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everything that had happened to him since Friday night, all the turmoil had remained bottled-up so the outpouring came as a welcome release. Steve knew the tears weren’t just for Doug and he felt slightly ashamed when he realised that some of them were shed over a fistful of notes that a pair of scumbags were now probably spending on charlie or smack.
    After cleaning up the flat and washing a sink-full of dirty dishes, Steve headed into town with Bobby’s map folded in his back pocket. He didn’t really fancy a fry-up so he sussed out a route so he could head straight to North Laine via Western Road and North Street . He was hoping that he might spot some locations from Quadrophenia along the way but nothing he saw sparked any recognition.
    By the time he reached Gardner Street , Steve had realised that the type of people who would attract curiosity in Belfast because of their quirky appearance seemed to be the norm in Brighton . He’d never seen so many tattoos, piercings and outlandish fashion statements on display in such a concentrated area. On one hand he was impressed by the ‘anything goes’ atmosphere but at the same time his Northern Irish contrariness made him feel that it was a little too easy to be an individual in Brighton. By its very nature, true rebelliousness needs something to kick against and what would provide a rebel with grist to the mill in a place like this, he wondered?
    Walking along Kensington Gardens in the sunshine, his brain went into the default mode of hoping he would spot Jeanie and, just like in the nightclub the previous evening, there was no shortage of look-alikes who’d momentarily set his pulse racing until he realised that it was yet another cutie with a dark bob and a slim physique.
    ‘Snap out of it!’ said a voice in his head. ‘Listen to yer higher self, ye twat… this Jeanie thing is just piling on the misery… Johnny was right, you’ve got enough on yer plate already… c’mon, think positive… yer miles from where Trevor and Donzo might find ye, in a place where no-one gives a fuck what ye look like or what religion ye are… Britain ’s San Francisco … that’s what they said in that travel supplement, remember? Down by the seaside… yeah, the sea… that’s what ye need!’
    On Sydney Street , Steve stopped the first friendly face he saw – a hippy woman with a raggle-taggle pair of kids trailing behind her.
    ‘Sorry to bother ye luv, was just wonderin’ what’s the easiest way to get to the seafront from here?’
    The hippy woman smiled. ‘Oh I love that accent… Irish, yeah? Well it’s dead easy… just turn round and keep walking in the opposite direction and you’ll be there in about ten or fifteen minutes.’
    She looked at Steve intently for a few moments.
    ‘Are you okay, man?… I’m just getting an energy off you like something’s troubling you? You’ve been through some bad shit, aint ya?’
    Steve was taken aback but touched.
    ‘Well that’s true… been through a bit of a rough patch, right enough.’
    She lightly stroked the side of his face.
    ‘Maybe meditation would help you… find somewhere quiet and repeat a mantra… you could try ‘ Om ma ni pad me hum’.’
    ‘… or as they say back home, I could just take a big wise-up tablet.’
    The hippy woman looked confused.
    ‘Well whatever works for you, man. Just take it easy, yeah?’
    One of the kids was tugging on her flowing Indian dress and she smiled again at Steve before walking towards The Dumb Waiter café where a guy with dreadlocks was sat at the window beckoning her to join him.
    Steve followed her directions and soon he was on Ship Street where the sea became visible for the first time. He crossed Kings Road and went to lean on the railings so he could survey the coastline properly. Looking east, Steve experienced a child-like thrill to see the tacky splendour of the Palace Pier and felt magnetically drawn towards it, not least because he was getting hungry and