It had been a magical evening. The revelry in town had matched the joy in their hearts. Whilst the smell of burnt fat wafting down the high street from a Kebab shop next to the market square was taking the edge off the aroma of linseed oil that lingered round his trousers.
If only the night could last forever! But first thing in the morning he was travelling on the team bus down to Taunton for a vital one day match and, as Martin had said, “If you turn up late, all the beer’s gone and you have to sit next to the bowling coach while he moans about his bunions”.
As they approached the taxi rank she felt a sharp tug on her arm and the harsh neon light from a dozen fast food signs was replaced by the gentler hue to be found in the entrance of the local park.
Her heart skipped a beat as she felt him thrust something long and warm into her eager hands. And looking deep into her eyes, his flat West Riding tones uttered the words so familiar to generations of young British lovers:
“Hold me saveloy and chips, I’m just going for a piss behind that bush.”
Extract reproduced by kind permission of Ms Davina Masterson