Jenny had swallowed plenty of that over the past nine months. It had started right at the beginning when shed heard the Scottish miners would support the Yorkshire coalfield in the call for a national strike not from Mick but from Arthur Scargill, President of the National Union of Mineworkers. Not personally, of course. Just his yapping harangue on the TV news. Instead of coming straight back from the Miners Welfare meeting to tell her, Mick had been hanging out with Andy and his other union pals, drinking at the bar like money was never going to be a problem. Celebrating King Arthurs battle-cry in the time-honoured way. The miners united will never be defeated.
The wives knew the hopelessness of it all, right from the start. You go into a coal strike at the beginning of winter, when the demand from the power stations is at its highest. Not in the spring, when everybodys looking to turn off their heating. And when you go for major industrial action against a bitch like Margaret Thatcher, you cover your back. You follow the labour laws. You follow your own rules. You stage a national ballot. You dont rely on a dubious interpretation of a resolution passed three years before for a different purpose. Oh yes, the wives had known it was futile. But theyd kept their mouths shut and, for the first time ever, theyd built their own organization to support their men. Loyalty, that was what counted in the pit villages and mining communities.
And so Mick and Jenny were still hanging together. Jenny sometimes wondered if the only reason Mick was still with her and Misha was because he had nowhere else to go. Parents dead, no brothers or sisters, there was no obvious bolthole. Shed asked him once and hed frozen like a statue for a long moment. Then hed scoffed at her, denying he wanted to be gone, reminding her that Andy would always put him up in his cottage if he wanted to be away. So, no reason why she should have imagined that Friday was different from any other.
Thursday 28th June 2007; Newton of Wemyss
So this wasnt the first time hed gone off with his paints for the day? Karen said. Whatever was going on in Jenny Prentices head, it was clearly a lot more than the bare bones she was giving up.
Four or five times a week, by the end.
What about you? What did you do for the rest of the day?
I went up the woods for some kindling, then I came back and watched the news on the telly. It was quite the day, that Friday. King Arthur was in court for police obstruction at the Battle of Orgreave. And Band Aid got to number one. I tell you, I could have spat in their faces. All that effort for bairns thousands of miles away when there were hungry kids on their own doorsteps. Where was Bono and Bob Geldof when our kids were waking up on Christmas morning with bugger all in their stockings?
It must have been hard to take, Karen said.
It felt like a slap in the face. Nothing glamorous about helping the miners, was there? A bitter little smile lit up her face. Could have been worse, though. We could have had to put up with that sanctimonious shite Sting. Not to mention his bloody lute.
Right enough. Karen couldnt hide her amusement. Gallows humour was never far from the surface in these mining communities. So, what did you do after the TV news?
I went down the Welfare. Mick had said something about a food handout. I got in the queue and came home with a packet of pasta, a tin of tomatoes and two onions. And a pack of dried Scotch broth mix. I mind I felt pretty pleased with myself. I collected Misha from the school and I thought it might cheer us up if we put up the Christmas decorations, so thats what we did.
When did you realize it was late for Mick to be back?
Jenny paused, one hand fiddling with a button on her overall. That time of year, its early dark. Usually, hed be back not long after me and Misha. But with us doing the decorations, I didnt really notice the time passing.
She was lying, Karen thought. But why? And about what?
Friday 14th December 1984; Newton of Wemyss
Jenny had been one of the first in the queue at the Miners Welfare and shed hurried home with her pitiful bounty, determined to get a pot of soup going so there would be something tasty for the tea. She rounded the pithead baths building, noticing all her neighbours houses were in darkness. These days, nobody left a welcoming light on when they went out. Every penny counted when the fuel bills came in.
When she turned in at her gate, she nearly jumped out of her skin. A shadowy figure rose from the darkness, looming huge in her imagination. She made a noise halfway between a gasp and a moan.
Jenny, Jenny, calm down. Its me. Tom. Tom Campbell. Im sorry, I didnt mean to scare you. The shape took form and she recognized the big man standing by her front door.
Christ, Tom, you gave me the fright of my life, she complained, moving past him and opening the front door. Conscious of the breathtaking chill of the house, she led the way into the kitchen. Without hesitation, she filled her soup pan with water and put it on the stove, the gas ring giving out a tiny wedge of heat. Then she turned to face him in the dimness of the afternoon light. How are you doing?
Tom Campbell shrugged his big shoulders and gave a halfhearted smile. Up and down, he said. Its ironic. The one time in my life I really needed my pals and this strike happens.
At least youve got me and Mick, Jenny said, waving him to a chair.
Well, Ive got you, anyway. I dont think Id be on Micks Christmas card list, always supposing anybody was sending any this year. Not after October. Hes not spoken to me since then.
Hell get over it, she said without a shred of conviction. Mick had always had his reservations about the wider ripples of the schoolgirl friendship between Jenny and Toms wife Moira. The women had been best pals forever, Moira standing chief bridesmaid at Jenny and Micks wedding. When it came time to return the favour, Jenny been pregnant with Misha. Mick had pointed out that her increasing size was the perfect excuse to turn Moira down, what with having to buy the bridesmaids dress in advance. It wasnt a suggestion, more an injunction. For although Tom Campbell was by all accounts a decent man and a handsome man and an honest man, he was not a miner. True, he worked at the Lady Charlotte. He went underground in the stomach-juddering cage. He sometimes even got his hands dirty. But he was not a miner. He was a pit deputy. A member of a different union. A management man there to see that the health and safety rules were followed and that the lads did what they were supposed to. The miners had a term for the easiest part of any task - the deputys end. It sounded innocuous enough, but in an environment where every member of a gang knew his life depended on his colleagues, it expressed a world of contempt. And so Mick Prentice had always held something in reserve when it came to his dealings with Tom Campbell.
Hed resented the invitations to dinner at their detached house in West Wemyss. Hed mistrusted Toms invitations to join him at the football. Hed even begrudged the hours Jenny spent at Moiras bedside during her undignified but swift death from cancer a couple of years before. And when Toms union had dithered and swithered over joining the strike a couple of months before, Mick had raged like a toddler when theyd finally come down on the side of the bosses.
Jenny suspected part of the reason for his anger was the kindness Tom had shown them since the strike had started to bite. Hed taken to stopping by with little gifts - a bag of apples, a sack of potatoes, a soft toy for Misha. Theyd always come with plausible excuses - a neighbours tree with a glut, more potatoes in his allotment than he could possibly need, a raffle prize from the bowling club. Mick had always grumbled afterwards. Patronizing shite, hed said.
Hes trying to help us without shaming us, Jenny said. It didnt hurt that Toms presence reminded her of happier times. Somehow, when he was there, she felt a sense of possibility again. She saw herself reflected in his eyes, and it was as a younger woman, a woman who had ambitions for her life to be different. So although she knew it would annoy Mick, Jenny was happy for Tom to sit at her kitchen table and talk.
He drew a limp but heavy parcel from his pocket. Can you use a couple of pounds of bacon? he said, his brow creasing in anxiety. My sister-in-law, she brought it over from her familys farm in Ireland. But its smoked, see, and I cant be doing with smoked bacon. It gives me the scunners. So I thought, rather than it go to waste He held it out to her.
Jenny took the package without a seconds hesitation. She gave a little snort of self-deprecation. Look at me. My hearts all a flutter over a couple of pounds of bacon. Thats what Margaret Thatcher and Arthur Scargill have done between them. She shook her head. Thank you, Tom. Youre a good man.
He looked away, unsure what to say or do. His eyes fixed on the clock. Do you not need to pick up the bairn? Im sorry, I wasnt thinking about the time when I was waiting, I just wanted to He got to his feet, his face pink. Ill come again.
She heard the stumble of his boots in the hall then the click of the latch. She tossed the bacon on to the counter and turned off the pan of water. It would be a different soup now.
Moira had always been the lucky one.
Thursday 28th June 2007; Newton of Wemyss
Jennys eyes came off the middle distance and focused on Karen. I suppose it was about seven oclock when it dawned on me that Mick hadnt come home. I was angry, because Id actually got a half-decent tea to put on the table. So I got the bairn to her bed, then I got her next door to sit in so I could run down the Welfare and see if Mick was there. She shook her head, still surprised after all these years. And of course, he wasnt.
Had anybody seen him?
Apparently not.
You must have been worried, Karen said.
Jenny shrugged one shoulder. Not really. Like I said, we hadnt exactly parted on the best of terms. I just thought hed taken the huff and gone over to Andys.
The guy in the photo?
Aye. Andy Kerr. He was a union official. But he was on the sick from his work. Stress, they said. And they were right. Hed killed himself within the month. I often thought Mick going scabbing was the last straw for Andy. He worshipped Mick. It would have broken his heart.
So thats where you assumed he was? Karen prompted her.
Thats right. He had a cottage out in the woods, in the middle of nowhere. He said he liked the peace and quiet. Mick took me out there one time. It gave me the heebie jeebies. It was like the witchs house in one of Mishas fairy stories - there was no sign of it till suddenly you were there, right in front of it. You wouldnt catch me living there.
Could you not have phoned to check? the Mint butted in. Both women stared at him with a mixture of amusement and indulgence.
Our phone had been cut off months before, son, Jenny said, exchanging a look with Karen. And this was long before mobiles.
By now, Karen was gagging for a cup of tea, but she was damned if she was going to put herself in Jenny Prentices debt. She cleared her throat and continued. When did you start to worry?
When the bairn woke me up in the morning and he still wasnt home. Hed never done that before. It wasnt as if wed had a proper row on the Friday. Just a few cross words. Wed had worse, believe me. When he wasnt there in the morning, I really started to think there was something badly wrong.
What did you do?
I got Misha fed and dressed and took her down to her pal Laurens house. Then walked out through the woods to Andys place. But there was nobody there. And then I remembered Mick had said that now he was on the sick, Andy was maybe going to go off up to the Highlands for a few days. Get away from it all. Get his head straight. So of course he wasnt there. And by then, I was really starting to get scared. What if there had been an accident? What if hed been taken ill? The memory still had the power to disturb Jenny. Her fingers picked endlessly at the hem of her overall.
I went up to the Welfare to see the union reps. I figured if anybody knew where Mick was, it would be them. Or at least theyd know where to start looking. She stared down at the floor, her hands clasped tight in her lap. Thats when the wheels really started to come off my life.
Saturday 15th December 1984; Newton of Wemyss
Even in the morning, without the press of bodies to raise the temperature, the Miners Welfare Institute was warmer than her house, Jenny noticed as she walked in. Not by much, but enough to be perceptible. It wasnt the sort of thing that usually caught her attention but today she was trying to think of anything except the absence of her husband. She stood hesitant for a moment in the entrance hall, trying to decide where to go. The NUM strike offices were upstairs, she vaguely remembered, so she made for the ornately carved staircase. On the first-floor landing, it all became much easier. All she had to do was to follow the low mutter of voices and the high thin layer of cigarette smoke.
A few yards down the hall, a door was cracked ajar, the source of the sound and the smell. Jenny tapped nervously and the room went quiet. At last, a cautious voice said, Come in.
She slid round the door like a church mouse. The room was dominated by a U-shaped table covered in tartan oilcloth. Half a dozen men were slouched around it in varying states of despondency. Jenny faltered when she realized the man at the top corner was someone she recognized but did not know. Mick McGahey, former Communist, leader of the Scottish miners. The only man, it was said, who could stand up to King Arthur and make his voice heard. The man who had been deliberately kept from the top spot by his predecessor. If Jenny had a pound for every time shed heard someone say how different it would have been if McGahey had been in charge, her family would have been the best-fed and best-dressed in Newton of Wemyss. Im sorry, she stuttered. I just wanted a word Her eyes flickered round the room, wondering which of the men she knew would be best to focus on.
Its all right, Jenny, Ben Reekie said. We were just having a wee meeting. Were pretty much done here, eh, lads? There was a discontented murmur of agreement. But Reekie, the local secretary, was good at taking the temperature of a meeting and moving things along. So, Jenny, how can we help you?
She wished they were alone, but didnt have the nerve to ask for it. The women had learned a lot in the process of supporting their men, but face to face their assertiveness still tended to melt away. But it would be all right, she told herself. Shed lived in this cocooned world all her adult life, a world that centred on the pit and the Welfare, where there were no secrets and the union was your mother and your father. Im worried about Mick, she said. No point in beating about the bush. He went out yesterday morning and never came back. I was wondering if maybe?