Michael woke with a hangover, which he’d expected the previous evening when he knew he was drinking too much at his birthday party. Apart from his parents and his closest friend, Kenny, the only other guests were Uncle Bob and Auntie Peggy. They weren’t relatives but next-door neighbours. Michael’s mother had been friends with Peggy for years. They were both housewives and had coffee mornings together most days. It wasn’t the lack of other people, who might have created a more jolly atmosphere that caused Michael to drink too much light ale. The type of beer his father had provided was one he never drank. As his adoring mum often told him, Michael was down in the dumps. Michael didn’t care how he would feel the following morning. He was drinking a lot because he was more unhappy than usual, but for much the same reason.

It was Sunday, a day off, and Michael had a lie-in. After a brief visit to the bathroom, he dressed and went downstairs to the front room, where the family’s meals were taken. Michael sat in his usual upright chair at the mahogany table, inherited from his late grandmother. His parents didn’t like it; it took up most of the front room, but Michael’s mother felt obliged to keep it. Michael stared through the front windows at the leafless plane trees lining the avenue. It was a grey, gloomy, damp Sunday morning; it reflected his mood.

‘Here you are, Michael. This’ll cheer you up.’ His mother said as she entered the dining room and placed a plate in front of Michael. He looked at the fried eggs, bacon, and mushrooms on toast.

‘Thanks, mum.’ Michael picked up his knife and fork and cut the yolk of one egg. ‘I’ll get your tea.’

‘Thanks, mum.’ His mother returned to the kitchen, and Michael got stuck into his mid-morning breakfast.

The food restored his appetite, although his thoughts were still the same. There’d been some relief after the head chef had spoken to him about the incident with Geoffrey the previous Thursday evening. Expecting to be bollocked and dismissed, instead, he was told, in a firm voice, that action would only be taken once the head chef had spoken to Geoffrey. However, the head chef continued, telling Michael that transferring him to another of the company’s hotels might be for the best. The group had three other hotels that were further away from Chiswick in the west of London, where Michael lived. Thoughts of working in one of those didn’t please him, although he still had his job. Michael’s father would have been furious had he been sacked. He ate some mushrooms, cutting the stalks off and eating them before their tops. His mother returned to the dining room with a wan smile and Michael’s tea.

‘Thanks, mum.’ Michael stirred two teaspoonfuls of sugar in the tea and watched the milky liquid as it swirled around.

‘Is everything alright, Michael?’ His mother said, after a pause, holding the top of an upright chair, not to steady herself should her son’s response be an unwelcome one; it was her habit. She had many of those and seemed happy with most—some more than others. As she stood, waiting while Michael finished his mouthful, Michael’s mother’s posture was not dissimilar to someone waiting tables in a café.

‘Yes, thanks. This is nice.’ He sliced some bacon and popped it in his mouth.

‘It’s just that you seem a bit down in the dumps. You didn’t say very much at your party. Kenny seemed to enjoy himself. And Auntie Peggy said how you’d grown since she first saw you.’

‘That was daft. I was about eight when Uncle Bob and Auntie Peggy moved in next door.’ Michael was more interested in eating breakfast than listening to his mother reminding him of his birthday party. He hated it. Even Kenny’s presence, asking polite questions of Michael’s parents, hadn’t helped improve the party. He heard the same conversations about trivia and minor gossip over neighbours. It compounded Michael’s depression.

‘Don’t be unkind, Michael. Peggy’s a nice woman. She told me last night, what a good-looking chap you are. That was nice of her, wasn’t it?’

‘Sorry, I didn’t mean to sound rude.’ Michael drank some tea. ‘You haven’t said why you seem unhappy. What’s wrong?’

‘Nothing, mum. I’m alright. A bit bored.’ He pushed a forkful of egg and toast into his mouth. ‘I’ll leave you to it, then. I’d better get on and make the beds. There’s roast beef for lunch.’ ‘Thanks, mum.’

His mother left Michael to continue eating as he read the ingredients on the tomato ketchup bottle. He knew he couldn’t talk to his parents about his feelings. His mother would try to comfort him with offers of tea, or something to eat, and if Michael told her his reasons for being unhappy, she wouldn’t have understood. His father might have a better idea of Michael’s problems at work but would offer no support, he was sure of that. Telling either of them about how his life had fallen apart since she’d left him was something he wouldn’t dream of doing.

They only knew about her because she was from West Germany and worked as a chambermaid at the same hotel as Michael. She lived in the hotel with the other staff from overseas. They had their meals served in the kitchen and ate them in their restroom. That was how Michael and Hanne first met. He’d liked her the moment he saw her. She was tall and slim, with wavy, chestnut brown hair cut at the nape, dark brown eyes, and a shy smile. It was weeks before Michael had the opportunity and courage to speak to Hanne. It happened when Geoffrey was off duty. Michael took a plate of cherry pie to the hot plate and handed it to Hanne. Before he could speak the question he’d already decided was a safe opening line, Hanne’s face lit up, and she said it was her favourite dessert. It was the first time Michael had heard her say anything other than thank the chef who served her a meal. Hanne had a soft voice and gentle German accent that caught Michael’s ear. His next opportunity to ask his rehearsed question came one evening in the following week. He asked her how she liked living in London. She smiled, said it was an exciting place to be, and asked Michael his name. He liked Hannelore when she told Michael that was her christened name, but preferred the short version.

It was a quiet moment in the kitchen, with half the staff on duty than during the lunchtime service. Hanne told Michael she was working a split shift the following day and paused. Michael was on the same work schedule. Hanne was sipping a spoonful of soup. Michael wanted to ask if she was free and would she like to have a coffee the following afternoon? He would make it sound casual, and that he didn’t mind if she couldn’t.

‘Would you like to have a coffee tomorrow afternoon if you’re free?’ Hanne asked.

Because it was just before the lunchtime service, Michael had no time to say more, apart from accepting Hanne’s invitation, even had he thought of something more to say.

That’s how it began, and a few months later, it ended.

After their first date, whenever they had the same afternoons free, they would take the same route as they strolled around Kensington Gardens, asking each other about themselves. Michael learnt she was two years younger than him, and he became more fond of her when he discovered they had similar interests. She said she liked the blues and not some jazz genres. They learnt they both liked the Rolling Stones. Hanne’s eyes lit up when Michael spoke about the times he’d danced badly at the Ealing Club, to the newly formed group—Mick, Keith, and Brian, with Charlie on the drums, and someone, before Bill Wyman, on bass. Ian Stewart played a battered upright piano. Hanne listened intently as Michael described the small basement club, where the Saturday evening crowds grew bigger until the place was packed. There was little space to do anything more than jig about, pressed against other moving bodies. Michael and Hanne were bonding. They had only just started holding hands. The gentle kissing lay a few dates ahead.

It pleased Michael when she laughed after he’d said something she thought was funny. Their relationship began in October, a mild autumn. Hanne’s contract ended just before Christmas. By then, they’d both declared a deep affection for each other. It was a surprise to Michael’s parents when he told them he was going to Heidelberg for a week at the beginning of February, and more so when Michael said he was visiting Hanne. They weren’t aware of the relationship or even that he had a girlfriend. Michael hadn’t had a serious or romantic relationship that his parents knew of. He’d been on dates with a few girls from college, but they’d not led to anything.

Although he didn’t enjoy being a chef, meeting Hanne made his life easier. The weeks they were apart after she returned to Heidelberg were when Michael’s affection for her became intense.

After they’d exchanged a flurry of romantic and loving airmail letters, he wrote that he’d like to visit her. She replied by the next post that a bedroom was available in a friend’s house, near where Hanne lived, and he was welcome to stay there. Michael’s mother seemed delighted when she learnt about Hanne. She’d made her only son happy—and he was. His excitement grew more and more as the day arrived when he sailed on a night ferry to the Hook of Holland and then took a train journey across the Netherlands and into West Germany. It was his first time outside England, and he was overwhelmed by the excitement of going abroad, as much as seeing Hanne. He travelled to Heidelberg with high hopes. His tiredness disappeared when he saw Hanne standing at the station entrance, a broad smile on her face, walking to meet Michael as he came through the platform exit gate. They had the briefest of hugs; both seemed shy since the weeks they’d been apart. Michael knew he was gabbling but felt awkward by Hanne’s silence as she led him to a tram stop. There were no other people waiting in the shelter, and Hanne kissed him. A tram pulled alongside the shelter; Hanne took Michael’s hand, and they boarded the crowded tram. They got off after a ten-minute ride, during which neither Michael nor Hanne spoke.

She took him to a small supermarket to shop for food for lunch when they got to the apartment where he was staying. He had the whole first floor, with a bedroom, sitting room, bathroom, and small garden. It was fine weather, and while eating sandwiches and apples, Michael drank his first German beer, and they’d talked about their lives since they last met. He made Hanne laugh when he spoke about the people at the hotel. Her face beamed, and she laughed louder as he related the incident with Geoffrey.

Hanne introduced Michael to her parents at their house two days later. They ate roast pork, boiled potatoes, and red cabbage. Michael felt the evening seemed formal, and he noticed Hanne sounding polite when her mother asked her something. Her parents spoke good English and Hanne’s father, a friendlier man than his wife, made Michael welcome. He noticed how Hanne appeared to relax as the evening passed. Her father kept topping up Michael’s wine glass.

Michael got the impression that Hanne’s mother disapproved, whether it was because of his alcohol intake, or Michael, he couldn’t work out. The size and furnishings of the house impressed Michael, Hanne had never spoken about her parents or her home. After dinner, when it was apparent to Michael the evening was over, Hanne went with him on a streetcar to his apartment; they kissed goodnight and arranged the time to meet the following morning. She returned home to her parents’ house, and Michael, exhausted by the overnight sailing and train rides, fell asleep, the happiest he’d been.

On Michael’s first full day, Hanne took him to some of Heidelberg’s sights. During the time he was in Heidelberg, they made love for the first time, both losing their virginity, and Michael was in love. And so was Hanne, or so he thought, until a week later, she told him their relationship was over. It was the evening before he returned to England. Michael felt shocked by the news; there’d been no hint of Hanne being unhappy. Accepting what Hanne told him, Michael couldn’t find the words to tell her what she meant to him. He hadn’t told Hanne he loved her; he wanted to hear if she’d say those words first. It felt to Michael that it would sound as if he was pleading, if he professed his love for her now. Hanne reminded him they lived in different countries and told Michael that she was starting a four-year course in psychology at Heidelberg University that autumn. Michael spoke no German, even if he was prepared to live in Heidelberg. The following morning, at the railway station, Hanne cried and told Michael how much she loved him as she said goodbye.

That was a month ago, and Michael felt more depressed. He’d finished his breakfast and put Blue Christmas by Elvis Presley on the Dansette record player set on a small, low table in the dining room corner. He’d bought the 45 rpm single record after Hanne’s hotel work visa expired, a week before Christmas, when Hanne had to return home. Despite its mournful lyrics, it appealed to Michael’s feelings of lost love. He sat at the dining room table, thinking about Hanne and what might be happening in her life. The dining-room door was pushed open, and his father entered carrying the Observer newspaper. Michael knew his father preferred the other newspaper they had delivered, the News of the World. He turned down the music’s volume and sat opposite Michael.

‘Let’s have a talk, Michael.’

Michael didn’t like the sound of that. He drank his tea and looked out of the window.

‘You worked your way through a few bottles of light ale last night.’ His father folded the newspaper and put it on the table.

‘It was my birthday party. I thought, now that I’m twenty-one, I could decide when I’d drunk enough.’

‘As an adult, you have to exercise some self-restraint.’

‘Right.’ Michael looked away as his father watched him, looking as if he were waiting for Michael to say something.

There was a pause. Michael knew there was more coming. It was his father’s turn to look out of the window at nothing in particular.

‘Was there something else, dad? Only I was listening to this record.’

Elvis sang the song’s final lyrics: “I’ll have a blue, blue, blue Christmas.” The song ended with a soprano vocalising.

‘I like that tune.’ His father said.

‘I used to. Is that it?’

‘Mr Williams telephoned this morning.’

‘Who?’

‘The general manager of the hotel where you work, Michael. That, Mr. Williams.’

‘I meant who was Mr. Williams telephoning?’

‘Are you still drunk?’

‘It was meant to be funny.’

‘He ‘phoned to tell me about the trouble you’re in.’

 ‘I’m not in any trouble.’

‘What’s your version of events at the hotel? Were you drunk on your birthday while at work?’

‘I’ve told you and mum, before, about the sous chef. He was bullying and threatening a young apprentice, who was almost in tears. I told him to stop, that’s all.’

‘You hit him!’

‘No, I didn’t! I didn’t hit anyone. Who told you that? Mr. Williams?’

 ‘Not in so many words.’

Michael’s mother entered with two mugs and gave one to Michael and the other to his father.

‘Tea for you, Michael. Yours is Camp, dear.’

‘For heaven’s sake, Grace. When will you get some proper coffee? This just tastes of sweetened chicory.’

‘That’s all it is. With traces of coffee, chucked in.’ Michael said.

‘It’s quick to make and cheap, too. That’s why I bought it. Never mind, I’ll get a jar of Maxwell House the next time I go shopping, Eddie.’ Michael’s mother was always quick to appease her husband.

‘That’ll be better. Real coffee.’ His father said and stood up.

‘No, it’s not. It’s freeze-dried. I’ve drunk French coffee at the hotel. It’s different.’ Michael said.

‘Peggy told me she and Bob had proper coffee at a French restaurant they went to in London last weekend.’

‘If nobody’s got anything more interesting to say, I’ll take my pretend coffee into the lounge.’ Michael’s father said and stood up to leave.

‘I’m thinking of leaving my job.’ Michael stared at his breakfast plate.

‘What did you say?’ His father said and sat down again.

‘It’s probable that I’ll be transferred to another hotel. It’s on the other side of London. I’m not doing that. I’ll give in my notice.’

‘Oh, Michael!’ His mother sat down, her face full of worry.

‘You’ll do no such thing! I’ll speak to Mr. Williams.’ His father stood up to leave.

‘He won’t be able to do anything. It’s the head chef’s decision.’ Michael said, his voice quiet.

‘Don’t you dare leave the hotel. Your mother and I made sacrifices so you could attend the two- year hotel and catering course. Mr. Williams got you your job. Apologise to the sous chef you argued with, and you might keep it.’

Michael’s father announced he was going around the corner for a drink. It was his local pub. He had chums there who enjoyed his bonhomie and repartee, which he never showed at home.

Saying she’d better get on with cooking lunch, Michael’s mother, looking more upset than ever, disappeared to the haven of her kitchen. Michael picked up his father’s newspaper and flicked through its pages without reading any articles. Out of idle curiosity, he glanced at a few classified columns. One small advertisement caught Michael’s eye; he read the small print. Tearing a strip off the page of the newspaper, Michael wrote the box number of the advertisement that read Overland to Kathmandu. Although the name meant nothing to Michael, he liked the sound of overland travel. He guessed it had to be somewhere far away. Around 1966 half the Western world seemed to go to India to discover itself. These travels of self-awareness attracted the younger generation and exploded into a lifestyle choice. After much publicity, often critical, labelling the newly named hippies as drop-outs from society, they became known as the great unwashed. Michael wasn’t aware of that, but his sense of excitement was growing.