Thanks,' he said.

The singer was off again, alone this time; a ballad; his voice vibrant with sincerity.

'For God's sake, switch that bloody thing off, will you!'

Angrily she rose and pulled the plug out of its socket. 'I don't know what's wrong with you these days. I'm getting pretty near the end of my tether with you. Other women wouldn't put up with what I do.' Fernie ignored her and peered down at the newspaper, but she sensed he wasn't really seeing it. She stood in the middle of the room and glowered down at him. He was in his early thirties, the same age as herself, but there was a puffiness about his face and a sagging at the belly which made him look older. Normally the contrast to her own advantage pleased her. Now she screwed up her face in distaste. Then, quickly as it came, her anger drained from her and she sat down again.

'Are you ready for your tea yet?'

'No, love. I told you I wasn't hungry.' 'Is there anything bothering you, Dave? Are you feeling all right?' She steeled herself for the irritability her concern for his health always seemed to cause, but unnecessarily.

'No, I'm fine.'

'You were late tonight.' 'Yes, I'm sorry. I got held up. It was a good gate. I met his lordship on my way up the road.' He jerked his head towards the window which faced the street. Alice affected not to understand.

'Who's that you mean?'

'You know who. Connon. Bloody twat.'

'Why? What's he ever done to you?'

'Nothing,' he grunted. 'I just don't take to him, that's all. Too bloody stand-offish for me.'

That's what he was. A standoff.'

'A what?'

'Stand-off. His position at rugby. Mary told me.'

Fernie laughed. 'Stand-off, eh? That's bloody good.