Winter of 1962
Eugene and Stephen walked through Hyde Park, sharing a flask of brandy. The park was deserted and covered with snow, and fog wafted through the air.
“I’ve never known such cold” Stephen shivered. “It has brought the city to a standstill.” Temperatures had dropped to below zero. Railway tracks were frozen, cars had crashed and were left abandoned on the streets.
“In Russia it is quite normal; we can survive these winters. You English are not so well prepared.” They walked on, trudging through the snow. Stephen was unusually quiet.
From my novella, ‘Wicked Baby’ (2004)
