David Peace - GB84

Everybody stood up. Everybody applauded –

Kiss me in the shadows —

Everybody followed the President. Down the corridor. Down to business –

Kiss me in the shadows of my heart —

To victory.

*

Neil Fontaine leaves the Jew in his suite at Claridge’s. He drives back to Bloomsbury. Back to his single room at the County. Neil Fontaine hasn’t been here in almost a week. He checks his mail. His messages –

Just the one.

Neil Fontaine goes up to his room on the sixth floor. The door with the extra lock. He takes off his shirt. He washes his hands and face in the sink. He puts on a clean shirt. He opens the wardrobe. There is a blazer in a polythene bag –

Just the one.

Neil Fontaine puts on the blazer. He locks the two locks. He goes down the stairs. He walks past the bar and out into the night. He takes a cab to the Special Services Club. Neil Fontaine hasn’t been here in almost a year –

‘Really?’ asks Jerry Witherspoon. ‘Has it been that long?’

‘Election night,’ nods Neil.

‘Night to remember and all that,’ smiles Jerry –

Jerry pushes away his dessert. Jerry lights a cigar. Jerry smokes in silence –

Jerry knows people upstairs. Upstairs pass jobs down to Jerry. Jerry owns Jupiter. Jupiter Securities pass the jobs down to Neil. Neil takes on the jobs –

The little jobs. The sudden jobs. The cut-out jobs —

Neil knows people downstairs. People under the stairs. Under the floorboards.

Jerry finishes his cigar. Jerry pushes away the ashtray. Jerry leans forward –

‘Bit of a night to forget in Shrewsbury by all accounts,’ says Jerry.

Neil Fontaine waits.

Jerry lifts up his napkin. Jerry pushes an envelope across the tablecloth –

Just the one.

Neil Fontaine takes the envelope. Neil Fontaine stands up –

Jerry smiles. He says, ‘Don’t let one lapse in judgement become a habit, Neil.’

Neil Fontaine takes a taxi back to Bloomsbury. He walks down towards Euston. He goes into St Pancras. He sits in the pew. He bows his head. He says a little prayer –

Just the one —

Bring her back.

*

It was April Fool’s Day and it was snowing outside. Terry Winters lay in the double bed. He could smell Sunday lunch. He could hear the kids fighting. The little tempers rising. The little fists flying. The President had been fuming too. The President had been raging. The Iron and Steel Trades Confederation had very predictably denied him. Betrayed him! The President demanded revenge. The President would be on Weekend World again today. The President would let the whole world know what he thought of those who would deny him. Those who would betray him, his members and their families. Judases. Terry turned over in the double bed. He looked at his briefcase with the broken strap. The one he never used now. The papers piled up on the dressing table. Terry got out of the bed. It was cold. He put on his slippers. His dressing-gown. He went across to the bathroom. His cock was sore when he pissed. He flushed the toilet. He washed his hands. His face. His hands again. Terry went back onto the landing. He switched on the light. He pulled down the ladder to the loft. He climbed up the ladder. He looked into the loft –

The two suitcases standing in the shadows –

Kiss me.

Insurance. April Fool’s Day, 1984.

You heard. You can’t do this, says Cath. We’re going over to my sister’s. Not today, love, you’re not. Why not? says Cath. Why can’t we? I have reason to believe that you’re liable to cause a breach of the peace. You can’t do this, says Cath again. Turn your vehicle around or you’ll be arrested. I start car. Martin, she says. He can’t do this. I say, Yes he can. Yes, he bloody can — We warmed your houses. Your kitchens and your beds— Day 30. They think they’re being clever. Well, so do we. Don’t tell Cath what I’m up to. I sit in dark with curtains open. Van pulls up about four. Builder’s sign on side. Ladders on roof. They give me a pair of overalls. Off we set. Back roads all way. Get into Mansfield with time to kill. Park up down a side-street. Sit in back. Quiet as mice, we are. Half-eight CB wakes us up. Take off our overalls. Jump out back of van. Follow Pete to Notts HQ. Come round corner, see we aren’t alone. About five hundred of us, all told. Fair few of them and all. And police. Krk-krk. Their delegates are making their way inside. We start up — Judas. Traitor. Scab. Judas. Traitor. Scab. Judas. Traitor. Scab — Five hours it goes on. Then word comes out: hundred and eighty-six to seventy-two against. Wankers. They’d let a train driver be sent home for respecting an NUM picket line. They’d let a train driver be suspended for respecting an NUM picket line. They’d let a train driver be sacked for respecting an NUM picket line — NUM picket lines they cross with not a second thought for anything but brass in their own pockets. Fucking wankers. Get back to van and they’ve done every bloody tyre, haven’t they. Stanley knife. Left us a Polaroid photograph of front of van and registration number under windscreen wipers. Smile. Pete’s name, address and telephone number on back in black pen. He just shakes his head. Calls a local garage. They send a tow truck. Half-nine by time I get home. Cath’s already in bed. Thank Christ — Wedrove your dreams. Your cities and your empires — Day 31.Nottingham again. Silverhill for a change. Just outside Sutton in Ashfield. Geoff shows his face. Take two other lads with us in his car. Tim and Gary. Stay on A61 past Chesterfield, out of Nottinghamshire. Park up on Derbyshire side. Walk to pit through farms and fields. Proud of ourselves. There’s six blokes stood at gate as we come up to Lane. We’re still on public footpath. From distance they look like they’re our lads. They’re not though — They’re fucking plainclothes. We get to end of footpath. What you up to, lads? they ask us. I say, We’re having a walk on a public footpath. Go any further and I’ll arrest you, says one. I say, For what? Behaviour likely to cause a breach of the peace. I say, Look, we just want to go over and stand by gate and talk to them that’ll stop. If you step off this path, he says, I’ll arrest you. I say, All right, you come and stand with us at gate. I’ve told you once, he says, I’ll arrest you. I say, But we’ve got a right to go and stand over there and tell people our opinion. Not going to stop anyone who doesn’t want to stop. But we have rights too. I’ve told you, he says. Now fuck off. Geoff walks past them onto road. Fuck this, says Geoff. Arrest him, says copper. Another plainclothes goes up to Geoff. What’s your name and address? Geoff Brine, says Geoff Brine. From Todwick. I’m arresting you then, Mr Brine, for obstructing me in the course of my duty, says plainclothes. What? Geoff laughs. Plainclothes puts his hand on Geoff’s shoulder. You heard. Geoff shrugs off man’s hand. There’s no need for that, says Geoff. Which van you want me in? Plainclothes points down road. That one, he says. This Inspector comes over. What’s going on here? he asks. They tell him. He looks at other three of us. Take them all, he says. I say, What? Obstruction, says Inspector. Day 32.Mansfield Nick. There’s a funnel of coppers from van to station. They’re taking photos of us. Smile. I keep my head down. Get that bastard’s head up, says biggest one of them. They can’t. Pull his hair, he says. They pull my hair. I keep my head down. Grab his nose. They put their fingers up my nostrils. I move my head from side to side. Right, you bastard, says big one. He punches me in face. Top of my nose. Between my eyes. Tears come. They put my head in an arm lock. Force my head