GB84

by David Peace

  Neil Fontaine tears out two small stories from the inside pages –

  He puts them in his pocket. He saves them for later.

  The War Cabinet dissolves. The Jew comes out of Downing Street.

  Neil Fontaine holds open the door.

  The Jew gets in the back. He says, ‘The Club please, Neil.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  Neil Fontaine drives to the Carlton Club. He opens the back door for the Jew.

  The Jew looks at his watch. He says, ‘Three o’clock please, Neil.’

  ‘Certainly, sir.’

  Neil Fontaine leaves the car close to the Club and walks along to Charing Cross. Neil spots Roger Vaughan. Roger spots Neil Fontaine. Neil follows Roger Vaughan down the Strand. Roger turns left down a small alley Neil Fontaine is right behind him. Roger Vaughan goes into the pub. Neil sits down at a table in the corner. Roger orders the drinks. Neil Fontaine lights a cigarette. Roger Vaughan brings over two drinks –

  Fresh orange for Neil, double Scotch for Roger.

  Roger Vaughan sits down –

  Roger runs Jupiter Securities for Jerry. Jerry is worried about Neil. Neil must meet Roger –

  Roger smiles. Roger says, ‘Well?’

  ‘It’s in hand,’ says Neil Fontaine.

  Roger stops smiling. Roger says, ‘Been quite a flap upstairs. You know that?’

  ‘These are difficult times for all of us,’ says Neil. ‘Bad times.’

  Roger shakes his head. Roger says, ‘Not a good time to screw up. For any of us.’

  ‘They didn’t find anything,’ says Neil. ‘Johnson would have said.’

  Roger sips his drink. Roger says, ‘Just a question of their silence then, isn’t it?’

  Neil takes out the envelope. He puts it down between the two drinks. He says, ‘He asked me to give you this.’

  Roger picks it up. He opens it. He looks inside. He puts it down. Roger laughs. ‘How very trusting. Really believes he can just walk away, doesn’t he?’

  ‘Hand in hand,’ says Neil. ‘Into the sunset.’

  Roger finishes his drink. Roger says, ‘Love will always let you down.’

  Neil pushes his drink away. Neil waits.

  Roger stands up. Roger asks, ‘How is dear Jennifer these days?’

  ‘Hungry,’ says Neil.

  Roger puts a hand on Neil’s shoulder. Roger says, ‘Always lets you down, Neil.’

  *

  The President stood up behind his desk. Stood up in front of the huge portrait of himself. He walked round to where Terry was sitting. Handed Terry a tissue, hand on his shoulder. The President said, ‘People make mistakes, Comrade. It’s what makes them human.’

  Terry blew his nose. Terry dried his eyes.

  ‘I believe you had the best interests of the movement in your heart, Comrade.’

  Terry sniffed. Terry nodded.

  ‘This time you are forgiven, Comrade.’

  Terry stood up. Terry said, ‘Thank you, President. Thank you. Thank you –’

  The President walked back behind his desk. Back in front of the portrait.

  Len held open the door for Terry –

  ‘Thank you,’ said Terry again. Terry went downstairs for his coat –

  Terry Winters knew he was on a short leash.

  Terry got his coat. Terry took the lift down to the foyer –

  They were waiting for him.

  Terry sat in the back of the car between the President and Paul –

  Joan up front with Len.

  They drove to Mansfield. They parked near the Area HQ. They parted the crowd –

  No one said a word.

  They went inside. They walked through the room. They sat at the top table –

  Ray spoke. Ray said, ‘Get off your knees –’

  Henry spoke. Henry said, ‘You are mice, not men –’

  Paul spoke. Paul said, ‘You are on strike officially –’

  Then the President spoke to them. The President scolded them. The President shouted, ‘YOU DO NOT CROSS PICKET LINES!’

  They got up from the table. They walked through the room –

  There was no standing ovation. No applause. No songs. No autographs. Not here.

  A man got up from his seat. A man rushed forward –

  He pushed past Terry. He pushed past Len. He poked the President in the chest. He said, ‘You impose this strike on these members and I’ll take you to court.’

  ‘Sit down, Fred,’ said Henry. ‘Making a bloody fool of yourself.’

  The President looked at the finger on his chest. He looked up into the man’s face. The President smiled. He said, ‘See you in court then, Comrade.’

  *

  The helicopter is in the shop. The Jew needs Neil to drive him down to his Suffolk pile; Colditz, as it’s known to everyone who has ever been there. Everyone but the Jew –

  Neil Fontaine knocks once on the door of the Jew’s fourth-floor suite at Claridge’s. Neil steps inside. The Jew is on the phone in the middle of a dark sea of maps and plans. He is saying, ‘She fears a cave-in on Nottingham’s part. Fears he has the initiative …’

  Neil Fontaine gathers up the maps and the plans. He puts them in the briefcase.

  The Jew hangs up. He looks at Neil. He shakes his head.

  Neil Fontaine hands the Jew a file. He says, ‘Spot of reading for the journey, sir.’

  The Jew opens the file. He scans the cuttings. He arches an eyebrow. He smiles. He says, ‘Why, thank you, Neil.’

  Neil Fontaine takes the briefcase and a small overnight bag down to the Mercedes.

  They set off for Colditz.

  The Jew reads the cuttings aloud. The Jew strokes his moustache. The Jew smiles. He lowers the partition ten miles out of London. He is excited. He can see possibilities. He says, ‘Interesting, Neil. Perhaps you should pay a personal visit to these people. These places. Assess the potential. The possibilities –’

  Neil Fontaine nods. He says, ‘Certainly, sir.’

  The cunt sits down. The cunt hands him a folded copy of today’s Times.

  The Mechanic opens it. There is an envelope inside. He opens it –

  There is a Polaroid inside; Jen sat on a chair holding the same paper.

  The Mechanic stares at the photo.

  Cunt lights a cigarette. Cunt inhales.

  The Mechanic puts the photo in his pocket. He says, ‘Where is she?’

  Cunt exhales. Cunt shakes his head.

  ‘Did you tell them what I said?’

  Cunt nods.

  ‘What did they say?’

  Cunt holds up two fingers. Cunt says, ‘One down. Two to go.’

  ‘I fucking told you, I don’t have the diary. It wasn’t there.’

  Cunt stubs out the cigarette. Cunt says, ‘I’ll tell them what you said.’

  The Mechanic takes out the key. ‘I found Schaub. Now I want my wife back.’

  Cunt shakes his head again. Cunt holds up two fingers again.

  The Mechanic drops the key onto the table. ‘I want her back, Neil.’

  Cunt picks up the key. Cunt stares at it.

  ‘I love her,’ says the Mechanic. ‘I always have and I always will.’

  Neil Fontaine shakes his head. Holds up two fingers. For the last time.

  The Jew asked for a list from the Chairman of the National Coal Board. The Chairman approached the Home Secretary. The Home Secretary gave the list to the Chairman. The Chairman handed the list over to the Jew. The Jew passed the list on to Neil Fontaine –

  Neil Fontaine likes lists. Neil keeps lists. He loves lists:

  Lists of lawyers. Lawyers who might help miners. Miners who might help –

  Neil Fontaine parks on Ripley high street. Neil Fontaine opens the door for Fred. Fred Wallace gets out of the car with his armful of books and papers. Neil Fontaine and Fred Wallace walk into Reid & Taylor. They have an appointment to see Dominic Reid. Fred Wallace is nervous. He is not sure this is the right thing –

 
In his heart.

  Neil Fontaine is worried too. He is not sure these are the right men for the job.

  Dominic Reid comes out to greet them. His hand out. He is young. Perspiring. Neil Fontaine rechecks his list. They go through into the office. They sit down.

  ‘Mr Reid,’ says Neil Fontaine. ‘This is Fred Wallace. Fred Wallace is a miner. He works at Pye Hill Colliery. Or at least he’d like to work. As I’m sure you’re aware, Fred and the majority of his Nottinghamshire colleagues voted to reject strike action in support of the Yorkshire miners –

  ‘However, the leaders of the Nottinghamshire Area NUM have gone against the wishes of their members. The leaders have declared the area to be officially on strike. They have instructed the membership not to cross picket lines –

  ‘Fred has just one simple question for you,’ says Neil. ‘Haven’t you, Fred?’

  Fred Wallace nods. Fred Wallace asks the young lawyer, ‘Is this strictly legal?’

  Martin

  The sky. The cliffs. The sea – Never go home again. Never again. Day 56. Back to reality. Pete called when Cath was at shops – I can’t sit at home. Hide in garden. He knows that. Knows I’ve bloody tried. Even rang redundancy hot line. Told Cath I’d see what they had to say. But I can’t do it. Daren’t tell her I’m going back on tour – Arthur’s Army. Break her heart again – But when I’m here, I wish I was there. When I’m there, I wish I was back here – Fuck. Know where I am today, though – This was always going to be bad. Notts Area are meeting in Mansfield. NCB have given all scabs day off – Full pay with coaches laid on to make sure they show up and let Chadburn and Richardson know they want to scab on. Fucking wankers. Sheffield isn’t having any of this. Lads are to go in – Send scabs back where they come from. That’s plan. Everyone knows it. Press know it. TV know it – Police fucking know it. Get as far as Pleasley. Far as anyone is going today. Thousands of lads standing about. Milling around. Police fucking everywhere. On foot. In cars. Vans. Coaches. Helicopters. Even got a fucking plane up there. Bloody works. Letting everyone know they’re here too. Giving it out to anyone who tries to get into centre of Mansfield. Few lads go down old railway line. Police set dogs on them. Lads throw stones. Police crack heads. Rest of us just stood about. Milling – Top men from Union arguing with this Inspector. Waste of bloody breath as usual. They’ve got their orders for today. No miners in Mansfield – Only scabs. Scabs with their Adolf Scargill placards. Scabs singing, We’re off to work tomorrow. MacGregor’s mates on their NCB coaches with their thirty pieces of bloody silver in their deep fucking pockets. Proud of themselves and all – Scum. Day 57. Feels different now. Big change. Tempo and tempers rising. Fucking Creswell again. Scabs just walking in. Bold as fucking brass. No shame. There’s a big push – Hard. Bloody. Knuckle. Police charging us – Hard. Bloody. Leather. Boots coming from all over. Men run – Scatter. Out of breath. This way and that. I follow Pete over a fence. Through a hedge. Onto cricket pitch. Police on our heels. Across pitch. Some lads hiding in pavilion. Police steam straight in. Haul them out. One lad on floor. Six of them and one of him. Skin exposed. Police dishing out leather – Gloves. Truncheons. Boots – Pete goes back over. I follow him. Lad on pitch isn’t moving. Police still dishing it out. Pete picks up one of deckchairs. I do same. Pete charges coppers. I do same. Pete’s chair breaks over one copper’s back. I throw mine. They turn on us – We run. They chase us – We run. Over fence – We run. Hedge – We run. Onto road – We run. Keith’s car coming up lane – Pete and me waving. Keith pulls up – We get in. Police spitting – Shaking their fists. Keith foot down – Shitting bricks again. Day 63. No fucking end in sight. Folk have gone through their savings now. Them that had any. Holidays cancelled. Stuff taken back to shops – Nothing from social. Nothing from union – Lot of muttering. Pete calls us to order. Tries to – I don’t give a monkey’s what panel says, shouts Keith. Bloody waste of our time. We’re getting nowhere, says Tom. Nowhere but nicked, shouts someone from back. Power stations, says Keith. It’s only way. Talking rubbish, someone else says. It’s all bloody bollocks, says another. They got fucking mountains piled up. Keith turns round. Let’s hear your suggestion then, he says. Pete’s got his hands out in front of him. You’re in T-shirts yourselves, he says. I stand up. I say, What about British Steel? Scunthorpe? They’re taking piss. They keep asking for more coke. They don’t need it. Mate of mine who works at Anchor, he says it’s a con. Keith and John nod. Room nods. How is it a con? asks Pete. Lad told us, you don’t keep a furnace ticking over. Doesn’t work like that. When they were all out, they just bunged it full of coke and shut top. Let in as little air as possible. He reckons it lasts for months like that. Room shakes their heads. Shooting ourselves in bloody foot, someone says again. It’s our fucking coal they need. Us and Cortonwood. Picket them, less reason to buy it from us in first place. Good luck to them, shouts a bloke from back. Three years ago we were voting to

  The Ninth Week

  Monday 30 April – Sunday 6 May 1984

  Wait. Wake. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t. Wake. Wait. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t. Wait. Wake. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t –

  The record on the stereo. The money on the table. The Polaroid in his hand.

  Wake. Wait. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t. Wait. Wake. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t –

  The Mechanic switches off the stereo. The Mechanic counts the money again.

  Wake. Wait. Can’t. Sleep. Can’t –

  It’s not enough.

  Wake. Wait. Can’t –

  The Mechanic stares at the money. The Mechanic stares at the Polaroid.

  Fuck them. Fuck them all –

  The Mechanic picks up the phone. The Mechanic calls Dixon –

  Paul Dixon laughs down the line. Paul Dixon says, ‘Well, well, well –’

  Hands holding the receiver –

  ‘Look who’s come crawling back to his Uncle Paul.’

  Tight –

  ‘How the mighty have fucking fallen.’

  Upstairs downstairs. In one minute. Out the next. In, out. In, out. They shook Terry all about. This way. That way. Here. There. And everywhere –

  Rally. Rally. Rally. Meeting. Meeting. Meeting –

  Speech. Speech. Speech. Talk. Talk. Talk –

  The Chairman said one thing. The President said another –

  Forever reacting. Never acting –

  The Chairman said the strike could be defeated with the support of Nottingham. The President said the strike could be won without the support of Nottingham –

  You say hello. I say goodbye –

  Goodbye, goodbye, goodbye –

  Terry slipped his leash. Terry had his own plans.

  Terry drove straight down from Sheffield. Clive Cook down from Barnsley. Desmond Toole straight up from Kent. Gareth Thomas up from Cardiff –

  They met in the Leicester Forest Service Station.

  Terry was early. Desmond on the dot. Clive late –

  Gareth pissed off. Tired from the drive. He hated all this cloak-and-dagger shit.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ said Terry. ‘The President insists we take the utmost precautions.’

  Gareth pushed his tea away. Gareth said, ‘They want damages.’

  ‘How big are these firms?’ asked Desmond.

  Gareth shook his head. Gareth said, ‘Not big at all. Ten wagons at most.’

  ‘What about their lawyers?’ asked Terry.

  ‘Local,’ said Gareth. ‘From Neath.’

  ‘How much they after?’ asked Clive.

  Gareth looked at Terry. Gareth said, ‘Fifty grand.’

  ‘It’ll be contempt if you picket again,’ said Desmond.

  ‘Then sequestration,’ said Clive.

  Gareth nodded. Gareth tapped the table. Gareth looked at Terry again –

  Terry stared back at him. Terry said, ‘Did you do the things I asked, Comrade?’

  Gareth nodded again.

  Terry looked across the table at Clive and Desmond. Terry said, ‘Comrades?’


  Desmond Toole nodded. Clive Cook bit his nail –

  Bit his nail and said, ‘You know I fucking did.’

  These men are hard. Think they are –

  Territorials. Reserves.

  These men have debts. Think they have –

  Southern Nazis. London hooligans.

  These men stare at the walls. The briefing-room walls –

  The OS maps. The aerial photographs.

  These men read the words on the wall –

  Internal Defence and Development. Stability Operations.

  These men sit. These men wait.

  The side door opens. The Brass step inside. Dressed in black. Their hair cropped. The Brass walk to the front of the room. Put their leather cases on the table next to the OHP. The Brass take out their files. Three big pens. Markers. The Brass turn to the board behind them. The Brass write down two words –

  Counter Insurgency.

  The Brass replace their pen tops. The Brass look up at these men before them –

  These hard men. These men with debts.

  The Brass look from these men to this one man at the back –

  This one hard man. This man with debts. David Johnson –

  The Mechanic.

  ‘Welcome home, soldier,’ say the Brass. ‘Welcome home.’

  Neil Fontaine is at the bridgehead; the Mansfield HQ of the Nottinghamshire Area NUM. The Prime Minister has taken up the Jew’s suggestion. The Minister for Energy has taken up the Prime Minister’s suggestion: the Board has taken up the Minister’s suggestion. The Board has given every miner in Nottinghamshire the day off with full pay and a bus ticket into town on an NCB coach for a demonstration –

  A Right to Work demonstration.

  Miners from Derbyshire and Yorkshire who planned a counter-demonstration have been turned back in their thousands at the roadblocks on the borders –

  The scabs have had a police escort. There are seven thousand of them here –

  Just two thousand strikers penned in on the sports field behind the HQ –