I'd never smoked much before I met Virginia; well not every day, anyway. All my pals smoked, and I'd tried it with little success. They told me it was what adults did and I ought to try harder. I persevered until I reckoned I'd got the hang of it.
Gaspers', she used to call them. Can I nick a gasper? she'd ask, when we got to know one another. She smoked Benson and Hedges and I soon changed my allegiance. It was easier if we both smoked the same brand.
The night we met, I'd marched into a local tobacconist clutching the correct money in coins and asked for a pack of twenty. It was my first packet of twenty and I only bought them to feel grown up. I didn't even have money for a lighter. I had to ask someone for a match to light the one I was holding when she spoke to me. Virginia had caught my eye about town and I'd seen her smoking. I thought I could impress her if I smoked too. If she encouraged me to smoke in the first place, it seemed fitting that she should ask me to stop after her departure.