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the bar.
    ‘ID!’ barks peroxide Sumo tits.
    ‘Aww c’mon,’ laughs Sean. ‘Leave her alone Charmaine, she’s far too small and cute to pick on.’
    ‘ID,’ smiles Charmaine smugly.
    ‘No, that’s fine,’ I say. ‘I actually take it as a compliment looking young for my eighteen years. Means that I won’t look like a crack whore when I’m in my twenties.’
    Sean explodes with laughter. Charmaine plucks my student card disdainfully from my hand and examines it. Even though I have checked it in various lighting since I doctored it with tippex and biro, it’s still a tense moment. Those were the days; laminated paper ID.  Thanks to a friend’s ultra-cool mum who worked in an office and actively encouraged under-age drinking. Our reasoning being that she hoped other girls would get knocked-up aged 14 and have as crap a life as her. My ID was freshly laminated.
    ‘Fine,’ states Charmaine sarcastically, tossing it in a puddle of beer on the bar and reluctantly pouring up two snakeys.
    ‘Are you in College?’ asks Sean. ‘You look fresh out of Primary School.’
    ‘Yep, but I have a boyfriend. Don’t get too interested,’ I say over my shoulder as I walk away.
    ‘Treat ‘em mean,’ my Gran always said. She had great success with men until she muddled up two letters to the RAF guys she was trying to decide between – and was dumped by both. I remember her telling me this as she glanced at my Granddad cutting his toenails in a basin of water, emitting a loud fart with the exertion of it all, and chuckling quietly to himself.
    ‘God works in mysterious ways,’ she sighed.
     
    So anyway, I’m back at the table and Holly informs me Sean is looking over at me. I sneak a glance. He is indeed, incredibly.
    ‘Oooh, he’s coming over,’ she laughs behind her hand. I look the opposite way.
    ‘Fancy a game of pool?’ Sean slimes up to me, tossing his Andrew Ridgeley-style locks.
    ‘Only if you can handle having your arse kicked,’ I shrug, disinterestedly. ‘Oh, and it’s doubles only. Holly joins us, so you better look around for a mate to play with.’
    Sean dashes off and comes back with some random bloke who had been minding his own business, reading a newspaper with a pint and a pie.                                                                     ‘This is Joe,’ says Sean breathlessly. ‘We’ve known each other years.’
    ‘It’s John,’ says “Joe”.
     ‘Anyway,’ breezes Sean, ‘let’s play.’ With an enthusiastic nod to us all, we stand up and join him at the pool table.            
     
    So, I have been living with Sean for two years and nine months. Much to my Mum’s initial horror and half the family asking if I’m pregnant. It’s my first ever live-in relationship. Sean plays with the band every Thursday, Friday and Saturday. Sundays are boys’ nights out, so it’s a fairly part-time relationship. Sean doesn’t like me to go out without him, so half an hour after he leaves on a Friday night, I get out of my pyjamas and into my party frock, heading out in Dundee City centre with Holly. I, of course, do nothing untoward behind his back, but it’s best he doesn’t know. I occasionally hear rumours doing the rounds about Sean’s antics. He sweeps them off dismissively and informs me that the other band guys play around, but why would he go for a burger when he has steak at home? I don’t believe the gossip anyway. It’s no secret that Sean is fancied the length and breadth of Dundee. There was even a ridiculous story from one gay friend of mine that Sean had slept with his ex-boyfriend. One of the many reasons why I didn’t believe anything I heard.
     
    I worked Saturday and Sunday nightshift in Safeway. Not the best job, but a good crowd to work with. I remember being exhausted for two years juggling work and College. I hated College. I had assumed it would be very grown-up and cool,