This Little Piggy (19 page)

At seven-thirty, Clare arrived outside the City Hall, where she spotted Finn already waiting, wearing one of his very freshly-washed and pressed shirts. He leaned down to give her a quick kiss on the cheek. “I wasn’t sure if you’d remember. I thought about giving you a call to remind you and then I thought that would make me look like a total prat.”

Clare laughed. “Of course I remembered. Have we time for a drink?”

Finn steered her towards a crowded bar, where he somehow managed to get served straight away just by nodding his head at the woman behind the counter.

“Good that there’s such a crowd,” Clare said, taking a sip of her wine.

“We’ve still got a lot of support. In spite of what you might read in the
Daily Mail
and
The Sun
.”

“Any progress, though?”

“The lads in Yorkshire are having a lot of trouble with the police. It’s much worse than it is up here. We’ve only had a few scrapes, nothing really bad. But it could get worse. I’ve noticed a few unmarked cars hanging around near the pit. I reckon they’re spotters, looking out for flying pickets. And if they try to turn anyone back, there’ll be bother.”

When Finn talked about the union’s work, Clare felt a mixture of admiration and an uneasy sense that her own work was trivial in comparison. Finn insisted that fair publicity was a help, but to Clare it paled next to walking the streets with collection buckets, wrangling with lawyers and winning concessions on benefit payments.

“Did the police ever get back to you? About that baby business?”

Finn shook his head. “They’re keeping me on their books because they’re still none the wiser.” He took Clare’s hands and she felt a pleasurable jolt of heat through her limbs. “You don’t think I had anything to do with that, do you?”

Clare shook her head. “Of course not.”

She noticed Finn’s gaze wandering around the crowd as they chatted. “Are you looking for someone?”

Finn snapped his attention back to Clare. “No. Sorry. By the way, you wanted to do something on the women involved in the strike? Can you get to my mother’s house tomorrow morning, elevenish? There’ll be a few there, having a coffee and talking about setting up a group. They’ll talk to you, I’ve primed them.”

“That’s brilliant. I’ll be there.”

At the end of the concert, Clare’s head was ringing with protest songs and she’d put more money than she could afford into the collection bucket. It felt like all she could do and it also felt hopelessly inadequate. Finn put an arm lightly around her shoulder as they made their way through the crowd leaving the City Hall. She had no idea how to respond, but didn’t try to shake it off.

“Come for a last drink?”

Clare made an apologetic face. “Work tomorrow. I’d better not, sorry.”

“Can I see you home?”

Clare laughed. “I’m not sixteen. I can jump in a cab all by myself.”

“That’s not the point, I’d like to…” Finn stopped and gave a little shrug. “Okay, okay. But I’ve had a great night.”

“Me too. Thanks for the ticket. I’ll write something up. They’re always short on the reviews page.”

Finn gave Clare a note with his mother’s address and phone number. He leaned down and Clare stood on her tiptoes to kiss Finn’s cheek, as he put his arms around her waist to hold her there for a minute.

“I should go.”

Finn stepped back. Clare smiled as she waved at him and turned towards the taxi rank. She held the feeling of the kiss and Finn’s faint scent – of washed cotton and aftershave – in her head as she rode home, enjoying the sensation of a quickened heartbeat that took most of the journey to return to its normal pace.

Friday 27th July
It was unusual for Clare to wake up feeling optimistic about the day ahead. For several weeks, after light, fitful sleep at best, she’d woken up clutching her stomach, and with a sickening feeling of emptiness inside. Getting up, washing, dressing and all the other morning routines were things that she forced herself to do, with a sensation of dragging herself along. This morning, though, she found herself almost looking forward to the next few hours, rather than steeling herself simply to get through them. It wasn’t a feeling she could rationally explain.

Dave Bell was back on the newsdesk, to Clare’s relief. When she offered a news feature story on the women affected by the miners’ strike, he liked the idea. “You’ve got some good sources, I can tell,” he told her. “I’ve been having a look through the last few days’ papers and you’re still turning out some great stuff. Well done.”

“How are you for stories today? Can I take a bit of time over this miners’ thing?”

“I could do with something short for the early edition. Find me an overnight story for Saturday as well and I’ll be happy.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

Clare sent a few paragraphs about the Sweetmeadows protestors and the union’s plan to appeal against their court sentences. She already had a small pile of holdable stories, ready for weekend editions, and the entertainment editor was happy to take a review of the benefit concert from last night. It meant Clare was free to spend the rest of the morning with Finn’s mother.

Mary McKenna’s neat council house was only a few streets away from Clare’s office. As Clare tapped on the door, with the highly polished knocker, she suddenly felt jittery inside. Winning Mary’s approval would be important. Not just for the sake of the story.

Mary was a tiny woman in her late fifties, with hair in a short grey bob, and her house was intimidatingly clean. As Clare passed a series of framed photos on the wall, she couldn’t help wondering quite how this little elfin-shaped woman had managed to produce what looked like a small sports team of tall, muscle-bound lads.

Two small coffee tables were set out with cups, saucers and plates of biscuits. The mantelpiece over the fireplace was lined with ornaments – crystal and china figurines of animals and ladies in period dress. And down on either side of the hearth, polished but battered, were two old miners’ lamps.

“One’s my dad’s,” Mary said, as she noticed Clare looking at them. “The other belonged to my father-in-law.” She picked up one of the lamps and handed it to Clare, who ran her fingers along the bumps and dents in the brass.

“The mining goes back generations in our family,” Mary went on. “And almost any family round here will tell you the same. But they expect us to sit back and do nothing when they’re taking a whole way of life away from us.”

Clare nodded. “I do get that,” she said. “But I suppose they claim the unions are scaremongering. That there’s no big plan to close all the pits down.”

“I don’t trust anything that comes out of the mouth of a Tory government. I’ve got a long memory. We’ve been here before, back in the seventies, and the miners won. The Tories never got over it. This is payback time, I’m telling you.”

The doorbell pinged and Mary scurried off to open it. Four women arrived together and all piled into Mary’s little living room, fussing around the tea pot and biscuits, squeezing onto the sofa as Clare tried to breathe in and take up as little space as possible.

“These are fancy biscuits,” one of the women remarked.

“Don’t worry, they’re still in date. Just.”

“First off, I’ve got two of us on the van going down to London on Saturday,” one of the women announced. “Collecting for the food banks and the fighting fund. See if anyone down there’s got more money than we have.”

“Good, we’re running low. And with the school holidays, everyone’s finding it harder. We could do with some local firms helping out, with treats and maybe some days out, that sort of thing.”

“You could sort that out, couldn’t you?” The woman next to Clare gave her a nudge. “If you put something in the paper, some business people might come forward.”

“I could try.” Clare wasn’t sure if the editor would let her effectively advertise for people willing to support the strike, but she was prepared to give it a go, disguised as a story about the new women’s group. “So, summer activities for the kids and helping raise funds towards the strike. What else is the women’s group going to do?” As if that wasn’t enough, she thought, realising how the question might sound.

“We’ve got big plans.” Mary had a way of talking that meant Clare didn’t doubt her. “We need to make sure the women and kids are okay, because they’re what will keep this strike solid.”

“But you must be under so much strain already,” Clare said. “Trying to manage on – what?”

“Supplementary benefit,” one of the others chipped in. “Though what it’s meant to supplement, I’ve no idea. Bare bones benefit, that’s what it is.”

“How can you take all this on?” Clare asked. “With nothing?”

Mary smiled. “Because doing something useful is what gets us through the bad times. And the worse they make it for us, the harder we’ll fight. You just watch.”

Clare smiled back. “Good luck, then. I’ll do what I can.”

Mary nodded. “Our Finn said you would help.”

Clare found her face growing a little warm. She knew Mary was watching her closely. “I’ll do my best.”

“Finn’s taken quite a liking to you,” Mary added. Clare was conscious of all the other women turning to stare and size her up.

“Is he not with Jackie anymore?” asked the woman next to Clare, staring at her as if she had just landed. “You’re joking. I thought they were just about to name the day.”

“So did I. So did poor Jackie, I reckon.” Mary gave a little shake of her head. “But you know our Finn. I’ve never been able to fathom him and I’m his mother.”

Clare squirmed awkwardly in her seat, although it wasn’t easy with the woman’s large hips keeping her firmly pressed against the side of the sofa. Everyone was looking at her.

“How long had they been seeing each other? Since they were at school, wasn’t it?”

Mary nodded. “I know, I know. We’re all sorry about it. But if it’s not right it’s best that he says so now, before they’re down the aisle or in the maternity ward.”

“Aye. I suppose.” The woman next to Clare didn’t sound convinced. She looked Clare up and down. “Your Finn’s always been a dark horse, though.”

Mary sighed. “Tell me about it. And I don’t know what went on between him and Jackie, but there’s more to it than either of them are letting on. It’s something to do with him working for the union, I think. But I’m proud of him for it. It’s great to have him back at home.”

“Is it? I’d have thought it was one more mouth to feed.”

“Yes, but he’s such a help. He gets things done, he chips in with money.” Mary’s powdery cheeks went slightly pink. “I don’t always ask where he gets it from.”

“Aye, well.” The woman on the sofa shifted again and Clare tried to compress herself into an even smaller space. “These days, you take what you can. I’m glad he’s here for you, pet.”

“I think I’d better get going, anyway,” Clare said, squeezing painfully out of the sofa and standing up. “You’ve been so helpful. Thanks for letting me come along today. Is it okay if I get a photographer to call you, to come and take a picture to go with the piece?”

“I suppose so,” said Mary, though the others shrieked with laughter and said they wished they had the cash to get their hair done first.

Outside, the sky was cloud-grey but the air was still hot and heavy. Clare fanned herself, uselessly, with her notebook, wondering why those last few minutes had been quite so embarrassing. What exactly had Finn told his mother? Did he think they were some sort of an item, just because they’d been for a drink and out to a gig together? Were they? She found herself hoping so. Although whatever had happened with his long-term girlfriend, Clare hoped she wasn’t unwittingly responsible.

The office phone was jangling as Clare ran up the stairs, and she somehow sensed it had been ringing for some time. Amy sounded impatient on the other end of the line. “I’ve been calling you for ages and ages.”

“I was out doing a job. That’s what I do most days, Amy.”

“You need one of them phones you can carry around. I saw them on the telly. Why don’t you get one of those?”

“Because they cost a fortune and they weigh a ton. Only posers have them. Anyway, what can I do for you? Are you okay?”

“The police want to talk to me. They were banging on the door.”

“What did they say?”

Amy gave a dry little laugh. “I never let them in, you stupid. You don’t let police in unless you have to, that’s what me mam says. But they were knocking and knocking for a long time. I just hid in my bedroom till I was sure they’d gone.”

“So how do you know they want to talk to you?”

“They pushed a note through the door. They want me mam to bring me to the station.”

“That’s good, isn’t it? You can tell them about that man in the trainers and the cap. Then they can check him out. It might make you feel better.”

“Yeah, but me mam won’t take me. She thinks I’m making it all up. And she hates the police anyway. She won’t go to the station unless they drag her kicking and screaming, she says.”

Clare raked a hand through her hair, thinking. “Would it help if I came and talked to your mum?”

“Maybe.”

“Is she around?”

“She said she’d be back at tea time.”

Clare sighed. “Okay, tell your mum I’m going to pop in around five-ish just for a chat. Only, listen, Amy, tell her I can’t stay long, so I’m not babysitting again, okay?”

By six, Tina still hadn’t turned up. Clare sat, drumming her fingers on the edge of the sofa, whipping them away when she felt Max’s slippery tongue. Amy spent the time showing Clare her clumsy attempts at Teeline, dancing to her favourite pop tracks, and asking a barrage of questions about working as a journalist.

“I’ve got an idea,” said Clare. “How about I pick you up tomorrow and take you for a look in the newspaper office? You can see the papers coming off the presses. It’s really good to watch.”

Amy caught her breath. “I’d love that.”

“Okay, if your mum says you can.”

“She won’t care.”

“I’m sure she does care. I’m not just waltzing you off without permission.”

“But what if she doesn’t come back tonight?”

Clare felt a slight sinking feeling inside. “Do you think she might not?”