Read Online This Little Piggy by Bea Davenport - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Bea Davenport
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of words we’ll lose the strike. As far as I’m concerned, a reporter without a built-in anti-strike agenda is like gold.”
Clare shifted in her seat and said nothing. Finn was around the same age as Clare and stockily handsome. His eyes were a very pale shade of blue, his eyebrows and lashes blonde. It gave him an almost innocent appearance.
“Losing George was a hell of a knock to the lads. That’s why I stepped in. They needed someone to take over, and quickly, before they lost their resolve. And then there’s this rumour about the baby. That’s a lie too. You must know that. You do, don’t you?”
Clare stared into her coffee. She didn’t like it black. “I just report what I hear. I don’t decide what’s true and what isn’t. But it’s only fair that people should know what’s being said, isn’t it? Then they can make their own minds up.”
“I’m telling you,” McKenna sat forward. “Yeah, we’re angry at the strike-breakers, but most of our men have got families of their own. Not one of them would hurt a kid. I’d swear to it. On my own life.”
“To be fair, Rob Donnelly doesn’t think so either,” Clare replied. “But his mother-in-law does. And given the sort of stuff the family’s had to put up with since he broke the strike, it’s probably understandable.”
McKenna took a long drink of the coffee.
“Spitting at the family in the street? Putting their window out? You don’t think that might have upset Rob’s kids?” Clare raised her eyebrows at him.
“The union doesn’t condone any of those things,” McKenna said. “Although you have to understand that the men felt badly let down when one of their mates turned into a scab. But even you can see that there’s a big difference between that and committing a murder.”
Clare gave a small shrug. “The good news for you is that the police don’t believe it either. So no one’s pursuing that line of inquiry.”
“Except for you.”
“I’m not pursuing anything. I just report what people tell me, like I said.”
“Sure. We both have a job to do. I thought maybe we could help each other out.”
“How do you mean?” Clare folded her arms.
“I’ll make you my first port of call for any union stories I get. And there are plenty, these days.”
Clare narrowed her eyes. “And what do I have to do?”
“All I’m asking is for fair reporting. Fair. Not one-sided towards the union or the strike. Just not skewed the other way, by default.” McKenna paused and rubbed his nose. “And maybe…”
Clare sat up. “Maybe what?”
“What if you report on the odd positive thing? Like the fundraising we’re doing, like the food kitchens, that sort of thing.”
“I’ve always wanted to cover those things. But you don’t tend to ask the press along.”
“I want to change that. You can understand how people feel about reporters these days. The strikers and their families are sick of getting stitched up. But my view is, we have to work with you, not shut ourselves off.”
“I’d agree with that. Obviously.” Clare hesitated. “And I think I’m pretty fair already.”
“So do I. That’s what I’m trying to say, it’s why I’ve come to talk to you. You’ve got a dirty job, that’s all.”
Clare allowed her mouth to drop open a little. “That’s rich, coming from a miner.”
McKenna laughed. “Okay. But technically I’m not a miner. I was in security, but I quit when the strike started. And now I’m just a full-time union man.”
Clare hesitated. “Look, here’s a thought. Can I do a profile piece on you?”
She expected him to protest, but he didn’t. He just nodded. “Fine. As long as it’s not a hatchet job.”
Clare held up her hands. Then she glanced at her watch. “I’ve got stuff to do. I should’ve done my calls by now and I need to ring the newsdesk. Can we meet later?”
McKenna scribbled down his numbers. “Office and home. A pint after work?”
Clare gave a non-committal
Clare shifted in her seat and said nothing. Finn was around the same age as Clare and stockily handsome. His eyes were a very pale shade of blue, his eyebrows and lashes blonde. It gave him an almost innocent appearance.
“Losing George was a hell of a knock to the lads. That’s why I stepped in. They needed someone to take over, and quickly, before they lost their resolve. And then there’s this rumour about the baby. That’s a lie too. You must know that. You do, don’t you?”
Clare stared into her coffee. She didn’t like it black. “I just report what I hear. I don’t decide what’s true and what isn’t. But it’s only fair that people should know what’s being said, isn’t it? Then they can make their own minds up.”
“I’m telling you,” McKenna sat forward. “Yeah, we’re angry at the strike-breakers, but most of our men have got families of their own. Not one of them would hurt a kid. I’d swear to it. On my own life.”
“To be fair, Rob Donnelly doesn’t think so either,” Clare replied. “But his mother-in-law does. And given the sort of stuff the family’s had to put up with since he broke the strike, it’s probably understandable.”
McKenna took a long drink of the coffee.
“Spitting at the family in the street? Putting their window out? You don’t think that might have upset Rob’s kids?” Clare raised her eyebrows at him.
“The union doesn’t condone any of those things,” McKenna said. “Although you have to understand that the men felt badly let down when one of their mates turned into a scab. But even you can see that there’s a big difference between that and committing a murder.”
Clare gave a small shrug. “The good news for you is that the police don’t believe it either. So no one’s pursuing that line of inquiry.”
“Except for you.”
“I’m not pursuing anything. I just report what people tell me, like I said.”
“Sure. We both have a job to do. I thought maybe we could help each other out.”
“How do you mean?” Clare folded her arms.
“I’ll make you my first port of call for any union stories I get. And there are plenty, these days.”
Clare narrowed her eyes. “And what do I have to do?”
“All I’m asking is for fair reporting. Fair. Not one-sided towards the union or the strike. Just not skewed the other way, by default.” McKenna paused and rubbed his nose. “And maybe…”
Clare sat up. “Maybe what?”
“What if you report on the odd positive thing? Like the fundraising we’re doing, like the food kitchens, that sort of thing.”
“I’ve always wanted to cover those things. But you don’t tend to ask the press along.”
“I want to change that. You can understand how people feel about reporters these days. The strikers and their families are sick of getting stitched up. But my view is, we have to work with you, not shut ourselves off.”
“I’d agree with that. Obviously.” Clare hesitated. “And I think I’m pretty fair already.”
“So do I. That’s what I’m trying to say, it’s why I’ve come to talk to you. You’ve got a dirty job, that’s all.”
Clare allowed her mouth to drop open a little. “That’s rich, coming from a miner.”
McKenna laughed. “Okay. But technically I’m not a miner. I was in security, but I quit when the strike started. And now I’m just a full-time union man.”
Clare hesitated. “Look, here’s a thought. Can I do a profile piece on you?”
She expected him to protest, but he didn’t. He just nodded. “Fine. As long as it’s not a hatchet job.”
Clare held up her hands. Then she glanced at her watch. “I’ve got stuff to do. I should’ve done my calls by now and I need to ring the newsdesk. Can we meet later?”
McKenna scribbled down his numbers. “Office and home. A pint after work?”
Clare gave a non-committal
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