Ballysillan, Belfast, Northern Ireland, September 1976

"Shoo, Missy!" Monica waved the cat off.

The nosey tabby turned away and headed back out to the grass.

"I'm going to try save up for better quality ones." Paula dug a Bic lighter out from her blazer pocket, and then a box of cigarettes.

"Why am I doing this?" Monica sighed as she handed her a light.

"Because it's a nice sensation."

"It isn't, it makes me cough!" She put it between her teeth.

"That's because you don't know how to inhale it right, little Mo!" Paula lit it for her.

"It stings," she coughed and spluttered slightly. "and I don't even want to imagine what goes in them."

"You can look at this, then. Bought it yesterday." Paula handed her the newest issue of Jackie magazine.

"Oh, any articles worth reading?" Monica opened to the first page.

"Don't know, haven't read it yet" Paula shrugged.

Monica flicked past the beauty pages, "A lot of girls these days have their hair short or textured... should I get it cut?"

"Nahhhh" Paula took a drag. "You suit having long hair... remember in fifth year when I got layers? It was a nightmare and then everyone else with dirty blonde hair copied me!"

"It suited you though... you did it before Farah Fawcett" Monica murmured.

"Too much time and preparation. You're better off keeping it long if you want time in the mornings."

"If you say so" Monica pulled her air back behind her ears, then turned the page.

"I would." Paula trailed off dreamily, pointing at Keith Partridge.

"Not that 'count how many people I would bang' game again!" Monica thought.

She was never one to be in the mood to talk about boys. It's not that she didn't like the idea of being in a relationship or love, she just felt that Paula had the wrong idea about sex; to her it was a social rite of passage .

"I don't think I would do him, he looks much too young." Monica puffed on her cigarette.

"David Cassidy? Get out! He's only 27!"

"Still, he has one of those 'kid faces'," Monica anxiously peeped through a gap in the bush as she inhaled, on the lookout. "He reminds me of Lenny, that's all."

"David's better looking than Lenny."

"Hey, that's my brother you're taking about!" Monica snapped. "He's nothing special but he's not as ugly as some of the boys in our school."

Paula rolled her eyes, "Well, who would you go for then?"

"I don't know, just not any of the boys in our school." She repeated. "And right now I'm on my period-"

"Pick someone from the magazine then." Paula ordered.

"I don't know, Paula! I'm not attracted to any of them. Can't we talk about something else?"

"Oh, go on! Fantasise a little!" Paula thrust the magazine. "The more you stare at them the more attractive they will be, I promise."

"How does that work?" She cocked a brow.

"Don't tell me you still have a crush on Cliff Richard."

"Catch yourself on! It's not like I have any urges thinking about him... I've liked him since I was six, he's not that sort of crush!" Monica sighed in defeat, and flicked through the gossip pages.

"Wait! I want to see this week's centrefold." Paula's hand stopped her. "Ugh, it's Queen. It's okay, you can have that one."

"I thought you liked Queen." Monica looked at her perplexed.

"Well, yeah, but I don't like their new look. Look at them all!"

"Their music is still okay," Monica muttered. "I've heard Somebody to Love about a thousand times already but I wouldn't say I'm sick of it."

"He sings it like a woman." Paula puffed on her cigarette.

"Who, Fred?"

"Yeah. I don't get why they keep jumping styles."

"Maybe if you actually listened to the lyrics they'd mean something, but no. You just want to lose your v plates, Paula." She smirked and playfully patted her back.

"Hey, ain't nothing wrong with being a little curious! It's just human nature!" She defended.

Monica didn't answer, just went back to studying them closer.

The kids at her school tended to have fair and nobbly features, and others tended to be ginger or dark, but finer facial structures and still average looking.

Nonetheless, nobody from Ireland was attractive unless they were Maureen O'Hara.

As for these four boys, they were the most average looking out of the magazine. The one with the black hair shaped like a square on his head was the one with the intimidatingly nice face. The blonde one had a childlike face, one that she liked too. She didn't pay much attention to the average looking one with the mousey brown hair; he didn't look like he wanted to be there. The one with the large dark curls, much like a 17-18th century noble wouldn't have a hard time going unnoticed.

Her eyes glanced back to the black haired one in the large white boiler suit. Freddie, or whatever he was called, the one who wrote Bohemian Rhapsody and it wasn't off the radio for ages until Mamma Mia by ABBA got the number 1 chart spot. There was something hypnotising about the way that lead singer always looked back at the camera whenever she saw him in pictures or on television in Top of the Pops. She swore that every time she saw him stare into the camera on TV and looked back into his eyes a second longer she'd be close to falling in love-

"Paula! Your mum wants you back home for your tea!" Mrs Brannigan called out in the distance.

"Shit!" Paula snatched the cigarette box off the ground and shoved it back into the inner pocket of her blazer.

"Here, take one of these. It'll mask your ashy breath." Monica dug out a box of mints and shook it into her friend's open palm.

"Thanks," She took her magazine back. "I'll give you the Queen poster tomorrow."

"Tomorrow is Saturday, I have work. It'll have to be now." Monica groaned as she pushed herself back up.

"Oh yeah, that shitty cafe-"

"Hey, I like helping to keep things organised and the customers satisfied!"

"You do?! Don't you find it a drag?" Paula caught up by her side as she started undoing the staples of the magazine.

Monica shook her head silently. The cafe, other than Paula and school, was the only thing that got her out of the house and to have social interaction with passers by as well as regulars. She got bored quickly of Belfast night life on weekends, but her parents had set her and Lenny curfews because of how unsafe it had become over the years. She wanted to save her money for something better anyway.

"I want to apply for the UCL, have you looked at any courses in England or Scotland, or Wales?"

"Ugh, not career talk!" Monica thought.

She hated talking about the future, even though the career advisors at school had a speech in assembly at the start of the school year about it. She was unsure of what it was she wanted to do, but she believed she had a creative, productive mind. She highly doubted her art skill though, and her portfolio wasn't very strong. There were hardly any life drawing classes in Belfast anyway.

"What about the land of Mexicans?" Paula persisted.

"Mexico? That's too far away and expensive"

"I mean in the south!" Her friend laughed. "In Dublin!"

"I haven't looked... Where's UCL?" Monica asked.

"It's in London."

"Oh, well, there's a few foundation art courses I want to put in for there. But I doubt I will get in." Monica shut the door after her.

"We should go there together and check them out and the city out sometime, maybe we can go around my 18th birthday!"

"Oh god, there she goes again!" Monica rolled her eyes playfully.

Paula continued, "Hear me out! The air fare isn't that bad, and maybe we can dip in for a cheap hotel?"

"Give me time to think about it" Monica popped another mint in her mouth.

"You've been there once before though, haven't you?" Paula piped.

"Well yeah, once on one of dad's business trips," she heard her mother's footsteps. "I was six years old though, and it was only for a few days. I don't remember a lot."

"Maybe you can meet the poster boys, seeing as they are the only boys in that whole darn magazine that you actually liked!" Paula handed her the centrefold.

"Stop talking, Paula." Monica laughed as she brushed off her friend's talk and snatched it out of her hands, unaware that one day her predicaments would happen.

"Hey! I saw the way you were looking at him!" Paula grabbed her wrist.

"Who?! My mum could listening!" She hissed.

"Freddie, of course-"

"Who is Freddie?" Monica's mother was now standing in front of them, wiping the back of her hands on her apron.

"Nobody, mum. Just a singer. We were looking through Paula's magazine." Monica hung her school blazer up on the coat hanger.

"At the bottom of the garden?" She looked at them peculiarly.

"Oh fuck, she's caught us." Monica panicked in her head.

"Aye sure, that's what girls are like when looking at pictures of boys, Patsy. Isn't that right, Paula?" Monica's dad emerged from the living room.

"Hello, Mr Brannigan." Paula smiled.

"Paula's just leaving, she has a lot of homework to be getting to. I know our Monica does, don't you Paula?" Mrs Brannigan handed the girl her scarf off the coat rack.

"And travel research," Paula winked to Monica as Mr Brannigan opened the door for her. "You will consider my offer, won't you?"

"I'll try." Monica sighed as she stepped out.

Mr Brannigan shut the door, "You planning a trip, Monica?"

"Oh I haven't, dad. Paula has though." She made it to the staircase.

"Your dad and I knew you were hiding something." Mrs Brannigan crossed her arms as her dad went to the kitchen. "What's that in your hands?"

"S-Sorry? And it's a poster that Paula didn't want." Monica tried to make it look as if she didn't know what she was talking about.

"So, you and Paula are planning a trip."

"Oh. Well yes, after our final exams this year actually..." She gripped the bannister.

"And a good idea too. In my day, boys here age were going on apprenticeships in Canada" Mr Brannigan called from the kitchen.

"Just make sure you know what it is that your doing," Mrs Brannigan untied her apron. "Remember how your sister wanted to go study in Liverpool just so that she could track down The Beatles?"

"It's not like that mum, honestly. We... well, I... I want to check out the city... see if I remember it the same from when I was a little girl."

"Just remember that Paula can be senseless at times... dinner is in ten minutes, don't start any work now."

"Okay." She squeaked, rushing up the stairs and past her brother who had come out of his bedroom.

"Why do you smell of smoke?" Lenny asked once mum has gone out of sight, stopping at his spot at the top step.

Monica didn't answer, heading towards her bedroom.

"If mum and dad find out, they won't let you go on the London trip anymore." He continued.

"What if they find out that you and your mates sneak out of school and go downtown into Lavery's bar during fifth period on Week B Thursdays?" She spun around. "That's worse than smoking, you're throwing away your education!"

"Well, there's no other time I can go! It's not safe at night!" He argued, going into the bathroom. "Oh and by the way, if you are going to go chasing rockstars, bring back somebody cool-"

"Shut up, Lenny!" Monica slammed her door, and her brother simply chuckled as he inspected his sideburns in front of the medicine cabinet mirror.

She drifted to her chest of drawers, taking the small roll of cellotape from the top drawer to stick the poster up with.

She didn't have a great deal stuck onto her wall, only her school timetable, her monthly work rota, the odd sketch or painting here here and there, and a few bands and movie and television stars.

"Maybe they'd look good here" she murmured, putting a corner of the paper in between her lips as she ripped a strip off.

She gently stuck it on the inconspicuous blank space below a photograph of her and he brother and sister standing on London Bridge with Big Ben and Houses of Parliament in the background as they waited to catch the bus to Piccadilly Circus.

"Sometimes it feels like that trip never happened," her fingers grazed her short figure in the photo, dressed in her pink coat and Sunday shoes. "Perhaps I should refresh my memory."

She glanced her to her money box sitting on her shelf, and started digging through her skirt pocket for some spare change...