I stand before the green front door and ring the bell.  I’ve never got round to asking Ramona why she hadn’t painted it yellow.  Bill answers and, without exchanging a word, he takes the two bottles of wine and bunch of flowers I hand him.  Yellow flowers.

“I videoed the match earlier,” he says.  “We could watch it for a bit while dinner cooks.  Do you know the score yet?”  Without waiting for an answer he nods at the flowers and adds:

“Mona will love these.  Come on through.”

“I don’t want to sound harsh Dave, but when someone’s gone they’re gone.  All that’s left is memories.  Memories and factual data.  Where he was born, where he died and all that shit.  What’s the point of raking over it all now?”

Yeah, that’s my Mona.  Straight to the point.  And her eyes are even worse than the words that come out of her mouth.  Boring right into me.  Making me feel I’m being grabbed by the balls.  But I still love her. 

Bill leans in close and tops up my glass every time I take a mouthful.  I begin to feel pissed and realise that I haven’t eaten since yesterday evening.  I shovel down more of Mona’s moussaka – something to soak up the wine.

“Well, what’s wrong with family history?” says Bill.  “Everyone needs a hobby.”

“Oh for God’s sake Bill, we’re not talking about a nice little hobby here.  Dave’s trying to put some sort of meaning in his life and thinks he can do that by raking over the details of someone else’s life.”

So what did we find to talk about so endlessly as students?  Late into the night.  Almost until dawn.  Mona used to stay on for the holidays too, just because I didn’t go back.  Even got a job at Coleman’s.  In the 1970s, right through the 1980s too, this house was part of the student accommodation for the old polytechnic.  The warden was a part-time ballet critic for the Daily Telegraph.  Got a former dancer in as cook.  Too many pounds on her hips and legs.  Too fond of the gin.  She needed the job.  Sentiment got the better of culinary skill.

Come as you are.  Gun floating in warm water.  Lungs flood.  Nose cough.  See the rope.  Tightening, tightening.  Kick away the chair.  Minor key, bass notes your stomach grab.