The week after the séance, I saw him sitting on his own in the Beach Café. I went in and sat with him. He barely looked up. There was something melancholy about him that made you see how such exotic rumours could start.

'Are you going to be staying in Dounby long?' I asked.

He replied with a kind of mumble that gave nothing away.

'I can't see how anyone would want to move here,' I said. 'Most of us want to move out - as soon as possible.'

He raised a quizzical eyebrow at that. 'Yeah? Nice place. In touch with its sense of its self.'

I was startled and baffled in equal measure. 'What?'

He didn't elaborate further.

'Mystery man,' I said. 'That's what they call you.'

He sniffed. 'That what you think, Robbie?'

'Well... you're a poet I heard.'

He smiled faintly, toying with the dregs of coffee in his yellow mug. 'That,' he agreed. 'And a pusher, preacher, prophet, pilgrim and a problem when I'm stoned.'

'Eh?'

'Song,' he explained, smiling sadly. 'And you, Robbie, what do you do?'

'I'm still at the Academy...'

'No, what do you do?'

'Well... I don't know... how do you mean?'

'What are you?'

'Good answer,' he said stroking his sideburns. 'Being you is the best you can be.' And gave me that look. Sort of his blue eyes like sort of staring away in the distance, right through you. Then he grinned and he didn't look quite so lost.

Although I've said it already, it's worth repeating. I don't remember what first impressed me about Big J. He was impressive. Being darkly good-looking helped, being the kind of guy who was never flustered or stuck for a decision helped. He had an easy grace. His curly dark hair always looked casual, his sideburns always neat, he had no zits like the rest of us, always looked healthily tanned, wore denim shirts like they were meant to be worn. He was a 'well set-up young man' as the older folk around here would say. His clothes seemed to fit him perfectly. If this sounds like mystic shite - then it is. I know no other way to say it. He captivated me. Inside a week, I felt I would follow him to certain death in battle. We loved him utterly. I wanted to be with him all the time but I did not want to be sycophantic. Ohmygod, no! I wanted to be his equal and I was walking on eggshells in case I was going to blow it. He became our leader, no question, within a week. Breeks was cool about it, even Alan had to accept it, reluctantly. Looking back, it seems we'd never had as much fun as when he was there to lead us. Before Big J, we had been drifting, floundering, fumbling towards adulthood, but with him in our midst every conversation, every event had significance, seemed to have meaning. I don't know how he did it. You couldn't see how it was done. But it was.