Dalziel 10 UnderWorld

by Reginald Hill

  She went into the bedroom where she was surprised to see how late it was. Fortunately the oven's automatic timer was taking care of Gavin's supper. She dressed quickly, but even so she was still making up her face when she heard the front door open and her husband's voice call, 'Hello, love. It's me.' She analysed tone and inflection, found nothing to concern her, and called back, 'I'm up here. Down in a tick.'

  But as she began to descend, she heard his voice again and needed no analytical expertise to know there was trouble.

  'Jesus!' he exclaimed from the living-room. 'Stella!"

  She went in. Her husband was standing before the hearth. In the grate the fire had been lit and was now just a bed of glowing embers. But it wasn't this that had caused his outcry.

  Before he left, Colin Farr must have put both his hands into the soot-furred chimney, then pressed them against the wall above the fireplace and drawn them slowly down. It looked as if two monstrous black arms were being raised in supplication or in threat.

  'Stella, what the hell has been going on here?' demanded Gavin Mycroft.

  Part Two

  ... I fell to quaking At a fresh sight - a Lion in the way.

  I saw him coming, swift and savage, making For me, head high, with ravenous hunger raving So that for dread the very air seemed shaking.

  Chapter 1

  Nothing in her conversations with her class or her reading of their essays had prepared Ellie for the sheer terror of her first descent in the Cage.

  She was the only woman in the group of visitors which included two local councillors - one Labour, one SDP - two Frenchmen who had something to do with the EEC, and an elderly research student from Doncaster who bombarded the harassed-looking pit-manager with disturbing mnemonics like MINOS, MIDAS AND FIDO, and most sinister of all, IMPACT.

  It was IMPACT that stayed in her mind as they entered the Cage and she heard a melodramatic hiss of compressed air as the drawbridge they'd just crossed was withdrawn. Somewhere a bell jangled. And suddenly they were moving.

  The acceleration was rapid. In seconds Ellie felt the rush of air through the sides of the Cage brushing her face and winnowing the few strands of hair not tucked up beneath her borrowed helmet. No one spoke, not even the politicians. Ellie waited for the Cage to attain a steady speed but to her horror its acceleration did not seem to be stopping. Suddenly there was a great clap of noise like a huge paper bag exploding or the collision of air-waves as express trains pass in a tunnel.

  Someone shrieked. Ellie suspected it was her but she didn't care. Her mind told her it was only the counter balancing up-cage on its ascent, but down here reason was not enough. Religion took over, or rather its poor relative, superstition. Her hands joined in a tangle of pleading fingers and her mind gabbled the childish prayer which had remained a pre-dormitive necessity well into her pyrrhonic adolescence.

  Godblessmummyanddaddyandgrandadandgrandmaand unclegeorgeandauntiemadgeandcousindickandtimmyand roverandsamuelwhiskersandmepleasegodthankyouvery muchamen.

  In the light of the beams from their helmet-lamps the speeding walls of the shaft streamed past.

  Suddenly everything reversed direction. The walls rushed by the other way, the Cage was now ascending! She knew it was an optical illusion, but again knowledge was ineffective against terror.

  And now came a sudden jerk on the cable sending them all staggering. The walls reversed again. Once more they were falling. The cable's snapped! Ellie told herself. She could hear one of her companions retching drily. Another jerk, then another. It's the brakes, she assured herself. We're slowing down. It's only the goddam fucking brakes!

  At last the Cage was perceptibly slowing. The shaft became visible as more than a speeding blur. There was light outside, a strident glare of orange and white neon strips. The Cage hit its restraints, bounced, and sank back into blessed stillness. A moment later the gate was opened and they filed out into the pit bottom, drinking deep breaths of the warm air that blew in their faces, their relief so great that it was some while before they became aware of the humid stench of it. Mr Kavanagh the pit- manager took his farewell at this point.

  'I'll leave you with one of our most experienced deputies,' he said. 'Mr Satterthwaite here will show you round and answer your questions. Stick close and do as he says, and you'll be all right.'

  This Satterthwaite in whose tender care they had been placed looked to Ellie as if he might be distantly related to Andy Dalziel. Broad, solid, mean-eyed, square-jawed, he should at least come in useful if the roof fell in.

  'If you'll follow me, gents,' he growled with all the enthusiasm of a jailer inviting his charges into the exercise yard.

  'And lady,' gallantly corrected the SDP councillor.

  'Oh aye.' said Satterthwaite. 'This way.'

  So, I'm an alien, in a man's world, thought Ellie. She recollected what Adi Pritchard had said about miners: social radicals, sexual fascists. Well, she wasn't going to sit down under that!

  Her determination to assert herself was not easily satisfied, The two councillors were engaged in a private competition as to who could show the most intelligent interest and any gaps they left were immediately filled by the student's technically pedantic questions about automation, both proposed and effective. The Frenchmen, perhaps in reaction against their unconcealed terror during the descent, were now suffering from a bad attack of galanterie, which involved much après-vous-ing and the placing of guiding hands on shoulders, elbows and occasionally an area at the base of the spine which if not an erogenous zone was certainly border country.

  Satterthwaite, whether through inclination or ignorance, replied to most questions with that great Yorkshire stand-by: Oh aye, which can be made affirmative, interrogatory, sceptical or satirical by an almost Chinese subtlety of intonation.

  Ellie's use of the patois picked up from her students clearly didn't impress him much either. In the end she abandoned questions and concentrated on observation. One thing she failed to observe was Colin Farr. Of course most of the miners they saw at work were difficult enough to distinguish at close quarters under their patina of sweat and dust, and became totally anonymous at any distance. But when they saw a team of rippers at work Ellie knew at a glance even from several yards away that Colin was not among them. How did she know? she asked herself. The answer was at once unsettling and exciting. Stripped to the waist as these men were, his easy grace and fluidity of movement could only be even more distinctive. She turned away from the thought, found it followed her, so turned it inside out by using his grace and beauty as a foil against which to see this most hideous of man-created working environments.

  An hour later, with every muscle in her body aching, she re-entered the Cage, her mind as heavy as her flesh so that she hardly felt any of the descending terror as she rode the pit this time.

  She felt as if she could never be clean again. Even a good half-hour in the deputies' showers only seemed to touch the surface, though a careful examination in the mirror revealed a state of pink cleanliness which suggested the trouble was mainly within. When she blew her nose and saw the state of her handkerchief, she realized that within covered the physical as well as the psychological, which in a way was a relief.

  She said her goodbyes and thanks, then went to the car park. As she approached her Mini, a figure moved between the cars a couple of rows away. Even that slight movement told her who it was.

  'Hello, Colin,' she said as he approached with uncharacteristic uncertainty, 'I looked out for you down below. I thought you said you were on afters.'

  'Should've been,' he said, 'I got sent off yesterday. There was a bit of bother. Nowt to worry over. It'll be sorted by tomorrow and I'll be back down, worse luck. Any road, I thought as I were doing nothing, like, how'd you fancy that cup of tea at me mam's?'

  Ellie restrained herself from looking at her watch. She knew precisely what time it was, knew also that if she drove like the clappers, she might just be back within the outermost time-limit promised to her frie
nd, Daphne Aldermann, in whose care she had left Rose.

  On the other hand, Rose clearly adored Daphne and her spaciously elegant house with a fervour which, though politically reprehensible, was socially very convenient. An extra hour of baby-sitting would probably not bother Daphne, or at worst only keep her back from some totally non-productive activity. Besides, Daphne, who at the very best might pass for a Social Democrat in the dusk with the light behind her, had collapsed in helpless giggles when Ellie had told her where she was going.

  'I'm sorry,' she hiccoughed, it's just that . . . going down a pit . . . it's so you!'

  Ellie had managed a smile too. She was not after all one of the humourless Left. But Daphne owed her one!

  'I'd love a cup of tea,' she said. 'Hop in.'

  The visit didn't start too well because May Farr was unable to conceal that it came as a complete surprise to her.

  'I've not got much in, I'm afraid,' she said. 'And the place is in a mess. Colin should have warned me. I might have been out or anything. They don't believe we've got lives of our own to lead, do they?'

  She smiled at Ellie, reassuring her that the irritation was aimed at her son and inviting her to join in her general analysis of the sex. She was a good-looking woman, in her forties, Ellie judged, perhaps already into the change which might account for her pallor and shadowed eyes. Her smile was Colin's, open and charming, and she had the same easy grace of movement which a man might interpret as sensual.

  Ellie tried to recall how long May Farr had been a widow. Were there any new men in her life, she wondered, or had she settled for the role of grieving widow- woman with doting son?

  Thinking of roles, she suddenly realized she was playing one for all it was worth. It was the role of the dedicated teacher telling a proud mum how well her precious child was doing at school.

  What the hell do I mean, playing teacher? Ellie asked herself in alarm. I am the bloody teacher! That's the only reason I'm here, so let's have less of this role-playing bit!

  But at this moment she caught Colin's eye and he gave her a conspiratorial wink which at the same time complimented her on her success and implied another level of relationship which his mother might not understand.

  They drank tea and ate some cake, a plentiful supply of which existed after all. Ellie and May Farr made polite and not too obtrusively stilted conversation and the young man relapsed into a watchful silence which he finally broke by announcing he still had some work to do on his motorbike.

  'You're not bringing bits into my kitchen,' said his mother emphatically. 'There was more oil there than in the Persian Gulf yesterday.'

  'No, Mam,' said Colin Farr long-sufferingly, and went out.

  Ellie viewed his departure with some surprise. Why was she being left alone with this woman? Why had Farr brought her here in the first place?

  She caught May Farr's eye and they exchanged polite smiles and she realized that much the same thoughts must be going through the older woman's mind.

  She glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. In every sense it was time she was gone.

  'I really must be on my way,' she said, wondering as often before why one was conditioned to sound apologetic about something which could only be a mighty relief to the hearer. 'A friend's looking after my daughter and I reckon that she'll have been driven to breaking-point by now.'

  'You've got a girl? How old is she?'

  Ellie told her and saw May Farr deduct Rose's stated age from her own estimated one.

  'Just the one, is it? So far, I mean.'

  'That's right. And you? The same?'

  ‘Aye. Just Colin. So far.'

  'Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . .' but Ellie's confusion faded as she saw the woman was laughing at, and with her.

  'What's your husband do, Mrs Pascoe?' May Farr now asked with that uncomplicated because perfectly natural curiosity which was typical of Yorkshire.

  Ellie hesitated. She had consciously avoided any reference to Peter's profession when taking her class, fearful that their discussions on questions of law and order might be inhibited or even distorted. But she had never had to speak the lie direct.

  Now she heard herself saying vaguely, 'Oh, a boring office job, files and form-filling, the usual thing,' and feeling surprisingly treacherous.

  'Is that your husband?' she asked as a (she hoped) not too obvious diversion, indicating a framed photograph standing next to the clock. It was a snapshot, slightly out of focus, of a thin man with wind-tousled hair against the background of an unruly sea. He was looking straight into the camera with shadowed, introspective eyes and just enough of a twist to the lips to suggest he had been instructed to smile.

  'Billy never cared to have his picture took,' said May Farr. I've not got above four photos of him taken since we were wed.'

  'No, he doesn't look as if he was enjoying the experience,' said Ellie.

  'He never found it easy to enjoy himself, Billy,' continued the widow, half to herself. 'He always seemed, I don't know, suspicious of happiness. Even before his accident.'

  Ellie said, 'Accident?'

  She'd heard of only one accident, the fatal one. Clearly May Farr wasn't referring to that.

  'When he did his leg in. Didn't Colin mention it?'

  'No. The mine, was it?'

  'What else?' said the woman bitterly. 'His leg were crushed. They did wonders on it at the hospital by all accounts but it still left him hardly able to bend his knee. But you don't want to hear this, Mrs Pascoe. You've got to get back to your kiddie.'

  'A few more minutes won't hurt,' said Ellie. 'She's in good hands.'

  May Farr hesitated. Why does she want to talk to me about her husband at all? wondered Ellie. Someone outside her own tight little community, perhaps? Shit! There I go again, patronizing. She's probably got friends here at least as understanding, loving and trustworthy as mine.

  Then it came to her. It wasn't Billy Farr the woman wanted to talk about, it was Colin. The teacher role hadn't completely reassured her. She saw an older, married woman, perhaps moving out of her class for a bit of rough, and felt that some kind of warning-off was needed.

  And was it? Ellie was distracted from this outrageous line of thought by May Farr's resumption.

  They gave Billy a job on top,' she said. 'He didn't say much, he never did. It were always hard to know what were going on inside Billy. Colin's the same. You can never be certain. Never.'

  There it was, the first warning.

  'He felt it, I could see that, ending up on top at his time. Not just the money, but his old workmates. Oh, he felt it. Then Colin jacked it in, the pit I mean. Said he wanted to go to sea. I don't know where he got the idea from. I never wanted him to go down pit in first place and there were no need. He wasn't stupid at school, could have done anything. But like I said, there's never any knowing with our Colin and there's even less telling. Once he decides something, it's wasted breath trying to get him to change.'

  Second warning. Ellie said, 'But you must've been glad he was out of the pit. Both of them in fact.'

  Glad? Aye, part of me was, at first anyway. But you don't get owt for nowt in this world, especially not happiness, Mrs Pascoe. Price I paid for having them out of pit was Colin not coming home except once in a blue moon, and Billy sitting quiet as a cat staring into the fire or wandering off by himself with Jacko, that were his little terrier. I never knew what he were thinking, Colin neither. They both had dark hidden places inside of them, Mrs Pascoe. Not bad, I'm not saying bad, but dark. Mebbe if you work down the pit a bit of it gets inside you after a while.'

  Third warning. Why not cut the cackle and say that Col was mad, bad, and dangerous to know?

  The door opened and the young man in question appeared looking none of these things. Indeed, with tousled hair and an oil stain on his cheek, he looked about sixteen.

  'Mam, here's Wendy,' he announced.

  A painfully thin young woman entered wearing baggy jeans and a loose knit sweater which emphasi
zed her skinniness. Her eyes were almost feverishly bright and she was smoking a cigarette which the yellowness of her fingers suggested was neither the first nor the last of the day.

  'Didn't know you were entertaining, May,' she said, looking at Ellie with open curiosity.

  'This is Mrs Pascoe, she runs the course at the college that our Colin goes to. This is Wendy Walker. She runs our Women's Group.'

  'The Strike Support Group? The Women Against Pit Closures?' said Ellie.

  'Aye, that's what we are now. It's us the University should be spending its time on, not these lads.'

  'Yes. How many are in your group?' asked Ellie, irritated with herself. For some reason she'd never even considered the possibility that May Farr might be a member of the Support Group. She'd fallen into the old chauvinist trap of defining her solely in terms of her relationship with men: the grieving widow, the protective mother.

  'Twenty at best, more like ten what you might call hardcore,' said Wendy.

  'You may have met a friend of mine who's done some work with the Groups. Thelma Lacewing.'

  'Thel?' Wendy's mouth widened into a nicotinous grin. 'You a mate of Thel's? She were all right. She's got a grand throwing arm!'

  Colin reappeared accompanied by a tall, gangling man with a not unattractively long face, like a sad sheepdog's.

  He was clasping a carrier bag out of which smiled the full- moon face of a cauliflower.

  'Here's Arthur,' he said. 'You ready for off?'

  It was clearly Ellie's dismissal. She rose swiftly before May Farr could protest at her son's rudeness and said, ‘I must dash. Look, I've really enjoyed meeting you. Thanks for the tea. I hope we can meet again sometime. You too er . . .'

  'Wendy. Give my best to Thel. Next time she comes, get her to bring you. It's always good to make contact with the outside world!'