For the first Sunday in several months, Laura and I stayed at home with Edwina. We intended taking it easy but there was loads of ironing to do. I heated the iron close to the fire and pressed a couple of my shirts. I found Laura's blouses much more difficult. "Oh, give it here," she said, taking the iron from me. I played at building bricks with Edwina at the table, at the same time reading match reports of the  Sunday newspaper. Laura suggested I peel potatoes for stew. I dropped potatoes into the kitchen sink and began the chore of peeling, remembering the thousands of potatoes I had scraped in the army.  The kitchen window gave me view of the Calvert farm. I wondered what it would be like to live there, amongst trees and the straggling pens of farm livestock. I cut up a beef skirt into small pieces and dropped them into a saucepan, then added the potatoes and other vegetables.

     "What are you doing about the house?" Laura asked.

     I put the stew on a low light on the kitchen gas cooker. "If I hear nothing from the Council tomorrow I'll be in there Tuesday morning. Dingle says I can have time off so there's no problem with that."

     "You could give them a while longer."

     "Yeah, and how long is a while longer? You get nowhere doing that. You have to keep on top of them and nag them into a decision."

     "Yes, and if you're not careful they might kick us out of here."

     I picked up Edwina. "I don't think they'll do that somehow."

     Laura didn't say much after that and the pile of ironed clothes grew. Suddenly, I was very tired. My legs were aching from Saturday's match and the bruise to my ear had turned an orange tinted purple. "Have a lay down," said Laura. "Edwina will wake you when dinner is ready."

                                                        ***


Early Monday morning I asked Dingle for time off on Tuesday morning because the Housing Department wanted to see me at Shefton. He said okay and wished me good luck.

    On the Tuesday morning on my way to clock out I passed Joe Hillian as he stoked the forge furnace, sweat rolling down his face. "I hear you've got trouble with the Council," he said. I explained briefly what the problem was. "Don't let them push you around." Joe wiped his forehead with a large towel. "Lay the lies on good and thick. Tell them your missus is having quads. Tell 'em it was your mum's house. Tell 'em it's the only place you've got. And remember - when those Council bastards open their mouths to argue - that's when you keep on talking." Joe emphasised his words by shovelling coke into the furnace and slamming the door shut with a kick of a boot. "That's how you deal with 'em," he said.

      I parked my banger in the Council car park, ready to sort somebody at the Housing Department, but not to sort them out physically. I'm over fourteen stones in weight and an inch above six feet tall but I'm not violent by nature. To me, life should be easy. The last couple of years had not been too bad but I had to admit that the Council letter saying I did not have the right to rent 40 Paper Road had shocked me. Laura was right about our mail: I never checked it until days after it had arrived. And if letters were addressed to me, Laura seldom opened them. I had learned a painful lesson - when you receive a letter - open it.

     I glanced at the clear sky. At least I wouldn't be combating foul weather this morning although I needed to pull up my raincoat collar against a cutting wind. I went inside the building and went to Reception. A stern-faced staff member told me I must wait my turn. I said I wished to see Mr Strutz . The face in front of me hardened. Did I have an appointment.? No, I did not. Then I would have to wait until the next Housing Officer became available.

     Then, just before eleven o'clock - it was my turn. The official was female, possibly in her forties. I wished to see Mr Strutz,I said. She asked did I have an appointment to see him? No, I did not, but it was important that I saw him. What did I wish to see him about? I told her. She fiddled with a pencil, rolling it between her fingers then using it to tap the notepad on the table in front of her. "And you were told the decision would take three to four weeks?" she said at last. "That's right," I said. "My family are under stress. I need to see Mr Strutz." She told me to hold a moment, went to another office, and came back a minute later saying I could see a Mr Lombard. I said okay.

     Mr Lombard turned out to be exactly as I thought a Housing official should look - forties, sharp-featured and alert. In his office, he listened to what I had to say, and answered, "your case has not come up before the Housing Committee as yet."

     "And what if they turn me down - do I live in the street?"

     He smiled, businesslike, yet friendly. "We cannot allow that, can we?"

     "But what if they do turn me down?" 

     "At the worst you would be offered another property."

     "Mr Strutz didn't tell me that. He had me fill in a fresh Housing application form."

     Lombard's face softened. "That is procedure, Mr Dibley. You will not be left without proper housing, although it is possible you could be re-housed at the other side of the city."

     "I don't want re-housing! There's no point in my being re-housed miles away from where I work, is there?" I told him I had lived at 40 Paper Road since being a child - apart from two years National Service.

     He jotted notes on a sheet of paper and told me to leave it with him. Somehow, his calm manner took all the snap out of me and he had me thinking. Why was I bothering with all this garbage when I could possibly be starting a new life with Natalie? I stared at the desktop in front of me then caught Lombard studying me. Was he really interested in me as a person or was he doing his job without a thought for the individual in front of him? I stood up, mumbled something about awaiting the decision and thanked him for his time.

     I went out to the car park. It was almost twelve o'clock. There was no point going back to Cheadles until one o'clock so I decided to grab a sandwich and a coffee at Cooper's Cafe. I knew Rita Savannah lunched there.

     Cooper's Cafe sprawled over two floors and was usually full at lunchtime. I went in and spotted Rita near a window munching on a hamburger. I bought a chicken sandwich and two coffees and went over to her. She hadn't seen me come in. "Shove up," I said.

     "Hello, lover boy, how are you?" She grinned, removed a shopping bag that lay on the seat next her and put put it on the floor between her feet. "A bit out of your area, aren't you? Have you got a day off then, or are you just on the scrounge?"

     I stirred sugar in my black coffee, and passed her the coffee I had bought her. "I've got trouble with renting our house. Looks like I'll have to give it up."

     She nodded thanks for the coffee and shovelled in three spoonfuls of sugar. "So what are you doing then - setting up home with the Schaeffer girl?"

     This was exactly what I wanted Rita to bring up. She had been around and very little of what happened in Shefton escaped her ears. "I can't do that, Rita, I'm already married."

     She stared at me, experience showing in her dark blue eyes. "You say that as though you regret being married. Is that how you feel?"

     "I don't know how I feel." I sipped coffee. It was strong - the way I liked it to be. "I go home these days - and that's it - the same dull routine. Or it was."

     "How do you mean - it was?"

     "Laura's started work again. We leave Edwina with Laura's mum. I'm not happy about that, but Laura doesn't care. I ask you, why does Laura work again when she doesn't need to?"

     Rita hesitated, then said, "I can tell you a lot about being left alone. When I married I stayed at home and cooked the evening meal, washed the clothes, dug the little garden patch we had, decorated the house, put up little bits and pieces and waited for Sugar Daddy hubby to come home. He didn't come home often and when he did he was skint and pissed. Then he blamed it on me and started with the rough stuff but he picked on the wrong girl and I gave him a bloody good thumping. We didn't have kids and we divorced last year. I still see him on occasion, but we don't speak." She smiled sombrely and started on another hamburger. "I can see you are thinking what does my life have to do with yours. It has nothing to do with you, Alan, but if you don't watch it you'll find yourself with similar problems to those I had." She drank coffee and watched a tram trundle by. "You're telling me about Laura and Edwina and your mother-in-law and you're hoping I'll come up with some magic trick that will let you take off with Natalie Schaeffer." She drank more coffee.

     "There is no magic trick, Al. What you do and how you do it is your own affair. Take me, for instance. I'm thirty-three. I knock around with Tony who is ten years younger than I am. That makes me feel good. I dye my hair green and that makes me look different. But in a few years the high life will have passed me by." She stared at me. "You are married to a beautiful girl. You have a lovely daughter. That is a good start. Don't spoil it by changing running lanes." She got up. "Come on, move your rear end. I have work to do." She asked would I be playing at Chilton Magna on Saturday. I said yes, I would be.

     She nodded. "Then you'd best be careful. Chilton Magna is Schaeffer country."

                                                        ***

Upon returning to Cheadles I apologised to Dingle in his office for being away longer than I thought I would be. There was a faint twinkle in his eyes. "Just get on with your job, lad," was all he said.

     I changed into overalls. Wally looked up from a newspaper he was reading and gave me a 'how did it go?' look. I shook my head and shrugged that I didn't know anything yet. Dingle had given me a small job to do. It was an order for twenty-five ten inch diameter rings to be rough machined for the customer to finish. I was happy with this. The rings were lightweight and made of mild steel so I had no problems with their production.

     At the afternoon break Wally came round and played hell about nothing in particular. Was I going out with him and Terry to the Royal this week? No, I said, I had a date. Was my date with Natalie? Yes, it was. Wally grinned. "Does Laura know?"

     His innocent remark had me thinking, I was running a high risk hanging around with Natalie Schaeffer. Not because she was Natalie Schaeffer, but if Laura figured out what was going on I would get it in the neck. She had already warned me of her suspicions. What with the house decision pending, the last thing I wanted was for Laura to find out about Natalie. I was meeting Natalie on Thursday at the Bull. If she wanted me, we could leave Shefton, maybe even leave the country. Brenda Cartwright had done it - so why not me?

     Upon reaching home Laura remarked that I looked ill. I'm not ill, I said, just tired from worrying about the house. I explained to her my meeting with Lombard. I did not mention that we might be re-housed.

     Edwina was piecing together sentences now and we spent the next twenty minutes realising that maybe she knew more of the English language than I did. If I was too tired to go out tonight, Laura said, we could go to the White Horse tomorrow night for a drink. I saw nothing wrong with that and reminded her that I was going to the Bull on Thursday.

     "Good," Laura said. "While you are in an arranging mood, we'll go to the Horse on Friday night." I did a quick check up. Tonight - stay at home with Laura, tomorrow night, the White Horse with Laura. Thursday - at the Bull with Natalie. Friday night - the Horse with Laura. That would leave me with Saturday evening with Natalie.

     My head was spinning. I had felt similar head pains since the football struck me on the head against Byron Street Amateurs. I took an Aspirin and went to bed half an hour later.

                                                         ***


Wednesday evening at the Horse with Laura turned out pleasant with her meeting a couple of workmates from Milford steel. I chatted with Nick, the pub owner about the success of Lucky Needham's jazz band. "The folks love him," said Nick. "He gives us the music we want to hear, although most of us ain't got a clue what he's playing."

                                                         ***

Thursday at Cheadles was one long and miserable drag. When I arrived home just after six, I found a note from Laura against the teapot saying she was at Mum's with Edwina because I was going to the Bull. That gave me time to relax and give myself a good scrub. I love sardines in tomato sauce so I opened a tin and cut off a slice of brown bread to accompany them.

After making sure I was dressed just right, I drove toward the Bull, hoping Natalie would be waiting for me.