tried to throw you in the bin, now I was going to have to explain the science behind it.

"Lu's saying your mum's a whale mate, she's so fat she had to have you in the sea," Kyle said, before adding, "Isn't that right Lu?"

I watched Kyle and James laughing at the wrong ending to my joke, and Al getting increasingly pissed off. That was all I'd set out to do. "Er....Yeah mate," I lied as I joined in the laughter, but at my half of the joke.

Kyle left to pick some weed up from a bloke he knew in Frampton; when he returned he had a mischievous look on his face. He began rolling a joint as soon as he sat down, and once he'd smoked his share and passed it on, pulled out a little bag of pills from his inside coat pocket. He held them up in front of us with a big grin. I went over to have a closer look. There were four white paracetamol sized tablets, on one side they were totally smooth and on the other they had a recessed logo of a dove.

"He didn't have any change for the weed and all the shops in the high street are shut, he gave me these for a tenner. Who wants one?"

"What are they? Ecstasy?" Al asked.

"Yeah, why you done them before?"

"Never," Al replied. "What are they like?"

"They're ecstasy tablets. They're like ecstasy."

"So you've done them before?" James asked.

"I haven't done them, but they're only E's aren't they?" Kyle took one carefully from the packet and swallowed it, washing it down with his beer. "Loads of people take them."

He handed the bag to Al, who took one. Then James, who held one up in front of his eyes to inspect it, looking closely at the logo before swallowing it. Then it was my turn. I knew that people had died from taking them, but people died doing a lot of the things that I did every day without giving a second thought to. Anyway, everyone else had taken one, I wasn't going to be the odd one out. I put any thoughts of death to the back of my mind and swallowed the last pill. It tasted disgusting, a mixture of hairspray and chemicals that I couldn't put a name to.

The four of us carried on chatting as we collectively tried to ignore what we'd just done. Every few minutes Kyle would ask us if we were getting anything; I didn't know what I was supposed to be getting, so I wasn't sure how I would even know. As I continued to work my way through our supply of beer, I started to think the pills had been duds. Maybe Kyle had done it for a joke, just to wind us up. It seemed like something he would do.

Then after about half an hour a strange warm sensation began to pass through me. It started in the back of my neck and spread slowly, in waves, through my body and out to the tips of my fingers and the very ends of my toes. I felt slightly numb, my muscles relaxing. Tension left me that I didn't even know I'd had, a constant sense of unease we are born with; it had gone now, dissolved into the soft room around me.

I took another look at my friends. Through life you gain the ability to tell what someone is thinking by their face, especially people you know well. You can see sadness, happiness, anger, fear; a whole range of expressions, sometimes more than one at once. As they gazed back at me I saw something new. It was a look that described how I felt, of complete calm and acceptance. Nirvana, if there is such a thing. I could see James and Kyle were so different, the people they really were now residing on the outside of their skin. The way they looked, dressed, spoke, everything; where Al and I could almost have been brothers, they were opposites in nearly every way, but that didn't matter now just like it hadn't mattered before. In fact nothing mattered. I can't remember who broke the silence first, but none of us spoke in proper sentences, it was mostly a combination of deep sighs and singular superlatives as we fought to understand what was going on. I tried to describe in my own head how I felt. But how do you describe ecstatic?

The garage tape we'd been listening to ended. James walked over to the stereo, took it out, and replaced it with a different one. As I heard the first beats of the drums a wave of nostalgia came over me. It was rave music now, early nineties hardcore that I remembered hearing coming from people's cars when I'd walked to primary school, or from the bedrooms of my friend's older brothers back in Branningham.

"We live to dream/We....we live only to dream," came a soft, hypnotising male voice over a harder drum beat. "We live to dream/We....we live only to dream."

"I'll take you HIGHER! I'll take you AWAY!" A female vocal screamed, the hardest piano I'd ever heard shouting behind it in symphony.

The whole experience changed in an instant; my body tensing in time to an intense rush that took over me, all my other senses fading so I could concentrate solely on the sound. It felt like the music was playing inside my head, as though it was being played just for me. In fact it was so perfectly tailored to how I felt that surely only I could have made it.

"I'll take you HIGHER! I'll take you AWAY!"

Reclining back into my chair my eyes shut on their own, and a giant machine appeared in my mind. It resembled a polygraph, the size of a car and with big wiry metal fingers that normally sketched out the tell-tale line. Only this one was different. A roll of sheet music came out of the machine at a hundred miles an hour and the fingers crashed onto it with every key of the piano, cutting at the strings of my heart as they did. Giant musical notes flew across the sky in time to the song. The machine was translating the music for me to see. I knew it wasn't real, what I didn't know was that the mind was capable of such wonderful things.

I lay there forever, listening to song after song, every one of them sending my brain off on twisted tangents and throwing unbelievable images at my mind. Then eventually I must have fallen asleep, or landed on some other planet altogether, if there is any difference between the two. When I woke the same morning, still lying back in that chair, I knew something had changed in me. Like retuning the strings of an old guitar, the sound receptors in my brain had been realigned. Garage music that had meant everything to me, suddenly meant nothing.

I still didn't know what I wanted to do with my life, in fact most of the time it didn't even feel like it was my life; it felt like it was somebody else's. What I did know was that I wanted this feeling again. I wanted it forever. The right music, those tablets and the right people, I had never been so sure of anything in my life. I wanted to immerse myself in it. The way only someone with nothing else could.

The tape was called Daze of Happiness. One of a handful of promo tapes by a local DJ that James had somehow gotten hold of. Two plastic circles and a length of thin tape; it made more of an impact on what was to come in my life than I could ever have known.
Some Red Carpet Has a Regal Quality to it

March 2000.

Having been pestered since we'd moved house, my parents finally gave in and let me live in the garage. It meant I had my own room for the first time in my life. The garage sat all on its own at the end of the driveway, halfway down the back garden. Made of bricks and with a proper wooden front door with a letter box and door-knocker (a remnant of the doors previous life), it almost looked like an actual house; albeit a very small one. Inside were bare brick walls my dad had painted beige. Beige because marks don't show up; like a pre-stained white. A similar amount of effort had gone into the floor- a thin layer of second-hand red carpet laid straight onto the concrete beneath. Some red carpet has a regal quality to it. This one didn't.

Kyle appeared randomly on the warm Saturday afternoon I moved in. It was unusual for him to just turn up. I was painting at the time.

"Oi this is the bollocks bruv!" he enthused, letting himself in through the gate at the side of the house. "Means you won't have to put up with your mum shouting at you any more for waking her up when you get home from the pub."

I never did finish telling you what happened on New Year's Eve did I? When we finally left, two minutes after the midnight bells rang (which James was still in the tree for), Al and James were both banned from the pub for life. It was only when, the following day, Kyle and I marched the pair of them back there to apologise carrying flowers and chocolates, that the ban was lifted. I think Trudy was relieved to see the two of them so soon, doing the right thing. I don't think she ever wanted to ban any of us, she just had to show she was in charge, and what else could she do? The only other punishment I can think of would have been to stop serving us beer and only let us have white wine spritzers or something, but then how do you enforce something like that? Maybe she could have had some pink t-shirts printed with 'I HAVE TO WEAR THIS BECAUSE I'M AN IDIOT' across the front and forced people to wear them when they wound her up. Knowing us lot though, that would have just become a badge of honour. Plus I don't know how it would have looked to punters walking in for the first time, to see a pub full of blokes in pink t-shirts drinking white wine spritzers.

Anyway, Kyle had just pointed out that I would no longer have to put up with my mum shouting at me when I got home from the pub.

"Cheers mate," I replied, turning down the stereo in the corner. "It's almost like having my own place."

"What are you doing? Painting?"

I looked down at the paintbrush in my hand, then the tin of blue paint in the other, before locking eyes again with Kyle. "Er, yeah mate."

"Fuck that. Have some of this then I'll give you a hand." He closed the door behind him and pulled out a bag of weed. I rested the paint and paintbrush on a piece of cardboard and sat down next to him on my bed, which was the top half of the bunk beds I had been sharing with Dean. Kyle began skinning up while I searched through the box of tapes I had at the end of the bed; Garage Nation (obviously garage), Sun City (garage), Ayia Napa (also garage).... Nope, ah, Dreamscape, 1992, Seduction on one side, Sy on the other. I put it on Seduction side facing out; though it didn't matter, the stereo had two play buttons that faced different ways.

I got up and opened the door of the garage slightly to let the smoke out. Jack was there holding Whisky in his arms. He grinned mischievously as he tried to throw the cat in through the doorway, I quickly shut it again and opened the window.

"I've met this bloke Paul down the pub," Kyle told me through a smoky exhalation. "I don't think you know him."

"Little bloke? Dark hair? Always seems to be moving about?"

"That's the geezer. Have you spoken to him?"

"Not properly. I met him out in the beer garden one night." Kyle handed the spliff to me, I could tell it was strong from the first toke. "Fuck knows what he was talking to me about."

Kyle laughed, "Yeah we're definitely talking about the same Paul. Anyway, he's invited me to a rave next weekend. He's alright with me bringing someone along. I thought you might be up for it?"

"Yeah mate. What about Al?"

"No can do. He's only got two spare seats in his car. I thought I'd ask you first."

"Oh right, no worries," I replied, "Whereabouts is it?"

He laughed again but with a kind of sarcastic snort mixed in, "It's a rave geez, no one knows where it is."

"Oh yeah. I'm well up for it mate. Are you gonna get some more of what we had last time?"

"Don't you worry about that," he said. "They're already on order."

As quick as that I had gone from my first experience of ecstasy to being invited to a real rave, on top of finally having my own space. It was going to be cramped in there, with the front third still being used as a garage to store my motorbike and my dad's tools; but it was my space and it was perfect. And, although I was technically living in a garage, I would tell everyone I kept my motorbike in my bedroom. In my mind I was independent, I could make noise, come and go when I pleased, do whatever I wanted, whenever I wanted. It was the base I was to use for the next stage of my weekend life.
Like One Giant Entity All Thinking and Acting Together

April 2000.

Rave day finally came around. I was nervous, an excited nervous, but most of all I couldn't fucking wait. I knew it was illegal, but every second of every day we are governed by countless laws. Breaking just one of them felt like a small victory.

We met at the pub first, Kyle and I both dressed in trainers and jeans with short sleeved shirts. He'd had his hair cut, shaved all over into a dark fuzz. It made me wish I'd had mine done too, at the time it was between styles- unkempt and messy over my ears. Paul arrived dressed for raving in a pair of cream combats and a white t-shirt, then introduced us to his girlfriend Kate who was a fit little blonde also in combats but with a stripy multi-coloured jumper on. I watched Paul as he moved almost constantly, checking his phone every other second to make sure he had signal or doing laps around the pool table. Even when he did finally stand still, his body seemed to tense and contort like it was trying to use energy he shouldn't have. If you'd never met him before you might have thought he was angry, he was far from it though.

Kyle had gotten hold of doves again. I was glad they were the same as last time, it meant I knew what to expect. We held off dropping until Paul's phone rang, making do with alcohol to get us in the mood. When the call finally came we all took one, except for Paul who took two. Designated driver and all.

"You two happy with some old skool hardcore?" he asked us via the rear view mirror as we set off. We both nodded. We were in a red 1990 mk2 Golf GTI, and as the MC introduced DJ Slipmatt through the speakers, I wondered if the tape had come with the car. I shifted around in the back, keeping as far to the left in the seat as I could to allow room for Kyle's massive frame. No one spoke.

As we wound twisting back roads, through tiny villages that I hadn't known existed, I waited for that same strange energising feeling from last time to come. It didn't take long. Gazing through the front window, the streetlights on either side began to merge together into two unbroken white lines; inside the car the green hum of the dashboard blurred as my eyes fought to process both moving and stationary light at the same time. A voice in the back of my head reminded me it was too late to go back, here it comes it said. Here it comes. I half shut my eyes and let the chemicals saturate me, the ecstasy soaking into my brain tissue and resetting my mind. All negativity in the world dissolved.

When we got there we had apparently covered thirty miles. It didn't feel like we'd been driving long enough to travel that far. But then I had lost all concept of distance or time.

A thin, tree lined farm track led the way into the dark. We parked at the rear of one of the lines of cars that occupied either side. As we walked the dark route through the trees, I began to hear the sound of bass in the distance. It got louder as we got closer to it, and the louder it got the more I was aware of the drugs in my body, as if one were feeding off of the other.

At the end of the lane, where the bass became proper music, we found a massive barn on the edge of a field. At the door were a pair of people dressed for a night stood outside, wearing woolly hats and thick winter coats. It was a fiver each to get in, Kyle and I both paid ten to cover the petrol in the car. I only had a twenty and the girl gave me Kyle's ten pound note back, passing it to me with a pink gloved hand. The tall, dreadlocked man stood next to her then handed us each a bottle of water before opening what must be the most understated door in the world, revealing a barn come to life.

The first thing that hit me was the sound, it was deafening. Proper, banging hardcore that pumped from speakers either side of a big stage at the front of the building. An MC strode back and forth riling the people that filled the room.

"Oi oi! Who's rushing?! Who's on ecstasy?!" he shouted at them as they blew their whistles back.

Rings of light, every colour of the rainbow, spun up the walls all the way to the roof. Lasers fired from both sides of where the DJ stood on the stage, directly at hundreds of mad strangers jumping up and down in time to the bass. Every time the music peaked they put their hands in the air, like one giant entity all thinking and acting together. I felt an excitement build in me as a big bass line dropped. The whole crowd went mad, jumping up and down in unison. Paul ran towards them and we followed. It pulled you in like gravity. Nothing ever felt so right. I wanted to explore, to see everything, touch everything; yet I was a prisoner of the sound. Instead we danced and danced and danced. And the sweat poured.

The energy we used seemed never-ending, as we moved to become part of the blur surrounding us. Joining with the honest people, being who they were supposed to be.

Hours passed as I basked in the night. Flitting between some distant universe, and a place that has no name.

Then Kyle appeared and with sweated breath whispered in my ear, "Lu." He lifted his shades and I watched as a childlike excitement grew in his eyes. "There's an aeroplane over there."

I looked. There it was in the corner, a light aircraft half covered by a sheet. This wasn't just any old barn.

"We could take it mate," I replied, beaming. "We could fucking fly somewhere."

"We should Lu," he grinned, "I can be the co-pilot."

We were infantile. We were fantastic.

"By the way, why are you wearing shades?" I asked.

"I've got epilepsy."

"Don't worry mate," I said putting my arm around his shoulders, "I'll look after you."

The strangers we shared the night with looked normal, like us. In my head I imagined they were squatters, environmentalists, anti-capitalist demonstrators, the people you see on television setting fire to faceless corporations in financial London. Surely they couldn't spend their week wearing uniforms or suits. I later learned from Paul that they were like us; a friend of his who helped to organise the events lived a second life, commuting into the city during the week to work as an editor for a film production company, though he didn't tell me which one. Responsibility it seems, transcends all social groups.

The rising of the sun bought an end to the best night of my life. Another car journey, this time to some softer house music closed the deal. Only a sickening feeling built up inside me, like a hangover but more perverse and with a deep sense of paranoia. Last night had been filled with strangers smiling, but now I couldn't stop the winter leaves falling from the trees. We were offered to continue the party back at Paul's house, but I needed my bed.

Paul dropped us off at the post office in the village, then we walked like zombies, silenced, until we reached my house.

"Phat night bruv," Kyle said. I looked at his pale white face and ill sunken eyes and wondered if I looked the same.

"Yeah mate," I replied, "was the bollocks."

I sneaked down the side of the house and crept into the garage, where I was greeted by the one blue wall that I'd managed to paint before Kyle had turned up on that Saturday. It made me chuckle as I crawled under the bedcovers. It was twelve straight hours before I re-emerged.
The Reluctant Gold Piece of Crap

May 2000.

Spending my whole life with at least one member of my family was beginning to take its toll on me.

At school I'd had an escape during the day, but any problems I had at home now followed me to work. I still loved my dad but familiarity was definitely breeding contempt. He'd always had an air of mystery about his life when I was younger, going to this exciting place I'd never been, to make things that most people couldn't. Watching him being told what to do took some of the shine off, although I didn't respect him any less. My mum often asked me when she got me on my own, whether my dad slagged her off at work. He didn't, he used work as his escape; only I got the impression that with me there it wasn't quite the escape it used to be. I'd known within the first few weeks that I couldn't stay working there, but with nothing else to do I put on a brave face and carried on doing the easy jobs they trusted me not to get wrong, all the while trying to force myself to care about something which I knew I never could.

I returned home from work one day with my dad to find someone had dumped an old MG Maestro outside our house. As we pulled up I was surprised to see Kyle sat in the driver's seat.

"Alright Lu, come and check out my car," he grinned proudly from ear to ear. "What do you think?"

"Er, yeah. It's alright mate, nice colour," I replied.

He pointed to the tiny badge on the back- 2.0 16V. It was somewhat overshadowed by the fact the car was painted granddad gold. "Jump in then."

I lowered myself into the beige upholstered front passenger seat and drank in the car; you could smell the previous owners from the last twenty years. A musty, stale smell that lingered in the nostrils. Nice I thought, winding down the window.

"I only got it this afternoon, two hundred and fifty quid from the garage round the corner," he said, wheel spinning down my parents' road.

We did a nostalgic pre-ABS skid at the end and finished up only slightly over the give way lines onto the main road. A gap in traffic barely big enough was followed by another wheel spin and we were off again. I put my seatbelt on.

"I'm gonna go and see if Al's in."

"You never told me you had a license mate," I said

"I didn't did I?" Kyle laughed. "If the police pull us over just tell them that I did. If they can stop me."

We skidded sideways round the corner into Al's road, pulling up a little way before his house, presumably so his parents wouldn't see Kyle driving the car. They were a lot more likely to ask questions than mine. I waited in the car while Al was fetched.

"Alright Lu," Al said as he got in the back.

"Mate."

Wheel spin number three confirmed that was going to be the order of business for the day.

Al laughed as he hurriedly put his belt on. "This has got some guts in it. Where'd you get it from?"

"That garage on the main road bruv, two hundred and fifty quid," Kyle replied. "I thought we could go up the cricket field for a smoke."

It didn't take long to get there, ignoring the speed limit signs and driving as fast as the car would go. We stopped in the empty gravel car park and Kyle began rolling a spliff.

"So how was work Lu?" he asked.

"Shit mate."

"How come? The working with your dad thing?" Kyle said, burning the hash with a lighter and sprinkling it over the tobacco. He'd wound the window up to keep the wind out and the smell of burning cannabis quickly filled the car.

"Pretty much."

"I don't know how you do it Lu, working with your dad all day," Al said. "I'd go fucking mad."

"I haven't got a choice. I'm looking for something else but there's nothing out there at the moment."

Kyle wound his window down and lit the spliff. "I'll get you a job at the care home if you want. Like I said before they're always looking for people."

"I would do mate but you work weekends, I like having weekends to myself. Anyway, it's not just working with my dad that's the problem, I could handle that if it weren't so shit at home."

"Are they still arguing all the time?" Kyle asked.

"Don't mate, it's getting worse, my mum's getting a divorce apparently. My dad's moved into Jack's old room and Jack's moved in with Dean. Dean's well pissed off, with me in the garage he finally had a bedroom to himself.

"What does your dad think of that?" Kyle asked, handing me the spliff. I took a big drag and held in the calming smoke.

"He's bought himself a Dictaphone that he carries around with him all the time. When my mum tries to talk to him he's like 'May 3rd, 2000. 7:45 pm. Yes Jan, what do you want?'"

"You're joking mate," Al said, trying not to laugh too hard at how I lived.

"No I'm serious. My mum knows that if she says the wrong thing it can implicate her in court, so she just gives my dad a proper dirty look and storms off."

A wide smile crept over Kyle's face, "Respect. Sounds like something your dad would do."

I found it quite funny too sometimes, bits of it at least. The divorce could only be a good thing, an end to the shouting matches we'd grown up with. For my brothers and I though, we knew a time was coming where my dad would live somewhere else.

"What about you Al? Work going alright?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah mate really well. It's hard work moving tons of sand around every day and digging holes but the money's good. Plus I bumped into a lad who's still on the same course I was at college and they've learnt fuck all. Half of them have dropped out and got labouring jobs like me."

"You not getting bored of it?" I asked, letting Al have his turn holding the spliff.

"Nah mate. I'm working somewhere new most weeks, and I've already learnt how to put footings in and build walls. There's years of stuff to learn in the building trade. You're fucked at the end of a forty hour week though."

"I couldn't do it for four hours a week," Kyle laughed.

"Beats wiping old people's arses," Al quipped.

"I don't have to do that anymore," Kyle retorted. "I run the shift now, someone else does all that for me."

"You've been promoted from arse wiper to arse wiper supervisor then?" Al joked. Two out of the three of us laughed.

"So how long you been driving then Kyle?" I asked.

"Since lunchtime today, about six hours so far."

"Six hours?"

"Yeah I was on the bus coming back from work and we went past the used car place. I spotted this on the forecourt so when I got off the bus I walked back and bought it."

"Have you had driving lessons before then?" I asked.

Kyle laughed, "Nah, funny story bruv. I stalled it twice as I left the garage, the bloke I bought it from gave me a right funny look."

"When did you learn to drive then?" I asked.

"I already knew what all the pedals did. The rest I taught myself this afternoon. I had seventy-five out of it on Carlton bypass earlier, it's got to do more than a ton. I'll take you down there when I'm not so stoned, we'll see what it goes up to."

I looked to Al in the back. He gave me that yeah I'll pass on that one look I was hoping for.

"Cool," I said.

"What about changing gear?" Al asked.

"Changing gears is easy." Kyle wound the window up so he could roll another spliff. "Not stalling when you pull away is the hardest part, I just give it loads of revs now and drop the clutch. You can have a go if you want Al."

I looked around to see if there was anyone else about. There wasn't. There hardly ever was in Kirk-Leigh; you were left to your own devices most of the time.

"You're gonna have to go in the back Lu, while I give Al his driving lesson."

The three of us moved around until Al was in the dangerous seat.

"Right. So start it," Kyle said. "Then push the pedal on the left all the way down, that's the clutch."

Al did as he was told. "Now put it in first and slowly let the clutch up. You might need to rev it a bit so it doesn't stall, that's the pedal on the right."

Al slowly lifted his left foot up until the car rocked a little. We didn't go anywhere so he pushed the accelerator down and lifted his foot fully off the clutch.

"Why isn't it moving?" Al asked as he buried the accelerator to the floor, the front wheels digging two long slots into the car park.

"You need to take the handbrake off Al!" I shouted. Kyle quickly put the handbrake down and we shot off across the field. I looked over at the cricket pavilion and wished I was sitting on it, watching all this from a safe distance.

"Right now take your foot off the accelerator," Kyle said. Al lifted his foot off it as if it was a hot coal. "Not all the way off, just push it down enough to keep us moving."

We sped across the field at five miles per hour, Al quickly spinning the steering wheel to full lock in a last minute swerve a hundred feet before a row of bushes. As we headed back the way we came, crossing the cricketers beloved crease, Kyle said, "You need to put it in second gear now."

"How the fuck do I do that?" it was the first thing I'd heard Al say since we pulled away. I looked at his face from the back seat; he was wired by the whole experience, eyes wide with panic.

"Put the clutch down again like earlier, put it in second, then take the clutch up," Kyle said.

"Where's second?"

"Put the clutch down," Kyle repeated. Al put the clutch down. "Now look at the gears." Al and I both looked down. "There's second," Kyle said, pulling the gear lever back. "Now let the clutch up."

Al lifted his foot straight off the clutch as if it was a switch, and the car shot off down the gravel path that led round the cricket field.

"Right now slow down before you get to that bit where the track goes round the pavilion," Kyle said.

Al took his foot off the accelerator but the car carried on going too fast.

"You need to brake a bit Al, before we go round that sharp bend. It's the pedal in the middle." Al slammed the pedal to the floor and the car skidded sideways for a second as all four wheels locked up. He quickly took his foot off the brake again.

"Slow down Al! We're going to go into that ditch!" Kyle shouted. Al pushed the brake down for a second but the car just skidded before lurching off again.

I'd thought I wanted to be sat down watching from the pavilion earlier. Now I'd have paid good money to have been a spectator. I looked out of the window and contemplated opening the door and jumping out.

"Kyle mate I can't get it to stop."

"Fucking turn the engine off or something!" he shouted.

Al turned the key off in the ignition and the car started slowing down. But not enough. As we reached the corner Al yanked at the steering wheel; it clicked as the steering lock engaged and stopped turning. We slid bonnet first into the ditch, before stopping dead, the three of us jerking forward like dummies in a slow motion crash test before ending up exactly where we'd started. The weed, having not been issued a seatbelt, ended up in Kyle's foot well.

"Everyone alive?" I joked.

"Shit. Sorry mate I've killed your car," Al panicked.

"You nutter! That was funny as fuck, come on let's go and see what you've done to it," Kyle laughed.

I opened my door in the back and noticed there was now quite a big drop to the ground. The front of the car firmly wedged in the ditch.

"We'll have to push it back out again," Kyle said.

The three of us pushed the front bumper skyward until the car was level again and tried pushing it backwards out of the ditch. When the front wheels touched the road it stopped moving.

"What the fuck? The brakes are still on," Kyle said.

"I think it's cos it's still in gear," I said.

Kyle put the car into neutral while Al and I stopped it from rolling forwards again.

Then, between the three of us, although giant Kyle probably had the strength of two men on his own, we managed to push the reluctant gold piece of crap from what should have been its final resting place.

"There's nothing even wrong with it!" Kyle laughed. "There's some mud stuck in the front but it's not even dented. Two hundred and fifty quid and it can survive a crash without anything happening to it."

The three of us laughed as we picked out bits of grass from the grille.

We got back in the car. Kyle turned the key and it purred quickly into life just like before.

"Look at that! She's fucking indestructible. Two hundred and fifty quid!" Kyle said, as he recovered all the joint smoking paraphernalia from between my feet.

"Your turn now Lu. Show Al how to drive properly yeah?"

"Er, I'm alright," I replied. "Maybe another day mate."

Getting the car out of the ditch the first time had been hard enough. I wasn't in the mood to do it again.
Bright Green and A Hundred Feet Tall, In The Middle Of the Sea

June 2000.

We'd started going to Club Z, a new nightclub that had opened in the upstairs of the Solitude Bar opposite Wanton pier. I remember being underwhelmed the first time I went; queuing with Kyle, James and Al to go into a hidden entrance at the back of the bar, I wasn't expecting much, just somewhere that served drink later than the pub. The facade was deceptive. Once through the door the building opened up like a cavern, a massive main room with a curved bar at one end and the stage the DJ worked from at the other. Dancing filled the space between. Above was a vaulted ceiling that hung big black chandeliers that contrasted perfectly with the sporadic splashes of graffiti on the interior walls. It was sublime.

The music was anything they wanted to play. One weekend could be drum and bass, followed by trance the next; or if the DJ felt like it he would play a hardcore record followed immediately by a garage tune. It was run by local people for the love of the music, and that reflected in the laid back atmosphere. They knew what they were doing, the bar stocked as many bottles of water as it did beer.

We would party until one in the morning when it would all get too much and we'd wander away from the dance floor to find a dark corner to hide in. There was a small area of seating at the back of the club away from the noise, illuminated only by UV lighting. We would all sit close together and talk about how wonderful we were feeling, and sometimes people we didn't know would come over and tell us they felt wonderful too. You wouldn't get a seat here tonight though, there was barely room to stand.

Paul who had taken me to my first rave, and his brothers, were putting on a beach party to celebrate the summer solstice. Apparently it was going to be the lightest Saturday of the year. It started at midnight so everyone was to warm up at Club Z, before walking the mile or so down the beach to the party, a few at a time so as not to give the game away.

"Paul wants you all off your nut before you get there," I'd been told by one of the organisers at the club. "If he sees even one bit of white round your pupils you ain't fucking coming in," he'd joked. Probably.

That wasn't going to be a problem. Kyle had sorted us out some pills. Triangular and with a green tinge to them, they were twice the size of the pills we'd had before.

"Check these triangle bennies out, and they're fucking green," Kyle had said, obviously proud of what he'd managed to find. "Proper trippy apparently."

I'd had reservations. If someone had wanted us to swallow them then why had they made them triangular? I took one anyway at the club and it soon bought me round to his way of thinking. Fuck these were strong pills. We left when we were told to and walked the wide concrete path that ran parallel to the beach. The North Sea to the left of us and beach huts to our right. To begin with we had the soft yellow glow of streetlamps to guide us. When they stopped, we continued on under the full light of the half moon.

A few minutes into our walk we turned a corner around the sea wall, and the party came into view- a small orb of changing colours in the distance.

"This is going to be wicked dudes. I'm starting to get a proper buzz now," James enthused.

Kyle gave him a fist touch. "You know that bruv."

I knew I was still getting something off the pill I'd taken, but I'd made the mistake of drinking too much and drowning out the buzz with alcohol. It was hard work even walking in a straight line. I was contemplating taking my other pill when Al said, "I need to go for a piss. Wait here I'll be two minutes." Before running off behind a beach hut.

The rest of us stood by the sea wall and Kyle handed round cigarettes.

As I lit mine, from the corner of my eye I saw the shadow of something out at sea, like a bright green blur that disappeared when I looked straight at. It looked like the outline of a dinosaur; obviously it wasn't a dinosaur, but that's what it looked like. Bright green and a hundred feet tall, in the middle of the sea.

"Nice one Kyle, these are some banging fucking pills," I said. In the dark I could just about see him smile back. Then Al reappeared and we floated on.

"Whoa! Hold on, there's a fence there!" Al shouted.

The rest of us froze. Then one by one we started waving our hands in front of us in the darkness, looking for the fence.

"Found the bastard!" I heard Al's voice again.

In the night I watched the outline of his long gangly leg, as he lifted it as high as he could over the obstacle in front of him, before twisting his skinny hips in an attempt to swing his other leg over. In slow-motion the whole dance went wrong as he lost balance and fell into a heap on the path.

"Shit are you alright Al?" Kyle called out as he ran over.

"Watch out Kyle! Don't you trip over the fence as well!" I shouted.

The three of us slowly moved towards Al as he sat there on the floor, waving our arms in front of us and taking infinitely small steps until, tired of just displacing air, our hands finally reached him.

"Are you alright Al?" Kyle asked again, trying to make out his face in the dark.

"Yeah mate, just tripped over whatever that was back there."

"Er....there wasn't anything back there man," James said.

"There was, I saw it. I wouldn't have made you stop if there wasn't anything there," Al said, clearly annoyed. "Do you think I just fell trying to climb over nothing? I'm not totally stupid."

"No of course not Al. I'm not saying you hallucinated seeing a fence then tripped while trying to get over it."

"Good."

"I'm just saying that if there is a fence then the rest of us must have superpowers because we just walked straight through it without even feeling it."

"Right, I'll fucking show you where it is, come on."

"Good luck with that you two, I'm going to the rave. I didn't come out tonight to play spot the fucking fence," Kyle said. "You coming Lu?"

"Yeah mate," I replied, "let's get on it."

"Come on then Al you can walk behind us, we'll go on fence patrol," Kyle said. Al let out a kind of disgruntled sound I hadn't heard someone make before and the four of us set off again. Kyle laughed, "Fuck me Al. You walk as bad as you drive."

* * *

Walking faster we finally reached the sound, dirty hardcore blasting out with a repetitive thud.

A hundred or so people danced in a tight semi-circle, around a small concrete shelter that had been packed full with DJ equipment. Paul was sat in an old deck chair in front of the speakers, wearing a pair of baggy shorts and a white t-shirt with an acid smiley on it. A lighting gantry above him spewed out colour in time to the pounding bass.

"Oi oi! Who's here to fucking have it?!" he shouted into the microphone in his hand, his neck craning his trademark contorted face into the black fuzz. "I'm burning up a fireball, so all the crew go mental, Pill Man is inside lose your mind it's essential! Brainstorm, I'm declaring fucking mindwar, rinse out Dj Chemikals bang that mother-fucking hardcore! I'm dropping death sounds, straight from the underground, slamming old skool breaks to make you nutters jump around! Just for you we bring the hardcore through, put your hands in the air, for the beach party crew!"

The crowd let out a massive cheer.

"Where the fuck have you lot been? Don't you know there's a fucking party here?!" he shouted at us as we got closer.

It looked perfect, everybody jumping around expressing their love for the music. I wanted more than anything to join in but my body wasn't having it. I was hammered, too many pints had left me with feet that weighed a ton.

"I'm going for a piss. I'll meet you all back here in two minutes!" I shouted as I ran off up the grass verge that skirts the coast.

There was a wooden bench at the top of the greensward, positioned in a nice place with a view out over the sea. A small plaque on the bench bore the name of a dead married couple; I silently apologised to them for what I was about to do.

Digging around in my pocket I found a little bit of weed, a half empty box of Benson and Hedges, and my last one of those green pills. I lit up another fag, that would be a start.

I knew a spliff was never going to help wake me up, and I'd already taken one pill and it wasn't doing enough, probably down to the alcohol in my stomach counteracting the MDMA.

It was time to try something new.

I pulled the tablet from its plastic bag and held it up in the moonlight where it glowed green, with speckled bits that shined metallic. Then I sat it on the spare seat beside me on the bench, pulled out my bank card, put it on top and crushed it down with my palm; pushing hard while I rotated it back and forth.

Eventually when it felt like it had all but disappeared, I lifted the card up and looked underneath. The powder of the pill lay flat before me, thin lines of it sunk into the grain of the wooden slats of the bench and a little filling in the reverse of the numbers embossed on my bank card. I licked my finger and ran it over the numbers before rubbing it into my gums. It tasted disgusting. Using the card I formed the powder into one long thick line of ecstasy, then took a twenty pound note from my wallet and rolled it into a tube just thin enough to fit in my nostril.

* * *

The pain was enough to make tears stream instantly from my eyes. My whole face burned, from my nose all the way back to the centre of my brain, then down my throat as far as the top of my lungs. It was a violent, torturous feeling, as though I was being attacked.

Then the MDMA took effect and my mind seized solid. Time seeming to stop as fireworks went off in my head and the reality around me collapsed. In the first second I knew there was nothing I could do to fix this. It was beyond any sensation I'd ever felt. I'd made the biggest mistake.

I heard talking behind me, a couple of lads carrying cans of beer made their way down towards the party.

"Oi oi raver!" one of them shouted to me.

I dropped to my knees and threw up on the floor, my body doing its best to rid me of the toxins but it was too late. For that to work now I would need to lose blood.

"Are-you-alright-mate?" his words came out in one long unpunctuated slow motion sentence.

I couldn't answer. My face didn't work. My whole body was numb. I was dying.

I needed to find my friends, they would be the only people who could help me now. I picked myself up from the floor and managed to run away towards the music, before being hit by an electrocuting paranoia that reduced me to something between a walk and a crawl. It felt like the world had become infinitely bigger and I had become the same multiple smaller. I continued down the worn path in the grass verge, nearly tripping over my own feet as I struggled to focus on the world around me. The world didn't matter now; the only thing on my mind was Al. He could help me, or one of the others. But it was Al I wanted really. I'd known Al forever. I just needed to spot that bright yellow hat.

I was close enough now to see the people dancing, enjoying themselves, doing what I should have been doing. Then something hit me like a second wave. The aftershock to a narcotic earthquake rocking me on my feet. Flowers started to grow out of the heads of everyone on the dance floor; brightly coloured sunflowers in a constantly changing kaleidoscope of vivid greens, pinks, yellows and reds. I squinted and shook my head until they went away, scanning all around me for faces I knew. There weren't any. I only had to look at someone for a second and the flowers came, adding about two feet to their height. It was terrible, too much to handle and all the while the bass from the speakers punched me in the guts. I needed calming sounds right now and this music was as calm as breaking glass. I had to get away. I wanted to run but I could barely walk, staggering down the coastal path as fast as I could, occasionally stopping to look back at the party to see if anything had changed.

In the distance the colours of the dance floor erupted into the sky like some hideous volcano. I was pretty sure I was doing the right thing in getting away.

Then I heard Paul shout down the microphone, "I'm an intercontinental ballistic ecstasy missile, on a crash course to tear a fucking hole in your brain gristle!"

Sod that.

The sound was the first thing to fade away; but I kept on going until I couldn't see the light either, staggering my way down that same path that had filled me with excitement on the way here. When finally it was quiet and dark, and I knew I was alone enough that I could forget about the party, I looked for somewhere to hide. There were a row of beach huts, on short stilts leaving a gap underneath where I wouldn't be seen. I crawled under one in the middle, lying on my side on the cold concrete, curled up with my arms and legs pulled in close to my body.

Being alone in the dark gave me a chance to reassess how I felt. The numbness had gone, and now I could feel my heart beating at a ridiculous rate. My mouth was desert dry, and my vision still blurred. I even had moments where I could only see in black and white. Any form of light; the stars, the half moon, even a light atop the mast of a boat on the distant horizon shook violently and made my head spin. Not even being here alone with the cool sea breeze on my face and the sound of gentle waves crashing against the shore seemed to help. I cursed the boat for mocking me. Time still had no register, I only knew that I had been like this for minutes that felt like days. There was nothing I could do but wait for the sun to come up. Some sort of primal instinct kicks in when the sun rises, sobering you up almost instantly, if I could survive until then I should be fine. Just lay here for now and try not to be seen. Forget about the terrible mass of people, they can't get you now. Forget about the flowers, the music and the wasted night. Just keep breathing, everything else is a bonus.

* * *

At dawns light I crawled from my hole to find my mates. In the light I realised I'd almost made it to Wanton pier, the very place we'd started the night. The rows of massive wooden posts that supported it looking like the trees of a forest to my ruined eyes; the sea like a massive picture of itself, a two dimensional cut out from a magazine moving back and forth on the sand.

I took what felt like the longest walk in history, back to the party, where I found my friends sat on the wall watching the sunrise. Kyle was sat there in the shades that had become his trademark on a night out. That was nothing new. Sitting next to him though, with Kyle's arm around her, was a little blonde thing, Louise, who I recognised from Club Z. That was a surprise.

"Where've you been? We thought you'd gone home!" Kyle shouted at me as he saw me walking up the path.

"Got a bit heavy last night mate, I had to go and chill-out somewhere," I replied, looking down at his bi-colour jeans. "I don't remember you wearing those two shades of blue jeans last night."

Louise laughed.

"They're wet bruv," Kyle said, "I went in the sea."

"Why'd you go in the sea?"

"To rescue Al."

"Why was Al in-"

"I wasn't," Al interrupted me. "I was sat right next to him on the sea wall. The twat even told me he was going to rescue me, 'Al's drowning Kyle gotta save him' he said. Before going in up to his thighs."

I sat down next to them, feeling as rough as they all looked but glad I wasn't the only one to see things that night.

"Where did you chill out?" James asked me.

"Under a beach hut by Wanton pier."

"You spent the night under a beach hut?" James asked.

"Not the whole night. I spent the start of it running away from people with flowers growing out of their heads."

"You fucking nutter!" Kyle laughed.

I smiled at him, "Like you said lifeguard Kyle. Proper trippy pills."

* * *

Someone rang a taxi; and when the driver turned up I think he was somewhat taken aback to find the group of us stood by the top of the seafront, eyes like saucers and clearly still on another planet.

I shut my eyes for the journey, to avoid having to talk to anyone. Then when I got home I climbed into bed and lay there thinking about what had happened the night before. I was exhausted, the party having used up all my energy, but when I shut my eyes it was as though every single image in the world wanted to be inside my head.

I watched as a fluorescent pink rabbit dived down a dark black rabbit hole which then turned inside out and exploded into a thousand more tiny rabbits, all in different bright flashing colours. The rabbits spun in the sky and made me feel sick, then joined together to create a sphere that shined like the sun, before sprouting wings and a tail like a dragon and flying towards me. This went on for ages; a succession of random hallucinations that tormented me until I could take no more, my head filled with ill ill thoughts of peace and peace in pieces.

I needed sleep, more than I'd ever needed sleep before. But it didn't take long to dawn on me that sleep would have to wait. The images were going to continue for some time, no matter what I did. I got up and put my copy of Daze of Happiness in the stereo, then laid there on my back in the bed, watching the soft brick walls bend. A hundred mad little samples fell out of the speakers and into my ears; captivating me, while I thought about the music and what it meant. I shut my eyes again and let the visuals wash back over me, trying to enjoy them for what they were, a constant stream of random images in the private theatre of my mind. It didn't work, I still hated them and would have given anything to sleep, they were like the bad aftertaste from a night gone wrong and I just wanted them to stop so I could spend some hours in a place with no thinking; then wake up and start the arduous task of putting myself back together.

I don't remember when I finally got my wish, only that it was far too long into the day. When I woke again it was dark out, somewhere between evening and night. And man did I still feel like shit.

One good point; something had unravelled itself to me listening to that tape on my own, something I hadn't known twenty-four hours earlier. Rave music wasn't like other music, it was a music borne out of a drug. All other music had come about because it was what people wanted to listen to at the time, one genre evolving into another, as new instruments were invented and youth was handed from one generation to the next. Rave music came about because of ecstasy. One wouldn't, and couldn't, properly exist without the other. They worked with each other, like two opposite pieces of the perfect puzzle.

As a final piece of poetry I realised that rave was the only music named after what it made you do. Ecstasy by some coincidence being the only drug named after what it made you feel.
A Big Yellow Spark Flew Out and Landed on the Bench

September 2000.

September of 2000 bought my time working with my dad to a round even year, more than enough time to know that I didn't want to stay in carpentry. Having started applying for other jobs three months prior I found myself at my first ever proper job interview. Going for a job being paid hourly instead of weekly, which I worked out might net me as much as forty pounds a month extra.

The interview was for a company called Precisional Electronics in Carlton, on a Monday following a weekend that I'd sensibly split between Club Z and James's flat; on a cocktail of ecstasy and speed. Now whilst I can't remember what happened in the job interview itself, I can still vividly remember the feeling I had during the interview, like the weekend somehow didn't want to let go of me and was doing everything in its power to teleport me back to Saturday night. At times it was taking all of my effort just to stop my teeth from grinding, and that's on top of trying to articulate intelligent responses to questions about what interpersonal skills I had or why I wanted the position in the first place (which I didn't). So bearing all of that in mind, you shouldn't be surprised to find out that I left the interview not only unsure of whether I'd gotten the job, but also unsure of what the job even was. Electronic Assembler not being something I was familiar with.

When, midweek, the phone rang and I was told I could start the following Monday, I didn't know whether to punch the air or cry. The one thing I knew though was that it meant I'd no longer have to spend every day of the week with my dad. As much as I knew I was going to miss him.

* * *

On Monday I woke at seven o'clock to find a spider had built a nest in the corner of my wardrobe in the garage. After shaking all the spiderlings I could from the t-shirt I'd decided I was going to wear, and vacuuming up the nest, I went in the house to make some breakfast.

"Excited about your first day at the new job Lu?" my mum asked.

"Not sure yet Mum, don't even know what I'll be doing there."

"Bet you're glad not to have to get up so early to go in with your dad though?"

"Yeah, it's nice to get up a bit later."

"What about actually working with your dad? Do you think you'll miss it?"

"Probably, a bit. I bet he'll be glad to not have to put up with me every day."

"He's going to miss working with you Lu, more than you think," my mum said. "I know he doesn't like to show his emotions but he will. I could tell when he told me you'd got the job, he was happy for you but I think he also enjoyed your company. Even if you used to argue sometimes."

"He knows I had to find something else though doesn't he Mum."

"Of course he does Lu," my mum replied, "you weren't going to work with your dad forever were you."

After taking the first bus which went as far as Carlton Town, then changing for another to get me to the industrial estate on the outskirts of Carlton, I soon appreciated how easy I'd had it before, getting a lift in the car. The only real apprehension I had about the job, aside from the rigmarole of taking the buses, was what I would actually be doing for a job. The people I would be working with didn't matter to me; I knew they weren't going to spend their whole weekend awake like I did, so I planned to just avoid talking to them unless I had to.

I arrived back at the big faceless building I'd committed myself to at 8:20 am, ten minutes before I was due to start. A hurried cigarette later and I was introduced to Gemma who would be my supervisor. Slim, with long dark hair and probably somewhere in her thirties, she was fairly attractive. I tried not to make it too obvious as I stared at her bum in her tight black skirt, while she led me to where I'd be working. There was a small booth, with white chipboard walls in front and to both sides, and a plastic school-style chair. In front of the chair was a white bench and on top of the bench sat what she explained was a spot welder.

She picked up a component out of a box of what were apparently diodes, then took another component from a box of what looked like little flat metal W's. Then she sat down in the chair and used her foot to drag a pedal on the end of a wire out from under the bench. Having made herself comfortable, Gemma then put the whole lot into the machine, pushed the pedal twice, and welded everything together to make something I didn't know what was for. A few more rushed demonstrations later and it was my turn.

As I lowered myself into the chair the sheer white walls rose around me, blocking my view of anyone else and making me feel very hemmed in. I picked up a diode and a W and held them before the welder, struggling to line the bits up properly as they fumbled in my hands. It didn't help when she put her head just above my right shoulder and said, "That's it, just do it how I showed you." Words spoken to instil confidence but that had the opposite effect.

My hands began to shake as I pushed the pedal on the floor. BANG. A big yellow spark flew out and landed on the bench.  
"Sorry. It's just harder with you watching me," I said, beginning to feel all too claustrophobic.  
"Tell you what, take the ones I did and put them to one side. I'll go off and leave you for a bit. Just remember if you're not sure look at my examples." And with that she walked away.

Being able to concentrate on what I was doing now, instead of the eyes behind me, I took another one of each of the parts and offered them up to the welder. Holding my hands perfectly still, I pushed the pedal down slowly; the two shiny gold coloured jaws of the machine gently squeezed together before welding the components with a little glow and a nice popping sound. I held it up close to my eyes to examine it, then checked one of the example ones. It wasn't bad! Now to solder the other side. Slowly. Even more slowly. POP. I'd done one. Properly this time. Phew, it meant I could actually do the job. I took a proper breath for the first time in ages, moved my chair back so I was more comfortable, and was suddenly aware of all the little popping noises surrounding me. POP-POP, then the sound of one of the little finished components being dropped in the done tray, then almost immediately another POP-POP.

I was going to need to get a bit quicker at this.

I put my head up to see what sort of people I now worked with, I hadn't had a chance to look when I'd walked in. There were four lines of the little booths, each eight people deep. I was the third person back on the line to the furthest right, as in there was no one to the right of me. There were men and women, from almost school leavers like me all the way to people who looked ready to retire. A complete mixture, like a random cross-section of people dragged in off the streets. There was something most of them shared in common though, apart from spending five days a week facing the same way. Nearly all of them had earphones in. Sat there in their little white cells, they were oblivious to the outside world; cocooned in a bubble of their chosen sound.

I pulled the Walkman from my bag and carefully pushed the earphones into my ears, proper headphones were a fashion faux pas at the time. Pushing play filled my head with the sounds of DJ Sy. As I picked another two components up, I made it my mission to do the job as quickly as everybody else and not let myself down. Then a wonderful thought filled my head. I was getting paid to listen to rave music....For eight hours a day, five days a week, I could work through the collection of tapes I'd amassed; hardcore, old skool, anything at all and no one would say a thing. I turned the volume up as loud as it would go.

Fuck me Luke I thought, you've only gone and got yourself the world's best job.

As I sat there I wondered what other jobs they might have for me.

When the end of the first week came and I was still in that chair, I realised I was probably already doing everything they'd ever want me to.
Like Some Tight Shorts Wearing Gestapo

October 2000.

The feeling of invincibility that comes from taking ecstasy, combined with the hunger for the next big high, can lead you to taking risks you wouldn't normally take. This may have been how I found myself sharing a joint with Al on the garage roof, both wrapped up in winter coats and Al wearing that bright yellow beanie hat he'd had on when we first met. It was just us two tonight, James was working again and Kyle was now spending most of his spare time with Louise; which wasn't surprising as it also meant he was the only one of us getting laid.

I sat with my back to the windows of my parents' house to block their view of the tiny yellow flashes from the lighter. At ten o'clock on a Friday they would most likely still be up. Us having both taken a blue speckled smiley face tablet would be up a lot longer still.

During an hour long, whispered debate, we'd managed to agree that there were probably two people lying on the roof of someone else's garage; on an undiscovered planet orbiting one of the many stars we could see. Possibly even having the same conversation. I wouldn't accept Al's idea that there was another him and another me out there though. The universe didn't know what to do with the two of us it had.

I was glad when Al finished rolling the spliff. Lighting it, then slowly blowing a long funnel of smoke up into the chilled air and passing it to me.

"What should we do now? I spend every fucking night in this garage," I said. "Why don't we go to yours?"

"Nah fuck that Lu. They're doing my head in at home. Let's go down to that scout jamboree thing."

The scout jamboree was a new thing to the village, something we hadn't done before. Things you hadn't done before didn't come along very often in Kirk-Leigh. It was a good call by Al.

"Yes mate. Let's go terrorise the fucking scouts."

It wasn't far from mine, on a field next to Island Lane. The place by the backwaters that Al had taken me to see when we first met. I remembered seeing them put the tents up a week earlier, massive circus sized tents and marquees; we would have had a look before but along with the tents they also put up a steel perimeter fence. Despite being excited to see what was going on in there, I still moaned for the whole journey about how much warmer Al's house would have been. He probably wished he'd gone on his own.

A barrier had been set up at the main entrance- traffic cones set out in a line across Island Lane prevented cars from coming in. At least two security guards stood in a makeshift hut. I could only see one through the window but unless he was on as many drugs as us, or talked to himself to pass the time, then he wasn't on his own. Just before the hut was a small wooden sign that read 'REMEMBER SCOUT PASSES AS YOU WILL NOT BE ALLOWED BACK IN WITHOUT THEM.' We'd have to find another way in. I didn't know where my scout pass was.

We continued on the main road, not even attempting to go down Island Lane with its security guards. With the scout's field still to the left of us, we walked a hundred or so yards, until we were sure we couldn't be seen. Then we stopped. Al sneaked through a ditch, then over to the fence and managed to pull two panels apart, while I kept a look out for headlights on the road. The fence was made of individual panels clipped tightly together, but not tightly enough to stop a determined Al. We were in. Now it was just a case of putting the fence back together again and getting to the action.

There's something exciting about being somewhere you're not supposed to be. As soon as we closed that fence behind us I noticed the stars start to wobble and my jaw go tight. We started off towards the distant pointy roofs of the tents, following a line of trees to the right of us that separated two fields. Halfway down, as we struggled not to trip over in the dark, I was hit by the light of a torch, followed by another.

"Where do you think you're off to?" came a booming voice. Fuck! We'd been caught! Was this a police matter or were they just going to have a go at us? Neither sounded particularly good. Al pulled his beanie hat down to hide his face.

"You know you're not allowed out this late, get back to the camp now," said that same voice without having given either of us a chance to reply. The mad bastards thought we were trying to sneak out. Now they were chaperoning us in. Neither of us said a word. You don't tell the shopkeeper when they've given you too much change.

When we finally passed the dense cover of the trees, and the campsite came fully into view, it took my breath away. I'd expected to find a field full of boys sitting round watching their leader show them a thousand ways to tangle up a perfectly good bit of string. Comparing badges they'd earned and pulling on each other's woggles. Whatever woggles are. Instead we'd stumbled across some kind of camper's festival.

There were hundreds of scouts, if not thousands. Spread out over the vast expanse of grass. In individual groups with campfires; singing, dancing, shouting, jumping around, and in the centre one giant mass in the largest of the tents. I'd been in this field before but it never looked so big then. Live music and yellow fire light came from all directions. Empty beer cans littered the floor. Result! This is so much better than Al's house!

The security guards held back and waited for us to go to where we belonged. We didn't know where to go first. We started walking through the field, trying not to look conspicuous, when a group gestured us over. There were six of them; boys and girls, probably the same age as us and it was obvious they'd been drinking. Sat around a tower they'd made from all their empty beer cans, like a shrine to excess. Each of the cans at the top had a flickering tea light candle in it that swayed yellow in the breeze. One of the boys played a guitar while the others sang. I didn't recognise the song, it was more alcohol than drugs. The circle shifted round to make space for the two new arrivals and I sat down on the grass next to Al. The guy with the guitar carried on playing while most of them carried on singing.

It was the perfect place for us to have ended up, we could see out the rest of the night here and be home in no time when the pills wore off. The only thing we hadn't had the foresight to procure was beer. I was more than pleased when a couple were passed round the ring of people to us. Mine tasted wonderful; cold like the night.

"Where's your scout group based?" a little brunette asked us. She was nice to look at, not stunning, more girl next door. If I was only drinking I would have tried to have sex with her, but the ecstasy had given me an inside out penis. The boy with the guitar stopped playing so he could listen for our answer.

"Er, local," Al replied clearly off guard.

"No whereabouts I mean. Which district?" she pressed.

"Carlton," Al said. It was a good answer, if you're going to lie, at least lie about something you know.

"That wasn't far for you to get here then. Practically on your doorstep," she laughed. If only you knew I thought.

"Where are you all from?" I asked, hoping the answer wouldn't also be Carlton.

"Kent," she said.

"What have they had you doing?" a lad with blonde hair who looked like he might be Swedish but obviously wasn't, asked. We'd fluked our first answer. I didn't know how many more questions we'd get away with, especially not with one word answers.

"Canoeing," Al said. Again, genius.

"We did that today," the girl I wanted to fuck said excitedly.

"Did you see the old pillbox down the end of the lane?" I added.

"Yes. Some of the lads were going to jump off it into the water, their Akela came running over shouting at them. The water's only a few feet deep apparently."

"Less than that when the tide's out," Al said coyly.

The lad with the guitar lifted the strap from off his shoulders and carefully placed the guitar on the grass next to him. "So what grade are you?"

Bollocks. What the fuck is a grade? It was looking like we might need to re-evaluate our situation.

Was this really what you did upon meeting two strangers? Invite them to sit around your campfire then interrogate them like some tight shorts wearing Gestapo? We'd tried to integrate with these people, to share this one fleeting night with them, but they had no manners. I wanted to discuss what it was like to all share in one giant collective consciousness, or their feelings on the curse of being aware of your own temporary existence. Not answer stupid questions. We made our excuses and left, fortunately without being caught again.

* * *

Half an hour later and we'd scaled the roof of the school we'd left the year before. Getting onto the gym roof had been the hardest part. There was no ladder to get up there. We used a wheelie bin. A cylindrical metal ladder then took you the four further floors from the gym roof to the roof of the school itself. A padlocked gate inside the ladder stopped unpermitted people from getting inside it. We climbed up the outside instead. Al went first, and I knew that on any normal day he would have gone alone, but I was in that frame of mind where nothing seems like a bad idea.

It wasn't until you were up there that you realised just how high it was. I walked over to the edge of the flat roof and looked out, the streetlights below massing together into one lurid yellow glow. It was bedtime for everyone else so the lines of terraced houses had fallen dark, apart from the occasional outside light that shined defiantly. It was cooler up here, the night had moved on into morning and the wind could get us from any direction. I stood at the edge of the flat roof and felt the cold wind blow through me, where I could see for miles and miles. I felt calm, as though my relationship with the world had become platonic. We no longer wanted to take anything from each other, being content now just in the knowledge that we both existed. Leaning into the wind, I held myself at an angle, weightless on the edge of the roof, with arms out wide. Easing my toes forward I rocked on the arches of my feet, skirting the line between life and death, sky and floor. Ecstasy filled blood flooded through my veins, faster because I was aware that if at any moment the wind stopped I would fall. But then surely we were too good to die. Death wouldn't have had the impertinence to interrupt us when we felt like this.

"Lu! What the fuck are you doing?!" Al's voice made me jump inside, not the sort of time to be startling people.

"Sorry mate." I moved away from the edge.

"Sit down over here." Al pointed to a place in the middle of the roof where neither of us could fall off. I sat down next to him and he pulled a ready rolled spliff from his pocket.

"When did you roll that?"

"Back at yours mate, on the garage. Didn't want to tell you about it cos I knew you'd have wanted to smoke it."

I reached into the inside pocket of my coat, pulling out a little plastic bag. Bollocks, I only had one E. "You got any pills left Al?"

"Nah mate." Double bollocks.

I rolled the tiny tablet out into my hand, careful not to drop it on the shingle roof where it would almost certainly disappear.

Turning it over so the thin line was facing towards me and the smiley face pointing away, I gently split it into two; putting one half in my mouth and handing the other to Al.

"Thanks mate," he said, lighting the emergency joint.

We lay back on the hard roof in a V shape, with our feet close together.

When it was my turn I took the deepest drag I could on the spliff and pointed to the small piece of moon not hiding behind the clouds. Everything shook back and forth. I tried to work out whether the stars were moving, or if instead the earth was shaking and the heavens were stood still.

"Can you imagine it Al?" I said. "People actually went there, two hundred and fifty thousand miles away from Earth. In a fucking spaceship, the only ship of its kind, so if anything went wrong there was absolutely no way anyone could help them. Can you imagine how much of a buzz that would be?"

"That would be mental," he replied through a quivering jaw.

"What if that's why we do this Al? To get the same buzz as them. Do you think they would have bothered going up there if they'd had ecstasy?"

"I don't know Lu."

"Imagine if they'd taken it on the moon," I said. "Imagine the buzz you'd get looking back and seeing the earth in the distance."

"What if they'd needed a smoke? That would be fucked up, being stuck on the moon with no fags."

"I don't think they'd send you to the moon if you smoked mate," I replied sarcastically.

"And you think they'd let you up there with a load of E?"

"Good point Al," I laughed. "Plus, can you think of anything worse than being on the moon with a come-down?!"

"Fuck that mate, I think I'd have to aim myself at the sun and fucking jump into space. I'd rather melt to death than be stuck on the moon all paranoid and coming down."

I laughed. Even though I knew he'd never get a chance to prove it, I knew him well enough to know he wasn't joking. I turned my head a little and gazed around. What a fantastic place for us to have ended up tonight. My insides warmed at the funny way one random event can lead on to another even more random event. Maybe every event in life was random to some degree. The possibility that I might have actually deciphered the way the world works made my mind fizz. The air continued to get colder.

"There has to be something out there mate, I don't mean another me and another you," I said. "There just has to be something. Fuck knows what it looks like but there has to be. It's just too big a space for there not to be. Maybe it's there now watching us and we don't even know."

I waited a moment for a reply, before turning to look at Al.

His face bore a strange expression I'd never seen on him before. His eyes had glazed over, like boards in a shop window advertising a new ownership. He jumped up and ran over to the television aerials on the very edge of the building. Grabbing one with both hands he twisted it and aimed the thin end at the night.

"Dukka-dukka-dukka!" he shouted, then even louder, "Dukka-dukka-dukka!" As he wrenched the thing skyward as far as it would go, before ducking down behind it for cover.

I ran over and grabbed the spare aerial next to him, I didn't know what he was shooting at but I had to let him know I had his back.

"Duv-duv-duv-duv-duv!" I let off a volley from my .50 cal, the rounds invisible in the light swallowing sky.

"Dukka-dukka-duukka!"

"Duv-duv-duv!"

I waited for Al to fire again, so he could take cover before I jumped up and took aim. I waited for the familiar sound of him firing his weapon, then instead of gunfire I got laughter.

"You fucking! Ha-ha! You fucking....ha! You nutter! Ha-ha!" As he curled up in a ball on the floor. The kind of laughter that makes you pull a face that you have to hide from people. Not from me though.

The realisation of what we were doing hit me too. I laughed so hard I had to sit down.

"You fucking twat Al! There wasn't even! Ha-ha! What were you even? Ha...."

I laughed until it hurt, then sniggered while I caught my breath, before going back into full on laughing again.

Eventually we forgot why we were laughing and rested, taking the time to appreciate where we were. Two floors below us the English department of the school rested too, waiting for Monday when it would teach its latest crop of students how to be creative by studying somebody else's work. And to think, just over a year ago when we left they said with our lack of initiative we'd never get anywhere. We were on top of the fucking world!

When it started getting light out we headed back to mine. Then in the morning I was woken to the sound of my mum banging on the garage door. "Al is asleep in the bath! You're going to have to get rid of him!"

Fortunately he was fully clothed. Unfortunately the ratio of black to white in my eyes was the wrong way round. Wake up Al, don't look at my mum, go back to bed. Not the most ambitiously planned day in history.
All the Acting Lessons in the World Wouldn't Get You Eyes Like That

November 2000.

I was in Club Z one night when a skinny bloke with a ponytail came up to me. The smile he gave me made me think I knew him.

"Hello mate how you doing?" he asked. He was even skinnier up close, his bony shoulder pressing into me.

"Yeah good mate. Wicked night this," I replied, still not knowing what the fuck he was doing with me. "You?"

"You after anything tonight?"

"I'm alright," I said. I didn't want to confess to anything, just in case he was old bill. Just play it cool for now, then if at midnight I'd run out of gear and was desperate, I'd try to find him.

"So how much are you paying for your pills?" he blurted out. No way am I answering that I thought, talk about an admission of guilt.

I couldn't just walk away from him, that would be rude, but if I stayed here he might ask me again. What I needed now was for one of my real mates to come along, not my new best mate the drug dealer-cum-police officer. What came next was even better. A man who was so obviously high it couldn't have been more blatant if he'd been tied to the end of a kite string and was sailing above us in the wind, glided in through the doorway that led from the dance floor to the foyer where we were stood. He made a beeline straight for my new best friend.

"I fucking love you bruv!" he said.

Skinny suddenly went into play it down mode. "Er, yeah safe mate. Oi I'll have to catch you later, I'm just having a chat," he said. "I'll come and find you when I'm done."

He turned and faced me intently, and when he turned back a few seconds later to find the bloke had gone he was clearly relieved. I'd been on enough nights out to recognise that was a previous customer who'd been caught off guard by a strong pill. All the acting lessons in the world wouldn't get you eyes like that. I was in safe company.

"Fivers each mate, or a bit less if I buy them in tens," I told him.

"Where from?"

"Carlton," I replied. I didn't know if he was after a name, I wasn't going to give him one.

"I'm in Carlton. Try me first next time, I'll do you fours each. How many do you normally pick up?"

"Fifty maybe."

His eyes lit up and he gave me his first name, Rick, followed by his mobile number (fortunately not 999).

"Luke," I said as I shook his hand. Then he walked away.

For a second I wondered how he could have known I was a customer. Then I looked down at the bottle of water in my hand and the glow in the dark whistle hanging around my neck. If I wasn't on drugs, I must have been planning on refereeing a late night football match when I got out of here.

When I found the rest of the group I told them about Rick. Though I didn't tell them what he looked like, in case one of them just walked straight up to him. He had at the end of the day chosen to introduce himself to me. I don't know where he went after we'd talked, I didn't see him in there again that night.

* * *

When the following Friday came and it was my job to ring him, I kicked myself for mentioning him in the first place. Now it was my job to score the drugs and no one need ever have known.

"Hello mate, it's Luke. I met you last Saturday."

"Yes mate, I remember from the foyer at Club Z. What you after?" Fucking hell he was good. I suppose it was his job to remember details like these, he probably went out clubbing to work and not to play. I was in such a state the morning after I wouldn't have been able to remember his name were it not saved on my phone.

"Forty little fellas if you've got them."

"One-sixty. Drive down to the St. Michaels roundabout in Carlton and then ring me again."

Kyle, James and Al all gave me their money, then Kyle navigated the long twisting country lanes that would bring us out at the roundabout. By the time I rang him the second time I was really wishing he'd approached one of the others in the club.

"Turn right at the roundabout, towards Canchester, left just before the chip shop on the corner then left again. I'll be standing on the path."

I shook his hand as I got out of the car on the cold dark street.

"This is Ky-"

He interrupted me before I had a chance to introduce the people I was with.

"Next time," he said, using his hand on my shoulder to usher me away. "Come on let's go inside."

"Two minutes," I mouthed to my mates through the car window.

Rick led me to the end of the road where we cut through one of those narrow alley ways that has two different people's garden fences either side. We came out onto a road of forgettable terraced houses. I was taken into one roughly in the middle.

"Have a seat." Rick pointed me to a beige armchair by the front door. "Do you want a coffee? Tea?"

"No thanks mate, I'm good."

"How about a beer? Come on have a beer, I've got a few different ones. I don't really drink, you might as well have one."

I wandered over and found a couple of Stellas in the door of the immaculate fridge. The clear trays in the bottom were filled with beer, lager and bitter in bottles and cans. The shelf above was filled with packets of ham and cheese. Then at the top of the fridge the final shelf was covered in carrots and tomatoes and vegetables I didn't have time to identify because they were just green.

"Have a seat again," he said. "I've just got to go upstairs."

Taking the time to look around the room properly now, I was aware of how tidy it was. The fridge had been spotless, but everything within sight was equally tidy. From the small kitchen in its door-less alcove through to the lounge/diner I was in it was all perfect. It could have been a show home, if the council had show homes. To the right of me a widescreen television sat on a light coloured wooden unit. As I flicked my eyes through the vast array of DVDs underneath I noticed they were in alphabetical order: Armageddon; Beetlejuice; Biodome; Caddyshack; Dangerous Minds.... What sort of person has their DVDs lined up in alphabetical order? Maybe a psychopath? Or maybe someone who just doesn't like not being able to find a particular DVD.

On the opposite side of the lounge to me was a beige sofa. The two contrasting brown cushions on top of it sat perfectly straight, just as the actual cushions of the sofa were plumped up. The way the cushion had been on my chair before I sat down. Rick had either not been sitting in the lounge before he came out or had taken the time to make sure the seating area looked perfect before I got there. Not what I expected for a drug dealer.

"Right." Rick came quickly down the stairs. "These are on the house." He handed me a couple of tiny little white pills which as I rolled them around in my hand, didn't appear to have a logo on them.

"Snowballs. I don't know where you've been getting yours but I guarantee you these are better, I know the bloke who makes them, they're spot on."

I assumed he wanted me to take both so washed them down with the last of my drink.

"I'll get you another beer mate."

"Do you take pills?" I asked him.

"No, more into my acid. Have you done acid?"

"Er, not yet mate."

"You're probably better off on E if you like it then," he laughed.

I sat back in my chair a bit. "Can I get the pills off you Rick?"

"Oh yeah I'd nearly forgotten. One hundred and sixty yeah?"

I took the wad of cash from my back pocket then drank some more of my beer, it tasted metallic now as I sipped it from the can.

"There you go." He passed me a small plastic food bag full of ecstasy tablets and I passed him the money, neither of us counted anything.

"I was watching Terminator 2 when you called, it's nearly at the end. Have you seen it?" he asked.

"Yeah mate," I replied, "it's one of my favourite films."

He put the television back on. It was at one of my favourite points- right before the melty terminator jumps the motorbike into the window of the helicopter. I sat there watching while he got frozen in liquid nitrogen then shattered. Past the bit where Arnie gets impaled on the spike and you think he's dead, then the red light in his eye comes back on and a lump always wells up in my throat. All the way until right at the end when both terminators are melted and everyone else is in tears. I was beginning to feel somewhat abstract by this point.

"So what's acid like?" I asked him, feeling the strong waves of ecstasy flowing through me.

"It's something else mate," Rick replied. "It can get a bit heavy but there's nothing like it, I'll tell you properly if you're not in a hurry."

"I'm in no rush." I suddenly felt very comfortable sitting where I was. The thought of going back out into the cold of night didn't appeal. Those three will be alright in the car.

"You remember that big storm we had last week?"

"Yeah. We had some pretty mental lightning down in Kirk-Leigh."

"It was my brother's birthday so we took a tent out into the woods round the corner from here and took some tabs."

"Right."

"We had a big bottle of Jack Daniels with us and were sitting there in the tent under the trees. The door was unzipped and you could see the rain absolutely pouring down outside, hammering on the roof of the tent it was like sitting in a drum. In the distance you could hear thunder coming."

I shimmied forward on my seat. "Yeah?"

"So the acid we've done kicks in and everything starts getting a bit soft round the edges; you know, like shapes moving in the dark. When suddenly there's a massive flash in the sky above us, literally right above us. I look over at my brother Dale and he's shaking and dribbling so I was like fuck this."

"What did you do then?" I wanted to know what had happened to them, but even more I wanted to know what possesses someone to camp out in a thunderstorm, on acid, to celebrate their brother's birthday.

"I'm thinking get the fuck out of here, we'll just leave the tent where it is and go home. So I get up to go outside and I swear to you now, on my life, this fucking tree at the end of the woods got hit mate. It exploded like a firework. That was it then, I lost the fucking plot. You couldn't see anything else in the dark except for what was left of the tree, glowing red and yellow, it was as if it had been a warning for us not to leave the tent."

My heart started to beat faster as I imagined being in that situation, seeing something get hit by lightning in front of you. "How close was the tree that got hit?"

"How close? It was from where you are now to the houses on the opposite side of the street."

I turned in my chair and looked behind me through the net curtains; the houses where pretty fucking close. Not close for a house but close for a bolt of lightning.

"Then?"

"Then the wind starts blowing the branches of the trees so they scrape on the side of the tent. The twigs looked like fingers, like someone was trying to get in. I'd had enough by then. Fuck the storm, I was going home." Rick started to use his hands to show me how the wind had blown the trees against the sides of the canvas tent. His long fingers almost looked to me like the twigs on a branch, swaying back and forth in front of me. I had to check my own hands to make sure they didn't look the same.

"Then what?"

"Apart from the glow of the tree on fire, all we had to see was a torch that was at the back of the tent. So I reach over and turn it on and my brother, being off his nut, grabs it off me and throws it into the woods, shouting something about fucking conductivity. He thought if we turned the torch on the lightning would hit us. You've got to laugh really."

I pictured my brother Dean and I in the same situation and what he would do. Even though he was only fourteen he was far more sensible than I was, he'd probably end up looking after me. Either way I definitely wouldn't be laughing.

"So what did you do without a torch?"

"Then Dale starts crying, well not crying, he's not fucking soft, just like mumbling about the lightning and getting all stressed out. It's all coming down everywhere still mate; you can feel it, every time it hits the ground you can feel it. So I get him to lay down flat on the floor, as low as he can get and I zip up the front of the tent and get down next to him and we just lay there in the dark, waiting for the next time the walls of the tent light up and we know somewhere's been hit. All that and everything I look at looks like it's melting. Fucked up mate, I mean properly fucked up."

The thought of being stuck there in the storm, not knowing if they were going to be hit next made the hairs on my neck stand on end. "What happened after that?" I asked, worried about the pair of them cowering there, hiding from the sky.

"Oh it stopped mate, it wasn't all night. The rain didn't stop though. It just kept banging against the roof of the tent, sounding like someone was playing the drums. By about four in the morning I thought I was going to crack, it was like we were being punished for something. Dale had passed out by then the lucky bastard, I think it was all too much for him."

It dawned on me that I'd been sat on the edge of my seat waiting for some massive finale to the story, wanting to know more than anything if they'd been alright. Of course they had, Rick was sitting right in front of me.

I tried to calm myself down a bit. "Er....how did you get back?"

"I woke him when the sun came up and made him walk back, he looked like he was dying. I got him back here and put him to bed. Then I came down and laid on the sofa all day smoking weed to try and straighten myself up. I left the tent and that there. Yeah not something I'd recommend mate."

"No stranger than jumping out of an aeroplane though," I said.

Rick laughed, "No, probably not."

I suddenly remembered I'd left my mates in the car outside, thanked him for the beers and left.

When I got back to the car they were livid. They'd spent the last twenty minutes walking the streets trying to find the house I was in, worried that I'd been murdered for a hundred and sixty quid. Fortunately I got back to the car before they'd started knocking on random people's doors. Perish the thought I'd have to go back to paying the old prices again.

I handed the pills out and all was forgiven, and I told Kyle about the spotlessly tidy flat and the alphabetised DVD collection. The sign of a habitual amphetamine user apparently.

Then as we travelled the many winding roads that led the way back from Carlton, my eye was drawn to the distant yellow glow of massive greenhouses on the horizon. I'd seen them before on the second bus to and from work, but they never looked so inviting as they did tonight.
If Kyle Were a Ghost Then Al Probably Would Be Too

December 2000.

Christmas Eve of 2000 came around and we had planned to just have a quiet drink at the White Hart; none of us wanting to risk waking up feeling terrible Christmas day. Or worse than that not waking up at all, meaning we'd done too many drugs to feel the need to sleep in the first place. Last orders were called and I downed as many double Jack and Cokes as I could, before bidding everyone in the pub a final slurred "Merry Christmas" and jumping in Kyle's Maestro for the journey back to James's; accompanied by a deafening soundtrack of drum and bass, so Kyle didn't have to listen to the bullshit conversation James and Al were having in the back.

Back at James's flat was a bottle of Southern Comfort that his dad had bought him for Christmas; with it not quite being midnight we'd have to wait ten minutes before we could technically open it but we knew what it was because James got a bottle every year. Kyle disappeared out onto the fire escape stairs at the rear of the flat to get signal on his phone, before strutting back into the room and telling us he'd found someone nearby with weed but wasn't going to go on his own. I made myself look busy by rifling through James's cassette tapes.

Al looked at me as I tried to avoid his eyes. One of us was going to have to go with Kyle, we couldn't expect James to go, it was his flat at the end of the day; plus it was cold enough to snow and he still had a pair of poxy shorts on.

"Fuck it," Al reluctantly volunteered.

Then they left, Kyle slamming the door so hard behind him it made the windows in the flat rattle.

"Cold in here don't you think?" James said, turning up the thermostat in the hallway and throwing me a smile that said you were lucky not to have to go outside again. "It's gone twelve look, Merry Christmas dude. Let's get that whisky open."

"Yeah Merry Christmas," I replied. "I just thought, it doesn't look very Christmassy in here. Have you not got a tree?"

"Yeah I've got a Christmas tree. I just forgot to put it up."

"Bit late," I said, "I think you're meant to put them up before Christmas day."

"It's not too late, we could put it up now. It will only take ten minutes; we could put it up before they get back to freak them out."

"Yeah go on then mate."

James went up to the loft while I poured our drinks- treble measures of whisky topped up with water as there was nothing else.

"There you go," he said, handing me a long rectangular tattered box and a black bin bag full of red and gold tinsel.

"I'm not doing it all myself mate, it's not my fucking Christmas tree."

"You go on the decks then you schlemiel, while I put the tree up."

"Fair enough," I said, "I'll pick a tape out then we can put the tree up together."

James walked over to the stereo. "I'll put a mix on I did the other night if you want? It's all old skool."

I nodded and made a start by laying all the branches out in groups of the same size, easy as they were labelled up with coloured rings.

"Mixing's getting better then," I said. I could remember when he'd first been given the decks and the pile of vinyl by his older brother; they weren't great and neither was he. But he seemed to have come on a long way. Mixing was probably all he did when he wasn't at work and we weren't round. In fact it was pretty much all he did when we were round. "How long are you spending on there now?"

"Longest was eight hours," James said.

"Eight hours in a week? That's like a whole extra day at work."

"No dude, eight hours in a night."

"What?!"

"I'm on the decks at least two hours a day."

"Two hours is long enough," I said surprised. "What had you been taking when you did it for eight?"

"I normally put them on as soon as I get home, well after I've put dinner in the oven; then I stop while I eat dinner then have another mix after," he said. "But last week, I think it was Tuesday, I was in the zone, every mix I did was bang on. I couldn't just stop playing and do something else, I didn't even stop to have my dinner. I put the plate on top of that speaker and ate it while I mixed."

I didn't look up to see which speaker he was pointing to; I'd just put the last branch in what was now a complete, if somewhat bare tree.

"Mental. Is that the mix we're listening to now?" I asked. James shook his head, his pony tail flailing behind him. "It's a shame you didn't record it, I would've liked to have listened to that."

I started fanning out the branches while James unboxed all the decorations.

"Tell me about it, I thought of that when I was halfway through," he laughed, "so the following night I ran the decks through the line-in on the stereo and filled this tape up."

"What the one playing now?"

"Yeah."

"Sweet."

Between the pair of us we'd soon finished the tree.

"So how are we gonna do this mate?" I asked.

"How do you mean?"

"When they get back should we wait for them to notice or do you think we should subtly drop hints?"

"I'm sure they'll notice won't they?"

"I don't know mate," I said. "They weren't here for long before they went out."

"If they don't then we'll have to try and point it out to them."

"How are we gonna point it out without making it obvious?"

"I don't know," James said. "We can't really, unless we put something of theirs by the tree."

I laughed, "There isn't anything of theirs here mate."

"Hold on, did you hear that mix?"

"Nah sorry mate."

"That's a good thing!" James exclaimed. "If you didn't notice it then it's a good mix, that's the whole point. Hang on I'll rewind it."

He rewound the tape a couple of minutes.

"I've got it!" he said. "Put the tree in the middle of that wall and move the chair Al always sits on into the corner, that way he'll have to go around the tree to get to his chair. He won't remember doing it the first time he came in but he definitely won't not realise he's had to do it when he gets back."

I heard the mix this time in the background, it was as seamless as he'd built it up to be. If only James's last sentence had made as much sense.

"Er- that's really good mate."

"What the plan? Yeah I know," he smirked.

"Nah the mix mate, well the plan's alright as well."

We moved the chair and Christmas tree like he suggested, James was obviously well excited about the whole thing. He put the bin bag in the old rectangular box and put them both back in the loft, while I gave the tree a final once over to make sure it wasn't too obvious it had only just been put up. "The Power" by Snap came on in the background. I thought I'd already heard it once that night and got déjà vu.

"I thought you had more than three records mate," I ribbed him.

"This is the one, listen to it. I'd already played this tune but the mix went so well I had to play it again just so I could try and repeat it."

I listened and it was pretty bloody good, some nice chopping with the cross fader between that and "Baby Let Me Love You For Tonight" by Kariya on the other deck.

I wasn't sure if it was fill half a tape up with the same two records good though.

"Do you know what? I'm gonna put these two tunes on now. I'll see if I can do that mix again in front of you." He skipped round to the other side of the speakers and started digging through his vinyl. As he did the door to the front room flew open.

"Alright Al," I said as he walked in through the doorway.

"Not really mate, I'll tell you all about it after I've got a drink." With a disgruntled face he walked over to his chair and threw his coat down, passing straight by the Christmas tree on the way.

"Why what happened?" James asked, poking his head up from behind the record box he was sifting through.

Kyle followed through the door with a devilish look on his face. "Geezer! You two should have seen that, was funny as fuck."

"Not sure if I'd class it as funny," Al said.

"We're not dead are we?" Kyle laughed, shoving Al in the side to prove he still had corporeal form; though I don't know what that proved seeing as if Kyle were a ghost then Al probably would be too.

"Only just."

"Well then, it was funny."

"What's happened?" I asked Al as he knocked back a whisky and the colour began to drain back into his face.

"You tell him."

"Alright. Everyone sit down and I'll tell you," Kyle said.

James rewound the tape back to the start and we got ready to hear the world's most over-hyped story.

"We got the weed from my mate," Kyle began, "so I skinned one up cos I couldn't wait until we got back here."

"Wow, that's exciting," James said sarcastically.

"Fucking wait, that's not the funny bit," Kyle said. Al filled his glass back up. "So as we're coming back through Frampton I'm toking on the spliff listening to that drum and bass CD on the stereo, when I drop the fucking spliff!"

"Right," James said.

"These jeans are brand new and they cost me sixty fucking quid. There's no way I was getting a burn hole in them already so I start looking around to see where the spliff is."

It was my turn this time. "Right."

"Then suddenly there's this massive bang and Al makes this funny kind of squeaking noise."

"I shouted! Kyle."

Kyle laughed, "You didn't shout mate. You squeaked."

"So what was the bang?" James asked impatiently.

"I'd smashed into a row of parked cars and all their mirrors had exploded. Probably three of them in a row," Kyle said.

"You schmuck," James said. "Was that it though? You clipped some mirrors?"

"Only because I shouted at Kyle and he pulled on the steering wheel. Otherwise we'd have smashed into the whole row of cars and both died."

"We wouldn't definitely have died mate. Well you probably would have done cos it was on your side but I'd have been OK."

"I hadn't thought of it like that," Al said. "I suppose if it was only me who would have died then that would have been alright."

"I did apologise, I don't know what else you want me to say."

"I don't think it counts if you're laughing when you say it," Al retorted.

"Look mate if it will make you feel better, then I'll get back in the car and purposely drive it into a row of parked cars on my side, so that I die. If that will make us even."

"Don't be fucking silly," Al said.

I tried to lighten the mood a little with a joke, "Sounds fair enough to me. I'm sure if the police had turned up they would have tried to arrest you. Until you explained they were sixty quid jeans. Then they would have been like 'Why didn't you say? We couldn't have you burning your sixty quid jeans.'"

"Exactly," Kyle laughed. "Anyway it's all sorted now, let's move on. By the way whose tape is this? It's phat."

James's eyes lit up. "It's me mate, from the other night. Like the mixing do you?"

"Yeah it's really good," Kyle said, "for a fucking thalidomide. And what's with the Christmas tree? We all thought you were a Jew."

* * *

My phone battery must have died at the same time I did. It was eleven o'clock when I woke. I rang my dad to come and pick me up, then after trying to wake everyone else up but only managing to wake Al, I waited for him outside. He didn't need to know the exact flat James lived in.

"Happy Christmas Dad, sorry I've fucked it up," I apologised to him as he pulled up, leaning from the driver's side window with a roll-up between his lips.

"I wouldn't worry Lu, you were better off here to be honest. It's all kicking off at home already."

"What because of me?"

"Maybe partly Lu. But then when has you being there ever stopped her going off on one before?" My dad drove unusually slow, it was almost as though he didn't want to go home. I wasn't sure now if I did either.

"Happy Christmas Mark!" Al said from the back.

"Happy Christmas Al," my dad replied. "Was it just you two at James's last night?"

"Kyle was there too," Al said.

"I could've given him a lift as well."

"He wouldn't wake up Dad. Him and James are still fast asleep."

"I wouldn't bet on it Lu." Al's hand reached in from the back and tapped me on the shoulder. "I turned the stereo up as loud as it would go, and pushed play on that mixtape James did as we left. There's no way they're sleeping through that."

"Nice one Al," my dad laughed. "That'll make Kyle's Christmas."
Unicorns an Butterflies Every Weh

February 2001.

I'd been at Precisional Electronics for four months now.

As I had suspected at the end of my first week, welding the same two components together, day after day, would be my only job. My ability to daydream was now far more advanced than ever before.

The section of the building I worked in had no windows, and I asked a colleague one day why this was. She replied, "If we could see the outside world we'd probably all run away at full speed, never to be seen again."

I think she was probably right.

Possibly due to previous escape attempts, and to adopt a belt-and-braces approach, I was positioned, like everyone else, in a five feet square white box; with no view of anyone or anything that wasn't to do with my job.

My world seemed to like boxes.

I decorated the inside of the box with rave flyers, where other people stuck pictures of their family, and pictures of cars or kittens; cut-out from magazines left in the canteen. Anything I could do to bring colour to my day, and stop myself being blinded by the fluorescent lights above reflecting off the white walls.

Dreamscape flyers with big heads floating in outer space surrounded by countless suns, conjured up images of a night of old skool hardcore, all horns and white gloves and people hugging each other. One Nation flyers with mechanised robot people on the front that so clearly told me it was drum and bass, a more serious night with a wind your neck in attitude where you gave each other a little bit more space on the dance floor; the dates on the ones I'd made it to tying up in my head with the particular night. Every one had a different personality to me, a different soul. Even the cheaply made flyers for nights at Club Z made it onto the walls; printed on coloured paper and headlined by unheard of DJs and MCs, my view was that if I'd had a good time then they had as much right as any to hang there, and at the end of the day anything was better than white. Apart from tape-packs they were probably the most treasured thing I owned.

To everyone else they were just a series of silly pictures, but, like the opposite of Braille, it wasn't until ecstasy had fully opened your eyes that you could read what they said.

* * *

Despite my best intentions of keeping myself to myself, I had gotten friendly with a couple from Carlton. I first met them one Monday morning in the canteen before work.

"So you into raving?" Warren had asked me out of the blue. Fuck. Monday's were always the worst day for me, but surely he couldn't tell just by looking at me.

"No....why?" I replied cautiously.

"Oh just saw all the flyers by your bench, thought you might have been into partying like us. Don't worry."

I suppose that was a bit of a giveaway. I felt a little shiver run down my spine as I realised it was possible that everyone I worked with knew about how I chose to spend my weekends.

"Sorry. Yeah mate, I don't mind the odd rave."

"Nice one. I'm Warren. That's my girlfriend Tamara sitting over there," he said, nodding towards her with his head because his hand was occupied shaking mine.

"Alright mate, I'm Luke, not worked here long."

He laughed, "Yeah I know. Come and sit over here with us, you don't wanna sit on your own do you?"

I joined the table with them and was introduced to Tamara; she was rake thin but still quite attractive, with dark shoulder length hair. Warren was stocky which surprised me for someone who spent their weekends dancing, but then he was probably only five-foot-eight tall which helped. Whilst I hadn't managed to grow any taller than the six feet I was at school, having a diet that at weekends consisted mainly of tablets meant I had managed to get a lot thinner. At seventeen I still had plenty of time to fill out though, they looked to be in their early twenties.

"Do you want to come to Bagleys in London with us?" Tamara asked me straight out.

"You can't just ask him like that Tamara. He doesn't even know us yet," Warren snapped at her.

"What sort of night?" I replied. Warren half smiled.

"Drum and bass in the main arena, hardcore in arena two, old skool in the third arena. Then I think it was techno and hard house in the last two rooms. Have you been to Bagleys before?" Warren said.

"Not yet," I smiled at the pair of them. "Ask me again on the train journey home."

"Nice one." Warren's face lit up.

"There's another couple of people coming; well not a couple but one of my mates and one of Warren's mates. Is that gonna be alright?" Tamara asked me.

Hmmm. Two people I'd only just met and two I hadn't met at all. A bit daunting for my first London rave.

"Can I bring my mate Al?"

"Well that depends," Warren said, pulling an overly concerned expression. I felt myself begin to worry. "Is Al gonna get off his fucking nut too?"

The date was set, two Saturdays from the Saturday that week. Part of me thought don't mix work and your social life, most of me though thought roll on Bagleys!

* * *

I'd never imagined taking drugs with people from work, but then I'd never imagined working with people who took drugs; I guess it would only be a problem if they didn't and they found out you did. I made sure to get some speed to go with the pills I would be taking with me, a night on just ecstasy would probably involve lying down somewhere at three in the morning, no use in a club that shut at six. I wanted to make sure it went perfect. The only potential flaw in the plan was not inviting Kyle. I knew I should have asked him first, I just felt I'd be more comfortable with Al there and I didn't want to take two people, bearing in mind Tamara and Warren had initially only invited me. Fortunately Kyle had to work, although I didn't make it easy for him by not asking him until two days before, and even then checking to see if he was free at the weekend before I told him where I was off to. I promised myself I'd take him to the next one. Then I promised myself that wasn't a lie.

When the Saturday finally came we took a taxi to Warren and Tamara's flat in Carlton. I rang the intercom and rather than letting me up, everyone came downstairs to leave with me. There were only three of them.

"Are we meeting the other bloke on the way?" I asked.

Warren laughed, "He's not coming now. The twat was on it all last night, he didn't get to sleep until lunchtime today. This isn't the first time he's not been able to wait one more day before getting mashed."

So it was just the pair I already knew, and Natalie, who I could just make out in the dark was another skinny brunette. Unusual in a town where blonde, natural or not, was the norm. Those of us who hadn't met before introduced ourselves, then we headed towards the train station; with an hour journey in front of us it made sense to get it out of the way. I could have easily had a beer in one of Carlton's pubs first to calm the pre-rave nerves. As a compromise we stopped at an off-license to get some drinks for the train so we'd have more time to explore the bars in London.

The Liverpool Street train arrived at the same time we did, and in the full light of the carriage I got a chance to take a proper look at the newest member of our gang. I realised I liked her a lot.

"So where you from?" Natalie asked me. In the background I could hear Al begin chatting to Warren and Tamara.

"Kirk-Leigh," I replied. "You?"

"Mansbury. Have you heard of it?" She took a bottle of fizzy blue alcoholic drink and started looking through her handbag for a bottle opener. I took the bottle from her and she cringed when she thought I was going to open it with my teeth. She was suitably impressed when I used my lighter levered against my thumb.

"Yeah. It's not that far from Kirk-Leigh is it," I said.

"So you met Tamara and Warren at work then?" Natalie asked.

"Yeah. What about you, how did you meet Tamara?"

"The same, through work. The last place Tamara worked"

"Oh we've got something in common then."

She smiled a yes at me. For someone who normally found it as difficult to talk to girls as I did, I thought I was doing quite well. I looked over and Tamara was smiling too. I wondered if she'd planned to set us up all along. Well done her if that was the case, but then what about the other bloke who was supposed to be coming? Maybe I was just a last minute replacement for him on this double date. Or maybe he'd never existed at all and they'd invented him to trick me into coming along. I much preferred the sound of that last possibility.

Natalie slowly ran her fingers through her long hair, the ultraviolet yellow paint on her nails contrasting perfectly against the dark auburn backdrop.

"So have you been raving before?"

I laughed, tinged with a cocky snigger, "Loads of times."

"Oh yeah, which ones? Have you been to Bagleys before?"

"No, first time tonight."

"What about Fabric?"

"Not been to Fabric either. This is the first time I've been out in London."

"You must have been to The Sanctuary?"

"What in Milton Keynes?"

"Yes." Her eyes lit up.

"Not been there either."

"Where have you been?"

This shouldn't have been a hard question, but it was. It took me a moment to come up with an answer.

"I went to a rave in a barn once where there was an aeroplane."

"Where was that?"

"I'm not sure. In a field somewhere."

"How many arenas were there?" she asked. "There are five at Bagleys tonight."

"Er....one. Well it wasn't really an arena. It was just a barn, there were a few hundred people there, if that. I don't even know who was DJing."

"Aww," she cooed at me, "so this will be your first proper rave." She reached out with her warm hand and pinched my cheek, gripping it and jiggling the skin; then smiled again as she looked me dead in the eyes. "Don't worry, I'll make sure you don't get lost."

We chatted together as a fivesome for the rest of the journey, Natalie and I opposite each other on the green fabric benches next to the window; with Warren sat next to me and Tamara facing him. Al had a chair to himself on the other side of the isle. We asked each other the things you're supposed to ask: Have you always lived around here? What school did you go to? Have you got any brothers or sisters? Questions with answers that tell you everything about the person you're talking to, without actually telling you anything about the person themselves. It was a struggle sometimes for me to have a normal conversation, and I hadn't even started on the drugs yet.

We soon pulled into Liverpool Street station.

"What are they like at Bagleys with searching you and that?" I asked.

"Oh they're really strict there mate," Warren replied.

"What are you doing with yours then, putting them in your sock?"

"Nah I've seen the bouncers make people take their shoes and socks off."

"How am I supposed to get my gear in there then?"

"Dunno mate, think of somewhere they won't search you." Warren slowly smiled at me as he talked; my night darkened as I realised what he was suggesting.

I spotted the station toilets. "Wait here two minutes."

Then I looked at Al. He shrugged his shoulders before following me in. On the third attempt I found a cubicle with a toilet that wasn't filled with chocolate milkshake. I heard the door to the next cubicle along shut too.

"Al?"

"Yeah."

"Just checking it was you."

Reaching into what people who have sex would call the condom pocket in their jeans, I pulled out my supply for the night. Two pills wrapped in a piece of paper and a gram of speed in a small clear plastic bag. I contemplated the moral implications of what I was about to do. I had decided I'd want the whole package to be as small as possible, throwing the paper in the toilet and putting the pills in the same bag as the speed. If I was happy for them to mix with each other in my stomach then I should be happy with them being mixed together now. Then I turned my attention to the little plastic bag, so easily lost; how far should I put it in? Surely there was no need to insert it, just clenching it between my cheeks should suffice. Even if it would mean walking to the club like a six foot tall penguin. I dropped my trousers to my knees, followed by my boxers. If only I'd been wearing briefs I thought, I could have just tucked the package in. Too late now, a lesson learned for next time. Then I realised something else; when I get in the club and retrieve the package it is going to have spent time somewhere not nice. I needed to wrap it in toilet paper so that the paper could be discarded when I got in the club, meaning the little plastic bag would be OK to put back in my pocket. I looked down and was greeted by an empty cardboard toilet roll tube staring back at me.

"Al."

"Yeah?"

"Is there any toilet paper in your cubicle?"

"No."

For fuck's sake. Pull your boxers up, then your jeans. Put the bag back in your pocket, find a cubicle with toilet paper, take a handful, come back to this cubicle, and start again.

"Fuck this," I mouthed to myself as a disinterest with the whole situation came over me, and poured the whole night's worth of drugs in my mouth. The speed came out first, building a little white hill on my tongue, followed by the tablets that hesitated until I shook them; where I'd not fully opened the seal on the top of the bag. As soon as I came out of the toilets I grabbed the fizzy blue drink out of Natalie's hand and washed the whole lot down.

"Sorted," I said.

"Yeah?" Warren asked me.

"Yeah mate," I laughed. "Well fucking sorted."

Warren led the way through the maze that is the London Underground, taking us to the Metropolitan line, where we managed to get our own carriage on the tube train. Four stops later we arrived in King's Cross and he and Tamara took us to a bar they knew from last time they'd had a night out here.

The girls went to the toilets together while Al and Warren helped me with the first round of drinks.

"So what do you think of Natalie then?" Warren asked me.

"Seems nice mate, bit out of my league though I reckon."

"I dunno, she seems pretty keen on you. If I get a chance to talk to Tamara on her own I'll ask her what she thinks."

"She might just be talking to me to be polite."

"You're being too hard on yourself mate," Warren said. "If she really wanted to she could have spent her time talking to Tamara and left me, you and Al to chat alone."

I didn't want to get my hopes up but a bit of me hoped he was right.

"I think you should listen to Warren," Al added. "I've been watching her, she's hardly taken her eyes off you."

"What can I get you?" Warren asked.

"Nah I'm getting these in like I said," I replied.

Warren laughed, "I didn't say anything mate.

"What?"

"What can I get you to drink?" I looked to the left of me and there was the barman, stood impatiently, while either side of us at the bar stood other people waiting to be served.

My mind had wandered. "Stella please mate," I said in what sounded like someone else's voice. I wasn't sure if all of my mind had wandered back.

"Anything else?" Of course there was something else, the four of us weren't going to share the same drink all night. Fuck knows what it was though, I wasn't even sure if the Stella was for me, it was only the fact that it seemed such a familiar thing to say in this situation.

Warren helped me out, "Three pints of Stella, a Bacardi and lemonade, and a vodka and Coke. Please."

* * *

"Apparently there's a pool table upstairs?" Natalie said when the girls got back.

"Doubles?" Al asked.

Natalie grabbed my hand, dragging me up the stairs. Halfway up I got a brief head rush; only for a second, like you get when you go up in a lift and it stops. I let go of her hand and gripped hold of the handrail just in case, she turned to see why I'd let go and laughed at my conformity.

Once upstairs I took a big gulp of my pint, putting it down on a small round wooden table surrounded by stools. It was time to play pool. More importantly it was time to not let Natalie down. We split into two teams; Warren and Tamara against Natalie and me, with Al switching sides every turn, meaning we could take turns as pairs to call him a traitor every time he potted a ball. Halfway through the first game the head rush began to come back, only this time harder than before, and accompanied by an apocalyptic buzzing from within my brain. I was beginning to have my first doubts about what I'd done in the toilet. Natalie noticed it first.

"Lu?" she said holding the pool cue in front of me.

My concentration juddered as my head soaked up everything that was going on around me. I reached out and took it from her, my eyes transfixing on the blue tip on the end. As I bought it closer to my face to see if I needed to chalk the tip, my eyes became crossed on the end of my nose. I had to shake my head with my eyes shut to uncross them.

"Are you OK?" she asked.

The rest of the people I was with waited for the answer too. I took a moment to work it out, it was hard to concentrate with the noise of all the other people in there with us. Everything had become so bright.

"I'm not sure," I said.

"Why not?"

"I've done it."

"Done what?"

"All of it."

"What do you mean done all of it?"

"The drugs," I whispered.

Warren frowned at me, "What did you have?"

"Two pills and a gram of speed."

"We're not even at the club yet, what did you do that for?" Warren asked me angrily.

"You told me they were proper hot on their searches, I didn't wanna risk it."

"I was only winding you up mate, anyway I thought you were going to hide it."

"Oh I didn't realise mate, I thought you were warning me," I said. "I was going to hide it, but I couldn't do it in the end."

This strange feeling began to grow.

"Why didn't you ask Al?"

I turned to Al, expecting him to moan at me for not having asked. Al had one hand resting on the edge of the pool table to steady himself.

"That wouldn't have worked," Al said.

"That's alright Al," Warren said, "I'd have taken Lu's in if you didn't want to."

"No," Al said, "I mean I've necked all mine too."

"For fuck's sake. How are you feeling?"

I looked at Al, then back at Warren. "Who?"

"Both of you."

"Numb mate, like I can't feel my heart beating."

"Don't say that," Al said, "you'll send me on a para."

"I think that's normal Al to not be able to feel your heart beating," Warren said. "Sit down over there and drink your beer for a bit, try not to think about it while you come up. You'll come up hard but once you are up you'll be OK."

I sat with Al on the stools at the little table. I took another big sip of beer while I tried to think of something to say. When I couldn't I lit us both a cigarette. Al only took a few drags before putting his out; I couldn't blame him, mine was tasteless too, like breathing hot air.

"Fuck this is intense," Al broke our silence. I could see sweat forming into drops on his brow. "I hope we haven't cocked everything up."

I looked over at the pool table where gorgeous Natalie was now playing on her own team of one.

"I hope so too mate."

* * *

My drink was empty and I was thirsty when Warren and the girls finally put the cues away and sat down with us.

"We want to leave soon," Tamara said.

"Before the queue gets too long," Natalie added without looking at me.

I heard Al clear his throat. "Are you OK to walk Lu?"

"Think so mate, what about you?"

"I'll try."

I took tiny steps as I passed the pool table, then the pair of us carefully edged our way down the stairs. By now the pub was full of people, clumped together in one mass at the bar, all trying to be noticed by the barman. In my wobbly state I struggled to push my way through them.

The cold air outside hit me hard, locking my jaw into a rigid gurn. I gripped my arm tightly around Al's shoulder, compensating for walking on broken feet. As we walked the back streets of King's Cross, people dressed for raving began to appear; blokes in hi-viz vests and women wearing mid-calf height boots in cow skin fur, blowing whistles and fluorescent horns as they skipped on their way. It was probably what we should have been wearing, we'd all come out looking like we were on the way to an everyday bar, albeit with bigger eyes. The first twinges of the excitement I'd had on the train came back. I'd stopped coming up a little while ago and I knew I was as high as I was going to get. Unfortunately that was still too high.

"Just follow us," Tamara said. "Don't worry we won't run off."

"Do you mind if I lean on you Lu?" Al asked.

"Only if I can lean on you too."

We passed an evangelical church in what looked more like the sort of building you hire out for parties and neighbourhood watch meetings. On the big black and silver sign at the front I noticed the word angel in evangelical. Angel as in church; so it was a church church.

Up front, Warren, Tamara and Natalie chatted away excited for the night ahead.

"Bredren!" I turned round and realised it was the homeless black man in the Rasta hat I'd been trying to ignore.

"Mate," I nodded back.

"Yuh ave dropped sinting."

Al and I walked back to the shop doorway he was sitting in to check. There was nothing on the floor.

"We haven't," Al said.

The man took a long look at the pair of us then laughed, "I think yuh will find yuh ave."

"Sorry," I said, "I haven't got any change."

"Wah yuh think just cah I'm talking to yah I want money?" he scowled at me, lines forming around his old dark eyes.

"He didn't mean anything by it," Al said. "We're both a bit mangled."

"I know," the man said, "dat is why I'm gwine tell yuh a story."

Warren and the girls had realised by now that we weren't following and had come back.

"What are you doing?" Natalie asked.

"This bloke's going to tell us a story," I replied.

She gave me a look like I was an idiot. "Whatever. We've got to go to the shop to get some fags and chewing gum. We'll be back in five, just wait here. Oh and enjoy your story."

Al and I were left alone with the man. I was cold now, in just my shirt and jeans. I wanted to shiver but didn't think it would be the right thing to do in front of the homeless man.

"Dis-a story take mi bak to mi yute now, when I was a likkle bwoy inna Jamaica. It were er long time ago, yuh haffi let mi cast mi mind bak an think. Duh nah seh a ting now."

I looked at Al and he nodded. "Course," I said.

"Inna Marlston weh I grew up, wi neva had di trees yuh ave; big thick trees wid leaves dat guh green an brown. Wi had di palm trees dat love di sun, trees dat grow tall inna di hot hot days."

I smiled and wished we were by the trees that loved the sun.

"When I was a likkle yute I used to climb di hill behine our town, an guh inna di forest weh I could listen to di birds sing. Just mi an di birds, alone wid di trees. Yuh know why I used to duh dat?"

"So you could think?" Al said.

"Suh I could think!" the man replied. "Every mon gat to ave space to think. Now let mi tell yuh bout thdeppone time I be up inna di woods."

There was a pause while he composed himself, and remembered the next line of the story.

"I be sitting pon di stump of a tree when I hears a nize. Suddenly all di pretty likkle birds went quiat."

"Shhh!" he said, holding his finger in front of his lips. "Siiilence."

"I thought maybe it wersera mongoose suh I ducked dung. It did nah scare mi, ef it was a mongoose I was gwine kill it an tek it bak to show mi fadda suh he could see ow brave I was."

Mine and Al's silence gestured him to go on.

"I started chasing him through di trees, I could hear him running through di leaves but I could nah see him. As fass as I chased he ran wey. I chased him through di bushes, up a hill den dung di odda side weh deh was a stream; he mus ave jumped ovah di stream cah I did nah hear him inna di wata. Den he made a likkle nize pon di odda side suh I know he till deh. I hear him panting pon di breeze."

He paused while he looked at the pair of us. "Yuh know wah I am saying?"

We both nodded, captivated.

"Den I almost weh I know deh is nuh mo trees, just wide open space. I know ef I cyan get him deh, inna di open, I cyan see wah him ah. Suh I chase him, as fass as I cyan I chase him. Mi chest heave until I think I cyan nah chase any mo but I know ef I cyan just kip chasing him I will find outa wah him ah. Suh I run, I run as fass as I cyan; an he run, as fass as he cyan. Through di trees until wi are both inna di open. An yuh know wah I see wid fi mi my own two eyes now?"

"What?!" Al asked. "What did you see?"

"Unicorns an butterflies every weh."

"Then what happened?" I asked.

"Den I realised I had nuh money fah a likkle beer."

"What that's the end of the story?"

"I think he's saying if you give him money he'll tell you the ending," Al said.

"Who says a story has to ave an ending? Wah ef wi are dat story now?" He looked at Al. "Weh yuh name?"

"Al."

"Maybe yuh a di unicorn Al." He looked at me. "Weh yuh name?"

"Luke," I replied. "So I'm the butterflies then?"

"Yuh are a butterfly Luke. An King's Cross is di forest. It might nah look lacka forest now but trust mi, deh are days when yuh could swear it was. Dat yuh cyan believe."

"So if Al's a unicorn, and I'm a butterfly. Where are the rest of the butterflies?"

"Dat is obvious is it nah."

"Is it?"

"Yeah," the man replied. "Demma rite behine yuh."

"Lu." Natalie tapped me on the shoulder, scaring the shit out of me. "Come on, it's time to get raving."

I thanked the man for the story and placed a fiver on his sleeping bag, then we made our way to the club.

* * *

You can think you know what something is going to be like. You've seen the tiny pictures on the back of the flyer and you've heard the stories, and so you think you know what to expect. Much like looking at a cream cake and asking someone to try it and tell you what it tastes like is the same as eating it.

Bagleys was a revelation.

From the moment I got in I knew it was special. Five concrete boxes filled with a hot thick atmosphere that you could taste in the air. Five different arenas playing the loudest, most disgustingly underground rave music I'd ever heard. The most smoke, the most lasers, more people than at all the other nights I'd been to put together. It was everything, all rolled into one no-rules, anything goes, night of ecstatic debauchery. I questioned how something like this was even legal, then realised for most of the people there it probably wasn't.

Within minutes I was on a proper buzz, a manageable high to carry me through the night.

With a Smirnoff Ice in my hand, I became one of those little drops of water that rushes to become part of the collected pool. I was in the very place I was meant to be. We partied all night, going from room to room, passionate, wanting to experience everything we could. We threw shapes and hugged strangers, then in the morning when our brains had begun to smudge, we went outside to get some air. There's never enough air in a room with sweat running down the walls.

The five of us sat on the roof terrace, shoulder to shoulder. Tamara rested her head on Warren's lap and shut her tired eyes. In the distance, behind the skyline of the grey buildings of London, the sun began to rise.

"So what do you think of your first proper rave?" Natalie asked me, her skin glowing.

"Epic," I replied. "Can't wait for the next one."

"Definitely gotta do this again," Al added.

"Good, I'm glad you liked it. I didn't know whether you would after how you started the night."

"We were fucked," Al said, "at one point in there I actually thought I was turning into a laser beam." Natalie and I laughed. "You can't have a bad night somewhere like this though, no fucking way."

Natalie turned and kissed me on the cheek. "I bet that was a wicked buzz though for you two, there's no way I could have handled that."

"I don't know if we did handle it," Al said, "we just didn't have a choice."

"It's all over now," Natalie said. "You two are OK and that's all that matters."

"Very true," I said.

Warren broke his silence, "Look at that sunrise, what an awesome way to end the night."

"It is," Al said. "You know what? Actually forget it."

"No say it Al," Warren said.

"It's stupid."

"Don't worry," Natalie said, "we're not going to laugh."

Al looked uncomfortable. "Alright, what I was going to say, but only because you want me to; is there's a true beauty to this world, but some of us have to take drugs before we can see it."

Natalie reached over my lap and rubbed Al on the knee. "Al. That's the most perfect thing I've ever heard."

* * *

I took Natalie's number but never got round to calling her, and I took a flyer for a night that I would never forget. It went proudly in the centre of my partying wall of fame at work, a permanent reminder of how fucking perfect the world can be. As a bonus I'd been invited to another rave too; this one however wasn't on any flyers.
I May Have Mistaken Him for a Chrysanthemum

March 2001.

I sat in the back of the car with Al. Up front were James, who was so excited he couldn't sit still; and George, who was driving. I'd met George briefly at that first rave at the aircraft hangar, and I'd made the mistake of asking Paul who the Jesus looking fella was on the drive home; it was then that I'd found out he was Paul's older brother. The fact that he'd laughed rather than making me get out and walk meant he'd probably thought the same at some point. Apparently he was also one of the DJs at the beach party I'd been to. I don't remember him, I may have mistaken him for a chrysanthemum. With his long dark hair draped over his thin face, and Christ-like goatee; he was only missing a flowing white robe and fanatical following of people.

We met at the White Hart in Hemford and dropped as we left, it seemed to be the done thing. Turning up to a rave sober would be too grotesque a thing to even contemplate, the sights and sounds would destroy a right angled mind.

A DJ Sy Bonkers mix CD was playing in the car, and a tune came on that got George animated.

"Have you heard this track lads?" he asked as it started building up.

"Nah dude, good is it?" James replied. Our collective silence in the back answering for us.

"Was round a party at Paul's the other night when this track came on."

"Yeah," James said in a bluntness reserved for statements as pointless as that one.

"I was lying back in my chair listening to the build up," George said. "You know, I was rushing so hard I had my eyes shut. When all of a sudden....then....er....fuck, I can't think what I was going to say. Hold on let me put that last track on before...."

The ecstasy had got him good. Coming up on a strong pill could make it hard to hold a thought in your mind. Thinking was like trying to type on a computer with the delete button held down.

"Yeah so like I was saying. There I am lying back in my chair with my eyes shut when suddenly this tune kicks in, proper banger it is." George had a hypnotising passion for music. We all loved music; music and ecstasy, it was the one thing we had in common, but you could hear how much he loved it in his soft voice. "Then this repetitive beat comes in and, well you'll hear it in a minute. Anyway I can feel something moving so I put my hands down on my legs and they're shaking. Stomping up and down on their own. My feet are actually leaving the ground, marching in time to the beat. Suddenly I'm acutely aware that everyone else at the party can see me stomping my feet up and down, but with my eyes still shut I can't see them. I just couldn't stop though."

Al laughed, "So when you opened your eyes everyone was looking at you as if you'd lost it?"

"That's the funny thing Al, when I did finally get the courage to look, everyone else in the room was doing the same thing. The whole room was full of people stomping their feet up and down."

The track on the CD had caught up now. We were listening to the same beat he'd been talking about, that same repetitive thud that had been playing when he'd started to tell us the story, and now the dynamic of the car had changed. I felt my toes in my trainers start wiggling up and down to the beat, followed by my hands slapping the tops of my thighs as the sound tried to take me over too. This was it; we were off to a wicked rave in who-knows-where, the four of us stomping a path down some unknowing motorway.

Jaw quivering and with massive distant eyes George turned to Al in the back. "S-see what I mean mate, mental tune-"

"George!" James shouted as he snatched the steering wheel and pulled us away from the central reservation.

"Shit, sorry mate monged out there." George snapped himself out of it.

"No worries, just try and concentrate." James reached over and turned the stereo down to help.

Al and I smiled at each other in the back. That was close. They do say you've got more chance of dying on the road driving to a club than you have of dying from taking ecstasy when you get there. I wonder what they'd have blamed that one on though.

* * *

We stopped in the middle of a white industrial estate. The morning frost had got in early, while the sun was looking the other way. Cars lined every bit of road as far as you could see, unusual for an industrial estate at this time of a Saturday night.

We followed the people with beer cans as they led us to a massive abandoned fire station. A time weathered sign out front revealed what the building was once used for. The steel fencing surrounding it, ringed with 'DEMOLITION WARNING - NO ENTRY' signs confirmed that this place was just an echo of its former life. The building it seemed was to have one last party thrown in its honour before it was lost to history. A fitting end for something that had undoubtedly saved many lives.

A steel door that had been pulled from its hinges led into what looked like a concrete storage building. The walls were bare brick and it reminded me of a bigger version of the garage I slept in. The whole place resonated with the sound of banging trance at a volume that took away your ability to think. The trademark lights of a well organised night went off all around us, shading the few hundred or so people in there in an ever-changing hue. It was a good party, you could feel it as soon as you walked in; from the hot smell of sweat and chemical excess, to the hoards of strangers reaching for the sky. I was coming up too hard to stay in one place though. We had walked into one building out of many, we had a whole night to dance and we'd settled in the first room. The music would be playing in here at least until the sun came up again, so we weren't going to miss anything. Al and I promised we'd return and went off to explore.

Back out through the broken door, we walked past the main building of the fire station; it still had its red painted roller door at the front. Peering through the small square windows in the red door confirmed nothing had been left behind- sadly no fire engines to play with. Past that however was another big concrete box, like the first one we'd been in. We hurried in the door to escape the cold.

This was something else. We could so easily have stopped at the first building and stayed there but instead we'd discovered a land of techno music. The sound had a harder edge. This room was worth staying for.

In the corner away from all the sound equipment was an old white Ford Sierra that the fire brigade had used to practice on. The roof and glass had been cut off to rescue the life-size dummies that had somehow become trapped in there. Two intoxicated strangers took their place in the front seats. I nodded to the one in the driver's seat and he gestured for us to get into the back.

"This is better," Al sighed, finally allowing himself to properly relax. You could see the pills had hit him hard, more of those blue speckled smiley face pills that were so prevalent. They had a habit of taking forever before you felt anything, then sneaking up on you and blowing your socks off when you dropped a second one, making you wish you'd been more patient.

Looking out over the bonnet from the back seats of the car, you could watch the whole night unfurl before you. The lights and speakers were facing straight at us from that opposite corner, and we were in the best place for sound. I half shut my eyes and gave myself to the experience.

"This is epic Lu. You properly up yet?" Al asked me through a visibly tightened jaw.

"Yeah mate, I am now. And we've got the best fucking seats in the house!"

Al smiled, "Too right."

"You know Kyle and Louise have split up? I saw him the other day, he seemed pretty gutted."

"He'll be alright, they obviously weren't meant to be," Al replied. "Anyway. Lu man. You remember I was telling you about my uncle?"

"Which one?" I asked. I knew full well who he meant but I knew he wanted to tell me. I wasn't going to ruin it for him and waited for the South Africa story again.

"The one in South Africa. Did I tell you he had a massive rubber tree plantation out there?"

"I think you might have mentioned it mate. Why, what were you thinking?" I knew what he was thinking. His uncle owned a farm the size of a town. It got bigger every time he told me about it.

"When I said we could go out there for a free holiday any time we want, we just have to pay for flights. Well I've had an idea." His teeth were chattering now from the drugs. Like watching someone yawn I felt mine start to go too.

"Right?"

"It's massive mate. Like the size of a whole town. Surrounded all the way by a twelve foot high electric fence." I'd heard that before too, only last time it was ten feet tall.

"Yeah?"

"Promise me you won't tell anyone, you're the first person I've told." Al was excited now, you could see he'd wanted to tell someone for ages. I nodded. I was glad he'd chosen me. "We're going to throw a rave there Lu. It's gonna be the biggest rave in history."

"What about the police Al?" I said. The British police are quick to shut these things down, I couldn't imagine the South African police were anything but worse.

"Nah mate that's the whole point of having it there. The police won't be able to get in when the electric fence is on. My uncle has to go round every morning removing burnt dead people from it after they've tried to break in during the night."

"What about when we eventually have to leave though mate? Won't the police just get us then?"

"Shit. I hadn't thought about that....we'll have to helicopter everyone to-and-from the airport." His eyes lit up again as he swiftly resolved that minor hitch. The logistics of transporting the tens or even hundreds of thousands of people from the airport to this remote farm swirled in my head. A few at a time by helicopter would mean thousands of trips. Even landing enough people at the airport in the first place would be impossible. Plus, there couldn't be any chance of his uncle actually going along with something like this in the first place. There wasn't a single aspect of this plan that was do-able. I couldn't tell him that though, not with a smile like that on his face. I smiled back and nodded in pretend agreement and thanked fuck when the bloke in the driver's seat took Al's attention away by passing him a spliff.

Al's face twisted with disgust as he inhaled the free drugs deep into his lungs. It must have been strong, Al could smoke anything. I watched as he took another two painful drags on the thing and passed it to me. Holding it to my lips I breathed the smoke in as deeply as I could. My eyes watered as I fought the urge to cough. It didn't taste like any weed I'd had before. I took a couple more drags to make sure then passed it back to our driver.

Sitting back into my half of the rear seat I felt its cold fabric warm and envelope me. Gravity took a hold of me and sucked me down into the chair that had taken on the solidity of a giant melted marshmallow. If I didn't have this soft buffer beneath me I was sure I would sink straight into the concrete of the floor. My mind focused on the music and it became louder, the bass tunnelling right through me. The multi-coloured lasers on sentry duty either side of where the DJs played, shot past the car like the neon lights of a modern day city. Thick red, green, and blue lines of vibrant and bright. I looked out over the rear of the car and watched as they splashed up the concrete walls and hung there for a second, before fading out of my slow-motion eyes. Putting my arm outside the car I could feel the bass line of the techno soundtrack accompanying us pushing against my hand; it was as though the wind was carrying the sound. The tempo of the music increased, and as it did the rate we passed these neon lights did too. I recognised the city from television, lights spinning and swirling while blurring. It was Tokyo, and we were driving though it at a staggering speed.

"Tell George to slow down!" Al shouted at the passenger in the front, leaning into his ear to make sure he'd heard him.

"Calm down mate, we're not even moving. Are you alright?" the bloke replied. Fuck. We weren't even moving. The only way this car was going anywhere was if we pushed it. For a moment there I too could have sworn we'd been driving.

"That was some good shit, didn't know what was going on for a bit," Al winked at him to let him know there were no hard feelings.

"Brown," the bloke said through a pair of smiling lips. His mate sniggered behind the wheel.

Brown. Heroin. He'd had the shit bit right.

"What did he say?" I whispered in Al's ear.

"Brown Lu," he nodded as he replied. I'd heard what the bloke had said, I was just hoping somehow that I was wrong.

A fucking heroin spliff. Cheers lads. Maybe something you should tell people before you give to them.

We made our excuses and went back to the trance room. James and George were so immersed in the rave they hadn't even noticed we were gone. We stuck close by them for rest of the night, after telling them there was nothing else to see.

Al and I never spoke about the accidental heroin incident. I never told anyone. It was a difficult thing to drop into a conversation.
If We Lived Together We'd Both Be Dead in a Year

April 2001.

The following Monday when I returned from work, I picked up an eight pack from the shop and headed round to check on Al.

We went to the park at the end of his road. Well not so much a park as a triangle of grass with a handful of trees in it. Still, it was somewhere we could get away to.

"You recovered from Saturday night yet Al you prick?"

He laughed which should have made me expect a positive reply. I knew he was still suffering though, he looked like a bag of shit.

"Beginning to feel normal mate, still not quite right. Totally worth it though."

"What time did you get up Sunday? Did you even get up Sunday?"

"Yeah I had to get up early to meet Louise at lunch." His face suddenly dropped.

"Louise?"

"Shit Lu, don't tell Kyle mate, promise me you won't tell Kyle." It was obvious he hadn't intended to tell me; he probably hadn't intended to tell anyone. I already wished I didn't know.

"How long have you two been seeing each other?"

"Not long mate, a couple of weeks if that. Since after her and Kyle split up. I had nothing to do with them breaking up I swear."

"Is it serious?"

"No idea, it's still too early to tell. I like her a lot though."

"Did you like her when they were together?"

"I guess so," Al said. I wasn't sure how that sat with me; the idea that he might have been hoping they'd split up all along, just so he could get in there.

He looked me square in the eyes. "Promise me you won't tell him Lu. He'll go fucking ballistic!"

"Alright mate, I promise. You know he's probably going to find out somehow anyway."

"I know that mate." Al gulped down the last of his beer and tossed the empty can in a hedge before opening another. "I'm thinking the longer it's been before he finds out the better. You know, that way he'll have had more time to get over the breakup."

"I'm not sure that's how it works Al," I said. "It might make it worse the fact that you've been hiding it from him."

He gave me a look of resignation. "Would you tell Kyle though? If it was you?"

"Probably not mate to be honest." I considered the implications of getting on the wrong side of a bloke the size of a nightclub bouncer. "But then I probably wouldn't have done it in the first place."

I regretted those self-righteous words the moment they left my lips and he knew it. Probably from the way I turned my face to the floor to avoid his eyes and started plucking the spring's damp grass with my fingers.

"Change of subject how's things with you?" Al asked.

I paused before replying while I reflected on the part of my life that didn't revolve around parties and having fun.

"Alright mate, if you don't count living in that shit hole."

"Is your dad still walking round carrying his bible, preaching at your mum?"

"When he's not hiding in his room drinking beer," I said. "Anyway I think he's over it now, he only did it twice and both times were in the same weekend."

"What are you gonna do?"

"About what?"

"What do you mean about what? About your dad mate, he might need to talk to someone if he's walking round quoting bible verses at people. Before you know it he'll be in the town centre holding a sign that says 'The End Is Nigh' and shouting at people in the street."

"You know Al, I can actually imagine my dad doing something like that. That would be funny as fuck to go and watch, people would all be trying not to make eye contact with him and that."

"Where do you think he'd do it? Like Carlton or something? It wouldn't be worth him doing it in the village."

"It would have to be in the village mate, that would be the best thing about it! Imagine if he did it in the bus shelter opposite the shop, stood there preaching at people. All the old women waiting for the bus would have to go to the next bus stop up the road. They'd all get soaking wet when it rained," I laughed.

"How's everyone else finding it?"

"I can't tell with my mum, she seems to be taking the whole divorce thing quite hard. Dean's trying not to let it get to him and Jack's too young to realise what's going on. I'm just trying to stay out of it all; I can't wait for the day when I can afford my own place."

"You mean our own place Lu. Mash up towers!"

I smiled politely at the suggestion of us living in the same house. "If we lived together we'd both be dead in a year mate," I told him.

"Be worth it though," Al replied. "Would be an epic fucking year!"
I Told You Not To Give Me Them Fish Finger Eyes!

July 2001.

My parents had gone on holiday taking Dean and Jack with them; in what was probably a last ditch attempt to salvage their marriage, although they never said as much. As it would have meant spending my eighteenth birthday stuck with my parents in poxy Spain I refused to go. Instead I invited Al, Kyle and James round and we ended up sat in a circle, on my parents' lounge floor, high on E and sharing a collective nothingness. We were having a nice Friday night until out of the blue I heard James say, "You alright dude?"

I turned to him and he was looking at Kyle.

"Stop it!" Kyle shouted.

"I'm not doing anything," James replied.

"You are, I can see you doing it."

"What's up with you Kyle?" I asked tentatively.

"Look at what he's doing with his eyes," Kyle said.

I looked. He didn't seem to be doing anything with them, aside from using them to see. James had a sullen expression on his face.

"Can't see anything mate."

"You're fucking in on it as well then, look at him making his eyes shake on purpose trying to freak me out. I'm not having it. Stop fucking doing it."

Perpetually chilled out James looked at me and dejectedly shrugged his shoulders. He was in the same state as the rest of us; so fucked he could barely maintain basic motor skills, let alone make his eyes shake on purpose. Then he looked back at Kyle and said, "I swear dude, I wouldn't do that to freak you out."

"That's it, I told you not to give me them fish finger eyes!" Kyle shouted as he stood up.

I jumped up with him and ushered him outside. "Come on mate," I said, "let's go have a fag."

Once in the back garden I tried to talk him down, whilst not making eye contact with him in case he tripped out again and thought I was playing tricks on him as well. It was easy to tell what was wrong with him, he still wasn't over Louise. That combined with the drugs had sent him over the edge.

After a couple of minutes Al came out into the back garden alone. "James is alright now Kyle, he's promised not to do it anymore."

(I later found out that James hadn't actually admitted to Al that he'd been doing anything to wind Kyle up, but Al thought that by saying that he had it would calm things down. It didn't).

"So he'll admit it to you but not to me. I went to school with the prick, and he won't even admit it to me." Every word spoken seemed to lay another brick in the invisible wall between them. Kyle tried to storm past us to get in the house where James still was. "I'm not fucking having it, he's only fucking doing it to me."

In a moment I had one of those fantastically brilliant ideas that you always hope will come to you when you most need it. "Take Kyle down the side of the house for five minutes Al," I said, "I'm going to get something."

In the garage, under my bed, was a strobe light that I sometimes took to James's flat; normally when we had a big night planned. Never when Kyle was there though, it wouldn't be fair, seeing as he was epileptic. I plugged the light in and placed it in the corner of the room facing the door. Then, once I'd made sure Kyle was still down the side of the house, I rescued James and smuggled him into the garage. Then I turned the strobe light on.

"Did I hear James talking in there?!" Was the first I knew that Kyle had come back into the garden.

He flung the door open in a rage, ready to storm in but the strobe light stopped him in his tracks. He patted the pockets of his jacket down looking fruitlessly for the fake Ray-Ban sunglasses that had become his trademark at raves. "You fucking wankers!" he screamed at us through the quickly closed doorway. "Is this what its come to?"

Al squeezed past him and into safety.

"I told you dude I weren't even doing that eye thing!" James shouted through the doorway.

"You're lying bruv, you told Al you were doing it. I'll sit out here all night if I have to," Kyle said. "Sorry about this Lu, about James ruining your birthday."

"That's what you'll have to do then," Al said as he put my stereo on in the background. I forget what tape it was, probably something with an amen break. "Have fun."

"I will," Kyle replied. "With all the pills."

Bollocks. Double triple super-bollocks! Kyle had all the pills because he'd been the one to pick them up this time; my bloke Rick had been dry.

"Come on Kyle mate, we paid for our share of them," Al said.

"You can have them."

"Sweet."

"Not you. James can have them, if he comes out here."

"Yeah and then what are you going to do to James?" I asked.

"Nothing," Kyle said. "I'm just going to stab him, then right before he dies give him a blood transfusion. So I can stab him again."

"I'm not being stabbed just so you two can get a pill."

"Alright, yeah that was a bit harsh," Kyle said. "Lu?"

"Yeah."

"Have you still got your motorbike?"

"It's in the front of the garage Kyle."

"Does it still start?"

"Probably, yeah."

"You and Al hold James down while I run over his head and you can have the pills."

Al seemed to consider it for a moment. "No deal mate. Are you not cold out there?"

"Freezing. But like I said, I'll wait out here all night."

"Wouldn't you rather be in here in the warm?"

I nudged Al. "We can't let him in mate."

"If I come in James has to sit outside."

"Not happening!" James shouted.

"He has to go outside and he still doesn't get any pills. You two do though."

Al leaned over to James. "Go on mate, for me and Lu."

James turned to me. "Go on mate," I said, "do it for the team."

We sent James out through the old front door of the garage before turning the strobe off and letting Kyle in through the side. James then took a seat on the white plastic garden chair Kyle had been sitting on, moving it to the side so Kyle couldn't see him from where he was sitting next to us on my bed.

"It's proper freezing out here!"

I pulled the second duvet off my bed and handed it to James. He wrapped himself up in it like a caterpillar. Yet again he'd decided to come out in shorts.

"There's your two Al," Kyle said. "And yours Lu. James you're getting fuck all cos you won't even admit what you did."

"Alright dude I'm sorry."

"Nah bollocks. It's too late now, you should have admitted it earlier."

I had two more hours of this childish bickering; before I could get the four of us in the garage together. Even then I don't think Kyle had actually forgiven James, most likely he was too buzzing to argue any more. At one point while Kyle was taking a piss in the garden, Al whispered in my ear, "Don't ever let him find out about me and Louise. If he's this bad with James and James hasn't even done anything, he'll fucking kill me."

I wish Al hadn't said anything to me; I spent the rest of night unable to think of anything else. It's only ever harder to join in conversations when there's something you know you mustn't say.

* * *

Saturday was spent mostly doing nothing, just trying to put food back into my emaciated body without vomiting. Sunday lunchtime my parents got back. I was still feeling far from normal, though the super tidy house gave nothing away. For a change we had a Sunday roast together, most Sunday lunch times I'd either have already gone round Al's or I'd still be in bed from the night before.

My parents enticed me with stories of places they'd eaten and holiday photos to come. Fortunately this was in the days of cameras and film so it would be a while before I had to look at pictures of my mum and dad drunk outside Spanish bars, or even worse on the beach, sunburnt and in skimpy swimwear. After lunch I helped clear the table, then my mum got the ironing board out and started ironing some tiny person's school clothes.

"Whose are they?" I asked.

"They're your brother's, Lu."

"Jack's not at school."

"He starts school this year, his first day is tomorrow."

"Is it?" I hadn't even realised. As a side effect of sharing my time between work, sleeping and being on another planet, I had no idea my own brother was going to school for the first time.

"Are you telling me you didn't even realise Jack was starting school this year?"

"He hasn't told me."

"That's because you never speak to him."

"I'm never here," I retorted.

"You aren't ever here, and quite frankly I'm getting fed up of it. All you ever seem to do is stay out all night and sleep all day. Bill the neighbour told me he sees you coming home at seven in the morning some weekends. What are you doing until seven in the morning? I know you're not still down the pub."

"I crash round James's don't I?" I said.

"Oh yeah and get up to come home at that time of the morning? Don't lie to me, you don't even get up that early during the week."

"It's my weekend Mum," I said, "I can spend it how I want."

"That maybe so when you have your own house, not while you're living under my roof though. And another thing, why haven't you got a girlfriend? When I was your age I was with your dad."

"Girls mature earlier," I said.

My mum scoffed at me, "You haven't matured at all!"

I stormed off upstairs, where I found Jack alone in his and Dean's room.

"You're starting school tomorrow yeah?" I said.

"Yeah Lu," he replied. I watched him sat there on his bed and realised I couldn't remember the last time I'd just had a conversation with him; you know, while I wasn't doing something else.

"How are you feeling about it?"

"Alright." I knew he wasn't alright about it. He was nervous, the sort of nervous you get before you take any leap into the unknown.

"What school is it?"

"The Kirk-Leigh Academy."

I recognised it as the school Al did his work experience in, meaning it was the same school Al had gone to at Jack's age.

"What and little Lee from the end of the road is starting at the same time?"

"Yeah. He's going to the same school with me."

"That's because he lives down our road," I said. "You got all your stuff ready for tomorrow, like a bag and that?"

"Mum's getting it all ready for me."

I pictured him in a tie and a pair of grown up shoes, going into school to sit down at a desk. I still saw him as a toddler myself, just getting in the way and not being any use to anyone. It seemed incomprehensible that they would send someone off to begin eleven years of full-time education when, as I looked at him sitting on the edge of the bed, his feet didn't even touch the floor. He still had stuffed toys in the room.

"How are you getting there?"

"Mum's taking me."

"Yeah probably a bit far to walk at your age."

"I can walk," he said. "I'm five now!"

I tried to think back to when I was five. I vaguely remembered walking to school. Those were the days when most families only had one car; most families on the council estate I'd lived on at Jack's age had no cars in fact.

"I know you can walk, I mean it's too far to walk to school."

"I can walk that far," he said. "I think it's because Mum doesn't want to walk to school."

I laughed, "You're probably right Jack."

"You can come into the garage if you want," I said.

"Really Lu?"

I thought about it for a moment. He'd wanted to see in there for years, knocking on the door every day and shouting at me to let him in.

Having Jack in the garage always seemed out of the question before; there would always be the remnants of some kind of white powder left somewhere I'd forgotten about. The chances of him eating it, or finding a misplaced ecstasy pill that had rolled under the bed and eating that were too high. Knowing my parents were coming back today meant I'd had a proper tidy. I don't know why, it wasn't like either of them ever wanted to go in there. Regardless I'd gone to town; even to the lengths of vacuuming.

"Come on then." I led him downstairs and out into the garden, and as I opened the door to the garage his eyes lit up as he gazed at the wonder in there.

"What's that?" he asked

"What?"

"That there."

"It's a poster."

"What does it say?"

"Read it."

"I can't read."

"Oh yeah, that's why you're going to school." I looked at the picture of Ice Cube, Dr Dre, Eazy-E and MC Ren pulling their gangster faces. "N.W.A, Jack."

"What does that mean?"

"Er....Naughty With Attitude."

He spun around on the spot trying to take everything in; the skanky bed, the broken wardrobe in the corner, and the portable television and crap stereo perched precariously on two old chairs at the end of the room. He finally came to a stop facing into the corner.

"Why is there a door there?"

"That's the old part of the garage," I told him.

Having exhausted every exciting thing in the part I lived in, Jack ran through the door as fast as his little feet would carry him.

"You've got a motorbike?!"

"I've had that ages."

"I didn't know you had a motorbike."

"You've not been on a motorbike before have you."

"Never," he replied, jumping up and down so excitedly he looked like he might actually pop.

"Do you want to sit on it?"

He couldn't even answer, he just shook with anticipation. I lifted him up at his armpits, lowering him gently onto the seat. "Hold on to the handlebars." He knew how to do that from riding his own bike. "Now put your feet on the pegs."

I looked below him at his dangling feet, not even in the same postcode as the foot pegs. "Just put your feet there, on top of the engine." I helped him by tucking his feet from either side onto the top of the cylinder head. Then with him sitting safely on the bike I stood back and took a proper look at him. He looked like a younger version of me; freckles on his face like I still had and my thin brown hair. It was even cut like mine, a kind of choppy French crop that had been left to turn unruly for a couple of months.

"What do you think then?"

"It's the best thing ever Lu. Does it work?"

"It used to work Jack."

"Can I have a go on the back of it?"

"Maybe," I said. "You need to go upstairs and get ready for school tomorrow, it's special your first day."

"If I do that you'll take me out on the motorbike at the weekend?"

"Maybe Jack," I said, "as long as I'm not busy."

He ran out of the garage like a shot and disappeared upstairs. I didn't see him again once for the rest of the night.
We All Know a Lot Can Change With the Arrival of Friday Night

September 2001.

It was an everyday Tuesday at work, not long into September. I had recovered enough to be able to look back on the weekend with some positivity. Mondays were filled with constant thoughts of never again repeating over and over in my delicate mind; the cassette tapes in my Walkman reflected this. By Tuesday I had moved on from the gentle house music I'd been listening to, and onto something a bit darker. When the commotion happened I was listening to Belgian bleeps and bass hardcore.

At first I thought the fire alarm had gone off, as the people around me stood up and began to mill about. I took my earphones out but couldn't hear the sirens, only the sound of the radio turned up to full volume. Seeing as everyone was still inside it obviously wasn't a fire; then the sound of the news reporter on the radio quelled my curiosity.

"Unconfirmed reports are coming through of a passenger plane hitting the World Trade Centre in New York."

My first thought was how the hell does a plane hit a building? Listening to the conversations around me, that seemed to be the question most people had on their minds. The line managers, who sat at the back of the building, eventually managed to calm everyone down and return them to their seats, where they stayed for about ten minutes until reports came through of a second plane crash into the same building; at which point even I got out of my seat and joined in the conversation. Knowing the day was never going to return to being productive, the company let us all go early.

At the brief stop I made in Carlton Town every day while I waited for my second bus, I stood not at the bus stop as usual, but instead out the front of an electrical store on the opposite side of the road. A huddle of strangers stood with me and we watched, in disbelief, as the televisions repeated footage of hundreds of people dying in two big fireballs.

Al was usually home by four but I rang him from my house before walking round there just to make sure.

"Are you watching the news mate?" I asked him.

"Why the fuck would I watch the news?"

"What?! How can you not be watching it? Have you not heard? Terrorists have been flying planes into skyscrapers in America."

"Bollocks."

"Seriously mate, put the news on."

"What channel?"

"Any channel."

After a brief pause I heard the sound of his television in the background.

"What the fuck? That's insane!" Al said. "They just showed a replay of a plane crashing into a building."

"It's happened twice mate, into two buildings next to each other. Mental ain't it? Are you on your own at yours? I'll come round."

"Yeah....I'm just chilling out here."

"I'll come round mate and watch it at yours."

"Up to you Lu, I can't really be arsed to do much though."

It didn't matter; I had my shoes on and was halfway out the door. I got the usual funny look from the old lady in the post office for buying beer while it was still light out, then in no time was sat on Al's spare sofa watching the dust and debris rain down.

"Mad ain't it?" I said.

"Yeah pretty mental," he replied, of all the people I'd seen that day he seemed the least shocked.

"What's up with you mate? You alright?"

"Me and Louise split up."

"Oh no mate. Why?"

"She couldn't handle me getting mashed all the time."

He looked really upset and I knew I was the only person he could confide in, seeing as I was the only person who knew; and even I shouldn't have known, it had only been a slip of the tongue that had enlightened me. I had wondered whether that was an intentional slip of the tongue. If he was going to tell anyone it would have been me, his oldest friend. Either way I had another burden on me now, two friends to consol, both with broken hearts and both over the same girl.

"This is sick Al, showing people dying on TV. I bet some of their families don't even know they're dead yet."

"I know mate. But then part of you can't believe it's even real. It's like watching a film or something."

I knew exactly what he meant. The only problem was I didn't just have those feelings when watching the television; I was beginning to have them all the time. Spending so much time out of my head had left me constantly questioning the existence of what I saw with my own eyes.

I laughed a tentative, water testing laugh, "I feel like that every day mate."

"You're not the only one Lu."

"You're beginning to feel different?"

Al sniggered, "A bit. Like I'm not coming back down properly after I get high."

"I'm glad it's not just me, as bad as that sounds," I said. "What do you think is causing it?"

"Don't know Lu," Al replied, "maybe we need to take a break for a bit."

I nodded at him because I knew what he was suggesting was right. It wasn't as though it was particularly good advice; I bet most people when told of the amount of drugs we were taking and how regularly, would have recommended the same thing. It was still only Tuesday though, and we all know a lot can change with the arrival of Friday night.
Drink and Drugs Brought Him to Life

December 2001.

I woke to a pounding silence, in a strange magnolia room. The alarm clock beside me said ten o'clock; light peering through a crack in the curtains said it must be morning. Another night on the drink. From the bedroom window I could see the White Hart pub where I'd spent last night. A nice quiet country pub in an idyllic little village. I could remember walking in, the rest was a haze. The list of things we could have done wrong was endless, and it all lay just yards away.

Downstairs I found Al and Monica cuddled up on the sofa talking. She was young and pretty, with long dark hair and long legs. I don't know how Al managed it but he always seemed to attract good looking women. Memories of her inviting us home after the pub came flooding back. "My parents are away for Christmas," she'd said.

I remembered starting to drink on Boxing Day. I didn't know what day it was now; only that we hadn't yet had New Year's Eve.

"Sleeping Beauty's up," Al said sarcastically. He never was one for sleep. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Ten o'clock mate," I replied.

"Wrong!" he retorted. "Beer o'clock you mean."

He was right. Last night wasn't the first night we'd spent drinking; it might have been the third. If we had any hope of getting through the day we needed alcohol, preferably before the remaining vapours of last night wore off and we were reduced to a pair of trembling paranoid wrecks.

"Morning Monica," I said. She smiled at me and the state I must have looked. "You got any coffee?"

"I'll put the kettle on for you both if you like?"

"Fuck that," Al said rudely. "There's some co-codamol on the side in the kitchen. That's what you need."

He was right again. I swallowed a handful. They weren't mine, but I reasoned a doctor would probably prescribe them to me in the state I was in. Then Al presented me with my shoes, he was clearly in a rush. His shaking hands told me why.

"If you're going to the shop would you mind walking the dog with you?" Monica called out to us. But it was too late, Al was already slamming the door.

It was a cold frosty morning. I'd only gone out dressed for the pub so I didn't have a coat, or at least I think I'd gone out dressed for the pub. I still couldn't remember what we'd done the day before; I wasn't even sure when I was last home. The walk to the shop went the same as every morning walk to the shop to buy alcohol- a mixture of respectable elderly people waiting for buses; perfect families out for bracing walks together, with leads on their children and leads on their dogs; anyone who could look down on you for your choice of lifestyle. We were in a nice area and we didn't fit in. We didn't do nice. I don't know how people could tell on the way to the shop, but they always could. The two bottles of vodka we walked back with probably gave the game away.

We stopped on a bench at the side of the road for a fag.

"Did you shag her?" were the first words to leave my lips.

"Fuck knows mate, I couldn't even remember her name when I woke up. Luckily she'd saved her number on my phone last night."

"She seems alright Al, quite nice to look at."

"Yeah she's nice. I've been up since silly o'clock this morning chatting with her, we're getting on really well."

"That's good mate, might help you to have someone around with a bit of sense. It's the new year soon; 2002 might be a new start." I was pleased for him, a little jealous as well but jealousy doesn't come into it with true friends. When good things happened to Al it made me happy too.

A few sips of the vodka while we sat took the hangover away, and once back at the house we half filled pint glasses with the stuff, then topped them up with Coke. But it was never going to keep us going all day. Our energy levels were on empty, I was exhausted just from walking to the end of the road and back. We needed something to perk us up.

Al made a few phone calls in the garden, at a volume that ensured no one would miss what he was saying.

"Have you got any bennies mate? Nah. Go faster? No. What about sniff?"

No pills, speed or coke. This wasn't looking good. I went upstairs for a piss while I contemplated whether to spend the rest of the day drinking where I was, or somehow make it home and sleep forever.

Al came in after a few minutes, sat down, and prepared to break the news to me. He didn't need to, the people next door knew we couldn't get any gear.

"There's nothing about Lu," he told me. I took my phone from my pocket to look for numbers he might not have tried. "Except some shrooms."

"I'm not sure if today's the right day for trying mushrooms mate," I said. We'd somehow avoided magic mushrooms up until this point. They were on the big imaginary drug tick-list in my head, but today wasn't a day for working through that list. Today was a day for just getting through.

"No worries. I'll have your half. The bloke's on his way." So today was the day; there was no way I'd say no if they were put in front of me, seeing as I'd just finished my first half pint of breakfast vodka.

A little while later Al left to deal with the bloke, meeting him at the end of the road.

"Apparently what you do is eat a couple, wait an hour, then if you need to, eat some more," he told me when he got back. Very similar to the instructions on the co-codamol I thought.

We split the bag down the middle. They were long mushrooms with pointy triangular caps and thin stalks. I tried not to look at the mould growing on them as I chewed my half up and swallowed it in one, washed down with more vodka and Coke. Taking them didn't worry me, not like LSD did. I'd heard horror stories of people doing LSD once and spending the rest of their life in a mental institution. Mushrooms were a softer hallucinogen; things would look a little weird, colours would become more vivid, our hearing would be altered. I could handle that, it was the watching spiders crawling over your body while on acid that I didn't want.

The three of us topped our drinks up and made ourselves comfortable in her parents' large front room. I had a small black leather sofa to myself while in the middle of the room Monica and Al shared a larger one. Drawn curtains blocked out the midday shame.

Monica put a film on, Biodome, and the three of us laughed our way through the first half of it. It was ridiculous, like Dumb and Dumber without an actual plot, just two idiots taking it in turns to hurt each other and make jokes about masturbation. For the state of mind I was in though it was ideal; the rate the vodka was going down I'd have struggled to follow anything more challenging.

It wasn't long before the first wave hit me. No visual dramatics, just a sense the world had shifted slightly on its axis. Another ten minutes and it was spinning the wrong way; and strange things started happening.

The room we were in had two types of wallpaper; a kind of textured beige around the top half of the room and a vertically striped pattern around the bottom. The stripes were of contrasting dark and light blues. Between the two was a border with a flowery pattern. I watched as the flowers grew into each other and the patterns changed. This was something I'd seen a few times in the flowery curtains at James's flat; but always at the end of the night, never at the beginning.

"Definitely getting something now mate," I said to Al as I shifted in my seat. He nodded. He needn't have bothered. He was the same, I only had to look at his face to tell. We'd spent so much time together out of our heads that I knew him like I knew myself. Al lived a strange look, like someone in a constant state of suspense; just going through the motions of everyday life, like he was waiting for something to happen. While he had that look he was never happy. Drink and drugs brought him to life.

The wallpaper around the top and bottom of the walls began to rotate in different directions, the way it does when you're watching the news and a computer monitor is flickering in the background. It took me by surprise, but was captivating to watch at the same time. The multi-coloured flowers on the border separating the two wallpapers grew out further over the walls until they nearly touched the ceiling and the floor. Then they receded back to where they'd started from. The first hint of doubt collected in the pit of my stomach. Maybe we shouldn't have just eaten them all like that. How much more intense was this going to get? A big sip of vodka and Coke helped to block those thoughts out. It was too late to be changing our minds now, so it was a waste of time thinking about it. I could feel my eyes closing on their own as an overpowering tiredness came over me; my legs filling with lead as the actions of the last day or three caught up with me. I wanted to fall asleep. My brain had other ideas though.

I watched, mesmerised, as those same flowers kissed the ceiling; and wondered how long it would be before the whole room looked like a botanical garden. Soon there would be no escape from their meandering stalks. I was wrong. As the flowers stretched out onto the ceiling they changed into long thin strips of colour. Rich, vibrant, pure, every colour of the spectrum. Oscillating from the other end of the room, flowing like waves towards me; a scrolling rainbow playing before my eyes. It was getting a bit much now. This was by far the strongest hallucination I'd ever experienced, I was going to need a little chat with Al. A cigarette in the quiet of the garden on our own, just to bring things down a level. I looked over to the other sofa. Al's body had folded under him, but his head remained perfectly upright as he stared at the television screen in front. He looked as though some invisible giant was stood behind him, reaching round and pulling him back into his chair by his face. A beam of twisting colour fired straight out of the television and into his eyes. Pauly Shore morphed from the screen like a liquid and poured into his mind, all twisting and dripping in on itself, with long stretched oval eyes. His pink flesh oozed from the screen and ran down the front of the dark TV unit, where it pooled on the floor.

Fuck. We were drowning in colour.

There was nothing I could do but let the helplessness of our situation take over. I began to panic, but then a primal instinct kicked in and shut down the fear part of my brain. To allow yourself to become scared at a time like this would be far too dangerous. A normal mind couldn't handle being subjected to seeing this for any length of time, less so one as fragile as ours; you would risk suffering a total psychiatric collapse. It was better to switch to some kind of basic functioning- eyes, ears and vital organs, just enough to survive and to be aware of what you'd done to yourself. Lest the punishment fit the crime.

I knew there wasn't much more of this left in me. I just wanted to go away for a week and come back when the world was right again. I was begging for an escape, anything to relieve my overdosed senses.

Monica's dog Max strode in and sat down in front of me; a big golden Labrador watching me with condescending eyes. Then, as I stared at it and the random colours smattering its fur, it slowly began to talk....I can't remember what it said or how it said it, it doesn't matter. It was the final straw. I gratefully passed out.

The world has never felt as real since that day. I learned firsthand that what they teach you in school is true- the universe, you, your consciousness; everything you've ever seen or ever will see, are just electrical interpretations in your brain. The world is only there because your mind creates it, without you it all goes away. We're all taught that same thing, but seeing with my own eyes what happens when chemicals are added to our brains made me believe it. The way colours aren't fixed, and shapes can morph and become whatever they want to. It's a big thing to comprehend at eighteen. In fact it's a big thing to comprehend at any age.

* * *

Monica threw us both out the following morning, muttering something about never wanting to see Al again. If there was a lesson to be learnt from his breakup with Louise he definitely hadn't learnt it.

I don't remember how we got home. What I do remember though is how I felt. Like the world I knew was spinning beneath me. At first I'd held on with hands and fingers; now fingertips and cracking nails were all that stopped me being thrown off into space. I was barely keeping it together, navigating a world of lies and madness. What should have been a cocky eighteen year old, with intentions of changing the world, had become the opposite. I'd deteriorated, crumbled, a skinny gaunt husk of a young man. I wanted to curl up in a ball and die.

Things didn't get any better when my brother Dean caught me sneaking in the garage.

"Where've you been Lu?" he asked. "We haven't seen you since Boxing Day."

I contemplated what he was asking. I didn't even know how long ago Boxing Day was.

"Just with Al," I said. "Round some bird's place, having a drink."

"What for all that time?"

"Guess so Dean," I said, barely an idea of what I was saying, let alone whether it was true or made sense. "What are you doing up so early?"

"I fell asleep at eight last night so woke up earlier than normal this morning. Probably a good thing, get in a routine again before I go back to school."

He was fifteen now so when he went back in January would be preparing for doing his exams this year. I thought about the implications of Dean being this impressionable age and the effect it might have on him if the older brother he possibly looked up to was a useless druggie.

"Gotta make sure you do well in those exams Dean, think about your future," I said, trying to be grown-up but acutely aware that part of me wasn't even sure if my brother was an actual person or not. His face didn't look real, like there wasn't enough detail to it. As I stared at him more closely the detail slowly came back.

"What?"

"You know, Dean. These are the most important years of your life, what you do now will set out the way the rest of your life goes."

"What are you talking about Lu? You didn't take your exams seriously, because they're not important are they?"

"I was young then Dean." I tried to imagine what an older brother who hadn't spent at least the last three days pissed out of their head and eating magic mushrooms might say. "Now I'm older, I realise how important it is to get an education and a good job."

"Oh OK, Dad. So what's wrong with your job?"

"It's shit Dean. It's just a shit job for people who didn't do well in school."

"You get every weekend off and you've got money to go down the pub haven't you?"

"Yeah."

"Well what's wrong with that?"

"Nothing's wrong with that, not at the moment. But there will come a time when we'll want houses and families and that's when you need a proper job."

"What so you're gonna want kids and a family and a mortgage one day?"

I thought it over before I answered. Would I want to carry on doing this every weekend and feeling like shit for days on end, or would I want to have kids and a family one day? I was pretty sure I couldn't spend the rest of my life living like this, and if I did then the rest of my life probably wouldn't be as long as it could be. But then at least I'd be enjoying what life I had. The alternative, as the man at the head of a household, at my young age, sounded even worse.

"Maybe not me Dean. But I don't think like everybody else, do I?"

"What the fuck makes you think I do?"

That was it. The first hint that there was every chance Dean would go down exactly the same route as me when he left school in less than a year's time. Was it my fault? If it was, then whose fault was it that I'd ended up like this? I'd never had an older brother with footsteps to follow in. What if Dean turned out to be as bad as me; what if he was worse? Maybe that was my fault as well. Maybe I was just a bad egg. The thought of what I'd done to Dean made me run into the garage and throw up. Luckily I hadn't thrown up in front of him, though that might have helped him see this life for what it really was.

I had two choices really, give it all up or get better at hiding it. As I tortured myself over the conversation I'd just had, I had a moment of clarity. I'd have done anything to stop Dean from going down the same path I had. My family probably would have done anything they could to stop me continuing down the path I was already on.
Just the Four of Us, In the Company of the Ice Cold Night

February 2002.

The quickest way to get to Rick's to pick up was to drive straight into Carlton itself; past the police station and the town centre, then come out towards Great Carlton where you found his council estate. With the car full of drugs, the return journey was best taken on the quieter back roads where we'd be left alone; through Hemford, Thrope and finally back to Kirk-Leigh where we could either stay, or continue on to James's or Club Z.

As we crested a hill in the road I saw the first curious glow of the glass structures in the distance.

"Fuck going back to yours James, I've had enough of your flat. Let's go and see what all that light is, it seems like we've been talking about it forever," Kyle said, as we all gazed at the massive greenhouses. In the distance they shined enticingly.

"You sure dude? We've only just picked up, if we get busted now we've got enough for it to be intent to supply," James replied.

I wanted something different too. We'd all necked a pill as soon as I'd brought them back to the car and I was at that perfectly curious stage of coming up. "Yeah let's do it," I said. "Everyone drop another pill and I'll take the weed, just put the rest of the pills in a CD case and leave it somewhere away from the car. If we get busted they'll find the weed on me and think that's it."

"Al?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah cool with me. I wouldn't mind finding out what's in there," he replied.

We stopped in a lay-by a hundred yards down the road. Despite none of us being in a right state of mind, we still knew it would be too obvious to park outside. Just the four of us, in the company of the ice cold night. Oh and the biggest, brightest, most alluring sight I'd ever seen. I was itching to get in.

We sneaked in through gaps between hedging that stood as tall as trees. On the other side before you could get to the greenhouses, were assorted outbuildings; spread out resembling an urban warfare training ground. Sporadically placed floodlights made taking a direct path impossible. We ran instead from one bit of shaded cover to the next; with Kyle on point, keeping low to the ground and pulling in tight against the cold shadow of the walls every time we stopped. He would have made a soldier proud.

Finally reaching the first of our target buildings, Kyle flung open the rattly glass door and we were in. And everything changed. The air was warm and still; not quite hot, but it felt hot to February bones. Blinding light rained down from endless rows of powerful lights that hung from above. We went off in different directions, let loose, fuelled by the warmth that radiated through us. Running up and down perfectly straight lines of identical plants that filled the greenhouses, spreading out as far as they could. It smelt of heat, of green, of childhood summertime; like skipping the end of winter and all of spring. I couldn't remember the last time I felt like this.

We'd become as close as it is possible for a group of friends to be. We had explored together. Looked after each other when we were at our most vulnerable. We meant everything to each other. Yet in some ways we had grown to hate each other. Too many nights in the same flat, sitting in the same chairs, only ever talking to the person next to you because the music was so loud, was eating away at the bonds between us. Tonight though we were good- the air was new and the place was fresh.

I smiled when I bumped into James as he turned at the end of a row of plants; running towards me with both arms wide, hands touching the parallel lines of leaves. Then Kyle appeared and hugged us both from behind.

"You got the weed Lu?" Kyle asked. I nodded. "Who's up for a spliff?"

"Good plan," James said.

"Too right," I added.

"Al bruv!" Kyle shouted into the forbidden building. "We're having a spliff, do you want some?"

James and I smiled at each other and then 0.2 seconds later Al appeared in front of us.

"Where is it?"

"What?" Kyle said.

"The spliff."

"I haven't rolled it yet."

"I thought you'd already rolled it. I want to carry on looking around, I think there are more of these greenhouses."

"I'll come with you Al," James said. "Save us a twos for when we get back, we'll tell you if we find anything."

Kyle and I sat down next to one another. I unwrapped the weed while he stuck a couple of cigarette papers together. James and Al disappeared off into the night.

"How you feeling Lu?"

"Good mate, coming up pretty hard in here with all this light," I replied. "What about you?"

"Buzzing hard, reminds me of when we started doing it. Do you remember? That first time round James's? The feeling we had?"

"Don't mate, I've been thinking about that a lot lately, that first buzz, when we didn't know what to expect. It's not the same now."

"It's not the same is it?"

"It's not like, bad or anything. I just feel like I'm getting used to it. We keep having to do more each time, to try and get the same buzz; I think we're building up a tolerance to the ecstasy. We've been doing this nearly every weekend for two years."

Kyle looked straight at me through his fake Ray-Bans. "Yeah or the pills are shit now. I reckon that's what it is."

I sat almost touching close to him, our minds connected. "What are we gonna do mate, just carry on doing this forever?"

"We're not going to do it forever are we," Kyle said, passing me the spliff.

I took a deep drag and looked around at the jungle we were in. Somewhere between the chemicals and the conversation I'd become lost.

"So when are we going to stop? When it stops doing anything to us or when we finally don't want to do it?"

"Either, Lu. You'll know when it's time to stop, but you don't stop when you're having a good time do you?"

I took another big drag on the spliff and got blurred weed and ecstasy vision. Pinhead sized flecks of light sparkled in the air. "I'm having a fucking good time mate."

He laughed, "I've been trying to get hold of some mushrooms for us. I want to try them, after what you were telling me about when you and Al did them."

"Fucking mental they are mate, dunno about getting on them again," I said as I recalled that day in my head.

"Are you saying you wouldn't do them again then? If I manage to get hold of some."

I thought about it for a moment; whether I could handle seeing what I'd witnessed last time again. Then the drugs already in my system helped me make my mind up.

"Maybe mate. Everyone should be able to make space in their life for rainbow coloured ceilings and talking dogs."

I was really beginning to feel comfortable, it was easy when the buzz felt as good as this. I couldn't remember the last time he'd talked about Louise. It looked like he was finally over her. He was back to just being happy Kyle again and I was glad.

"If you squint your eyes it's like being in a tropical rainforest," he said.

I tried and he was right. "It's hot enough to be a tropical rainforest."

"You know you can tell me anything bruv?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah."

"You should have told me."

"Told you what?"

"About Al and Louise."

Fuck.

"What abou-"

"Don't pretend you don't know," he interrupted me. "I know you know."

I felt my heart start to beat faster as the little bubble I'd been in popped. I couldn't make Kyle's expression out through the shades hiding his eyes, but I knew my pupils that had been as wide as saucers must have dilated with fear. He was a big bloke Kyle, fuck knows what he was going to do next.

"H-how do you know?"

"Wanton's a small place. News doesn't take long to get about there."

"How did people find out?"

"Probably when they saw the two of them drinking together in the pub," he said. "I knew he would have told you about it, you two go back years together."

"He didn't tell me mate, it slipped out."

"Did it slip out? Or did he tell you on purpose?"

Thinking about it I suppose I didn't know; and maybe I never would. Al might not even have known why he'd told me.

"Have you spoken to Al about it?" I suddenly remembered he was here too. I didn't want Kyle to decide to get it all out in the open tonight.

"I didn't see the point, if I bring it up he's only going to think I want to fight him over it. Anyway we'd already split up so she was free to do what she wanted."

"So you're not pissed off?"

"Yeah I'm pissed off, Al took me for a mug. One minute he's trying to consol me over the breakup, the next he's round there with her. It's not worth falling out over though, he's suffering now anyway."

"What about with me?"

"I was mate. You could have told me, I had a right to know. I can kind of see why you didn't though. Both ways you were betraying a mate. I don't know what I would've done if it was me."

"So are you gonna tell him?" I asked.

"No Lu it's not something I want to do, I was hoping you would. Not tonight though, there's no point ruining a good night."

"Of course I will mate." I tried not to think about how badly that conversation could have gone, instead focusing on how good it was that he felt close enough to me to let me off like that. Then I began to feel guilty. All this time Al had been my best mate and everyone knew it. James and Kyle were never going to be as close to me as I was to Al. They hadn't grown up with me like he had, and that wasn't fair on them; we were all the same now. Everything had changed since that first night we shared those tablets, it was like the start of a second life.

"I love you mate," I said.

"Sometimes all you have is love," Kyle replied.

I turned to look straight at him. "And maybe that's enough."

* * *

It wasn't long before James and Al came wandering back through the plants. James had his jumper tied around his neck like a tennis player; the pair of them had their arms around each other's shoulders.

"You two wanna come and see what we've found?" James said. "There's more of these greenhouses."

"How many more?" Kyle asked.

"Loads more," Al said. "We don't know how many, they look like they go on forever."

We made our way through the greenhouse we were in, and out into the open. The cold air hit you like a bucket of water. I immediately realised it was a good thing. We'd gotten far too hot sitting inside; I could feel drops of sweat running down my back and as I looked at Kyle could see the same on his face.

The next greenhouse was identical to the one we'd come from, as was the one after that, and the one after that. We walked as far as any of us could be bothered, between row after row of identical plants, each with a black plastic watering pipe that hung down like an umbilical tube from a bigger pipe on the roof. We paused while we took it in turns to drink cold water from a hose hanging on the wall, then continued on. I felt like we were only going on because we were compelled to, like there was going to be some amazing thing waiting for us in the next greenhouse we looked inside of. There wasn't, they were all the same. So I was relieved when Kyle finally stopped us all by suggesting that we, "Stop wandering around the fucking garden centre forever and roll another spliff."

As we sat there and passed it round, we talked about nothing and everything; the nothing that meant everything to us. It was a night we needed, it cleared the air between us all. Kyle upheld his part of the bargain and said nothing of our conversation to Al. Then when the light of the world outside finally caught up with the brightness of the greenhouses, we left for home.

Excessive familiarity had built up between us but a night like tonight reminded us why we'd ever started this in the first place.
Quoting Bible Verses at People Is One Thing

March 2002.

Back at home my family life was mirroring my social life. My parents' marriage had all but disintegrated and my dad, having now become a recluse, was spending hours on end hidden away in what used to be Jack's bedroom. None of us knew what he was doing in there, and he'd fitted a lock on the outside of the door to prevent us from finding out. It was only by pure chance one day when he forgot to lock the door before he left for work that I managed to get in there. I knew there was a computer desk, I'd seen it before when I'd passed on the landing as he was going in; and I also knew there was a single bed. Neither of those things had helped me become any wiser about what he was actually doing in there.

To the right of the keyboard I found a copy of the Bible. Not the small one he always carried and quoted from, but a full sized copy, more suited to being read in situ. Then to the right of that were a pile of sketches. I knew I had time to look at them, my dad left for work first, followed by me; then my mum, Dean and Jack would get up. Not normally until after I'd left though, and today I had time to spare.

They looked to be the very early stages of a design for a Christian website. A large black cross stood proudly in the top left corner of each of the mostly pencilled on sheets of A4 printer paper. To the right of the cross he'd hastily scribbled Website Title in black pen; that and the cross seemed to be the only two solid decisions he'd made. Below them were a series of bullet pointed sentences that appeared to outline the nature of the website. It dawned on me as I was reading them that what I was looking at were a stack of prototype homepages.

I can't remember exactly what they said, although I can vividly remember what they meant. The gist of it was:

Jesus is here for all of us. Don't ask for his help, he already knows you need it. Instead ask yourself to let him help you.

I quite liked this first line. Flicking through the sheets underneath showed a series of different variations of the same message. This was by far the best worded version; I assumed it was the most recent evolution of the line, seeing as it was on top. The whole family knew my dad had turned to god to help him get through the divorce, my friends knew too and that was fine. I doubt many people turn to god for guidance when their life is going perfectly. I was just glad to know he had found a positive way to deal with what was going on.

No matter what you've done, Jesus will still love you, he only asks that you love him too.

This wasn't something I necessarily agreed with. I believe that some things a man can do are unforgivable. The idea of the people who commit those sorts of crimes ever getting into heaven unsettled me. Having said that I didn't believe in god or heaven or hell, so it made no odds to me. Maybe some of the people who did believe in god and heaven and hell believed that I wouldn't get into heaven for the things I did in my spare time. Maybe they were right. It was never going to stop me though.

I have been put here to spread the word from Jesus himself. Jesus was God's son, and we are all God's children, so as a son of God I am here only to guide you on your way.

What the hell?! My dad wasn't put here to spread the word of Jesus. He was put here to be my dad. Now he believed that Jesus was using him to communicate directly with the modern world.

This was all getting a bit too messed up. It's one thing believing that god is up there looking out for you when times are hard; actually believing your sole purpose on this planet is to, as god's son, spread his message is something altogether different. Now I was beginning to worry.

I'd not heard anyone else in the family mention this; I had to be the only one who knew. As much as I knew about it though, I didn't know what to actually do about it. We'd thought things were bad when he first started carrying round the Dictaphone. When that was swapped for the Bible we all thought things were getting better. Carrying a bible with you wherever you went and quoting verses of it to people who upset you still didn't seem like the most sane behaviour in the world, it was his coping mechanism though and it seemed to be working.

This was a step too far. Quoting bible verses at people is one thing; being convinced you are god's personal messenger is something entirely different. Just as in my own life, something in his was going to have to change. I left his room, locking it on the way out. He didn't need to know that I knew, and for the same reason I couldn't tell anyone about it. I just hoped that something in his life that needed changing would change soon.

The whole day while I was at work I wrestled with what to do, how to deal with what I'd found out. When I got home he was already locked away in his bedroom. I had a restless night followed by another day at work being unable to concentrate. By the time I got home again on that second day, I'd made the decision I was going to get him on his own to talk about it.

When I opened the front door I was greeted by my mum in floods of tears.

"It's your dad," she sobbed. "He's moved out."
Fresh-faced At Fifteen and Excited about Biking and Life

March 2002.

My dad rang me the day after he moved out and invited me to see where he lived. We agreed I'd come round on Friday after work, I asked Al if he'd come with me.

He'd moved into a flat only a few miles away in Wanton. We had planned to get the bus but having missed the first one, Al had the brilliant idea of taking my old motorbike and going via the fields. I didn't hold out much hope of it starting, but either way we had an hour to waste before the next bus was due.

I cleaned three years worth of dust from the pair of black crash helmets I now had in the garage, and turned on the ignition of the poor little bike that had sat there for so long, waiting for us to come back. Al took the handlebars from me and shook the bike back and forth to slosh the stale petrol up, and it purred into life on the first kick. Fortunately machines don't hold grudges.

As we set off down the road memories came flooding back to me; of how my dad had told me about setting the oil mixture up in the tank, and how Al and I had been so fresh-faced at fifteen and excited about biking and life. I lifted the visor and the wind seemed to blow straight through my mind, taking with it the stresses that had built up over the last few years of getting wasted. With my eyes focused on what was coming towards me and my brain focused solely on my eyes, I felt that if I wanted to think about something clearly then now would be the perfect time. But I didn't want to think about something. I didn't want to think about anything. It was too much thinking that was half of the problem. I seemed to spend the majority of my life worrying about things I could do nothing about.

First we passed through the field that set the boundary of the top of the village, then just like that first time we took the bike out we turned left until we reached the main road. Once we'd crossed the road it was straight down Island Lane until we reached the backwaters then turn right at the end and follow the coastal path to Wanton. I wondered why I'd never done my bike test and used the thing properly. I guess the commitments of a full-time job and a compulsion to get out of my box at every available opportunity had gotten in the way.

We were soon there; the controls of the bike having never left me, and the route being impossible to get wrong. Flat 15 E, Winnock Road. In its former life it had been one big house, number 15. The E denoted that my dad's was the fifth of five flats. If I'd had to choose one of those flats I'd have had the one with an E on too; though I didn't tell him that when he answered the door.

"Alright Lu," he said, reaching out to hug me. "You didn't tell me you were bringing your girlfriend."

"Long time Mark," Al said. They shook hands and both smiled.

"Come in. I'm at the top of the stairs."

We followed him up. Like most flats I'd been in it had a shared stairwell. I didn't pay a lot of attention, I was more interested to see where he actually lived.

He opened the door to the flat. As I walked into the front room-cum-kitchen, the first thing I noticed were stacks of unopened boxes in the corners. Sitting on top of them were black bags full of clothes, most of them opened, probably when my dad was searching for something to wear.

"Why've you got crash helmets with you?" he asked. "Did you ride here?"

"Just over the fields Dad, we pushed the bike the last bit down the road when we got into Wanton."

"Oh yeah, I believe you," he said. "Have a seat, do you want a coffee?"

I nodded then sat down next to Al on a dated green flowery sofa facing into the kitchen.

"Two sugars Mark," Al said.

"I wasn't asking you," my dad laughed. "Right where are the mugs?" he muttered to himself as he started opening random boxes. "I mean apart from you Al."

"Have you not had a drink all week Dad?"

"Me? Yeah I bought the spare kettle home from work and my mug. You're the first guests I've had round here though. I've just thought, I might not have any milk."

I got up and checked in the fridge, it was handy having the front room and kitchen combined into a single space. "Nah you've only got a little bit left in there," I said, shaking the carton in front of him to prove it. "I'll go and get some from the shop."

"It's alright, I'll get some," Al said. My dad handed him a pound and some keys.

"Two pints of green milk. The gold key is for downstairs Al, I'll leave my front door open."

Al left.

"So how are things at home Lu?"

"Quiet Dad. And a bit strange since you've not been there."

"Are your brothers OK?"

"Yeah I think so. Jack's probably too young to properly understand what's happened yet. Dean's alright, he wanted to come this evening but I told him you'd only invited me."

"I was going to try ringing your mum after you go and see if she will let me have the two of them tomorrow; maybe we could find something for us to all do together."

"That would be nice."

My dad stood up. "Come on I'll show you the rest of the flat."

I followed him back into the hallway where we'd come in.

Turning off into the bedroom there was a single divan bed, neatly made but with a double duvet draped over it that was far too big. In the corner was an empty pine wardrobe with both doors wide open.

"The bathroom's through there Lu," he said.

I put my head round the door and marvelled at the aubergine bathroom suite and green carpeted floor. A tired white shower curtain with a few rings missing hung from a rail.

"So how long are you here for Dad?"

"I had to pay for the first three months upfront Lu. The landlord wanted references which I didn't have so I had to give him two extra months' rent."

"So you'll stay here for three months?"

"I don't know yet Lu. I've only been here a week haven't I?"

"But you're not going to come back home?"

"I doubt it. Why? Do you want me to?"

"I want you to be happy. It doesn't matter where you're living, there's no point in you coming back to live at home if you're not happy."

He smiled a relieved smile, "I just hope your brothers see it that way."

"It's not like it came as a surprise really Dad," I said. "You'd been living in Jack's bedroom for months."

He laughed out loud, "Yeah I suppose not. I bet even the neighbours knew I was going to end up going, after some of the rows me and your mum have had."

I laughed too. I couldn't remember ever laughing while I listened to them arguing, but having lived in the garage for so long now, I actually had to think back to recall the days of almost constant shouting.

Al arrived back from the shop with a two pinter of full fat milk and my dad made us all a drink. He'd only managed to find one mug and one cup while searching through the piles of still packed boxes, plus the mug he'd bought home from work. I assumed Al would get the cup so was surprised when my dad washed the whole lot up and had the little cup himself.

"So where are you two going after this?" my dad asked.

"I think we're going to drop the bike back off at home and go down the pub, come with us if you like," I replied.

"Yeah you should come with us Mark," Al said.

"I would do boys, but I need to ring your mum after you've gone and try to persuade her to let me have Dean and Jack tomorrow. I don't think it would strengthen my case calling her from the pub."

"Probably not," I laughed. It wasn't going to take much for my dad to get my mum's back up this week. If there was any chance of my mum letting him see my brothers tomorrow it would be because she saw it as being for their benefit and not his.

We finished our drinks and left, after Al had been shown round both of the other rooms in the flat too.

"Have fun down the pub then you two," my dad said, giving me a hug before being emotionally blackmailed into also giving Al one by Al's waiting outstretched arms.

"See you soon Dad," I called back to him as we walked off down the road, while he stood in the door frame watching us walk away.

I felt strange inside. I could see that he was calmer now and that it had been a good thing for him to go; but at the same time it didn't feel right walking away from my dad's house, it always used to be just our house.

"Back to Kirk-Leigh then Lu."

"Change of plan Al," I said. "Let's go to the Solitude Bar first, I need a pint."

* * *

By the time we left the bar I could barely stand up straight. Fortunately we'd left our crash helmets hidden behind a thick hedge outside. I doubt the bar would have let us leave with them if they'd known we were intending to ride home.

The journey back was fantastic. With the pair of us on it the bike would only just hit thirty, even in top gear. I made it my mission to maintain our top speed no matter what was in front of us, ignoring pedestrian crossings and red lights without refrain. With eight pints of extra confidence in me I managed to hold speed through the sharpest of corners, crossing onto the other side of the road on the approach before leaning hard through them on the straightest possible line. Our fun on the black British racetrack was only interrupted when a police car suddenly appeared from behind. Luckily it turned out to be a flying visit when he pulled up beside us, gave us a funny look, then demonstrated how much faster he was than us by shooting off down the road.

I dropped Al home first then cut the engine and pushed the bike back to mine. There was no need to wake my mum up, that would only lead to questions I didn't want to answer; and especially not at this time of night.

As I walked the cold street lit road, I realised Al hadn't asked me how I felt about the dad moving out thing. I think he knew me well enough to know that if I wanted to talk about it I would, but then he probably knew me well enough to know what I was thinking without me even saying it. Either way, it's the mark of a good friend when they just let you be.
They Want You to Put Your Hand In

April 2002.

A brand new tape-pack full of ten year old music had been released- Slammin Vinyl at The Sanctuary in Milton Keynes. What I'd really wanted was to actually go to the rave, but everyone else was either working that night or skint. I was disappointed about not making it there, but having a job that allowed me to listen to eight uninterrupted hours of my own music every day would soon fix that. Having been paid on the last Friday of the month, the plan was to go to the shop in Carlton on Saturday morning. I would then take the first bus back, with my Walkman so I could start listening to it before I even I got home. It was the perfect plan, flawless in its design and with no chance of working out anything other than immaculate.

Mindful of that I found myself down the White Hart after work on Friday with Al and James. I'd only said I'd come out for a few drinks, which wasn't so much for their benefit as mine; after the week I'd had at work I needed a few drinks as much as anyone. They knew I'd be leaving early though, I'd made concrete plans for the following day, the shop was shut on Sundays and I wasn't going to wait for another week. At ten o'clock I said my goodbyes, then James threw a spanner in the works by offering to pick Al and I up in the morning and drive us to Carlton, on the condition I stay out until the pub shut.

At one am I staggered through the garage door and collapsed in a heap on the bed, convinced I wasn't going to Carlton the next day. So imagine my surprise when the two of them actually turned up the following morning, looking like shit and wearing last night's clothes.

"Surprised you fuckers actually got up," I said, wiping sleep from my eyes. "How are you both feeling?"

"Bit rough still man," James replied. Though he hadn't needed to tell me, I could see it in his face.

"I'm not too bad mate, feel like I'm perking up a bit," Al said, handing me a can of breakfast.

"All set then Lu?" James asked.

"Yeah mate."

"Well come on then."

Al took the front passenger seat, seeing as he'd already been sitting in it on the way to mine. I got in the back where I found a pile of old VW Camper magazines that I briefly flicked through.

The drive to Carlton was over in no time. When I say no time I mean there is no way of measuring the amount of time it took us to get there. It would be like resting a stone on the table in front of you then measuring how long it took for it to get to the moon. I'm not even sure James had taken the handbrake off.

"Can you not go any faster mate?" I said. "The magnetic code on the tape will have gone by the time we get there."

"I'm making sure I don't get stopped on the way there," James replied, "I'm probably still over the limit."

"Stopped? If you go any slower the police will think we've broken down."

Al turned to me and laughed, "I bet every time he parks people think he's broken down. Wanky green VW Polo shit-mobile."

"It's better than your car Al," James retorted as we pulled over in one of Carlton Town's backstreets.

"Not for long mate."

"What?"

There was a long drawn-out grunting sound from Al's arse as he filled the car with shit flavoured gas. "Enjoy the Stella fart you knob."

"Cheers schmuck. Don't get bummed today will you," James said. "See you later Lu, watch Al doesn't try to bum you. Are you coming down the pub again tonight?"

I turned to James, after climbing through the smell of Al's intestines. "Think so mate, gonna have to get some more sleep today though. I still feel like shit."

"You don't need sleep you tart! What you need is another one of these," Al said, thrusting another can of beer in my hand. "Fuck off then James."

"Fuck off Al you prick."

There was a final solitary "twat" from the driver's side window of the little green Polo as it left us.

We soon arrived at the shop.

"Alright Lu, Slammin Vinyl is it?"

"You know me too well," I replied.

The man who ran the shop wasn't the same man who owned it. I never met the man who owned it. If I'd had to guess I'd have said he was in his thirties, always clean shaven and with perfect hair, and always immaculately dressed. The shop sold mostly men's clothes, with rack upon rack of hundred pound tops and equally expensive jeans and shoes. Every so often when I was in there I would see something I liked; I never got as far as trying anything on though, the ridiculous price tags saw to that. The reason he also sold tape-packs was because before becoming a clothes shop it had been a music shop. Once that closed down people would go to Woolworths or one of the supermarkets to buy their mainstream CDs. There was nowhere in Carlton you could get your tape-packs from however.

Having turned away a huge swathe of potential customers when the shop was first taken over, the new owner decided to tap into this market. So you now had a shop where you could buy a pair of Paul Smith trousers, a Ralph Lauren shirt, and with the change left over from two hundred and fifty pounds just about get a copy of a tape-pack from a rave where you would never wear your Paul Smith trousers or Ralph Lauren shirt. None of my circle of friends would ever have shopped there, I remember the stick I got when I bought a pair of retro trainers with Velcro instead of laces. The only exception was James, but he wouldn't have shopped there either, seeing as he always looked as though he'd just walked in off Newquay beach. Having paid the man and listened to as much of the soulful jazz music in the background as I could possibly take, we left the shop and set off down the road, while I pondered what to do next.

"I'm out of beers Lu."

I got us a couple of Stellas in the nearest pub which was the Londoner's Parade. Then we took a seat by the window facing out over the pier. There's a magical feeling that accompanies drinking while watching the sea that you just can't recreate inland.

"So what's the plan now Lu?"

"The buses come every hour mate," I said, "but I don't know when the next one is due."

"Within the next hour," Al stated the obvious. I could tell he was pissed again from last night.

"You don't want to go home yet do you? We don't get up this way very often."

"True mate," I said. "Fuck it, let's have a few drinks and a wander about."

"Sweet, it's my round."

The next couple of hours passed quickly. The roughness I'd felt on waking gradually disappearing as the day became just a continuation of the night before, briefly punctuated by the drunken nap shoehorned into the middle.

The next destination was Carlton pier itself. Having sat facing it for so long, its big red and yellow sign had somehow imprinted itself onto our subconscious....and who doesn't want to go on a pier when they're pissed?

We wobbled slightly down the steep slope that led to the entrance, Al taking tiny steps to keep his balance. Then onto the pier with its noisy amusement arcades and miniature indoor kids rollercoaster, until we reached the entrance to the sea-life centre.

"Have you been in there before Al?"

"Nah mate, what's in there?"

I pointed to the sign. "Er....sea-life Al."

I paid the few coins that would keep us occupied for a while, and we put our wristbands on and made our way in through the dark entrance.

"Can you imagine being that lobster?" Al asked excitedly, peering in with his face almost pressed against the glass. "Like if you'd been born a lobster, can you imagine how fucked up that would be? If instead of you, you were a lobster."

Unfortunately I could imagine it, and it filled me with the strangest feeling. I was still trying to shake off that feeling when I heard. "Check this out Lu, this sea anemone thing. That would be fucked up. At least the lobster can move."

He was right, being the lobster would be better than being the anemone. I don't know by how much though, they both seemed pretty shit options to me. I think I might have just chosen rock; if we'd been playing rock, lobster, sea anemone.

We continued through the tight maze of fish-tanks, filled with crabs and fish and octopuses until we came out into a cavernous room with just one massive round tank in the middle. The sides of the tank were transparent and through the sand tinged water you could see big fish; brown and white spotted dogfish that bullishly chased bass, round and round in silver circles; then above them at the very top, a handful of massive rays that swam with only their eyes sitting clear in the air. The floor led into a ramp that climbed up around the big glass tank until you were looking down on the fish inside. There was no lid.

"Lu you can put your hand in and touch them," Al said.

"I don't know if you're meant to Al."

"Yeah mate, that's why there's no lid, they want you to put your hand in. So you get your money's worth. If they didn't want you to touch the fish they'd have put a lid on. Why else would they have this ramp here?"

It seemed like a valid argument.

Al waited for a big dogfish to swim by, before reaching out and touching it on the top of its back, waiting until the first part of the fish had passed his hand before he did.

"That's the nuts Lu, it feels like sandpaper," he said. "Try touching one of them when they come past."

I picked one circumnavigating the tank, watching it to see if it was watching me. Then I slowly put my hand out and held it above the water to let the fish swim underneath without me scaring it away. When just its fish face had passed under my hand I dipped my fingers into the water, and touched it on the top of its head.

"It does feel like sandpaper mate, I wonder if that's so the other fish don't eat them."

"Probably," Al replied.

"I touched mine on the head," I said. "Even though it was close enough to bite me if it wanted to. Touch one on the head."

"I'll touch one of those manta ray things for a beer."

"Pint of Stella mate, only if you touch it on the head though."

Al shook my hand. "Done."

The pair of us stood there motionless for a while, waiting to see if fate would allow Al to carry out his promise. In the meantime a dad with a couple of young boys came in. They climbed the ramp like we had and stopped on the opposite side of the tank to us.

A ray came slowly swimming around the top of the tank. Al had his chance. It was massive; a good three feet wide and long, although only a few inches thick. With a long thin tail that stuck out the back like the aerial on a radio controlled car. As it swam it flapped its wings like flying. Al stretched his arm out ready to touch it, and anticipation filled the air, as the two young boys on the other side watched on excitedly. Al tentatively reached out a couple of fingers and tried to pat it on the head, but at the last minute it flicked up to the surface and tried to kiss him on the hand.

"What the fuck?!" Al shouted as he snapped his hand away from the gay fish. "Did you see that Lu? The fucker tried to bite me."

The dad and the kids started laughing at us, the dad stopping when he realised we'd noticed him.

"I think he just wanted a kiss mate," I reassured him.

"Fuck this, I've had enough of this. Let's get another drink."

* * *

We walked back out into the brightness of the pier and the welcome of another bar, situated halfway down the wooden length, with panoramic views over the sea and of Carlton itself. The beer inside was perfectly cold, and we had another couple each while we discussed the fish we'd just seen. Al put a fiver in the fruit machine and got a fiver back out, then we had one last drink before we left to get the bus.

I dug around in my pocket for the bus fare for the pair of us. Seeing as I'd dragged Al with me it was only fair I paid. Not even enough for a pint, let alone two bus tickets.

"Fuck mate. How much money have you got?"

"A couple of quid," Al said. "Not enough even if we put our money together."

"Fuck. How are we gonna get back?"

"You'll have to take the tape-pack back Lu."

Bollocks. That was the only way we were going to get the bus fare together, but that was also the only reason we'd come out. All that effort I'd put into leaving the house hung-over and spending the whole day wandering around and I was still going to go home empty handed.

"I haven't even listened to it yet Al. I only want one fucking tape out of it, why can't they sell them individually so they wouldn't cost so much?"

"Just take out the tape you want and replace it with the one out of your Walkman, the bloke probably won't even check," Al suggested.

"That's a good idea mate," I laughed. "But if he does check then I'm fucked, I'll have to go to Canchester from now on to get my tape-packs."

I thought about it for a moment.

"Follow me Al, I've got an idea."

I took the tape out of my Walkman and the DJ Sy tape I wanted from the tape-pack, and led Al into Dixons. Carefully looking around to make sure we weren't being watched, I put the pair of them into one of the stereos on display and hit high speed dubbing. Then we went to the nearest off-license and spent the last of the money we had on two cans of Stella and the biggest bags of beef crisps they sold. An hour later we came back to Dixons and I collected the two copies of the tape I now had.

When I went back to the clothes shop for a refund I tried not to make it too obvious that I'd spent all my bus money on beer. I could tell he knew though. What he also thought he knew was that I'd be back the following week to buy that same tape-pack. Unbeknownst to him I already had the tape I really wanted.

Truth is he was still right. I needed the original tape, and the others that I didn't really want, and the case with the picture on that matched the flyer I had at home. All I was doing was delaying the transaction.

Now with enough money to get both of us home and still have a tenner spare, we sensibly made our way back to the bar on the pier. By this point it was six o'clock, nearly drinking time for a Saturday, when most people would be thinking about leaving the house. I was actually beginning to contemplate going home to bed. Regardless we made our way past the still open but now empty amusements, to find we no longer had the bar to ourselves.

Four big shifty looking blokes stood and ordered drinks; three in serious black leather jackets and one in brown, and all with serious faces.

"Bit dodgy looking them Al don't you think?"

He drunkenly glanced at them, then back at me, before laughing, "Just a bit. Maybe find somewhere to sit over the other side of the bar."

I got us both another pint, then once the four blokes had sat down, followed Al to the opposite side of the bar to sit by the pool tables.

"Fancy a game Lu?"

"Yeah go for it mate," I replied, knowing full well he would kick my arse.

We set the balls up, tossed a coin, and Al broke, potting a red. Before he'd even had a chance to line up the second shot one of the blokes came over and put a fifty pence coin on the table.

"Winner stays on lads. Yeah," he asked us in a statement.

"Er....yeah," Al replied.

When I finally got my first shot I made sure to pot one of Al's balls. There was no way I was going to play against them. Al continued to do what he always did when he played pool. Look like someone who'd never played before, tripping over his own feet, and bashing the cue against the table, right up until the point he struck the ball, when it would move as if commanded by some higher force to go exactly where he wanted it to. Having only gotten one ball down by the time Al was one red away from being on the black, I practically threw the towel in and started just knocking my yellows about.

With me put out of my misery Al nodded to the table the others were sitting on. All four of them got up.

"You can have the table if you want," Al said to the one who'd approached us before. "We were only going to have one game."

"That's not how it works. Winner stays on, those are gentlemen's rules," the shiftiest looking one of them said. "But I'll tell you what, Gaz you play him, if he doesn't want to stay at the table you'll soon get him on his way."

"Alright Gaz, I'm Al," Al said, shaking his hand. The rest of us then exchanged names; Lu; Tel; Jon; Gaz; Al and Steve. I remembered who Gaz was because he had a cue in his hand, and I remembered Jon because he was the only one of them to have hair. The other two I quickly mixed up.

As previous winner, Al broke, potting a red straight away like last time.

"Make the most of that Al," Gaz quipped, rolling up his sleeves to reveal both arms were completely covered with green faded tattoos. "You won't be getting any more of them."

Al smiled.

"Get a round in will you Steve?" Jon said.

"In a minute Jon. Me and Tel are just going off for a bit," Steve replied.

"Fuck's sake. Lu, that's your name isn't it?" Jon said. "You get the drinks in, we'll get the next lot."

"Er...." I was still trying to work out how I was going to buy drinks for six people, when he shoved thirty quid in my hand. "No probs."

The leggy young barmaid reappeared from out the back. "What are you having?"

I turned back to the group minus two. "What are you all drinking?"

"Just get us all a beer," Jon replied.

"Six beers please."

"What sort of beers?"

"What sort of beers?" I asked.

"I don't know, fucking IPAs."

"Four IPAs and- "

"I don't drink IPA, I drink lager," Gaz called out from the pool table.

"Three IPAs and a...." I looked over at Gaz. "Stella?"

"Yeah Stella," he nodded.

"Three IPA's and three St-"

"Whoa hold on, Tel drinks lager sometimes," Gaz said. "He won't drink Stella though, makes him angry. He's angry enough without it."

"Am I going to have to do this my fucking self?" Jon was looking angry now too, so angry he started walking towards the bar. "Right. A Stella for Gaz, I'll have an IPA, what did Tel have last time?"

"I don't know who Tel is," the barmaid replied.

"What did the other two have last time?! It doesn't matter who had what. It was a Stella, an IPA, and then what?"

"I don't know, I didn't serve you."

"For fuck's sake. Is it really that hard?"

I looked over at Al, he was totally engrossed in the game. As much as like me he didn't want to have to spend any more time with this lot than he had to, he also didn't want to lose. He was two balls ahead. Gaz was sat down at the table with a somewhat bemused look on his face, probably because he was losing to a kid. Opposite him were two near empty pints of IPA. I took a deep breath.

"Steve and Tel both had IPA," I said. Jon looked at me funny. "Their glasses are still at the table." I gestured in their direction with my head. "So it's three pints of IPA and three pints of Stella. Please."

"Finally, someone's got their fucking head screwed on. You Gaz are as much use as a chocolate fucking teapot." Jon leaned over the counter towards the barmaid. "And six Sambucas please love. And do us all a favour, remember what you've served us."

For a moment it looked as though the barmaid was going to remind him that it hadn't actually been her who served them last time, then reconsidered and got on with her job.

Steve and Tel came back, a tell-tale white powder ring surrounding one of Steve's nostrils. He wiped it away when Jon pointed it out to him.

"Have that!" I heard Al only half shout from the table, in an obviously more subtle celebration than normal. Gaz's last two yellow balls lay forgotten on the baize.

"You haven't let one of these kids beat you have you Gaz?" Steve asked.

"He's not bad him."

"No? Rack them up for me and I'll show you how it's done," Jon said.

Al broke again as I sat down with my new mates; Steve, Tel and Gaz. It was only when I'd filled the spare chair at the table with the three of them that I truly realised how menacing looking they were. All three of them had tattoos; Gaz by far had the most with his pair of sleeves, Steve just had a few on his arms and Tel, now he'd taken his coat off so I could see them, had a pair of swallows on either side of his neck and a matching one on each hand. Tel looked like a doorman, a big fat bloke with one of those heads that doesn't require a neck. The other two were just big blokes. Gaz especially, with solid arms and vast shoulders that hung his tight fitting grey v-neck top.

"Did that ponce pay you back that monkey in the end then?" Steve asked.

"Yeah." Gaz held out the back of his right hand so we could see his knuckles were red raw. "Once I'd asked nicely."

The three of them then laughed.

I gulped down a big chunk of my beer and contemplated leaving the table and running away. Looking up at the pool table, Al and Jon had only just started. I'd have to wait a little bit longer. Unless of course one of them asked me nicely to get them a beer. If that happened I was off.

"Are you from Carlton?" Tel asked me.

"Nah mate. Kirk-Leigh."

"Kirk-Leigh? What the fuck do you do in Kirk-Leigh?"

"Fuck all," I replied, "that's why we're out in Carlton."

"What about your mate Al. Is he from there as well?"

"Al? Yeah, poor bastard was born there. I didn't move there till I was fourteen, he's always lived there"

"So do you work in Kirk-Leigh?"

I laughed, "Nah mate. If you don't work in the post office or either of the pubs then you have to work somewhere else."

"Why? Is that all there is there?"

"There's a church," I said. "But you don't need me to tell you I'm not the vicar."

The three of them laughed and I felt a little more comfortable.

"I work in Carlton, at Precisional Electronics," I said.

"What that place that makes all those electrical things?"

"Yeah."

"I bet that does your swede in, doing that all week," Tel said. "No wonder you need a fucking drink at the end of the week."

The three of them let out a kind of sympathetic sigh on my behalf.

"Oi Jon!" Tel shouted. "Guess where this one works?"

"Hold on Tel I need to concentrate, he's only fucking beating me," Jon replied. "Go on, where?"

"Precisional Electronics."

"What that factory that makes all that electrical shit?"

"Yeah."

"Fuck that, I bet that does your head in."

Tel laughed, "Yeah that's what I said. Fuck that."

"What about you Tel? What do you do?" I asked.

"Buying and selling," he replied, without giving much away.

"Buying and selling what?" I pressed him. Suddenly I felt Steve and Gaz's eyes on me.

"A bit of this and a bit of that."

"So are you all from Carlton?" I swiftly changed the subject when I realised what Tel was getting at, in doing so I think they all realised I knew what Tel was getting at.

"All of us apart from Steve," Gaz said.

"I'm from the east end of London," Steve said.

"How do you know this lot then?"

"I'm Jon's cousin. Why?"

I began to feel very uncomfortable again, hoping we'd get out of here sooner rather than later. "No reason."

"Oh right."

Time seemed to stand still as I realised I wasn't welcome at the table any more. They all knew each other and I was the stranger sitting in the fourth chair. I prayed for a distraction.

"Have that!" Again came from the pool table. Two-nil Al, well done, cheers mate, that's us stuck here even longer. It had been too long already.

"Did he beat you as well?" Gaz asked.

"Yeah, it was fucking close though. We were both on the black. We both fucking missed it once as well. You can't let Al have a second go on a ball though, he never misses twice."

"At least I'm not playing shit then," Gaz said.

Jon turned to me. "Does he beat you every time you play?"

"Not every time, but pretty much. I've beaten him a couple of times, normally when he pots the black and white at the end; it doesn't happen often though," I replied.

"So what? Are we all gonna take it in turns to play Al?" Tel asked, bemused.

"Like you said...." Al paused for a moment. "Winner stays on, those are gentlemen's rules."

Jon smiled at Al and I, "I like you two lads. Tel come with me for a minute. Lu while I'm gone get us all another drink, you're the only one here I can trust to get it right."

"Pint each?" I asked.

"Yeah like last time, and Sambucas again." He pushed a couple of notes into my hand. "Oh and don't forget my fucking change."

Once I'd got the drinks in we carried on chatting about nothing. I made sure not to ask any questions from now on that might sound prying. I mainly let them tell stories, about fights or drinking or run-ins with the police. In every story someone else seemed to be to blame. They were actually really nice blokes to talk to; but you wouldn't under any circumstances want to be on the wrong side of them.

I watched on as Al added Steve to his list of defeated opponents. Then finally Tel, during a brief period when he wasn't in the toilets with one of the others. At four-nil it seemed like the point they would have thrown in the towel and given up, so I wasn't surprised when they did, having already spent enough time being shown the proper way to play pool. Unfortunately for us we couldn't leave, having unintentionally become part of their group; and on top of that neither Al nor I had bought a round yet or were in a position to do so. The safest bet was probably to stay put and not bring that to their attention.

"So what are we going to do now?" Jon asked. "We only come here for the pool table."

"Londoner's Parade?" Steve suggested.

"We do that every weekend," Jon said. "I want to do something different. Where were you two going?"

"We didn't really have anything planned Jon," Al said.

"Well what do you normally do on a Saturday night?"

I looked at Al.

"We normally go to the White Hart in Hemford if we're not going out to a club," Al said.

Great, I thought. They knew where to find us now if we accidently pissed one of them off and had to do a runner.

"Looks like we're going to the White Hart then boys," Jon said.

Tel smiled, "Anyone need the bog before we go?"

"We can do it when we get to the car can't we?" Steve said.

The rest of them gave Steve a dirty look.

"You don't need to hide anything from us," I said. "I've been watching you go to the toilets in pairs all the time I've been here. I assume that's what you were doing, unless there's something else men do together in the toilets."

The four of them laughed when they realised they could so easily have been mistaken for shirt-lifters.

"Do you two?-" Steve asked.

"We have been known to partake," Al interrupted him.

"Right then, let's go find where we parked the fucking car so we can all get on the same wavelength and then go and see this local of yours," Jon said, before we all walked out into the cold April dark.

* * *

The car was easy enough to find, a three-series BMW with jet black windows and matching paint. It was getting in it that was the hard part.

"There isn't enough room for us all to get in and have a line," Jon said. "If two stand outside, then when the rest of us are done that two get in and have a sniff. Yeah? Tel you go in the driver's seat, you'll have to stay in the car."

I sat down in the back next to Al. Jon sat in the front passenger seat, with Tel as directed in the driver's seat. Tel put his hand down the front of his shirt and pulled out a small gold pot hanging from his neck on a thick rope style chain. Unscrewing the top he revealed a miniature gold spoon on the end of the chain. He dug it into the pot before holding up the spoon in front of me, a small amount of cocaine heaped on top. I sniffed it up and immediately felt a hundred times better.

Coke has this uncanny ability to sober you up from any drug. It can pull you out of an ecstasy trip if you're rushing too hard, or counteract amphetamines if you've accidently overdone it. If you were ever on a night out and you started to regret the amount of chemicals you'd consumed, you could always rack a line of coke up and you'd be fine. The only exception to the rule was alcohol. Snorting coke whilst drunk didn't make you feel fine. It made you feel like an actual fucking superhero. Coke was good on its own; but with alcohol taking away the paranoia most commonly associated with it, it became absolutely amazing. I'm sure it must have torn your grey matter in half, filling yourself with one drug that makes you want to sleep and another that wants you to be the most awake you've ever been. At a time like this though; if it was just one thing, it was just spectacular.

"We can't all fit in the car."

"What?"

"We can't all fit in the car," Steve repeated. "There's six of us and I've only got five seats."

"Bollocks," Jon said. "We'll have to do two trips."

Al leaned into the middle of the car. "I'll go in the boot."

"Are you sure?" Steve replied. "I wouldn't go in the boot."

"Yeah no worries," Al said. "Just don't crash."

Tel cut Al out another line for the journey, then he and Steve got him comfortably into the back; standing over him like a pair of gangsters while they made sure his legs were fully inside, before they shut the boot lid down. Al's world became a lot smaller.

I thought about Al trapped there in the boot, curled up with his knees to his chin. I wondered whether I'd have made the sacrifice he had, and I wondered whether I really wanted to be going onto the second half of the night we had planned. In the meantime I had to make do with being pinned in the middle of the back seat, between the combined broad shoulders of Gaz and Tel.

Ten long minutes later we arrived in the unlit car park at the rear of the pub, where no one could see us letting Al out of the boot. Al's pupils had grown massive, either due to the coke or the fact that he'd been locked in the dark for the last ten minutes.

"What the hell are you doing with them?" James whispered to me when he saw us all walk into the pub together.

"Hello James, nice to see you too," I replied.

"Seriously. What have you brought them here for?"

"Why? Do you know who they are?"

"That's Jon Callings, one of the biggest dealers in Carlton," James told me, looking over at him.

We watched as they made their way to the bar and the small crowd of people waiting for a drink dispersed and reformed round the other side, all of them trying not to make eye contact with our new mates.

"What? Jon? He's alright. We've been drinking with them in the bar on Carlton pier half the day."

"They're nutters Lu, you don't wanna get on the wrong side of them," James said.

"Well everyone will have to just stay on the right side of them then. Al has kicked every one of their arses at pool today without them doing anything," I said. "I mean fuck me; they just gave me and Al a lift back and Al was in the boot. They took a big risk there just to do us a favour."

"You were in Jon Callings' boot Al?

"Nah, course not mate," Al replied. "It's Steve's car not Jon's."

Gaz invited us over to a table covered in beer. It might have been our local but I think they still wanted to be in charge. I sat down with them and noticed how the rest of the room had gone quiet.

I introduced them all to James, then Jon placed a fifty pence on the pool table as a couple of blokes I didn't recognise were setting the balls up.

"Winner stays on," he said.

"You're OK," the bloke at the baulk end replied.

"Go on lads, have your game first, those are the rules," Jon said. But it was too late, they'd already gone back to their seats.

"Who's going to play me then?" Jon asked. "What about you Al, you gonna give me a rematch? I'll show you how it's done this time."

"Yeah you'll be fucking lucky Jon," Al replied, carrying on setting the balls up from where the lads had stopped. The silent pub fell silenter.

"So you from Kirk-Leigh as well?" Tel asked James.

"Nah dude. Hemford."

"Fuck me that's worse ain't it?" Tel said. "Are you partial to a bit of quiver as well?"

James smiled, "I wouldn't say no."

"Follow me then," Tel said, getting off his stool. "Where are the gents?"

By the time the pair of them came back, James seemed to have calmed down. It was almost as if he was glad we'd bought these people to the pub now. Surely not just because they'd given him free cocaine? As pissed as Al and I were, I knew we wouldn't have invited the four of them back to our local unless we trusted them. It disappointed me to think that James might have thought otherwise.

The rest of the night went well. Luckily James had some money on him so we finally managed to get a round in. It didn't matter that James paid, just that for once it wasn't one of those four. It wasn't long before the bell for last orders rang; it always rings too early, but then we had arrived pretty late.

"So what's the plan now then lads? Where do you normally go on a Saturday after the pub shuts?" Jon asked us.

I turned and mouthed to James, "Your place?"

He stared back into my eyes and whispered, "No way, I'm not having them back to the flat."

"Why not mate? They're alright."

"Take them back to the garage then."

I don't think there's any way James could have known the moral implications of that sentence, but he was right. If I'd expected him to host an afterhours drinking session for them, then I should be willing to do the same. It didn't seem like that bad an idea, although I was aware it probably wasn't a good idea.

"You're alright to come back to mine," I said. Fuck it, they still had loads of coke, chances were we could steal a bottle of spirits from either Al's parents' house or mine. What could go wrong?

I went in the car on the first trip, with Jon, Steve, Tel and Gaz. Al and James started walking back, sharing a pint that Al had managed to sneak out of the pub. I got to sit in the front seat this time as I was the only one who knew the way.

We pulled up halfway along my road and I asked everyone to be quiet, just until we got into the garage. With the exception of Steve who went back for the other two.

The four of us made our way down the side of the house and into my room, where we ended up sitting awkwardly on my bed. I hadn't thought about trying to seat seven people out there, it was never normally a problem when it was just Al or Kyle.

"Have you got anywhere I can put this?" Tel asked me, taking his gold chain off. I wiped down a CD case from the side and handed it to him. He emptied onto it the remaining coke from the pot around his neck.

"How we doing for beers then Lu?" Jon asked.

"And music," Gaz added.

"One sec." I tip-toed into the house where I found a litre bottle of vodka in the kitchen, pretty much full to the top. I took that and a bottle of Coke back to the garage, then made a second trip to find seven glasses. This proved to be the hard part; I had to substitute mine and Al's for flowery mugs. All that was left was to turn the stereo on and push play. There would always be a tape in there, today it was piano house.

"Turn this up Lu. I love this song," Gaz said.

"Really?" I replied. "I didn't think you'd be into this sort of thing."

"Me? No I love this sort of music. It always gets the sausage swinging at G-A-Y."

Jon and Tel both laughed. In the absence of any Frank Sinatra I tuned the stereo to Radio 2.

"Nice place you've got here Lu," Jon said. "I would've loved to have somewhere like this when I was your age. How old are you by the way? Twenty-something?"

"Eighteen," I replied.

"Fucking eighteen!" Jon said. Tel kind of sighed. "Eighteen. Do you remember that you two? What I wouldn't give to be eighteen again."

"Why how old are you?"

Jon laughed, "Older than eighteen!"

"I was already inside by the time I was eighteen," Gaz said.

Of course he was. For murder probably, but he'd waited until he was back at the garage to tell me.

"What for? Er....if you don't mind me asking," I said carefully, unsure of the etiquette of asking someone why they'd been to prison.

"GBH," he replied without hesitation. Ah GBH. The thing that is happening while you're murdering someone.

Gaz looked at me with distant eyes. "My old dear started seeing someone just after I left school. She'd had partners before but this one used to knock her about." He paused for a moment as if having to himself remember what had happened. It was probably at least as long ago as the whole time I'd been alive. "He was a big bloke, Darren his name was. I put up with it for ages because my mum loved him. She'd finish with him but he'd always sober up and come round apologising and she'd take him back. It used to wind me up but I ignored it because most of the time he made her happy."

I gave him that sympathetic squinting eyes look you give someone when you have no idea what to say.

"I'd been out drinking with my mate for my seventeenth birthday. It was only a matter of time before I snapped. Anyway, I came home to find my mother crying at the bottom of the stairs. Turns out Darren had gone to the pub after work instead of going home, by the time he rolled in he was pissed and his cold dinner was waiting for him on the table."

"That was his fault for going to the pub," I said.

"You're right, it was. But he didn't see it that way," Gaz replied. "So he goes upstairs and pulls my old dear out of bed, drags her downstairs by her throat and shoves her face in the plate of food. When I found her she still had mashed potato in her hair, bless her."

I looked over at Jon and Tel, the pair of them listened on in silence.

"Where was her boyfriend?"

"Tell Lu what you did," Jon smiled.

"I knew he'd have gone back down the boozer, it was only on the estate so I went there to find him," Gaz said. "He was there, like I knew he would be."

I was pretty sure I knew where this was going.

"I weren't as big at seventeen as I am now, and Darren was a big bloke. I knew if we came to blows there was a good chance he'd have done me. So I went straight in the door, grabbing a beer bottle off a table as I walked up to him. Then I hit him round the head with it. As soon as it hit his nut I felt all that anger I'd kept built up inside me come out. I must have hit him five times with it before he hit the ground, I was still hitting him as he went down. Then I hit him one last time and it smashed. Nearly took his fucking eye out, there was claret everywhere. That's what done me in the end, two and a half years I got, my solicitor reckoned it would have been half that if the bottle hadn't smashed."

"Fucking hell. Did you get arrested at the pub?"

"No Lu. When I looked up all his supposed friends had backed off, so I managed to get out the pub and back to my mate's again that night. We carried on drinking round his until the morning, then the old bill turned up. My old dear had told them who I'd been out drinking with the night before, she didn't know I'd gone back round his again; kind of grassed me up, but she wasn't to know. Wankers put me straight on remand. I didn't get out again for eighteen months."

"You spent your eighteenth birthday inside? Would you do it again?"

Gaz stared straight at me. "To see him in court, with a patch over his eye and stitches all over his boat? To know that every time he looked in the mirror he would regret laying a hand on my mother? Of course I'd do it again."

"If you'll do bird for anyone you'll do it for your mother," Jon agreed.

"Too right," Tel added, passing me the CD case.

As I sniffed the strong cocaine up my nose I wondered whether I'd have been brave enough to do the same in that situation, knowing that after eighteen months in prison the rest of your life was going to be very different. Maybe Gaz had never meant to end up living the way he did, but had had this life forced on him by unlucky circumstances. And to think, I thought I'd had it bad at home; the only screaming I'd ever heard from my mum was at my dad when he'd forgotten to put the bins out.

Steve, James and Al soon arrived and the conversation went back to being a bit more light-hearted; the seven of us managing to fit surprisingly well in the garage, although I ended up sitting on the floor despite it being my room.

By two in the morning the vodka and cocaine were all gone, so everyone said their goodbyes and Jon, Steve, Gaz and Tel went back to Carlton; respectfully not talking as they sneaked down the side of my parents' house. Al and James crashed on the end of my bed, under a blanket made from clothes pulled straight out of my wardrobe, hangers and all. When I woke in the morning James had gone. Al was still there and had spread himself out, managing to get half under the covers with me. Apart from having all of the glassware from the house out there, and the ashtrays being full to overflowing, the garage looked just the same as after any other night. That was, until I got up to take a piss in the back garden and nearly tripped over Gaz's brown leather jacket on the floor.

Bollocks.
It Was Too Delicious an Irony Not To Be

June 2002.

Al and I had been out celebrating his nineteenth birthday at Club Z, sadly without James or Kyle as both had been forced to work. At closing time we left with no money for a taxi.

The air was charged with the thick static of an approaching storm that made the electrons in my body align north and south. It looked like it could rain at any moment but with brains that understood only optimism, that was never going to deter us and we began walking. Having waited over a month for Gaz to come back to mine and retrieve his jacket, we'd decided he'd forgotten about it, and Al had taken to wearing it himself. I'd never have had the guts; but tonight when it looked like we were going to get wet, and I was wearing a flimsy hoody over a shirt, I wished I did have.

We made it to the end of the road before a policeman pulled his car over and asked us where we were going. For reasons I still don't know to this day, Al told him we were on our way to a house party. Now while I have no real problem with the police, I do respect the ability they have to cock things up for people like us. Telling a copper you were on the way to a house party at two o'clock in the morning, fucked out of your head on E, was asking for trouble. This was one of those times you avoided the police.

"Just come from one lads, a big fight kicked off there; it filled half the street at one point. I take it that's the one, there won't be any more partying going on there tonight. I'm going to have to take you home."

Fuck. This will be interesting.

As our unlikely trio pulled off down the road, déjà vu hit me in an instant. A few months earlier Al and I had ridden my motorbike back from Wanton after seeing my dad's new flat for the first time. Well, not immediately after seeing his flat, but after a several hour detour at the pub. By the time we had our crash helmets back on the pair of us could barely stand. It was as we came down this very road that I'd seen blue flashes of light reflecting off my brake and clutch levers. I'd tried to calm my riding down but it was too late, the car had caught up with us and the copper knew. Drink driving; taking a passenger whilst on a provisional license; no insurance; no L plates; no MOT; using both sides of the road as if it were a racetrack. The points, fines and court appearances totted up in my head. Not to mention a night in a freezing cold cell. That'll teach me. I remember glancing at the lone policeman as he pulled beside me, before giving me the strangest look I've ever had; then he overtook us and disappeared into the night. No fucking way. He wasn't stopping us. He was on his way to another call. That look. I knew what it meant. Any other time, I would have you in an instant. Not now you wouldn't. Fate was on our side tonight.

The policeman driving that night looked about thirty, had dark hair, and was alone. Our chauffer for the night matched that description exactly. It had to be him, it was too delicious an irony not to be. We've met before and I think you gave me a look that said if I ever see you again you're nicked. Think. I needed to know.

It would be a hard topic to get onto, even with my drug addled brain running at twice its normal speed. I couldn't approach the subject head on. I needed to get him to mention it but without implicating myself. Maybe I could say I was out walking and saw the whole thing. No. Too obvious. Could I ask him what he was doing on a Friday night three months ago? Again no. I would need to start with last weekend and work back from there but there wasn't the time.

I looked at his face in the rear view mirror one more time to be sure, the black plastic rim surrounding the reflective glass framed my eyes perfectly. The same view you would have looking at someone through the visor of a crash helmet. It was the same view he'd had of me that night, the same view he had now. Fuck. Look away. Don't make it obvious, just don't look at him again until you get out of the car. Stare out of the window instead.

The sky lit up with a flash of lightning. I watched the fork come down from the clouds and tail off behind the roofline of some houses. The crash of thunder that followed seemed to shake the car. A welcome distraction.

"Bet you're glad you're not out in that?" the policeman asked as we made our way across the islands of tarmac forming in the river of the road. In front of him the windscreen wipers were moving so fast they seemed to blur into a pair of Japanese fans.

"Yeah. Thanks," I replied.

Not a moment too soon we pulled up in somebody else's cul-de-sac at the wrong end of the village. I didn't want him knowing where either of us lived.

He looked towards Al. I hadn't noticed but Al had pulled the front of his beanie hat down to cover his eyes, and turned up the collar of Gaz's leather jacket in an attempt to cover his face. From behind I could see his cheekbones pulse, as he tensed the muscles in his jaw. Maybe this wouldn't have been the best time to play mind games with Mr Policeman, seeing as Al's eyes had probably rolled into the back of his head. Al felt the car pull to a stop and quickly opened the door.

"Is your mate alright?" the copper asked, turning to me.

"He doesn't like lightning," I said, leaving the car as quickly as I could. "Come on Al let's get you home."

The copper laughed.

"Cheers for the lift," I said. Now please stop waiting for us to go into this stranger's house and go away.

The walk to mine wasn't that far but the torrential rain would have soaked us in seconds, and as if that wasn't enough I was pretty sure we were going to get struck by lightning soon, as unimaginable electrical fields balanced themselves above us. Ideally I wanted to leave the roads and cut through a field to make doubly sure we were in the clear with the copper, but we'd never have made it back, and even if we did we'd have been soaked through and covered in mud.

Running up the road trying to think of somewhere to get out of the weather, I saw Ship's bungalow in the distance, and remembered the boat at the end of his back garden.

"Come on Al! Ship's boat!" I shouted.

That would keep us dry until the worst of the storm passed.

I necked my last remaining pill under the yellow glow of the streetlight outside his house, then the pair of us made our way to the end of his garden. After we'd lifted ourselves onto the boat using the metal handrails on the deck, I flung back the makeshift tarpaulin roof and ordered Al down the ladder into the cabin.

As I followed him, I pulled the cover back over and it sent a shower of freezing rainwater running down the back of my collar, slowed only by my shivering neck hairs as they stood on end.....
Try Some, It's Dirty as Fuck

July 2002.

Kyle turned up out of the blue one Friday as I arrived home from work, dressed up to the nines and reeking of aftershave. I wasn't surprised to see him arrive at my front drive at exactly the same time I did, he'd gotten that down to a fine art. He looked excited and had to have something planned.

"Lu geez, I've got the weekend off!" he shouted. I could emphasise with his excitement. Even though I had every weekend off, I still loved them. "Is the garage open?"

"Hold on mate," I replied, "I've only just got home from work."

We walked down the side of the house and I let him in through the garage door.

"Check this out!" he said, slapping down a big bag of what looked like yellow paste. He opened it and a rancid chemical smell filled the garage. "It's bass Lu, like speed but stronger. Try some, it's dirty as fuck."

It was at that point I noticed Kyle was chewing gum. Kyle never chewed gum unless he was on something. That explained why he was so excited.

"Get that down ya," he said, breaking a corner off the lump then cutting it into a line for me. It was wet and didn't want to be cut up, it broke into little crumbly pieces that refused to get small enough to be ideal for snorting.

I tore a piece of paper off an envelope by the bed and rolled it into a tube; then put it in my nostril, craned my head down, and sniffed the line hard into my face. It felt cold as it hit the back of my throat, then the tang of the chemicals came out onto my taste buds like bleach and cleaning products, only with undertones of something sweet. I felt anxiety build in my guts, adrenaline pumped through me giving a fight or flight sensation. I chose neither; instead reclining on the duvet and lighting a cigarette while Kyle cut himself out a line.

"Fuck mate, this is good stuff." I wanted to move around but my head was ringing.

"Put some tunes on Lu," Kyle said, relaxing next to me on the bed as I passed him the second half of my cigarette.

I had a dig through the tape-packs at the end of my bed, settling on an old Dreamscape.

"How much is there?" I pointed to the little bag of yellow sitting on a CD case between us.

"An ounce. Twenty-eight grams. I got it from some geezer down Wanton pier, I can't get hold of pills anywhere," he replied. "That's what I need to tell you, fucking hell, I've got a flat in Wanton to help look after for the weekend. It's my mate from works place, well he lives there with his mate but he's gonna be away for the weekend or something."

"Oh sweet, how come it needs looking after?" I asked, wondering why a flat can't just look after itself.

"Fuck knows bruv. It doesn't matter does it? Are you ready to go?"

I stood up and realised my legs had gone slightly numb. "Just got to have a shower," I said, my head spinning as I felt the blood vessels pumping in my brain. "I'll be five minutes tops."

"Yeah no rush, I'll skin one up for the drive," Kyle said as he pulled a secret bag of weed from the front pocket in his shirt, before laying down a king-size cigarette paper on his thigh.

I darted inside, saying hi to my mum as I ran up the stairs. Afterwards, as I was drying myself with a towel, I realised I couldn't remember showering. I'd also forgotten to take a change of clothes with me. I put my jeans back on commando style, not wanting to wear the boxers I'd been wearing at work all day, then when I got back to the garage I made Kyle face the other way while I got dressed properly.

We had one more line each and got in his car. The drive went by in a blur, we stopped at a shop halfway so we could both get a can of Stella. I handed a cigarette to Kyle while he was driving and he tried to put it behind his ear. He failed, instead displacing the spliff he'd put there earlier and pushing it out onto the floor. Having stopped to find it, then having smoked it, we arrived at the flat, where we left the car in the shared parking to the rear.

It was an imposing, white Victorian townhouse, in the middle of a long terrace of pastel coloured period buildings standing on the edge of the seafront, all with front windows that faced directly out over the sea.

Kyle pushed the two top buttons on the intercom. It buzzed, then a man answered.

"Hello, who is it?" Asked the intercom.

"Hello I'm after Pat," Kyle said.

"Pat? He lives in the top floor flat at the back. I heard him in there earlier, I'll go and check if he's still in. Who is it first?"

"Tell him it's Kyle. Kyle from work."

The voice on the other end of the intercom fell quiet for a minute, the sound of seagulls on the beach behind us filling the gap. I put my face up to the front door and peered through the letterbox. Then a man came running down the stairs, two steps at a time, before flinging open the door.

"Kyle mate!" he said while they shook hands.

"This is Lu," Kyle said. "He's sound-as-a-pound."

"Alright Lu, nice to meet you I'm Pat," he said, shaking my hand too. "Come in I'm right at the top. It'll only be the three of us, Jason's gone away, but I'll tell you about that when we get upstairs."

Pat was a bit taller than me but unsurprisingly not as tall as Kyle. Slim built with dark hair and mostly dark stubble, a small patch of ginger either side of his chin. He and Kyle may not have been the same height, but they looked around the same age. Kyle was twenty-one now.

I followed them both through the stairwell, its floor strewn with junk mail and unopened letters to people who had either moved out, or lived by the mantra- what you don't know can't hurt you. Bills and final demands included. We climbed the two flights of stairs at nowhere near the speed Pat had come down, until we reached his flat. Walking in through the fire door, the first thing I noticed was the smell. Slept in. It quickly became apparent why when I realised there was no bedroom.

A tatty, red fabric sofa sat at one end of the room, just in front of the only window; an equally worn matching red armchair sat opposite. Pat removed a duvet that was bunched up at one end of the sofa, and stuffed it down between the back cushions and the wall. Then the pair of them sat down, their heads framed perfectly by the grubby sash window behind them, with its barely drawn purple curtains. Through the window I could see the brick wall of another building but nothing more. I took a seat on the single chair and as I looked around the sparsely furnished room, wondered how they could live with less stuff than I had in the garage. I didn't say anything though, like I didn't ask how Pat and Jason both managed to sleep in there with just a sofa and a chair between them.

"Sorry about the mess lads, I don't really look after the place like I should when Jason isn't here," Pat said, as he picked up a pair of empty Coke cans from the glass topped coffee table in front of us. Both had had their ring pulls removed, he picked those up too and took the lot to the kitchen. "I was having a nap when you turned up, still don't feel like I've woken up properly."

"I'll fix that," Kyle said, pulling the bag of export strength speed from his jeans.

"Fucking hell is that all coke?" asked our soon to be disappointed host for the evening.

"Nah it's bass, super strong speed. Look at it." Kyle opened the bag revealing the drugs inside.

The faint smell of the room's double life as both an entertaining and sleeping place was replaced with the smell of the illegal chemical paste in front of us.

"That stinks mate, I'm going to have to open the window."

"You wait," Kyle said. "Have you done this before?"

"What speed? Yeah everyone's done speed mate," he replied sarcastically.

"This ain't speed, here try some." With that Kyle began to cut out three lines, one for each of us. I didn't know if I wanted another line yet, especially not twice the size of the last one I'd had.

Pat snorted his line first. "Fucking hell that's strong on the back of your throat," he gasped. Kyle and I smiled at him knowingly. "So are you from Kirk-Leigh as well?" Pat passed me the rolled up ten pound note from the table.

"Yeah mate," I replied, snorting my share. All of the hairs on the back of my neck stood up and tingled. I suddenly felt I wanted to ask a really good question in return, something Pat would be impressed with, something he could bite off and chew. A million questions circled the inside of my head. "What about you?" Was the one I subconsciously decided was most appropriate.

"South London, Thornton Heath. Do you know London?"

In the background Kyle did his best impression of a vacuum cleaner.

"London mate? I went to King's Cross one night to Bagleys," I said. "I don't know London that well though." I wanted to ask if Kyle was from South London too but felt it was rude, seeing as I'd known him for so long and never asked him what part of London he was from. I assumed it was a different part or he'd have mentioned it then.

"Fuck, I've just thought I'm not being much of a host am I? Do you two want a beer?"

I looked at Kyle, then at the floor, searching for the beer we'd bought from the shop, before remembering that we'd drunk it on the way.

"Cheers Pat but me and Lu might as well go down the shop and get enough for the whole night, otherwise we'll be fucked when they shut."

Pat disappeared into the kitchen, returning with a smile on his face and a whole crate of Carlsberg in his hands.

"Where'd you get them from?" I asked.

"Me and Jason always get a load of beers at the end of the month when we get paid. We go down to the supermarket and buy whatever's on offer, it was three of these for twenty quid this month, there's some cold ones in the fridge."

The beer felt extra cold where the drugs had attacked the back of my throat. I lit a cigarette to go with it, handing out two more as well. I didn't want to be seen as a dentist in front of our host, as in someone who pulls them out one at a time. Pat got up and turned on the CD player in the corner of the room, one of those cheap ones made to look like a full separates system. Most people would probably only notice when they got up close and realised it was made from one piece of moulded plastic. It came on already tuned to Radio 1, who it transpired were hosting a garage music special.

"This'll do," Kyle said as he cut out some more drugs. "Who's up for a joint then?" He pulled the weed from his shirt pocket. "Have you got something I can roll this on Pat? I don't want to get bits in the bass."

Pat went to the kitchen, returning with a One Nation CD case in his hand. I only glimpsed it for a second but it was long enough to know it would be the next thing we listened to, it had the name MC Skibadee printed on the front.

"Pat geez, tell me that's in there," Kyle said excitedly. Pat smiled. "Go on, let me put it on, I won't have it mega loud."

Pat looked at me and I nodded, as if it was up to me.

"Put it on mate."

From the moment he saw the CD, Kyle had been in a state of action, half hovering on the sofa, waiting for the go-ahead. He ripped the CD from its case and dropped it in the top of the player, jabbing overenthusiastically at the play button before sitting back down.

Radiohead played out through the cheap speakers. We looked at each other in unison.

"What the fuck?" Kyle said. "You gave me the wrong CD."

"Nah can't be mate, I remember putting it away. Plus I haven't got a Radiohead CD. You must have pushed the wrong button."

Pat got up and walked over to the CD player, pushing stop several times before pushing play. The room went quiet then Radiohead played again, taking it from the top.

"I don't get it, no one's been in here since earlier and I swear to fucking god that case had the right CD in. I must be losing the plot," Pat said as he opened the top of the CD player.

He peered in, then let out an, "Honestly what is going on?" While throwing his hands up in the air before letting them hang dejectedly at his sides.

I got up and had a look, a One Nation CD stared back at me.

"I'm not having this," Kyle said. "It's doing this to us on purpose to trip us out."

"It's a CD player mate, I don't think it has the capacity to do things on purpose," I said. "Are you sure you're pressing the right buttons?"

The pair of them gave me a dirty look as one.

"You get it working then," Pat said.

I traced the power lead from the CD player back to the socket on the wall, turning it off for five seconds before turning it back on. Then I put one finger on the CD play button while I stared at the CD through the little bit of plastic masquerading as glass in the top. I pushed play and the CD began spinning almost immediately, followed by the dulcet sounds of Radiohead.

"I don't get it," I said. "Not a fucking clue."

"Right, this is going outside," Pat said, while Kyle racked up another three lines. My attention had been drawn elsewhere while all the excitement was going on and I only now realised how fucked I was. Everything looked to be glowing, like it had a glossy sheen to it.

I reluctantly put another line of bass up my nose while Pat took the possessed CD player out into the stairwell.

"What you doing with that Pat?" I heard a voice ask.

"There's something wrong with it," Pat replied despondently.

"What, it's not working?"

"It will only play fucking Radiohead!" Kyle shouted towards the door.

"Let me have a look at it."

Kyle panicked and put his hands over the drugs when he saw the man come in.

"Nah don't worry about me," the stranger said. "That's not all coke is it?"

"I wish. It's bass mate," Kyle laughed.

"Oh yeah I can smell it now, you don't see that often."

"I'll line one up for you if you want?" Kyle said.

"Not for me thanks," the man replied. "Not any more. I'll have a beer though if you've got enough."

Pat introduced Kyle and I to his next door neighbour, the bloke we'd spoken to on the intercom from outside. I somehow missed his name and didn't want to seem rude by asking so I waited to hear someone call him by it. I already felt like I'd let him down a little.

He was painfully skinny, in a red t-shirt and denim jeans with no shoes or socks on. He looked a bit tramp-like, maybe ten years older than me, thirty or so. A bit young for a tramp.

The neighbour plugged the CD player back in and hit play. Radiohead.

He peered in through the top of the CD player. "This CD must have Radiohead on it somehow, we need to try a different one."

He took the CD out and handed it to Pat, and as he did a second CD fell off the back and did a mesmerising spinning dance on the floor.

"You put that CD straight on top of the other one didn't you?" the neighbour asked, looking at Pat.

Pat sighed, "Kyle you twat, did you not look to see if there was a CD already in there?"

The man from next door took a long, laboured look at the three of us. "Are you telling me that between the lot of you, you couldn't work out what was going on?!" he laughed. "You bunch of idiots."

"Hold on a minute, I thought you said you didn't have a Radiohead CD," Kyle said.

"It must be Jason's," Pat replied.

"I thought he wasn't here this weekend," Kyle said.

"He was still here this morning, they didn't come and arrest him until nearly one."

"What did they arrest him for?" I asked.

"Oh he attacked someone in Wanton with a pool cue, they've kept him in on remand. It's not the first time he's done something like that. That's why I've got the flat, until he gets back; I've been staying here on and off but it's mine for a while now. As long as I look after it."

I pictured this repeat violent offender and what his definition of looking after would be. I doubted it would have been invite two people he didn't know round and sniff a load of drugs off his coffee table while drinking his beer. The thought of him walking through the door and finding us made my blood run cold.

* * *

We sat there for a good hour, the neighbour sitting on the duvet folded into a makeshift cushion on the floor. The four of us took turns to tell stories of nights out as we shared lines. Well three of us shared lines, the neighbour drank beer while he told his own bile flavoured tales of youth fuelled debauchery. I felt more comfortable knowing that although he wasn't joining us in taking drugs, he had done in the past so couldn't judge. Like a couple in a close relationship Kyle and I took turns to tell parts of stories of the same nights out, sometimes even with different endings. He seemed to be enjoying himself more and more as the evening went on. I tried to maintain the facade of having a good time; but on the inside I was dissolving.

"I've just got to go outside and get some fresh air," I said.

"You can't go out, you're too fucked to go out," Pat replied.

"I'm getting claustrophobic in this room mate, I'll go and sit on the stairs outside. I'll be back in a minute."

The neighbour looked at me worriedly as I got up and walked away, mouthing, "Literally two minutes."

As I made it out onto the stairwell everything began to swirl before my eyes. The stairs in front of me becoming steeper, almost vertical, until I had to reach out and grab the handrail fearing I would fall off the edge. I quickly sat down and watched as what should have been the straight interior walls of the building, joined at right angles, instead turned into a long tunnel, merging and bending in on itself. I wasn't good. Nausea swept through me like the waves of the sea outside the door, a sickness that rose from the pit of my stomach, sending a signal to the acknowledgement part of my brain to confirm just how fucked I was. And more my vision spun. I rolled down the stairs on my feet as fast as I could, the descent being made harder by the fact that the previously inanimate wooden handrail I was holding flexed and bowed in my hands like a snake. I was on the middle floor now, halfway there. I tackled the next set of stairs the same way, almost like falling whilst using my feet to slow me, before finally reaching the scattering of unopened letters that marked the front door.

"Are you alright mate?" a voice came from behind me as I staggered on, scaring what life I had left out of me.

"Y-yeah mate, just going out now, to the outside." I looked behind me, it was the bloke from upstairs, from next door. He must have come to check on me.

"Sit down, you look pale. I can't let you go out. Not yet."

I fell back against the wall and slid down it into a heap, lifting my knees up to my chest and nestling my face between them. The neighbour sat down next to me.

"So what sort of music you into then Lu?" he asked, probably trying to take my mind off what I'd done to myself.

"Any dance music," I replied. "1990-93 old skool hardcore really though mate."

"That's a bit dated for you isn't it? How old were you in 1990?"

"Er....I would've been six in 1990, yeah suppose it is a bit old. I used to be into garage."

"I don't mind a bit of garage, or drum and bass. You into your drum and bass too? I know Kyle is, he's upstairs trying to persuade Pat to let him play that CD again."

"Yeah I'll listen to drum and bass," I said. "Just since the first time I heard proper old skool on E it's kind of stuck with me."

"Ah, on ecstasy it's a different story. Nothing's as good with pills as old skool, it's the pianos and the vocals that do it. When I started raving you still had Fantazia and proper Dreamscapes, back in the days when you could take one E for the night."

"And all the mad little samples in there mate - He was killed by an overdose," I said, before realising how inappropriate a sample that actually was.

A cold draught crept in under the front door, rustling the letters on the carpet before making its way up the stairs. I started sifting through the letters, making piles of ones with the same name on.

Then I looked straight at him. "I don't think I can handle this anymore."

"You're alright mate, it's nice and cool down here. Just try not to think too much, and let your heart slow down a bit."

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered me one.

"Cheers," I said, as I lit it and blew the first puff of smoke up into the stairwell above us.

"So how old were you when you first start getting on it?" he asked.

"When I was sixteen. Three years ago," I replied. "My mate James had just moved into his own flat and Kyle bought some pills round for us all to try. I think he'd done them before, when he lived in London, but he made out it was his first time so that we all felt on the same level."

"Upstairs Kyle?"

"Yeah."

"Did you enjoy the first time?" he asked. "I know a lot of people try to fight it the first time they drop, and end up not feeling a lot."

Recalling that first night in my mind filled me with joy, and helped to take my attention from how I felt now.

"It was the bollocks mate. Haven't really looked back since; speed, coke, mushrooms. Just none of the heavy stuff," I said. "What about you? When did you start getting mashed?"

"The same sort of age as you then. I'm thirty now though, haven't taken anything for nearly ten years. Started off smoking weed, then a bit of amphetamines here and there, like you say it all seems normal after that. It's only really heroin and crack that I've avoided."

He had the same view on it all as I did. Heroin and crack were just the wrong side of that imaginary line I'd drawn in my head too.

"Do you think I'll ever stop?" I asked.

He turned to face me as if to tell me some secret he'd never told anyone before, and stared into my eyes. His were horizon wide.

"It depends if you want to stop," he said. "Do you want to?"

"I don't know," I replied. "It's just these feelings I've been getting, it's like every now and then during the week I get a little tingle in my spine or my jaw tightens up for no reason. Like the drugs aren't quite out of my system. This is on like a Thursday or something, when I've had loads of time to recover."

"I don't think that's the problem Lu, the chemicals still being in your brain," he said. "I think it's what they're doing to your brain when you take them."

"How do you mean?"

"The feeling you get when you're on the drugs, it's from all the chemicals being changed, which changes the way your brain works. That's why you get confident when you're buzzing or paranoid when you start coming down."

"Right."

He went on, "I don't think the levels of the chemicals in your brain are going back to normal when you stop taking the drugs." The passion in his words became intense. It was as though a million points he wanted to make rushed through his head and he'd just realised he knew how to say them. "Every time you get on it, your brain is staying changed, just a little bit," he said. "But then you do it again the following weekend and it stays changed a little more."

"So you're saying if I carry on like this I'm going to end up walking around feeling like I'm buzzing all the time?"

He looked straight ahead, pulling another cigarette from the pack. I politely accepted one.

"I think that's what's happening Lu, I think it happens to everyone on drugs. Eventually they stop being the person they were before and start being, well, the drug. It changes you, the chemical makeup in your brain, and one day it will change you for good. Each time you do it you get a little bit closer to that point, and reality gets that little bit further away."

It suddenly made sense to me. I could tell an alcoholic just by looking at them, or a heroin addict. Why was this any different? We were doing enough of it to mess us up, and none of us ever thought it was safe; I guess we just didn't see clubbing drugs as being, like, proper drugs. Drugs that you gave up for any other reason than being bored of them. I'd naively thought I could carry on like this forever if I wanted; but here I was being chewed up and spat out, just another worn-out cog in this machine that I adored.

"I'm going to have to stop," I said.

"When I stopped, I knew I had to fucking stop. I'd have fallen apart if I hadn't." I couldn't remember hearing him swear before. I think he saved it for occasions like this.

I gave him an emphatic glance. "I suppose we can't until we realise we have to."

"Pretty much hit the nail on the head," he replied. "You can't deal with a problem if you don't know there is a problem. Anyway, how you feeling now? You alright to come back upstairs?"

I had a look around me. I knew myself well enough to know I was still tightly clenched in the drug's grip. I had somewhat levelled off though, so followed the nameless stranger upstairs.

Kyle and Pat were also deep in conversation in the flat, but both looked relieved when I walked in.

"You alright now Lu?" Kyle asked.

"Yeah fine mate, just needed some fresh air. The buzz got a bit heavy for a bit."

"Safe bruv. Yeah probably a bit warm up here, I bet you need a drink. You got any more beers Pat?"

Pat brought me out a cold one from the fridge. Kyle was right, it was a lot hotter up here than on the bottom floor in the stairwell.

"Just got to pop to the loo," I said.

I looked at my reflection in the mirror. I was ghostly white, most of the colour still not having returned to my face. I at least felt better though.

I walked back in to find them doing lines again.

"You having one of these Lu?" Pat asked me.

"You don't have to if you're not ready mate, I don't know if it's a good idea," the neighbour said.

"Lu's alright aren't you?" Kyle said.

Fuck it. I was feeling alright now; I'd probably just messed myself up earlier by doing it too quickly. I knelt down and snorted my line, and it took about two seconds to realise it was probably the worst decision I'd ever made.

Every feeling that had caused me to have to run away before came back; the head rush, the spinning nausea, but even worse.

"I've-I've-got to go," I managed to utter as I made my way to the door.

"You can't go anywhere now Lu, stay here for a bit and chill out," Kyle tried to calm me down, but his words, though I understood individually what they meant, didn't seem to form a coherent sentence.

I looked back at him and the whole room looked like it was coated in ice, or maybe glass. A thick, almost clear layer that seemed to sit on everything, like the world had been lacquered.

* * *

It was too much to handle. I ran out the door and down the stairs, ill prepared for the brightness of the morning sun. Half shutting my eyes to prevent the sun from blinding me, my senses were suddenly overloaded; the smell of the sea air carried on the wind, shiny silver cars and noisy diesel buses, rattling past and pouring dirty black fumes out the back. I had to get to somewhere quiet, somewhere I could be alone. I needed the garage but first I would need peace so I could work out how to get there.

I ran off down an alleyway that I knew would take me to the backwaters. I could follow the coast back to Kirk-Leigh, a route I knew well. As I reached the end of the alley and came out into the relative calm of the water's edge, I felt an enormous weight lift from my shoulders. As I realised I was no longer captive, held by paranoia in that dingy flat; or surrounded by every person in the world on Wanton high street on this Saturday morning. In an instant, all that was replaced by another feeling. Nothing looked the way it should. Nothing at all. The whole world had gone wrong. Visual boundaries between different objects had gone, the things I looked at all being somehow connected. Trees in the distance, or the backs of buildings behind me set against the blue morning sky, looking as though they were all next to one another, or maybe even joined. It was like being trapped in some kind of living oil painting.

I set off walking through this vivid alien world, my feet scraping along the floor as I barely raised them from the ground. I could hear them in my gentle ears but I was too numb inside to feel them. I made it around the first bend in the backwaters and was surprised to see a deserted old rowing boat lying on its side. It made me think back to working at Ship's in the summer holidays with Al, back when we didn't know what we were going to do with our lives. It dawned on me what I was doing with my life. I thought about how we used to be and how we were now, and it made me feel a hundred times worse.

An old lady came walking towards me with her dog, pausing to take a look over her shoulder. The dog moving left to right on the lead, trying desperately to increase its reachable area. If I didn't try hard to focus on it, it blurred into one brown ball of fur. I couldn't even see its feet moving. She looked towards me as she got closer, I couldn't tell if she was looking at me. I tried not to stare for too long.

Finally she got close enough to see me properly. "Good morning."

"Morning," I replied.

She gave me a strange look, like something between sympathy and disgust, before passing me and walking off the other way. I contemplated looking back but was scared she might be following me. I didn't know what that look meant really, I just filled in the gaps in my head. I'm not going to be able to handle that again I thought....Luckily for me I didn't pass another soul on that long countryside walk home, I'm not even sure I passed my own soul. I think I'd left it somewhere. If only I could remember where.

I crawled into bed when I got home and passed out. Where I slept for the remainder of Saturday, then all of Sunday. On Monday I woke up in hospital.
The Brightest Of White Rooms

August 2002.

I knew I couldn't carry on like this, pushing the limits of the drugs as hard as I could. I'd gone too far, and now they were pushing back. I'd made my mind up in that stairwell; walking home through a fractured reality removing any trace of doubt I'd had about what I needed to do. I only hoped I hadn't left it too late, gone on too long; destined to be trapped in this unbelievable world, staring up at a crack in the transparency of the sky. Over two years had passed since that first time at James's flat. It felt like two lifetimes. That first night being the marker between the life I led then, and the one that led me now.

* * *

I don't remember the journey to the hospital. My dad had had Jack over the weekend, and when he dropped him off Sunday evening my mum told him I'd not come out of the garage for two days. After checking on me to make sure I was alright; it was him who then drove me to the doctors. Apparently I didn't even make it as far as the waiting room before the receptionist redirected us to A&E.

The first thing I recall is waking up in a hospital bed in the brightest of white rooms.

"How are you feeling?" the nurse asked, kneeling down next to the bed.

An oscillating fan swept back and forth, cooling me. Looking down I realised I had no shirt on and the bed covers were drawn at my waist. I reached to pull the covers up and felt something tight grab my hand. It had a needle in it, connected to a clear tube. I traced it back to behind me, where it went into a bag of clear fluid hanging on the wall.

"Don't move," she said. "Just tell me how you're feeling."

"Thirsty," I managed to croak out through the driest of throats.

I tried to swallow and the pain made my eyes water. The nurse handed me a small plastic cup of water, I took a sip and instantly heaved. Plenty of experience in this job meant she knew it was coming before I even did. She held a bowl made from recycled cardboard below my chin and I tried in vain to fill it from a stomach that hadn't seen food or water for three days. Looking around the room properly for the first time, I noticed my parents stood at the other end of the bed. Neither of them said anything.

"Oh good, I see you are awake now Luke," A little Asian doctor said as hurried into the room. "You are in the ENT department of Canchester hospital. We need to take you next door so we can find out what is wrong with you. Do you think you can walk?"

I tried to sit up in the bed, the nurse putting her hand behind my back to help me when she saw me struggling. Once up straight I let my legs swing off the side of the bed; they tingled with vague pins and needles from lying in one position for too long. The nurse carefully unhooked the drip from behind me and put it onto a kind of wheeled hatstand without a hat. She rolled it round next to me and I used my right hand which didn't have a tube in it, to try to lower myself down from the bed. Again the nurse's experience saved me as she grabbed me before I had a chance to fall.

"Just stay there, we'll get you a wheelchair," she said, as she lifted me back onto the bed, helped by the doctor. Luckily I didn't weigh anything by this point in my life.

Fuck. I needed a wheelchair. I didn't want my parents to see me being put into a wheelchair. Not from something I'd done to myself.

The nurse pushed me while the doctor opened the doors in the corridor on the way. I was wheeled into a small examination room with a plastic sheeted bed in the corner, next to a television screen on a trolley.

"I'm going to need to use a special camera to look at the back of your throat now Luke, is that OK?" the doctor asked.

"Yeah, fine."

"The image will come up on this screen. If you like I can tilt it away from you so you can't see it."

"If you could."

"Just one more thing," he added. "The camera has to go up your nose."

I reluctantly nodded.

He slid the thin camera tube up my nostril. It was cold and made me gag. Again I was grateful there was nothing in my stomach, the NHS having resorted to pumping water straight into my veins. I couldn't see what was on the screen. My dad moved his chair so he could watch, my mum didn't, I don't think she could bear to see it.

The doctor let out a sigh, "It looks like you have an infection in the back of your throat. Most likely tonsillitis based on those white pustules. But also is there anything else you should be telling me?"

I sat up straight on the bed, honest looking straight, and locked the doctor square in the eyes. It isn't easy to look serious with a tube up one's nose.

"Nothing," I said. "I must just be ill."

He gave me a look of disappointment then gently removed the camera from my nose. Then he said, "I'm just going to go outside so I can speak to your parents."

I sat in silence with the nurse while the three of them left, closing the door behind them. My blood felt as though it was poisoned.

Several minutes later they came back.

My mum went first, "If there's something you're not telling the doctor maybe you should stop trying to hide it and just tell him, he's not going to be able to help you if you're not honest with him."

"Nothing," I said, my gaze sweeping them all.

My dad shuffled on his chair, ready to take his turn. It felt strange the pair of them teaming up against me, it was the first time I'd seen them sit next to each other in six months.

"It's just tonsillitis," I pre-empted him.

"I don't think that's all it is Lu, the doctor doesn't think that's all it is either."

The room seemed to close in on me. I felt as though I would have a panic attack, if only I had the energy. I looked to the nurse beside me, my only ally. She was looking away. Though even that was preferable to the stares from the other three, waiting for a guilty answer. The magnitude of the situation hit me; trapped in a hospital, too sick to leave, yet not quite sick enough to be spared interrogation. The doctor knew I'd been taking drugs, because of him my parents knew I'd been taking drugs. For all I knew they'd done a blood test on me while I was asleep, so already had the hard evidence they needed and were torturing me for fun. I went dizzy from the ordeal.

"He looks to have worsened," the nurse said. "He's going to need to go back to the ward."

Luckily for me I had worsened.

She put me to bed where I slept through a prolonged session of feverish nightmares that lasted well into the night.

The next day was lost to sickness. But on my third day in hospital I was actually beginning to feel a little better. I was still having a saline drip but I was also intermittently getting an antibiotic drip, which was strange because I could somehow taste that one when it went into my body. I was even managing to drink water from a cup, although it still brought on a searing pain in the back of my throat.

They moved me from the ENT department onto a normal ward and I made small talk with some of the people sharing the room with me. Opposite was a lad around my age with a promising football career ahead of him. He'd done something unimaginably horrible to his knee on the pitch and had been airlifted in. One day a specialist doctor came in to give him a proper diagnosis of what had happened. They drew the curtain around his bed to create some privacy. I remember it sounding like something that happens to people in a warzone. I also remember hearing him cry when he asked if he'd ever play football again and the doctor replied bluntly, "You'll struggle to walk."

Over in the corner by the door was an old boy who had grazed his leg on a pallet in the warehouse he worked in. All the way from his ankle to his knee had become infected with some awful tissue destroying bacteria, and a nurse came in daily to dress the wound. There was no skin left, just pus and bare flesh. I had several conversations with him. He was remarkably jovial.

At my mum's permission, James and Al were allowed to visit on the fourth day, after Dean and Jack had been to see me.

"Alright duuuude. How's it hanging?" James asked, as he walked in carrying a bag of grapes.

"How you feeling Lu?" Al asked.

"I'm alright. Loads better than I was," I replied. "Why have you got me fucking fruit?"

"That's what you get people when they're sick ain't it?" Al said.

"Yeah you schmuck."

"I don't want fruit, I want a fag."

"Come on then, let's go for one, I've got some," Al said. I stood up and immediately felt the intravenous drip in the back of my hand snag me. "What the fuck? You can't go anywhere with that in you."

I laughed, "Check this out Al." I took the bag of saline and unhooked it from the wall, moving it onto the hatstand on wheels thing.

"Sweet!" Al said. "We can take that down in the lift."

"They ain't gonna let you go outside for a fag with that mate, not in a million years," James said.

Shit. He was probably right. I was dying for a cigarette though.

There was a balcony on the ward I was on, the door had been left open and a long flowing white curtain danced in the breeze.

"Let's go out on the balcony," I said.

The view outside stretched for miles, the greens and blues of the summer making a welcome change from the stark white I had become used to. In the distance you could see the tops of two of Canchester's most famous landmarks; the town hall and the giant Victorian water tower.

Al pulled out a gold box of Benson and Hedges and shared them around. The wind was strong outside. I enjoyed it, it was the first time I had felt truly cool in days. My hospital gown flapped around my knees. As we stood in silence I concentrated on not letting my eyes well up from the pain of the smoke on the back of my throat. James and Al took in the view; Al leaning over the balcony to see as far into the distance as he could. I didn't go near the edge, instead just holding tightly to the hatstand and drip combo I had with me.

We'd closed the door behind us when we'd gone outside, to stop the smoke drifting in and upsetting the other patients. As we left the balcony it became all too apparent that hadn't worked. The ward absolutely stank of smoke. The windows were open too and we hadn't realised, allowing the smoke to waft in uninhibited. Unsurprisingly we got some dirty looks when we came back into what had now become a giant ashtray.

The three of us sat down on my bed.

"Mad about Kyle ain't it?" Al said.

"What about him?" I asked.

"You don't know?"

"Know what?"

"About him crashing the Maestro?"

"Fucking hell, when did that happen? Is he alright?"

"Yeah he's fine. He did it driving home from that flat in Wanton, off his nut on all that speed."

Thank fuck he's alright. If I hadn't run off he wouldn't have had to drive home on his own.

"Did he hit something? How bad was the car?"

"Nah he went down a ditch, he reckons it was his epilepsy. All the drugs more like. The car weren't actually that bad but once the police got there they seized it because he didn't have a license or insurance. They said he could have it back if he turns up with all the documents but I think that would cost more than the car's worth."

"Are they prosecuting him?"

"Yeah he's got to go to court, reckons he'll get a ban and a fine, the ban doesn't make a lot of difference though, seeing as he hasn't got a license. His mum and step-dad have gone ballistic, they won't let him out the house except to go to work, and even then they're dropping him off and picking him up. I only found out because he rang me."

"I still can't believe it, I should have been in the car with him. He might not have crashed if I had been. I guess that makes two casualties from that night," I joked. "At least he's alright."

"So how much longer you gonna be in here for?" Al asked.

"Two more days and they're going to review me apparently, whatever that means."

"Do you mind if I have a few of these grapes?" James asked.

"No, course not mate, I'm living on soup and ice cream at the moment," I replied. "So what have you two been up to?"

The pair of them looked at each other and smiled.

"You tell him," Al said, getting up and pulling the curtain around the bed.

"We went to Club Z on Saturday. We were gonna invite you along but your mum said you were still hung-over from Friday. Coming down more like."

They both laughed.

"Oh yeah, any good?"

"Not really, hardly anyone in there to be honest. So about one in the morning we're both sitting there buzzing in the foyer when this bird comes over with eyes like saucers and asks if we want to go to a party in Wanton," James said, popping another get well soon grape into his mouth and bursting it between his teeth.

"Obviously we went," Al added.

"We weren't exactly gonna go home were we? I'd only dropped again about ten minutes before." James put his hand in front of his mouth so we couldn't see the chewed up grape in there.

"I'd have gone if that had been me," I said. "So, any good?"

"Was alright. Only about ten people there altogether, but then there'd only been about ten people in Club Z," James said, before pointing at the grapes again. I nodded.

"Tell him about later on," Al said.

"About four in the morning we're starting to come down and we've got one pill left. Well I haven't got any but Al's got one."

"Right."

"So we decide sod it, we'll snort it between us, and we go off downstairs to the toilet," James said. "Once we're in there we realise there's nothing flat to cut it up on, but genius Al takes the mirror off the wall for us to use."

"Nice," I said. Al smiled at me.

"So Al gets the pill out and starts cutting it up into two fat lines for us. Only it's not a normal pill, it's a green alien. You know those green triangle ones?" James said.

"You two snorted a green alien pill?"

"Not quite," Al said.

"So Al snorts his line first because it's his pill, and as soon as he does his eyes start streaming."

"It fucking hurt," Al said.

"Then we hear this dripping noise. We both look down and there's all this tomato ketchup shit all over the mirror. I look up at Al and there's this really thick blood coming out of his nose. I looked down at the mirror again and in the reflection I could see his face but upside down. It was trippy as fuck watching the blood like floating up out of his face."

Al started laughing as if it was a normal thing to happen.

"That's not even the funny bit," James said. "This schmuck gets his bank card and quickly cuts all of my line that's got his blood in it out the way, and hands the mirror to me. As if I'm gonna snort any of it after what it did to him."

"Yeah it was alright for me to do it though," Al laughed.

"I was going to do it Al. It was only when half your face fell out of your nose that I decided against it."

"So what did you do then?" I asked.

"I just scraped my bit up and put it in a cigarette paper and swallowed it."

"No I mean what did you do about Al?"

"Oh, right. It didn't bleed for long did it Al? Like two minutes tops. We had to clean the mirror in the shower but apart from that it was alright. I mean Al weren't, he was proper mangled; I don't even think he knew his name after the rush hit him."

"I don't really remember it," Al said. "You know when you rush so hard that every second your brain forgets what's going on, and you constantly have to try and work out where you are. It was one of them, you know, too fucked to even realise you're fucked."

"Shit I've gotta get out of here, I'm working in an hour," James said, staring at his watch. "There's a fag for you Lu if you need one later." He handed it to me and I put it on the little table next to my bed.

Al opened the curtain and the pair of them went to leave.

"Laters Lu," James said.

"Yeah laters you spaz, get better soon or hurry up and die," Al added, as they walked out the door.

"Laters," I replied. "Cheers for coming."

Shit, I thought. I haven't got a lighter. From my bed I took a look around the ward in the hope that someone might have cigarettes on show; if not I'd have to ask. Everyone else was either asleep or blatantly facing the other way. Unusual for that time of the afternoon. Then it dawned on me- James's story had been a little vivid; no wonder they were all trying to avoid me. If that was the case then the rest of the time I was in here was going to be pretty awkward. I looked down at the bed and things got even worse. James had only gone and eaten all the fucking grapes.
It took a Minute for My Eyes to Adjust Again to the Dark Outside

September 2002.

I tried. I honestly did. Six days I was in that hospital, running over my life in my head. They let me out on the Saturday and I was so pleased to be free again that I spent the day and night in the house with my mum and brothers, eating food and talking like families do. I went back to work on the Monday, still on antibiotics but with a fresh sense of optimism and a mind wide open to the world around me. When the following Friday came I was ready for a night down the pub, a night like everyone else, drinking until midnight then staggering home with my best friend, stuffing our faces with crisps and peanuts purchased from behind the bar.

By Saturday I was miserable. Longing for the intense sensations that come with a chemical high. There was nothing I wanted to do except party from one eight o'clock to the other. But I remembered my time in hospital, and I knew I had to do everything I could to make sure I never ended up in there again. I wouldn't, no; I couldn't, let that happen. If not for me then for the people around me.

Snorting all those drugs had put me in there. For the people I loved I would never snort drugs again.

* * *

Pills were easily obtained in Club Z. The dealers knew us, we were all on first name terms. We didn't even have to ask. I would just nod or shake my head when I saw them lurking in the corners of the club. Then there was a hurried handshake and I knew we'd have no trouble making it through the night. I felt like I'd come home again, comforted by the music and the people I'd built my whole life around. When it turned two o'clock and it was time to actually go home it felt early; Al and I had only truly been awake for a few hours.

Paul's brother George was there, the bloke who'd driven us to the rave at the fire station. I'd spent ages chatting to him in the toilet, both of us waxing lyrical about hardcore music. We bumped into him when we left and he offered to drop us home.

"Don't suppose you've got any pills have you?" I asked him from my place on the back seat behind Al.

"Afraid not. Got some acid though if you want it," he laughed.

"Yeah go on then George," Al said.

"I was only joking mate," George replied.

"You haven't got any then?" Al asked.

"I have," George said. "I don't think you want to be doing it now though do you?"

Al looked to me.

"Is it dangerous?" I asked.

George turned to me and laughed, "All drugs are dangerous mate."

"True," I replied. "Fuck it. Why not."

"If you're both sure."

"Have we got to go back to yours?" Al asked.

George pulled the car over outside a random house, somewhere between Wanton and Kirk-Leigh.

He removed the keys from the ignition, then took the bottle opener on his key ring and used it to lever open the Vauxhall badge on his steering wheel. Inside was a hole, he reached in and took out a ball of silver foil. Peeling back the foil revealed two plastic bags- one with about an eighth of weed in and the other that appeared to be empty. He held the empty plastic bag up so we could see it. There were two tiny bits of paper in the bottom.

"So you've had acid before then?" George asked, handing me the bag.

"Nah never mate," I replied.

"Do you know what lads, maybe you shouldn't do it tonight, it's getting late now, its gone two in the morning. It's too late to be trying acid for the first time."

"What are you worried about?" Al said. "We'll be alright."

"What about if I take that back off you and keep hold of it, then get another tab for myself. I promise next weekend I'll do it with you. We'll find somewhere to do it together, where we'll be safe."

"We'll be alright mate, stop worrying," Al tried to reassure him.

George started the car and we continued on into Kirk-Leigh.

"If you're sure, just look after each other yeah," George said. "By the way, I don't know where either of you live. You'll have to give me directions."

"We're not going home," Al said.

"Why not?"

"We both still live at home with our parents," I said.

"Where are you going then?"

Al looked at me again. "The church?"

"The church? You're going to try acid for the first time in a church?"

"Yeah, the church," I said.

"Will you even be able to get in the church at this time?"

"Dunno," Al replied. "If not we'll just sit it out in the graveyard."

"No seriously lads, I'm really not sure about this. I think you two would be better off just going home."

Al hunched his shoulders up in the front seat. "For fuck's sake George, stop worrying about us."

Reluctantly he dropped us off where you turned in towards the church from the main road.

After walking the unlit gravel drive to the church itself, Al and I took shelter in the front porch where we found candles to free us from the dark. With the porch doors shut behind us we couldn't be seen from outside. I did contemplate going into the church itself, but with all the windows there was a good chance we'd get caught.

We put the tiny sheets of paper under our tongues.

Whenever I'd imagined taking LSD, I'd always pictured myself struggling to actually do it. Ecstasy did a great job of removing any fear from the mind, and we set off for a slow walk around the graveyard.

It took a minute for my eyes to adjust again to the dark outside. To begin with we walked slowly, following the sound underfoot of the gravel path that plotted the circumference of the church itself. Halfway around I began to see the detail of what surrounded us. Rows of gravestones littered the grass; in different shapes- round edged and squared off; some standing straight and proud while others leaned at unnatural angles. I found one with a stone angel perched on top and went in close to try to read what was inscribed on it. With only the light from the moon, and a carefully chosen handful of stars where the clouds were chasing the breeze, it was impossible to make out the writing. Running my fingers across the cold textured headstone revealed G-O-N-E.... B-U-T.... N-E-V.... before Al interrupted me.

"I don't think I can stay here Lu," he said. "I need to be doing something when this acid kicks in. I'm thinking maybe this ain't the right place to have done it."

"You're alright mate," I said. "We're probably not gonna get anything off it, George did say he'd had it a while. It can't be that strong anyway; fucking hell you've tripped enough times with me before, this can't be any worse. Come on, we'll go for a trek."

I was glad Al was having second thoughts about taking it. If I'm honest I was too. But as long as I could reassure and look after Al then that would mean I must be OK.

"Yeah I'll be alright. We'll come back here in twenty minutes and we'll chill out," Al said. "I just can't be here right now."

We set off back into the village. The church was right at the end of Kirk-Leigh, as far as you could go in that direction before everything turned to green. We walked on the road, nothing else moved at this time of night. We soon passed old Ship's house; in the front garden was one of his small boats, possibly the one we'd attempted to sail to Haywich.

Al turned to me. "Do you remember that Lu? On our hands and knees on top of the big yellow boat, cleaning the moss off with scouring pads. Seems like fucking ages ago."

"I know mate, mad ain't it how quickly things go by."

We continued up the road. Every so often a PIR light outside a house came on and made us both jump. Eventually we reached the post office which meant we were nearly at my house. I looked at the time on my phone, twenty minutes had passed.

"I'm not getting anything Al, we might as well go home."

"We need to put the candles out in the porch," Al reminded me. "Before we burn the church down."

We didn't speak on the way back. I think we were both relieved that tonight of all nights wasn't going to be the mad acid night.

* * *

Back at the church we decided to have a last smoke for the night in the porch. Al pulled out a box of cigarettes. He lit the end of his and took a drag.

"Aaaah," he sighed, "that's better." I looked over as he took another drag. The end of his cigarette turned a light pink.

"Can I borrow your lighter?" I asked.

I held it in front of me and sparked it up, a big pink flame poured from the top, shimmering in the breeze.

"I've gotta go for a piss mate," I said, after lighting my fag.

I relieved myself against a tree at the edge of the graveyard. I had to leave the cigarette between my lips while I did my belt up and the smoke stung my eyes.

"Alright you're obviously getting something off it now," I muttered to myself. "But that's OK, you knew what it was when you took it; that's probably all you're gonna get. You won't be sleeping tonight but it's Sunday tomorrow so you can stay in bed all day."

I walked slowly back over to find Al, picking my way through the gravestones. They looked different now- bigger than they had before and more menacing. Probably down to the changing silhouette from the moving of the moon. The stone angel stared at me.

I kept repeating those same words to myself, "That's probably all you're gonna get. That's probably all you're gonna get."

I walked back through the doorway into the porch. Al was gone. I'd only been away for a minute, fuck knows why he couldn't have just waited for me.

"Luuuuuuuuuuu." I heard from behind.

As I turned around I saw a figure lumbering towards me from the graveyard. I couldn't recognise the face but I recognised the jacket. It was Gaz, GBH Gaz, come to take revenge on me for not even having the decency to try to return his jacket. He knew where I lived, fucking hell he'd even been round my house. Surely it wasn't too much for me to expect him to make the effort to come and get it. It's too late for explaining now I thought.

Panic gripped me and I did the only thing I could; running back out through the door and into the graveyard, and ducking down behind a headstone where I couldn't be seen.

"Luuuuuuuuuuu! Where are you?!" Gaz shouted, standing in front of the doorway and blocking out the only light I had that wasn't from the cosmos.

I crawled away between the stones as quietly as I could until I knew I was out of sight, then got back onto my feet and shuffled my way through the churchyard, using my hands to see the way. Eventually I found myself at the edge of a big stone tomb. I shimmied round it and crouched down, using it for cover, all the while listening out for terrible Gaz....

Nothing. No voices. No footsteps. Just me and whoever was buried in the tomb. I tried to make out the inscription on it but the weather had worn it away.

A pink glow appeared from within the tomb, as faint as it could be. I concentrated my eyes on it and saw the silhouette of a man form; like a shadow on the night. As I stared it sat up, then slowly through the different shades of black a hand moved up to the outline of a head, and a pink pipe appeared in its mouth.

Then a voice parted my company with the silence of the night, "Where are you Lu?"

The clouds above spread. Leaving me illuminated, cowering under the scornful eye of the werewolf moon. I turned away so it couldn't see me and again saw the old man in the grave with the pipe. Who did I know who smoked a pipe? I knew someone; that I was sure of.

Ship had smoked a pipe, all those years ago. Was this thing next to me the ghost of Ship? Was it his spirit? Was this why his boat had never been finished, because he'd died? Maybe we were the last people he spoke to; maybe that was why he was haunting me, for using him then deserting him like that. I had to get away.

"Luu!" Sounded out in the background.

I got on my hands and knees and crawled between the headstones until I was in the field behind the church, checking to make sure the old man hadn't followed. He hadn't.

So now I just had to get rid of Gaz. I couldn't reply or he'd know it was definitely me, my best chance was to make a noise that would scare him away. If I made the noise at the very edge of the field then laid down, and he did decide to chase after me, the odds were he would run straight past.

I took several deep breaths in succession. "Arrrggghhh!" I shouted as bloodcurdlingly as I could, as though I were a pig being slaughtered.

I dived into the ditch at the edge of the field like I'd planned, and waited. No one followed. I waited an age longer. Still no one came. Silence. I was alone.

Phew.

I tried to calm myself down; my heart was racing and trying to breathe quietly had only compounded the problem. Then to the right of me I caught a glimpse of something pink. The old man with the pipe was back. The shock took my breath away. I was alone with him now, it looked like Gaz was gone. I knew I should have been happy that I wasn't being chased but I also felt abandoned, whatever the pipe smoking ghoul was it had me all to itself. Fuck, what if Gaz had been trying to protect me? I might have just scared away the only friend I had.

The tops of the gravestones in the churchyard began to curl over and melt, bending in on themselves in the dark and swaying with the breeze. I reached out to try and touch one to see if it was simply my eyes playing tricks on me, and my outstretched arm bowed to and fro.

Now I was in trouble.

Looking up at the church itself, the stone walls breathed in and out; a sickening bending as the whole side of it seemed to lose form. At the very top the tower swayed gently in the wind. Pulling my phone from my pocket, doubtful I'd have any signal but knowing I could use the light from its screen to guide my way out of here, I pushed a random key on the front and the facia lit up green, the light moving and swirling as the churchyard breathed in and out with me.

I crawled away not knowing where I'd go to, just hoping there was somewhere better than this. As I turned the corner, in the distance I could see the yellow streetlights of the main road. I got back onto my feet, still ducked down out of sight and made off towards the lights; then after about ten paces I bashed my head against a bench.

Eyes watering from the pain I stopped to get my bearings.

The devil's door.

Al and I had come to the churchyard to smoke when we'd been fifteen, hiding in the bushes at the back near the field. He'd pointed the door out to me then. When Al was a lot younger another kid- Kieran had lived in the village; Al had told me the pair of them often came here to play. The big pair of oak doors were at the opposite end of the church to the altar, where Jesus hung on his cross. They thought that Jesus owned that end of the church and so the devil must own the other, thus the devil's door. The story went that if you knocked three times the doors would swing open and the devil would come out and drag you to hell. One time Al and another kid had persuaded Kieran to knock twice, then had grabbed his arm and pretended they were going to make him knock again. It was only when he started sobbing uncontrollably that they'd let him go. It was a stupid story that kids make up to scare one another. Probably. And anyway, how can you believe in the devil if you don't believe in god?

I looked around once more to check if pipe man had gone. He probably hadn't, but I couldn't see him. I felt safe, a petrified kind of safe. I knew evil still lurked but at least I couldn't see it now. I just had the doors to watch, while I waited for the ringing pain in my head to clear so I could get back to heading towards the lights. From nowhere I realised I was crying.

A banging noise that sounded like it came from within the church startled me. Then another banging noise, this time definitely from inside the church. I hunkered down on the floor, trying to conceal myself under the bench in the blackness. Beneath me, long blades of grass swayed in the breeze, tickling my tear soaked chin.

Bang. Bang. Then the unmistakable sound of dry metal being dragged against itself.

Oh please no.

I lay as low as I could, staring unblinking at the terrifying doors while wiping tears from my tragic eyes.

A thin crack of light appeared between the devil's doors. No, please. Then the light spread slowly around the edges of the frame. I did my best not to breathe so I might not be heard; all the while my heart fought against me as it tried to hammer its way through my ribcage, in a last ditch attempt to get away.

The doors opened more, bright so-bright. I hadn't knocked but still they widened, light-blinding. Cold sweat dripped from every pore, sweat laced with fear. I cowered; revolted; when through the white light glow appeared the outline of a heavenly figure. Thin with long flowing hair, tall and living elegance, basking in the white light from behind. Forever he seemed to stand there spiritual.

"Luke," he spoke slowly and composed, words soft like silk. "Are you OK?"

"Y-yes thank you," I said.

"Good. I've been lying in bed half the night worrying about you two, I didn't know if you'd be OK. Do you know where Al is? I thought I heard someone crying."

It was George. Good bloke that he was had come back.

"Al?" I said, drying the tears from my face with my sleeve.

"I'll take you home mate, he's not in the church. I'm sure he's probably gone home himself."

I returned partly to reality in the car on the way back to mine. I think the light and George's company helped to put everything into perspective, although I was still having trouble with the things I was seeing. It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that I was out of that graveyard.

When we got back to mine I said thanks to George and sneaked into the garage. Where I spent the remainder of the night with my eyes shut but wide awake. What a fucking night.

Fortunately at some point after the sun came up I fell asleep.

* * *

Sunday I was left alone out there. Then in the evening I came in the house and found my cold lamb roast dinner in the microwave. On Monday I went back to work. It dawned on me around lunchtime that I hadn't seen or heard from Al since Saturday night, and I felt an immense guilt; which I managed to suppress with thoughts of how if anything had happened to him I would have heard. He must have just gone home like George thought he had. It wasn't unusual not to see each other for a couple of days after a big night out. I think it helped to bring you back to reality not having any reminders of the weekend around you.

I knocked for him on the way home, his mum answered the door.

"Yes?" she asked as she looked down at me.

I obviously didn't want her so it should have come as no surprise when I asked, "Is Al in?"

"He isn't, no, and you won't be seeing him for some time," she replied.

"Why? Where is he?"

"He should be landing in South Africa about now, providing the change in Amsterdam went on time. I found him in the small hours of Sunday morning sobbing on the kitchen floor because he thought you'd been murdered. I would have phoned the police if he hadn't been so obviously off his head. I don't suppose you know where he got that idea from do you?"

"No, Mrs Sutton."

"I didn't think you would," she frowned.

"Is he gonna be gone long?"

"Six months at least. His uncle is going to have him working with him."

Six fucking months without Al. What the fuck was I going to do? My head spun at the thought of all those evenings alone.

I left her unhappy at the doorstep. She obviously knew it was my fault she wasn't going to see her son again for six months, and I knew it was her fault I wasn't going to see my best mate. Head still reeling I walked back down towards the church, passing Ship's house on the way. Jasper barked at me from over the front gate meaning Ship must have still been OK.

I couldn't go home and I didn't know what the fuck else to do. I wandered round the churchyard, laughing as I passed places I recognised from Saturday night- the field out the back and the big stone tomb where I'd first seen the ghost with the pipe. Then I sat down on the bench in front of the devil's door.

On the ground beside the bench was a cigarette box. I picked it up. There was one in there and a red lighter I recognised as being Al's. I took the cigarette and lighter out then spotted an old lady tending to flowers on a grave was watching me. I walked over to the nearest bin and dropped in the empty box.

She smiled and said, "You're one of the good ones."

I politely nodded back.

Then I walked over to where the main road turned into the church, taking a seat on the green BT cabinet Al had been sitting on when we first met. So those stories about his uncle had been true all along? I lit the cigarette and took a deep drag, while I looked back at the church hall where it had all begun. In the glass box on the wall hung god's most recent communiqué:

'PEOPLE COME AND GO. JESUS IS ALWAYS BY YOUR SIDE.'

How fucking poetic.

### The End...
Epilogue

You know it's funny sometimes; this life thing.

One minute you're sailing on the winds of youth. The next you've got yourself so fucked up you don't even recognise who you are. And that's if you ever even were the person you remember being.

Whatever. Time heals, and more time heals more or less completely. And you find yourself looking back with glossy eyes on even the parts you promised yourself you'd forget... but only when you realise that the years keep passing, no matter how you remember things.

So I guess this is the part where I own up. Well here goes:

There is no Michael Brightside. He's just a pseudonym I adopted to help detach myself from the writing experience. My real name is closer to Luke Keane, but in the interests of legality, and also in abstaining from sounding boastful, I'll have to keep my full identity hidden for now. Like some junkie superhero.

Everything else I've told you is real- Church group; the pill box; Ship and Tabitha; the drugs and the parties... the names and the places may have been changed, but the story itself is truer than you'd believe.

Now what of the other characters?

After Al disappeared, I wondered whether Kyle and I would hook up again, and whether we'd sink quickly into our old roles as useless idiots. I'm happy to report that for once, Kyle had the sense to do something in his own interests. I eventually bumped into him again, but the world had moved on; and we both knew that it had ended at too perfect a moment to risk ruining through selfish resurrection. I wish him all the best, whatever he is doing now.

I never saw James again. He had his own life outside of us, and without our relentless drug taking to hold him back, he finally found the time to perfect his DJing. The last I heard he'd teamed up with another DJ and they'd done a few nights in London, as well as touring the festival scene up and down the country. I've not gone to one of his gigs yet, but I promise myself that one day I will.

After six long months, Al returned from South Africa, with a head full of balmy evening skies, and a mind set on better things. He'd put weight on and had colour in his cheeks, for the first time in as long as I could remember. The time away had changed him, and having seen another side to the world, a side that didn't involve living from one tiny plastic bag to the next, it was inevitable that he would want to spread his wings. So Al lives far away now; not in Africa but somewhere nearly as hot. But I make sure I see him as often as I can, and when I do, we drink and laugh about the way we used to be...

So that just leaves me: your protagonist/author.

Time fixed me too. And I settled down and that fixed me more. And though I did eventually move away from that tiny village, I never could escape the draw of the sea. And with a newfound calm to my life, I found a passion for writing that I realise must have been lurking under the surface since those English classes at school, that I met with such reluctance.

So if you were to meet me in the street- not that you'd likely know it was me, and you felt the need to ask me why the story ended the way it did. Just do what I do... whenever I wonder why things turned out the way they have, and think back to the words of the homeless man, on that cold February night in King's Cross, 'Who says a story has to have an ending? What if we're that story now?'

And you know what? I couldn't have put it better myself.
