We played a lot of cribbage. Marge usually won three out of every four games we played and she was not the least bit hesitant about rubbing it in, but...I enjoyed her company so I put up with the ridicule.It was a Monday night and Earl was on the road. Marge had invited me over for dinner and an evening of embarrassing me at the cribbage board and I walked in to find her dusting the top of her ceiling fan blades. She was standing on the top rung of a rickety ladder and when I walked into the room. She stroked his palm. He had blushed, and she led him outside, and next door, to raucous cheers. I had heard a quiet voice. No, I couldn’t have heard it in that row, but I thought I heard someone, a woman, say, ‘He’s a goodun, and she knows what she’s about. They’ll be happy enough’ I had looked round, but I was surrounded by most of the village football team. Was it my imagination, and perhaps the odd beer and chaser. But I had recognised that voice from somewhere. A shame their mother wasn’t. More

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