On the way back from school Carol took Laura to the park. She found Eddy sitting on a bench watching a game of bowls. He waved them over cheerfully, giving Laura a huge hug.
‘Pooh! Uncle Eddy, you stink of beer!’ she cried in disgust and wriggled away. Eddy laughed as she ran off towards the swings.
Carol realised he was drunk.
‘Celebrating a bit early, aren’t you?’ she said drily.
‘Never too early,’ Eddy chuckled. ‘I was sick of the pit any road. Good riddance, I say. I’m going to buy a new car and go on a holiday. Maybes I’ll take you and Mick and the lass.’
‘It’ll take more than a holiday to put a smile back on Mick’s face, I’m afraid,’ Carol sighed. She told him about her argument with him in the cutting.
Eddy was suddenly sombre. ‘I’m sorry, flower.’ He put an arm round her. ‘I wish there was something I could do to make things better. It doesn’t matter about an old bugger like me losing his job but for a young lad like Mick it’s criminal.’ Eddy’s mood was abruptly morose. ‘I hate to think of you unhappy. You deserve so much more. You’re a wonderful lass, the best. . .’ His voice broke.
Carol laughed uncomfortably. ‘You soft old sod!’ she teased him. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m a survivor.’
‘Aye, you are,’ Eddy said tearily. ‘I don’t deserve you.’ She handed him a tissue to blow his large nose on. ‘Carol?’ he sniffed. ‘Can I tell you something?’
Carol was in no mood for Eddy’s maudlin confidences.
‘No, but I’ll tell you something.’ She tried to sound bright. ‘You’re not too old to find another job. You could go anywhere - back to the Midlands maybes or even abroad. Or spend your redundancy on a little business, like Marty Dillon’s going to do.’
Eddy forced a laugh. ‘Aye, I could. Anywhere. The world is Uncle Eddy’s oyster, eh?’
‘That’s more like it,’ Carol smiled. ‘I just wish Mick could be given such a chance.’ She got up to follow Laura.
‘Carol,’ Eddy stopped her. ‘You don’t think I was wrong to take the money then? I keep wondering if I should have done what Charlie’s done.’ He sounded quite sober now.
Carol considered. ‘Charlie’s that involved in the union. For him there’s only one choice. But I don’t blame you for taking redundancy. You did all you could to save jobs during the strike. So don’t feel guilty now, Eddy. There was nothing more we could’ve done to stop the pit closing. They probably had it planned before eighty-four.’
Eddy’s lived-in face looked emotional. ‘Ta, flower.’
She smiled at him and walked away quickly before he cried again.
He called after her. ‘They were good, them days, after all, weren’t they?’ She turned to give him a quizzical look. ‘Us fighting together in the strike like one big family. By, we had a few laughs an’ all, didn’t we?’
‘Aye, Uncle Eddy, we did!’ Carol called back and grinned.
When she reached the swings and turned again, he was gone from the bench. She thought she heard his whistle retreating behind the hedge, some tune of Nat King Cole’s.
The Women’s Group held a party the night before the closure. They put on brave faces, recognising that this would be their last gathering.
Marty Dillon had taken redundancy.
‘Well,’ May blustered, ‘it’s the only way we can pay off our debts from the strike. Likely we’ll move out the village. Marty wants to buy a fish and chip business. Doesn’t even like fish!’
They laughed with her. No one was the judge of anyone else. They all knew how difficult the decision was. At the end of the evening there were tears at the thought of some of them moving away.
‘What’s it going to be like without the pit?’ Joanne asked in fear. But no one could answer her. They could not imagine it.
The last shift down the pit marched there with the colliery band and waves of supporters. The women stood with their banner at the pit gates as they had done for the preceding months and clapped them in. There was a heaviness in the air which was not just from the thundery sky. The mood was reflective and sombre. This was the last shift of a pit that had been sunk in 1887, the last men in a line of pitmen who had worked in the county since beyond memory.
Tears and harrowed looks marked the faces of many. Then the men disappeared inside the pit yard and the band stopped playing. The musicians stood around talking quietly for a while, wondering what to do. Gradually they dispersed, carrying away their instruments, and the women folded up their banner and slipped away. Some would return to see the men come out of the pit at the final shutting of the gates with a couple of reporters from the local newspapers.
Carol decided not to put herself through the agony again. She had a sudden desire to go with Mick on one of his long walks. She did not have to work in the cafe until one o’clock. Perhaps she could accompany him for part of the way. She needed his company and she wanted to give him hers, after the last few days of tense silence between them.
Hurrying home after taking Laura to school, she found he had already gone out. Disappointed and a little angry, she stormed off to the cafe early.
‘I don’t expect you to pay me for this morning,’ she told Paul in a tight voice. ‘I just need to be doing something.’
‘Champion,’ said Paul in his easy way. ‘You can start by making us both a pot of tea.’
He was such a kind man, Carol thought tearfully, and she was grateful that he did not ask questions. He was part of Brassbank and understood.
Carol worked on in the cafe. Laura had been invited round to a friend’s for tea. Carol was touched at the way her friends tried to ease their strained finances by having Laura for meals. There was no rush to go home. At teatime the cafe filled up with the last of the shoppers and they watched the pitmen streaming up the road on foot and by car, for the last time. Some went to the window and the open door to wave them away with respect.
At half past six, Carol left to collect Laura. When they got home, the house was still empty. It was unusual for Mick not to be home for Laura, but then it had been a traumatic day for them all, Carol reminded herself. After her bath, Laura played out in the warm evening air for a while longer, reluctant to get to bed before seeing her daddy.
Carol grew impatient and then annoyed at his deliberately staying away. Finally she chased Laura to bed. She stubbed out a half-smoked cigarette in the back yard. It made her feel queasy. She telephoned Lotty.
‘No, pet, he hasn’t been here all day,’ Lotty answered. ‘He’ll be off on one of his walks.’
‘Mam, I’m worried,’ Carol blurted out. ‘He’s never been this late before.’ She did not want to admit how distant relations had grown between them again over the past month. ‘I’m afraid he might have had an accident - up the old railway line, or somewhere no one would hear him.’
An unspoken thought too awful to contemplate lay behind her concern. Mick, too depressed by the future to carry on ...
Lotty must have heard the fear in her voice. ‘I’ll send Charlie up to look. He can call in at Eddy’s and take him up too. I’ll come round and keep you company till Mick comes back. He’ll probably turn up any minute and be annoyed at all the fuss.’
‘Thanks,’ Carol answered.
She went upstairs to check on Laura. Something made her look in her own bedroom for the first time that day. In the twilight, nothing struck her as different. Then she spotted the bundle of papers on her side of the bed. Leaning across and snatching them up, her heart jolted to see they were letters written in Mick’s heavy handwriting.
‘Oh, God!’ she whispered and tore at the rubberband holding them together. On top was a note that read;
‘Dear Carol, it’s time you read these. I wrote them in prison but never sent them. I’m sorry now I didn’t. It might have made things better between us. I never meant to let you down. All my love, Mick.’
Carol’s hands trembled as she sat on the bed and began to read the letters. They were chatty, full of de
tails about his prison life and the other men. But they were more than that. They held tender messages for herself and Laura, endearments that Mick had never been able to say aloud. They told her of his inmost thoughts about the strike and his determination to stick by his principles whatever the cost. There was one, written after her disastrous visit, apologising for his rudeness.
It’s not that I didn’t want to see you and Laura. It’s what I want most in the world, pet. But I feel ashamed of dragging you here to this place. I can’t bear the looks on your faces, seeing me here. It makes me feel that bad that I’m not at home to help you. So it’s better if you don’t come. I can get through the time easier if I don’t see the pair of you. Mind, I can picture you that clearly that you’re with me every day. I cannot wait to be with you. Things will get better between us when I get out. I’ll make them better. You’re the one who keeps me going, Carol. I love you more than anything in the world. Take care of yourself and Laura. All my love, Mick.
Carol crushed the letter to her and sobbed aloud. Why had he never sent the letters? She agonised. It would have made such a difference. There had been so much misunderstanding between them, so many times when she thought he no longer loved her enough, and others when she had held back from telling him of her feelings for fear of being rebuffed. She had not thought him capable of such depth of feeling. This was the first time he had revealed it so completely. At least she was now certain of his love; it was not too late to make amends.
Carol looked at the scattered letters on the bed. Why had he decided to show her these now? Coldness crept into the pit of her stomach. She re-read the covering note. There was regret; a finality about the words. He felt he had let her down. Surely it could not be a note of farewell?
Carol sprang from the bed in a panic, her heart racing painfully. Mick had been gone all day, far too long. She searched the room to see if anything else was missing. No clothes or possessions had been taken; there was no suitcase gone. Part of her wished that he had. At least if he walked out on her, it would be proof he was still alive.
Real fear rose up in her throat, threatening to choke her. She ran downstairs. Lotty was coming in at the back door. There seemed to be some commotion going on in the back lane, but Carol was too distracted to care.
‘He’s left me all these letters,’ she cried in distress, ‘and he hasn’t taken anything else with him!’
Lotty caught her by the arms and told her to calm down.
‘What does he normally take when he goes on his rambling?’ she asked.
Carol looked around wildly. ‘A flask. His old bait tin ... in his haversack.’
They searched the kitchen but could not find them.
‘Well, that’s normal,’ Lotty said, letting out a breath. ‘He’s taken a meal with him. That’s not the sign of someone who’s about to . . .’
They looked at each other, unable to speak of the horror in their minds.
‘What does he usually wear?’ Lotty said, more urgently.
Carol forced herself to think. ‘Just jeans and T-shirt. And his old leather jacket if it’s likely to rain.’
As she said this, her eye was caught by the back of the kitchen door. It was empty. For over two years, since the start of the strike, Mick’s donkey jacket and a spare pair of overalls hung there, like a symbol of his working life. They had hung there so long, waiting for the day he would need them again at the pit, that Carol no longer noticed them. But it struck her like a blow to the stomach that they were now gone.
She pointed at the door wordlessly, making a terrified whimpering sound.
‘His pit clothes?’ Lotty asked.
Carol nodded. An image came into her mind of Mick, dressing in his old work clothes, packing his bait and swinging out into the summer’s morning as if he was going to the pit. Except there was no work for Mick to go to; never would be again.
Carol’s whole body was shaking with fear. ‘I’ve got to go and look for him,’ she cried.
Lotty stopped her. ‘Not on your own. And you wouldn’t know where to start. Let’s call the police and report him missing first.’
Carol stared at her mother-in-law. She must be really worried to suggest calling in the police. Trust in the police in Brassbank was still fragile since the strike.
Lotty went to dial.
As Carol stood by the open kitchen door, feeling the space where Mick’s clothes had hung, she became aware again of the noise in the back lane. Stepping out into the yard, she saw children calling to each other and running down the hill. She saw that what interested them was the coastguard helicopter clattering overhead. Her first thought was that the children should be in bed.
Suddenly she dashed out and stopped one of them. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.
‘Something’s ganin’ on down the beach, missus,’ the boy said in excitement.
‘What is?’ she asked, blocking his escape. But the boy dived under her arm and ran off into the gloom.
Other neighbours had come to their doors and were peering into the sky and watching the activity.
‘Must be some sort of rescue,’ Evelyn Wilson suggested. ‘Let’s hope it’s not someone’s bairn been trapped by the tide.’
Carol went back inside. Lotty had just put down the telephone. All colour had drained from her face.
Carol’s heart knocked like a hammer in fright.
‘What is it?’ she whispered.
‘Sit down, pet,’ Lotty said in a trembling voice.
Carol shook her head. She was rooted to the floor. ‘What did the police say? Tell me!’
‘A lad’s reported seeing someone falling off the cliff, above Colly’s Leap, just half an hour ago. He’s gone in the sea.’ Lotty’s voice was faint.
‘Someone?’ Carol demanded.
‘A man - a pitman. Lad says he was wearing pit clothes.’ Lotty’s hands flew to her mouth to control a sob.
Carol turned and made for the door at once.
‘We don’t know it’s Mick,’ Lotty cried. ‘George Bowman’s going to fetch you and take you down. You mustn’t go on your own, Carol!’
‘I can’t wait for him,’ Carol shouted back. Nothing could have kept her waiting a moment longer.
‘Then let me get Evelyn to stop here with Laura. I’m coming with you,’ Lotty insisted.
They dashed out into the lane. Lotty hardly needed to explain to Evelyn; their old friend agreed at once.
‘Course you must go with Carol. If Bowman turns up, I’ll tell him.’ Evelyn waved them away. ‘Eeh, the poor lass!’
Carol wanted to run ahead, but she slowed for Lotty. Her mind was in turmoil. Please don’t let it be too late! she prayed. Please save him! If she lost Mick now she would never forgive herself for all the petty arguments and missed opportunities, for never telling him how much she needed him, not just over these past weeks but in the future, how she would always need him.
She had seen how depressed and withdrawn he had become again and yet she had been too busy fighting the pit closure to have any time for him. She flinched at the memory of Pete’s recent visit and how hurt Mick had been by his appearance. Words she had spoken came back to haunt her. She had berated him for not helping fight the pit closure. ‘If we all just gave up the fight, there’d be no point to life at all.’ But he had admitted defeat. ‘It’s over, Carol. I’ll never work down the pit again.’
The image of a pitman throwing himself off the cliff into Colly’s Leap burned in her mind. It mustn’t be Mick; please don’t let it be Mick!
Then memories of happy times with him rose up to torment her as they hurried along the lane, past the empty pit and down the road towards the beach. What had happened to their hopeful plans to buy another motorbike and tour the country with Laura? To have another baby? But Carol knew they had been dashed when Mick had been sacked from the pit. Even then, Mick had still held some optimism, still soldiered on believing in a time when he might be taken back on at Brassbank. But his fragile boat of hopes and dr
eams had finally broken up with the closing of the pit. Carol realised now that she should have taken his desolation at the closure more seriously.
Scrambling in the half dark among the sand dunes, Carol sobbed at the thought of how much she loved him. It would be too cruel if Mick had chosen the very place they had first met - Colly’s Leap - to end his life.
There was a small crowd of people already gathered on the beach. High tide was receding. Coastguards and police were milling around the rocks near the pool and an ambulance was standing by at the clifftop. A stretcher was being carried down the steep path.
Carol’s stomach churned at the sight. There was a crackle of radio telephones and anxious murmurings among the onlookers.
They heard one of the emergency crew say, ‘They’re pulling the body out now.’
Lotty gripped Carol’s arm to give her courage and suddenly Carol was thankful that Mick’s mother had insisted on coming with her. She could not bear to face this ordeal alone. And it must be no easier for Lotty either, she thought.
She pushed through the crowd to the area of beach being kept clear by the police. She could see something being dragged over the rocks by the coastguards. The ambulance crew dashed forward.
‘Please keep back,’ an officer told them.
‘It might be the lass’s husband and my son!’ Lotty cried at him.
‘I’m sorry, it’s a matter of waiting,’ he apologised firmly. ‘I could get someone to wait with you.’
Carol shook her head, unable to speak. She clung to Lotty as the minutes dragged by. There was a lot of commotion around the body and lights illuminated the scene like an eerie play. People became aware of the two Todd women huddled by the policeman, waiting in dread, and the rumours began to spread about the body’s identity.
Then the urgency in the operation seemed to abate. The emergency crew stood back. Somebody was fetching a blanket, radio messages crackled. After some rapid talk, one of the police came over to Carol and Lotty.
‘I’m sorry,’ he spoke softly, ‘they tried to revive him, but he was already dead when they pulled him from the water.’
Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone Page 41
