Ghosts in the Morning - By Will Thurmann Page 0,16

the crappy mobile that I had then didn’t even have a camera’.

Anita smiled pitifully at me. ‘You’re not fine, dear. You’re overweight and underhappy, I can see that. And I don’t like to see my friends unhappy. So, I think maybe you can be my project now I’m back.’

I snorted. ‘Anita, what do you mean, your project? I’m fine. Really.’

‘Hmmm,’ Anita said, my words bouncing from her shoulders. She turned back to the menu. ‘Now, let’s see, should I give the veggy curry a go, ummm, no, maybe not a good idea, not after the ones I had in India, it’s bound to be a disappointment. Did you know, Andy dear, you can actually buy cookies filled with hash in India? Legally! It’s fantastic. I went camel-trekking in Rajasthan after having one of those cookies. You could buy them at a little shack at the edge of the desert, just before you got on your camel. There was a menu and everything, you could choose how potent a cookie you wanted. Of course, dear, I’ve dabbled on occasion before, as you well know, so I went for a superstrong one. And they weren’t exaggerating, I tell you, Andy, that was some experience. Those sand-dunes certainly look a bit different when you’re stoned off your tits.’

I chuckled. ‘Aren’t you a bit old to be doing drugs?’

Anita pulled a fake stern face. ‘How dare you, Andy? FYI, I was not “doing” drugs, I was merely indulging in the local culture. It’s not my fault that the local culture encouraged me to get doolally in the desert.’ She took a swig of wine and giggled. ‘Mind you, I probably shouldn’t have gone for superstrong. I nearly fell off the bloody camel twice, and when we hit a sandstorm, I got a bit paranoid and thought the world was ending. I ended up screaming and hugging my guide.’

I laughed at the vision of an Indian guide being clutched tightly against Anita’s ample bosom, and we both sat for a moment enjoying a companionable silence. I had forgotten how much I had missed Anita. I pointed at her empty glass. ‘Another?’

‘Andy, dear, how long have you known me? Have you ever known me to refuse a glass of wine?’

It was a wonder to me how Anita stayed so slim. She had always liked to drink, even back when we were in the care-home. I remembered the very first time I tried alcohol, I was with Anita and Francesca on a balmy afternoon.

‘Right, you two, it’s high time you were introduced to the joys of alcohol,’ Anita had said with a large smile across her face. ‘For girls like us, it is not simply a pleasure, but is, in fact, a necessity.’

‘What do you mean, girls like us?’ asked Francesca. We were sitting in the old shed at the bottom of the garden. The shed was hidden from the main buildings by some thick, gnarly trees and the staff of the Home didn’t usually bother wandering around this part of the garden. There was an underground stream running nearby, meaning the grass was always damp, and I guessed they didn’t want to ruin their cheap loafers. The shed itself was usually locked and the gardener, who only came in a couple of days a week, was the only one with a key. Well, the only one except Anita.

‘I mean us, the forgotten ones. Waifs, strays, the abused. We’re the ones with no parents, nobody gives a toss about us. We’re orphans. Like Oliver Twist.’

‘But you’ve still got a dad.’

‘My Dad is as good as dead, Andy. And you don’t even know who your old man is. As for Frankie, well...no, offence, Frankie.’

‘No, s’alright, I know what you mean,’ Frankie shrugged. Her parents had been killed in a car crash when she was five years old, and with no extended family she had been in care ever since. ‘Still, not all the girls are the same as us. Susie’s parents come and visit her sometimes, she’s only in here temporarily.’

‘Don’t be daft, Frankie, temporary my fanny. There’s no way Susie’s parents are ever getting her back. You’ve seen the cigarette scars on the back of her legs, Social Services are wise to it now, she ain’t going home with those bastards ever. Look, no-one lives in this shithole by choice, and certainly not if they’ve got relatives who give a toss. I mean, it’s not a lot of fun being picked on by your mates at school