Brian caught the eastbound night bus and was gratified to see some light-hearted couples, clearly excited after dancing at the Palais - his timing was good for a return to his mother’s. He’d felt suddenly glum as he walked away from Aunt Pen’s, remorseful even. Was this ‘post coital tristesse’? There hadn’t been real coitus. Everything but. He hopped off the bus a couple of stops early, he needed time to compose his thoug...

That spring it was quite warm and there were scads of people walking down the Ferry Road to the bathing beach a few streets south of my home; they were mostly town people so I didn’t mind as they passed, some calling ‘hallo Pen!’ My washerwoman had been in that morning and the clothesline in the back garden was full and I was just putting a few additional odds and ends out to dry on the umbrella in the side yard when Em’s...

For my evening encounter with Brian, I put on a pair of scarlet knickers and a black basque. On my last trip to London, I had bought some jet black, silk toreador pants at Harvey Nicks, I had been dying to wear them and this was their moment. Over these, I wore a thin semi-sheer blouse and slipped into some patent black mules. Brian knocked precisely at nine and I let him in, he red had on a boat neck jersey with a pale b...