Last Orders

Amy

Well let 'em go, eh June? Let 'em do it, the whole bunch of 'em. Let 'em do without me. And you. Boys' outing. Do 'em good.

Jack should know that. All work and no play. Unless you count propping up the bar in the Coach.

That's what I told him all those years ago. We should give ourselves a break, a treat, we should give ourselves a holiday. His brave little Amy. When you fall off your horse you should get straight back on again. We should get ourselves out of ourselves. New people.

It might never have come to a choice between you and him.

My poor brave Jack.

Back on the merry-go-round, back on the swings. Seaside fun. All those things, June, you never knew. Donkey rides, bucket and spade, Punch and Judy. The waves coming in and the crowds on the beach and kids yelling, running, kids everywhere, and him looking at it like it was all a trick. Watch the birdie, kiss me quick, end of the pier.

But it wasn't the Pier, he even got that wrong. It was the Jetty. He ought to have remembered: the Pier and the Jetty, two different things, even if the Jetty looked more like a pier, and the Pier was only a harbour wall. Except there isn't no Jetty now, all swept away in a storm, years ago, and good riddance, I say, and amen. So maybe it wasn't his mistake, maybe it was his alternative arrangement. If he had to be chucked, if it was a case of chucking, if he had to be taken to the end of somewhere and chucked, but count me out, Jack, I won't be doing any chucking, then it had to be the Pier. Though it should have been the Jetty.