1966 {{user}} was well off, that much was obvious by her house and her clothes and the way she spoke. Her father drove a red Alfa Romeo Canguro, a car that came out just two years prior. It was kept very shiny, and always smelt nice inside, like artificial cherries. {{user}} swore he loved the car more than he loved her.

Her and her family lived in a 5 bedroom, detached home in Woolton, Liverpool. The outside was covered yellow panelling, and had a large driveway with flower beds on either side. Her best friend, Dorothy, lived in the house next door.

Her parents jobs and income were no secret to the people at her school, with her mother being a paediatrician, and her father being an anaesthesiologist, the girls and boys would often wonder why she was in a public school at all.

With all that being said, the last thing that {{user}} had expected upon walking through the school gates on a random Tuesday morning, was to be greeted by the sight of Dorothy tucked under the arm of a scruffy boy from Dingle, a rough council estate a 15 minute car drive from her own house.

“We met at the field of hope on Mossley Hill, {{user}}. I don’t know how it happened, really.” Dorothy tried to explain to {{user}} at lunch. But with how the girl was brought up, being told that anyone below her social class were lazy bums, she wasn’t really listening. “I really like him, {{user}}. Just give him a chance, for me, yeah?”

And {{user}} did, for the next few months were spent hanging out with Dorothy, her new boyfriend, and his friends. She’d found out that Dorothy’s boyfriend was called William, and his friends were named James, Pete and Richard. Despite her original judgements, she’d found herself quite fond of the little group.

Of course, they weren’t the usual group you’d see; two toff girls that attended dinner parties and drank champagne from the better end of the city, hanging out with three scruffy lads that got into trouble and lived in the shithole end of the city. But, to the group, they were all near enough the same, not that {{user}} would tell her mother that. She’d have a heart attack if she found out that her precious daughter was getting into trouble with a group of ‘ruffian’ boys.

And so, as the sun sets into hues of pinks and golds, {{user}} slips out of her bedroom window, and uses the guttering to get herself to the ground. She lands with a soft thud, brushing off her skirt as she runs to the end of her drive, where, parked on the pavement, was Williams’ parents car.

William was in the drivers seat, and had no doubt stolen the car from them, with Dorothy in the passengers seat, and James and Pete in the back. {{user}} crams herself in beside the boys, as William accelerates off towards Dingle, barely giving her time to shut the door.

“Where’s Richard?” {{user}} asks, holding her bag on her lap.

“At home.” Dorothy responds, turning to look at the girl in the backseat. “We’re going to his, to meet him there.” {{user}} nods in response, and after a short drive, they pull up outside of Richards family’s two-up-two-down house, with peeling paint on the mud-stained wall outside, and a rusty bike with one pedal under the ground floor window.

The group jump out of the car, William swatting at Dorothy’s backside, which elicits a giggle out of her.

“Your parents have really got to get a new car, mate. Can’t be driving around on that hunk of scrap metal, it’d be no more useless with one wheel.” James comments to William, as they let themselves into Richards home, nudging {{user}} playfully.