John Lindqvist - Harbour

But that line came from the song 'I Want the One I Can't Have', and therein lay the problem. It would have been OK to have Henrik and Björn as a couple of oddballs on the fringes of the gang, if only they had known their place. If only they hadn't reached out for what they couldn't have.

Summer 1986. Olof Palme was dead, and the blueberry bushes on the south side of Domarö were regarded with suspicion as they stood there sucking up water from rain clouds moving in from the east.

Sonny Crockett from Miami Vice was a style icon, and everything was pastel colours on the one hand, Black Celebration on the other. And Anders stuck with Depeche Mode, despite the fact that Tracks was playing 'A Question of Lust' to death.

Henrik and Björn dismissed more or less the whole lot as dick- heads. The only thing that found favour in their eyes was I, Claudius, a fairly old production by the BBC. From England, from London. Björn could do an excellent imitation of the stammering emperor, but unfortunately this was as pearls before swine, since nobody apart from him and Henrik wanted to watch 'a load of old men wearing sheets and talking funny'.

Enough said. Some people remember how it was, and the rest will have to make do with these daubs-pastel splashes on a black background. Summer 1986. Mortal fear and white teeth, Armageddon and workouts. Enough said.

For the gang, that was the summer when they started to drink alcohol. It had started with the odd sneaky drink from their parents' supply the previous year, but in the summer of 1986 they started taking the ferry to Aland.

Martin was tall and well-built. He even had the start of a decent beard, which he made sure he cultivated a few days before they made a couple of trips in Joel's boat to transport the whole gang to Kapellskar, where they caught the ferry. Martin bought the booze in the duty-free shop, then they would slur their way around Mariehamn drinking as much as they dared.

Henrik and Björn weren't always included when the booze was doled out, and during the third trip that summer, at the beginning of August, they took the matter into their own hands. They were quieter than usual during the trip home, and only went into the duty-free shop to buy some sweets.

The reason for their secretive behaviour became clear when they had disembarked in Kapellskar, and were safe. They opened their jackets. In the waistband of their trousers and in their pockets they had stuffed twelve half-litre bottles of Bacardi. Everybody thought they were fucking crazy, and they were rewarded with pats on the back and places on the first run home in Joel's boat.

There was usually a litre or two of booze left over after a day in Mariehamn. Now they suddenly had a stash, and not only that, it was free. They decided the bottles should be hidden underneath the old boathouse on Kattholmen. Henrik and Björn were of course included in all these discussions-they were the heroes of the hour.

But by the following day it was all forgotten, and their incomprehensible comments and strange manner-a mixture of submissiveness and a maddening superciliousness-became the objects of the usual ridicule. But they were the ones who had nicked the bottles, there was no getting away from that fact.

And so when the time came for the final party of the summer, they were included from the start. Otherwise Henrik and Björn usually just turned up at parties without being invited, then sat on the sidelines making remarks that only they laughed at, while everybody else laughed at the gibes against Henrik and Björn.

But in that way they fulfilled their particular function. They consolidated the group and the language of the group by sitting outside and speaking a different language. Nobody would have admitted it or even realised it, but a good party needed Henrik and Björn sitting there like a couple of aliens in order to create the right atmosphere.

The evening had arrived. Sausages and charcoal, chips and drink were transported over to Kattholmen, and everyone was there. Joel and Martin, Elin and Malin, Anders and Cecilia. Frida's mother had said she couldn't go, but she was there anyway. Samuel who lived in Nåten and played in the same football team as Joel came in his own boat. Even Karolina, who spent only a couple of weeks on Domarö each year, was there. And Henrik and Björn. The suppliers for the evening.

The Bacardi was produced and mixed with Coke in plastic mugs, someone got a fire going outside the boathouse. Henrik and Björn had brought some kind of special meat-free sausages that were pale grey and looked like penises; they were informed of this fact, despite the Bacardi.

For once Anders was permitted to put Depeche Mode on the cassette player. 'A Question of Lust' had paved the way. But after the first couple of bottles, nobody wanted to listen to such gloomy music, and at the girls' insistence it had to be Wham! instead.

The fire died down and the party continued inside the boathouse. At first there had been nothing but a table, two chairs and a bunk bed for fishermen who were staying the night. A few wooden chairs and a rag rug had been added. It was a bit crowded with everybody in there, but Anders and Cecilia helped out by clambering up on to the musty horsehair mattress on the top bunk, where they lay kissing and cuddling.

They had had to put up with a good deal the previous summer after Malin had seen them kissing, but that was all in the past now. They were a couple and there wasn't much to say about it, even if it was a bit peculiar to be together for so long. They had slept together for the first time during the winter, and had carried on in spring, so there was none of that initial desperation as they lay on the horsehair mattress. They could take it easy now, resting on each other's lips and fingertips.

Down below them the atmosphere was even more over-excited. Somebody had produced a pack of cards, and they were about to play strip poker. Karolina immediately dropped out, barely raising even a dutiful protest. She was chubby and not particularly attractive. Unfortunately she had no way of getting home on her own, so she had to curl up on the bottom bunk and pretend, as far as possible, to be fine with the whole thing.

And so the fun lay with Elin and Malin, who were the best- looking girls. Frida was quite pretty, but she didn't have the kind of body you could talk or fantasise about. On the other hand, there was no way she was pulling out if the other girls were up for it.

When Elin and Malin gave each other a high five and said 'Go for it!', Anders saw how Frida's eyes darted from side to side, and her shoulders drooped slightly. But she gritted her teeth and straightened up. Perhaps she was hoping she might be able to play without losing. She would lose more by backing out.

Anders took a swig from the bottle of ready-mixed rum and Coke and buried his nose in the back of Cecilia's neck. He had a bad feeling about this, and was grateful for the fact that he and Cecilia were so far out of the reckoning that they'd been forgotten.

On the ghetto blaster Joey Tempest was singing about the final countdown, and Martin dealt the cards. He hesitated when he got to Henrik, who said he'd like to drop his trousers to the world, and Björn giggled. Nobody else understood what was funny, but they got their cards.

Martin carried on dealing, hands were won and hands were lost. As items of clothing were removed, they were thrown on a pile in the middle of the floor. After perhaps twenty minutes Anders must have fallen asleep, because the situation had changed completely when he raised his head again.

The door had just closed behind Joel, who had come back in. He was stark naked except for a scrap of torn fishing net which he had arranged so that it half covered his dangling penis.

Booing and laughter came from around the table. Joel threw his arms out wide and executed a couple of dance steps. He didn't seem unhappy with the situation. He went to the gym regularly and was making the most of the opportunity to show off what he had.