Shefton has half a million inhabitants. It sits on a group of seven hills. Some people say the Romans settled it two thousand years ago because the hills and the scenery reminded them of Rome. Whether that story is true or not, I don't know, but those Italians sure loused up the city's tram service. I'd had a clear run from Shatley to the city centre but now I was stuck between two trams. Apparently the electric connection rod on the tram in front of me had slipped the overhead power line and the driver was trying to relocate it using a long pole with a hook on the end. The tram driver behind me was stamping on his foot bell; its jangling rattling my ears. I shouldn't have been where I was but I'd positioned myself for a right turn to take a short cut along Jordan Street to reach City Hall. He leaned out and shouted something at me. I wound down my window and stared back at him.

     "You shouldn't be on the line," he yelled, his mouth twisting angrily.

     I told him to piss off. A car behind him sounded its horn. A tram, coming from the city centre passed me, its driver stopping opposite the tram behind me. The drivers exchanged words and other uniformed officials came to say their ten pennyworth. It stayed like that for five minutes until somebody sorted out the stoppage.

     After escaping the tram fiasco I parked in a convenient lay-by on Sedona Street and reached the Golden Dragon at ten minutes past eight. Natalie was sitting by the front window. I left my coat at reception and slid in beside her, explaining why I was late. I could see something had upset her. I asked her what it was. She poured coffee for both of us. "My family object to my seeing you," she said. I asked her why. She looked up from the cups. "Have you heard of the Schaeffer family?" I said I had heard - but only vaguely. She went on, "I'm one of the Schaeffers. My father is known in Shefton for his services to local industry in the 30s and 40s." She poured a touch of cream into my coffee. "My father is approachable, but my brother John is not. My eldest brother, Ronnie lives in London." I asked her where this conversation was heading. She explained her father had owned the Schaeffer Clothing Company, employing seven thousand people. Their products were sold worldwide. But now her father had retired and John Schaeffer had taken control as Managing Director.

     "What does this have to do with us?" I asked her.

     She didn't speak for several moments, then said, "Whatever I do, Angela takes it upon herself to report to John."

     "And her interference riles you?"

     "Yes, it does. How would you react if someone was watching what you did and who you were meeting? Would that upset you?"

     "It would - and I'd tell whoever was doing it to pack it in."

     Natalie smiled ruefully. "I can't do that with Angela. She takes no notice of me if I talk like that to her. But in other ways she is considerate."

     "Do you and her work together?"

     "No, she's a solicitor's secretary and works for one of the top law firms in the city. I pass my days at Schaeffers as a fashion designer. I work close to John. In fact I'm in an office on the same corridor as he is."

     "Why don't you live at the Hall with your parents? That would get you away from Angela. I hear it's a fabulous place."

     She sat back. "My parents love isolation. I don't. I'm young and I want to enjoy myself, besides, the Hall is too far from the city for me to commute regularly. That's why Father set up the flat we have on Golden Street. If I left there he would be most annoyed."

     "Where does John live?"

     She glanced at me, picked up the menu. "I don't know - and I don't want to know."

     That was odd but I didn't comment on it. Instead, I said, "Who exactly is stopping you seeing me?" She said it was John. I thought that's strange. Somebody who has not seen me is waving a big stick and saying I cannot date his sister. To hell with you, Schaeffer. I'll meet with who the bloody hell I like!

     Mr Ti asked did we wish to order. I said I wasn't particularly hungry. Natalie ordered a chicken and noodle dish. Customers were filtering in by the time we were ready to leave. I reminded Natalie that I would telephone her on Tuesday night - somewhere around nine o'clock. To avoid Angela learning of the call, Natalie said she would be with Samantha, a friend who worked with her at Schaeffers. She gave me Samantha's telephone number.

     Because I was due to start long working hours on Monday, Natalie did not object to my leaving her at nine-thirty. I walked with her to Golden Street, then I drove off and reached home at ten o'clock.

Laura asked me what had happened at the football meeting. "Hardly any bugger turned up," I said.

     She made two cups of hot chocolate and placed them on the living room table. I thought she looked strained and said so. She sat down and stared into the fire, watching the occasional burst of flame. "I'm really worried about this house, Alan. When will we hear about it?"

     "They told me three to four weeks."

     "I'm not happy about that."

     "Neither am I and if I don't hear from them by Monday then I'll phone them and play hell."

     She said that would not help. Maybe I should wait until I received word. But waiting for an assessment was affecting her health. As for my long shifts, we agreed that on Monday I would stay at Cheadles until the shift had finished. Then we would adjust if I should come home or not for half an hour around six.

     Eleven o'clock came and went. Laura cuddled up to me in bed. As I lay there with her arm round my neck I found myself thinking of Natalie. Thinking of her blue eyes and the auburn ringlets that cascaded to her shoulders. I remembered her worried look when she was speaking of John. He must be a lousy brother. And sister Angela was trouble. I'd noticed her glazed eyes when meeting her at the West Street cafe. It was obvious to me that Angela had drug problems. I had seen lads with that trouble in the army. I turned over gently and kissed Laura's neck.

Monday morning turned out crisp and dry with a slight breeze as I drove under the bridge and turned into Cheadles yard. I had arrived early so I could get off to a good start on the Danish job, but for a few moments after clocking in I stayed in the main yard breathing deep and wishing I was working some place else. Working where? A different factory? Another boring soul-destroying job standing in front of another lathe and wishing I'd stayed at Cheadles?

     I thought briefly of my army days. had been posted to Liverpool to work as a traffic clerk on the ships that sailed into and from the Princess Landing Stage. We had offices in Cotton Street, not far from the boxing stadium. My job, along with other lads, was to board a military ship and ensure that each man had the required documentation. It was a basic job, but I enjoyed the friendship of my pals. For a reason I never could fathom, I was posted to Salford docks to work there. It was ten months of boredom, although the two lads I worked with were good mates.

     With a jolt, I came out of my reverie and walked through the forge. Joe Hillian, standing at the main boiler with Billy Wells, called me back just as I'd reached the sliding metal door that separated the forge and the machine shop. "Here, Al," Joe said, hurrying to me. "Our Bobby's worried about being called up. Doesn't want to go in, you know. You were in the army, weren't you?"

     "Yes, that's over two years back."

     Joe frowned. "Is it as long as two years? By gum, I didn't know that!" He readjusted his flannel cap. "Have a word with our Bobby this lunchtime, right?" I said I would do that. "That's great," said Joe, "because I've already told him you will." I carried on into the machine shop.

Every working day during the winter, Labourer Bill came in early and ensured all coke stoves were blasting out heat. He was standing beside the one nearest my lathe, warming his back. So too was Wally Mullins, reading a newspaper and looking particularly pasty-faced. I shoved my lunch box into my metal cabinet and donned my overalls. They were cold and damp. I joined Bill and Wally at the stove and commented on the rotten weather. Bill said 'morning.' Wally stayed silent. The electrician started the main overhead pulley motor and the drive belts whined up to their maximum speed, slapping out their monotonous beats. Bill helped me set up the first crankshaft. We used block and tackle to set it onto the lathe. I spent twenty minutes checking the blueprint to ensure I had the correct measurements, and then that was it - the job was underway.

     Old Man Dingle came prowling round looking for somebody to needle and had a go at Labourer Bill. I could hear him from where I was standing. Bill was using too much coke on the stoves Dingle said. What did Bill think he was doing - stoking the ruddy Queen Mary? It was routine for Dingle to growl early on Monday's for a good start on production augured well for the week.

     On this Monday morning Dingle was positively fuming. It turned out, as Terry Bonsall gleefully related to me minutes later, that on Sunday morning, Dingle had risen to tend his beloved front garden to find Wally Mullins curled up among the roses. I checked with Wally on this at the nine o'clock break when he came round to join me.

     "That's right," said Wally. "I haven't a clue how I got into his garden. Can't remember much at all about Saturday night. One thing I do know though - them rose thorns don't half firkin hurt."

     "I could see you were feeling pretty ropey so I drove you home from the Horse."

     Wally frowned. "Never - don't remember it. I must have walked."

     He'd probably forgotten Natalie. I shrugged and left it at that. I read a magazine article about something to do with travel but all I could see was Natalie smiling at me from the pages. Forgetting her was becoming very hard to do.

The Danish job didn't present problems and I was surprised how quick twelve o'clock came when the buzzer sounded. I hurried to the washroom and squirted cleansing oil onto my hands from a wall jar. Frank Vosper came in to use the toilet. "Hey," he said, grinning, "Young Bobby's in our office. You'll be telling him how to be a soldier, eh?" I accompanied him to the forge rest room and sat next to Bobby who was nursing a mug of tea. he told me straight out he wasn't looking forward to National Service.

     "What's it like?" he said. "Do they shout at you?"

     "Of course they yell at you," I told him, "but you have to take it as it comes. After your basic training you could get a good posting - it depends how lucky you are. Have you heard where you're going to yet?"

     "Yes, the Royal Engineers at Coatfield in Scotland."

     By coincidence, I'd joined the Royal Engineers at Coatfield in '49. I remembered Pinecone camp clearly. "I used to be with that lot, Bobby. Nice place, Coatfield. A bit cold in winter though."

     "Do you think they'd let me play clarinet?"

     For a moment I thought he was joking but I could tell under the dim forge lights he was serious. I told him to apply to join the camp band.

     "How could I do that? They might not have a band."

     "They play pipe and drums up there," I said. "If they won't let you play clarinet you could try playing early morning reveille. They'd all hear you then."

     Joe frowned severely at me. "Don't take the Mickey out of him, Al. He wants encouragement. I can't tell him about army life because I've never been in. Was too young for the First World War, and too old for conscription in the Second."

     I got up. "Don't worry, Joe. Bobby will be fine - I'm sure of it."

     Lunch time came and as usual I retired from the sour odour of workshop soluble oil to our inside shed constructed of old Anderson air-raid sheets. Conversation centred mostly on Lucky Needham's jazz band. Were they good or were they rubbish?

     Both, said Terry Bonsall. It depended on how much ale you'd had. After lunch somebody suggested a pontoon card game.

     "Now that is new," said someone, "considering we play pontoon nearly every lunch time."

Everyone had gone home when Labourer Bill and myself took our evening break at five minutes past six. The machine shop had a whole new atmosphere now the lads were gone. All overhead lights not required were turned off and this cast shadows where there never had been any. Rain beat on the roof. You could hear it above the slap of the main overhead drive belt. A train huffed north on the rail line. The tiny drop hammers of the Byfield Forge night shift rattled out sharp whiplash thumps as though each hammer was trying to outdo the others. The canteen shed was too cold for us to use so we huddled round the lighted stove and read morning papers the lads had left behind. Suddenly the factory seemed cold, desolate and intimidating. You could imagine hidden eyes staring at you.
     Bill lodged close to the factory, just a little further along Reap Lane at a tiny cottage once belonging to the railway system. "You could get soaked walking home tonight," I said to him. "I'll give you a lift." He said thanks.

     I restarted the lathe at six-thirty and put a finishing cut of two thousandths of one inch on the crankshaft's main body. Bill watched me. "How thick is that?" he asked, picking up the sliver of a turning. I told him. There were tolerances of only one ten thousandth part of one inch on the crankshaft pins. I told him that too. "Bloody hell!" he said. "I think I'm accurate when I shovel up turnings and dump them in my wheelbarrow."

     "Your job's just as important as mine is, Bill. If nobody cleaned up around here we wouldn't be able to move after a week."

We clocked out at ten o'clock. It was raining. Bill locked up and I drove him down the lane where he lodged with Mrs Whelan. He got out, waved thanks, plodded down a garden path and disappeared into darkness. Under the rail bridge rain water stood  inches deep. I drove home in steady drizzle. I wouldn't see Natalie until Saturday. She was all I had been thinking of in the last hour. But that was not the only fact rankling me now. The Shefton Housing Department's stance on my house stood out to me as a typical piece of Council blundering and I intended doing something to shake them up. I left the car, locked it, and paused for a moment listening to the Byfield hammers echoing along the valley. They seemed louder than normal. Laura looked out past the living room curtains. I hurried down the entry. She opened the kitchen door and kissed me as I went in.

     "You look tired," she said, helping me take my jacket off. "I've made cheese and tomato sandwiches for you. There's an extra bag of ginger biscuits as well."

     "Thanks love. Pour me a cup of tea, will you?"

     "There's one ready for you."

     I washed quickly over the sink. "Thanks. How did your job go today?"

     She passed me a heavy towel. "Real good - it's nice working with my pals again."

     I dried my hands and my face. "How's Edwina?"

     Laura smiled - a fabulous smile. I thought Christ what a beautiful wife I have!

     "Edwina's asking about you, Alan. She misses you. Mum's looking after her but she wants her Dad." We sat at the living room table with cheese and tomato sandwiches stacked high on a white plate. There was a mug of tea bristling steam. I broke the packet of biscuits in half. Laura looked at me. "I mentioned it to Mum again about the house."

     "You shouldn't have done that."

     "I did it just in case the Council give us the push. Mum says she's willing to put us up until we can find another place to live."

     "I couldn't live with her."

     "Oh - Alan!" She pouted, yet still looked lovely. "We may have to stay with her for a while. She's nowhere near as bad as you think she is. The trouble is, you both have similar temperaments."

     I drank tea. "I don't have temperament, Laura. I'm just good-natured me."

     "Yes," she said, smiling. "You are you - with temperament. Just don't phone the Housing Department and start shouting the odds, that's all. I know what you are like when you're angry. You're liable to say something that you shouldn't say."

     She switched on the radio, adjusted the volume to background dance music, then asked about tomorrow. Was I coming home during the day? I suggested that I stayed at Cheadles throughout each shift for the rest of the week. The job would be finished by Saturday. The following week I would be back to working my normal hours.

     "Right," she said, "then we can go somewhere special this Saturday night."

     "Saturday night?" I said.

     "Yes, this coming Saturday night - you know, after it's gone dark. Mum's willing to look after Edwina while we go out. I want to go somewhere different. Somewhere different to the pub."

     "I play football now - remember. I might not get back early from that."

     "I know you play football but the match ends when it goes dark. You won't be running about in the dark with your little football shorts on, will you?" She came over and kissed the back of my neck. I could smell her lovely scent: just the slightest hint of flowers. "We could go to the pictures," she murmured. "There's a good 'un on at the Delphi. Or, if you want to chance it, how about going to a dance?"

     I shuddered, almost dropping a biscuit. "You know I hate dancing."

     "I don't see why, it's like playing football but without the ball."

     "No - I won't dance. My feet get mixed up."

     She filled my tea cup. "You've only got two feet so how can you mix them up? You put one foot down and then you put the other foot near it. There's nothing hard about that, is there?"

     I stirred sugar in my tea. "Music should be listened to and not jumped about at. How can you hear music when your body's hurtling through the air? No, I'm not dancing - and that's final."

     She added a touch of milk to my tea. "Right, it's settled then. We'll go to the Delphi."

     "I might be home late from the match."

     She straightened my shirt collar. "I've checked. The Delphi has two houses every Saturday. One at five-thirty, the other at eight o'clock. I'll leave Edwina with Mum at seven and we'll go to the second house. Phone up and book two tickets. That way we won't need to rush."

     "The Delphi!" I said. "That place is a right dump. So what's the big attraction?"

     "It's 'The Way To The Stars', a 1945 film starring Michael Redgrave, John Mills and Rosemund John. I missed it when it first came out. I'm determined to see it this time. So don't forget - book two seats, second house."

     "So you don't want to listen to the White Horse jazz band?"

     "I said I want to go somewhere special."

     "Okay," I said. "You're the boss."

     She kissed the back of my neck. "Yes, I am the boss, and you'd better remember that."