TRIP TO THE TOWER.

Ingrid sat next to you on the school hired coach to the Tower of London sun poured through the window making you feel hotter and Ingrid who usually smelt of dampness smelt of oranges fresh peeled her usual well worn raincoat and cardigan were gone and she was clothed in a creamy blouse and green skirt and off white socks and plimsolls (her shoes in the shoe smith being mended she had said) and you in a grey open neck shirt and grey flannel short trousers (no jeans the teacher said

the day before) and once all the kids were aboard and the teachers had counted heads the coach took off and the talking erupted and voices filled the air and laughter and chatter and you looked by Ingrid at the passing view she looked out too her hair you noticed washed and combed and on her lap in a bag her packed lunch and she held the bag tightly and you noticed her fingers the nails bitten but the ink stains gone and she turned and said how excited she was and that she'd never been to the Tower before and that her dad had said she wouldn't have gone if her mother hadn't paid

and moaning about the cost and don't we have enough to pay what with one thing and another and she lowered her voice and whispered that her dad had hit her for wanting to go and her mother too for interfering and she pulled up her skirt and showed you a bruise on her thigh then she looked away and was silent and you thought that if you saw him you'd have pop him one with your cap gun (symbolic of course) then she turned and said not to tell anyone and you said you wouldn't and she smiled and squeezed your hand and you hoped

none of the boys about saw her hand but you were glad she had and you felt kind of grown up with a girlfriend of your own like those in the films you'd seen where the cowboy gets his girl in those usual boring bits you tended to hate but there again you and she were just good friends and only eight.