‘Yes, of course.’

The girl beside me muttered ‘Thanks’ and looked up at me. She was a good nine inches shorter. When I smiled, she blushed, and looked down.

Wright was laying it on thick about his boxing prowess, his flying, and how he was ‘auditioning for a movie’.

‘Are you at Reville?’ asked ‘my’ girl.

‘Yes.’ There didn’t seem to be much else to say.

‘My name’s Valerie.’

‘How do you do, Valerie. I’m Michael.’

‘You sound as if we’re going to shake hands.’

‘Perhaps we ought.’

‘Ought! That’s funny.’ She stuck out a plump, mauve-gloved hand. I shook it. ‘Me and my friend were out for a walk,’ she said.

‘So I see.’

‘It’s a nice bright morning.’

‘Yes.’

‘Not like last night. Last night was shocking.’

‘Yes. Very wet.’

We walked along in silence until I tripped on a raised board. ‘Oops a daisy,’ said Valerie, flatly.

Wright was arm in arm with his girl now, and pulled her over to a candyfloss stand. We waited for them.

‘What’s your friend’s name?’ I asked, to break the silence.

‘Gerry. Geraldine. I suppose you fancy her.’

‘No, not at all.’

‘Really?’

‘Truly.’ I didn’t have the heart to say why.

‘Oh,’ said Valerie, brightening. ‘Most boys do. I think it’s because she’s got such thick hair.’

‘Perhaps. I’m not that bothered.’

‘That’s nice.’ She patted her own thin tresses. ‘Mine’s not dyed, you know. I’m a natural blonde. Not like those movie stars.’

‘Would you like a candyfloss?’

‘I thought you’d never ask.’

‘Come on, then.’

It was so easy, picking up a girl. Men do it all the time. I handed over the stick with a flourish.

‘Thank you, kind sir,’ she said, curtseying, and stuck her face right in.

Wright and Geraldine were whispering and giggling.

‘We could go for a drive,’ I said. I had to get off that pier.

‘Hear that, Gerry?’ shouted Valerie. ‘They’re going to take us for a drive!’

‘Bags I the back seat,’ said Wright.

‘Where are we going?’

‘I don’t know.’ My heart was in my boots. ‘Calder Fell is nice.’ We’d been up there on exercises once; it was full of skylarks and harebells. I wished I could go there alone, rid of Wright and the girls and the leaden feeling of beer and fried food in my stomach.

‘Ooh,’ said Geraldine, ‘romantic.’

The trip was not a success. It started raining again as soon as we left Blackpool, winding along the A road, and by the time we got to Garstang it was pissing down. Valerie sat chastely by my side in the front, occasionally commenting on the scenery. I stole glances at Wright in the rear-view mirror. He was petting with Geraldine, running his hands up her thighs, kissing her on the neck, but when he tried to touch her breast she smacked his hand and said she was not that type of girl. His eyes were glazed, his lips swollen.

‘I can’t go on like this,’ I said, meaning the weather. ‘We’d better stop.’