Laura's voice sounded flat, washed out. "The phone call was from John Schaeffer.
Do you recognise the name? Do you know who he is?" I could not manage an answer. My throat had choked. Laura continued. "He says you are dating his sister, Natalie,
and you've been seeing her for some time. Is this true?"

     My natural instinct told me to deny it, but I said, "yes, I've been seeing her
but ...it doesn't mean anything."

     She jumped up, eyes flashing. "It doesn't mean anything! You've been dating her
and it doesn't mean anything?" Her voice wobbled with anger.

     "She's just a friend," I said. "That's all. Nothing else."

     She sank onto a chair next the table, her eyes listless. "Before we married I
heard you were called the Shatley Liar. I wondered what people meant by that." Her
eyes came up to challenge me. "It means you are a liar who cannot tell the truth."
She shivered. "I'd just arrived here from Mum's with Edwina when John Schaeffer rang.
He told me how he had pleaded with Natalie not to see you, but she would not listen
to him. He says he does not know you personally, but he knew you were married. He
 didn't tell Natalie this - not at first. She will know by now. Apparently John dotes on
her. He even hired a private detective to trail Natalie to see just what was going on.
 This detective saw you with Natalie on Thursday night at the Bull. And that same night you drove her into Shefton and dropped her off at West Street, which is close to
where she lives. Today, you met her at Chilton Magna and the detective telephoned
John to tell him what was happening. He gave John our home telephone number.
John said he did not want to hurt me but he thought I should know. He couldn't see
 any other way of settling it because you and Natalie insisted in seeing each other."
 
     She sniffled into a handkerchief but did not cry. She was too angry to do that.
"The Schaeffer family are important people in the City, Alan. I thought you would
 have known that. They don't want a family member mixed up in a sordid affair like
 this." She got up. "What hurts me is that your friends knew about this and I knew
 nothing. Now I realise why people are laughing at me - almost laughing at me to my
 face. Yes, I guessed, vaguely, that you were up to something but I didn't want to
 believe it." She came close to me and I could feel her warm breath on my neck. "I
love you, Alan," she whispered. "And what do you do in return? You cheat on me."
She kissed me very lightly on my cheek. "I'm taking some clothes to Mum's. I'll
come back for the rest tomorrow."

     "But surely there's...." I began.

     "I'm leaving," she said, "and I'm staying at Mum's."

     I tried to cut in on her reaching the wardrobes but she shoved past me and flung
 clothing into two suitcases. We didn't exchange another word. Not another glance. She went out by the front door and slammed it hard. I cursed myself real good. I had dug myself a pit and the sides had caved in.




It was three-thirty on Sunday morning when I awoke in the armchair to a dead fire. I
had dreamt of John Schaeffer who had swung an axe and split my marriage. I
 looked at my hands. The palms were sore where I had worked the nails against my
 skin. John bloody Schaeffer. Big City business man, eh? Sends a slinky detective to
spy on what I'm doing - and drops me firmly in the mire. I'd lost my wife and
daughter and a new girl friend. I made myself a mug of coffee - wondering what I
 could do about Schaeffer. But doing something now wouldn't alter what had
 happened, would it? There was no point me sticking one on his chin. Anyway, that
 wasn't my style. Violence had never been part of my make-up but I was determined
 not to let Schaeffer get away with what he had done. Somehow, I would face down this cunning bastard and I'd settle this affair my own way.

     I must have slept again for daylight was showing through the curtains and the
 clock was at seven. A train's steam whistle sounded along the valley. I went to
 the kitchen window and watched the train travelling north under the Hamper bridge.
 Steam enveloped the ironwork and drifted on the breeze toward the trees lining the
river. I washed in cold water and decided to walk past Cheadles and up Berry Lane to
 think things over.

     The temperature was several degrees lower than I had expected and by the time
 I was at Berry Lane, I had shoved my hands deep in my jacket pockets for warmth.
 Visions of Natalie were tumbling in front of me. Her auburn ringlets and the startling
 blue eyes. Then they were replaced by Laura's jet-black hair and brown eyes. And
 Edwina was coming to me with arms outstretched wanting me to gather her up, but
 her apparition vanished and I was left looking at the dull sky with grey clouds
 scudding low on the horizon.

     Suddenly, I was at the top end of Berry Lane and staring at the derelict cottage
 with '1862' stamped on a lintel above the front doorway. I wandered through the
 building. A Hawthorne tree branch was spreading through the living-room window. The
 floorboards lay rotten but the walls were almost two feet thick and in some places
 wallpaper stood proud against its resistance to time. I looked through the opening
 that had once been the kitchen window and I could see the farm buildings and across
 the field to the Hamper bridge. Dew soaked my shoes and socks as I walked toward
 the bridge, shoved open the stile gate and pushed through it. The bridge showed
 green and dull, its paint peeling to show rusted metalwork. I reached the platform
 and stared down the line toward Cheadles.

     A train was approaching from the south, steam clouds rising from its stack and I
  remembered young Kenny Richardson dangling from the bridge. I could hear his gurgling laughter as he swung from the platform. We were cheering his bravado. Then the train, with its vicious puffs of steam, enveloped us.
 Kenny fell. Wagons chattered beneath us on the track. Then the train had passed the bridge. I looked down, expecting to see Kenny laying injured - but there was nothing. I turned and looked at the van guard. He waved to me. I waved back.

     I stood on the bridge a full ten minutes, thinking of Natalie and Laura. Laura had
 ignored the stories of me being a liar and a womaniser. She had been wrong to
 discard her mother's advice. I was a lousy choice as a husband. I did lie. I took
 pleasure in lying. But where had it got me?

     I walked down the bridge steps toward the river. Several cud-chewing cows stared
 at me. I crossed a tiny footbridge over the river and came to a fish pond. The mist
 was still heavy just here. Yet again I could hear voices from the past. Children's
 voices raised in laughter. I was one of those children. Chasing each other along the
 narrow paths and falling joyously in the deep grass and wrestling for meaningless
 supremacy. The voices faded, leaving me standing between the dank river and the
 fish pond with mist my only companion. Again, I shuddered. I didn't know if that was
 from the weather or from my tangled thoughts. Maybe it was both.

     There were a few shillings in my coat pocket. I reached Paper Road, slipped into
 the newsagents and bought a different newspaper to the one we had delivered and a
 bar of chocolate. Lassie, the spaniel from next door came to me as I left the shop,
 her tail wagging. Right then she seemed to be the only friend I had. I rolled up the
 paper and gave it to her. I knew she would trot to my kitchen door and wait for me.
 The paper would be dry.

     After retrieving the paper from Lassie, I gave her pieces of chocolate and a few
 ginger biscuits to eat on the back porch. I sat down in the living-room and read the
 paper but there was little of interest. Fire ashes lay in the grate. I cleaned it out and
 built paper, wood sticks and coal, ready to light for this evening. At eleven-thirty I ate corn flakes for breakfast. They seemed tasteless.

     I studied photos on the walls  of Mum and Dad and realised there was not a
 picture of Laura or of Edwina. I stood at the living-room window and stared at the car.
 Along with the car, I had a television, a radio, a considerable record collection - yet
 now they added up to nothing. I gave myself a mental kicking. What the bloody hell
 was I playing at? I was listening for sounds in the house that did not exist: Edwina
 toddling round the house, Laura preparing Sunday dinner. Huh! There was none of
 that now. And it was my own fault. My own stupid fault.

     On Monday I would face the lads at Cheadles. Wally would ask me was everything
 okay. Had I had a good weekend? I grinned sourly at the carpet. What would I say to him.? I couldn't tell him everything was okay. And I couldn't mention my problems for Wally could not keep his mouth shut.

     At twelve o'clock I strolled down the road to the White Horse and slipped into the
 Tavern. There was one person I needed to see. As I hoped, Billy Wells was occupying
 his usual table with a pint of stout to hand. He nodded hello. I went to the bar and
 ordered a pint of Rundles ale and another stout from Sheila. "You're in early," she
 said. "Has Laura kicked you out?" The innocent barb bit deep. I said Laura was at her Mum's with Edwina and sat with Billy.

     "I need advice, Billy."

     "And what might that be about? Is it family or is it business?"

     "It's family. It's a problem I don't know how to handle. I'll skip the details and
 ask what do I do when I haven't a clue how to settle things."

     Billy took a drink of stout and thanked me for buying him one. He pointed to the
 photograph of my father with the 1935 bowls team. "You loved your father, didn't

you, Alan?"

     "Yes, I did."

     Billy leaned toward me and said, "If you're not sure what to do with a family
 problem - then do what you think your father would have done. You'll not go far
 wrong by doing that."



The telephone was ringing when I got home. It stopped just before I reached it. Half
 a minute later I was in the kitchen waiting for the kettle to boil when the telephone
 rang again. I rushed to snatch it up. "Hello?

     "Alan?" said a hesitant voice. Pins and needles shot down my back. It was Natalie.

     "Hello, Natalie." We waited for each other to speak. I said I owed her an apology.

     "I don't think so."

     "But I'm married. I should have told you that."

     Her voice strengthened. "I know you are married. I knew that after the second
 time we met so don't blame yourself for what has happened." When I remained
 silent, she added, "I want you, Alan. I can't help wanting you. I want you no matter
how much trouble it causes. I know John contacted your wife and told her about us. I
 hope she hasn't taken it too badly."

     "She's taken it bad enough to walk out on me. She's staying down the road at her
 mother's, with our daughter, Edwina."

     "I'd love to see you again - in spite of what has happened."

     For a moment I didn't know what to say. The kettle boiled and blew off its whistle
 to the kitchen carpet. I switched off the gas and returned to the phone. "I don't know
 how I feel right now," I said. "I can't think straight. Maybe us meeting again isn't a
 smart thing to do."

     "Meaning you don't want to see me again?"

     I felt utterly depressed. "I didn't say that. I'm surprised you have phoned. What
 would you have said if Laura had answered your call?"

     "I don't know what I would have said, Alan. But she isn't there, is she? I'm
 speaking to you and saying I want to see you again." She rushed her next words. "I
 don't care about John. There's nothing more he can do to me. He's frightened off
Samantha from seeing me. He's threatened to sack both of us from our jobs. I'll
 move away from the flat and work somewhere else." I told her she would regret that.
"Regret!" she said sharply. "I regret not standing up to John and to Angela. Don't you
 see?" Her tone had become coaxing. "I want away from the life I have. I feel
 hemmed in. But you and I could start again, maybe in London, or even abroad."

     "That would be a massive step," I said. "And it could be a serious mistake for us both." I could hear her breathing heavily into the mouthpiece. Almost hear the clicking of her brain as she absorbed what I had said.

     "Then you don't want to see me," she snapped - and hung up.

     I stood with the telephone in hand for a full minute. I had heard of men lost in a
 desert and seeing mirages of water under a broiling sun. I looked out the window and saw Natalie standing by my car. I replaced the telephone on its cradle and looked
 outside again. Natalie had gone. Abrupt tiredness hit me. Every muscle and fibre in my body shook. I sat in an armchair - and slept.



     It was eight o'clock at night when I awoke and dug sleep from my eyes. There was
 a sound from upstairs. I went to the stair foot and saw a light on the landing. "Is that you, Laura?" I called. No reply. I heard other movement and took the stairs two at a time. Laura was in our bedroom loading a suitcase.

     "You don't have to leave," I said.

     She bundled jumpers into the case and pressed down on them. "How would you
 feel about me if I was going round with someone else?" she said.

     "I'd be damned angry - just like you are now. Look, I'm not condoning what I've
 done. But it's not what it seems. I haven't been to bed with her or anything like that.
 I didn't want things to be that way."

     Laura sighed. "Oh please, spare me the excuses. I've heard them far too often."

     I went round the bed to her. I didn't try taking anything from the case - she was
 too fired up for that. "Okay," I said. "I'm telling you now, Laura: I love you. I made a dumb mistake going with Natalie. Maybe I was just showing off to the lads. Trying to look a big shot when in fact I'm just plain Joe Soap."

     She stopped packing for a moment. "You're not ordinary, Alan. You're my bloody
 husband! You are special to me! Now get out of my way!"

     Her anger was edging to boil over. I backed off slowly and went down stairs. She
 followed me and slammed the front door as she went out. The street light outside our house showed her outline. The house felt desperately cold and empty. If I wanted to win her back I needed to show that my love was for her - and for no other woman.

     It was past midnight before I thought of making sandwiches for work. The bread
 was going hard. There was a full tin of salmon. I opened the tin and drained most of
 the juice. Made four hefty sandwiches and wrapped them in tissue paper, put them in
 my lunch box and left them on the cold slab in the pantry.

     I had worked out what to do about John Schaeffer.