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'I bought you that new outfit last week；' he muttered sullenly。
'Gee； thanks； Sugar Daddy。' She turned her head away towards the window。 'You're turning me into a bloody prostitute now。 I'd sooner do it for hard cash。'
He let in the clutch angrily； and slammed the gears。 Ten minutes later they were parked a hundred yards from the Coyle house； the engine ticking over。
'I'm sorry。' He managed； successfully this time； to put his arm around her。 Her lips met his； even though they were unresponsive。
'Get something worked out then；' she snapped。
'OK。' He squeezed her arm。 'I will。 I promise。 But don't forget one thing。 Your old man is knocking off that bird in his office。 It wouldn't do for that to get around town； would it？'
Sarah Coyle was sobbing quietly to herself as she let herself in the house； and crept up the stairs。
Richard Coyle stubbed out his cigarette in the battered tin lid which served as an ashtray。 He reached for his shirt and crumpled jeans which lay on the floor； and looked up at the naked girl stretched out on the frayed couch above him。
She smiled back at him； provocatively opening her thighs； which had once been very shapely but were now turning slightly to fat。
Turning away from her； Richard rested on one elbow； and gazed at his surroundings。 One small dirty room。 Dust on every item of shabby furniture； crumbled plaster on the floor where it had spilled from the multitude of cracks in the ceiling； a curtained alcove containing a stained loo and washbasin； an unmade bed。 A heap of crumpled blankets and sheets。 The smell。 It was his wish that they made love on the couch nowadays； he had told her he found it more erotic there。 He didn't want to offend her。 Sometimes he wondered why he came here every night。 Sex； of course…there was no other reason。 He could get it elsewhere； no doubt about that。 But would he have got it any better？ He smiled to himself。
Linda Lakin was attractive…there was no doubt about that。 A bath； a visit to the hairdresser's； and she would probably be classed as beautiful。 She was always at her best naked。 In a way she was like a drug…and he knew he was addicted to her。
'All this time and you've never taken me 'ome to meet your folks。'
'I don't like my home。 Or my folks。 My dad's a cunt。'
'I've read 'is bloody newspaper。 D'you think it'll ever 'appen？'
'What？'
'Poison leakin' out and killin' us all。 Or p'raps an explosion。'
'Naw。 It's a bee in the old man's bonnet。 I told you he's nuts。 The guys I work with would lynch him if they could。 They've e from all over the country； depressed areas； and now they've found jobs he's trying to take the bread out of their mouths。 Mine too。'
'You could always work at 'is place on that newspaper。'
'That'll be the day。 If they close down the nuclear station； I'll go on the dole。 I wouldn't mind that。 All the same； I'd hate to see him get his way。'
'Do you 。 。 。 do you love me； Richard？'
Always the same question。 Every night。
'Of course I do。'
'That's all that matters then。 Maybe one day we could get married； or live together； or something。'
He groaned inwardly。
'Maybe。'
'Even though you know I was on the game up in Aberdeen？'
'What the hell's that got to do with it？' he grabbed angrily for his shirt； and began pulling it over his head。 'We're all on the game in some way or other； whether it's sex or something else。 My boss is on the game； or rather the government is。 A prostitution of power。 Anyway； I like a woman who's been around a bit。 My sister's a whore。'
'Get away！' A hoarse cackle of disbelief。
'It's a fact。 This guy buys her clothes； drink； presents； meals out at expensive restaurants； and in return she lets him stuff her。 Where's the difference between you and her； eh？'
Linda Lakin reached for another cigarette。 She felt good at his words。 On a par with these Coyles。 Perhaps not socially； but at least morally；
Soon Richard was fully dressed。 Buttoning his denim jacket； he glanced towards the door。 His lust was spent； and it was time to be gone。
'I wouldn't let anyone else 'ave it with me； honest。' She swung herself off the couch； and gripped him by the arm。 'What's 'appenin' tomorrow night？'
'A few of us are going down to that transport place just off the motorway。' He resisted the temptation to push her aside。 'Bikers。 There's too many in this place now。 Used to be just us regulars。 Some of the bastards have got to be sorted out。 It's been on the cards for weeks now。'
'I'd like to e with you。'
'You might get hurt。'
'So might you。'
'No； there's too many of us。 We'll give the bastards something they won't forget in a hurry。 These things have to be attended to when a town gets too big。'
'You're talkin' like your dad； now。' There was vicious…ness in her tone。 'Keep the place for the privileged few。'
He kissed her without passion； descended the rickety flight of wooden stairs to the street below； and angrily kicked the Norton into life。 That bitch's last remark had cut deep。
Hell； the last thing he would do would be to get like his dad。
It was the first time for weeks that Coyle had not kissed Anne at least once before she brought him his cup of morning coffee。 He was obviously worried； and that worried her。 She wondered if he wanted to postpone their evening's date； and did not know how to tell her。 She took it out on the keys of her typewriter。
At 10。15 the telephone rang。 She briefed Coyle on the internal line。
'It's the union。' Her tone was formal； cold。
A click of annoyance…but not directed at her。 She knew how he hated the union。 All unions。
He was on the line for twenty minutes。 Then she heard the receiver slammed down； and he came out of his office。
'Further proof that one man can't beat the system；' he spoke bitterly。
'What's up now？'
'The freedom of the press has been stifled。 Subtly； of course； but one can still read between the lines。 Friend Dyne appears to have enlisted the full support of the power worker's union； who in turn have sought the co…operation of our union。 Ross is 'the sleeper' here。 I wish to God I could get rid of him； but I can't。 There are others； too； of course。 Any articles relating to oxide reprocessing have to be union vetted。 Facts only； and those facts； in turn； have to be vetted by the nuclear authorities。 Dyne again。 Otherwise； they'll just close us down。 Ross will have the printers and typesetters out before their morning tea has a chance to go cold。'
'Bastards！' She slipped a hand into his。 'I knew something was worrying you when you came in this morning。 You must have a little crystal ball hidden away somewhere。'
'Yes；' he lied； thinking of Jane again。 'But in a way they're shutting the stable doors too late。' He laughed hollowly to boost his waning confidence。 'We got those pe