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Back to the summer of 1976 and a sweet-faced girl on the brink of womanhood. We had always been friends for as long as I could remember. We lived two...doors apart and our parents knew each other from way back. I have pictures of us in the paddling pool together or laughing as we attended some party. They were happy times and it wasn’t until we were about 14 that we realised our friendship was different from all the rest. We loved being together and I would track Louise down to show her some. I was shocked when I saw Allan’s son at the funeral service. I haven’t seen the boy for at least 4 years. He’s 16 now and is a ringer for his dad. Is it me, or are kids maturing much more quickly these days? I must be getting old. Even policemen look far too young. Paul and I didn’t attend the wake. I couldn’t bear seeing anymore of Allan’s mousy, stupid little wife or hear her irritating Home Counties English accent. More to the point, I couldn’t accept the ghost of Allan in the shape of. He didn't really like pubs anyway, but there was nothing else to do during the slow part of the year. He was tired of the predictable banter, the faded, beer-soaked carpet, the scuffed woodwork with a thousand cigarette scars. Most of all he was tired of the stale, blokey atmosphere stuck in some 1950s timewarp. He almost expected 6pm closing and men carrying jugs of beer out to the carpark for a final guzzle before staggering into their '47 Chevys. It all reeked of stifling decay."So how are. I followed him into the bedroom to get my wash bag and then went to get a shower.When I came out, I wrapped the towel around me and went back into the bedroom. Tim was sitting on the edge of his bed, partially covered with a sheet, talking to Helen as she sipped her coffee.“All done Bev?”“Yes the bathroom’s yours if you want it.”Helen left to go to the bathroom and I noticed she was wearing just a black lace thong. She often travels to Europe and is used to topless beaches. Tim watched her.
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