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FOREWORD Forever Fifteen was born of a dream I had in 2002, a dream that was part nightmare. But he looked back into the hall and spoke to the sergeant who could just be seen behind him. He looked like the shadow of himself—thin, feeble, hollow-eyed—his beard unshorn—nothing could be more miserable. At this time of day the priest would be at his apartments in Brewer Street, a short walk away from Golden Square which the building overlooked. Sheila’s boys hadn’t been much help when they were around the house, anyway, they were more partial to lolling around on couches and running around with their girls. Previously to his descent he had left the nail and spike on the wall, and with these he fastened the blanket to the stone coping.
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