Bought a Casio piano off a French boy at camp

whose parents were contemplating filicide

due to the hammering he were giving it.

Programme tunes / pretend to play. Easy.

Set up on the beach to catch the end-of-summer crowd.

Heaven, I’m in heaven, …

Step 2 Support

Dear Sunita decided to stay, loves passing

the saucepan around, badgering people to donate

to the fund for the ‘struggling sisterhood’.

Says she can’t leave me after the traumatic psychological torture

and sadistic emotional wounding that self-obsessed

male chauvinist trotter has put me through.

(Haven’t the heart to tell her I’ve no ‘inclinations’.)

Step 3 Emotional Release

Make enough for rent. Sunny helps out with food

and a few beers. We go to the Turkish Delights Disco

most nights and get plastered. Invented a dance

what looks like a mixture of kick-boxing, karate,

head-butting and fencing (without the swords).

It does the trick and keeps predators away.

(Won’t touch a sou of his filthy lucre – till I have to.)

Step 4 The Future

Sunny wants to come on the road with us.

‘Sure, we’ll split the petrol and expenses.’

Won’t Stanley mind? she asks, all considerate yet hopeful.

‘Don’t give a flying fuck if he minds.

I want you here, Sister Sunny.

Anyway, guess who’s got the wheels?’

(My bones tell me he’s coming back.)

STAGE FOUR: REVENGE

The Front Line

J Sunny and I were getting ready to go out. She’d disappeared into her tent to change into her disco outfit: a black bra showing underneath a baggy white string vest, a pair of ripped jeans, a pair of black, steel-toed Dr Martens and some war paint. I was quietly varnishing my fingernails green, when this thing enters the camp

S Whatever time has passed, whatever day it is, whatever time of day it is, whatever …

J His trainers are caked in what looks like shit, his jeans are filthy, his T-shirt stained, his face unkempt with bristle

S The campsite’s nearly empty, and so – quiet

J There’s nothing fearful or humble in his approach, just an air of … smug indifference

S How long was I gone? Ah, who cares. After all, time is more than the despotic hands of a clock telling me what to do and when

J ‘Oh, hello, love,’ I say, with a thick smearing of sarcasm. ‘Had a nice time in Istanbul, dear?’

S And the high dive is still waiting for the bounce of my bare feet on its springy board. So long as Jessie is my safety net, I’ll never really leap

J Oh, God! I’ve been painting my knuckles green!

S Yes, thanks. I had a really good time

J He says, as if he’s just returned from a swim