I drove past the City Hall; its pale yellow brickwork glittering wet under powerful arc lights and stopped off at a nearby car park. Fortunately, the weather had changed slightly for the better. I trotted across Connaught Square and climbed the Hall steps leading to the front entrance. There were loads of well-to-do groups standing around as though they owned the Hall.

     Natalie wasn't there. I looked round for her, feeling somewhat dejected, thinking she was not coming when she came from behind me, linked an arm with mine and said she had obtained two circle tickets. She looked gorgeous. The back of my neck tingled. I got a bigger tingle when she handed me the tickets from her black leather handbag and I saw the price printed on them. Eight quid each! I was thinking this Vivaldi stuff had better be good, when I clamped eyes on Mickey Davis. I quivered all the way down to my socks. Mickey played football for the Black Bull.

     We saw each other at the same instant. He was with his missus. He mouthed to me, 'who's the bird then?'

     I mouthed back, "She's Laura's sister."

     I felt relief when he and his wife entered a stall gangway queue. Natalie told me to relax. I thought, yes, you try relaxing when you've run into one of Shefton's biggest mouths. Natalie had on what looked to me a million dollar coat. She took it off at the top of a carpeted stairway and exchanged it for a ticket. Her green dress had a round neck and half length sleeves. Pearls encircled her neck on a twin string. A bangle moved on her left wrist. The watch, on the same wrist was an Omega.

     I still had on my raincoat. Hand it in for safe keeping she said. I was loath to do that for recently I'd lost a coat at a cafe when some light-fingered sod had walked off with it. I exchanged my coat for a ticket and glanced round at the patrons. Most appeared middle age and were clearly among Shefton's big spenders. Some of them probably earned more in a day than I did in a month. But the one advantage I had over these high rollers was that I had a beautiful girl on my arm. Everyone looked at her then looked at me, then back to her. I could guess what they were thinking. What was this elegant young lady doing dating a working class boy? I handed the tickets to an usher. She tore off two strips and handed me the stubs. We were shown two seats in the centre of the Circle. I stood for a moment, taking in the Hall's plush maroon-coloured seating and its splendid decor. Natalie smiled up at me from the program I had bought at the door.
     Right on eight o'clock, the audience applauded courteously as lights dimmed and Orchestral members, dressed in black, filed on stage. They reminded me of penguins strutting on ice toward water. The concert's musical content up to the interval passed me by. I applauded when others applauded, but I could not understand what was going on. I shrugged - it just wasn't my type of music. Sure, it had beauty and atmosphere, but it didn't have rhythm.
     The main lights came on. Natalie went to the ladies room. I waited until she had gone then I went out to the crowded Circle bar to order a half pint of stout.

     An arm encircled my neck. "I thought I'd find you here, Al." It was Mickey Davis. I asked him how he was keeping. "I'm fine. I didn't know you were interested in classical music."

     "I'm not - I'm just keeping my wife's sister company."

     Mickey grinned and ordered drinks for both of us. He drank a third of his beer and wiped his lips. "You don't have to come it with me about your wife's relations. Laura has a sister called Sarah and that's all. And that lovely bird you're with is definitely not Sarah." He drank more beer. "I reckon you're having a bit on the side."

     "I'm bloody not! I don't have bits on the side, Mickey. I might knock around with the odd girl to spice up my life, but I don't rush them into bed."

     Mickey grinned again. "I wouldn't play around with that girl if I was you." He leaned close and whispered in my ear, "She's one of the Schaeffers." Schaeffer? That name again. I asked Mickey his meaning. He stood back to see if I was joking and saw that I was not. "God!" he said. "You really don't know, do you?"

     "I don't know what?" We stared at each other for perhaps ten seconds, both of us trying to weigh up what the other was thinking.

     He shrugged. "Look, let's forget girls and talk football, shall we? Tony Ross says you're playing for us again."

     I shook my head and took a sip of stout. "He's got it wrong."

     "But he said you were going to the Bull tonight."

     "I changed my mind."

     Mickey frowned and moved aside to let another customer reach the bar. "So you prefer to hear Vivaldi rather than attend our meeting."

     "Well, you're not there are you?"

     "I know I'm not. But the lads know I'd booked tickets for this concert several weeks ago. They know why I'm not there. But they don't know why you're not - especially after Tony's told them you're going."

     I'd always regarded Mickey as a good friend. A big tough lad who could sort out unruly opposition in another football team. He was handy with his fists, too. "I'm not there, Mickey because I don't think my leg will hold up. It took me ages to walk properly after I'd broken it. I mentioned to Laura I was thinking of playing again. She played bloody hell - told me I was a fool."

     Mickey finished his beer. "The lads will be upset if you don't play for us." He grinned again. "Outside professional football, you were the best centre-forward in town, so don't throw it away by not playing again. Anyway, it's good to see you. I must get back to the missus." He gave my ribs a gentle elbow. "Don't forget to bring your boots on Saturday, will you?"

     I watched him trot down the staircase. At the bottom he turned back and looked up at me, gave me a wave and disappeared into a corridor toward the stalls.

     What had he tried to tell me about Natalie? I ran over what he had said: I wouldn't play around with that girl you're with if I were you. She's one of the Schaeffers. It didn't make sense to me. I finished the stout and bought a large box of chocolates. The price made my eyes water. I went back to find Natalie in her seat. I handed the chocolates to her along with twenty pounds in notes.
     She refused the money but thanked me for the chocolates. I told her I could not let her pay for everything.

     The lights dimmed for the second half performance. "It doesn't matter," she whispered. "I have friends in high places: the tickets are complimentary ones."

     The roof lights softened to darkness. It reminded me of a ghost hovering in the wings. Something was sending me a warning to stay clear of this girl I was with. The concert ended at ten o'clock. I had been wondering where to take her, but she solved that problem by suggesting we called in to a coffee bar on nearby West Street. It proved to be a newly-opened business down a side lane behind City Hall and it was crowded. But she didn't use the front door. We entered round the back of the property to find ourselves in a large, well-equipped kitchen. Two girls were sitting at a long table covered by a green and grey striped table cloth. I recognised both girls. They had been with Natalie when I'd met her at the Royal. Natalie introduced me to them. The blond was Angela; the brunette was Iris. I said hello and took a seat as near to a corner as I could. The cafe noise was like the massive humming of an aircraft engine. The kitchen smelled heavenly of freshly baked bread.

     Natalie asked did I want coffee. I said yes. Before I could offer to pay, she went into the cafe. I took off my raincoat and laid it on a chair next to me.

     Angela was studying me, her pencilled eyebrows arching high over false eyelashes. Her eyes had a strange glaze to them. "So, you're Natalie's latest capture are you?" Her voice was slightly harsh, probably from smoking too many cigarettes, one of which was now dangling from her left hand. "You're not her usual type because you're too good-looking. She prefers older men, those around thirty-five or forty: those who are, shall we say, financially sound." She stared at my clothes. "Is that the only suit you have? It looks positively repellent.." I remained silent. It was obvious she was trying it on. She had another go, and said, "Don't bother with our Natalie, she has broken many hearts."

     "Your Natalie?"
 
     "Yes, she's my younger sister. I know we don't look much alike but that's because she's lucky with her looks and I'm not." She puffed the cigarette. "You're out of your depth with her, boy. What was your name again? Alan, wasn't it?" I could feel the cold darts of her steely dislike for me. Normally, with this type of conversation, be it with man or woman, I would have terminated it quick, but I thought to hell with it - stick it out and see what comes up. She tried again. "I sort of like you, Alan. There's an oily suaveness in you that's trying to get out. Here, have a cigarette." She held out to me a packet of Capstan Full Strength. I leaned forward, took one, lighted it with the glowing end of her cigarette, leaned back, drew smoke deep into my lungs. She asked me what work I did.

     "I'm in machinery."

     "What sort of machinery? Do you sell or do you buy?" She took another quick puff at the cigarette, then said, "or do you work with a bucket and spade?"

     Iris giggled, the high-pitched snicker of a patronizing friend.

     "I'm a lathe operator."

     Angela's eyebrows arched higher. "You work in a factory?"

     "That's right. I'm good at my job and I'm well paid for doing it."

     "Then...if you work in a factory...you must wear overalls."

     "Yes, I do."

     Natalie came back then, balancing a tray holding four cups of coffee, a cream jug and a bowl of sugar. There was some sort of communication between her and Angela, but nothing specific I could pick up on. Iris brought out a tin of biscuits from a cupboard, spread them on a large plate and offered me first choice. I went for two ginger biscuits and dropped them on a side plate next to me. It was then I noticed that Natalie had put her coat over the box of chocolates. Somehow, that put her on my side.

     "Alan's a lathe operator, Natalie," Angela scoffed. "He works in a factory."

     "And he wears overalls," giggled Iris.

     I couldn't tell if Natalie was disappointed or not. Suddenly, a wind gusted against the kitchen door.

     "Oh, dear," Iris said to me. "I do hope you have transport home."

     I said that I had. Angela asked where did I live.

     "At Shatley, it's on the northern edge of Shefton." The questions were all in my direction. I finished my biscuits and coffee and stood up. Natalie rose also.

     "Going so early?" Angela said, her eyes glazed.

     "I'll get off home before the weather gets worse," I said. There was another set of searching looks between the three girls. I didn't hesitate. I said 'goodnight' and went out to the kitchen yard. Strong winds were gusting drizzle. I fastened my raincoat and pulled up the collar. Natalie came out then, her coat on, and the chocolates tucked under an arm.

     We walked along West Street. "Not so quick," she said, her high heels clicking. The stiff breeze hurried us along Rathbone Street and almost drove us headlong into Golden Street, past the corner lamp post. We came to concrete steps that lead upward to a set of swing doors. They were opening and closing in the wind. She pulled on my arm. "Come on in, I'll show you the flat."

     I wanted to go home and call it a day but curiosity compelled me to follow her up the steps and through the swing doors leading to the first floor. At the top, immediately to our left, was a door with 'Number Two' written in yellow on an inlaid purple placard. Rather pretentious, I thought. She used a key to let us in to a hall that had button-sized wall lights that shone dully as we passed down the hall to, what seemed to me, a communal lounge. She dropped the chocolates on a chair, put her coat on a divan and asked did I want a drink.

     Some women don't look too good in strong light, but Natalie's beauty almost took my breath away. For a moment I couldn't move. She flicked off her shoes by using her feet. Even without wearing shoes she was all of five feet ten. Her clothes were expensive and stylish. I complemented her on them. She smiled, said thank you, did I want coffee. I said yes. She went to an alcove, checked the electric kettle held sufficient water and plugged it into a wall socket. Rain pattered on the large window overlooking Golden Street. She closed the curtains, turned, stood there briefly, studying me. "Take your coat off, if you want to. Lay it on top of mine."

     "Thanks," I said, "but I can't stay long. I guess your friends will be coming back soon."

     "Don't worry about them. We come and go at all hours." Everything about the lounge exuded class. The furniture was mahogany; the divan and chairs of black leather; the blue and navy patterned wall to wall carpet had loose rugs flung over it as though expensive afterthoughts. "Sit down, make yourself comfortable." She sat opposite me. "Did you like the concert?"

     "It was pretty good, although it's not my type of music."

     She unclasped two opal earrings and lay them on a side table. "What music do you like?"

     "Big band stuff. Benny Goodman; Count Basie; Glenn Miller. Something with a punch to it." While I spoke to her I was noting several photographs standing on the mantelshelf above the fireplace. I could see Natalie on some of them. One picture showed a group of three girls. I assumed it was herself, Iris and Angela. But it was the photograph of a couple on the left that caught my eye. Natalie was the girl; the man, seated just behind her, was older than Natalie. In fact he had similar features, but was too young to be her father. I asked Natalie who he was.

     The kettle boiled. She got up. "That's John, my brother." She said it in a clipped, dismissive tone so I didn't push that line of conversation. She fixed two coffees. I was impressed that she remembered I had one spoonful of sugar and a hint of milk. She put my coffee on a tray, passed it to me, then sat down opposite me again, with a tray on her lap. "Will you be playing football on Saturday, or have you decided against it?"

     "I'm not sure what I'm doing."

     "If you play, where will it be?"

     "I don't know - I didn't ask."

     "If you do play, let me know and I'll come and watch you. As you can see we're on the telephone." It lay beside her on the side table.

     So, Natalie had made the first move. I sipped coffee. I was tightrope walking over boiling water. If I did play again and accepted Natalie's offer to watch the match, then I was inviting trouble. One slip, and word could get back to Laura. And I knew Laura to possess a searing-hot temper if she were crossed. I could tell Natalie I wasn't playing again; I could play and not tell her. I could also do the most sensible thing and tell her I was married and I couldn't see her again.

     But I baulked at doing that. And so I played the daftest, dumbest game of all and said, "I'll phone you tomorrow night if I'm playing."

     She smiled. "That's fine, but make it after ten-thirty. I won't be back here until then." She hesitated. "If you're not playing, shall I see you Saturday night?"

     I drank coffee to give myself seconds to think. Probably, I would be taking Laura to the White Horse that night for Lucky Needham's first session. "We could make it Sunday," I said. "I tell you what, I'll phone you tomorrow night whether I'm playing or not and we can decide then."

     She was happy with that, wrote down her telephone number on a slip of paper and handed it to me. I put it in my wallet. My wristwatch showed eleven-fifteen. I needed to get home. But I didn't want to leave Natalie. I wanted to stay with this wondrously beautiful girl until the early hours and talk about anything that came up. Yearned to hold her, kiss her gently. I got up. "Don't want to go now, but I have work tomorrow."

     She helped me don my raincoat and accompanied me to the door. I said 'goodnight' and I hurried down the concrete steps and along Golden Street, cursing myself for feeling so alone. And desolate.
     The Austin fired at the second turn of the ignition key.


The ride out of town and along Havenhand Drive toward Shatley was a nightmare of wind, rain, and inconsiderate traffic. My luminous wristwatch showed five minutes before midnight when I reached home. The lounge light was on. Laura peered through the curtains. Twisted excuses rushed through my head. I turned off the ignition and the lights.
     Was I playing Saturday or wasn't I? Had I been chosen to play? I didn't bloody know, did I, because I hadn't attended the meeting! And if I was playing, where was it? So what did I tell Laura? I still wasn't sure what to say when I let myself in at the kitchen door. I slipped off my shoes and left my raincoat hanging on a hook. This was it - The Shatley liar was at the crossroads and there wasn't one decent excuse in my armoury.

     Laura was sitting on the carpet playing patience by the dying fire.
 
     "You're late." She said sharply, her big guns ready.

     "Couldn't help it, love," I said, rubbing my hands together to get warmth into my fingers. "Some of the lads want me to play, and others don't."

     "So what's the answer? Yes or no?"

     I was about to say something - I don't know exactly what, when I saw, at the edge of the fire hearth, almost obscured by Laura's body - my football boots. They shone. Laura must have recovered them from the coal house where they had been thrown, still muddy, two years ago. And she had cleaned them until....they...shone. The decision was made for me. I told her I had decided to play. After seeing those boots there was nothing else I could say.

     "That's good." She picked up the boots and dropped them at my feet. "You'd best try these on then to see if they still fit you."

     I bent down and kissed her cheek. "Thanks, love, That's really good of you. They're cleaner now than when they were new. What can I do for you in return?"

     She looked up at me. "Just score lots of goals with them." She glanced at the clock. "It was a long football meeting, wasn't it? I thought pubs kicked everybody out at half past ten."

     "They do usually, but some of us stayed behind in the games room playing snooker."

     "You playing snooker?" She collected the playing cards and shoved them into their packet, then got up. "I didn't know that you'd ever held a snooker cue."

     She was right - I hadn't. "Pop Dawson tried showing me how to play but I was useless, so I swapped stories with the lads instead. Hadn't seen some of them in ages."

     "Were you telling them your favourite stories?"

     "I tried to, but I had a tough time getting a word in."

     "I don't think you'd have too much trouble talking, Alan - you were born reciting poetry." She put the cards in a drawer of the sideboard. "I've fixed your lunch box for tomorrow - or shall we say this morning. You've got sausage sandwiches with tomato ketchup." She put her arms round my neck. "Don't forget the auditions. I've arranged with Mum that she'll look after Edwina overnight. I'm to pick her up on Saturday morning. So - do I get a kiss for all my hard work?"

     She did. And more.