It's just like walking on the moon, said Jan. I said I've never been to the moon, so wouldn't know about that, and Jan squeezed my hand tight and smiled.

*

It was three in the morning and the beach was deserted except for me and Jan, walking back to town from the dunes along the bay that curves in a languid sweep from the towns nose tip to the river estuary. It was beginning to chill, that coolest part of the early morning when dews are settling and all is at its quietest. It was nearing the end of summer, and we hated to see endings so had stayed out later than everyone else. It seemed such a waste, going home to sleep just to wake the next day when death would be nearer to everything.

[misted]

There was a gang of kids who hung out down on the beach in summer, or in the Clubhouse bar if it rained, which was often. Sometimes they wore great clothes and said fun things. They laughed a lot and that was good, because I didn't. I couldn't ever place the time when I stopped laughing so much, but I can remember days when I did, so there must have been something. It must be several years though. I have a hazy memory of several years when so little happened in my life. It's like when you read stories and there's a strong narrative, or you see movies and people go from here to there and then off somewhere else, always moving on. I could never align myself with that. It always puzzled me because my life seemed so cyclical. The cycle of signing on and the giro, the cycle of writing letters and the roundabout trip to the postbox at the end of the street. Sometimes if it was dark I'd walk on and make a longer loop out to the edge of our estate, where the private homes meet the council ones, and then back in. It was always as if there was this wall out there, a perimeter fence. And it was always a loop.

*

The kids on the beach lit fires and played cassettes. They drank beer and vodka, smoked cigarettes and laughed a lot. When they sat in the Clubhouse they hung around by the puggy machine in the corner, near to the bar where they called the bar staff by their first names and the proprietor Mr Adams. I called him Drew because I had been going to his bar since it opened, and on a few occasions he'd given me free drinks after he'd closed up for the night, and during those times we talked about Jazz whilst he played Dizzy Gillespie tapes on the bar stereo. He gave me a lift home the night my best friend died, the night when I cried on his bar.

*

Jan had met me earlier that night, and when we were spinning on the roundabout in the deserted school playground said Don't the stars look lovely through tears, kiddo. I said It's cloudy, and she kissed me on the cheek. Later on we sat on the prom wall and looked at the lighthouses out in the channel, blinking in the night. I said, You know, this summer has been the oddest ever, and she told me that summer was always odd. She was ten years younger than me but I knew that she had more knowledge of this so I said Yeah, I guess you're right at that. We stood up then and walked hand in hand to the bar.

*

The candle on the table flickered in a draught, and Jan got me a drink even though she was only fourteen. I said Cheers, and she said Salut! and downed her tequila in one go. I said Do you know Sylvia Plath, and she asked What class is she in? I said smiling, Nothing, it doesn't matter, and realised that the only times you smile around death is when it comes so unexpectedly. I told Jan this and she said Shut up and look at the boy in the corner, doesn't he have the most gorgeous cheekbones you ever saw? I said I guess, but what about mine. She smiled and kissed me again on the cheek. You're not in the same league honey, was all she said. I knew then that Jan was one of those Botticellis I wrote Daniel about once.

*

I came back to my front door in august after a funeral. It was a bright day but the warmth had all but gone. Jan was sat on my door step and said simply, Hey kid. I looked at her and saw a tear sliding down her face. I said Hey kid back and sat down with her. I loosened the black tie around my neck and leaned against the glass of the door. My back was clammy even though it was not hot and the sun still made me squint. We didn't say anything more, but held hands for an hour instead. When it was four o-clock Jan stood up and said See you kiddo. Her thumb turned once on the back of my hand before she dropped it. See you kiddo, I said back, and watched her walk off into town down the overgrown lane that led up to my door. I willed her not to turn around and look back, not even once. Not that she needed my will of course.

[decca]

Summer died like we said it would, and when it did we walked into the Clubhouse and ordered a bottle of champagne. We drank it sitting on high stools in the centre of the bar so that everyone could see us. Jan was wearing a red velvet dress and her long auburn hair was perfectly coiffured. She smoked french cigarettes from a tortoise-shell cigarette holder and blew perfect smoke circles. She was very fifties. I had on my best blue serge suit over a pale pink shirt and had slicked back my hair. I wore the Le Corbusier spectacles I had found in a jumble sale two years before, even though I could see next to nothing through them. We chinked our glasses and said nothing to each other or anyone else. When Jan went to the toilets she spoke french to the boys who were standing in her way, and even though they were in her class at school they did not laugh. The diners watched us all night and all we did was sip and smile demurely. They were a perfect audience, and we appreciated their attentions.

*

Around ten I finally said to Drew, Play Coletrane. He said, It's too early, but I said No, I mean the ballads tape. I mean the one with 'All Or Nothing At All'. I love that tune. He said Sure then, and he played it all the way through. Jan blew more smoke rings and said, dead straight, I hate all that jazz shit.

[shipwrecked]

The Clubhouse was strange in winter. I said this to Jan and she said Yeah, I know. There were too many loud voices and people seemed more desperate for attention. A new batch of customers began turning up regularly and they shouted at each other across the length of the bar. They shouted about cars, sport and money and were always suntanned. Jan hated them and said these fakers are ruining my childhood. I said They already ruined mine ten years ago. Jan said Huh, and I glowered through the girl who had made a mockery of my adolescence.

*

My brother supported me a lot that winter, like many before. He bought me drinks and told me everything was cool because it was only money and that one day the roles might be reversed, and then I said But I'm a selfish bastard so you better not hoodwink yourself bro. He knew that I wasn't really joking, but laughed anyway and asked Drew to get me another whisky and soda.

*

My brother began talking with some couple he knew from his work then, and I felt a pair of soft hands cover my eyes. Wanna know why the world's such a scary place, said Jans voice, and I said It's not the world that's scary, it's the people in it, kiddo. You're dumb, was all she answered before taking my drink and finishing it. See you later was all she said, and she left then to talk with her gang of kids who still hung out in the same corner, but who had taken to arriving later and leaving earlier than in the summer. I asked Jan about this once and she shrugged and said Weren't you ever fifteen? I said You're fourteen, and she said Don't be so straight you jerk, let's go to the harbour wall, drink vodka and shout at the seagulls. I said, But it's winter, and she said Yeah, you're really smart.

[freeze]

In the week before Christmas none of the bustling crowd who shouted across the bar came out to the Clubhouse, which was peculiar because all the other town bars were packed. Not that we complained, because it made the week strangely like summer again. The gang of kids stayed until late every night, and laughed more than they had for ages. My brother and I sat drinking bottles of Coors Extra Gold, him smoking his Silk Cut and me playing with a cast silver star I had hung around my neck. We talked about the usual stuff, and it was like re-running some seventies made-for-tv-movie show every time.

*

On the 22nd we opened two more beers and I said Have you finished reading that copy of 'Nausea' that's been sitting in your room for ages? He said Yeah, I didn't like it much though. I said, Why not?, and he just shrugged. Not much of a story. I smirked stupidly and said, But does your life have so much of a story? He just said We do things for different reasons, and right now I like trying to escape. I said Yeah, well, and looked over at where Jan had just come in through the back entrance, wearing a dark green dress that had silver threads shot through it like tinsel. She had huge sun-glasses on too, very dark and thrift store looking. I smile in her direction, hoping she could see me through them , and she smiled back. She stood at the bar and waited for her tequila.

*

I went to the toilet to take a leak then, and when I entered a kid in a denim jacket with a small badge that said 'The Jam' who was already pissing said Hey Alistair, how's it going? I said Uh in reply. He was just some kid, I didn't know his name. I didn't know how he knew mine.

*

I pissed and then went back into the bar and sat down with my brother again, who is thirty years old. I said Do you remember The Jam, and he got all misty eyed and reminiscent. I said, I hate the fucking Jam, I can't listen to them anymore, they make me feel like throwing up. I get up-tight like you wouldn't believe, and he didn't understand.

*

Then I said Do you know Rimbaud, and he said Uh huh, you know I read 'A Season In Hell' on the 'plane back from Puerto Rico. I said, But do you know him in french? and he said Shut up you jerk, get me a beer. It seemed a fair cop so I told Mark to get in another Extra Gold. Mark said That'll be one sixty, and I said Hey bro you got any money again.

[demarest]

When it was late and most of the diners had gone home and all that was left were us and the gang of kids, Mark played 'Snap' on the bar stereo and my brother's face lit up as he began to sing along. My eyes closed and gut tightened.

*

Why do we end up like this? Hating all the things we once loved and feeling the pressure of the crowds that smile and know our names?

*

I was mute and felt like bawling.

*

Jan put her hand on my shoulder and I could see her smile through my closed eyes. Hey lover do you want to walk on the beach she said, and I said nothing but took her hand and we walked down the stairs and into the night. The christmas lights flickered in the windows of the houses out on the point and through the light drizzle they looked like fire-flies. I said, Do you know the feeling when you feel like you've outstayed your life already and are trapped under the deadwood of your memories. Jan said Yeah, I love you, and I knew she meant it.

Alistair Fitchett. 1996