This story begins with two men. About my age. Two men. Walking towards each other. That’s the beginning and the end of this story. And I’ll tell you where. An airport. The lounge. Busy with people. Kids screaming, granny’s sitting, mum’s perusing the perfume aisle, spraying clouds of Chanel No 5, already on their holiday. All waiting to board. Waiting to fly away to somewhere else. No one notices these two men. Except the cleaner. Mopping away. Sees them walking towards each other. Two pairs of shoes. White patent leather come all the way from Los Angeles and brown brushed suede come all the way from Edinburgh. Walking. Closing the gap. About to meet. For the first time in thirty years. Best friends they were once. Swore an oath on it when they were ten. Sitting in the woods one evening. Sky above going dark. Best friends forever. Didn’t know they’d have a fight. Didn’t realise their friendship would end. But our story starts before then. Before all that. Back when they first met.