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It was an ordinary morning in an ordinary neighbourhood in Dublin, and in front of an ordinary-looking old house three shady-looking characters were loitering.
The Hard Lads were back.
Curly-haired Graham looked up at his companions Jonno and Barry with a resolute expression on his face. “Should we knock in case somebody’s home?” he asked.
“You know bleedin’ well nobody’s home!” hissed Jonno. “Nobody we’d care to meet, anyway. She told us last time they were gonna take her away. This is a recovery mission.”
“What are we recoverin’ again?” asked Barry, squinting his green eyes to slits in puzzlement.
Jonno looked exasperated. “Whatever’s left behind that she might be wantin’ - bottle of gin, for instance” he explained.
“We go the back way, then?” Childlike excitement was spoiling Graham’s resolute expression.
Jonno nodded, with a resolute facial expression of his own, and made a beckoning gesture as he turned and strode around the corner of the house. Barry and Graham followed.
In the back garden, the three Hard Lads paused beside a rusty wheelbarrow lying upside-down in the weeds. As they looked up at the window above their heads, Graham commented encouragingly “She always said she’d leave it open for us, just in case.”
Jonno ran his long fingers through his hair with a weary sigh before sinking into a crouched position. Graham removed his shoes and handed them to Barry. Then Graham climbed onto Jonno’s shoulders and clung there while Jonno struggled to his feet, muttering profanities under his breath, and stepped carefully onto the overturned wheelbarrow.
Graham somehow managed to ease into a standing position on Jonno’s shoulders. Barry watched with bulging eyes as Graham leaned towards the house and red-faced Jonno swayed precariously. Graham’s fingers grasped the windowsill and searched for a gap under the sash. Jonno’s long legs trembled and his hands stretched out for balance.
Graham heaved the window open just as Jonno’s feet slipped off the wheelbarrow. Jonno fell backwards onto Barry, and the two of them crashed to the ground in a heap while with a heroic effort Graham hauled himself up and wriggled through the window.
Jonno and Barry had regained their feet and were brushing dirt off each other’s jackets by the time Graham opened the back door for them. The gleeful smile on his face was met with silent scowls as he collected his shoes.
Entering the house, the Hard Lads gaped in surprise. Most small items were already gone. Several walls and shelves were bare.
“Guess her family’s cleaned it out already” commented Jonno, stepping into the darkened kitchen.
“They left jam in the cupboard” observed Graham, retrieving a full jar from an otherwise empty shelf.
“And bread in the fridge” noted Barry, pulling out a sliced pan with only a couple of slices missing.
“They left gin behind!” exclaimed Jonno as he lifted down a sloshing bottle from a shelf above the refrigerator. “She’ll be wantin’ this.”
A further search of the kitchen turned up nothing else useful or edible, so the trio skulked into the living room. Here, too, changes had taken place. Flower vases and quaint knickknacks had vanished. Packed boxes stood next to a few forlorn pieces of furniture.
A glossy brochure lay on the end table. Jonno picked it up and unfolded it.
“We’ve seen this before” said Jonno ominously.
Barry nodded. “She showed it to us at our last meeting.”
“There’s the address!” added Graham, pointing to the brochure’s final page.
Suddenly, the sound of muffled voices and footsteps could be heard outside the front door. The Hard Lads froze. A key turned fumblingly in the lock. They looked at one another, wide-eyed.
“Come on, Danielle, there’s not that much more to do. I’ll keep working on the more personal stuff if you prefer” said a male voice tinged with desperate optimism. The speaker never noticed the hurried scuffling of three pairs of feet or the click of the back door closing as the Hard Lads made their getaway.
A few blocks later the fugitives ducked down a narrow lane and slowed to a walk, glancing warily to the right and left. They still clung to their meagre salvage; the brochure was crumpled in Jonno’s hand alongside the bottle of gin.
There was no-one else in sight. The Hard Lads sat down in the shadow of a stone wall.
Barry held up the sliced pan and glanced quizzically from Jonno to Graham. Graham held up the jar of jam as if it were the missing clue to an unsolved crime. Jonno nodded indulgently.
Three snacks of bread and jam later (and sticky faces wiped with a handkerchief Barry found in his pocket), the Hard Lads were refreshed and ready to move on. Jonno picked up the brochure and pointed meaningfully to the address on the final page, fixing his companions with a steely stare. They stared back hard-faced, and after a moment nodded.
With the remaining food and the all-important gin tucked securely inside their jackets, the Hard Lads made their way through the city. Near the edge of a large park they finally found an imposing building that matched the picture on the glossy brochure.
“There it is” announced Jonno unnecessarily. “The Home.”
Barry and Graham stood rooted to the spot, uncertainty melting through the hard expressions on their faces as they squinted up at the building.
Then a flash of familiar colour caught their eyes as a thin green-clad figure appeared in a second-storey window. The grey-haired figure turned towards the window briefly before sinking down out of sight as though settling into a chair.
“There she is!” whispered Jonno dramatically. “We’re goin’ in!”
He moved immediately towards the main doors. Barry and Graham followed.
Several minutes later the Hard Lads were hurrying down a disinfectant-scented corridor, shepherded by a brisk nurse whose too-sweet smile seemed as firmly fixed as the scowls on their own faces.
“That was easy” whispered Jonno.
“Lucky for us they let visitors in every day” whispered Graham.
“They didn’t even search us!” whispered Barry, who wore a suspiciously loaf-shaped potbelly.
They stopped at the entrance to a small lounge with a coffee table, a few upholstered chairs, a potted plant, and a large window. Sitting in one of the chairs, laying out cards for a game of solitaire, was the person they had come to see. There was no-one else in the room.
“Mrs. Geraghty! Visitors for you have come! You know zese nice young men?” chirped the nurse.
Mrs. Geraghty looked up with a vacant expression which swiftly gave way to a cunning smile and twinkling eyes. “Why, if it isn’t my grand-nephews come to see me!” she exclaimed in gentle tones of innocent delight.
The nurse seemed pleased with this response. Her parting words to them as she left the room were “Enjoy ze visit! Be goodt!” delivered in patronising tones.
As soon as she was out of earshot, Mrs. Geraghty’s snide commentary began. “That’s the German nurse. Very strange. Can't be trusted.”
“Oh?” The Hard Lads’ curiosity immediately drew them closer.
Mrs. Geraghty continued her explanation. “At our last physical therapy session, she had us running around our chairs like mad fools playing some stupid game. Mind you, it was awfully satisfying when I pulled the last chair out from under Mrs. O’Brian and she fell to the ground. Screamed like anything, but turned out her hip wasn’t broken after all. She’s well padded, Mrs. O’Brian; anyone can see how many treats her family brings her, but she never shares any of them.”
She paused, as if to gather her breath or her thoughts, then shifted the subject. “Speaking of treats, no-one’s brought me anything! I’ve been here three weeks and not one visitor, except that lazy grandson of mine – the one who looks like you, Barry, I told you about him before. I was just thinking it’s about time you boys showed up! Not that I’m incapable of making my own entertainment, mind you, but it is nice to know that one hasn’t been forgotten.”
Jonno remembered something and asked hesitantly “What was that you said about us bein’ grand?”
The old woman allowed herself a small cackle of laughter. “Here I thought you were clever boys. If anyone around here asks, you three are my grand-nephews. It’s a distant enough connection, nobody around here is likely to figure it out. They won't get suspicious about you visiting if they think you’re family. Besides, my family’s been rather a disappointment lately. I hope you’re not going to disappoint me too.”
The Hard Lads shook their heads in unison. Then realisation dawned in Jonno’s eyes and he reached inside his jacket for the bottle of gin.
“We went to your place and got this for ya” he offered.
Mrs. Geraghty’s face brightened at the sight. “Just what I needed!” she exclaimed, reaching for the bottle. A small glass of water sat on the coffee table beside her; she quickly emptied it into the potted plant, poured a slug of gin, and drank it down.
Meanwhile, Barry and Graham had pulled out the bread and jam. “We found these too,” explained Graham somewhat sheepishly, “but we got hungry on the way and ate some.”
“Oh, that’s fine” said Mrs. Geraghty with a dismissive wave of her hand. “Better it should feed you loyal boys than those ungrateful descendants of mine. Perhaps they’ll notice it missing and think the house is haunted – that would be something!” The thought made her cackle gleefully again, and this time the Hard Lads’ hard faces quivered with giggles as well.
As their laughter died away, they heard footsteps approaching. The jam and bread were hastily shoved underneath Mrs. Geraghty’s chair and the gin bottle tucked between the cushions.
An elderly man with a walker, accompanied by a white-coated doctor, moved slowly down the corridor. The doctor was saying to his patient “I know you’re itching for an answer, but I can’t go making rash decisions. Try that ointment first, and if you spot any more spots, do tell me in what spots you spotted the spots.” The patient muttered something that sounded ungrateful.
The doctor glanced into the lounge on his way past. Pretending not to notice him, Mrs. Geraghty smiled warmly at the Hard Lads and said – in a faltering voice just loud enough to be overheard – “Come here to me now, boys; I’ll tell you a story.”
As the footsteps of doctor and patient faded into the distance, the sweetness left Mrs. Geraghty’s face and she pulled the bottle out from amongst the cushions.
“That doctor’s a fraud, I’m sure of it” she said sourly as she poured a second glass of gin. “Must’ve gotten his degree from one of those online schools where you pay twelve grand for a certificate that’s not worth the paper it’s printed on. He’s always making puns until you don’t know whether there’s anything wrong with you at all. No, I don’t like him.”
“This place is flippin’ mad” observed Jonno.
“What should we do?” asked Barry.
The four of them sat staring at each other with hard faces for another moment. Then Graham suddenly gasped “I’ve got it! A breakout!”
“There’s nothing wrong with your skin, young man” said Mrs. Geraghty reassuringly.
“I mean, could we get you out of here?” Graham spluttered excitedly.
Mrs. Geraghty perked up. “Worth a shot” she said. “I don’t want to spend the rest of my life in this retirement home.”
They all sat in silence as she sipped her drink thoughtfully. Finally she leaned forward. There was a light in her blue eyes and a determined edge in her voice as she whispered “I’ve thought of something. You'll all need to help me.”
The Hard Lads, already huddled close, listened intently as she spoke.
Some time later, the Hard Lads accompanied Mrs. Geraghty back to her room. Her roommate Mrs. Walsh was not there.
“Lucky for us she’s having a medical checkup this afternoon,” said Mrs. Geraghty. “Sickly old thing. She’s been complaining of high blood pressure ever since I moved in – but I’m sure that’s just a coincidence.”
After the four of them had added some refinements to their plan, Graham and Barry left the room and headed in different directions. Graham made his way towards the stairs. He moved briskly but quietly, wore a fierce expression, and carried the jar of jam concealed in his pocket.
The retirement home’s late-afternoon activity that day would be a game of bingo in the large recreation room. Many staff and residents were already there or moving in that direction. Luckily for Graham, all of them preferred to use the elevators, so the stairs were deserted and no-one looked askance at the young visitor moving unchaperoned through the building.
When he reached the top floor, Graham paused to catch his breath and glanced around him. There was no-one in sight.
He removed the jam jar from his pocket, loosened the lid, and with a triumphant shout of "Who's your daddy?!" he flung it down the corridor as though skipping a stone on water. By the time the jar smashed against the wall at the end, the walls and floor were splattered with sticky red like a scene from a horror movie.
While Graham ducked into an alcove to hide, several doors opened along the corridor. The few residents of this floor who had not gone down for the bingo game had been alarmed by the noise and were shuffling slowly out of their rooms to investigate.
Noticing this, Graham darted from his hiding place to the nearest open door. Inside the room, he located the resident’s call-bell – which was clearly marked, and right where Mrs. Geraghty had told him it would be – and pressed the button. Then he slipped out of the room and into the next open room, where he repeated the process.
This continued until he had nearly reached the end of the corridor where the jam jar had shattered.
The elderly people whose call-bells Graham had pressed were standing amongst the puddles of jam in a state of great confusion. One trembling old man stared in shock at the red splatters, muttering something about trenches and bayonets and brothers-in-arms. Two old women were arguing about what kind of jam it was – plum or berry or perhaps tomato. An adventurous old man who had gotten down on his hands and knees to investigate was loudly complaining that he could not get up.
Soon Graham could hear the elevator’s approaching hum as well. Someone was already responding to the bells.
There was another staircase at this end of the corridor. For the benefit of the residents who were looking at him, Graham loudly shouted “He went that way!” while pointing emphatically in the direction from which he had come. They slowly turned their heads to look at nothing.
He slipped out of sight and down the stairs just as the elevator doors began to open.
When Graham went upstairs, Barry headed towards the dining room. The hard look on his face was the sign of a Hard Lad on a mission; the soft lump in his jacket was the remainder of the sliced pan. When he spotted an unattended wheelchair in the corridor he grabbed it by the handles and pushed it along as he walked.
Barry found old Mr. Donaldson right where Mrs. Geraghty had said he would be - sitting alone by a window which offered a glimpse of the nearby lake. Mr. Donaldson’s lined face was wistful as he watched the trees around the lake swooshing in the breeze.
“You wanna go out there?” asked Barry, trying to soften his own face and voice enough to avoid frightening the old man. Indeed, Mr. Donaldson looked baffled and slightly intimidated, but nevertheless he gave a slow nod of his head in answer to the question. He settled willingly into the purloined wheelchair but insisted on keeping his cane with him. A mischievous twinkle appeared in his eyes as Barry pushed open the door and wheeled him through. When he saw that they were on the path towards the lake, he nodded and pointed with a shaky finger to indicate that he approved of Barry's choice of route. When they got within sight of the water, his lips began to tremble and he gestured excitedly for Barry to stop.
“What d'ya want?” asked Barry. Being obliging wasn’t part of a Hard Lad’s job description, but something about Mr. Donaldson inspired Barry to feel a twinge of sympathy. Besides, indulging the old man’s request might prolong the distraction he was creating for Mrs. Geraghty.
Mr. Donaldson’s voice was hoarse and quiet. “Let me go down to the lake and see the ducks” he said. “The happy little ducks… I used to love to watch them all swimmin’ about… I’d have a sandwich crust to feed ‘em. This retirement home, now, they don’t like me going out on my own… I haven’t seen those ducks in... I don’t know how long."
When he paused to catch his breath, the bag of bread was placed in his trembling hands. Mr. Donaldson stared at it in astonishment for a few moments and there was excitement in his whispery voice when he continued speaking.
"Is this for me? Who'd have thought... If I may go feed the ducks, I’ll be so happy… I’ll be a new man, I will. Let me walk to the lake. Yes. Take… the chair… away.”
Mr. Donaldson was already struggling valiantly to extricate himself from the wheelchair. Barry clumsily helped him to his feet.
Now Mr. Donaldson was holding the bread bag in one hand and leaning heavily on his cane with the other. His back was so bent that he had to look up at Barry as he croaked “I can walk from here.”
“You don’t want the wheelchair?” asked Barry.
Suddenly agitated, the old man began to exclaim “Don’t want to go back in a hurry. Don’t want to go back at all. You can take that chair and shove it–” Here he abruptly stopped and shook his head as though realising his anger was misplaced.
After a brief awkward silence he said gently “Thank you for bringing me here, young man... and for the bread to feed my ducks.” Mr. Donaldson’s face glowed with a sweet impish smile as he slowly shuffled away down the path towards the water.
Barry was left holding the wheelchair. In his eagerness to rejoin the other Hard Lads, he unthinkingly started pushing it back up the sloping path to the retirement home.
Then he stopped. Mr. Donaldson’s words were echoing in his head: “you can take that chair and shove it.”
Barry's mission was to create distraction and chaos, after all. He pointed the empty chair towards the lake – and shoved it.
Meanwhile, in the recreation room, many elderly residents had already assembled for the bingo game when Mrs. Geraghty appeared in the doorway. She was now warmly wrapped up, with a coat over her second-best dress and a shawl pulled over her head, but her tall thin figure was unmistakeable. A wad of half-finished knitting was stuffed in her coat pocket with needles protruding dangerously.
Mrs. Geraghty took a seat at the back of the room without speaking to anyone – not even her roommate Mrs. Walsh, whose medical appointment had ended just in time for the game. When the bingo game did not start on time, she coughed and muttered and fidgeted in obvious annoyance but did not bother to take out her knitting.
Finally, Mr. O’Sullivan was brought in and seated next to Mrs. Geraghty, and the bingo cards were handed around.
In between the calling of numbers, Mr. O'Sullivan tried to talk to Mrs. Geraghty. "They had to find a spare wheelchair for me, you see. Mine went missing whilst I was taking my afternoon nap. That's never happened to me before. Then, when they should have been helping to look for it, half the staff were called away upstairs all at once. Now isn't that the strangest thing?"
"Hm, indeed" said Mrs. Geraghty without turning her head. She did not sound impressed or even interested.
"Is that all you have to say? Don't you think it's most peculiar?" Mr. O'Sullivan pressed.
“I’ve caught a cold” croaked Mrs. Geraghty quietly. “Losing my voice.” Her voice was indeed much huskier than usual. She fished a lozenge out of her pocket and popped it into her mouth with an obnoxious smacking of lips.
Mr. O’Sullivan leaned towards her. “Well, perhaps you ought to see the doctor about that” he suggested helpfully.
“Oh, piss off!” Mrs. Geraghty rasped. She pulled her shawl further over her face and turned away from him, guarding her bingo card with a long arm. The knitting needles in her pocket protruded like two spines of a hedgehog.
Mr. O’Sullivan decided to mind his own business.
Throughout the rest of the game Mrs. Geraghty suffered from a dry cough which seized her at the most unfortunate moments, such as when a number was being called. When a staff member approached and quietly suggested that she might prefer to go back to her room and wait for the doctor, she gave him the same rude response she had given to Mr. O’Sullivan. No-one else dared say anything to her.
Mrs. O’Reilly won the game, despite the disruptions, and there was mild cheering and rejoicing from the elderly crowd. Tea and biscuits were brought in afterwards but Mrs. Geraghty was already gone. Clearly jealous, she had unceremoniously left the room as soon as she heard the final “BINGO!” called.
Not long afterwards Jonno, Barry, and Graham reconvened in the lobby of the retirement home, tousled and slightly out of breath but doing their best to look innocent. The staff member responsible for signing visitors in and out was an earnest-looking man with a hospitable voice and brown curls like Graham’s, but the Hard Lads nevertheless shot suspicious glances at him as they prepared to leave.
“Did you enjoy your visit with your great-aunt?” he asked politely, startling the three of them. “It’s very unfortunate that we had so many disruptions at the home this afternoon; that’s not usually what things are like here at all!”
The Hard Lads exchanged glances. “W- we don’t mind, everythin’ was grand today” croaked Jonno awkwardly.
“Yeah, we had a nice long visit” added Barry in unconvincing tones.
“She said she’d need a nap after bingo, and doesn’t want to be disturbed” said Graham.
Jonno and Barry looked at Graham appreciatively. The polite staff member did not notice, because just at that moment a nurse entered the room and walked straight towards him. Ignoring the Hard Lads, the nurse asked in a low voice tinged with worry “Have you seen Mr. Donaldson come through here this afternoon?”
The Hard Lads restrained themselves from breaking into a run so as not to arouse suspicion - but the speed with which they strode through the doors would have put Olympic power-walkers to shame.
On the far side of the lake, out of sight of the retirement home, an inviting park bench welcomes the weary to rest their feet and indulge in some bird- or people-watching. It was here that Jonno, Barry, and Graham caught up with Mrs. Geraghty once again.
Her shopping bag rested at her feet, bulging with treats - bottles of whiskey and gin, a bag of crisps, a packet of HobNobs, and goodness knows what else. She was eating an ice cream bar, and when she saw the Hard Lads approach she reached into the bag and pulled out three more.
A copy of Men’s Health magazine slipped out onto the ground as she did so. Jonno picked it up. He paused momentarily at the sight of the headline “Get Hard In Six Weeks!” on the cover, but lost interest when he saw that it was not about Hard Lads but instead about bodybuilding. Jonno handed the magazine to Mrs. Geraghty without comment, and she handed him one of the ice cream bars.
She gave ice cream bars to Barry and Graham as well, saying magnanimously “I thought you boys deserved a little treat after all your help today.” Then the Hard Lads crowded onto the end of the park bench that was not occupied by Mrs. Geraghty – Graham had to balance atop Jonno and Barry’s knees – and ate their treats in silence. Eating ice cream is not easy when you always do be lookin’ hard, and afterwards Mrs. Geraghty pulled some crumpled tissues out of her sleeve and passed them to the Lads to wipe their faces.
As they stuffed the tissues and empty ice cream wrappers into their pockets she commented innocently “I meant to get myself one ice cream, but when I reached for it, three more just fell into my bag by accident! At least that’s what I’d have told the shopkeeper if he’d caught me. Now you’ve all had a treat too.”
Jonno’s blue eyes widened as realisation dawned. “You mean we destroyed the evidence for you” he said, his voice betraying a hint of admiration for the old woman’s cleverness.
“Wasn’t that a nice thing to do?” she said with a wicked smile.
None of the Hard Lads had anything to say to that, so Mrs. Geraghty continued speaking. “Now then, I don’t believe you told me, but you must know – is the coast clear?”
They scratched their heads, hard faces blank with bafflement. “The coast is miles away” said Barry.
“No, not the actual coast - my house!” Mrs. Geraghty hissed. “If I went back tonight, would anyone be there to notice?”
“Well… we saw furniture and things already packed away… and we heard someone comin’ to pack some more. He didn’t see us though” Graham explained.
Mrs. Geraghty’s face fell. She pulled a can of lager out of her bag, cracked it open, and took an unladylike gulp.
“Well, they’ve changed. Fancy that, my children and grandchildren don’t want to keep me around, or anything of mine. They put me in the Home against my will - now I suppose they’ll sell my house to pay the bill.” She made a sour face. “If I go back, they’ll find me right away. So much for escaping.” She sighed and downed the rest of the lager.
For an indeterminate length of time she sat in thoughtful melancholy silence. The daylight began to fade into evening. The Hard Lads remained nervously watchful.
When she finally spoke, her voice had lost its sadness; she sounded determined and cunning again.
“I may not have anywhere to go except back to that dreary place they call a retirement home, but at least I broke out for a little while. Nice to know I can give the eejits the slip when I want to. Nice to have some assistance, too, of course. I wouldn’t have been able to get away without you” – she looked at Jonno – “helping me out of the window and you two” – she gestured at Barry and Graham – “causing distractions while I got away. Tell me, did those distractions go as we'd planned?”
The Hard Lads all nodded eagerly, excitement creeping into their eyes.
“Jam everywhere, broken glass, bells ringing, total confusion – and the staff never caught me!” boasted Graham.
“I left Mr. Donaldson feeding ducks at the lake, and lost somebody’s wheelchair. I think it went in the lake” added Barry.
“The disguise worked – they all thought I was you! I annoyed them somethin’ fierce. Didn’t win the bingo, though” said Jonno.
The thought of all these pranks and the chaos they must have caused made Mrs. Geraghty chuckle. “Oh, that sounds like – what you young folks say – good craic. Well done, boys. We’ve got to keep them on their toes, you know! Let them know I can’t be trusted!”
Still laughing, she continued: “We’ll have to think of some more mischief for your next visit - because you will come and see me again soon, won’t you? Bring me something to drink, and don’t forget you’re my favourite grand-nephews, if anyone asks. In the meantime, perhaps I’ll start a bridge club, or a rock band, or something, just to keep life interesting.”
Now the Hard Lads’ hard faces cracked into smiles and they began to chuckle too. When their merriment had died down, they became suddenly aware of other voices somewhere nearby and footsteps approaching from the direction of the retirement home.
“They’ve found me!” said Mrs Geraghty in an urgent whisper. “Quick, get out of here! If they see you with me now, they won’t let you visit again.”
Jonno, Barry, and Graham nodded resolutely.
“We’ll be back, soon as we can” whispered Jonno.
“Even if we have to climb through a window” added Barry.
“We’ll bring you somethin’ nice… Great-Auntie” promised Graham.
Mrs. Geraghty smiled and nodded approvingly at them, then whispered back “now clear off!” They turned and ran, hiding themselves behind a bush some distance away where they could not be seen in the gathering dusk.
The footsteps and voices grew louder, and soon two harried-looking individuals wearing the uniforms of the retirement home staff approached Mrs. Geraghty.
Jonno, Barry, and Graham could not hear everything that was said from their vantage point behind the bush, but they watched the staff members cajole Mrs. Geraghty into getting up from the park bench. She clutched her shopping bag tightly to her chest and made a convincing show of looking confused. Before she allowed herself to be escorted back down the path, Mrs. Geraghty turned and winked at the bush where the Hard Lads were hiding.
Jonno, Barry, and Graham watched Mrs. Geraghty’s green dress, flanked by the two uniforms, dwindle and fade along the path. The murmur of their voices also faded. Doors closed somewhere out of sight. The sound of a vehicle started up and gently diminished as it drove away. The evening quiet returned.
The Hard Lads looked at one another and trudged out onto the path. A light rain had begun to fall.
“It’s time we were goin’ home too” said Jonno. Barry and Graham nodded wearily.
In the gathering dusk they walked side by side out of the park, back to the city.