David Peace - 1980

Joan’s parents’ house, sitting in their front room among the Christmas cards, their front room and Christmas cards like the front room that was our front room with its Christmas cards, the front room that was our front room until Thursday night, in front of their tree, their tree like the tree that was our tree until Thursday night, sitting in their front room, Mr and Mrs Roberts trying to leave us alone, give us some time, give us some space, some time and some space like the time and the space that was our time and our space until Thursday night, but they’re in and out all the same, me and Joan sitting in their front room on their sofa, the sofa like the sofa that was our sofa until Thursday night, sitting in their front room on their sofa like the teenage couple we never were, me wanting to hold her hand -

Holding her hand -

Holding her hand, holding back my tears, trying to catch hers, trying to stop them, – but all the things we’ve lost, there’s so much, we’ve lost so very much, too much, the things we’ve lost, there are so many, we’ve lost so very many things, too many.

‘The application forms,’ she’s sobbing.

‘We can easily get more, that won’t be a problem.’

‘But we haven’t got a house, Peter. They’ll never let us…’

‘We’ll get a new one, rebuild the old one. The insurance…’

‘Not if it was those lights.’

‘It wasn’t the lights,’ I snap. ‘And it doesn’t make any difference even if it was.’

‘But it’ll be years.’

‘No, it won’t.’

‘They’ll never let us, not now.’

‘Of course they bloody will.’

Holding her hand, holding back my tears, trying to catch hers, trying to stop them, – but all the things we’ve lost, there’s so much, we’ve lost so very much, too much, the things we’ve lost, there are so many, we’ve lost so very many things, too many.

Her mother puts her head round the door again: ‘Another cup of tea anyone?’

I glance at my new watch, shaking my head and lie: ‘I’ve got to be in the office.’

‘At least you’ve still got a job,’ Joan sniffs. ‘Least you’ve still got that.’

I get into the car.

I sit behind the wheel.

I look at my watch again:

10:08:00 -

I turn the key in the ignition and pull out of their drive.

I head into Manchester -

Head into Manchester because I’ve got nowhere else to go:

Nowhere but here .

Saturday 27 December 1980 -

Two o’clock:

Manchester Police Headquarters -

The eleventh floor:

I knock on the door of the room that was my office, that was my office up until yesterday afternoon.

‘Come.’

I open the door.

Ronald Angus is sitting in the chair that was my chair, the chair behind the desk that was my desk, the desk in the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon at 14:35:00.

‘Sit down,’ says Angus, nodding at the empty chair next to Chief Superintendent Jobson -

I sit down.

Angus leans across the desk, the desk that was my desk, and he hands me a piece of paper -

I take it from him and I read:

Information has been received which indicates that during the past six years you have associated with persons in circumstances that are considered undesirable, and by such associations you may have placed yourself under an obligation as a police officer to those persons .

‘That’s it?’ I ask.

‘Yes.’

‘No names, no times, no dates, no places?’

‘It’s not an allegation, nor a complaint.’

‘So what is it?’

‘It is information received that needs to be investigated.’

‘So let me help; tell me the names of these people with whom I’m supposed to have associated?’

‘I can’t.’

‘Well then, tell me what kind of obligations I’m supposed to have placed myself under?’

‘I cannot.’

I’m smiling -

Despite myself I am smiling -

Smiling at Ronald Angus, the Chief Constable of West Yorkshire, the West Yorkshire force that forty-eight hours before I was investigating, smiling at him sat there in the chair that was my chair, the chair behind the desk that was my desk, the desk in the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon.

‘Mr Hunter,’ he says. ‘I know how this looks, so I know what you’re thinking. But I can assure you my own reputation for fairness and integrity is as much on the line here as your own.’

I can’t help myself: ‘Is that supposed to make me feel better or worse, sir?’

Angus has had enough: ‘Mr Hunter, to be blunt: I don’t care how you feel.’

Silence -

In the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon, silence -

Silence until Maurice Jobson says: ‘Peter, we’re going to have to ask you to provide us with full details of your bank account and any credit cards and savings accounts you might have had in the last six years.’

‘Why?’

Jobson shakes his head: ‘I can’t tell you, you know that.’

‘No, I don’t know that.’

‘OK, well I’m telling you now.’

‘OK, Maurice,’ I smile. ‘I’ll tell you something shall I? I am under no legal obligation whatsoever to provide you with that information.’

‘No, you’re not,’ interrupts Angus. ‘But if you don’t oblige us, I’ll just get a judge to make you.’

‘Then you’d be wasting even more of your time than you already are.’

‘And why would that be?’

‘I can’t give you it.’

‘Can’t or won’t?’ smiles Angus.

‘Can’t.’

‘Why not?’ asks Jobson.

‘The fire.’

Angus sits back in his chair and sighs: ‘Convenient.’

‘What?’ I say, voice raised: ‘You what?’

Jobson’s holding onto my arm, pulling me back down into the chair in front of the desk, the chair in front of the desk that was my desk, the desk in the room that was my room, the room that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon, Jobson telling me: ‘Take it easy, now. Take it easy.’

‘What about your passport?’ asks Angus.

‘What about it?’

‘Lose that as well?’

I tell him: ‘We lost everything.’

‘That’s a pity.’

‘Why?’ I ask. ‘Going to take that as well were you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Fucking hell,’ I say, shaking my head.

Again silence -

Again silence in the office that was my office, that was my office until yesterday afternoon -

Again silence until Angus says: ‘Two o’clock. Monday.’

‘That’s it?’ I say.

‘Wakefield,’ he says.

‘What?’

‘Two o’clock. Monday. Wakefield.’

‘You’re joking? You’re supposed to come here. It’s procedure.’

‘Mr Hunter,’ sighs Mr Angus. ‘We want this thing over and done with as much as you do. But you also know more than most the pressure we’re under over there, so if you want us to get a move on with this we’d be grateful if you wouldn’t mind coming over to Wakefield on Monday.’

I nod and stand up.

‘Good day Mr Hunter,’ he says.

‘One thing,’ I say -

He looks up.

‘Disciplinary Regulations demand that information be given to an accused officer in sufficient detail for him to be able to defend himself, and that the full name and address of the person making the complaint must also be provided to him.’

Angus nods and says: ‘I know.’

‘OK,’ I say. ‘Then I look forward to receiving that information from you at two o’clock on Monday in Wakefield.’

Angus is looking at me, staring at me, staring at me stood there.

More silence -