me of this plan.
‘No. His parents died years ago and he was an only child. He’s going to be cremated and then we’re going to hold a ceremony on the hill, to scatter his ashes to the winds, so they are carried up to the sky.’
I wasn’t sure if this was quite feasible, but didn’t say anything.
‘Will you come?’ she asked. ‘Please?’
‘Of course.’
So here we were. Marie unscrewed the urn and tipped ashes onto her palm. She murmured a few words which I couldn’t hear well with the wind in my ears, but she said something about travelling well, and then she cast the remains of Andrew towards the cliff edge.
The others took turns to do the same. Everybody was crying, except me. I wasn’t sure that Andrew would have wanted me to scatter any of his ashes, but Marie insisted. ‘He respected you,’ she said.
Fraser, who was the last in line, seemed particularly upset, which surprised me. I hadn’t realised he’d known Andrew that well. I guessed they had formed a strong bond over Fraser’s UFO experience. His hand trembled as Marie tipped ashes into his palm. I watched as he turned towards the sea, many metres below, and swung his arm, the wind catching the ashes and carrying them, swirling and eddying, towards the sunset.
‘So how did it go?’
Simon wiped his brow with the grimy cuff of his white shirt. We were sitting on a bench in Alexandra Park to cover a story about dog shit. Simon and I were supposed to be talking to dog owners and finding out how many of them used the poop scoop bins. This was part of the editor’s campaign against dog mess.
Simon bit into his Magnum. ‘So?’
The day after the ceremony on the hill, a woman called Theresa Smith had phoned and told me she loved the portfolio I’d sent her. The Sunday Telegram , of which she was the picture editor, was looking to commission a number of unknown photographers to put together a series of articles on modern Britain. She wanted to meet me. By the end of the conversation I was giddy with excitement. This could be my big break.
It was now a few days after my meeting with Theresa at the Telegram . ‘It went pretty well. She loved my pictures. But I haven’t heard anything yet.’
He grunted. ‘So you’ll be buggering off and leaving us then.’
‘It’s only a commission. Even if I get it I won’t be leaving this job.’
‘Yeah, but it will open doors, won’t it? Then you’ll be buggering off.’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Well, that’s the idea.’
After we’d interviewed and snapped an assortment of criminal dog owners, we walked back into town.
‘How’s that bird of yours?’ Simon asked.
‘Upset.’ I told him about the ceremony.
He shook his head. ‘Poor her. But I didn’t like that bloke at all. There was something creepy about him. Sort of slimy.’
‘I know what you mean. But he was Marie’s business partner, so—’ I turned my palms upwards.
‘Yeah.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Is she still into all this UFO crap?’
I leapt to Marie’s defence. ‘It’s not crap. I mean, she believes it, and how do we know for sure that it’s her who’s wrong? Maybe we’re wrong.’
Simon laughed. ‘Fuck, it must be love.’
‘Speaking of which, how are things with Susan?’ We hadn’t mentioned his behaviour at the nightclub since it had happened, but he had been acting shifty recently, checking his phone all the time, taking calls and wandering out of earshot. I was pretty sure he was having an affair.
‘No comment,’ he said.
When I got home, Marie was hunched over the PC, tapping away at the keys. As soon as I entered the room, she swung round, an alarmed expression on her face. She quickly turned back and closed the browser window she had been looking at.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, it’s private.’
‘Oh.’
She stood up and put her arms around me. ‘You wouldn’t be interested anyway.’
‘Let me guess: visitors.’
‘You got it in one. I’m sorry,
‘No. His parents died years ago and he was an only child. He’s going to be cremated and then we’re going to hold a ceremony on the hill, to scatter his ashes to the winds, so they are carried up to the sky.’
I wasn’t sure if this was quite feasible, but didn’t say anything.
‘Will you come?’ she asked. ‘Please?’
‘Of course.’
So here we were. Marie unscrewed the urn and tipped ashes onto her palm. She murmured a few words which I couldn’t hear well with the wind in my ears, but she said something about travelling well, and then she cast the remains of Andrew towards the cliff edge.
The others took turns to do the same. Everybody was crying, except me. I wasn’t sure that Andrew would have wanted me to scatter any of his ashes, but Marie insisted. ‘He respected you,’ she said.
Fraser, who was the last in line, seemed particularly upset, which surprised me. I hadn’t realised he’d known Andrew that well. I guessed they had formed a strong bond over Fraser’s UFO experience. His hand trembled as Marie tipped ashes into his palm. I watched as he turned towards the sea, many metres below, and swung his arm, the wind catching the ashes and carrying them, swirling and eddying, towards the sunset.
‘So how did it go?’
Simon wiped his brow with the grimy cuff of his white shirt. We were sitting on a bench in Alexandra Park to cover a story about dog shit. Simon and I were supposed to be talking to dog owners and finding out how many of them used the poop scoop bins. This was part of the editor’s campaign against dog mess.
Simon bit into his Magnum. ‘So?’
The day after the ceremony on the hill, a woman called Theresa Smith had phoned and told me she loved the portfolio I’d sent her. The Sunday Telegram , of which she was the picture editor, was looking to commission a number of unknown photographers to put together a series of articles on modern Britain. She wanted to meet me. By the end of the conversation I was giddy with excitement. This could be my big break.
It was now a few days after my meeting with Theresa at the Telegram . ‘It went pretty well. She loved my pictures. But I haven’t heard anything yet.’
He grunted. ‘So you’ll be buggering off and leaving us then.’
‘It’s only a commission. Even if I get it I won’t be leaving this job.’
‘Yeah, but it will open doors, won’t it? Then you’ll be buggering off.’
I couldn’t help but smile. ‘Well, that’s the idea.’
After we’d interviewed and snapped an assortment of criminal dog owners, we walked back into town.
‘How’s that bird of yours?’ Simon asked.
‘Upset.’ I told him about the ceremony.
He shook his head. ‘Poor her. But I didn’t like that bloke at all. There was something creepy about him. Sort of slimy.’
‘I know what you mean. But he was Marie’s business partner, so—’ I turned my palms upwards.
‘Yeah.’ He lit a cigarette. ‘Is she still into all this UFO crap?’
I leapt to Marie’s defence. ‘It’s not crap. I mean, she believes it, and how do we know for sure that it’s her who’s wrong? Maybe we’re wrong.’
Simon laughed. ‘Fuck, it must be love.’
‘Speaking of which, how are things with Susan?’ We hadn’t mentioned his behaviour at the nightclub since it had happened, but he had been acting shifty recently, checking his phone all the time, taking calls and wandering out of earshot. I was pretty sure he was having an affair.
‘No comment,’ he said.
When I got home, Marie was hunched over the PC, tapping away at the keys. As soon as I entered the room, she swung round, an alarmed expression on her face. She quickly turned back and closed the browser window she had been looking at.
‘What are you doing?’ I asked.
‘Sorry, it’s private.’
‘Oh.’
She stood up and put her arms around me. ‘You wouldn’t be interested anyway.’
‘Let me guess: visitors.’
‘You got it in one. I’m sorry,
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