THERE were four of them, Tony, Danny, Norbert and Alf, all in their 60's and retired. On the face of it, normal blokes, the sort you'd easily walk by in the street. Norbert, plump and round with Bobby Charlton brown comb-over hair; Danny, sporting big superman type glasses which he kept pushing up off his nose on a dome-like head, a-la-Eric Morecambe and Tony, grey and dull in a John Major sort of way. Norbert used to be a greengrocer, Danny a lorry driver, Alf a printer and Tony worked for an insurance company. Meeting once a week in the pub for a print and a natter, they'd put the world to right, pontificating on politics, sport, telly etc. They gave off the air of complete comradeship, the Four Musketeers on a suburban night our, kitted out in Marks and Spencer patterned sweaters and plain socks from Primark. Then last week Alf revealed he had an appointment the following day with his GP for the results of his tests. What tests, they asked, anxious that something dark was threatening their usual fare of light-hearted banter. Alf said his missus was worried because he kept forgetting things (such as her birthday and their wedding anniversary) so he had had tests for dementia. 'Bloody hell,' said Norbert, padding down his mop like a cat preparing for a snooze. Alf tapped away at his tash before adding: 'I ain't going to end up being doolally, no way, crapping me pants and talking gibberish. If I've go dementia, will someone put me out of my misery, put a gun to my head. 'Of course Alf,' his maters laughingly replied and joviality was restored. The next day they all got a text from Alf, short and to the point: 'Got it.' Hours later he was discovered shot through the head in his shed. No gun was found. The three men had gathered around their usual table at The Cloak and Dagger, in the corner, well away from the family eating area and in front of the mock log fire. It was Tony's round and he also chipped in with two packets of pork scratching plus sour cream and chive crisps for Norbert whose wife was trying to turn him into a vegetarian because of his high cholesterol. 'Spooky ain't it,' said Norbert, crisps splattering over his black Black Sabbath t-shirt. 'Him saying he wanted to be shot in the head if he'd got it and him getting it and him... him then being shot in the head.' 'Bloody coincidence,' said Tony, crunching away at a particularly rocky piece of scratching. "Not really Tony.' said Danny, who spoke in a broad Black Country accent like the character Timothy Spall played in Auf Wiedersehen Pet. 'What do you mean?' asked Norbert. 'Well it were me, weren't it,' 'said Danny, in his Open University writing course. Everybody has secrets, things they don't tell their spouses or even their best mater. Something you keep secrets for good reasons, sometimes it's just a thrill to know something that others don't but what ever the reason, buried deep in your subconscious is a desire to spill the bills, to let everyone in on your big secret. Danny could be a bit of a story spinner- the others didn't know he copied his poem off a niece's school essay - but he swore this revelation was the truth. type to start ...