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The computer’s fan spun down and with it the dull monotonous hum left Rob’s ears. At the same time a crackle of electricity signalled his monitor turning itself off. It was four o’clock. Time to leave.

“What time is kick-off?” Her face obscured, Kath’s voice sneaked out from behind her monitor.
“Five Thirty.” Rob stood, “Plenty of time yet.”
“Going straight home?”
“No.” A shake of the head, “First I’ve got to nip to the bank then to the chippy to pick up something to eat so I don’t have to cook, then home. All being well I will be entering my front door at five. Unless there’s a queue in which case ten past. Either way I’m not panicking.” Rob put his coat on, “I would stop to chat but I need to beat the traffic.”
“Bye then.” From above her monitor Kath’s hand rose.
“Bye.”

It was a busy day for calls so luckily everybody was engrossed talking to customers whilst looking up ‘Client History Files’. Nobody else in the call centre had been allowed to leave early for the England match and Rob didn’t want to return to work tomorrow and face a barrage of angry faces and disgruntled colleagues so he kept his gait forceful but not quick enough to draw any attention.
Five yards from the exit his mobile phone rang. A week before the World Cup started he’d changed the ringtone to fifty thousand England fan’s singing ‘Ingerland’ and it was this sound that now spread from his pocket and, seeming, into every corner of the call centre.

Keep moving, he said to himself, that was the key. Don’t make eye contact otherwise someone will as a question. From the desks either side of the walkway heads started to stir and eyes began to focus in his direction. Quickening his walk, and keeping his eyes fixed on the exit, Rob answered the phone.

“Rob. Hi!” It was Dave
“What do you want?”
“Have you left work?”
“I was on my way out when you rang. What do you want I’m in a rush?”
“I need a favour.”

Pause.

“I need a lift home.” Dave’s voice was meek.
“Okay what night?”
“Tonight you idiot. The boss is letting me out at half four but Lisa has the car so I’m stuck on the bus.”
“I haven’t got time. I’ve got to go the bank on the way home.”
“C’mon be a mate. The bus isn’t till five o’clock so I’ll never make kick-off without a lift.”
Pause.
“Okay.” Said Rob, “But be ready to leave on time.”

It would take twenty minutes for Rob to reach where Dave worked so the bank would have to wait till the weekend. As he opened the car door Rob mentally adjusted his timetable.

16:30 Dave’s building
16:50 Dave’s house
17:00 Chippy

Still fine.

There was a traffic jam. It snaked from one end of the high street right down to the other. Road works had closed off one lane for about thirty yards so traffic lights had been erected to create a contra-flow. Rob cursed and swore as he sat taping his fingers on the steering wheel. His phone rang again.

“Rob? It’s Dave, where are you?” There was almost a sense of panic in the voice.
“I’m stuck in traffic. Probably for the best if you start walking towards the High Street and I’ll pick you up as I pass by.”

Rob looked in the rear view mirror at the driver sat behind and recognised the look in her eyes. Tension hung in the air. It wasn’t just the roadworks. It wasn’t just the fact people were going to be late getting home from work. It was the fact the roadworks were making people late getting home for the most important game of football in over ten years.

A tap on the passenger side window startled Rob. The large, round, face of Dave peered through the glass. Rob indicated the door was unlocked; Dave nodded and let himself into the car.

“Cheers mate. What time is it?” he said.
“About quarter to five.” Rob mentally struck the trip to the chippy of his list, “Still got time, just.”
“Put the radio on so we can listen to the build-up.”
“I can’t. Someone broke the aerial off and all I can pick up now is Radio Three and I don’t fancy sitting here listening to Beethoven.”
“Excited?”
“Let’s think about it.” Rob turned to look at Dave, “It’s the World Cup. It’s the semi-final. England are playing Germany. Yeah I’d say I’m excited.

Dave turned to look directly out the window. He knew Rob’s sarcastic voice well enough to avoid engaging him further in conversation. For two minutes they sat in silence whilst the queue of traffic moved three yards. Eventually Dave decided to speak again.

“Makes you feel patriotic doesn’t? The football I mean.”
“I guess so. It makes me think of St George slaying the dragon or Winston Churchill giving a victory speech.”
“Or Bobby Moore holding up the trophy.”
“Or Warrington Council holding up the traffic. What were they thinking?”

The car in front began to move. With a minor sense of optimism Rob gently let his car motor forward. Five second later the car in front stopped again and Rob did the same.

“Look,” said Rob, “we aren’t going to make it to your house and my house before kick-off. Do you want to watch the game at mine then get Lisa to pick you up after the game? I’ve got a few cans in the fridge.”
“Yeah that’s fine. I’d rather be watching the game with you than sat in an empty house anyway.”
“Great. That also means we can cut down the street here.”

Rob pointed to his left at the entrance to the side street, which was parallel to the car, then turned left into it. For thirty glorious seconds they were travelling. Their destination no longer seemed so far away. Then they saw the blockage.

It was a concrete slab right in the middle of the street. It could only have fallen off a lorry that was using the street as cut through just as Rob and Dave were. Being charitable Rob thought maybe the driver hadn’t realised it had fallen off. The cynical side to him thought the driver new very well it had fallen off but was in a rush to make the England game so had kept going.

Dave slapped the palm of his hand against the dashboard and released an expletive. Rob just looked at the slab. Willing it to dissolve through the power of his hard stare. When it refused to disappear he too let out an expletive.

It was England. It was Germany. It was the World Cup semi-final and Rob was dammed if he was going to miss it because of a concrete slab.

“Come on.” Rob released his seatbelt.
‘Where are we going?” Dave did the same.
“Were going to shift that bugger.”

The two men stood, one either side of the slab. The each grabbed their end of it, nodded to each other, and lifted. Or rather tried to lift. The slab was too heavy. Rob released another expletive and kicked the concrete.

“Did that hurt?”
“Yes.”
A horn beeped and both Rob and Dave turned to see a minibus has stopped behind their car. The driver was indicating they should move their vehicle. His method of indicating this was to wave his arms wildly. Dave noticed the glimmer in Rob’s eye.

“I’ll talk to them.” he sad to Rob and moved towards the minibus. Upon reaching it he noticed the driver eyes had a similar glimmer to Rob.
“What are playing at?” the driver pushed his head out of the open window, “We’re trying to get home and you just stop in the middle of the road?”
“There’s something blocking us. It’s some kind of concrete slab but it’s too heavy for us to lift.”
“Right. Let’s have a look. Come on lads.”

The back door of the minibus opened and six men got out. Six men wearing luminous worker’s jackets and a variety of protective headgear. Six men who had clearly been working on the road works that blocked traffic this evening.

Rob noticed who they were too. He wanted to say something to them about the road works but discrete valour and the overwhelming desire to make kick-off made him suppress it

“Bloody cowboys, dumping this then running off.” the driver pointed at the slab, “We’ll soon have it shifted.”

He nodded at the other six workers and all nine of them gripped a piece of the concrete. On the count of three they all tensed their arms and prepared to lift.

Rob, his arms trembling from the weight, could feel the block rise off the ground. Only by millimetres but even this tiny uplift boosted his hopes that he and Dave would make the start of the game. Then he felt the concrete slip out of his hands and it landed back on the ground.

“This is your bloody fault!” Rob pointed at the workmen, “If you hadn’t been doing those bloody road words none of us would be here right now.”
“Now hang on a minute.” The minibus driver’s shoulders seemed to broaden as he spoke, “You think any of us wanted to be digging up that road? Do you think we wanted to miss the start of the game ourselves? It’s England verses German in the World Cup Semi-Final and if I had my way these lads would have knocked off at lunchtime and we’d all be in a pub by now.”
“I’m sure Rob didn’t mean it.” Said Dave, trying to defuse things, “He’s just letting off steam. It’s a tense moment for all of us.”
“Well he should watch what he says. At this rate I’ll be finding out the result in the papers tomorrow.”
“Look,” said Rob, “I’m sorry. I just want to get home that’s all. I only live two streets away.”
“You’re lucky then. Us lads have got at least an half-hour drive in front of us yet.”
There was a general murmur of agreement from the other workmen.
“Really?” asked Dave, “That’s too bad. Look if we get this shifted you can watch the game at Rob’s with me. That’s alright isn’t it Rob?”

Rob was trapped. He didn’t want six complete strangers in his house. But equally he wanted to get home in the next five minutes.

“Sure.” He replied, “I’ve even got some beers in.”
“Now were talking. Right lads let’s put our backs into this.” The driver bent down to grip the block again, the other workers followed.

“For kick-off!” The driver gripped the block.
“For beer!” The workers gripped the block as one.

Rob and Dave both gripped the block as well. Again it lifted slightly off the ground but as before Rob could feel it slipping from his hands.

“For England!” he shouted
“For England!” Everyone shouted in unison and lifted the block to waist height. As quickly as they dared they shuffled to the pavement and then lowered the block onto the ground again.

The nine of them stood smiling. They had achieved a wonderful thing together and their reward awaited them. By Rob’s watch, the time was twenty-five minutes past the hour. They were going to make it.