Read Online Darkness, Darkness by John Harvey - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: John Harvey
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registered surprise. ‘Did you?’
‘It crossed my mind.’
Resnick grinned. ‘So cynical, so early in your career.’
Catherine poked out a tongue, switched on the engine and slipped the car into gear.
11
‘DRINK, DUCK?’
Jenny turns her head to where he’s standing close behind her: donkey jacket, jeans, Doc Martens; smiling. She’s seen him at the pithead these last few mornings, along with his mates. Not much more than lads, the lot of them. Laughing and fooling and lobbing stones. Down from Yorkshire and cocky with it.
‘No, thanks.’ In the fug and hubbub of the Welfare, she has to lean towards him to make herself heard.
‘You sure?’
‘Sure.’
The smile becomes a grin. ‘Some other time, maybe.’
‘Maybe.’
Edna Johnson takes hold of her arm and begins to steer her away. ‘Cradle-snatching, are we?’
‘That’ll be the day.’
The older woman laughs. ‘Peter Waites, he’d like a word.’
Waites is in the back room he uses as an office, empty canisters stacked against the wall behind him, crates of dandelion and burdock, boxes of salt-and-vinegar crisps. The trestle table he’s using as a desk is busy with scraps of paper, empty cups and glasses, brown envelopes, ashtrays, a map of the local area marked roughly with coloured ink.
‘Jenny. Come on in.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Edna closes the door behind her, shutting out most of the din.
‘Knock them papers off the chair,’ Waites says. ‘Have yourself a seat.’
The sound of Duran Duran can still be heard, distorted, through the wall. Waites holds out a packet of Silk Cut towards her and, when she shakes her head, lights one for himself from the butt of the last.
‘Edna says you’ve been lending a hand in kitchen, that and one or two other things.’
‘I do what I can. Kids, you know, and . . .’
‘Don’t think it’s not been noticed, that’s all. Appreciated. Work cut out, Edna has, not just here, but being delegate to Central Group like she is. Meetings to attend. All takes time.’
Jenny crosses one leg over the other, tugs at the hem of her skirt. She feels as if she’s being interviewed for a job without knowing quite what it is.
‘You mentioned the kids,’ Waites says. ‘Three, is it?’
‘The kids are fine.’
‘Your Barry, though . . .’
‘Barry does as he sees fit. Always has.’
‘No luck getting him to change his mind, then? Assuming you’ve tried.’
‘He gets on with his life, I get on with mine.’
Waites taps ash into an empty pint glass.
Jenny recrosses her legs, trying to ignore the bra strap cutting into her shoulder.
‘More you get involved,’ Waites is saying, ‘there’ll be those’ll not take to it kindly. Dirty looks thrown your way an’ likely a sight more. And with Barry still working . . .’ He smiles a lopsided smile. ‘Not exactly stand by your man, is it?’
‘What I’m doing, I thought you’d be pleased. Now it sounds as if you think I’m doin’ wrong thing.’
‘No, lass. Want to be sure you know what you’re lettin’ yourself in for, that’s all.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘That’s good. ’Cause the more you get involved, going out on women’s-only picket, maybe, making the odd speech or two . . .’
‘Do what?’
‘There’s lots of women angry, lass, you know that as well as me. Not afraid to shout and make themselves heard. On picket line, at least. But Edna, at the moment, she’s one of few with bottle enough to stand up in front of a crowd and make ’em listen.’
‘But I can’t . . .’
‘She reckons you can. With a bit of practice. No call to rush into it. Just when you feel you’re ready.’
‘Well, I don’t know . . . I mean, will they listen to me, specially, like you say, with Barry still working?’
‘Barry still scabbing, they’ll likely listen all the more. But have a chat with Edna. Talk it through. If you do decide, she’ll give you all help you’ll need.’
‘Right.’ Jenny
‘It crossed my mind.’
Resnick grinned. ‘So cynical, so early in your career.’
Catherine poked out a tongue, switched on the engine and slipped the car into gear.
11
‘DRINK, DUCK?’
Jenny turns her head to where he’s standing close behind her: donkey jacket, jeans, Doc Martens; smiling. She’s seen him at the pithead these last few mornings, along with his mates. Not much more than lads, the lot of them. Laughing and fooling and lobbing stones. Down from Yorkshire and cocky with it.
‘No, thanks.’ In the fug and hubbub of the Welfare, she has to lean towards him to make herself heard.
‘You sure?’
‘Sure.’
The smile becomes a grin. ‘Some other time, maybe.’
‘Maybe.’
Edna Johnson takes hold of her arm and begins to steer her away. ‘Cradle-snatching, are we?’
‘That’ll be the day.’
The older woman laughs. ‘Peter Waites, he’d like a word.’
Waites is in the back room he uses as an office, empty canisters stacked against the wall behind him, crates of dandelion and burdock, boxes of salt-and-vinegar crisps. The trestle table he’s using as a desk is busy with scraps of paper, empty cups and glasses, brown envelopes, ashtrays, a map of the local area marked roughly with coloured ink.
‘Jenny. Come on in.’
‘I’ll leave you to it.’ Edna closes the door behind her, shutting out most of the din.
‘Knock them papers off the chair,’ Waites says. ‘Have yourself a seat.’
The sound of Duran Duran can still be heard, distorted, through the wall. Waites holds out a packet of Silk Cut towards her and, when she shakes her head, lights one for himself from the butt of the last.
‘Edna says you’ve been lending a hand in kitchen, that and one or two other things.’
‘I do what I can. Kids, you know, and . . .’
‘Don’t think it’s not been noticed, that’s all. Appreciated. Work cut out, Edna has, not just here, but being delegate to Central Group like she is. Meetings to attend. All takes time.’
Jenny crosses one leg over the other, tugs at the hem of her skirt. She feels as if she’s being interviewed for a job without knowing quite what it is.
‘You mentioned the kids,’ Waites says. ‘Three, is it?’
‘The kids are fine.’
‘Your Barry, though . . .’
‘Barry does as he sees fit. Always has.’
‘No luck getting him to change his mind, then? Assuming you’ve tried.’
‘He gets on with his life, I get on with mine.’
Waites taps ash into an empty pint glass.
Jenny recrosses her legs, trying to ignore the bra strap cutting into her shoulder.
‘More you get involved,’ Waites is saying, ‘there’ll be those’ll not take to it kindly. Dirty looks thrown your way an’ likely a sight more. And with Barry still working . . .’ He smiles a lopsided smile. ‘Not exactly stand by your man, is it?’
‘What I’m doing, I thought you’d be pleased. Now it sounds as if you think I’m doin’ wrong thing.’
‘No, lass. Want to be sure you know what you’re lettin’ yourself in for, that’s all.’
‘Well, I am.’
‘That’s good. ’Cause the more you get involved, going out on women’s-only picket, maybe, making the odd speech or two . . .’
‘Do what?’
‘There’s lots of women angry, lass, you know that as well as me. Not afraid to shout and make themselves heard. On picket line, at least. But Edna, at the moment, she’s one of few with bottle enough to stand up in front of a crowd and make ’em listen.’
‘But I can’t . . .’
‘She reckons you can. With a bit of practice. No call to rush into it. Just when you feel you’re ready.’
‘Well, I don’t know . . . I mean, will they listen to me, specially, like you say, with Barry still working?’
‘Barry still scabbing, they’ll likely listen all the more. But have a chat with Edna. Talk it through. If you do decide, she’ll give you all help you’ll need.’
‘Right.’ Jenny
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