His sudden aggression took Carol by surprise. She gave him a hard look and saw the deep worry lines on his brow and the dark smudges below his eyes. He was looking older, tenser; his fingers were nicotine-stained.
‘It’s affecting your business, isn’t it?’ Carol said quietly.
Vic slumped back into his worn leather chair. ‘Of course it damn well is! Half my business was ferrying men to work at the pits around here, good regular runs. Now it’s gone. I’m relying on holiday tours to Spain. But the problem is no one’s going on holiday around here either. The number of cancellations ...’
His look was despairing as he ran his fingers through his receding hair. Here was a glimpse of the unguarded Victor, Carol thought, the man beneath the confident exterior whom no one normally saw. For a moment she felt sorry for him.
‘Then you know what it’s like for us,’ Carol said gently, perching on the edge of the desk. ‘I really don’t know what we’re going to live on if the strike goes on all summer.’
Vic did not seem to hear her. He was immersed in his own worries.
‘I don’t want to have to lay drivers off,’ he continued, staring at the computer screen, ‘but what else can I do? Things were going so well up until now. Do you know we’d started a property business? Renovating old houses, converting large terraces in Sunderland into flats - that sort of thing. Now all that’s under threat.’ He waved a hand around the room. ‘All this is under threat.’
‘At least Fay has her business,’ Carol pointed out.
Vic snorted. ‘Yes, and a very successful one, as she never stops telling me. But as you know, your sister has extravagant tastes. She spends money as fast as she makes it. Not that I mind, as long as it’s coming in, but this house costs a lot of money and we’ve the girls to educate. We have more to lose than—’
‘Than the miners?’ Carol fizzed with annoyance. She stubbed out her cigarette, her patience at an end. Vic was only concerned for himself as usual. ‘There are people in this village who are likely to lose the very roof over their heads, Vic. People who will have to spend the rest of the year paying off their debts, even if they go back to work tomorrow. You’re worrying about school fees when families down the hill don’t know what they’re going to feed their kids come the end of the week!’
He reached across the desk and grabbed her round the wrist. ‘Then the sooner they stop pratting about and get back to work, the better for all of us,’ he hissed.
Carol tried to pull her hand away, but he kept a tight grip. ‘Let go,’ she told him.
He ignored her, thrusting his face close to hers. ‘Why are you here, Carol? You’ve kept away for such a long time - too long.’
She could smell the stale tobacco on his breath, warm on her face, his beard brushing her skin. She tried to control the panic she felt.
‘I want to contact Pete Fletcher, the journalist,’ Carol answered, leaning away.
This seemed to take him off guard and he loosened his hold in surprise. Carol whipped her hand away and stood back out of his reach.
‘Why?’ he asked in suspicion.
‘The Women’s Group want some publicity. Is he still working in the area?’
Vic withdrew across the desk. ‘He’s freelancing. Doing radio stuff. Living in Newcastle. Doubt he’ll be interested.’
‘But you’ve got his address?’ Carol persisted.
Vic studied her. ‘I could arrange a meeting for you.’
‘Just a phone number would do, thanks,’ Carol answered, knowing his game.
Vic grunted and turned to his computer, tapping at the keyboard until a list of addresses appeared on the screen. He scribbled an address and telephone number down on the multi-coloured pad next to the telephone and tore off the top sheet. Coming round the desk, he waved it at her.
‘Here you are then.’ He smiled at her once more.
She took it quickly. ‘Ta. I’ll be off then,’ and turned to go.
‘You must come again soon.’ Vic slipped in front of her, blocking her escape to the door. ‘Family get-togethers are very dull without you, little sister.’ He put a hand on her shoulder. ‘And any help I can give you, I will. All that talk about the business in difficulty, take it with a pinch of salt. I was just playing for your sympathy.’ He laughed, his self-assured demeanour back in place. ‘I work at home a lot at the moment,’ he said in a low voice full of invitation. ‘We’ve always got on so well, you and I, haven’t we, doll?’
‘You’ll tell Fay I called, won’t you?’ Carol said, feeling her face burn. She tried to step past him. ‘I must go and find Laura.’
But Vic caught her arm. ‘Goodbye kiss then?’ he smiled, and holding her firmly, pressed his mouth over hers.
Carol stiffened as his wet lips sucked at hers, his tongue trying to force its way inside her mouth. For an instant she was stunned and then revulsion engulfed her. She parted her lips and then bit him sharply on the tongue.
Vic howled and recoiled from her. She gave him a push and glared in fury. ‘I’ll not be back here again.’
Vic could not speak as he clutched one hand over his mouth, but with the other he swiped at her as she passed, hitting her face. Her cheek stung with pain, but she did not cry out or hit him back. The look that she gave him was full of disgust and contempt.
‘You’re pathetic, Vic.’ Carol walked calmly to the door, opened it and went out without a backward glance.
Once out of the study, she hurried to the playroom to find Laura, but the room was empty. Rushing downstairs, she saw them playing out in the garden on a new climbing frame. As she stepped outside, she caught their chatter.
‘Will you get one of these for your birthday?’ Ngaio asked.
‘I might be,’ Laura answered excitedly. ‘It’s a surprise.’
‘No, you won’t,’ Jasmine told her brutally. ‘Mummy says Uncle Mick doesn’t have any money, so you won’t be getting anything for your birthday. You’re poor.’
Carol’s stomach churned at the cruel words and she saw Laura’s face fall. She wanted to weep for her daughter, but instead hurried over.
‘Come on, Laura,’ she said briskly. ‘Time to go.’
‘Oh, Mam, I want to stay and play,’ Laura protested.
‘We’re going out shopping soon anyway,’ Jasmine said, ‘so you can’t stay.’
Carol resisted the impulse to retaliate and put out her hands to Laura, lifting her down off the climbing frame and praying she would not make a scene.
‘You can see the girls at your birthday party,’ Carol promised rashly.
Laura’s face lit up. ‘Am I having a party, Mam?’ she cried.
‘Course you are,’ Carol said, cursing her impulsiveness. If Jasmine had not annoyed her so much, she would never have said it.
‘Goody!’ Ngaio squealed, clapping her hands. ‘I like going to your house, Auntie Carol.’
‘Yes, we can make a house under the bed again,’ Laura said in excitement. ‘And have lollipops!’
‘Sounds boring to me,’ Jasmine complained, feeling left out. ‘I like discos better.’
Carol said quickly, ‘We can have a disco too. We’ll borrow some of Auntie Linda’s tapes.’
‘Yeah!’ Laura and Ngaio cried together.
‘And can we have a clown like Ngaio and Jasmine did?’ Laura asked, skipping along at her side.
Carol groaned inwardly. ‘We’ll see.’
‘Yeah, a clown!’ Laura grinned, as if her mother had agreed to the idea.
Carol waved to Mrs Hunt as they passed the kitchen window and marched her daughter smartly down the drive, before she dreamed up any more expensive birthday treats. Then remembering Laura’s perplexed, hurt look at Jasmine’s unkind words, Carol squeezed her hand tighter and determined to give her the best birthday ever.
Chapter Seventeen
Carol looked nervously at the clock. The reporter was fifteen minutes late. Joanne was in the kitchen boiling up the kettle again and Carol could hear Laura and Joanne’s so
n, Mark, jumping off the beds upstairs.
Laura was on a permanent high, thinking about her birthday party the next day. At Lotty’s suggestion, the Women’s Group had decided to hold a party for the children on the afternoon of the fundraising social, which happened to be Laura’s fifth birthday. So Carol no longer had to worry about laying on a birthday party, as her daughter thought having one in the large Welfare Hall was far grander than anything she had previously had at home.
It had taken the heat out of her argument with Mick over the foolishness of promising Laura a party at all and for Jasmine’s spiteful words which Laura had relayed to him.
‘How dare she go on about us like that?’ Mick had fulminated.
‘She’s just repeating what her parents say,’ Carol had defended her niece.
‘Well, she’ll not go upsetting Laura like that again. I don’t want you taking the bairn up to Brassy any more.’
‘I won’t be,’ Carol had said.
Then they had rowed again over her going to see Vic about this journalist, which was why Mick had refused to stay in the house to meet Pete Fletcher and why Carol had begged Sid’s sister Joanne to come round and give her support instead. Carol hid her hurt at Mick’s parting words that she was getting involved in something she knew nothing about. She suspected he was really angry that she had gone to see Vic without telling him, so she had spared him the details of Vic’s unwanted advances.
‘Mick’s just suspicious of journalists,’ Carol told Joanne, ‘and I can’t blame him after the way the media’s been reporting the strike.’
‘My John would be the same,’ her friend assured her. ‘Anyway, the men are busy organising for the visit tomorrow.’
Carol nodded, thinking how pleased Mick and his father were that Arthur Scargill was to be visiting nearby Quarryhill and how they were all to attend the rally through the village. ‘We might get to meet Arthur in person this time,’ she said excitedly.
‘That’s if we’re not too busy organising the kids’ party and the social,’ Joanne reminded her.
There was a ring at the door and Carol jumped.
‘Go and answer it then,’ Joanne laughed.
A tall man with short reddish hair stood on the doorstep. His face was boyish behind a pair of wire-framed glasses and he wore jeans and an old tweed jacket. Carol had forgotten what the journalist looked like, but he held out his hand with a smile and assured her that he was Pete Fletcher.
‘Let him in then,’ Joanne called behind her and Carol flushed and stepped aside. She had a sudden pang of misgiving at what she was doing. Perhaps Mick was right and this man would twist what she said to fit some sensational story for the tabloids. She should be down at the Welfare helping Lotty prepare food parcels . . .
‘I was pleased to get your letter,’ Pete said easily. ‘The idea of doing a piece about the Women’s Group really interests me.’
Carol nodded.
‘I’m Joanne. Sit down and I’ll make some tea while Carol finds her voice. She’s not usually tongue-tied.’
‘No, I don’t remember her like that,’ Pete smiled. ‘How are your family, Carol? I’ve been out of touch.’
Carol laughed shortly. ‘So have I. In fact we don’t speak any more, not since the strike. They never really approved of me marrying a miner anyway.’ She stopped suddenly, wondering why she had told him that. She must be cautious; there was no telling what he might do with such information. ‘But that’s not what you’ve come about,’ she added swiftly.
Pete sat down. ‘I thought I might hang around the village for a day or two, cover what’s going on. Perhaps you could suggest some people to talk to? I’d like to do a feature for one of the nationals.’
Carol felt more at ease at the switch in conversation. ‘Well, you’ve come at the right time. Arthur Scargill’s in the area tomorrow. And the women are organising our first big fundraising social - and there’s a party for the kids.’ Carol found herself launching enthusiastically into the subject.
Joanne brought the tea. They had splashed out on milk and a precious bag of sugar, not wanting the reporter to think them inhospitable. Carol found him easy to talk to and her nervousness evaporated. Within twenty minutes they had told him all about the group and the soup kitchen and the generosity of local traders and about the rally in the Midlands and Sid’s arrest.
‘Me brother’s very upset about it all,’ Joanne said. ‘Been bound over to keep the peace for nine months, and all he did was shove a copper out the way. Now he can’t do any picketing at all.’
‘It’s the way they’re trying to beat us,’ Carol added, ‘arresting as many miners as possible for the slightest thing, so picketing gets disrupted. Men who’ve never been in the slightest bother before are finding themselves with criminal records.’
Pete nodded in understanding. Just then, the children came bounding in, red-faced from trampolining on the beds, and rushed at the stranger.
‘Are you the man from the telly?’ Mark asked, fiddling with Pete’s black camera bag.
Pete laughed and asked them their names.
‘You’re a friend of Uncle Vic’s, aren’t you?’ Laura said, showing off her knowledge. ‘Mam told me.’
Pete glanced at Carol. ‘I went to school with Uncle Vic, but I don’t see much of him now.’
‘Can we be on the telly too?’ Mark asked, hopping on the spot.
‘Just me,’ Laura insisted, “cos he’s my mam’s friend, not yours!’
The children began a squabble which their mothers attempted to silence with threats of being smacked and sent upstairs again. Pete intervened.
‘Would you like me to take a picture of you both?’ he asked, delving into his bag.
‘Yes!’ they chorused.
Pete got them to pose on the chair opposite and took several shots.
‘I’ll give you copies if they come out well,’ he promised the women.
Carol was touched but embarrassed. ‘We can’t pay for them.’
Pete waved his hand. ‘They’re for the kids.’
Joanne said it was time she took Mark home. Pete packed up his camera.
‘I’d really like to talk to you some more,’ he told them. ‘Can you suggest somewhere in the village I could stay perhaps a night or two?’
Carol and Joanne exchanged looks.
‘A bed and breakfast would do,’ Pete said, not wanting to embarrass them.
‘You can’t do that,’ Joanne protested. ‘You can stay with us.’
‘Great!’ Mark whooped.
‘Oh, Mam,’ Laura complained. ‘I want him to stay at my house.’
Carol knew Joanne was struggling to make ends meet since John’s younger brother had moved in with them, made homeless by the strike. And the thought of a tantrum from Laura spurred her on to say, ‘You’ve got a houseful, Joanne. We’ve more room here - if you don’t mind kipping on the settee, Pete?’
‘Not in the least,’ he smiled. ‘Would you like to discuss it with your husband first? I could call back . . .’
‘Mick won’t mind,’ Carol said, hoping she sounded convincing. ‘Not if it’s going to further our cause.’
Pete got up. ‘I’ll take a walk around then. Come back tonight. I’ll eat at the pub, of course, so please don’t go buying any extra food.’
‘There’s no need for that,’ Carol said proudly, ‘we can take care of visitors.’
In the passage, he hesitated before opening the door. Joanne had gone into the kitchen with the dirty cups.
‘You’ve turned out differently than I’d expected,’ he mused. ‘Fay was always going on about her badly behaved younger sister - the wild thing, Vic called you.’
The mention of her brother-in-law aggravated Carol. ‘Well, I can still get wild about things that really matter.’
‘Good,’ Pete said with approval, ‘because Vic and Fay seem to have lost sight of that somewhere along the way. The last time I saw them they bored me rigid with their money-making scams.’
&nb
sp; Carol laughed. ‘Sounds like them.’ And suddenly she had the feeling that she could trust Pete Fletcher. He was not here to exploit them, she was sure of that. But how was she going to convince Mick?
If they had not been so busy preparing for the events of the following day, Mick might have protested louder. Unexpectedly, Lotty came to Carol’s rescue as they busied themselves sorting out raffle prizes and food for the children’s party at the Welfare Hall.
‘Why’s he got to stay with us?’ Mick demanded.
‘He’s doing a story on the Women’s Group,’ Carol said, curbing her annoyance. ‘It’s just for a couple of nights.’
‘It might lead to something important,’ Lotty interrupted, ‘and Carol’s just being neighbourly. You let her get on with her work for the Group. Now, these food parcels are ready for delivery, so make yourself useful.’
A disgruntled Mick was dispatched on delivery duty and it was late before they returned to the house with a sleeping Laura to find Pete sitting up with Eddy.
‘I found your reporter having a crack with Captain Lenin down The Ship,’ Eddy explained his presence. ‘Discovered he’s an Elvis fan.’
Mick grunted. ‘That’ll be useful for his article.’
Carol blushed and introduced Mick to the journalist. Pete offered his hand with a friendly greeting which Mick took awkwardly. Laura stirred in his arms.
‘I’ll get the bairn to bed,’ he said quickly and headed for the stairs. Carol knew he would not reappear and felt embarrassed by his lack of hospitality.
‘I’ll make some tea,’ she offered. ‘You’ll stay for a cup, won’t you, Eddy?’
Eddy saw her pleading look and agreed. While the kettle boiled, Carol went upstairs to find bedding for their guest. Laura had woken up and demanded to sleep in their bed. Mick had already given in and was settling their daughter in the double bed.
‘I’ll sleep in Laura’s room,’ he told Carol, glancing away, ‘so we all get some kip.’
Carol felt a stab of hurt. ‘Mick—’
‘I’m too tired to argue about it,’ he snapped. ‘Better get back to your reporter.’
Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone Page 20
