THE IMAGES

WEDNESDAY 15TH DECEMBER 1976
DANBRAY : DUSK
The dark of evening swiftly changed into the blackness heralding a winter night as Sto and Harris walked the three girls into the town centre. They attended the all-girls Hermitage Academy on the outskirts of town, two were of a somewhat petite stature being around five feet four and the other was about five feet seven, but were contrastingly different in more than sheer physicality. It was really their individual dispositions and characters which denoted their true differentiation from one another. There was a pronounced similarity which centred around their mode of dress, the girls all looked immaculate and resplendent in their maroon coloured uniforms, slim blazers, white blouses and ties, white socks and black low heeled shoes or boots. There was nothing particularly flattering about the outfits, after all they were designed to be reflections of a straight laced school system, but somehow the attitude the individual brought to the clothing was the principle thing which allowed them to be more appealing.
Whilst for the pupils and peers a uniform was simply another part of school life or a symbol of the establishment’s control over their individual freedom of expression, for the workers on the building site just before the bridge over the Levenvale river it was enough to secure a host of whistles and catcalls which the girls simply ignored to all intents and purposes. Their companions shared discreet, knowing looks to one another and suppressed wry smiles – perhaps one day they too might find the schoolgirl thing much more alluring than they currently did.
Sto and Harris, as with the rest of their associates, never wore anything resembling a school uniform, the closest they came to it was black Barathea jackets devoid of school badges, parallel trousers or Oxford bags, dark shirts and black shoes with raised heels. Their attitude to uniforms was that it was something which was inflicted upon the individual and if they wanted to look the same as everyone else or even their own peers, then it would be because they chose to undertake that style and not because someone else considered it in their best interests to do so! They were not consulted in the conceptual process which initiated the style and mode of dress so they would simply abstain from participation as best they could.
It was a typical winter evening, the darkness growing and the chill permeating everything and yet they walked in a slow, conversation orientated pace. They made an incongruous group which may have appeared to an outside observer that the boys were older and were perhaps chasing jailbait. None of the five had any sense of this issue themselves, they were too busy chatting and catching up on gossip and trivia. Generally they exchanged trivia or info and discussed superficial things – who was seeing who, if the Christmas dance was all organised and would it be exciting, what universities were they applying to, which teachers were desirable…just about anything which wasn’t too controversial. The strange communication game they played was silly, all of them knew that the specific words themselves were unimportant, it was the hints, intimations and underlying thoughts which mattered – that was where the real meaning of their conversation was taking place.
Pam, Dave’s girlfriend, was attractive with a captivating smile which hid her innate senselessness and dysfunction. She had a neatly compacted body but constantly claimed that she needed to lose just a few extra pounds to change her from attractive to impressive – or that was her theory anyway. Pam had an appealing, slightly rounded shape to her face with short brown, bobbed hair that was cut to hang just a little lower than the jaw-line, wild eyes that were both captivating and disconcerting, legs which were disproportionately long for her frame, supporting what could only be politely classed as a ‘womanly’ torso. Sto had spent little time in her company and rarely when she was in her uniform – more often than not their paths crossed at parties, dances and concerts where Pam tended to wear short, revealing dresses that attracted attention from men. As a simple schoolgirl she looked almost demure, reflecting just how deceptive appearances can be, but whatever else Pam was, she was certainly pleasing to his eye.
Pat, Pam’s inseparable social half, tended to spend little time with the group that Pam’s association with Dave had brought her into but no-one was mourning that situation on either side. Pat was very slim with a blonde streaked mane of brown hair that she tied back into a long ponytail which fell halfway down her back, a tiny waist, rounded hips and muscular legs that weren’t particularly flattered by the knee boots she always wore throughout the winter season. The girl had a tendency to avoid clingy clothing as if she were refusing to acknowledge her own adult body. Flippancy bored her as she looked at the world through her large, dark steel framed glasses and so she found little in common with Sto and simply dismissed him as an inane fool.
Harris found that some of her physical features reflected her personality quite precisely, for example, she had penetrating eyes which looked beneath the surface of everyone but never saw any of the merits which lay before her. She seethed of selfishness to him and yet there was something perversely appealing about her, something adult which contrasted to her obvious veneer of quasi immaturity.
To Pat, Jonn was a genuine curiosity she could not yet understand. He, like his friends, had something of a reputation amongst some of the girls in Sixth Form within her school, but even this was inconsistent depending upon who was talking – and that in itself didn’t inspire any confidence to get to know him better.
Jane, the third and most obviously attractive of the girls, was tall, very pretty with long dark hair, big brown eyes, a large mouth and perfect white teeth transported on a body that was like a slightly shorter Xerox version of a Vogue model. Jane was comparatively quiet through the walk, resigned to a listening orientated privacy unless responding to Pam or Pat, mostly laughing at Sto’s ridiculous jokes – somehow he was funny and strangely appealing.
Sto desired Jane when he first looked at her. Her elegant, adult demeanour and body aroused him to actually take an interest in the person but he was reluctant to initiate anything with her because for some reason she made him feel extremely nervous whenever he was with her. He had assumed it was only her quiet nature which kept a horde of admirers from her because she was quite a looker.
Jane appeared to have little time for Harris although she hadn’t spent a lot of time with him, she did not like the way other girls spoke about him as if he was something special, he was so self righteous and arrogant.
To Harris her good looks didn’t matter, there was something ‘off’ in her behaviour at times that made him both wary and unable to take to her the way he was usually superficially seduced by a pretty girl – but perhaps that was simply his own vanity at fault because he was unable to pick a single, valid example of her bad or questionable behaviour… it was purely his instinct.
Both of the guys were uncomfortable with the way Pam would flirt with Harris – an unspoken hint of desire on her behalf, enough of a hint that they both individually questioned Dave’s relationship with a girl who seemed a little unworthy of him. Whilst everyone flirted and played little charm games with one another, there was a fine line between harmless playfulness and a genuine underlying message – Pam appeared to spend all her time walking that line!
It was about quarter to five as they stood outside the Tea Kettle Coffee Shop on the High Street, the girls were going inside to meet some friends whilst Sto and Harris were going on to see Mhic at the shop. Jane stood off to the side a little, close to Sto, dropping little hints of how she’d like to see Chinatown at the GFT this week – but got no response. Harris couldn’t believe Sto was wasting a golden opportunity here – he had long ago guessed that his friend had a real big thing for Jane and he knew it was more than just a casual attraction because he had never mentioned it at any time outside of saying how spectacular Jane was – that was a sure sign amongst them that there was more to this than met the eye. Without fuss and lingering goodbyes, the boys left the girls to their coffee date expressing how much they all looked forward to catching up at the dance.
As they walked into the Town Centre Quad, Harris realised Sto wasn’t simply being cagey in relation to his feelings for Jane – he had absolutely no idea she was doing everything but asking him out. It briefly crossed his mind to point this significant fact out to his friend but, on reflection, assumed that there might be some valid, personal, deep seated reason by way of an explanation. Remaining silent Harris merely thought about the truism ‘there are none so blind as those who will not see!’

DANBRAY – TOWN CENTRE : EARLY EVENING
In the Cutty Sark bar, on the High street, an unofficial meeting was beginning. The Lounge bar was sizeable with a lot of booths and little tables that were colour co-ordinated in an ugly, functional, dark burgundy. The licensed premises tended to be habituated by an older crowd and it was reflected in the subdued level of music which played in the background, reflected even in the type of music that was played - for it was rare to hear anything that came out later than nineteen seventy. The staff at the Cutty also tended to be older, women in their thirties, maybe late twenties at the weekend when the manager wanted to push sales figures up by bringing in girls that his clientele wanted to go to the bar to look at and, in turn, order more booze from to justify the opportunity.
‘Fool on the Hill’ from the Beatles ‘Blue’ album was playing discretely as a pleasant background hum for the many individuals sitting alone and glancing through the paper – reflecting the growing number of people who wanted to get hammered before they even returned home from work. It was barely six in the evening and already the Lounge was smoky and fairly busy so early on a Wednesday evening. Montague pulled on his pint of draught Guinness, around him sat a half dozen of the conspirators from 'All Saints’. John Grant, a gaunt, thin faced man with receding hair, laid down his Heavy and licked the froth from his lips as he prepared to speak.
“Right, then." he said, eyes flickering round the table. We all know why we're here. This business has been going on for too long and I think it’s time we did something about it."
“We all know that!" Simmons, the English teacher, said.
Grant ignored him. "The negotiations over the pay deal haven't gone too well, in fact they're about to fall apart!”
Simmons interrupted again. "Who says they're about to fall apart?"
Grant's narrow eyes flicked over him like a snake’s tongue. "The regional NUT representative, Bill Ward.”
“I can imagine what you're about to suggest before you say it."
"And what's that?"
"A strike…and perhaps other restrictions. Anything to disrupt the school routine and bring as much attention to the situation as possible in the hope that other schools will follow your lead and force the Local Authority, SED and Scottish Office to obey your ultimatums."
"Why the hell not?" Grant said disgustedly. "It's bad enough having to face those little bloody monsters day after day – especially bearing in mind the ridiculous teacher - pupil ratio… oh, and the fact that next Autumn, the All Saints catchment area is being widened even further without a commensurate budgetary expansion for more staff. On the salary we get it's becoming like a vocation and there aren't many of us still naive enough to treat it as that any more - we're all too long in the tooth to swallow that trash."
McHugh a podgy chemist spoke up.
“What?" he mocked with deadpan humour. "You mean that we're not really helping society and creating a new world? Passing on our accrued wealth of knowledge to today’s generation for tomorrow’s posterity? My goodness, I am amazed."
Simmons’ eyes screwed up. “For God's sake. Look, I agree with most of our demands, obviously I do, it's just that it has to be handled in the right way - that's all. Our school is in enough of a state already without any more unpleasantries being connected to it. We should use the appropriate procedures to rectify this situation!"
Grant nodded as of agreeing. “Well, we have been and our representatives are indicating that if we can’t induce some pressure then we’ll be looking at another year of under the rate of inflation increases. Now, I don’t know about how many of you are in the same position as me, but my salary just isn’t cutting it - we have to think of ourselves.”
“Jesus, when do you think of anything else apart from yourself because this isn’t just about industrial action to get a reasonable pay increase… this is another notch on your gun as far as union profile goes. In two years time you’ll be one of the ones on the negotiating committee with a healthy income and saying to yourself, ‘Oh well, maybe next year we can get some more cash for the coal front workers!’ – then wondering where you’ll holiday abroad this year!”
Grant ignored the slur and took another direction. “The days when your principle focus was on the kids are long gone for most of us, this isn’t the nineteen fifties – the education system is just another social machine… and one which is becoming very fatigued. It's just a job now, nothing more, the same as a street sweeper, a bus driver, a factory manager, an office supervisor or any bloody job you care to mention. How much respect do you get when you go into the bank and ask for a mortgage or a loan? No-one cares about that sort of thing any more, we’re living in a world that’s more and more economically based and we have to deal with it on that level. How can you still believe in the glories of teaching when you aren't even allowed to educate children any more, you simply indoctrinate them with this year’s curriculum and job requisition demands! This is a fight to stop the erosion of our financial situation and in the coming years it isn’t going to get any easier, so we’d better start looking for ways to increase our negotiation arsenal… because right now we don’t have very much clout!"
"I just don't want to see it handled badly. If it dragged on it could mess up the kids exam chances. And as I said earlier, I don't want to see action being implemented for the wrong reasons either.” Simmons concluded looking at Grant.
"Meaning what?" asked Grant, clearly aware at the accusation being levelled at him once more.
"Meaning that you just love every opportunity to play the militant trade unionist – that’s your fundamental concern here, not whether we can afford decent housing."
"You bloody little…"
Montague interjected raising his hands and looking round the faces who half suspected there was more than a grain of truth to this last allegation.
“I don’t think we should be looking at personality issues here, this is a negotiation situation not a forum for character assassination. There’s a serious issue at stake and, at the moment, we seem to have very little at our disposal to implement some pressure. We are facing the same difficulties as our colleagues throughout Scotland but our real problem is indigenous to the Strathclyde authorities and the local one – we could see a pupil increase of almost thirty to forty percent over the next two years and the funding currently on offer, even for structural development, is way below market costs. Everyone here will have more pupils in their class with the discipline and educational logistic problems that brings… and all for a government capped salary increase that’s far below the rate of inflation. These are the issues we’re facing and the issues we have to deal with here and now!”
There was a momentary pause which allowed the heated tempers to cool a little and also allowed the real issue to once again feature uppermost.
Grant continued calmly. “We can’t get a union supported strike on the basis of what is principally a local issue, but we can enforce work to rule pressure, the withdrawal of voluntary work practices and, perhaps, draw some attention by one day wildcat strikes that withdraw our labour so that we don’t end up sitting here in a year’s time saying all the same things but in a much less advantageous position… because by then, much of this will be a fait accompli!”
Steven Teale, a young Modern Studies teacher nodded on agreement. “I think Johnny’s right. We have to look at what we’re going to do next year to consolidate our position. I don’t want to end up looking for a new career and right now there are a lot of educated people on the dole queue who can’t find work… and the numbers are growing – we have to think ahead!”
Montague smiled to himself, knowing exactly what he wanted from this meeting and what he wanted from his school, but more importantly he knew exactly how it had to be done. As the old adage went ‘there’s more than one way to skin a cat’!”

HELLENFORD : EARLY EVENING
It was still only early on in the evening when Pam eased herself into the deep, blue bath.
It was a large bathroom and always warm despite the cool impression expected from pale blue walls and white tiling. Like everywhere else in the home, like all her family in fact, everything was neat, precise and in place. Nothing was ever chaotic or abandoned in this domicile, there was a place for everything and everything was always in its place… sometimes it reminded Pam of an advert, artificial and unreal, but it was her home and she generally felt comfortable there.
The thick foam was like icing, hiding the hot water beneath, invigorating as it lapped over her body, seeking to consume and fill her every curve and crevasse. The ends of her hair were quickly soaked and split into lifeless tails as she slowly submerged the last of herself down into the water. The sheer warmth of the water encompassed her, issuing an artificial sense of security, a place where she had time to think. Apart from the gentle sounds of the cassette player churning out the melancholy Simon and Garfunkel album, there was only her breathing and the lapping water audible in competition. The sense of solitude within the large bathroom pleased her, gave time to think as she soaked, for there was nothing else to do. Pam closed her eyes and let the hot water consume her, momentarily paying attention to ‘The Sound of Silence’.
For some time she thought of nothing, relaxing to the old tape she had become so fond of over the years because it reminded her of when she was young and carefree.
There was a pleasure in this temporary nothingness, thinking of nothing, doing nothing, feeling nothing. But even that was hard to do for any length of time when her mind was always bringing her back to the things she had to look at, the things she wanted to avoid when everything around her was always so confusing.
There was her strange home life, the complexities of school life, the thought of the future – in fact, people in general, they were all so hard to adjust to, it was all so hard to fit in adequately with everyone's requirements. And why was it that people weren’t more trustworthy? Why did there need to be so much bitching between friends, so called secrets shared with someone you trust only to find that in no time everyone knows about it. ‘Once bitten, twice shy’ she mused, rubbing her thighs against one another and sending little ripples of water in colliding cascades throughout the bath beneath the undulating foam.
Dave, that was it, it was Dave. He was such a nuisance and caused so many problems for her. The things he wanted from her were not the things she wished to share with him. If only he was a week-end, occasional, now and again boyfriend, then there would be no trouble, no big issue and no real problem. She screamed silently within herself. He was just so possessive… no, that wasn't the right word - clinging, needy, demanding, expectant… his adoring attention to her was almost claustrophobic. All him, him, him, what he needed, what he wanted. It was as if Dave was looking for her to be the perfect match, to provide something she didn’t understand, for her to be his property… and at this age! Going out with a boy was one thing, but being tied down and preparing to be bound for life was another. Boyfriends were meant to be a fun thing, an escape from the bad things in your life, a distraction, something to fill in the dead time and spaces in life. Ideally, if she was going to have one of those memorable teenage flings she’d prefer it to be with… say, Mhic Palmer because he was handsome and always seemed to know what to do and say or more importantly what not to say and do, but he was taken and breaking that bond was just too much effort. There again maybe Jonn Harris, he was a rebellious, bad-boy type that her parents would thoroughly disapprove of… she could imagine bedding him and just having some fun, excitement, adventure or something. So why didn’t she see Dave that way? Why wasn’t he more relaxed like Palmer or Harris? What was the matter with him? And, for that matter, what was the matter with Harris? She’d flirted with him time and again, in fact pretty explicitly on a number of occasions, all but offering herself to him at that last party. They were all a little strange but maybe that was what appealed to her.
She raised her leg out of the water and ran the smooth yellow marbled soap over her leg, the water subsided from her body as she did so, the tide-pulling at her clump of dark hairs leaving a tangled mass. She watched herself unseeing, and certainly not understanding the complex dormant emotions within herself, almost unaware of what was really creating this confusion. Some things just didn’t bear scrutiny.
Then there was Peter, of course. He was really the one for her, more like herself, her type, not Dave - he was empty, aimless, just not right for her. But Peter wasn't there, not part of their scene and certainly not one of them. Undoubtedly he wasn’t the most handsome of boys but he was the kind of guy who was going to go somewhere, become something after University – probably secure a great job and ride the fast track to the top, start his own business, make a stack of money and seek the perfect girl to share it with someday. Smiling, she realised that she would do anything for him – anything, unhesitatingly… if he approached her the right way.
The soap fell from her hands and she fumbled around in the cloudy water in search of it. With a sigh she gave up and slid further into the bath and went under, letting the water go over her head.

DANBRAY – NEWTOWN : EVENING
The black box issued forth its words of wisdom to the backdrop images of violence and streetfights. The announcer spoke impassively "…1200 police officers attended the wildcat strike at the South London printing plant of whom almost 300 were injured. There were over 84 arrests and officials on both sides stated that there would be no return to the negotiating table until a fresh agenda was in place."
With the interchanging of a sheet of paper and a momentary pause to signify a change of subject, the semi-animate announcer moved to the next item. “In Beirut, rival factions are still fighting in the Lebanon after peace talks failed to secure a cease fire. Our overseas correspondent Peter J…"
Harris pressed the remote and switched the television off, thinking what a curse the box was and how hard it was to shut the damn thing off – he missed the days of his childhood when you had to walk over to the set to do anything and it all had big, chunky dials. Everything was black and white and in the old technology, switching off left a resonating image as it would fade away to a little dot of light that slowly diminished bit by bit until there was nothing. He was getting old.
Bill made a singular nod and cradled the can of beer in his hand. Harris flicked the buttons of the sound box and retired as the seductive drumbeat faded in slowly filling the room as Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album broke the sudden silence. He threw himself on the settee and gazed at the red shadows which came from the green light in the corner, noticing how eerie they appeared. Bill adopted an old wise man stance, almost Bob Ferris like, and which really did not become him, pulled on the beer and belched loudly - obviously satisfied. Harris laughed at him. 'Five Years' wound on its way to the climax as the two of them sat saying nothing, only listening.
Their blonde Les Paul and yellow Telecaster guitars sat by the little Fender amps in the corner, still warm from the evening’s work! Although the microphones had long been disconnected, the Selmer PA amp was still on
"I wonder how long we've got?" Harris mused eventually.
"For what?" Bill asked stupidly.
“To make something of ourselves. Not to just end up office fodder and human waste."
"It could happen to anyone, sometimes you have to take the rough with the smooth!"
"Not if you have some aim in your life, a purpose to who you are and I don't mean just a job… I mean a purpose!"
"I've got a purpose, Sport, I just don't get the chance to indulge in it often enough!" Rosser said seriously, then burst into laughter with Harris.
“Working on these bloody songs is a much more important purpose than working on your ‘drilling’ abilities. Although your songwriting is about as good as your deep well work!”
“Thanks – I try to be brilliant at whatever I do!” Bill responded deliberately ignoring the barb Harris had just jabbed with.
The thin youth grinned and made a tiny head shaking movement as he abandoned the subject.
"So, what are you gonna do after school winds up? In summer, that is, you know - the end, out into the big bad world?"
"Oh, fuck knows. I’ve not thought about it much, depends on the results really doesn't it?"
"Nope! Not really.”
“What?”
"Shit, Sport! Bits of paper are no good any more, perhaps a few years ago but now they're nothing – educational Green Shield stamps. The world is changing. We’ll never see full employment again in our lifetimes. You need to have 'the hand-shake' or the old school tie to get on in a big way in the ‘real world’. There has to be something else to offer a future. Get qualified? Get a job? Get fucked!”
“So, Jonn-boy, you won’t be taking the exams at summer then?” Rosser queried with a little sarcasm.
Harris laughed. “Well, I’m crazy, but I’m not that stupid! Obviously - yes! I’d hate to think my parents would be shackled with another of my special ‘principled’ sacrifices. I mean they were pretty tolerant when I refused to go Private at eleven because I didn’t believe in it - purely on principle. I think one real areshole move per decade is all I’m prepared to inflict them with. So – sadly, yes, more exams and Green Shield paper chasing for me too! And remember - these certificates are a great start for a lot of people… after all, we'd never get to Uni without them!"
"You’re smarter than you look, kiddo! Which is just as well in your case." Bill laughed enthusiastically. "Anyway, as it is… the job situation is already so bad that soon you’ll need qualifications to clean loos!”
Harris laughed at the irony, but not so much at Bill’s dry humour.
“I think it's almost funny. Everything is going right down the toilet and no-one seems to bother. We’re headed for one of the darkest Post-war periods to date and there’s not a god-damned word spoken about it. The whole country is becoming faceless and they all simply accept it. Things are changing, this isn’t the same world our parents grew up in. Something needs to happen, I couldn't even tell you who our Prime Minister is.”
"I didn't know we had one."
“We do, remember? Pretends he’s a socialist but dresses up as Stalin while he gets rid of ballsy characters like Tony Benn in case there’s the faintest chance of changing things for the better for all the poor bastards who eke out a miserable existence in a thousand stinking housing schemes throughout the country. You must know who I mean, he’s the cocksucking guy who helps Britain to sink diplomatically for an offensively large annual salary and allowances!”
“Wait a minute, do you mean the fat Tory bastard who still thinks he’s a left winger? Healey, no, Callaghan – I always get those bum bandits mixed up!”
“Right! Capitalism’s finger puppets - neither of them will be signing on any time soon. Shit, I don’t mind the rest of the country going down but we live here too!"
"How could they not care?" the other jeered.
"Bizarre, that’s just what I was thinking… oh, the pain, the pain – you blithering booby!" he laughed.
Bill's laughter was infectious, pausing only as his eyes flashed with sudden glee even as he looked down with his personal idiosynchratic obsession at his watch.
“Oh ho, talking of suffering… I forget to mention - guess who’s got engaged?"
"Cliff Richard, Larry Grayson, Jesus, Danny La Rue?"
"Close enough – Oddball Oates! He's been kicking around with this total boot from the Hill, who's now been shot up the stick and he thinks it's his handy work. The tool doesn’t know it could be any one of a dozen guys who actually did the dirty deed and he thinks he’s responsible. What a dick!"
"You'd know all about that." Harris said wryly.
Bill scratched his head, almost uncomprehending. “Huh?”
Harris smiled innocently and shook his head as if to dismiss it all.
“Another?” he inquired, wobbling a can of Tennent’s lager with its shiny printed image of a cute
glamour girl on the back towards him.
“Mmmm. I should really be heading off!”
“Something exciting on the horizon?”
Bill shook his head. “Just got some things to do… nothing too exciting, but I have to bail shortly!”
“So is that a ‘yes’ to another beer?”
“Why not?” Bill agreed, leaning forward.
“Why not, indeed, Mr Jordache?”

FALLOWHILL : LATE EVENING
The sound of The Sensational Alex Harvey Band’s ‘Midnight Moses’ was pouring out the big speakers in the back room of Ross’s Store as Rosy sat rolling a fat joint on the table. He was in his early twenties, tall and thin with long dark hair and a beard that would have looked good on any San Francisco Angel, he wore big jeans that were almost entirely composed of patches and a ‘Free’ T-shirt finished off with heavy Army boots. Willie Ross owned a popular store in Fallowhill, it did good business and never had any trouble – ever, because no-one in the area would mess with Rosy Ross or his associates. The shop did a lot of local trade and made him a respectable wage but all his real business took place in the back shop. He looked over to the big clock and noted it was about eight-ish so it gave him plenty of time to bang the spliff before the meeting and getting down to work for the night.
Rosy looked up as he heard the key open the back door and he grabbed the machete from its holder beneath the table without rising.
“You must have known I was coming!” Donald Bell grinned as he looked at the doings on the table.
“Dinger, you minger! You never heard of knocking?”
“Only after I’m in!” The man with the eyepatch replied.
Rosy laughed, “Get yourself a beer, pal! How’s tricks?”
“Good, buddy, good! Been up seeing our friend!”
Rosy nodded as he stuck the joint into his mouth.
Dinger Bell was tall and well built with dark haired slicked back from his face, sporting an eye patch that no-one ever asked about if they knew what was good for them. With a shrug he slipped his heavy brown leather jacket off his shoulders and rolled up the sleeves of his white and black cowboy shirt, dug his hands into the baggy white trousers and withdrew the can opener before he opened the fridge door.
“What about you, Rosy, need one?”
Rosy tilted his head from side to side for a moment then nodded. “Aye, fuckit, why not?”
Dinger brought the cans over, put them on the table and inserted two openings on each can. “I like the old cans, man, can’t beat them!”
“One day you’ll have to join the real world, pal! So what’s the news?”
Bell sat down across from him, took a deep swallow and looked over.
“It’s all go, they’ll punt us a half kilo for near enough what we were prepared to pay and once we step in it a bit and bang it out to the punters we’ll triple our cash!”
“Is that triple including the payment?”
Dinger laughed. “Depends how hard we step on it, eh?”
Rosy grinned and handed the joint across. “Are they gonna go for the big numbers, though. We can get rid of a half K in a couple of weeks, what we want is the real weight! This area’s wide open, especially with the amount of Yankee troops based up the coast, like printing fuckin’ money for us…”
“Dunno about the weight, the cunts were a bit cagey when it came to numbers, all this ‘let’s see how you do with this’ kinda shit!”
“What the fuck’s it got to do with them, we could be sticking it up our arse for all the difference it makes to them – they’ve got the foldin’ by then, haven’t they?”
Dinger took a final drag and handed it back, holding it in and then puffing out a large cloud of smoke.
“They’re scared in case we start stepping on toes.”
“Like Monaghen’s crew? They’re no’ interested in this shit, they’ve got their fraud schemes, protection and the slags running right up the coast. Fuck them!”
“Listen, Rosy, we’d better tread careful, if we start making real cash like we’re all talking about then they’re gonna want a slice, if they don’t want to do it themselves!”
Rosy made a sudden head jerk and looked over.
“You’re right, they will and they can have some, maybe, at first… but if we do this right, do it smart, we’ll be able to snuff the cunts in no time. I want this to work, this can happen, man, I’m telling you!”
Dinger nodded, he’d known Rosy since they were kids stealing dinner money from their classmates and he knew there was something more here.
“So are you gonna tell me, Rosy, or are we waiting until the rest of the boys get here?”
Rosy grinned. “You know why we’re still pals?”
“Aye, you want to fuck me!”
They laughed and gave each other the finger.
“Exactly, you know me like I know you. We both trust all the boys, but you and me, we’re big time, we’ve got big things waiting to happen. I want you to get something done but it can’t come from us – you don’t do this and I don’t, coz if it goes wrong we’ll be fucked before we start. This is just you and me, right?”
“Fuck you, if you’ve got to ask!” Dinger laughed.
“Good! Right, I need you to get one of the Young Hill to break into a house and get us a key.”
Any other time Dinger would’ve just taken out his house keys and tossed them down in a joke saying ‘Take your pick’, but he knew this was special.
“Any particular house?”
“Course, buddy, nothing special just a nice house in the Newtown. Should be simple and if it goes wrong we’re clean as far as any shit goes!”
“From the local blue?”
“No, fuck that, from the people the punter in this house works for.”
The man with the eyepatch knew what he meant now and he nodded.
“No problem, Rosy, but how are we gonna get to use the key?”
“I’ll worry about that, I know a wee bird that’s open to a bit of persuasion and a bit of the pork sword as well!”
They both cackled and made faces.
“You gonna try and get their books?”
“Fuckin right, I am, after that nobody’s gonna come and lean on us – the cunts’ll be protecting us because we’ll be like…partners, sleeping partners!”
“I knew you were a scheming bastard that first day in primary school when you tried to nick my Aztec bar!”
Rosy laughed, “Fuckin Aztec bars, ah loved them, man. But I knew we were gonna be pals when you stuck the head on me and didnae just cough it up.”
Dinger smiled and looked at his friend. “This could work, this could really fuckin’ work!”
“Aye, if we do it right and keep this quiet! We just do what we were going to do with the boys, all fair, but if we can get this together, everyone will get a taste. Am I being a cunt?”
“No chance, seems smart, mouths shut and we move on to better things, eh?”
“You’ve got it! Now, who’s gonna get the key? Is Foxy still running about like a mental wee fucking psycho or has some of Nick’s brains started to show up in the fucker yet?”
Dinger sighed and took the joint doings from in front of Rosy, licking papers as he gazed over.
“That kid’s brain is made of shite, he spends energy on getting away with stupid shit for a couple of bob just to show he can get away with it. Fuck knows how he’ll ever be a Headboy… but he does run the crew real tight! If I tell him to get it then he’ll get it – because if he doesn’t I will fuck him up so he wishes he could disappear like Nicky! He’ll get one of his crew to do the job, I think there’s some wee cunt that’s a bit crisp in the area… cops can’t nail him and they’re waiting till he’s old enough to go to the Bar L as an adult before they do a Burton’s on him!”
Rosy laughed and then stopped when he saw Dinger was serious.
“Are you tellin’ me this kid is that good that the cops are gonna wait to fit him up in a made to measure crime? What the fuck has he done to piss them off like that?”
“Did some good jobs in places the blue don’t like getting complaints from!”
“Fuck me, I’d like to meet this wee tealeaf, but we can’t until this shit’s sorted and we get the key. Nothing can come back on us or we’ll end up feeding the fuckin’ fish, from the inside.”
Dinger completed the joint and lit it up, speaking out the side of his mouth.
“So I’ll get Foxy to put this cunt on it?”
Rosy nodded and pulled a card out his pocket.
“The address… and it’s tomorrow!”
Dinger shook his head and looked over to Rosy’s face as he passed the joint.
“Shit, and I thought it was urgent! I’ll get hold of Foxy after the meeting, set it up and ring you to confirm it’s all green.”
“Good, but it’s got to be tomorrow!” Rosy smiled slyly.
“How come?”
“Coz the man with the key’s gonna have it there tomorrow, according to this wee bird that’s open to some persuasion, he only gets it when he does the books. If it’s not tomorrow we’re into next year. Tomorrow!”
Dinger nodded, “Tomorrow it is!”

KIRKPATRICK : NIGHT
Mhic’s sister, Mary, stood in the bedroom doorway, pushing the door open with one hand and the green tray balanced on the other… impatiently waiting to be relieved. Today, the tall, sixteen year old was wearing a short black dress and black knee socks that once again made her appear older and certainly quite desirable – so much so that it was easy to forget it was Mhic’s sister.
Sto smiled at her broadly, “Thank you, Mary, anything else being given away?”
She looked at him with open disgust, wondering why men could be such dickheads.
“I’m fussy, not desperate!” she said turning and promptly disappearing.
“What’s wrong with her? She doesn’t seem too pleased.” he asked Mhic after he watched her rounded rump disappear out of sight.
The other tried to be interested. “Touchy subject, I think. Her boyfriend just got the elbow, or should I say the knee, because he wanted the same as you were hinting at.”
“My God, the country is becoming moral in its’ old age. Where did the permissive society go? I missed all the fun!”
“I doubt that, Sto!”
“I could’ve offered her some Sax!” he giggled nodding over to Mhic’s gleaming gold, Selmer Sax sitting in the corner.
Mhic smiled a little, slurped at his tea and jumped over to the record player. Once again he played his current, big horn obsession favourites, the Chicago - ‘Best of’’ album, jumping back to ‘Does Anybody Really Know What Time It Is?’ As he listened to the rich horn arrangement his eyes flickered over to his own… all he needed were another eleven wind players and they could do their own version of the good Chicago stuff, like the first two albums – not like that Peter Cetera shit that had been haunting the number one slot for too long with ‘If You Leave Me Now’. Even the sentiment of that song bugged him.
“Wait a minute.” Sto said thoughtfully. “Didn’t Jonn or Dave go out with Mary when we were in fourth year or something – I mean they were real ‘rat-up-a-drainpipe’ merchants then… so I wouldn’t have thought she was immune from carnal assault!”
“Don’t think so, Sto! It’s news to me. Christ, she’d only be about thirteen when we were in fourth year… yuuuuuch! Aside from which that’s my sister we’re talking about! Have we not had this conversation before?”
“Sorry, obviously I got it wrong – don’t go nuclear, man! Girls can be funny at any age!”
“Mmmm, yeah – suppose so. It is typical of females.” Mhic moaned with a contemptuous expression. “They’re all temperamental and unbalanced.”
Sto tried to fathom out what was on Mhic’s mind. “Michelle?” he asked.
“What makes you say that? Oh! I suppose it’s that obvious. Well it’s not her…and it is. I don’t know what to think. In a way I’m annoyed at this modelling thing. She’s gone over the moon about it - it’s only some bloody test shots and she’s already making it seem like it’s the cover of Vogue or something. At this rate it’s going to get to the stage where nothing matters except ‘I want to be a model’!”
“Well, I wish it was me, but I suppose I don’t have the legs for it.”
Mhic mentally erased the image of Sto on the Catwalk or flashing hairy cleavage on the cover of Cosmopolitan.
“I mean, I’m pleased for her, in a way, she has the chance to do something – maybe make something she wants for herself, while all I do is waste my life in that record shop.”
“I thought you loved the shop, what’s changed? The Sarah Hall factor? Shit! She’s ancient, probably dead before the next Pink Floyd album appears! You could still be wasting your time in school, it’s all much of a much!”
“What the hell does everyone else do? Become nine to fives, be like our parents?”
“Well it’s something to do. Everybody has to do something, just like we all have to be somewhere. It’s better than doing nothing all your life.”
“Is it?”
“Well, I think so. Anyway the model thing’s probably no big deal – more than likely blow over in a couple of weeks. And even if not, you can always say you’re doing a model – pretty slick! Michelle’s no dummy, she can look after herself and she’s totally smitten with you. Look at the number of guys who were chasing her from third year on and she blanked them all apart from you and Phil Nelson – and he was a second year, Uni man with obscenely wealthy parents. Think about it, Mhic! Now you could really afford to worry if you had a saintly brother to compete with all the time.”
Mhic’s eyes scanned Sto suspiciously. “Gerry, you mean?”
“Well, yeah,” Sto said feeling his mockery turn sour on him. “All the time I get this shit dished out to me about how good he is - academically.” he spat the last word out.
Mhic sat silently, his mind tossing between his own worry and that which Sto was talking about.
“So what! You’re not exactly retarded, are you? We all got a string of Highers to go with the O levels – for all the good they do, but we all still got them!”
Sto still felt the compulsion to talk about it. “Yeah, well… but it’s a constant war in the house when ‘they’ start the crap. And it’s just a lot of shit about nothing. I mean, your father is the same as mine – a Headmaster… you must get the same type of bullshit! They want all the family to be little miniatures of themselves. And Gerry’s such a fucking Spazzo, anyway.” he finished, laughing.
Swallowing his rapidly cooling tea, Mhic felt contaminated By Sto’s laughter.
Sto looked at him seriously, irritation still in his mind just thinking about the family conflicts and a growing sense of discomfort relating to his father’s recent revelation. “And how is Michelle? I haven’t seen her for a while.”
Mhic shrugged. “Neither have I. How’s Hellen? Still drinking?”
“Yeah, well,” laughed Sto, taking the hint. “She’s going to be an alcoholic - that’s her ambition. I think.”
“Amongst others. Like staying impure for example?”
“Well…” Sto laughed and thought of how funny it was. After Joanna’s, his Sunday meeting with Hellen was spent humping like rampant ferrets all night - it was a pity that within less than two days things had rapidly went downhill from there. A Sunday sensation before a Monday night wham, bam, bye-bye man, from her – game over! Women were a strange breed he reflected.
“My gawd, Palmer. You’re cheap and crude – it’s so refreshing.”
“Do you know something, Sto?”
“Yes! Lots.”
“You say ‘well’ an awful lot.”
“Do I?”
“Yes, a lot!”
“Well?”
Mhic shook his head, arose and turned the LP over, there was no answer to that.

DANBRAY – BELLSTREE : NIGHT
The walls of the tiny room were closing in on her.
The inoffensive blandness of ‘Silly Love Songs’ was annoying and even the tinny, cheap sound from the little stereo was an agonising irritation.
Christene hated Bellstree, hated it with a passion, hated the small house they had been reduced to after her parents divorce, hated being out of school, hated working in a stupid bloody Chemists, hated the isolation of this wasteland, hated not having the things she has been used to as a child – missed the possessions, the private education, the nice friends, the holidays, the clothes, the eternal lack of worry… in fact she pretty well hated everything in her life, especially the fact that she couldn’t show or tell anyone how she really felt.
The only people she felt any affinity with, the only people who treated her as the person she was and not what she possessed, were Michelle, Jonn and Suzanne – perhaps Mhic a little, but more through Michelle’s affiliation than his own. Mercifully there were a handful of people who didn’t care what her current social status was. The loneliness and sense of isolation she felt every waking moment was almost as bad as just living here after the middle class sobriety of Bearsden.
Gazing round her tiny room she was appalled by her life. She didn’t blame her mother for their current condition but she could never accept that her affair was something she could condone… after all, it had been so devastating on her father that he moved abroad to erase the sense of anguish, to have the opportunity to simply start again - afresh. It was terribly painful to think about and hard to describe just how much she missed her father and her little sister, Julia - just as it was hard to describe how angry she felt that he had somehow tarnished her with the same resentment he felt for her mother just because she wouldn’t abandon her. Innocence of a crime sometimes isn’t enough. How can any fourteen year old really grasp the enormous complexities of their parents relationship imploding… and yet how can any eighteen year old come to terms with the sense of abandonment she currently felt?
After all, her Mum wasn’t a bad person – she just made some bad judgements and maybe she had her reasons, children never really know what goes on between their parents because the only thing a child cares about is that their parents are loving, loyal and simply there.
They had all paid the price, her mother foolishly smitten with her lover – giving up everything and moving here to be with a younger man who was really unworthy of her. There’d hardly been enough time to unpack the suitcase when it was clear how wrong it all was. The night her mother’s boyfriend tried to climb into bed with Christene, not yet fifteen, was the end of the line for her Mum - she might have made a bad choice but she wasn’t desperate enough to let her child be hurt by that. Another relocation to the only place they could get with any speed – Bellstree, somewhere near the outskirts of Hell. So here they were, over three years later, just slithering further down the drain as the grip of poverty turned their lives into crap. Reduced to living in a hideous housing scheme within a block of four flats that would have all fitted into their Bearsden house with room in the garden for a couple more – here the two of them languished, both too proud, tight-lipped and unwilling to ask anyone for help. It was the type of thing that made you realise exactly who your real friends were – the type of thing that forced you to rely on the few true friends left around you, if you had such friends that is.
Michelle was great, she took her… actually pushed her back into the social network she had grown up with – she loved Michelle, she turned out to be the best friend she could have wished for… without her the last three years or so would have been impossible to bear.
Harris too, although it had only been over the past year or so that they had really become quite close, was a good friend, despite the underlying thing that seemed to cast a strange shadow over them. He was compassionate and considerate if a little more traditional and even, at times, conservative than his image suggested. To date, he never complained once about anything he had been dragged into since meeting her, had spent a lot of time listening to her moaning about her hideous life and yet he never asked for anything and rarely gave more than a thumbnail about anything he was upset about… but apparently that was more than most people got. Jonn could be very reserved when it came to talking about himself… others he could listen to and counsel until the cows came home but he never gave away much about himself, certainly not when it came to the issue of his emotions or feelings. When it came to anything really personal, then that was a closed book to everyone from what she had gathered.
And then there was Suzanne, crazy cousin Suzanne! Time and again she had offered Christene and her mother money, the flat in London, anything that would help them get out this miserable existence but neither of them could accept that kind of help – charity begins at home, not donated to it.
When Suzie had left the other day it was clear that her silence and guilty sobriety meant she had certainly realised what had happened on their day out and now felt dreadful about it. Offering the money wasn’t her trying to make amends but it still angered Christene, hiding the money in her underwear drawer made her even angrier and, at the same time, feel deeply touched by Suzanne’s insight that the only charity she could take was forced and without choice of acceptance. Suzie had changed a little in the past year or so, more overtly flirty and sometimes a little evasive but her warmth, love and support hadn’t – if anything. it had grown. It was silly to be jealous of her flirting with Jonn but sometimes that’s the price of having secrets. Their anger with one another didn’t last long but it left her aware of the ongoing changes in their lives… the silence of their parting was deafening, thank God Suzie had phoned later that day from Aberdeen or wherever she and Annabelle were on their winter sojourn – there were too few friends and family left in her life to lose another.
Something good needed to happen soon, maybe starting modelling, maybe not – but something! Both she and her mother were holding onto their souls by their fingernails, but at least Christene hadn’t started hitting the bottle… yet!
Unemotionally, she wiped her eyes with the back of her hand to eradicate the salty dampness like it wasn’t there as she laid out her white uniform, white bra and pants, white slip, tights and white shoes, ready to wear next morning. At one time she hated school uniforms but now she’d give anything to be wearing one!
Christene looked round the little pale blue room with its single bed and posters of Queen, the Marx Brothers, Faye Dunaway, Mick Ronson, Louise Brooks and David Cassidy - she never really managed to outgrow that childhood crush, the large mirror she avoided looking in, the dresser, the chair, the crammed bookshelf, the wardrobe of cheap crappy clothes and the bedside cabinet with the ticking clock, screaming every second that her life was running out like sand through her fingers. All of it, everything was just hideous.
This wasn’t living, it was hardly even existing - this was pure hell!

HELLENFORD : LATE NIGHT
Dave and Elaine sat side by side on the sofa sipping their coffees. She had noticed he was becoming more and more withdrawn these days, certainly at home anyway.
The tall Grandfather clock in the hallway chimed quarter to one.
“So, what did you get up to tonight?” Dave asked her.
“Nothing much, did a bit of studying in the library, thanked God lectures were over until January, had a quick drink with a few friends and then Rick dropped me off! All very dull” she replied mechanically.
“So, are you two…?”
“With Rick? God, no!” she replied.
Dave’s brows furrowed, he knew she liked him but for some reason she was keeping him at arms length and had done for well over six months.
“He seems nice enough, good Basketball player as well!”
“David, I know you love being Captain of the All Saints squad but, trust me, a girl wants something more from a guy than being good at basketball!” she laughed rubbing her head against her brother’s shoulder.
“Oh really?” Dave mugged. “I know that, Elaine! I just mean that he’s one of the guys who isn’t… how can I put it? One of the few guys you and Julie have been around that isn’t… a total wanker!”
His sister laughed aloud. “Nice, is that one of the benefits of avoiding a private education?”
“No, just the benefit of knowing who is and who isn’t a wanker! Rick is alright, he fancies you like mad and you were pretty keen on him at one time!”
“Times change, people change and things happen” she replied a little defensively.
“Fair enough!” he stated coldly.
“David!” she implored with a little irritation, she hadn’t sought him out to talk about her own love life and problems – she was worried about him. “Yes, I like him – he is a good guy but I… if I was going to go out with anyone it’d be him, but since that bloody operation…”
“Oh, Jesus, Elaine – you can’t spend the rest of your life in isolation because of that!” Dave said compassionately, “I know it was a terrible thing to happen and I know it’s you who has to live with it… but it’d be just one more tragedy to add to this family’s long list if that kept you away from happiness for the rest of your life! You don’t have a big sign on your forehead you know and the physical scar probably isn’t that…”
“Don’t say it!” Elaine said with more anger than she anticipated. “You don’t know, this happened to me and it’s my body and how I feel about it – Okay?”
“Sure, I just don’t want you to be unhappy, that’s all – subject closed!”
Elaine said nothing for a moment or two, sipped her coffee and realised she’d probably hurt his feelings when all he was doing was looking out for her. Placing the cup on the table she gave him a little kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, I’m just kind of touchy about it! It’ll just take a while – if I could change how I feel I would!”
Dave nodded. “I know, Laney… I just wish…”
“Me too! Anyway, more to the point – what about your romancing, little brother?”
“Don’t ask!”
“I thought you were hot and heavy with little wild Pam!”
“Supposed to be!”
“Isn’t she a basketball fan?” Elaine giggled.
“Funny, very funny! Well, actually I don’t think she is but that’s besides the point. It’s just one of these jaggy periods!”
“Christ, Dave – don’t tell me you’re one of these guys who comes out with the ‘crazy bitch when she’s on the rag’ theory are you?”
“Not that kind of period, dummy! I meant a jaggy phase… and no, she’s pretty crazy whether ‘the painters’ are in or not!”
They both laughed, long and hard. It was a long time since anyone had laughed like that in their home.
“Do you really like her?” Elaine asked.
“Yeah, I really like her… a lot! Why? Don’t you?”
Elaine paused, just a moment too long. “I don’t dislike her.”
“You might as well say it, you will eventually anyway.”
“Okay… I don’t trust her, there’s something not right about her and I don’t mean the gossip…”
“What gossip?” Dave asked forcefully.
“Everybody has some gossip about them, anyway that’s not my point. Pam isn’t just wild, there’s something not… not quite right in her behaviour!”
“Like what?”
“I can’t give you a specific, it’s just my instinct – that’s all!”
“Woman’s intuition?”
“If you want to put it that way. Look, you’re a big boy and you can take care of yourself – but everyone is capable of being hurt, I am, you are, even Dad!”
“Yeah, if he was crushed under a five ton steamroller – maybe!”
“Oh, Dave! I know Dad can be a bit of an arse at times…”
“At times, you mean sometimes he isn’t? Let me know when!”
“His head is just wired differently to the rest of us – he thinks fatherhood equals Godhood… he earns the money and we should all be grateful. We know that’s pretty eighteenth century but that’s how he is – he won’t change! Why can’t you just work round it and then just get away when you’re ready? That’s what I do.”
“So that’s your plan for the future?”
“Look, he’s paying for Uni so I have to watch my step, but I hate living here as well – I hate how he treats you, I hate how he treats Mum and I hate what happened to…”
“Susan, the daughter he forced out and to all intents and purposes pulled the fucking trigger?”
Elaine was silent. They said nothing for a minute or so and then she nodded her head in agreement. “You can’t win this, Dave, not here – he holds all the cards. So play it smart, all this is changing you. Don’t let this dictate the rest of your life, pay lip service and get out when you’re ready. You’re bright, good looking – which runs in the family by the way, and you have good friends! You could do whatever you want!”
“Thanks, we’ll see!”
“Pig headed to the end, eh?”
“So, you like my friends – that’s a first, you’ve never said that before!”
“What self-respecting big sister likes her little brother’s friends, you can’t admit to something like that until you’re… old, grown up!”
“And at nineteen, pushing twenty, you’re grown up?”
“Girls are always more mature than boys – girls are adult at sixteen – they just aren’t willing to admit it until they get around twenty” she laughed ruffling his hair.
“Watch it!” he responded laughing. “Well, nobody else here likes my friends, do they?”
“Hmmm, let me see, Dad – no! Julie – well she’s still a little pissed off with one or two of them, Mum – well, she might like Jonn and Mhic but certainly couldn’t really voice it could she?”
“Point made!”
“They’re all pretty decent, even though I hated them when we were kids. God, I can’t tell you how much I used to hate Jonn because he was always the one with the biggest mouth, an opinion about everything and never without an answer or something smart to say. Jesus, he was such a little monster when I was still going through the trauma of puberty!”
“The trauma? Bit sociological aren’t we?”
“Okay, when my fucking hormones were ripping into me and I went from no chest to all breast!”
Dave fell about laughing, he had never heard her talk like this. “Are you on some kind of medication?” he asked patronisingly.
“No – Wish I was!”
“Were we all really that bad?” he asked a little more seriously.
“Not that bad, in retrospect, and not all of you!”
“You know, Laney, this is the first time this has occurred to me for real – do you have a crush on Harris?”
Elaine blushed. “Oh, you shit!” she said, slapping him. “Don’t be silly!”
“Are you sure? he asked with a little more concern than she expected.
Elaine turned to him, curiously. “Why did you say it like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“If you don’t know, you’d better think about it Dave! Why did you say it in that manner?”
Dave paused and felt quite uncomfortable all of a sudden, especially because he knew exactly what she meant. “I don’t know.” he finally admitted.
“Am I not good enough for him or is he not good enough for me? You know - don’t bother answering, because neither of them are acceptable, Dave! Jonn and his family took you into their house when you were fourteen because Dad thought throwing you out would make you come crawling back and break your spirit once and for all, but it didn’t – did it?”
“No!”
“Exactly – No! And why not? Because you had somewhere to go when there was nowhere else. Did Bill take you in or Sto?”
“They have bigger families and Jonn’s an only child!”
“Bigger families and Sto had a bigger house! Did you ever think what all that did?”
“What do you mean?”
“Jesus, Dave, sometimes you can be dense! Jonn had to go and ask his parents for something, I don’t know him too well but I know this – I’ll bet there’s very little he’s ever asked from them… they probably gave him all the things a child could want but I’ll bet he’s hardly ever asked for anything. That guy adores his parents and he’d walk over hot coals before he’d put them in an awkward position!”
“It was inconvenient maybe, but how was it awkward?”
“Use your head, he had to ask them to take you in – but that wasn’t the real issue for them, was it? Jonn’s Mum and Dad always treated you, hell, all of you, like their own haven’t they? You were all allowed to do things at his place that you couldn’t anywhere else mainly because they knew you were pretty responsible and that if anyone fucked up – they wouldn’t address it with you, it was him they would go to! He’s always been treated as an adult by them and, in turn, always behaved like one when it comes to taking responsibility. When the rest of you are pissed, even when he’s pissed you can always be sure of one thing – he might be a little shit, in fact downright cruel sometimes, but he never loses control. And if you don’t know what I mean then watch him the next time you’re all loaded, he’ll drink but I’ll bet you’ve never seen him drunk have you?”
Dave was silent, suddenly aware the sound of MMEB’s ‘Messin’ album had long ago stopped in the background. The brief silence enhanced his growing discomfort.
“Have you, Dave?” Elaine repeated.
“No! What’s your point here?”
“The point is that I know you guys are all close, but you’re the nearest thing to a brother he has and he had to ask for something his parents were reluctant to do! Don’t get the wrong idea, not because they didn’t want you there – they were appalled at Dad’s behaviour, and I don’t blame them, but they had to make a decision that totally undermined someone else’s parental authority… people in the same social network. They had to take you in because it was right and because Jonn asked and, at the same time, they publicly humiliated Dad! Staying for a couple of days was one thing, you were there for nearly two months and a lot of the people on their network got wind of that… so think long and hard before you get snippy about his behaviour!”
“How do you know all this?”
“Because I used to go and ask Jonn’s Mum how you were every Monday when I knew she was at the flower shop!”
Dave’s mouth felt dry and he was very uncomfortable. “Mmmm!” he said.
“Mmmm. I wouldn’t trust Harris in a room full of nuns, but I’d trust him if my life was at stake. He can be a real arsehole sometimes, but I’m glad you have at least one friend who’ll always look out for you - because sometimes you can be your own worst enemy! If there’s a hard way to do something, you’ll find it!”
Her brother nodded and sipped some more cold coffee. “Well, you learn something new every day!”
Elaine giggled, “Do you mean about staying at the Harris’s?”
“No – that at least one of my sisters is a shade cooler than I thought” he said as Elaine blushed again. “And my other sister fancies the pants off my best friend!”
Elaine grabbed Dave’s neck and playfully throttled him as she protested her innocence.
“Enough, enough, Elaine – I submit, you win. You don’t want to marry him!”
“Dave you are such a little shit… I seem to remember you went out with Mhic’s sister when you were in fourth year, if memory serves me well!”
Dave was still laughing. “Maybe.” he acknowledged.
“Did you ever tell Mhic?”
“You mean in words?”
“No, Dave, in smoke signals! Yes, words – the principle thing we use to communicate with each other.”
“No – not in words. Okay, not in anything!”
“…and why not?” she asked.
Dave choked and laughed with embarrassment, “Because it would have been awkward!”
“Because?”
“Because it was Mhic’s sister!” he admitted.
“But you want me to tell you if I had a thing for Jonn?”
“Point made again. I was just having some fun, teasing you a little!”
“Were you?” she asked.
“Of course!”
“Are you sure… because it sounded like you wanted to know? And since I can’t imagine you have an incestuous interest in me, my body and my loves, the only other conclusion is you wanted to know because of Jonn. Well?”
“I don’t know, maybe!”
Elaine slid along to the end of the sofa and pulled her legs up, covering her knees with the dark skirt, heating herself from the chill of the late night. Dave lit up a JPS cigarette and offered Elaine one silently. With a thin, red nailed hand she accepted, leaning forward for him to light her up before returning to her cushioned comfort at the end of the sofa. Dave wondered what she was thinking.
“Do you want to know something I’ve never told anyone? It concerns Jonn!” Elaine stated quite coldly.
“Do you want to tell me?”
“Do you want to know? I won’t be able to take this back once I say it!”
Dave looked at her quizzically without saying a word.
“Okay, David, what would you say if I told you Jonn Harris was the first male I slept with when I was fifteen?”
“What?” Dave exploded.
“Keep your voice down, for Christ’s sake! All we need is for Dad to come down and hear that – Jesus, he’d be happier to hear I had syphilis!” Elaine dictated, drawing on her cigarette.
“Are you fucking kidding?” he asked.
“Whoa! So it’s okay for you to date and do whatever with Mhic’s sister – the lot of you have a reputation just a little purer than Rasputin and Casanova jammed together… and you’d be pissed off because I shagged your best pal for my first fuck?”
“At fifteen, Elaine? Yeah, I’d be a little fucking irritated, especially because nobody told me till now!”
“But how does it have anything to do with you?”
Dave was flabbergasted. “Well, let me see – you’re my sister and… you’re my sister! Fifteen… shit we were only fourteen then, maybe! Jesus-Josie, I can’t believe this!”
“Have you considered your possessiveness might be a significant problem, David?”
“Not so far!” he responded with anger still in his voice.
Elaine stubbed the cigarette out as she realised Dave was looking at her intensely.
“Do you know something, Dave – you almost don’t deserve to know this next part given your unbelievable tantrum!”
“Oh, great – let me guess, he had Julie for dessert while Mum and Dad watched!”
“Fuck you, Dave – I’m going to bed! You better think about your attitudes, because if this is how you are with Pam you are going to burn yourself with a mark that’ll last forever. Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answer to!” Elaine said with remarkable restraint as she started to rise from the sofa.
“Wait!” Dave said with only a little hesitation. “Just… wait a minute! I’m sorry, you’re right - it’s your business. I don’t know why I reacted like that – I’m… sorry!”
Elaine sat down again, holding out her hand to him. Dave took it and held it.
“I wanted another ciggie, Dave! But that was a very sweet, brotherly thing to do” she chuckled, blowing him a little air kiss as she accepted the cigarette and light from her brother. They smoked for a while in silence. Finally Elaine returned to their conversation.
“Your reaction could make someone think that you and your friends don’t treat your sexual partners very well… otherwise why would you be so defensive about me? If that’s the case, I hope the next time any of you are going to use someone and treat them badly that you’ll think of this and speak up. Every girl is someone’s sister or daughter or whatever… and no-one should be treated badly!”
“We don’t, I just didn’t think Jonn would… well that he’d…”
“Fuck your sister?”
“Nicely put, Elaine!” he said sarcastically.
“I’ve heard you use that exact same terminology before, talking to Bill or Sto! What? You get really prim because it’s me? Dave, Julie and I have had sex and so has Mum, we’ve all been fucked!”
Dave rolled his head and chained another cigarette which Elaine snatched out his hand forcing him to do the same again for himself. He said nothing, just grinned sheepishly and nodded before stating “I know it’s just a word but you don’t tend to think of your family in those terms, do you?”
Elaine looked very uncomfortable for a moment then turned away and blew smoke into the air.
“It is just a word and he didn’t!”
“He didn’t…what?”
“Harris didn’t fuck me!”
“Oh, Elaine – what’s the matter with you?”
“With me? – you’re the one who wanted to know how much I fancied your friend when I was just a kid – I only said ‘What if I told you’, I didn’t say I actually did and when you went mental I thought you deserved to be taught a lesson. I didn’t think it would be world war three!” she said flicking ash at the ashtray.
Dave sighed. “I don’t know what to say, Elaine!”
“Well, here’s a hint… Don’t ask things like that if you can’t handle the answer. Oh, and as an end of subject, finished, conversation over - point of information… I used to have a massive crush on him when I was thirteen or fourteen, all girls like their brother’s friends in that way because they’re easier to talk to than the boys you like at school. A fact you should know because of Mhic’s sister – right?”
“Yeah, right!” he agreed with some reluctance.
“If you start to see men and women as the same type of creature, with the same drives and behaviour, admittedly expressed differently, then you’ll probably be able to have a better relationship when you do meet someone you really want to spend time with!”
“Fair enough!” Dave admitted. “And if you were going to have a teenage crush, I suppose I can see why it was him.”
Elaine nodded and Dave knew she was still a little irritated. “Dave, you and all your friends are good looking, bright, interesting guys and I haven’t noticed any of you having problems finding girlfriends… but Jonn has that thing that even if he looked like Quasimodo he would still be lucky with girls!”
Dave was puzzled, “What’s that?”
“Well it’s not his, bad-boy, ‘I’m a rebel and nothing hurts me’ thing! There’s something about him that people instinctively trust - and he’s got the illusion of being vulnerable! Girls love sensitive, tortured guys but nobody wants to spend their life with someone like that unless there’s actually something underneath all the deep, moody stuff. Maybe it’s a phase we all go through, God knows, but I like him – not because of his looks, although they don’t exactly put me off, but I like who he is… I think he’s nicer than he appears. And don’t go crazy and never, ever talk about this to me again… but, I would definitely have fucked him at fifteen and frankly would have preferred the thought of that to the Pratt I actually did sleep with when I was seventeen. So now you know – the end!”
“I always thought he fancied you when we were younger.” Dave acknowledged with a serious expression. “He never said anything, but it was the way he used to look at you and…”
“All young guys strip older girls with their eyes, it’s like breathing, hormonal for men… something to do with the missing chromosome!” Elaine laughed.
“No, not that – although nearly a year of you wearing your short-short Netball skirt and no bra every time he came round when we were in second or third year probably did make it a little difficult for any of the guys not to stare!”
“Good looks run in the family, what can I say?”
“Harris only verbally parried with the girls he liked, and the ones who could answer back and stand their ground were the ones Jonn paid attention to – you made him pay attention!”
Elaine smiled and gazed down with an almost childish, momentary embarrassment. “That’s nice, Dave – I didn’t know that! But it’s all in the past, there’s a big world out there and you can’t live in all our yesterdays! And you will never talk about this again or I will use my university medical training to damage the very sensitive parts of your anatomy!” Elaine replied with a giggle that disguised her real thoughts, knowing that Dave’s reactions had stopped her telling him the thing she had kept quiet for years, the thing she wanted to share – the family secret she’d probably never be able to tell him.
Dave sighed again. “Well, that’s all been an eye opener for me! And there is one good thing about all this…”
“What’s that?”
“This is going to make a great Christmas dinner conversation with the family!”
Elaine dived at him and this time choked him a little more aggressively as they laughed heartily at a suitably suppressed volume.

GLASGOW – JORDANHILL : LATE NIGHT
Hellen tossed and turned in her warm bed. Sleep refused to come. The room was dark save for a dull glow from the window. Pictures on the wall were merely vague obscurities and only shadows held any shape. She threw the quilt from the bed and lay there, letting the cold wash over her. Why did everything in her life slip through her fingers like water? Other people had good lives, good friends, fun… all the things she lacked. Was this how it was always going to be? It was at times like this she almost wanted to be back in therapy, at least she could talk to someone about the things she felt and hated. God!
Her skin was crawling and she tossed from one side to the other, unable to get comfortable in any position. The whirling and machinations of her mind would not stop, wouldn’t switch off even for a few minutes – no wonder she fucked anything with a pulse because that was some kind of distraction, an obliviation, a surrender even. The craving bit into her again, torturing her until she slid her arm under the luxuriously soft mattress – searching for her security kit. With shaky fingers she fell onto her back and, in the darkness, unwrapped the roll of silver paper, withdrew the off white pill and swallowed, hard. She felt her body crawl and tingle with a life of its’ own, nerve ends reacting, pulsing and inter-reacting. She pressed her hands tightly against her waist, let them slide to her hips - pushing tighter. Hands crawled up within her gossamer night-gown, slithering over her expanded ribs to cultivate the blossomed nipples which bunched up with tense excitement – pinching and teasing them until they hurt and burned. The pain made her feel good. She explored herself with passion, pushing against soft skin with hard fingers scratching and pinching her own delicate flesh viciously – submitting to waves of endorphin sensation as they flowed over her like a monsoon tide. Her right hand rushed down to the curve of her stomach, pausing to savour the touch, and then down through her nest of trimmed pubic hair to… there. Tightened lips opened and a moan broke the silence of the empty room.
Well practised fingers found their target delayed only by a caress of her inner thigh to enjoy the feeling of the moisture on her legs where they met. In her mind the images and figures ran wild, men, women, animals, things, grotesque obscene creatures of the night, shapes in her mind. The room span in a demented cascade as her fingers slid into herself, spreading her lubrication from inside her moist cave, coating the bloated lips and lubricating her clitoris until it was heavy with her cloudy juices. Fingers moved to an unheard rhythm, driving slow circles and then faster to overcome the seemingly interminable feeling of desire which centred inside herself. She drove faster, slowing only in alarm as a noise beyond her door sounded but was forgotten almost as soon as it came. Imminence descended on her. Now it all came to a head, lights flickered under closed eyelids. Suddenly the cataclysm exploded, and the bubble dispersed. A flood took her body, then she lay still - fulfilled. The night received her unspoken prayer of thanksgiving as she semi-consciously pulled the quilt over her once again, suddenly too tired to clean herself up, preparing to fall into an induced, peaceful slumber.
Far in the distance, the god of night laughed at the futility of yet another ephemeral human.

BEARSDEN : LATE NIGHT
The house was quiet with everyone in bed and probably sound asleep. The sounds of occasional passing vehicles was still louder than her own stereo as she half listened to ‘The Ballad of Melody Nelson’… it usually made her think of Jane Birkin more than Serge Gainsbourg for some reason but not tonight. In the dimly lit room she could think of nothing more than the plan she had decided upon. Her little black, silk pyjamas were very comfortable in the warmth of the room, pleasing her as she neared the end of one of the short stories that came about halfway through Anais Nin’s ‘Delta of Venus’. Michelle sipped at her condensation laden glass of PLJ, hearing the ice chink noisily and shivering as cold little droplets splashed down to chill her thigh. There was little doubt she found the book arousing, no doubt actually as she rubbed the wetness from her silk garment and shifted on the little sofa, feeling her body’s unsolicited internal response issue a signal of dampness. Swallowing hard, she settled back again, reading the last few pages with resolute attention.
Michelle placed the bookmark carefully in the hardback book, looking at the cover that featured an anonymous young, nineteen thirties woman in a provocative pose like that which passed for underground pornography in those days. The cover girl was pretty and Michelle wondered if forty odd years ago this girl had ever been adrift in a sea of confusion. With a little half-smile she flicked the cover open and felt a tiny twinge of guilt as she read the inscription inside Christene’s book - ‘To Venus from Apollo, luv Jonn!’. There were no kisses. Michelle’s eyebrow raised unconsciously as she mused for a moment and then placed it on the table beside ‘The Perfumed Garden’ which she had already consumed in its entirety during the week but this other book was hers, a gift from Christene on the Friday night they had talked. The inscription on this book did have kisses, ‘Time wounds all heels!’ and below it, ‘To Michelle, who deserves the best and should settle for nothing else! With love, Christene, xxx!’ It made her smile because Chris always got the message across even when it was something she wouldn’t be crass enough to say lest it cause offense in an area of sensitivity… but the message was there.
Mhic was worthy of her, but at the moment he wasn’t being worthy of himself any more than Stevie was – that fact had become apparent to her during the conversation with Ruth in the showers. Sometimes when people feel vulnerable they just stop acting sensibly and become like children, hiding from things that were too daunting to face up to and deal with head on – she herself had done the same by not raising the issue with Mhic, so how could she condemn him on that level?
She stared out the window, into the night, and wrapped her arms round herself. On the sofa, to her left, sat the instruments she had chosen to utilise as a means of repairing this impasse and if her plan failed to work then there would be no way either of them could avoid sitting down and dealing with the issue or face the inevitable. It was frightening in many ways for her, she now had to do something she felt was outwith her own natural repertoire… it was one of the suggestions Christene had put forward but not one she had highly recommended. The music had run out and it was very late. With a little hope she gathered all the bits lying about and placed them discretely in her wardrobe with a little smile. She felt like her little brother for a moment, hiding a ‘dirty magazine’ as her mother would have put it – but that was not quite the same thing here, pornography and erotica were as different as night and day, but her mother would probably still have a fit if she found those books.
As she padded over to bed, Michelle knew she still had doubts and wondered if she really had the courage to go through with this. With one last thought she switched the light out. Tomorrow would be the crunch time – one way or another!

A82 : LATE NIGHT
Sto pulled into the lay-by on the Boulevard, overlooking Kirkpatrick. In the distance he could see Mhic’s house as a pinprick amongst the other large homes at the far end of the little town. The yellow neon lights of Kirkpatrick gave everything the illusion of tranquillity, even the ugliness of the Clyde was a smooth, dark sheen of dancing reflections in the long distance. He turned the Volvo’s car stereo down a notch, reducing the volume of ‘Dark Side of the Moon’ to a pleasant babble. The chill of the night seeped in through the open driver side window inducing him to restart the engine and turn the heater up to maximum… in turn making him increase the volume of ‘On The Run’ so that he may really enjoy the luxury of the full stereo effects.
With hot lungs he exhaled another trail of smoke into the night, the half consumed joint exuding a dull red glow around his hand. Pushing his glasses up onto his forehead, he rubbed the bridge of his nose with his left hand enjoying the light headed wastage he was feeling. This was rarely a pretty sight to him, he hadn’t enjoyed the relocation from Edinburgh in his third year of secondary education. Danbray was no-one’s choice of places you want to live but for his father and for a headmastership at the Academy it was something which could not be turned down. The knowledge that all of them had came here against their own preferences didn’t console him much. Mhic arriving from Middlesborourgh towards the end of Second year, Jonn from Milngavie in first year, Dave from Birmingham at the same time… it was only Bill who was native to the area and, from what anyone could gather, he hadn’t exactly fitted in either.
This whole section of the Clyde basin was a cesspool, a shithole none of them would miss. Glasgow was tolerable, as tolerable as any big city… one was much like another and only the accents changed. He took another drag, held it and slowly exhaled once more.
For them all, this would have been hell, was hell even – but at least they had each other, one never had to watch your back when you were with one of your own… it made everything just about acceptable. So why didn’t he just tell the others he enjoyed a smoke once in a while, would anyone care? Did they do the same on their own or was the anti-drug vibe a real big deal that only he broke? Even with these dark thoughts flitting through his mind, he felt… good. The darkness and the sparkling lights made him feel something he could not express. The occasional car or lorry passing along the dual carriageway was a pleasant distraction as he continued his smoke. With another deep draw he flipped his head back, StevIe might be an ass most of the time, but he certainly scored some seriously good shit!

FORT WILLIAM : LATE NIGHT
Annabelle was incredulous “You mean that little, long haired James Dean is nice?”
Nodding, Suzanne lit another cigarette. “More than that, the little long haired, James Dean appears to be… quite something, I think!”
The hotel room was small but cosy, in fact it was quite acceptable considering they were up in the wilds of Fort William and illuminated only by the uplights on the wall facing the end of the bed. The two girls were lying on the surprisingly comfortable bed, cigarettes, ashtrays and a couple of bottles of champagne scattered around them and on the bedside cabinets.
Her friend poured more Moet into their whisky glasses, quietly reflecting with a sudden stop to the conversation.
“Oh my God, you fancied the little shit didn’t you?” she accused.
Suzanne laughed so hard she had to put the glass down before it spilled.
“Annabelle, he’s only about twelve years old or something!”
“Eighteen if he’s a day.” she replied sternly, sipping the champagne from the whisky tumbler without taking her eyes off the other girl.
“Seventeen, actually!” came the reply in tandem with another drag on the long Dunhill cigarette.
“Ah-ha, see! You know more about him than you said! Did he make you hunger for his, young, lithe, schoolboy body?”
“Don’t be silly. He was just… quite nice and a little brave maybe! Anyway, I think Christene has a real thing for him, so even on that level I wouldn’t play the jailbait game… maybe just flirt a little.” Suzanne giggled as she lit another cigarette, inhaled and slipped it into her friend’s mouth.
“I bloody well knew it!” the blonde replied, coughing a little as she quickly inhaled, removed the ciggie and blew smoke above her head. “You had the hots for the little monster – and seventeen definitely isn’t jailbait, so there!”
“It is when you’re twenty six, Darling.”
Annabelle lowered her eyes, swallowed half the glass and then looked up. “He was quite a pretty boy, admittedly… you wouldn’t really have, would you?”
“Jesus! How many times do I have to say it? No! No! No! But…!”
Annabelle’s face became stern, finishing the contents of the glass.
Suzanne continued, “…But at least he’d probably be worthwhile. I mean, can you imagine the situation if Jonn hadn’t been there? I’d have been Weetabix for that Farmyard flunky, maybe even Christene too… by the look of him it’d be the first decent shag he’d have had, outside of Ermintrude, Lamb Chop and the other sheep – probably would’ve fucked my insides out. No joking, I had a real lucky escape and I’m going to watch my drinking in future – maybe even the flirting. Next morning I still puked for half an hour!”
The other girl laughed at her. “Glug, Glug, Glug – Drink is the curse of…”
Suzanne went stone faced and a momentary ugly silence fell.
“It wasn’t the drink, when have you ever seen me puke from boozing?”
Annabelle’s face was ashen, she had rarely seen her friend so stern in her company.
“Well, never actually, not even at Uni!”
“Exactly, Belle! It was next morning when it all came back. That little James Dean jailbait, as you refer to him, saved my pretty arse and I’ll never forget it. You know, I didn’t even thank him, just disappeared next day! Pissing Chris off immensely into the bargain, leaving without so much as a word – God, I was so embarrassed! And… by the way, he never said anything about it as far as I remember – nothing, not a single word. The guy didn’t complain and he took a real risk because that farm hand was built like a bloody house and I probably led the poor bastard on to some extent. I don’t know how Jonn did it, but I’m glad he was there… and you should be too!”
Annabelle leaned over and kissed Suzanne gently on the lips, pausing briefly to ascertain if she was forgiven before kissing her passionately and deeply.
“You know, Suze, when you didn’t come home that night I thought that maybe… well, at least I knew where you were after Christene phoned! Sorry!”
Suzanne said nothing at first, she just ran her fingers through Annabelle’s soft blonde hair and stared directly into her eyes.
“I haven’t been with a man since the night….”
“The night I seduced you?” Annabelle asked almost defensively.
“You didn’t seduce me… well, not really! I was going to say the night you told me you were, you know?”
“A Lesbo, Dyke, fizz bumping meat eating carnivore?” her friend said with a tiny hint of bitterness.
“The night you told me you were gay, homosexual, lesbian – I hate the word Dyke! That’s not what we are!”
“Isn’t it Suzie? I am and have been since school.”
“I didn’t know that, you were just my best friend through school and university. I mean you were engaged to Michael for two years at Uni so I never thought that…”
“…That what our school chums or the Young Conservatives said about me was true?”
“I assumed they were just jealous – I mean, you had men chasing you since I can remember. Long before anyone even looked at me! You were my friend and that was all I really cared about.”
Annabelle ran her hand under Suzie’s dressing gown, touching the warm, soft skin of her hips, ribs, belly. “That was one of the things that made me fancy you so much! I used to think of you when Michael and I were… when we were…”
“Making lurve?” Suzanne giggled.
“God, no! We never made love, you and I make love – Michael just fucked me, there’s a big difference!”
Suzanne lay back a little, took Annabelle’s hand and placed it between her opened thighs so that she could feel how wet she had become. “I love you, Annabelle – you’re the first and only woman I’ve been with… in the two years since that first night I have never, ever been with a man! I might flirt sometimes and keep our relationship secret, as you do – I’m not prepared to flush my or your career before it’s begun, but I… I’ve never been so happy with anyone!”
The other girl gently caressed Suzanne’s wetness, not quite teasing just not trying to initiate sex.
“Sometimes I feel insecure, about us. I can’t believe you feel the same way about me as I do about you. I loved you for years before you even knew about my sexuality… so sometimes I can be a little, I don’t know…?”
“Stupid!” Suzanne laughed.
“Not the term of endearment I might have chosen, Suze!”
“Jealous, possessive, scared, irrational, vulnerable – take your pick!”
“Okay, enough sweet talk – you’ve totally seduced me now!” Annabelle laughed.
Suzanne leaned over, grasped Annabelle’s neck gently whilst closing her own thighs on the other’s hand and kissed her very sweetly and very tenderly.
“You’re my girl and I’m yours, not some cute little James Dean, pretty bad-boy… you make me horny, not some schoolboy. Please don’t be so jealous when I talk about men or any man in particular – if I’m going to fuck a guy, you’ll be the first to know… Okay? He was just a comparative stranger who was good to me and stuck his neck out when he had absolutely no reason to - I appreciate things like that and I get what Christene sees in him. I owed him a debt and I didn’t even say ‘thank you’ – that doesn’t sit well with me! And that was all there was to it!”
Annabelle bit her lip a little and apologised in finality with her eyes as she slowly began to caress her lover’s sex. “Maybe you should send him something, a card or gift… that might make you feel a little better. In fact I might discretely do that too, after all he was looking out for my woman!”
“Mmmm!” Suzanne replied discarding her robe and reclining provocatively, “That’s a really good idea! And we’ll worry about it tomorrow, now get naked and make love to me, Jonn! Ooooops, oh no, I mean Belle!”
“You bastard!” her lover replied with a giggle in the midst of discarding her skirt and blouse to reveal her pale skinned nakedness before throwing herself towards Suzanne. “You are dead, bitch girl”
Their laughter filled the room as they rolled about on one another, limbs intertwining and fingers caressing, giggling until the only noises left were the soft moans of their affection.

BEARSDEN : LATE NIGHT
Stevie fell back on the black leather sofa, oblivious to the opulence of the dimly lit living room. As usual the house was empty, his father away in some far flung corner of the earth doing ‘business’, while his mother was God knows where with God knows who doing God knows what. The finite details were something which didn’t bear thinking about, you could only maintain self-deception if you didn’t look at the issues too closely. The glass topped table reflected the two candles and their flickering flames which made the room shimmer in a ghostly affectation. The Bang & Olafsun vertical deck system exuded the second side of ‘Tubular Bells’ with absolute clarity even at low volume – it was just approaching what everyone classed as ‘The Exorcist’ section. Stevie opened up the tinfoil, removed the steel tube from his shirt pocket and placed it in his mouth before sparking up the lighter and holding it directly beneath the foil. Exhaling deeply he moved the tube over the foil and inhaled with a long, deep ingestion of the brown smoke, sucking until there was nothing left to draw. The tools fell from his hand and he flopped back into the sofa, lungs locked and opiate ripping through his system. Stevie kept the smoke in so long he began coughing and spluttering until he released an uneven series of smoke belches into the atmosphere as Mike Oldfield whirled away in the background, oblivious to the scenario being played out in the lush living room.
With rolling eyes, Stevie felt the numbness spread through his system, veins tingling with the creeping deadness. The last thing Stevie consciously thought was that his mother should try this, then she might not be out fucking half of his ex-school friends every night – why didn’t his father just give her the imported ‘horse’ he pretended he didn’t sell, the stuff that gave them their nice home and toys and education and…
Stevie faded out in a twisted heap of uncoordinated limbs, briefly feeling no pain for a while… and after all, that was the point, wasn’t it?

MILNGAVIE : LATE NIGHT - EARLY MORNING
Penny wondered what had woken her, heart racing she held her breath to hear if someone was prowling their home, burglar, rapist, or… She looked at the illuminated clock by her bedside, its blue light seeming very bright in the darkness. It was 3.22 AM and all was silent. Was it a dream? Still she listened to the silence, searching for sounds. Nothing. It was after 3.30 before she heard the noises again, by now she was wide awake. Scared but curious, she silently slipped out of bed, her white silk pyjamas shimmering soundlessly as she moved cautiously to the door of her bedroom. She wasn’t sure what to do, her father might not be home yet – these were the times when you missed the reliability of your mother, she thought.
With stealth and heart still racing she slowly opened her door, the landing was in darkness but the sound was real – there was someone here. Getting a grip on her fear she rationalised that maybe it was her Dad on the phone to LA or somewhere in another time zone, after all he was in the music business and that was a twenty four hour, seven days a week occupation. Penny’s little feet padded along the spacious landing with near silence, seeing a dull light reflecting from round the corner where her father’s bedroom was… and that was odd because if he had business calls to make he had his office downstairs. What was going on?
These sounds were not the noise of an intruder but neither were they the usual sounds of her father, not in previous experience anyway! Slowly she padded towards his bedroom wondering if perhaps he had done something which he’d never done since mother divorced him years ago – maybe he had met someone he liked enough to bring home. Penny paused, reflecting if it was right to spy on her own father, after all she could simply call out. Yet something held her back, her own curiosity – what type of woman would Dad pick, she wondered. For a moment she crouched down at the corner and debated with herself. It was strange, she was seventeen, happy to be a virgin without a great interest in sex to date – well almost.
In the four days since she had first masturbated she had hardly stopped thinking about sex, hardly stopped touching herself at every opportunity - so much so, she thought something was wrong with her. She would have asked Hellen her opinion but since she’d been sexually active since she was about fourteen, she already knew what her answer would be. My God, it was so embarrassing but she really wanted to see what a couple having sex looked like. Penny jumped as a long groan broke the silence coupled with a low regular grunting – with her heart racing and pulse thumping she snuck round the corner on all fours, her own curiosity consuming her. She might be untouched and only recently sexual to any degree but even she knew the sounds that can only come from people having sex. Penny felt her limbs shaking of their own volition, skin morphing into goosebumps. nipples hardening and her little breasts swinging as she crawled on all fours to look into the half opened door of his bedroom. She knew she had chosen to look and simply could no longer help herself. It was one of the very few times in her life that she would always remember - being so shocked at seeing an image she could never forget!
In the subdued light she saw someone on all fours, longish blonde hair shaking back and forth as her father knelt from behind thrusting and penetrating the woman… but to her horror she saw her father wasn’t with a woman – it was another man! It took a supreme effort to subdue her cry of shock as she slithered back from the door still hearing their grunts increasing in intensity if not volume. Her heart felt as if it was going to explode and she felt sick, she knew she was going to vomit as she realised who her father was with – Gerry, the young guy who was working as a ‘personal assistant’!
Tasting the bile rising she crawled away as slowly and quietly as she could, sneaking back into her own bedroom. As she fell onto her bed she reached for the little steel bin in case she finally vomited, body cold and sweating profusely! She bit her fist and tried to blot the images from her mind. This wasn’t real, this was just a bad dream – her father couldn’t be… couldn’t be…! Penny couldn’t even bring herself to say the word. It was true, undeniably true and just like in Greek mythology when Pandora’s box was opened and the contents exposed. it was impossible to close it again… just as it would be impossible for her to forget what she’d seen.