There’s a standing joke that half the kids in school were conceived down there. The soft sand and grassy bank make a perfect lovers’ lane. If I catch the ratbags at it I’ll give them both a tongue lashing for keeping me out all night and putting up with the likes of Holding. I whistle as I walk down the track and flash the torch beam well ahead. Give them time to get decent. The light passes over a shape on the sand by the water’s edge. Bloody hell. It’s Colleen! One arm dangling in the stream one arm on her chest. There’s blood on her face. Jesus! No! I rush to her side and touch her cold skin, hoping against hope for a pulse. The girl is dead. I reel into the bushes to vomit until nothing comes but bile and tears. I sink to my hands and knees to catch my breath, my eyes tightly shut, and a pain throbbing against my temple. Behind me lies a girl admired by everybody in town. Frank and Betty’s daughter. Sweat prickles on my forehead and I shiver with the breeze across the water, across Colleen.
