“Okay,” I jabbered, under the spell of a boy thirty years my junior. Oddly, I felt intimidated and ridiculous!After we entered the gallery, Pater stomped about with an air of authority. This was in sharp contrast to the boy I had hitherto encountered.“Yeah, I understand why my brother thinks its dope, bro.” Peter then declared with confidence, before resuming, “Its fuckin’ cool.”Next, with his beautiful eyes flickered to and fro, he looked at me and asked, “Can I also have joint?”At this point, I was totally unnerved.“Listen, Peter, I really don’t want to get into shit with you folks,” I pathetically proffered.After a hearty chuckle, Peter next replied “Fuck, Danny, my brother and I fuckin’ smoke dope all the time… Even my folks join in on Sunday mornings before they go to work.”I had no doubt that his parents were fairly open-minded. After I had moved to the village, there was a story about his mum who had fucked one of the local farmers and ended up in a fight with the farmer’s. So it was something of a surprise when the doorbell rang one afternoon and we discovered my sister, Jasmine, on the doorstep, her young teen daughter beside her. They were soon enjoying the July sunshine out in the back garden, where we tended to eat our meals when the weather was warm enough.I hadn’t seen Jasmine or Claire for many years. I vaguely recalled that shortly after I left home to find work the other side of the country, Jazz had married – a showman, I understood – in a travelling circus. Every few weeks, the whole kit and caboodle would move on, a convoy of trucks loaded with dismantled rides – dodgems, waltzers, chairoplanes, and so on – and towing the big caravans in which the circus staff, including Jazz and her husband, lived.A consequence of this peripatetic existence was that she and I had lost touch, mobile phone technology not being then what it is today. However, I recall hearing that she’d had a baby a few months after we parted: I guess Claire was that erstwhile.
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