The Story So Far

Chapter five - decision time for Les

It's decision time for Les. Anne has taken the initiative fed up with his indecision. Is it slow, slow, quick, quick, slow at Wereham tonight or the same old routine at the Social Club? The answer should be obvious but is life that simple.

A quick look at the clock over the fireplace told Les it was time to go, the match would soon be over and he had a bus to catch. Anne fetched his coat from the hallway. As she held it for him she asked somewhat forlornly, 'Well are you coming tonight?' Les took stock of the situation. Biking from Methwold, no doubt in the pouring rain, then back again at midnight, dance shoes; what dance shoes, he hadn't got any, just the one pair of ordinary ones he wore all the time. 'Yes OK, I'll come' he answered somewhat despondently. 'What sort of company will I be' he observed as he headed to the front door, 'I've never been to a dance in my life'. Anne gave him a 'what have I got here look', and a peck on the cheek as she ushered him to the door. 'I'll meet you at the Hall and don't be late' admonished Anne and with that he was off back to his beloved football.

'Well how did the match go?' Les enquired to his pal Stan as they boarded the bus back home. The look on Stan's face said everything. 'We lost 4-0 and we were hopeless' and he then went in to a long drawn out saga of what went wrong. By the time he had finished the bus was drawing in to Methwold. 'By the way Stan, I won't see you tonight I'm off to a dance at Wereham' informed Les as he jumped off the bus leaving behind howls of derision from both players and supporters alike, but who like him couldn't dance a step either.

'I must be mad' Les decided as he lent his bike up against Wereham Village Hall. He just knew it would happen and sure enough it did; it poured with rain all the way from Methwold. 'That will be 2/6d please' said some character as Les entered the Hall, doing his best to dry himself out. Somewhat nervously he walked through to the dance area. 'Good Evening' said a voice from somewhere in the Hall, 'It's nice to see our friends from Methwold, they are such good losers'. A reference, of course, to that afternoons football match. Les feared the worse, he knew that voice at once, and to make matters worse he was dancing with Anne. Sure enough it was that English fella from the Post Office, all brylcream and sophistication.

The good news was that at least he wasn't singing, but then the night was young, 'I've saved you a seat' it was Anne giving him a welcoming peck on the cheek. 'Come and meet the rest of the crowd'. Les spent the best part of the night being subjected to a good deal of banter from some of the Wereham football fraternity and his limited dancing prowess didn't go unnoticed either. A few trips to the bar, plus the company of the delectable Anne, was more than enough to put him in a somewhat mellow mood and, as the evening came to a close, Les concluded that when it came to dancing he would never come up to Victor Sylvester's standard.

The rain had stopped as Les and Anne strolled hand in hand back to her parents' home in Flegg Green. The house was in darkness and with the front door unlocked they both silently crept into the lounge. Anne at once fell into Les's arms, her sensuous body crushed against his. Anne was on fire (how she wished Les could be more careful with his darn cigarettes). Just at that moment the light came on. It was the dragon herself; Anne's mother, hair curlers, the lot. Disconcerting readers should remember this is the 'Village Pump' not 'Mills and Boon'.

Les Lawrence