Dalziel And Pascoe: Under World Part 14

Ellie began to laugh a fraction before Pascoe.

'I really am glad you've come,' she said. 'Let's have a drink while Peter's putting his flowers in water!'

It was a delightful relaxed evening. Wield let down three or four of his outer defence barriers, and though Pascoe got a sense of plenty of layers in reserve, the shrewd and humorous man revealed was a pleasant guest to have at anyone's table. Ellie demurred at calling him Wieldy but the sergeant refused to reveal his Christian names on the grounds that they might discriminate him.

'Wieldy's fine,' he said. 'As long as you make no cracks about "unwieldy". I had enough of that in training.'

After supper they were sitting talking with a Glenn Miller record on low in the background when the phone rang. Pascoe answered it and a man's voice, young and Yorks.h.i.+re and not very distinct, asked if he could talk to Mrs Pascoe. Relieved that at least it wasn't a summons to duty, he went back to the lounge and summoned Ellie. After she had gone into the hall, he offered to refill Wield's gla.s.s.

'Best not,' said the sergeant. 'I'm always getting stopped. Our car lads think anyone on a bike's a h.e.l.l's Angel who's probably breaking the Highway Code by eating a live chicken as he rides. One of these days I'll get some smart kid who'll show how impartial he is by breathalysing me.'

'You think we should get special treatment?' wondered Pascoe, who had not found Wield's temperance infectious.

'Not special. Neither specially good nor specially bad. The same. Equal.'

'That should be easy enough to arrange.' said Pascoe.

'You reckon? Try being a motorcyclist. Try not being a cop' said Wield. Then he added in a voice a little lower but quite audible, 'Try being gay.'

'Thanks but no thanks!' Pascoe heard himself say, then, 'Oh s.h.i.+t, Wieldy, I'm sorry, it's the booze.'

'No, it's not,' said Wield equably, it's a conditioned response. The station canteen, the Club bar, that's the kind of thing you've got to say to show your credentials. I've done it myself in the early days.'

'And now?' asked Pascoe.

'And now? I've been in a kind of limbo these past few weeks. I'd said to myself: No more, I'm coming out, from now on in I'll be myself. But what's that? I mean, for me to start going up to people who know me and saying, Have you heard? I'm gay!' that's so far from what I am that it'd almost be as dishonest as the way I was before. I've never been promiscuous, or mebbe I conditioned myself there too, and with these scare stories about AIDS around, I'm certainly not about to start. I did go into the Jolly Waggoner on Childersgate one night, you know, the one they call the Gay Galloper. I bought a drink and someone said, "My G.o.d, darling, the fuzz are really sc.r.a.ping the barrel for their agents provocateurs, aren't they?" I drank up and left. I mean, what else was there to do? I couldn't see any future, or much point, in standing on a chair and trying to persuade them all I really was gay. More to the point, I found myself thinking it was none of their b.l.o.o.d.y business. In fact it's no one's except mine. I am what I've made myself and that's the way I'll stay till I make myself something else. So no c.r.a.p. I'll never lie again about being gay, but I'll not take a full page spread in the Post to advertise it either. Does that make sense to you, Peter?'

This was certainly the longest and most personal speech Pascoe had ever heard Wield make.

He said, 'What do I know? But yes, it makes sense to me, for what that's worth.'

'A lot,' said Wield seriously. 'Right. That's that. And don't worry. If you don't go on about your s.e.x life, I'll not go on about mine! Is there owt new about Mr Watmough?'

Pascoe accepted the change of direction with a relief he felt slightly ashamed of.

'I gather there's a lot of pressure from high up to get him to shut up, but I doubt if he's really in control now and it takes lawyers with a good case to shut someone like Ogilby up. I've tried two or three times to get hold of Monty Boyle, but he's never available and he never rings back. I think I'll have to go out looking for him. But there's no way next Sunday's piece won't be printed, I'm afraid.'

Ellie came back into the room. Pascoe knew at once that there was something bothering her. She said, 'I'm sorry, but I've got to go out.'

Pascoe said, 'What's up? Not your father, is it?'

Ellie's father in Lincolns.h.i.+re had for some time been drifting into the happy but hazardous land of senile dementia. He was quite capable of going for a walk on a country path which had been replaced by a four-lane highway twenty years ago.

'Oh no,' said Ellie. 'Nothing like that. It's just one of my students. He sounds a bit agitated about something so I think I ought to put in a bit of the old pastoral care.'

Wield began to rise, saying, 'I really ought to be going.' but Ellie put her hands on his shoulders and pressed him firmly down again.

'No, don't make me feel guiltier than I do,' she said. 'You stay, finish the bottle. Or Peter will make you some more coffee.'

'Do you have to go?' asked Pascoe petulantly, because petulance hid his real feelings.

Ellie smiled without much humour.

'That's usually my line when Dalziel rings, isn't it? And don't tell me that's different. I'll be as quick as I can.'

She left too swiftly for him to reply. He thought of going after her and continuing their discussion in the hallway but he knew that would only upgrade it to a row. A moment later they heard the sound of Ellie's car.

'I hope she missed your leathers,' said Pascoe, trying for brightness.

'I thought Mrs Pascoe - Ellie - had given up her job at the college,' said Wield speculatively.

'This is a university course, extra-mural,' said Pascoe. 'Miners.'

'Miners?' said Wield. His face as usual gave nothing away. Pascoe wished he could feel as sure of his own control. He'd never heard the voice on the phone before, but he'd recognized it instantly with a certainty which his conscious mind had dismissed as absurd. Colin Farr, the Marvellous Boy. Colin Farr.

Chapter 7.

'Why am I driving so fast?' Ellie Pascoe asked herself.

'I'm like some kid rus.h.i.+ng out on her first date, terrified she'll be late and he'll have gone on without her!'

The comparison was not as amusing as it should have been. There was a light drizzle in the air, enough to smear but not to clear the screen. Wield was going to need his leathers. She pressed the cleaner b.u.t.ton but no water squirted out. She remembered now that she'd noticed the bottle was empty last time she'd tried to use it. She slowed down, straining her eyes to see through the dirt-striated gla.s.s. Ahead a signpost pointing down a minor road said Lardley 6 miles. She turned down it. There were no cat's-eyes and any number of ambiguous forks but finally she saw ahead of her the obscure light of a telephone box standing at a five-lane crossroads.

Anyone else would have been sheltering inside but Colin Farr was sitting on the gra.s.s verge with his back against the door and his eyes closed. Between his legs was a bottle. As she got out of the car she saw with horror that his golden curls were caked with blood, his face was bruised and his jerkin and jeans were torn.

'Colin, what's happened?' she asked anxiously. 'Are you hurt badly?'

He opened his eyes, laughed and said, 'Why? Will you kiss it better?'

'For G.o.d's sake, get up and get into the car,' she said angrily. 'If you want to get pneumonia as well, that's your business, but I don't.'

She climbed back into the car and a moment later he opened the pa.s.senger door and slumped in beside her.

'Right.' she said firmly, determined not to risk having sympathy mocked again. 'What's going on? You weren't all that coherent. Have you been in an accident?'

'Very sharp of you, Mrs Pascoe,' he said. His voice was slurred.

'Was anyone else involved?'

He started counting on his fingers.

'Well, there was me and the bike and the tree,' he said. 'That makes three.'

He burped and she smelled the sweet heavy smell of rum. The sailor's drink, 'You've been drinking,' she said.

'Christ, you sound just like my mam, or a b.l.o.o.d.y wife!' he said. 'Yes, I've had a couple of jars. So what?'

'So you shouldn't have been driving,' she said weakly.

'I wasn't,' he said with his slow smile. 'I had my eyes closed and me hands on me head. If they built straight roads round here, I'd likely still be going.'

'Why did you ring me, Colin?' she demanded.

'Why'd you come?' His voice was stronger.

'I thought you were in trouble.'

'And that bothered you? Must be b.l.o.o.d.y good money they pay you at yon university to come running like this! Was that your husband that answered the phone?'

'Yes.'

'Didn't he mind you rus.h.i.+ng off like that?'

'He didn't say what he thought.'

'Silly t.w.a.t,' said Farr.

Ellie said, 'All right, Colin. I'm pleased you're not badly hurt and I see now I misunderstood you. So, out you get. Have you got plenty of change? You may have to ring quite a few taxi firms before you find one that will come out here.'

'Eh? What's up?' demanded Farr.

'You were right. They don't pay me anything like enough to oblige me to put up with drunken jokers,' said Ellie. 'So out.'

He didn't move. Then he said in a low voice, 'I'm sorry. I don't know how to talk to you ... no, that's daft ... it sounds like I'm a peasant and you're a princess and that's not what I mean! It's just that I feel I've got to meet you head on somehow, like it were a kind of challenge ... I mean, like when I rang up, I expected you'd just tell me to sod off. It were like riding along with my eyes closed. You know what's going to happen so when it does, it just sort of confirms things, means you were right to expect the worst. But you said you'd come, right off, no fuss, so I don't know what to expect, and I'm a bit p.i.s.sed and my head hurts and I've got to fight back else you might have an advantage . . . Listen, why'd you come?'

'Not to put you down, that's for sure,' said Ellie.

'Why'd you ring me? Are you in some sort of trouble?'

'Trouble?' he said in such a low voice she could hardly hear him. 'Am I in trouble or is he in trouble . . . or out of trouble . . . like Dad ... a way out of trouble ... to take ... to give . . .'

'Colin,' she said urgently, 'has something happened? At home? At the pit?'

He slumped back and closed his eyes. Ellie for a heartstopping moment thought he'd slipped into unconsciousness, or worse. Then his lips started to move again. She put her ear so close she was almost touching and she could feel his breath light as a summer breeze that hardly stirs the gra.s.s.

'. . . blood on your coal . . . they say . . . blood and flesh and bones and brains . . . dark place for a dark deed . . . man can't toil all his life in darkness without drinking some of it in . . . not possible! Not possible!'

His voice suddenly rose to a scream and she jerked her head back. His eyes were open again and watching her.

She said, 'Colin, what are you talking about?'

He frowned in concentration, then pulled the bottle from inside his leather jerkin and took a long draught. Ellie said, 'Oh Colin, must you?'

He seemed to consider the question seriously then replied, 'Yes, I must.'

But he replaced the bottle in his jerkin.

He said, 'You know what Mam said when Dad had his accident? She said, "At least it means he'll end up dying in G.o.d's good air and not down that stinking hole." She's always been a one for finding good in bad, my mam. She told me she felt glad when I went to sea. She cried because I were going but she felt glad too. She thought it meant that I'd be like Dad, able to die in G.o.d's good air, or at least G.o.d's good water, eh?'

He laughed. It sounded contrived.

He went on, 'I got to thinking of it today. I shouldn't have gone on s.h.i.+ft. Last night I thought I'd never go underground again, but after what Mam told me . . . well, I had to think, and dark seemed right place to think . . . he killed himself though, stands to reason, mebbe not because ... I don't know . . . but he had left her, hadn't he? He'd have loved a little la.s.s of his own . . . after me Mam couldn't. . . that's why he were so fond of . . . b.l.o.o.d.y Satterthwaite! that b.a.s.t.a.r.d deserves everything . . . but I shouldn't have ... it was so black down there, I had to get out, I had to get out, I told Jim I were sick ... all the way along the return I could feel the dark flooding after me like water, and all the way up in the Cage. Seeing that sky again ... oh G.o.d!'

He stopped, leaned his head back and took in a deep breath as though reliving the experience. Ellie found she'd put her hand over his and he turned his over to grasp hers loosely. It felt easy, companionable, safe.

She said, 'You still haven't told me what you're doing out here.'

'I didn't want to go home and worry Mam, so I got on me bike and went for a ride. And I stopped for a drink. And it seemed a good idea. So I stopped for some more. And when I got properly bevvied up, I crashed the bike, came staggering on here and rang you. All right?'

His voice was loud and harsh.

Ellie said, 'Why me? Why not a garage? Or a taxi? Or a friend?'

'I thought I did,' he said. 'Ring a friend.'

'c.r.a.p,' said Ellie firmly.

'You mean you're not my friend?'

'I mean I'm not the kind of friend you ring up when you've crashed your bike!'

'Now that's a real middle-cla.s.s luxury,' he mocked, suddenly wholly himself again. 'Having categories of friends.h.i.+p.'

'I like it when you give yourself away,' said Ellie calmly. 'You've got to be really clever to play dumb all the time.'

'And mebbe you've got to be a bit thick not to know when it's best to play dumb,' he retorted. 'All right, here it is. After I'd been drinking a bit I got to thinking I'd really like to sit down and talk things over with someone, not with one of my mates or anyone who had owt to do with Burrthorpe, but someone who'd mebbe see things a bit clearer from the outside. You were the only one I could think of.'

'Thanks.' said Ellie.

Farr laughed. 'Truth were your idea,' he said. 'Any road, I don't know if I'd have done owt about it, but when I came off the bike and got to this box, I meant to ring a garage, like you said. But then I thought: Why not her? See what she says, what she does. There, that's how it was. Satisfied now? Or shall I lie back here while you ask a few more questions?'

'Colin, I'm not a psychologist,' said Ellie carefully. 'Nor am I a schoolteacher. Either we talk on level terms or we don't talk at all.'

'Level terms?' he sneered. 'What do you know about anything? How could you understand owt? Middle-cla.s.s cow!'

She was beginning to feel uneasy at these swings of mood. Was it the drink that caused them? Or his head wound? Or something deeper, darker?

'You're right,' she said. 'I can't understand for a start why you've stayed on at the pit as long as you have if you hate it so much.'

'How the h.e.l.l should I know?' he demanded. 'Look, I went back after Dad died, like I said. That were to show 'em, to shut 'em up. Then the Strike started. You remember the Strike? Or did you mebbe not notice in the academic world? It lasted a year, just on. It was pointless leaving then. It would have looked as if I were giving in, letting my mates down. Besides, at least you didn't have to go down that b.l.o.o.d.y hole. There were some good times. It brought us all together. Sometimes I'd think I must be mad, freezing on a picket or having my a.r.s.e kicked by a b.l.o.o.d.y police horse, all to save a place and a job I hated! Then I'd go down the Welfare, see how everyone was pooling their resources and pulling together, and I'd start to feel that mebbe there was something here worth all the s.h.i.+t, that mebbe it had taken the Strike to awaken it and it'd not go back to sleep in a hurry even when the Strike were over.'

'And were you right? Have things changed permanently?'