Breakdown (34 page)

I lie awake. My mind filled again with the horror of that mine. Its deep black jungle like a living thing, filled with bloodsucking parasites, draining me of every happy thought.

In the darkness, I hear Nan's voice.

‘The underworld is a terrible place, Melissa. It is the land of the living dead. Do not get trapped there. You are a child of the light. Queen of a thousand blossoms. Beware the darkness.'

And I remember the story.

‘When Eurydice disappeared, Orpheus travelled to the underworld to soften the heart of Hades. And Hades allowed Eurydice to return with Orpheus to the sunshine – on one condition: Orpheus should walk in front of her and not look back until they both reached the light. He set off with Eurydice following, but enthralled by her beauty he hesitated, he turned to look at her, and she vanished forever.

‘Do not cause others to look back, do not hold them by your beauty, Melissa, lest you remain forever in the underworld.'

And suddenly I remember my dream. When Tarquin came to me clothed in white cotton and took my hand and led me forth  … 

But if we leave here, where can we go?

Oh Nan, there are many kinds of underworlds. Many shades of darkness.

To be back safe with you, by the fireside, with your book of Greek myths. That enchanted world. To open it up at my favourite drawing: Gods sporting, maidens cavorting, over them honeyed skies of gold.

Oh Nan  … 

Where else is there in this God-forsaken land?

I don't sleep well. And the morning brings worse.

‘Soldiers have come,' says Bridey as she stirs a cup.

‘Already?'

‘Arrived on a special, early this morning.'

‘The General?'

‘Not yet.'

‘What's a special?'

‘A small engine that can run the lines.'

I sit down, rest my head in my hands.

‘He must want you pretty bad to send soldiers the minute he don't get a reply.'

With a chill I remember.

Aristaeus desired Eurydice – and she belonged to another
–
yet still he did not repent. Still he pursued her.

I shiver.

‘We'll stick by you,' says Bridey. ‘Me and Hannah already love that boy of yours and your young man's good and strong.'

I don't point out that he isn't ‘my young man'.

‘None of us is scabs,' joins in Hannah. ‘And we don't like the army up here,' she adds in a whisper. ‘They don't pay us for the coal on time. They send us rotten vegetables and they stop us from trading fairly.'

She was beautiful, Melissa. But not more beautiful than you. And Aristaeus pursued her to her death. Caused her to dwell forever in the underworld.

She goes out to the standpipe in the back yard, starts pumping water up to the header tank.

‘It's you he wants,' says Bridey. She poles flat cakes with a long handled spatula into the little side oven by the range.

‘I know.'

‘Beauty is a blessing and a curse,' she says.

‘A blessing?'

‘Look at the way your young man worships you,' she says.

I raise my head. Tarquin worships me?

‘Even a blind man could spot it.'

I raise my fingers to my face, touch the curve of my cheek, the tip of my lips.

‘Half the men in this community already swooning.'

‘Not really?'

‘Why d'you think our Albert, the headman, took you in, give you shares without even a condition? Why d'you think he didn't turn you straight over when that communication came?'

I shake my head. ‘He'd already signed us?' I say.

‘It's on account of the others. Albert's only loyalty is to the mine. But a face like yours gives them something to dream about, when they're down there in the dark at the coalface. He knows that. He's a man too. Seeing you, touching your hand, maybe breeding with you. That's all. Even he dreams of it. Dreams are food for the soul, as keeps you going, through them dark hours. We need dreams up here. We got to keep going. We've got a good thing – that mine has saved our lives, but it'd suck the heart out of you.'

Lenny bounces in. He runs straight up to Bridey and throws his arms around her waist. He buries his face in her apron.

‘You,' he says, ‘smell nice.'

She puts her arms around him. Raises her hand to her eyes. Brushes them.

‘If anybody scabs, by Christ the Lord, I'll kill them.'

I stand in the kitchen.
Soldiers.
They'll search for us.

Leave no stone unturned.

‘Tarquin?' I ask.

‘Don't worry. There was a meeting in the night. Your young man was brought to reason. He wouldn't let us take you both to stay in the pits, but he'll be well hidden down there himself by now,' says Bridey. ‘Take more than an army of soldiers to search them mines. And they're lazy buggers them soldiers. So it's you we got to worry about now.'

‘They'll do a house to house search,' says Hannah. ‘Bound to.'

‘Before they check the mines.'

The two women step into the yard, seem to be arguing. Lenny sits at the kitchen table. He's got two fried eggs in front of him. He's looking at them, like he's planning every mouthful.

It starts to rain. Bridey and Hannah take shelter by the privy, carry on arguing. The rain drives against the windows, batters the roof. I pace around.

‘If they find us, Missa, how will they know it's us?' asks Lenny.

‘They know what I look like.'

‘Do they know what I look like?'

I think about it. They probably won't. They won't really know what Tarquin looks like either. His face was all swollen at the farm. And Lenny had dreadlocks then. He's had his hair combed and washed and cut now. I look over at him: curls, sweet little face. They might not even be soldiers from the farm.

They'll know it's him because of me.

They're not gonna forget my face.

Perhaps I should turn myself in?

Bridey comes back in, wipes her hands, tucks a strand of grey behind her ear. ‘When the soldiers come, you're to go out back and hide in the geese coop,' she says. ‘I said it wasn't the right place to hide you and my boy, but it's the safest.'

Lenny cheers up. ‘It's a good place, missus,' he says. ‘We was pretending we was hens before. Now we can do ducks.'

‘Geese,' I say.

He decides at that point to cut off the white of the eggs and fork the yolk into his mouth in one go.

‘You got to make sure them geese don't squawk, that's all,' says Bridey. ‘Talk to them. Croon to them. Geese like that. If they honk and squawk, the soldiers are going to look there. If they don't, the soldiers're not going to know anybody's inside. Geese are nasty creatures if you stir them up. Them soldiers won't want to do that.'

‘Our geese ain't scabs, though,' calls out Hannah. ‘They love us and they hates soldiers.'

‘We can read them geese my book,' says Lenny. ‘You can tell them a story about how they're going to lay ten eggs each like them hens do, Missa.'

I smile at him. I try to harness that other kind of courage. ‘Better go and practise then,' I say. ‘So they get to know us.'

Lenny needs no more encouragement. He finishes his breakfast, gets his book. We go down to the coop.

‘Watch out for their beaks,' warns Bridey. ‘They can give you a nasty peck.'

At first they make a terrible honking. Bridey comes out twice to check. She says, ‘Best you come in and hide under the beds or someplace. This ain't working.'

But I don't think hiding under the beds will work either, so I set about talking properly to the geese. Soon they calm down. They like Lenny's cooing and they like eye contact. Soon Lenny's petting them and tickling their feathers. I'm tolerated too. One actually lays her head on my lap. I'm just about to take a short break, stretch my legs, when there's a banging on the door.

Bridey runs out, skirts flapping. ‘They've come,' she hisses. ‘They've searched all the houses up to us. Stay quiet.'

My heart hammers. I put my arm round Lenny. ‘Keep cooing to the geese,' I whisper.

Lenny lets out little soft, cooing, goosey noises. The geese coo too, adding just the odd satisfied cackle.

I hear the soldiers. Steel-capped boots. Loud voices. ‘Stand aside. What's this?' Furniture being dragged. A metal bucket clanks.

Five minutes? Have they gone? I'm trembling all over. They're in the yard. ‘What's in there?' Voice of a man.

‘That's the privy.' Hannah's voice. ‘Toilet.'

‘And that?'

‘Greenhouse. Tomatoes.'

‘Check it. Bring some.'

I hear footsteps. The sliding of the greenhouse door.

‘That?'

A shout from far off. ‘No tomatoes here.'

‘Coop and pond for the geese.'

‘Geese in there?'

‘Yes.' Bridey.

My heart hammers on my ribs. I nod at Lenny. He lets out a little coo. A goose gives a contented cackle.

‘Check it,' says the soldier.

I hear footsteps. Lenny's eyes are wide with fright. I nod at him again.

He coos a second time. I break out in sweat. The geese cackle again, softly. One steps out and waddles halfway down the little ramp. I can just see it. It trembles its neck, ruffles its feathers, cocks its head to one side, flumps down, tucks its head in, scratches.

The soldier tramps nearer, big boots, heavy tread. ‘Catch it. Do for later.' The goose doesn't like that. Boots. A scuffle. It stands up, sticks its neck out, lets out a nasty nasal honk, flaps its wings, goes straight for the soldier with an angry hiss.

Boots crashing. The soldier jumping back?

‘Blimey!' he screams. ‘Those things are lethal.' Heavy tread closer. Is he trying to approach the pen again? ‘Forget it,' calls his friend. ‘They're not in there.'

‘C'mon then.'

‘We'll be back for that goose. Make sure you've caught it.'

The women stay quiet. The sound of steps retreating. I let my breath out very slowly.

God bless that poor goose.