by David Peace
Neil Fontaine nods. He keeps his eyes on the motorway.
‘Nottinghamshire, Derbyshire, Lancashire, Leicestershire – these are the places where we shall win this war.’
The Mercedes leaves the M1 at Junction 21.
‘These are our people, Neil. These are their places.’
Neil Fontaine follows the police cars to the Brant Inn at Groby. He parks among the TV vans and the Transit vans. He opens the back door for the Jew.
The Jew gets out of the car. The Jew takes off his aviator sunglasses. He says, ‘What a charming little place, Neil.’
Neil Fontaine nods. He holds open the saloon door of the Brant Inn –
The room is packed with Union Moderates and police, TV crews and reporters –
Lights. Cameras. Action:
‘My name is Stephen Sweet,’ shouts the Jew. ‘I am here to help.’
*
The court had adjourned for the day. The President to his fortieth-floor flat in the Barbican with Len and the ladies. The rest of them back to their rooms at the County. They were all watching the news on the telly in Terry’s room. They were all laughing at the sight of the Union Right –
‘Some bloody secret meeting,’ roared Paul. ‘Look on Sam’s fucking face, eh?’
‘Couldn’t organize a piss-up in a brewery, that lot,’ said Mike.
‘Talking of breweries,’ winked Dick. ‘We’re wasting valuable drinking time.’
Terry switched off the telly. Terry stubbed out their cigarettes again.
They all went down to the Crown & Anchor for old times’ sake.
Dick drank pints of half-and-half and told the stories –
Drunken stories from different times.
Industrial and labour correspondents in and out all night –
Just like in the old days. Different days.
Terry sat in the corner with his vodka and tonic and paid for their drinks. Tomorrow the President would ask him what they had done last night –
The President would smell it on them and Terry would tell him.
The Mechanic sleeps with the curtains open. The dogs in the garden. He watches the news five times a day. Buys every different paper they have. He cuts out the stories. Sticks them in a scrapbook. He phones Jen at her sister’s. Every hour. On the hour –
The Mechanic is waiting for their call –
The call comes. The voice says, ‘You owe us.’
‘Like fuck I do.’
‘Really?’ says the voice. ‘Well you’ve got four grand of our money and we’ve got a front-page murder that’s costing us a further five grand a day to clean up. Now does that sound fair to you, Dave? Does it? Really?’
‘I warned you about Schaub,’ the Mechanic says. ‘Only got yourselves to blame.’
‘Not quite,’ says the voice. ‘We can think of three or four other people.’
‘Are you threatening me?’
‘Dave,’ says the voice. ‘If we were threatening you, you’d be tied up watching us feed your dogs’ cocks to your wife –’
‘Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.’
‘Finished?’ asks the voice. ‘Now listen –’
The Mechanic hangs up.
The President had not come to ask for help. He did not want help. He did not need help. The President had not come to beg. He did not want charity. He did not need charity. The President had come only to hold them to their word. To have them keep their promises. Honour their pledges. The President had come only to collect. To collect what was his –
From the steel men. The lorry drivers. The railwaymen. The seamen –
The promise and the pledge to cease all movement of coal –
By road. By rail. By sea –
To cut off the power stations. To shut down the steel works –
The whole country.
This was what he had come to collect and the President meant to collect it.
The Union took over the TGWU. They ordered tea. They ordered sandwiches. They listened to the report. The daily update:
Thirty-five out of one hundred and seventy-six pits still working; tailbacks on the M1 and A1 as pickets took revenge on the roadblocks; fresh trouble at Coal House; arrests at three-hundred-plus.
The President was in his court suit again. The President was impatient –
‘This case is going to go on for ever,’ he said.
‘But we knew this,’ said Paul.
‘For ever!’ he shouted. ‘While the Right are up there plotting and scheming.’
‘You’re taking on too much,’ said Dick.
‘Ballot. Ballot. Ballot,’ said the President. ‘That’s all I ever hear.’
‘We shouldn’t be down here,’ said Paul. ‘We should be up where the fight is.’
‘We’ve been set up,’ whispered the President. ‘Set up.’
‘Let me take care of the pension problem,’ said Terry.
The President looked up at Terry Winters. The President smiled at Terry. He said, ‘Thank you, Comrade.’
There was a knock at the door. One of the President’s ladies came in. Alice said, ‘They’re waiting for us.’
‘No,’ laughed the President as he rose to his feet. ‘We’re waiting for them –
‘Waiting for their unconditional support; for the movement of all coal in the British Isles to be blacked –
‘Then we cannot lose,’ said the President.
Everybody nodded –
Kiss me.
‘Not one single piece of coal will move in the whole country without our say so. We will picket out every pit. We will close down every power station and steelworks.’
Everybody nodded –
Kiss me in the shadows.
‘We will bring the government to its knees. We will make her beg.’
Everybody nodded –
Kiss me, Diane.
‘We cannot lose,’ said the President again. ‘We will not lose! We shall not lose!’
Everybody stood up. Everybody applauded –
Kiss me in the shadows –
Everybody followed the President. Down the corridor. Down to business –
Kiss me in the shadows of my heart –
To victory.
*
Neil Fontaine leaves the Jew in his suite at Claridge’s. He drives back to Bloomsbury. Back to his single room at the County. Neil Fontaine hasn’t been here in almost a week. He checks his mail. His messages –
Just the one.
Neil Fontaine goes up to his room on the sixth floor. The door with the extra lock. He takes off his shirt. He washes his hands and face in the sink. He puts on a clean shirt. He opens the wardrobe. There is a blazer in a polythene bag –
Just the one.
Neil Fontaine puts on the blazer. He locks the two locks. He goes down the stairs. He walks past the bar and out into the night. He takes a cab to the Special Services Club. Neil Fontaine hasn’t been here in almost a year –
‘Really?’ asks Jerry Witherspoon. ‘Has it been that long?’
‘Election night,’ nods Neil.
‘Night to remember and all that,’ smiles Jerry –
Jerry pushes away his dessert. Jerry lights a cigar. Jerry smokes in silence –
Jerry knows people upstairs. Upstairs pass jobs down to Jerry. Jerry owns Jupiter. Jupiter Securities pass the jobs down to Neil. Neil takes on the jobs –
The little jobs. The sudden jobs. The cut-out jobs –
Neil knows people downstairs. People under the stairs. Under the floorboards.
Jerry finishes his cigar. Jerry pushes away the ashtray. Jerry leans forward –
‘Bit of a night to forget in Shrewsbury by all accounts,’ says Jerry.
Neil Fontaine waits.
Jerry lifts up his napkin. Jerry pushes an envelope across the tablecloth –
Just the one.
Neil Fontaine takes the envelope. Neil Fontaine stands up –
Jerry smiles. He says, ‘Don’t let one lapse in judgemen
t become a habit, Neil.’
Neil Fontaine takes a taxi back to Bloomsbury. He walks down towards Euston. He goes into St Pancras. He sits in the pew. He bows his head. He says a little prayer –
Just the one –
Bring her back.
*
It was April Fool’s Day and it was snowing outside. Terry Winters lay in the double bed. He could smell Sunday lunch. He could hear the kids fighting. The little tempers rising. The little fists flying. The President had been fuming too. The President had been raging. The Iron and Steel Trades Confederation had very predictably denied him. Betrayed him! The President demanded revenge. The President would be on Weekend World again today. The President would let the whole world know what he thought of those who would deny him. Those who would betray him, his members and their families. Judases. Terry turned over in the double bed. He looked at his briefcase with the broken strap. The one he never used now. The papers piled up on the dressing table. Terry got out of the bed. It was cold. He put on his slippers. His dressing-gown. He went across to the bathroom. His cock was sore when he pissed. He flushed the toilet. He washed his hands. His face. His hands again. Terry went back onto the landing. He switched on the light. He pulled down the ladder to the loft. He climbed up the ladder. He looked into the loft –
The two suitcases standing in the shadows –
Kiss me.
Insurance. April Fool’s Day, 1984.
Martin
You heard. You can’t do this, says Cath. We’re going over to my sister’s. Not today, love, you’re not. Why not? says Cath. Why can’t we? I have reason to believe that you’re liable to cause a breach of the peace. You can’t do this, says Cath again. Turn your vehicle around or you’ll be arrested. I start car. Martin, she says. He can’t do this. I say, Yes he can. Yes, he bloody can – We warmed your houses. Your kitchens and your beds – Day 30. They think they’re being clever. Well, so do we. Don’t tell Cath what I’m up to. I sit in dark with curtains open. Van pulls up about four. Builder’s sign on side. Ladders on roof. They give me a pair of overalls. Off we set. Back roads all way. Get into Mansfield with time to kill. Park up down a side-street. Sit in back. Quiet as mice, we are. Half-eight CB wakes us up. Take off our overalls. Jump out back of van. Follow Pete to Notts HQ. Come round corner, see we aren’t alone. About five hundred of us, all told. Fair few of them and all. And police. Krk-krk. Their delegates are making their way inside. We start up – Judas. Traitor. Scab. Judas. Traitor. Scab. Judas. Traitor. Scab – Five hours it goes on. Then word comes out: hundred and eighty-six to seventy-two against. Wankers. They’d let a train driver be sent home for respecting an NUM picket line. They’d let a train driver be suspended for respecting an NUM picket line. They’d let a train driver be sacked for respecting an NUM picket line – NUM picket lines they cross with not a second thought for anything but brass in their own pockets. Fucking wankers. Get back to van and they’ve done every bloody tyre, haven’t they. Stanley knife. Left us a Polaroid photograph of front of van and registration number under windscreen wipers. Smile. Pete’s name, address and telephone number on back in black pen. He just shakes his head. Calls a local garage. They send a tow truck. Half-nine by time I get home. Cath’s already in bed. Thank Christ – We drove your dreams. Your cities and your empires – Day 31. Nottingham again. Silverhill for a change. Just outside Sutton in Ashfield. Geoff shows his face. Take two other lads with us in his car. Tim and Gary. Stay on A61 past Chesterfield, out of Nottinghamshire. Park up on Derbyshire side. Walk to pit through farms and fields. Proud of ourselves. There’s six blokes stood at gate as we come up to Lane. We’re still on public footpath. From distance they look like they’re our lads. They’re not though – They’re fucking plainclothes. We get to end of footpath. What you up to, lads? they ask us. I say, We’re having a walk on a public footpath. Go any further and I’ll arrest you, says one. I say, For what? Behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace. I say, Look, we just want to go over and stand by gate and talk to them that’ll stop. If you step off this path, he says, I’ll arrest you. I say, All right, you come and stand with us at gate. I’ve told you once, he says, I’ll arrest you. I say, But we’ve got a right to go and stand over there and tell people our opinion. Not going to stop anyone who doesn’t want to stop. But we have rights too. I’ve told you, he says. Now fuck off. Geoff walks past them onto road. Fuck this, says Geoff. Arrest him, says copper. Another plainclothes goes up to Geoff. What’s your name and address? Geoff Brine, says Geoff Brine. From Todwick. I’m arresting you then, Mr Brine, for obstructing me in the course of my duty, says plainclothes. What? Geoff laughs. Plainclothes puts his hand on Geoff’s shoulder. You heard. Geoff shrugs off man’s hand. There’s no need for that, says Geoff. Which van you want me in? Plainclothes points down road. That one, he says. This Inspector comes over. What’s going on here? he asks. They tell him. He looks at other three of us. Take them all, he says. I say, What? Obstruction, says Inspector. Day 32. Mansfield Nick. There’s a funnel of coppers from van to station. They’re taking photos of us. Smile. I keep my head down. Get that bastard’s head up, says biggest one of them. They can’t. Pull his hair, he says. They pull my hair. I keep my head down. Grab his nose. They put their fingers up my nostrils. I move my head from side to side. Right, you bastard, says big one. He punches me in face. Top of my nose. Between my eyes. Tears come. They put my head in an arm lock. Force my head
The Fifth Week
Monday 2 – Sunday 8 April 1984
The committee breaks up. The Jew comes out of Downing Street. Neil Fontaine opens the back door of the Mercedes for him. The Jew gets in. He picks up the car phone.
Neil Fontaine drives across the Thames. The Jew is still on the phone –
‘Play it long and cool, then pay them off. No common cause. No second front.’
The Jew is talking trains. The Central Electricity Generating Board. Deals –
Deals, deals, deals –
Deals and secrets –
Secrets, secrets, secrets –
Secrets and deals.
Neil Fontaine spots the man sitting on a bench up ahead. The man is wearing a blue belted raincoat. He is reading the Financial Times.
Neil Fontaine pulls up in the shadows of Battersea Power Station. He leaves the Jew sat in the back of the car. He walks towards the bench. The man looks up from his newspaper –
Neil Fontaine remembers his lines. He asks, ‘What kind of dog have you lost?’
The man remembers his. He replies in a foreign accent, ‘A Yorkshire terrier.’
Neil Fontaine nods. The man stands up. They walk in silence over to the car.
Neil Fontaine opens the back door of the Mercedes. The man gets in.
The Jew moves over. The Jew says, ‘Join us.’
Neil Fontaine drives back across the Thames. The Jew practises a little Polish. The man in the back whispers in English. The Jew closes the partition with his driver –
Neil Fontaine switches on the radio. He can hear every word.
*
The Mechanic goes to work. He opens the garage up. Puts the radio on. Gets changed. The Mechanic drinks a cup of coffee. He works on the Allegro. Finishes it. Calls the owner. The Mechanic has another cup of coffee. He works on the Capri. Gearbox. MOT next week. The Mechanic doesn’t have the part. He goes home. Lets the dogs out. Puts a can of soup on. The Mechanic makes a sandwich. He eats lunch. Watches The One o’Clock News. Reads the paper. The Mechanic washes up. He goes into Wetherby for the part. Back at the garage for half-two. Finishes the Capri. The Mechanic starts on the Lancia. He stops at half-six. Gets changed. Locks the garage up. The Mechanic goes home –
It is a war of nerves.
Jen is asleep. The dogs in the garden. The Mechanic goes into the lounge. He puts a record on low. Sade again. The Mechanic pours a brandy. He sits on the sofa in the dark. The curtains open. Just the lights on the stereo. The Mechanic watches them rise and fall through the brandy in the glass. He has got
ten grand in the bank. This house paid off. The garage ticking over –
The Mechanic thinks about things. Thinks about the things he has done –
The supermarkets. The post offices. The Mechanic opens his eyes. He looks up –
‘Penny for your thoughts,’ says Jen –
She is stood in the doorway in one of his T-shirts. She is beautiful.
‘They’re not worth it,’ the Mechanic tells her –
It is a war of nerves and there will be casualties.
The Jew is beaming. He says, ‘You know, Neil, I practically wrote that speech for her.’
Neil Fontaine keeps his eyes on the A616.
The Jew is repeating himself. He says, ‘I believe the police are upholding the law; they are not upholding the government.’
The Mercedes comes to a roadblock outside Creswell. Neil Fontaine pulls over. He winds down the driver’s window –
‘Good morning, sir,’ says the young policeman. He is not local. He is nervous. ‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you the nature of your business in Creswell today.’
‘Don’t be afraid,’ says Neil Fontaine. ‘The man in the back is Mr Stephen Sweet. Mr Sweet is here to meet the Assistant Chief Constable.’
‘Sorry to have inconvenienced you, sir,’ says the policeman.
‘Don’t be sorry, either,’ says Neil Fontaine. ‘You’re just following orders, son.’
Neil Fontaine winds up the window. Neil Fontaine drives into the village –
What’s left of the village –
There are over sixty Transits parked along the main street. Police everywhere. Their dogs barking and snarling at the Mercedes. No civilians on the streets –
Just debris. Rubble. Glass under the tyres of the car –
The village camouflaged in smoke.
Neil Fontaine parks beside a white saloon car outside the church hall. He gets out of the Mercedes. He walks through the police into the hall –
The hand-drawn posters for jumble sales and keep fit, judo and the Boy Scouts.
Another policeman a long way from home stops Neil Fontaine at the door.
