David Peace - GB84

Monday 9 — Sunday 15 April 1984

Bastards. Dark side of a bloody and a fucked-up moon. The Mechanic drives through the night. North to South. Fucking bastards. The dogs in the back. He comes into Worcester with the dawn. He parks outside the bungalow. He goes up the drive. Hebangs on the door —

Keeps his finger on the bell.

‘Who is it? What do you want?’ someone shouts from inside.

‘I want to speak to Vince.’

‘He’s not here.’

‘Where is he?’

There are whispers behind the door. Someone says again, ‘Who is it?’

‘His mate, David Johnson. I need to speak to him. It’s important.’

The door opens. His wife and teenage son stare out. They shake their heads.

The Mechanic asks them again, ‘Where is he?’

‘He’s gone,’ says his wife. ‘Left us.’

‘Where?’

She shakes her head. She says, ‘Ask Joyce bloody Collins.’

The Mechanic nods. He says, ‘Thank you.’

She slams the door.

The Mechanic goes back down their drive. He gets into the car. He drives over to Diamond Detectives. He parks among the minicabs. He sticks the radio on. Hewaits —

Hands holding the steering wheel —

Tight.

Half-past eight, Joyce pulls up in her Fiat. She gets out. She opens the office up. She goes inside. She puts the lights on.

The Mechanic turns the radio off. He gets out of the car. He walks past the cabs.Hegoes into their office —

Joyce is filling an electric kettle at the sink in the back.

The Mechanic doesn’t knock. He says, ‘Where is he?’

She turns round. She drops the kettle in the sink. She starts to cry.

‘Where is he, love?’

‘I don’t know,’ she cries. ‘He’s gone.’

The Mechanic puts an arm round her. He sits her down behind one of the desks. He asks, ‘When?’

She has her elbows on the desk. Her head in her hands. She says, ‘Last week.’

‘What happened, love?’

She pulls her hands down her face. She says, ‘Men came.’

‘And?’

She swallows. She says, ‘They turned the place upside down. They hit him.’

‘They took him away?’

She says, ‘No.’

‘He ran?’

She nods. She looks at him. She says, ‘This is about Shrewsbury, isn’t it?’

The Mechanic puts a finger to his lips. He walks over to the telephone sockets and disconnects them. He goes over to the filing cabinets and goes through their files. He finds the three files that he wants. He goes over to the desks and goes through the drawers. He finds two sets of keys, a packet of cigarettes and a box of matches. He walks over to the window. He looks up and down the street. Hepoints at the door —

She nods. She dries her eyes. She goes outside.

The Mechanic stands behind Vince Taylor’s desk. He lights a cigarette. He drops it in the bin. He watches it burn. He picks up Joyce’s handbag. He goes outside. He gives Joyce her bag.

She asks, ‘Where are we going?’

The Mechanic puts his finger to his lips again. She nods again.

They walk down past the cabs. They get into his car –

The dogs are barking.

The Mechanic locks all the doors. He checks both mirrors. He looks at his watch. He starts the car.

‘Where are we going?’ asks Joyce again.

‘Find Vince.’

There were times when Terry Winters thought he had bitten off more than he could chew. More than they would swallow. More than he could stomach. Two coke hauliers had begun legal action against the South Wales Area’s secondary picketing of the Port Talbot steel-works. South Wales had sought legal advice from Terry. Click-click. Terry said he’d have to call them back. Terry took an aspirin. And another and another. The Board’s action against the Union’s management of the Pension Fund was concluding. The President was counting on victory from Terry. Terry hadn’t the balls to tell him. Terry took another aspirin. Terry threw the empty container into the bin beside his desk. He missed. He put his head in his hands. There were still forty-eight hours before the Executive met. Terry didn’t think he could stand much more of this. The tensions. The suspicions. The machinations. The talk of ballots. The rumours of moles. The whispers of coups. The silence and the fear. Nobody spoke in the corridors. In the lift. On the stairs. Everybody locked themselves in their offices. People were summoned by one word on the telephone. No reason given. People went upstairs to stand before the President’s desk. No small talk. People were given their instructions. Nothing on paper. People went back to their offices. No questions asked. They locked their doors. They sat at their desks –

Guilty monks, thought Terry. The lot of them.

Terry looked at his watch. The abbot would be waiting.

Terry went upstairs –

No Len on the door. Len was inside. Terry hung up his jacket. He knocked once. He went inside. The Conference Room was still stripped. The curtains drawn again. Terry mumbled his apologies. He took his seat at the right hand. He stared at his fellow friars –

Most didn’t know if it was light or dark outside. They’d been up here so long.

Paul stopped speaking. Paul sat down.

The President stood back up. The President said, ‘Comrades, as you are all aware, over the course of the next week this office will take over the control and the deployment of all picketing for the entire British Isles. It will also take full responsibility for ensuring the blockade on the movement of all coal or alternative fuel within the British Isles. All local requests for the support of our brothers and sisters within the trades union movement must also be made to this office. To provide the support the areas and branches require, the office will be staffed twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week. The Yorkshire Area is preparing a list of volunteers to help us meet the necessary staffing demands. The question of internal security and the degree to which our communications have been compromised remain a problem. To that end, the Chief Executive has some practical, short-term measures that can be implemented with immediate benefits in our fight to preserve jobs and pits. Comrade —’

The President sat down again.

Terry stood up. Terry said, ‘Thank you, President. I have drawn up a code that will allow the areas and branches to contact us here at the Strike HQ using our existing telephone lines and numbers. I intend to reveal the code to you here and now, though I would ask you to write nothing down but rather to commit the details and instructions of what I am about to say to memory. On returning to your areas you are to brief the panels verbally and in turn instruct the panels to brief their local branches in the same manner. I repeat, nothing is to be written down. I shall now reveal to you the code –

‘Pickets will henceforth be referred to as apples. I repeat, apples –

‘Police are to be referred to as potatoes. Repeat, potatoes –

‘Henceforth, branches will be requested to supply X number of apples based upon Y number of potatoes at a given site. Likewise branches can request extra apples from HQ in response to superior numbers of potatoes. Our brothers and sisters in the NUR are henceforth to be known as mechanics –

‘I repeat, mechanics –

‘Members of the NUS are henceforth plumbers. Repeat …’