Fortified by his wife's breakfast, Joe headed to the railway station. Pearl was actually quite a good cook, so his new situation weren't entirely hopeless. His pace this morning was quick, perhaps motivated by the prospect of starvation and homelessness. He even wore a tie to show he could scrub up nicely. He saw some faces at the station he recognised, but he didn't say hello or acknowledge them. He couldn't bear to look them in the eyes. Between him and the bottom of a pint of best, it was probably the shame of being dismissed in the first place.

"I'm sorry, Mister Blacke, but no." Meekford replied, looking down his long nose. "Despite the recent unpleasantness, your reemployment would cause disruption among the staff."

Joe's chair was suddenly too hard, the room too small, the air too thick.

"When I was 'ere last, there was a vacancy at West Cliff-"

"-Which has since been filled."

"Mister Meekford, I'm not above beggin', What about the shi- man who looks after t' cattle over in goods, no one wanted that job."

Shovelling cow and horse dung was smelly work, but it was work.

"That post has been filled. Again, I'm sorry. If it's any consolation, I'm sure you'll find suitable employment."

Being rejected a second time didn't hurt as much. He knew this might happen. Right? It still hurt his pride.