The Beatles Generation

By Alan Morton

The Beatles Generation are the post-war baby boomers whose secondary education coincided with the rise of the Fab Four, and the widespread cultural changes that ran in parallel throughout the 1960s.
Colin Anscombe is one of that generation; his recurring dreams of schooldays and his infatuation with classmate Katy Simmons, have played on his mind for many years.
Through the opportunities provided by social networking and the Internet, Colin has made contact with a number of his old classmates and when the reader joins him, he is looking forward to meeting a small group of them for a reunion later in the day.
Born and bred New Zealander, Brian Jacko Jackson, attended the same school as Colin for a brief period during the mid-1960s, and by coincidence finds himself back in England for the first time in nearly forty years.
He is en-route to meet up with Colin in the town where they both lived as boys, before they travel to see former classmate Ian Harrison who is hosting the reunion.
As the day unfolds the narrative switches between the 1960s and the early twenty first century as the group discuss their memories from those schooldays and the intervening years.
All of the group have their own stories; whether they choose to share them or not is largely down to the flow of conversation. Jacko in particular carries a heavy weight and there is an air of mystery that shrouds him; never revealing much and invariably diverting attention away from himself by spinning a yarn or two.
For the group, the order of the day is nostalgia, nostalgia, nostalgia.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Sep 26, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456780876

Alan Morton

Alan Morton was born in Hampstead, England in 1951 and, apart from a three year stay in New Zealand in the late 1980s, has lived in Sussex for all of his adult life,. He worked in the IT industry for over forty years, which didn’t give much scope for writing apart from technical journals and in-house magazines. Drawing on his own experiences of school during the 1960s, tracking down classmates via the Internet some 35 years later, and his time spent in New Zealand, he set about realising an ambition to prove to himself that everybody has a book inside them.

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Contents

Summer in the Sixties

Tomorrow Never Knows

Chalky, Bill, George & Jacko

Doris and Bob’s Place

Short Fuse

Old Friends

Sports Day

A Walk By The Old School

A Place In The Country

Histories

Nemesis

Up On The Roof

Word Games

Line Out

Long Fuse

Kaleidoscopic Chimes

Homeward Bound

Summer in the Sixties

Remember when… . things were real… . before everything was virtual… .

Before the Internet and DVDs, mobile phones, PCs and satellite TV.

Before muggings, stabbings, joy riders and car rage… .

Before SEGA or Super Nintendo.

Way back… . even before VHS, replica shirts, Transformers, childproof locks and Glam Rock… . and when pennies were pence and not Ps.

Before Health and Safety put a stop to conkers, ball he and icy slides in the playground on a winter’s morn.

Before seat belts, ergonomically designed children’s car seats and air bags.

When kids drank from the garden hose and not from a plastic bottle of mineral water.

Measurements were in feet and inches, meters were gas and electric and under the stairs,

Remember hide and seek in the park, the corner shop, riding bikes without a helmet or shoes, hopscotch, home made go-carts, sore fingers from playing with Meccano, cricket with a dustbin for a wicket, skipping, handstands, tag, hula hoops, gonks, jumping in rain puddles, mud pies, building dams in the gutter when it rained and who could create the longest skid marks on their bike.

Cubs and Brownies, Scouts and Guides.

Three-penny bits, shillings and ten-bob notes.

Summers were hot, lasted all holidays and it rarely rained.

When scoubidou was nothing to do with cartoons and Tizer was cool.

Remember the smell of fresh cut grass and making bird’s nests on the school field or lying on the grass and looking for shapes in the clouds.

Remember Jamboree Bags, Fruit Salads, Blackjacks, Refreshers, Spangles and Penny Arrows; Football Cards, Hubble Bubble, sherbet dib-dabs, and chasing the ice cream van on a hot summer’s day for a choc ice or a Zoom.

Barley Twists; Rhubarb and Custard; Cough Candy; Cola Cubes and Tom Thumb drops (stuck in a ball to the bag), American cream soda and ice cream in a tall glass, and four-penny worth of chips on the way home from Scouts.

Sweet cigarettes, liquorice pipes, chocolate cigars and coconut tobacco.

Kids played with bangers, squibs and Chinese crackers.

Remember when there was only one packet of cereal in the larder?

Crisps came in single packets… . with a blue bag of salt enclosed (usually damp!) and there was only one flavour… . potato!

Remember watching cartoons… . short commercials, Thunderbirds, Fireball XL5, Wally Whyton and Muriel Young.

And staying up late on a Sunday night for The Saint and Danger Man.

When ITV was a Bat Channel.

When around the corner seemed far away, and going into town seemed like going somewhere.

Remember eating cake, bags of sweets, tubs of ice cream, white bread with real butter, cornflakes with cream off the top, bacon for breakfast and drinking bottles of sugary fizz, but kids were never overweight because… . they were always outside playing… . all day… . until it was getting dark!!

Remember football up the park on a summers evening and running home to be in time for The Munsters or The Man from UNCLE.

Sticky fingers; Cops and Robbers, Cowboys and Indians, riding bikes and scooters,

Catching sticklebacks and tadpoles and keeping them in jam jars.

Drawing all over the road with chalk, bike races around the alleyways.

Climbing trees, walking to school, no matter what the weather.

Yes, that’s right WALKING to school… . no lifts in four wheel drives!

Remember running until you were out of breath and laughing so hard that your stomach ached.

Jumping on the bed, pillow fights, spinning around, getting dizzy and

falling down.

Being tired… . from playing… . Remember that?

The worst embarrassment was being picked last for a team.

Water bombs were the ultimate weapon.

Remember when… . there were two types of school shoes; girls and boys, and the only time you wore sports shoes at school, was for PE.

You knew everyone in your street, and so did your parents!

You would roller skate everywhere all day, and it wasn’t odd to have two or three best friends.

You couldn’t sleep a wink on Christmas Eve and the following morning there was only hope, not expectation.

Remember when dogs were mongrels and cats were tabbies.

When a shilling was decent pocket money and half a crown was rich.

When nearly everyone’s mum was at home when the kids got home from school.

When it was considered a great privilege to be taken out to dinner with your parents.

When any parent could discipline any child, or feed them or ask them to carry groceries and nobody, not even the child, thought anything of it.

When being sent to the Headmaster’s office was nothing compared to what awaited a misbehaving miscreant at home; parents and grandparents were a much bigger threat!

Respect for adults was expected, and when you spoke to them, you called them Mr. or Mrs or Sir or Madam. and Auntie or Uncle, not by their first names… . or worse.

Remember when… . decisions were made by dibbing out by stone, scissors, paper.

Race issue meant arguing about who ran the fastest.

Money issues were handled by whoever was the banker in Monopoly.

The worst thing in your day was having to sit next to a member of the opposite sex and the worst thing you could catch from them was embarrassment.

Having a weapon in school meant being caught with a catapult.

Nobody was prettier than your mum and nobody was braver than your dad.

Scrapes and bruises were kissed and made better.

Taking drugs meant orange-flavoured vitamin C capsules.

Going to the seaside was a dream come true.

Abilities were discovered because of a double-dare.

Older siblings were the worst tormentors, but also the fiercest protectors.

If you can remember most or all of these things, and they are not just a dream, then how on earth did we all survive?

Summer in the Sixties is based on an original idea from an unknown Internet source.

Tomorrow Never Knows

Friday 28th July 1967                              I’ve got a Feeling

It was late on this hot and balmy summer’s afternoon in suburban Surrey, England.

There was hardly a sound, apart from the occasional squeals of excitement from young children playing in their back gardens, and the song of a blackbird singing at the top of a nearby sycamore tree.

A family of sparrows squabbled as they bathed in the baked dry dust of a deserted alleyway as a youth circled aimlessly around on his drop handle-bar bike outside of Milton Street Secondary Modern School. An important phase of the boy’s life had reached a conclusion, he understood that, but it was his trepidation as to what the future might hold that had left him struggling to give some sort of perspective as to the emotional sense of loss that he was feeling.

His name was Colin Anscombe, and until only a few hours previously the school had been an inherent part of his life, as it had been for the preceding five years, and a further five years before that at the adjoining infant and primary schools.

There was a strange eeriness about the school now that it was devoid of children; no periodic disorganised chaos in the corridors as pupils swapped classrooms, no cacophony of noise from the playground, and no scraping of chairs on bare wooden floors at the end of each lesson. It had been the last day of the Summer Term, and the site was now quite deserted; there was not even a car parked outside in the road—everyone had dispersed for the summer.

Colin’s last day had been the normal round of childish pranks, missing chalk, tin cans tied to the Headmaster’s car and a worm or two in Mrs. Humphries desk. Good grief, that woman’s scream could wake the dead!

The amount of effort and planning that it had taken to raise the Jolly Roger now fluttering in the breeze from the school rooftop, and the near disaster that had followed, were now confined to history, despite being the total focus of all those involved during the previous couple of days.

Colin struggled to control the bike as he steered perilously close to the kerb opposite the school, but he regained control and pondered further.

He consoled himself with the thought that he would remain in contact with his friends, but it wouldn’t be everybody, and not on a regular basis at that; and of course there were those for which the opportunity would not naturally present itself, and would now be difficult to contrive.

He was thinking in particular about Katherine Simmons. He had known her practically all his life, and from that first day at the infants school over ten years ago, they had shared a classroom.

Apart from swapping a few grubby classroom notes in the junior school, he couldn’t recall exactly when his attraction to her had developed; probably around the same time in the Third-year when everyone started calling her by the more familiar Katie, rather than Katherine. It was so damningly frustrating how the more self confident of his friends had managed to be at ease with the opposite sex. One or two of them had gone out with a number of girls… . and sometimes for more than a week or two. Good Grief, he thought, Chris Bennett had been going out with Julie what’s-her-name from the Fourth-year, for over a month!

It wasn’t until some years later that he understood the meaning of unrequited; he was illuminated by an article in the New Musical Express about Eric Clapton’s song Layla. Subsequently this was how he retrospectively regarded his relationship with Katie; unrequited. It sounded important, and it gave his feelings some validation.

However hard he had tried to mumble, stumble or stutter the words that would have constituted asking her out, and getting fixed up, as prospective school relationships were unsubtly referred to, it had always ended in dismal failure. He had always made some excuse to avoid such confrontations, and although he was fairly sure she was aware of his interest, she had offered him little by way of encouragement. Even the gregarious Stuart Stuey Smith had experienced only the briefest of relationships with her—a trip to the cinema, a bag of chips and a slap around the face, although he rather uncharacteristically played down the rumour by insisting it was he who had chucked her. He usually liked the limelight when it came to matters of the heart; being told to take a running jump was an experience he didn’t want to share with his peers.

If anyone had taken her fancy, it was Brian Jacko Jackson, and that hadn’t made matters any easier considering he had been Colin’s best friend for the two years they had shared at Milton Street; but he had gone back to his native New Zealand just before Christmas in the Fourth-year. So, that left the way clear for Colin to do… . absolutely nothing. He always found a last minute excuse to avoid asking her out. Often days of nervous anticipation and courage building had all gone to waste when it mattered the most.

Colin skilfully skirted the kerbstone nearest the school and started another lap.

In a couple of weeks he would start work at a local bank, while many of his friends had opted for further education at Hartington Technical College. In the years to come he was to reflect that without a doubt he would have stayed on in a Sixth Form, had there been such an opportunity at Milton Street in those days; instead, he had been left bereft of any sort of idea as to what he was going to do once he left school. As a consequence he had found himself drifting towards a variety of clerical positions suggested to him by what purported to be an employment service run by the local education authority. This service took the form of a rather Victorian looking lady who smelled of mothballs and had said he had a future with Marley Tiles. What the hell are Marley Tiles anyway, he thought as he left the interview. This lack of interest in floor covering resulted in an interview with the Civil Service, and one with a branch of City of London Bank, both of whom had offered him a position, provided he attained the requisite 4 GCEs, including English and maths. He wasn’t entirely sure what the Civil Service actually was; something to do with the Army, Navy and RAF, but in a civilian capacity he assumed. It was due to this uncertainty he opted for the position of a clerical assistant at the bank; starting salary; £6:8s per week, although he wasn’t quite sure what he would do if it turned out that he had not passed the required exams, and he wouldn’t know that until late August. Both the bank and the Civil Service had been flexible enough to suggest that he could do Day Release to sit any subjects that he failed; but what if he failed them all; best not think about it!

£6:8s per week, he had thought, I don’t even spend that in a year; I’ll be rolling in it! The only thing of any real substance that he had spent any money on was a few records, which at 6/8d for a single was a rare extravagance, but he could see this prospective new found wealth as an opportunity to add to his meagre record collection.

I Might even be able to afford an LP each month, he considered, the new Beach Boys LP will be out soon. Katie likes them. She always goes down the town on Saturday mornings. Maybe if I bought it I could just bump into her by chance in the high street, and she would be enthusiastic and envious, and we would laugh and we could go for a coffee at the Wimpy Bar.

Suddenly he was engulfed by a wave of excitement, but this soon thinned into nothing more than fantasy.

There I go again, he thought to himself, why do my thoughts always seem to come back to Katie? It’s not a bad plan though all the same. Maybe she would invite me back to her house and we could listen to the album, then maybe watch Thunderbirds or Dr. Who . . . . then maybe I could ask her to go to the pictures and then . . . .

Colin did not notice the white flash dispersing the sparrows and propelling itself out of the alleyway opposite the school. It probably wouldn’t have made much difference if he had, as the Jack Russell was yapping and jumping up at the bike before Colin had a chance to react.

He cried out and kicked wildly with his left leg in the general direction of the annoyance, but Mr. Russell, persisted.

Get off… . shoo… . go away… .

The front wheel caught the edge of the kerbstone and Colin was catapulted with a cry over the handlebars to land on his back with a jarring thud on the pavement.

The cause of the mayhem cocked his head to one side and, with a look of either remorse or triumph, decided that an early exit was appropriate, and he disappeared back up the alley-way.

Colin lay motionless for a few seconds gazing up at the clear blue sky, not knowing whether to laugh or cry out in frustration.

Hello Colin, said a familiar voice, followed by stifled giggles.

Colin’s exasperation quickly changed to humiliation as he lifted his head towards the direction of the address, only to see Katie and best friend Laura Yates glide sedately past on their respective bicycles.

Watcha Katie! . . . . Laura! . . . . sigh!

**

November 1967                     Got to Get You into My Life

Three months had passed during which time Colin had awaited the much anticipated, and many times postponed, release of the new Beach Boys album. His plan had been so fixed in his mind that it never actually occurred to him that the delay in releasing the record should have prompted him to come up with some alternative arrangement to seek out Katie’s company.

The Saturday after finally purchasing a copy of the album, Colin had got up a bit earlier than usual and had a bath and washed his hair. At breakfast his mother seemed suspicious of the fact that he had taken a bath without any cudgelling on her part, and also that he had combed his usually unruly hair.

He left at nine fifteen, which gave him ample time to arrive in Hartington High Street by ten o’clock.

Dressed in his favourite sky blue jeans, Chelsea boots and a mod style windcheater he felt dressed for the occasion, but it all turned out to be in vain.

He had spent a fruitless Saturday morning walking up and down Hartington High Street in anticipation of seeing Katie walking towards him; a chance meeting; a casual crossing of paths while they were going about their business. Only he would know that their meeting would be anything but chance.

By midday the brown paper bag containing the Beach Boys Smiley Smile album had started to get a bit sweaty and crumpled, having spent the previous couple of hours being moved from hand to hand and from under one arm to the other. Having listened to the album the night before and once again that morning, he wasn’t quite so sure whether Katie would like it. In fact, he wasn’t sure that he did. As a big fan of the early Surf sounds, Colin wasn’t ready for Brian Wilson’s esoteric musical meanderings. Having borrowed Sgt Pepper from school friend Bill Lucas a few weeks previously, he was now wishing that he had invested his precious thirty shillings on this, rather than the relative disappointment he was now clutching; but it would all be worthwhile if it proved to be the catalyst that would ease Katie into his life.

The only friends he had seen that morning were Martin Evans and Laura Yates, together… . hand in hand. This had come as a bit of a revelation. There was certainly no hint of this liaison when they had been at school, and he couldn’t wait to pass on the news about this relationship.

Laura was Katie’s best friend, and she had told him that Katie was now working in London and that she sometimes had to work on Saturday mornings. Colin had tried to sound non-committal, although interested, but had managed to ascertain from Laura that Katie arrived home from work at six thirty each evening during the week.

That had been three days ago, and despite his frustration he had decided to try and fashion another chance meeting as she walked home from the station one evening.

His plans for the previous day had been scuppered by an imbalance in the daily accounts at the bank, and he had to stay behind along with the rest of the staff until nearly six o’clock. He had cursed the customer whose handwriting on a cheque had been such that an eight was mistaken for a six.

As a consequence he had been extra careful when he encoded the cheques today, and he managed to get away at just after four thirty and catch the quarter to five bus.

It was now nearly seven o’clock and it had been dark for nearly two hours. He had already been slowly shuffling along the well illuminated route from the station to Katie’s house for three-quarters of an hour.

His current predicament brought to mind the number of occasions that he had contrived to walk home with Katie and her friends after school, only to turn tail and retrace his footsteps once Katie had closed the front door behind her with a cheery smile and a wave.

The temperature had dropped with the onset of evening, and he was feeling cold; his mod windcheater may look cool, but it did little to keep the November chill out. There was also the threat of rain in the air, so he finally decided to give up this fools errand, and pay a visit to ex-classmate Chalky White to see how he was getting on at college.

As he turned the corner from Longfellow Gardens into Hartington Road, he saw Katie walking hurriedly towards him. He was taken aback; she looked remarkably different, in fact he hardly recognised her. Gone was the regimented school uniform, the fashionable Afghan style short jacket certainly looking much better on her than a dark blue blazer.

Watcha Katie!

Oh, hello Colin, she said, only half stopping, haven’t seen you for a while; last time was when you were lying on the pavement outside the school wasn’t it?

Colin felt his cheeks flush.

Um, yes, sorry. You’re late; I mean it’s nearly seven o’clock, have you only just got back from work?

Much to Colin’s relief she decided to stop, but only so as to vent her own frustrations.

Yes, my bloody boss! One small typing error and he wanted me to do it all again. I missed my soddin’ train!

Colin was slightly shocked. Katie’s language is a good deal more colourful than before . . . . and she seemed to be wearing a lot of make up . . . . that lipstick is very pale . . . . and her hair is different . . . . and those boots are very white and shiny . . . . and that skirt is very short . . . . very, very short; his gaze transfixed on the hemline.

I’m just off to see Chalky, he said truthfully, trying to recover his composure, he wants to hear the new Beach Boys album, this time being somewhat economical with the truth.

Here have a look, you like them don’t you? he said preparing to take the album out of the, by now, very distressed looking brown paper bag.

Oh, they’re square, said Katie, "Gary says they’re square as well; he works in Accounts. He got us tickets to see Jimi Hendrix at the Albert Hall in a couple of weeks. Gary says he’s really cool. He likes The Cream as well; Gary says they’re happening."

Right, ok… . Yeah, they’re quite good… . I think they have a new album out… . something to do with bikes… . Anyway, I’m late; I’m supposed to be at Chalky’s at seven. I’ll see you, maybe down the town on Saturday.

Oh, I don’t go down there anymore, she said walking away, I do all my shopping in London. It’s a groovy scene; Ciao Colin.

Chow! Chow? What the hell does that mean? They eat chow in Rawhide don’t they? Colin thought to himself as he hurried down Hartington Road, gradually increasing his pace until he broke into a jog. There was a lump in his throat and two tears resting uneasily on his lower eyelids. Whether this emotion was due to frustration, disappointment, disenchantment or a lack of any self worth, he was in no fit state to decide.

All he could think of was bloody Gary, whoever he was, obviously a complete idiot. The Cream? Happening? Jimi Hendrix? What’s wrong with The Beach Boys?

And when was it exactly that his beloved Katie had metamorphosed into a trendy… . swinging… . dolly bird… . with attitude?

His theme for the evening was intended to be Good Vibrations, not She’s Not the Little Girl I Once Knew!

**

Today - 9th November 2003                 I’m Only Sleeping

05:50

Two girls and a boy dressed in Milton Street school uniform sat in an old style train carriage—the sort that had separate compartments with two bench seats facing one another, and a sliding door that led out into the corridor.

Colin was sitting next to Katie, and Laura was flitting about chattering about goodness knows what. She seemed to be oblivious as to the chemistry between her companions.

Colin was always happy in Katie’s company, always had been, and he was very comfortable sitting next to her now, but whereas in recent years his feelings had grown into something more, she had shown no such reciprocation.

Again, through subtle suggestion and conversation that led that way, he had made clear his affection for her, and again it seemed to weigh heavily on her.

But something he had said softened her, and although she was not exactly flirting with him, she was showing signs of encouragement. Laura was still on her feet, dancing about and nattering on ten to the dozen.

Something else he said pleased her, and Katie slid her head down across his shoulder. The trouble was that as he had been chasing her for so long, he honestly didn’t know how to read her. Was this a sign of affection, or was it just a small physical act of pity because she could not feel for him as he did for her?

Poor dear Colin, always so serious!

Whatever it was, he wallowed in the sweet scent of her long hair as she nuzzled into his shoulder. For the first time, Laura noticed the intimacy and started to feel a little uncomfortable, even though she had been friends with them both for so long.

Is it hot in here, or is it me? she said.

It’s you, they replied in unison, and laughed.

Laura slid the door open and stepped out into the corridor and stood looking out of the carriage window at the passing vistas.

This is so like the way it used to be, Katie said softly.

There was something wrong! There had never been a way it used to be, if only there had!

Uncertainly, he asked if this sudden warmth from her was something more permanent than this fleeting moment.

I will let you know in a week, she replied.

In a week? Oh, the Agony!

It was then that Colin Anscombe woke up, his face nuzzling into the pillow; his head full of the floral scent of the previous day’s washing.

**

Today - 9th November 2003                              In My Life

06:50

It had been so real; he had felt the emotions, the uncertainties and the lack of self-confidence that he had felt over 30 years ago; and yet he lay there, exhilarated at having experienced those times again. To travel back in time may be considered as an act of science fiction, he mused, but it is possible to experience at least the ethos when the sub and unconscious interlace in the way that they had just done for him.

This was not his first experience of dreams of schooldays recently, although none had been as vivid as this. He felt that he had actually been there this time, not just an ethereal observer looking in through a window in time.

It wasn’t surprising really. For many years he had wondered what had happened to his friends from school, and regretted losing contact with them, but he understood why, and did not recriminate himself for this. He had been one of the first of the old crowd to get married, and as a result the whole focus of his life changed. In fact, he started to see much less of them as soon as he had started courting Linda. He had met her at work, and she was not part of that old school scene.

Looking back, he thought of how they had drifted along and fulfilled the lifestyle that had been expected of them by their parents, which in turn was one that had been expected of them by their own parents back in the Forties and Fifties. Although the Sixties heralded a period of social change, the bastions of convention had not been penetrated sufficiently to affect the social expectancy that had been laid upon Linda and Colin by their respective families.

They had married and moved away, negotiated the requisite mortgage, enjoyed the benefits of good jobs, a nice car, a comfortable lifestyle, and their families were proud, but disappointingly the 2.4 children had never arrived.

Linda had been a successful solicitor, and Colin had been equally successful running a small photographic business, although there had been a substantial financial income disparity in Linda’s favour. Theirs had been a comfortable existence, but although they had discussed having a family, Linda had always felt that the time was not right. So they had continued to drift along through their twenties and thirties, neither of them consciously aware of the estrangement. By the time they both hit forty, Colin had more or less accepted that he would never be a father, although they had never actually discussed this to a conclusion. It was hard for him to imagine that in nearly twenty years of marriage their relationship could really have stagnated to this degree. There had been no passion; no fights or squabbles… . no love; just an everyday existence where they took each other for granted.

Then one day, ten years ago, Colin had come home from work and Linda was gone, leaving only a vague note of apology and none of her belongings.

Her mobile phone was constantly switched off. He left numerous messages but she didn’t return his calls, and he stopped trying after a couple of weeks. He contacted her place of work, but the only light they could shed on the matter was that she had handed in her notice with immediate effect and had walked out on them also, as did one of the junior partners. They were rather embarrassed about the whole affair, in the literal sense, and felt responsible in some way.

Well at least he now knew why she had left, and with whom. It must have been going on for some time, he had thought, but he hadn’t a clue as to how long.

She had phoned after about two months from a withheld number to apologise, and to try and explain that it was something she had no control over, it just happened. Almost as an afterthought she asked him how he was coping. The very use of the word coping was an admission in itself that she thought he would have been deeply affected by her leaving.

How the bloody hell do you think I am coping? My wife walks out and leaves me after 20 years, how do you think I am coping?

She said sorry again and hung up, leaving him to his anger and frustration.

It had taken a long period of adjustment and a change in lifestyle, but just when he was coming to terms with his new existence she suddenly turned up one day to ask for a divorce.

He lay there thinking of how she had looked. Not since they had first met had she looked so alive. Had they really drifted so far apart without him noticing? She had changed; fresh hairstyle, different makeup, a new woman in fact. But what hurt; what had really bloody hurt was that she was six months pregnant.

That had been eight years ago now, and it had taken him longer to get over her state of pregnancy, than when she had originally walked out. He had learnt to accept, but