An hour later she was smashed out of her skull. The room had taken on rosy edges, faces were swimming before her eyes, faces that were like plasticine models. She lifted an arm and watched the strobing. Fifteen arms moved in perfect harmony together. She smiled to herself. All around her she could see a blue heat coming from the bodies. Bodies that were entwined, were moving with perfect clarity, and yet were not moving at all. Let’s hear it for California Sunshine, she thought to herself then. For being out of your box and still able to think.

Andy thrust a drink into her hand and she gulped at it gratefully, feeling the warm bubbles of lager as they made their way through her body. Every nerve was alive, every pore in her body could feel. That was what she loved most about LSD. Only when tripping could she really feel that aliveness, that being present feeling that deserted her when she was straight. When real life was just a bummer. When her feelings were deadened and frustrated by lack of chemicals. Whoever invented LSD should get the peace prize, should be feted and adored. Whoever made this synthetic feeling of happiness should be rewarded.

Such was Delia’s thinking when she bumped into the guy with the long black hair and the crooked grin.

Before she knew what was happening she was out of the club, was in a car then in a flat in Ilford, with Pink Floyd on the stereo and her own voice talking above it.

She was telling him all about her life, her child, and the death of her child’s father.

The man listened gently, prompting her now and then or asking her questions.

Delia, in her drugged innocence, answered everything he asked her. Truthfully. Without a shred of nervousness.

Later on he made love to her.

That bit, as far as she was concerned, was the best bit of all.

Chapter Forty-five

Chapter Forty-five

Tommy watched Briony as she pushed her food around her plate. He watched her closely, taking in everything about her, from her hair, piled high on her head to reveal her slender neck, hardly creased with age, to her coral-painted fingemails. Dressed as she was in a deep green three-quarter length dress with matching sandals, she looked every bit the lady to him. Her eyes were expertly made up. The fine lines around them made her look more interesting than old.

He wished with all his heart that she would tell him what was ailing her. Whatever it was it had been on her mind for over a week. She had lain beside him, pretending to sleep, but with the knowledge of someone who has spent countless nights beside her, he knew she was faking.

‘Come on, Bri ... Tell me what’s up. We’ve never kept things from one another, have we?’