Alan said, "Have you two tickets for tonight's second house, please?"

     "Yes, I have," said the Bluebottle sound-alike. "Obviously I haven't tickets for the first house because it has already started. Hee hee. What tickets do you want? Circle, upper circle or stalls? You'll have to be quick because there are not many seats left."

     "I'll have two for the Circle."

     "Name?"

     "Dibley."

     "Spell it."

     "D-I-B-L-E-Y."

     "Right. Pick them up by a quarter-to-eight or we'll sell them."

     I said thanks, depressed the phone bar and dialled Laura. She answered immediately. "I'll be late home," I said. "One of the lads was injured in the match so I dropped him off at the General Hospital for a check-up."

     "There's always a hold-up with you, Alan."

     "I've phoned the Delphi and booked two Circle seats. We must be there by a quarter-to-eight or they'll sell them."

     Her voice perked up. "Good - I'm going round to Mum's with Edwina. Don't forget to come home and get me."

     "All right, love - see you soon." I hung up. perspiration formed on my brow. I was not surprised - the match had taken a lot out of me and I did feel lousy. I slipped into the washroom of a nearby pub for a quick wash and brush-up. Natalie was right: my left ear and cheekbone were showing heavy bruising. I dabbed cold water onto my face and rested for a minute with my hands on a sink, wondering why I was making things tough for myself. I smiled at my reflection in the mirror. The answer was obvious - I was a bloody fool, that's why.

I thought of Natalie every second of that drive back to Shatley. Saw her standing at every corner; at every junction; under each misty street light with soft rays falling on her auburn hair. I wanted her so much that I almost turned back to Shefton. Just after seven, I was at home reading a scribbled note Laura had left against the teapot. It said she was at Mum's with Edwina and she would be home soon. I rushed upstairs, still feeling the ache of my legs, flung the hold-all beside the bed, nipped into the bathroom, had a quick rinse and changed my clothes. A few strokes with the comb through my hair and this kid was ready to roll.

     Laura came in at quarter-past-seven. I asked what had kept her.

     "Edwina's been awkward. She wanted to come back with me but she's settled down now."

     "We'll have to go in a minute."

     "I know." She took off a shoe. "I've a blister on my heel. Must put a plaster on it."

     "I'll get it." I rummaged in a first-aid box we kept on the pantry floor.

     "How's that fellow, then?"

     I came back with the plaster and put it on her left heel. "What fellow?"

     "The one you took to hospital."

     "Oh him - yeah, he'll be okay."

     I had tried to keep my facial bruises from her but she saw them. "Crikey - what have you done to your face?"

     "The ball hit me," I said. "Come on, let's get weaving."


We made the Delphi by twenty-minutes-to-eight. The Delphi built in 1885 looked tired. It had started as a music hall, then became a silent movie house and now it was the last stop for old films that other cinemas had shown years earlier. I collected the tickets while Laura bought packets of crisps and a box of jellies. Chocolate was still difficult to buy although we were nearing the end of food rationing. The Delphi had around three hundred seats. We took our place in the queue for the Grand Circle. Luckily, we were just inside the foyer and so covered from windy conditions outside.

     Laura looked at our tickets. "Grand Circle - what's grand about this place?"

     I agreed in silence. Even the Delphi's best days hadn't been up to much. Its safety had been in question since a stick of bombs landed close by during the Blitz. Other buildings in similar state had been demolished, but somehow, the Delphi survived, looking like a damaged cardboard box. Yet, it still drew crowds to every performance. The program seldom varied. You had a cartoon, then maybe a Three Stooges short, followed by Paramount News and then the main film. The projector broke down occasionally, encouraging boos or cheers depending on how much people had had to drink before they came in.

     The first house audience streamed out.

     "Is the film any good?" asked a young couple.

     "Any good?" said an old man of about eighty. "There's more excitement eating a bag of crisps."

     The program turned out fairly good, ending with The Way To The Stars, a 1945 film starring Michael Redgrave, John Mills and Rosemund John. Because we were seated on the back row of the Circle, Laura rested her head on my shoulder and held my hand. At one point, as John Mills and Renee Asherson were discussing their love affair, somebody in the stalls burst a paper bag and spoiled the tender scene. An usher switched on a torch to locate the offender and was told by a deep voice in the stalls: "Put that bleedin' light aht!" 

     Thankfully, we came out to a clear sky, although the pavements were running with water. Laura had it all worked out. "We'll call to Tommy's for fish and chips, and we'll get some for Mum as well."

     She expected me to argue - so I did. "I've had a long day. I don't want fish and chips."

     "Well I do - and so does Mum." We sat in the car. Laura folded her arms; a sure sign of anger. "Mum's good enough to look after Edwina for us and yet you object to buying her supper for doing it."

     I had the Austin ticking over, switched on the headlights and pulled away steadily through dispersing cinema goers. "Okay, okay, we call at Tommy's Chip Shop. You get the stuff, I'll drive you to Mum's, and..."

     "You're coming in as well."

     "No, I'll wait outside in the car."

     "Not likely!" Laura's voice rose off key with annoyance. "You always try to avoid her. Well, just for once force yourself to say thanks to her. After all, she is your mother-in-law."

     "Yes, and don't I know it."

     Laura gave a tiny squeal of frustration. "In a minute I shall get out and walk home."

     "You'll do nothing of the sort. We'll buy fish and chips and we'll stay at your Mum's until it's time to go home - which will be after ten seconds." I glanced at her. "Can't you get it into your head that your Mum and me just don't get on? Why can't you leave it at that?"

     "And why can't you be civil to her?"

     "I am civil - I stay away. She hates being in the same room with me. I feel the same about her. But I love you. I've always loved you. I love you now - even though you're nagging me."

     "I'm not nagging." She uttered this much softer and put a hand gently on my jaw. "I love you, Alan. Loved you the first minute I saw you at school. You were in the fourth year and I was in the second, remember? We gave our friends bits of paper to pass to each of us. I always recognised a letter from you because you couldn't spell."

     "No, you're wrong. I once got one hundred percent for spelling." I grinned, and pulled out onto the main road. "It was you who couldn't spell. You used to write S.W.A.L.K and I.T.A.L.Y on everything. My teacher, Miss Hawthorne, took one of your letters from me when I was reading it under my desk top. She wanted to know what I.T.A.L.Y meant. Tony Ross told her it was a country and he was caned for it."

     We reached Tommy's Chip Shop. There was a long queue, and Wally Mullins and Terry Bonsall were at the end of it.

     "Hey," said Wally, seeing me and giving Terry a violent nudge. "Look who's here."

     Terry swivelled round. They both reeked beer. "'Allo, Al. How's the missus then?"

     I could have landed him one round the ear but to my immense relief he grinned at Laura. "'Ow are you, love - all right?" He swayed, looked at me. "Where've you been then? Didn't see you at the 'Orse."

     "We've been to the Delphi," said Laura.

     "Bloody hell!" said Wally. "I rather do six months in jail than go to the Delphi."

     I pulled my raincoat collar high round my neck and prayed they wouldn't let slip to Laura about Natalie. Wally mumbled something about me going to the Horse next Saturday night.  I would probably have a date with Natalie and I couldn't be in two places at once. "I don't think I can make it," I said.

     Laura elbowed my ribs. "Yes, you can."

     "Maybe not, I'm playing football at Chilton Magna."

     "Yes," she said, "and you'll be kicking off at two-thirty and finishing no later than four-fifteen. That's half an hour to clean up; half an hour to drive home. You'll be sitting down to tea by six at the latest."

     "It's not as easy as that," I said. "I could have trouble getting back from Chilton. It's near Leskam, and you know how far that is because we went there last Sunday."

     Laura smiled primly at Wally. "Do you know, Wally, Alan always comes up with excuses. Some are new, some are old, but there always is one. But I'll tell you this: we will be coming to the Horse on Saturday, even if I have to drag him along."

     I thought - thanks a bunch, Wally, but then, I couldn't complain. After all, it was me who was doing the double-dealing.

     At last it was our turn to be served. Fish and chips covered with vinegar and a shake of salt smell all the better when you are being served. I purchased three large pieces of cod and a shilling's worth of chips. Wally and Terry said goodnight to us and shambled off down the road.

We pulled up outside the Atkinson home. I followed Laura down the path. She knocked on the front door and went in. I drew in a deep breath of cold air and stepped into the Temple of Doom.

     Edwina lay inert on the sofa. "The radio sent her to sleep," said Mum.

     "Thanks for looking after her," I said. My words brought no response. Laura spread out plates and cutlery and condiments, shared the fish and chips in equal portions and we sat in front of a roaring fire. The living-room was of average size, about twelve feet square, but I might as well have been alone in the Sahara desert for all the attention Mum gave me. We left at eleven-thirty. Laura would have stayed longer but she wanted Edwina home and in bed before she awoke.

     "You just sat there and said nothing," Laura said when we arrived home. "Why don't you speak to Mum?" I waited for the criticism to die down. It would take a while. Laura tried again. "I wish you and Mum could get along better."

     "It takes two to do that," I said, glad to get my shoes off. I switched on the electric fire." You knew this would happen if I went there. We don't speak to each other, Laura, and nothing will change that." I put Edwina to bed and came back downstairs and tried saving the coal fire - even tried coaxing life from the embers by throwing on a spoonful of sugar but it was too far gone for that. Laura fixed us hot chocolate drinks and huddled next the two-bar fire.

     "I feel I'm in the middle of a silent argument between you and Mum."

     "Plenty of families have to same problem," I said. "We don't get on because you became pregnant with Edwina. She's never forgiven me for that and she followed up by trying to stop us getting married. That's what annoyed me: I tried to put things right but she fought down the line to convince you that marrying me was a mistake." I waited for a comment but didn't get one. "Well, was marrying me a mistake?"

     Her brown eyes came up to search mine. "No, I don't regret marrying you - not for a minute. It's just that our marriage should be better than it is now. But somehow - and I know I've said this before - I have this feeling there is another woman involved."

     I hit back the only way I knew how. "Mum's been talking again, has she? Filling your head with bloody rubbish. Of course there isn't another woman."

     "Mum's said nothing of the sort. It's me who is saying there is another woman." Her hand came up to my bruised cheek. "I'd hate to be the last person to know that you are playing around with someone else."

     "The only playing around I'm doing is with the Bull at football. I haven't much time for anything else with the hours I put in at work." 

     I hadn't convinced her for her jaw was set firm. She was in the mood for a show-down. "Is there another woman?"

     "No, there isn't."

     Her jaw relaxed. She did not answer. She didn't have to, for I could see questions and doubts whizzing round in her head as she sorted out truth from falsehood. "Let's get this straight, Alan. Don't think I'm slow, or a fool. When I feel something is amiss - I'm usually right."

     "Maybe usually, but not this time. There's nothing for you to worry about." I pondered a way to distract her thoughts. "If the weather's okay tomorrow morning how about us taking Edwina and the pram up Berry Lane? Maybe take a look at those cottages we like near the Calvert farm. What do you think?"

     "What's the point? None of them are for sale. In fact one of them is a ruin."

     "But you'd like to see them?"

     "Yes, they're lovely and it's a beautiful area. I've often thought of living in the countryside. It would be so different from a terraced house that's in a long line of last century's old houses."

     I got up and finished my drink. "That's it then - it's Berry Lane tomorrow. Come on, let's go to bed and stop worrying about things that don't matter."


Sunday morning turned out bright and brisk - the overnight mist had cleared. It was just right for a country walk. With an eighty hour working week behind me, I thought I wouldn't wake early, but by nine o'clock I had laid a coal fire, left unlit until later, washed, changed, brought Edwina downstairs and given her breakfast a good half hour before Laura came downstairs. I fixed her a breakfast of scrambled eggs, bacon and baked beans.

Berry Lane is a narrow winding path, about a half mile long, bound by Hawthorn hedges that wander close to the railway lines. It slopes gently uphill from Cheadle's factory to a minor road junction near Calvert's dairy farm. Directly opposite this junction stands a cluster of five cottages built in the mid 1800's. Up the slope from them is a lone disused cottage with the date '1862' carved in a stone lintel above its front door. Pushing Edwina in her pram up the lane proved harder than I had thought it would be, for rain had washed away part of the path's coke and ash surface.

     We reached the junction, our faces tingling from a sharp breeze, then turned left, strolled down the road and through Calvert's farm, with the farmyard on our left and the farmhouse itself across the road to our right. Three hundred yards from where we were standing, a worn path crossed a field of long grass to the rail lines and the wrought iron Hamper Bridge - so called because it was shaped like a picnic hamper with a huge handle. Beyond the bridge, pale sunlight glinted on a winding river. I remembered as a lad trying to jump across that river with friends. Most often we failed and wound up pulling each other out. "It's beautiful here," I said.

     A train hauling wagons chugged under the bridge. The driver gave us a wave. Edwina waved back. "Which way do you want to go back home," I asked Laura. "We can go this way - over the bridge, or back down Berry Lane."

     "I'd rather go back down Berry Lane."

     "So you can take another look at the cottages?"

     "Yes, maybe."

     I took another look at the bridge. "I remember as kids we used to stand on the top platform as a train passed underneath and we all cheered as we were covered by the stream. Then one Sunday morning, a kid called Ken Richardson dangled himself from the bridge as a train approached. The hot steam caused him to fall onto a cylindrical wagon. He slid off and lost a leg under a wheel. None of us went near the bridge for a month after that."

     Laura winced. "Why do you have to recall things like that?"

     I shrugged. "I guess it's part of growing up. It doesn't seem to have bothered Ken: he's a factory manager now down the other end of the valley. Works for a company manufacturing carbide tip tools."

     We walked steadily down Berry Lane and came out at the bottom next the Cheadles yard. As we passed under the bridge a train rumbled overhead, spouting steam into the breeze. Edwina pointed to it. "That is steam," I said.

     "Steam, steam, steam," she said.

     We headed for home.