Free Darkness, Darkness by John Harvey

himself and showed identification.
    ‘Best come in . . .’ Stepping back to let Resnick enter. ‘Megan’s on lates this week, my turn in kitchen. No complaints, mind. Just as well one of us is, eh? In work, I mean.’
    ‘Don’t let me get in your way,’ Resnick offered.
    ‘Peelin’ spuds, that’s all. Come on through.’
    They sat at a round table, Formica topped.
    ‘I’ve not long mashed tea . . .’
    Resnick shook his head, declined. Why was it, whenever a police officer called round, invariably the first thing the person they were calling on did was hustle off to the kitchen to make tea?
    Learned behaviour, he supposed, all those cop shows on TV.
    Peterson topped up his own cup, dribbled in milk. ‘I told those two lads of yours all I could. Not sure if there’s a great deal I can add.’
    He made a face. ‘Livin’ there all that time an’ not knowin’. Not knowin’ what were there. Fair makes your skin crawl.’
    ‘From what I understand,’ Resnick said, ‘the extension, it had been in place for some time?’
    ‘Winter of eighty-one, two. Put it up myself with a mate . . .’
    ‘A mate?’
    ‘Geoff. Geoff Cartwright. We worked together down pit. Megan’d been on to me to do somethin’ about the wind as used to get into back of house. Whipped round there somethin’ dreadful. Regular whirlwind. She thought maybe somewhere for the washing machine an’ all that gubbins – utility room, that what they call ’em? That’d keep it out. And me, I’d always hankered after a bit of a conservatory. Plants, seedlings, you know. Ended up neither one thing nor the other. More trouble than it was worth, truth be known. An’ that’s without . . . well, without, you know . . .’
    He shook his head.
    ‘My fault, most like, mine and Geoff’s. Foundations never set right. Slabs we’d used on surface, paving slabs you know, always uneven, kiddies trippin’ over ’em, hurtin ’emselves. And then there was that performance with the drains. Went out there one morning afore work and the whole bloody lot was under half a foot of water. Not just water, neither.’
    He paused to sup some tea.
    ‘Coal Board sent somebody round eventually. Sorted drains, at least. Took their time, mind.’
    ‘This was when?’
    ‘November, would have been. November of eighty-four. Not a time I’ll bloody forget, not ever.’
    ‘And after the drains had been fixed, it was you and Geoff set the place to rights?’
    ‘When we could. Still working, both of us, down the pit. No reason not. Been a ballot, we’d’ve been out, no two ways about that. But as it was . . . mortgage to pay, kiddies to clothe, Megan just with this bit of a job, mornings, pin money, nothin’ more.’
    He looked across at Resnick, as if wanting confirmation he’d done the right thing.
    ‘At the end though, it was just Geoff more or less on his own. Plus whatever help he could get.’
    ‘You’d had enough by then or what?’
    ‘Away, weren’t we? That Christmas. Strike, it were getting Megan down, affecting her health. Her folks, they had a caravan, North Wales. We went there. Time we got back, around New Year, everything was shipshape out back. Bristol fashion. Geoff pleased as punch. Never have managed it all on his own, but, back then especially, no shortage of blokes grateful for a few days’ graft, cash in hand. Did a good job, mind. Never give us a bit of trouble, not till the day we left.’
    ‘And that was to come here?’
    Peterson nodded. ‘Not a lot of choice in the end. Joined the UDM, didn’t I? Eighty-five. Oh, not just me, plenty of others. Union of Democratic Mineworkers. Thought to secure jobs, jobs for life. Load of bollocks that turned out to be. Government, Coal Board, used the UDM to screw the rest of the miners and then screwed us in turn.’ A wry smile crossed his face. ‘At least I got redundancy, more than most of those other poor bastards. Helped buy this.’
    He glanced around. ‘Can’t say