Walking with Ghosts

and his wife were childless and had a soft spot for Geordie. A couple of their neighbours had prepared a buffet, and J.D. had brought his band along to provide the music. When they first arrived there was a couple in tennis whites on the court in the Foresters’ garden. The French windows were thrown open and as people arrived they gravitated towards the buffet and took food and drink outside on the lawn.
    J.D. began rolling up joints as soon as he arrived, and before the buffet was half demolished everyone was stoned.
    Janet’s mother was sitting on a chair by the temporary stage eating a salmon paste sandwich as if it contained anthrax. She wasn’t stoned. Celia was standing next to Sam under a sun umbrella by the tennis court. ‘I’m not sure this is my kind of scene,’ she said.
    ‘You’re not stoned?’ Sam asked.
    Celia smiled and shook her head. ‘No more than usual. You?’
    ‘No,’ Sam said. ‘But you, me and the mother-in-law are the only ones who’re not totally Out of it.’
    The couple in tennis whites were falling around and giggling on the court. They were both from the university, she a lecturer in the English department and he some kind of technician in physics. ‘It gives you a nervous breakdown,’ she said, dropping her racket.
    The technician hooted. ‘It’s giving me one. What is it?’
    ‘Dunno. Temple balls something.’
    ‘Balls? Didn’t think they allowed them in temples.’
    They both thought that was seriously funny.
    Sam took Celia’s arm. ‘Shall we mingle?’ he said. ‘I can’t stand all the hooting.’
    As they moved away the couple on the court were prostrate, their rackets abandoned for the day.
    The taxi driver who had brought Geordie and Janet from the register office hadn’t managed to get away. He’d had a plate of sandwiches and some trifle, refused wine because he was driving, but accepted a couple of tokes from J.D.’s magic stash. Now he was facing the wrong way in his cab. All alone in there. Giggling.
    ‘I’m going to have a try with Janet’s mother,’ Celia said. ‘She looks lonely over there. Coming?’
    ‘No, please,’ Sam said. ‘She looks as refreshing as a day with the tax man.’
    Geordie left Janet with a group of young people and walked over to Sam. His eyes were sparkling. ‘This is great,’ he said. ‘I should get married more often.’ He looked at Sam’s face. Held out a half-smoked joint.
    Sam shook his head. Smiled.
    ‘Come on, Sam, it’s a wedding. A little bit of blow won’t hurt you. Don’t be so serious.’
    ‘Serious. Christ, Geordie, I’m an alcoholic.’
    Celia was deep in conversation with Janet’s mother, so Sam helped J.D. and the band set up their instruments. Took a long time.
    ‘Tell you what,’ J.D. said to the lead guitarist. ‘Once we get going we won’t be able to stop one song and start another.’
    The guitarist thought about it for a while. ‘Right,’ he said eventually.
    ‘What we could do,’ J.D. told him. ‘We could run through all the numbers without stopping.’
    ‘Like fade out one and bring up another?’
    ‘No. You’re not listening. Don’t be a bunny. What we do is, we allow one song to metamorphose into the next one.’
    ‘Like Kafka, man?’
    J.D. raised his eyebrows. He handed a tambourine to Marie. ‘You can play this, pretty woman.’
    Marie took it from him and shook it, then she turned it upside down and shook it again. Seemed to play better that way.
    J.D. turned to Sam. ‘Did I thank you for letting me run with the pack?’
    ‘Forget it,’ said Sam.
    ‘I can’t forget it. Pm jingle brained with dope and goofy about this woman here, and I still can’t forget it.’
    They went into the first song, and Sam listened closely for the time it would metamorphose into the next one, but it didn’t happen. After twenty-eight minutes, ‘With A Little Help From My Friends’ showed no signs whatsoever of transforming itself into a second song.
    Everybody in the band reckoned it would do, though, eventually.
    With a little help.
    Sam drifted over to Celia and Janet’s mother. Celia had the butt of a joint between the first and second fingers of her right hand. There was a guy in front of them had adopted the fig-leaf position. Both of the women were staring at him. But he was out of it. Didn’t even know they were there. Paralysed with paranoia.
    ‘How’re you doing?’ Sam asked, indicating the cigarette. Celia waved her hand nonchalantly. ‘Over-rated, this