David Peace - 1983

She takes George’s right hand. He takes Bill’s. Bill takes mine. I take Jack’s -

Jack waking with a start to hold hers.

The five of us lean forward in a circle around the table and the candles, the numbers on a clock -

(Local time) -

It is Saturday 19 July 1969.

Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big trees with hearts cut into their bark, losing their leaves in July;

28 Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big house with her heart cut into flats, losing her paintwork and her lead;

Flat 5, 28 Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big room with hearts dark, losing our way and our head;

Walls hung with dim paintings and Persian rugs -

The smell of cat piss and petunia, Bill and Jack’s breath;

My eyes are open -

Her breasts rising and falling beneath her white silk blouse;

Beneath the shadows -

Low sobs, muffled sobs, she is weeping;

Her breasts rising and falling beneath -

Her shadows -

Looking into my eyes -

Rising and falling -

Beneath her shadows -

She is snarling, carnivore teeth:

‘This place is worst of all, underground;

The corpses and the rats -

The dragon and the owl -

Wolves be there too, a swan -

The swan dead .

Unending, this place unending;

Under the grass that grows -

Between the cracks and the stones -

The beautiful carpets -

Waiting for the others, underground .’

Silence -

Silence, the circle unbroken:

Holding George’s right hand. George Bill’s. Bill mine. I Jack’s -

Jack holding hers:

Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big trees with hearts cut into their bark, losing their leaves in July;

28 Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big house with her heart cut into flats, losing her paintwork and her lead;

Flat 5, 28 Blenheim Road, St John’s, Wakefield -

Big room with dark ways, hearts and heads lost;

My eyes are open -

Low sobs, muffled sobs, she is weeping;

Looking into my eyes -

Weeping;

Rising and falling -

Beneath her shadows:

‘It’s happened once before -’

Cavernous tears:

‘- and it’s happening now.’

Tears, then -

Silence -

The silence, but outside:

Outside behind the heavy crimson curtains, the branches of the big tree are tapping upon the glass of the big windows, their leaves lost in July -

Wanting in;

Wanting her -

My eyes open and looking into hers;

I want to drop Bill’s hand, let go of Jack -

To reach out across the table -

Free her from the chains -

The prisons:

The certain death that I see here -

That terrible, horrible voice that gloats, that boasts:

‘I AM NO ANGEL -

‘I AM NO FUCKING ANGEL!’

Looking into my eyes -

Weeping;

Rising and falling -

Beneath her shadows:

In the Season of the Plague, the meat -

Two black crows eating from black bin-bags, ripping through her sweet meat -

Screams echoing into the dark, sliding back on her arse up the hall, arms and legs splayed, her skirt riding up; scared sobs from behind a door, the sound of furniture being moved, of chests and drawers and wardrobes being placed in front of the door -

A faint voice through the layers and layers of wood, a child whispering to a friend beneath the covers: ‘Tell them about the others…’

On my feet, across the table -

Teacups and teapot falling to the floor -

I shake her -

I scream: ‘What others?’

Her eyes open and looking into mine -

She says: ‘All the others under those beautiful carpets.’

‘What fucking others?’

Bill and George are on their feet now -

The candles out -

Pulling back the curtains, Jack spewing into his palm -

I am screaming -

I am summoning her back from the Underground, the court of the Dead:

A cold and dark December place when I open up the bedroom door to find her lying cold and still upon the floor -

Bill and George taking my arms -

Pulling me off;

Her pushing me off -

Pushing me away, whispering: ‘Please tell them where they are.’

‘What?’ I say -

Standing up in the light;

But in the light -

The dead daylight -

There are bruises on the backs of my hands -

(Local bruises) -

Bruises that won’t heal.

‘The Christian Church has always condemned magick, but she has always believed in it. She did not excommunicate sorcerers as madmen who were mistaken, but as men who were really in communion with the Devil.’

– Voltaire

Tapping against the pane -

Monday 30 May 1983 -

D-10 :

She is lying on her side in a sleeveless black T-shirt with her back to you -

Branches tapping against the pane;

You are lying on your back in your underpants and socks -

The branches tapping against the pane;

Lying on your back with the taste of fried rice and vodka in your mouth -

Listening to the branches tapping against the pane;

D-10 :

Monday 30 May 1983 -

You are listening to the branches tapping against the pane.

It is raining again outside and they are arguing again upstairs.

You sit in the kitchen eating Findus Crispy Pancakes in silence, the radio on:

‘ Sterling at new high on hopes of Tory landslide as Foot attempts to refute latest opinion polls; Mr Cecil Parkinson, the Conservative Party Chairman, dismisses suggestions that his party has been subjected to significant infiltration by far right members of the National Front and the League of St George; a report to be published today says shopping centres built in the 1960s and…’

You get up. You change stations. You find some music:

Spandau Ballet -

True .

She stands up. She switches off the radio.

You go over to the sink. You rinse cold water over the plates and the grill. You turn around, hands still wet. You say: ‘What was Jimmy doing in Morley?’

‘What?’

‘When they nicked him? Why was he in Morley?’

She shrugs. She says: ‘He was coming to see me.’

‘You?’

‘It’s where I live, isn’t it?’

‘I didn’t know that.’

‘Do now.’

She goes out of the kitchen. You follow her into the front room. She is putting on her coat.

You are stood in the doorway. You say: ‘Dangerous place, Morley.’

She doesn’t say anything. She walks towards you. She says: ‘Excuse me.’

You say: ‘Do you know Hazel Atkins? Her family?’

She shakes her head. She tries to push past you.

You grab her arm: ‘What about Clare Kemplay? Did you know her?’

‘You’re hurting me.’

‘Jimmy did.’

‘Fuck off,’ she hisses. ‘He’s dead.’

‘Michael Myshkin told me.’

‘What does he know.’

‘He knew Jimmy; they were mates.’

‘Fuck off,’ she spits. ‘It was years ago and they were never mates ; they were only bloody kids.’

‘ Best mates, Michael said.’

‘It was years ago and Jimmy’s bloody dead because of that fucking Joey!’

And that’s it:

She’s gone -

Just like that .

You drive through Wakefield and out over the Calder, the car retching and then coughing, hacking its way up the Barnsley Road and out past the Redbeck -

Putting one and one together: