There were no jobs in Aberystwyth; there wasn’t even a labour exchange. Jack had to travel out to Machynlleth every fortnight just to sign on. May was nagging him every night and he was beginning to regret ever bringing her back. By the afternoon he had had enough of traipsing around the town so he retired to the bar room at Yr Hen Orsaf.
When he had seen May’s picture in the paper with that Beatle it had knocked Jack for six. He had thought May was a safe bet, no one else would be interested in her, and even if they did he was so sure she wouldn’t want him. She had always been so sycophantically in love with him. All except for that George Harrison. He was the wild card. He had always known that she’d had some kind of adolescent fantasy about him but it had never been much of a threat to him. When he saw it in the paper he had gone to London almost straight away. Why exactly, he couldn’t say. His pride had been dented. He hadn’t really missed her while she was away; it was just he didn’t want to lose her to him.
“Alright, Jack? Any luck boyo?” asked Mr. Harvey from behind the bar as Jack walked in.
“Give us a pint, eh?”
“Oh, that good?”
Mr. Harvey served his drink at the bar and stood, hovering, as if he had something to say.
“What?” Jack asked, “If it’s about the rent I told you…”
“No, no, no…” Mr. Harvey interrupted.
“What then?”
“Your wife?”
“What about her?”
“Everything… alright between you two?” he said maliciously.
“Yes,” Jack said defensively.
“Oh, oh right,” Mr. Harvey said.
“Why?” replied Jack, falling for the bait.
“She had a visitor this afternoon.”
“So?”
“A male visitor.”
“Who?”
“Don’t know. No one from round here. Asked for May, not you, not Mrs. Brown; May. Left in a hurry too.”
Jack swallowed the rest of his drink in one and banged the glass down.