Page 12 of Kiss Heaven Goodbye

Miles tipped the sugar cube into the glass and poured water on top, dousing the flames. He passed the warm glass to Alex, who gingerly lifted it to his lips and took a sip. It didn’t taste all that great but he was determined not to show it.

‘Baudelaire, Rimbaud, even Aleister Crowley, the wickedest man in the world, loved this stuff,’ said Miles as he set his own drink on fire.

‘Aren’t we supposed to see a green fairy or something?’ said Alex, feeling his lips burn.

‘Fuck knows,’ said Miles, knocking his back. ‘Just drink it and see.’

They each had another, then Miles gestured towards the beach.

‘Let’s walk,’ he said. ‘And leave the bloody guitar here. I’ve had enough of Angus’ singing tonight.’

‘But I’ve had absinthe,’ said Alex with a smile. ‘I’m supposed to be at my creative peak. Maybe the world’s greatest pop song will come to me as I stare out to sea.’

‘I’m prepared to take that risk,’ said Miles.

They walked down a path along the side of the house which sloped gently downwards towards the beach at the east of the island. The vegetation thickened and for a few minutes they were walking through dark forest, the only light coming from the moon shining through the trees.

Alex was grateful when they emerged on a small crescent of sand known as Paradise Cove. The moon sent a cone of shimmering silver across the black sea and they walked out to the water’s edge.

‘Can I ask you a question?’

‘Course.’

It was something he had been desperate to ask Miles for a long time. ‘Why are we friends?’

It had taken Alex a long time to fit into Danehurst. For the first three years he had taken refuge with the two other music scholarship boys, Kim Yip, a violin prodigy, and Ivan Blade, whose parents had defected from the Soviet Union. They stuck together like glue, bonded by their furious work ethic. Not that Alex needed endless practice because to him, playing music was as natural as breathing. But by the time he joined the sixth form, he considered himself quite cool. He loved bands like the Jesus and Mary Chain and The Fall, read magazines like The Face and ID and kitted himself out in army surplus clothes. Cool. But not cool enough to be friends with Miles Ashford.

‘You’ve been quite a project in social engineering, son,’ said Miles with a slow grin. ‘I think I’ve proved how anyone, even a horrible northerner like you, can acquire social polish just by hanging around with me.’

‘Right,’ said Alex, fearing all along that that might have been the answer.

‘I’m joking,’ he said flatly.

Alex felt relief, and then a strong pang of affection for his friend. ‘Well in that case, I’m going to miss you.’

‘We’ve got the grand tour of Europe to come yet.’

‘I thought you were just showing off to Oscar and Angus.’

‘Me? Show off?’ Miles smiled.

‘Come on, Miles. You know I can’t afford a trip like that.’

‘If you can pay for your travel, I’ll sort out the rest.’

Alex put a friendly arm around Miles’ shoulder and took his cigarette off him for a long drag. ‘When do you start at Oxford again?’

‘October sometime.’

‘That’s late, isn’t it?’

‘Short term-time for the elite, my friend,’ said Miles as he lit another cigarette. ‘Still, you can come down any time of course, although I expect I’ll be very busy. The thing about Oxford is that there are more opportunities than there is time to take them up.’

‘What do you have in mind? President of the Union? The student paper?’

‘God no! The social life.’

‘You can come to London, too.’