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trousers did look inviting. He went to the chest of drawers in the far corner of the room. Yes, two pairs of underpants and a tee shirt which was a bit grey but not as dirty as the one he had on. Socks – he’d bought some yesterday. Must be in the kitchen.
    Bit by bit he organised himself. Having a shower involved climbing the stairs again. He was accustomed to washing himself in the sink in the kitchen. Still, he persevered and managed at last to get up the stairs and into the bathroom. The shower worked, rather half-heartedly, as if very surprised to be asked to do anything at all and the water was hottish. He didn’t have any soap though. He still had an electric razor which he used sporadically and did so this morning.
    He cooked himself two sausages of the ones that were left and ate them with some bread and a can of lager. His mind felt clear and lucid, although not filled with any useful information, except that he needed to buy some soap and do some laundry. He wondered when the motor scooter would arrive. The anticipation was exciting.

CHAPTER 4
    In the early afternoon there was a knock at the door. It was a large van and a man was offloading a motorised scooter from the back. The cat had come in by now and stood by him to watch the proceedings.
    “Motor Scooter for Penfold,” said the man, with a sheet for him to sign. “Where d’you want it, mate?”
    “In the kitchen,” said William.
    “Gawd,” said the delivery man.
    William opened the front door wide and the man took the vehicle along the passage to the kitchen. “Won’t go in there, mate,” said the man. “Not enough room.”
    William thought for a bit, then opened the back door, took out the kitchen table and put it in the garden. “Plenty of room now,” he said.
    “Right,” said the man, “charge it up for eight hours. Manual of instructions. Extras all in this package. Dead easy. Don’t go up and down kerbs, you’ll do it in. Don’t drive it in a strong wind.”
    “Thank you,” said William, and the man was gone.
    William plugged it in and left it to charge itself up, taking the manual and a can of lager with him into the sitting room. It looked a wonderful vehicle. It would give him freedom – well, at least 25 miles of freedom. Marvellous.
    After studying the instructions, during which he fell asleep, he woke up to find the cat again on top of him, asleep. Carefully he lifted the animal into the open cat basket, where it seemed to be comfortable and content.
    “We need some more shopping,” he said. “Stuff like soap and puddings. And more sausages,” he said with a smile.
    He could not remember when he had last smiled. Actually it hadn’t been long ago, when he had realised the credit card was still valid. All the same, it disturbed him. What was happening to him? Not enough drink. Not enough to blot it all out. Not strong enough. People laughed at him because he shuffled along. He was sure of that. They would stop that now because, with him on a buggy, they would have to get out of the way. Tomorrow. And he would smile at them instead of scowling. Or swearing. People didn’t like swearing, although they did it all the time themselves. The man at the papershop had told him “there’s too much bleedin’ bad language these days”. He’d go round there now and try smiling. He’d buy a paper. Normal thing to do. Those Social people, they were always asking him who the Prime Minister was. As if he cared. He’d have known alright, in the days when. But he didn’t follow it all now. Why did they ask him, a perfect stranger? Why didn’t they know who it was? Ridiculous. They shouldn’t have ignorant people like that in responsible jobs, not knowing who the Prime Minister was.
    He suddenly thought, maybe they’re trying to make out I’m a bit crazy. I’d better get a paper and find out who it is. They’re not going to catch me like that. He had worked himself up into a temper now and set off in something of a rage. He