Jealousy. Scilly Isles 9. Written by Richard Alan Gardham, transcribed by Angela Gardham.

The guitar stops. She eats his lips. In the darkness of the bunker you could see these eyes watching. A lad was offering some wine but she wasn’t listening, her eyes were fixed on him, she wanted him; the other night she wanted him but she’s jealous now there is someone else with him. An “hopeful” sees his chance and passes her the wine. She plays at being interested but she keeps glancing over in the corner at the guitar man. He sees her glance, leans over, puts his guitar to one side and gets up and says quite loudly, “I must go outside and have a wee”. He made his way over the mass of couples and slaps a hand on her thighs and just smiles. He re-emerges from the dark, her eyes follow him, the guitar starts another tune. The girl he’s with leans over and takes a nibble at his ear. The lad with the wine bottle passes the girl the wine again, this time she took a drink. The bunker was packed like sardines, couples sitting and laying in all sorts of very healthy positions, breaths gasping.

Hands constantly slipping with remarks of no and sighs and glassy eyes, knees pushing between thighs.

Why the hell don’t they go outside and get on with it?

Some isolated eyes look on trying not to be jealous. You can sense it throbbing behind their eyes. A couple are very busy. It’s a bit cruel, with no lad who loves that girl. She kept saying she was bursting with love but she can’t give it to anyone. “You’re a bitch.”

It was getting a bit too much for me so I went out into the clear star filled sky and walked away from the gun emplacement, the thighs pushing between the knees hangs a bit longer in the mind. I started to sing the cancer song for Dad, the eyes watered, the wind dries it away.