Donald got himself something from the fridge and put the stove on. He'd been quiet as they'd got dressed, quiet as he watched the towseled blonde mane being tamed by the pretty schoolteacher sat at his dressing table. He'd felt regret for his young friend. Because she wasn't that young and yet no lover had given her what he considered the most basic going over. She was clearly a sexual person, she had come to his house with the express intent in bedding him, she was not shy, and yet the things she had experienced with him, an old hack of seventy, had apparently been more satisfying than the rest of her experiences.

He knew it was probably a one off. She might want to hug him or hold his hand in the future, they would be friends, he didn't doubt that but he did not think they would make love again. That was out of her system. And yet he told himself that if she did ask again he would do things for her that she deserved. The kind, intelligent and caring girl would get the release that she deserved, he would make sure of it.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked him, her warm beer in her hand.

"Bacon," he told her and he looked down at her as she joined him at the frying pan, "eggs and milk." She grinned at him.

"You're a dreamer, Donald," she told him quietly and she finished her drink.

"Nothing wrong with that," he looked back down at the corn pancakes he was flipping, "get us a couple more beers out of that cupboard," he told her and he nodded towards the one he meant, Carrie opened the doors and found the beer. "bottle opener's on the side there," he pointed with his fork and she opened them and set them down on the table. "So what d'you want to talk about?" he asked her as he sat down with the plate of pancakes and put two sets of forks and knives down should she wish to join him. "Read any good comic books lately? How's Superman doing these days? If outside is anything to go by I'd say the last son of Krypton met his maker a while back."

"I don't really like superheroes," she told him as she sat down and folded her arms, "I read nice comic books, about talking cats and dogs, things like that."

"How highbrow," he raised an eyebrow and smiled at her, she smiled back.

"Tell me about school, Donald, what was a typical school day for you?"

"School?" he said in surprise, "That's going back a bit."

"I want to hear," she told him, "it's not fantasy, it's not a talking cat or a talking dog, it's not a story when it actually happened," she leant back in her chair, "I want to know what it was like."

"All right then," he raised his eyebrows. "Typical school day? That's what you want to hear? He checked, looking at her, she smiled and nodded. "Picture this; I'm fourteen years old, this is high school. I've had breakfast with my dad, my little brother already went to school earlier, my mom usually gets back from walking him there about the same time I'm about to leave, he starts at eight but finishes at three. High school is different, we start at nine and are out at four."

"What was breakfast?" Carrie asked quietly and he smiled at her.

"Believe it or not breakfast is cornflakes." He grinned, "there was a time when I voluntarily- worse than that, I actually liked cornflakes!" he smiled and shook his head, "Michael, my little brother, he probably had chocolate cereal, some candy or cookie thinly veiled as cereal but clearly just ridiculously bad for you. He loved all that stuff." Donald smiled. "I'm fourteen so mom doesn't walk me to school, wow, that is social suicide if your parents walk you or drop you off, no, I ride my bike to school. It's a twenty minute ride through leafy suburbs, good in the summer, green leaves and gardens, blue skies. I get the bus in winter and I sit just past the middle, the back is where the trouble-makers sit but the front is where the suck ups sit, so you don't want to be lumped in with them."

"Does it snow in winter?"

He laughed, "Of course, big white snow drifts, blizzards, snowmen, Christmas lights, the works. But autumn is the best season, the colours are intense; red, orange, gold, the trees on the ride to school are bright and crisp. Ok though, I get to school just before nine, see my friends at our lockers, someone's downloaded a dirty video or maybe something funny, some stupid song that we all get obsessed with until the next day when someone's found something better. No cell phones in class so it's important to watch before hand, you don't want to be out of the loop. What class do you want to hear about, Carrie? Math, English, History, Science? I can't see they'd be that different."

"What did you learn in science?"

"Ok, you're right maybe that one was a little different, only 'cause of the resources though, most lessons were still just boring theory. But the science labs were exciting. When you first go to high school and there's a room in there that you go to three times a week where there's fire and chemicals and you have to wear a white coat and goggles, that's pretty exciting. Unless you're an arty kid and you just can't grasp any of it and even though you might be bigger than the other kids in your class there's still a fear that someone's going to drop a pipette of acid on you for a laugh. That never happened," he told her, "but I did always worry. Recess is at ten to eleven, half an hour where if you're under twelve you run around on the grass and play baseball with your friends as quickly as possible, trying to cram in a whole game. Or if you're fifteen or sixteen you're in the computer labs watching stupid videos or playing games with your friends without looking at them even though they're sat right next to you. But if you're fourteen, Carrie, that's the age, the age when you hang around outside. Hang near the lockers waiting for Stephanie Richardson and her friends to walk by, because Stephanie is the prettiest girl in your class and even though absolutely everyone wants to go out with her maybe she'll like you because you're good at drawing and you're on the swim team. She's not interested by the way. She only likes guys on the football team and ones that are at least two years older than her, she's not interested in tall, skinny swimmers.

"After recess it's ok though, because you walk to the art room where you're safe, you're more than safe, you're popular. I loved art class, I guess I was good at lots of things but I knew I was the best at art. The art teacher is kind of weird, she wears black all the time, wears scary makeup and drives a little navy sports car, lots of the kids don't like her, she grades their work low because their work isn't very good but they can't see that, their moms and dads have always stuck their drawings up on the fridge door. I can see it but I don't say anything, I'm glad the teacher likes me but I don't make a song and dance about it. We paint abstract landscapes, we're doing a project on modernism, some of the kids sculpt things out of clay, mine always explode in the kiln so I stick to painting and drawing. By the time we're fifteen you decide what your project is in art and you concentrate on it all year, there's a show and the parents come and drink wine while the kids have to stand about soberly taking their work too seriously.

"In the summer we eat our packed lunches outside on the grass and the picnic tables, in the winter we stick to the canteen, hot food like pizza and hamburgers are always accompanied by a regulation salad that lacks dressing or imagination but there are too many fat kids so they have to eat it. My mom makes my lunch for me, she's always made them for Michael and me, on our birthdays there are little notes and toys in there and even on regular days other kids are jealous of our lunches. Mom was very creative, no one else had a juice bottle with a hand drawn skull and crossbones on it labeling it poison. That was pretty good until I got to about twelve and it suddenly became embarrassing... Kids are such idiots, all that stuff my mom did was so exciting. That's why I did it for Janey and Tom and Murph, I think they found it embarrassing too.

"So it's Thursday which means before lunch there's swimming practice. We get sports lessons twice a week anyway, football, basketball, sprinting, athletics, all that, but if you're in a sports team you have to do extra practice. I was a swimmer. Our school had a small-ish pool, tiny compared to the one at university, we didn't do that great in state championships- you know, all the kids competing against other schools. But I was the best they had, being tall probably had something to do with it, I was never any good at football and I reckon I was too uncoordinated for basketball but sprinting and swimming I was good at. Swimming got me stronger than the other kids too I suppose, there are not many sports out there that work on all of you. I enjoyed it because I was good at it but I wasn't a football hero, that's what girls like.

"After swimming and after lunch there's history or geography, Spanish or a good old soul destroying heap of math. We were never supposed to get more than three pieces of homework a night but it was like the teachers never spoke to each other so we'd always get some from each and every class we took. I ride home on my bike and watch tv with Michael, he'd always be in front of the set when I got home and I kind of secretly enjoyed still watching all the shows and cartoons that I'd watched when I was younger. Mom made dinner for half six and I was always starving- oh, we'd usually have a snack when we got home, chips or milk and cookies or something, and dinner was where we all sat together and listened to each others' days. After dinner I'd usually spend a couple of hours on homework and then get to watch an hour of tv with my parents and then go to bed."

He looked at the silent schoolteacher, her face was still a little flushed and she drank her beer quietly while listening to him. "It's not that different, 'cept you teach all the subjects, and the kids are different ages. At least homework is fair now."

"I've never been swimming," she said quietly, "it's like flying isn't it? That's what I've read. Like floating."

"Like floating in a bathtub," he smiled.

"We- we never, we don't have one. I mean, we just have a shower."

Donald raised his eyebrows in surprise and he put his fork down. "When's your birthday, Carrie?"

"September," she said quietly.

"Ok, I'm going to save our water allowance in September, you're having a bath."

"Don't be silly," she smiled in embarrassment.

"Me and Tom are men, we can do without showers for a few days... And I'll get you a clothes-peg and you can wear it on your nose so the stink doesn't ruin your birthday present."

"You didn't tell me what was in your packed lunch," she said, changing the subject.

"a sandwich, a pack of chips, yoghurt," he shrugged and thought hard, "An apple I guess, oh and they had these weird snack pieces of cheese that kids loved. Totally synthetic of course," he laughed, "it was really stringy, we used to see who could make them last the longest. Gross."

"Whereabouts in town did you live?" she asked, "did you really ride past trees and gardens every day?"

"Just out in the suburbs, everyone had a garden, my mom loved hers, it was something she and my dad did together, she did the flowers, he kept the lawn and the trees tidy. He looked after the barbeque too. Those were the most exciting dinners, coming home from school to see dad in the garden firing up the barbeque. Really good on a Friday, sitting outside under blue skies til ten and then looking up at the stars while it was still warm."

"Who took the pictures?"

"We all took pictures. We all had phones with cameras, it was my mom's rule though, at the end of ever quarter we'd put our photographs together and decide which ones to print. So many people didn't print photographs, they had them online, on their phones, no need to print them, but my mom liked pictures round the house, she liked albums and scrapbooks. I liked them too. I know how lucky I am to have them."

"Do you have photos of you at fourteen?" she sipped her beer, "can I see?"

"Sure you can." Donald had finished his food, "those ones are actually over here, stay there I'll get them." He walked to the lounge and took a book from the shelves in there. Carrie hadn't noticed that there were shelves in the lounge, but there were. More books and more albums sat dusty in the dingy room. He brought the blue patterned album through and sat down next to her, pushing his plate to one side. "I should have let you look while I was talking," he shook his head, "my brain has obviously gone," he apologized and he opened the book by her side.

Carrie looked at his pictures, "is this a barbeque?" she smiled and asked looking at the pictures of the two boys sitting on green grass holding hamburgers, the smaller boy seemed to have food all over him while the older looked on in amusement. The garden was lush and green, purple, red and pink flowers and tall feathery grasses grew on the borders behind them. The other photos were of the same afternoon, the table was laden with colours, vegetables and salads, sauce bottles and meats. Donald's mom was an elegant but friendly looking woman, smiley like her son. His little brother was cute and his dad was tall and imposing but kind of goofy looking. Donald himself in the pictures seemed very young looking for fourteen despite being tall next to his parents, Carrie realized it was just an innocence that the fourteen year olds she knew didn't have because there were no responsibilities on his shoulders, all he had to worry about was homework, swimming practice and trying to draw something so good that Stephanie Richardson would notice him. He was just a kid.

"These are lovely things to have," she told him as they looked through the album. "The colours are so bright, and everything is so clean… I like your mom's garden. That must be why Tom's a natural farmer, your folks knew how to grow things."

She looked up at him and smiled.

"I think he's home," Donald told her and she turned around to look at the door. She hadn't heard the sound of his grandson's truck pulling up but she had gone into a bit of a dreamy coma while she drank and he spoke. Donald stood and went to unbolt the door. "Evening, Romeo," he spoke to his grandson who walked into the house with a grin on his face.

"Hey, Grandpa," Tom Cooper was tall and dark, with the sheepish grin on his face he still looked like a kid but at the same time he was a much stronger and bigger young man than the fifteen year old Carrie had taught four years previously. "Miss Hanley," Tom saw her at the table holding her beer and he smiled a surprised smile, "Hey, how are you?" he asked. Carrie stood up and smiled back, she kissed the boy on his cheek.

"Tom, it's so nice to see you, I'm well, thank you."

"What are you doing here?" he asked still smiling.

"Your grandpa was showing me some photograph albums, thought they might help with a community history project at school," she said flippantly, automatically.

"Miss Schoolteacher here likes her beer," Donald told the boy and he smiled, "found me a new drinking buddy."

Tom laughed politely as did Miss Hanley. "How's Lois' family?" Carrie asked him, "I heard you guys are steadies."

Tom blushed, "they're all good, Mrs Dixon cooked and I met her sister tonight, Lois' aunt," he explained, "she's one eccentric lady," he told them, "It was nice though." He paused, "Well, I'll leave you guys to it, I've got to be up early. It's really good to see you, Miss Hanley. You should come round next weekend, when Murph's home, I bet she'd love to tell you her adventures."

"Thanks, Tom. We'll see," Carrie smiled, "You're looking really well," she added.

The boy shrugged and then looked up at his grandpa.

"Night, Grandpa."

"Goodnight, Tom, glad you had a good time."

The boy climbed the stairs and Carrie waited til she heard a door click before she spoke. "I should go," she said quietly, "it's late."

Donald nodded knowingly, "it is. You be all right driving after those beers?"

"I'll be fine," she smiled.

"You're still welcome to stay, Carrie. In any room," he told her, "if you're a bit fuzzy."

"Thanks," she smiled, "but no, I'll go home." She cleared her throat a little and whispered, "I didn't really think about Tom, you know, earlier, when I- when I asked if I could stay. It's probably not a good idea, he's just a kid, it'd only worry him I bet."

Donald nodded in agreement and smiled at her, "I'll walk you to your truck," he offered and she smiled and nodded too. They walked outside and Donald watched her get into the drivers seat. She kept the door open and looked at him standing there.

"Does he go to the Dixons' through the week?" she asked him.

"Sure, lots of nights."

"You should come over to mine," she smiled, "some night this week, Wednesday or Thursday, I've got a bottle of wine we could drink."

"Swanky," he smiled.

"Sorry I said all that stuff about a community project," she whispered, "I didn't know what to say."

"It was good, you're quick on your feet, for a drunk."

"I'm not drunk," she smiled up at him, a grin on her face as she looked up at his smile.

"Sure."

"Donald," she said his name seriously.

"What is it, Sweetheart?"

"Thanks for the sex," she told him and her face flushed.

"It was my pleasure," he told her and she smiled and reached out and touched his chest affectionately for a moment, she let go and put her seatbelt on, Donald closed her door for her. She drove away and he waved her off.