David Peace - GB84

They turn off the main road. They drive through the industrial estate. They come to the fence. Thegate.Theold USAFsign –

There is a resprayed Escort parked up.

‘What would he be doing here?’ asks Joyce.

The Mechanic opens his door. He lets the dogs out. He says, ‘Waiting for me.’

They get out into the cold. The rain.

‘Where is he?’ she asks.

The Mechanic pushes open the gate. He says, ‘This way.’

They walk across the rough ground towards the airstrip. The old control tower.

Joyce cups her mouth in her hands. She shouts, ‘Vince! It’s me, Joyce!’

They keep walking.

‘Vince,’ she shouts again. ‘We just want to talk. That’s all. Come on —’

The dogs are barking. The Mechanic and Joyce stop walking —

Vince Taylor is coming down the steps of the control tower. He is pointing a double-barrelled shotgun at them —

‘Vince,’ the Mechanic says. ‘There’s no need for that.’

Vince walks towards them. He says, ‘Shut up. On your knees. Both of you.’

They kneel down on the ground —

It is wet. It is cold.

Vince points the shotgun at their chests. He says, ‘Hands on your heads.’

They place their hands on their heads –

It is raining and the dogs are barking.

Vince puts the barrel of the shotgun under his chin. He pulls the trigger.

There are roadblocks on the routes in and out of Sheffield. There are checkpoints on the streets of Sheffield city centre. There are private security guards here on the hotel doors. There are big miners down to protect and serve their big leaders in the dining room of the Royal Victoria Hotel. They put their hands on the Jew’s chest and ask him his business. The Jew laughs and tells them his business is business. He is here because he means to do business –

The Jew is wearing his leather flying-jacket.

Neil Fontaine asks them to take their hands off the Jew and to step to one side. The big miners take their hands off the Jew and step to one side. The Jew thanks them. The Jew goes from breakfast table to breakfast table introducing himself to the big leaders from Durham, Northumberland and Cumberland, from the Midlands, Lancashire and Derbyshire. He urges these moderate men, these weak and cowardly men, to become extreme men, to be strong and brave men today –

Thursday 12 April 1984 —

Today of all days.

The big leaders from the Midlands, Lancashire and Derbyshire smoke cigarette after cigarette, the big leaders from Durham, Northumberland and Cumberland drink cup after cup of tea. Then these moderate men, these weak and cowardly men, make their excuses and leave the Jew to sit alone among the breakfast tables with their full ashtrays and their empty cups –

The Jew is wearing his leather flying-jacket. The Jew means war now.

The Jew retreats upstairs to the temporary war room of his Sheffield suite –

He paces the carpet. He strikes the poses. He barks the orders –

The windows to open. The sun to shine in. The curtains to billow.

Neil Fontaine opens the windows to the sun, the wind and the world outside:

Three thousand striking miners ringing their National Headquarters. Two thousand policemen watching fruit and cans rain down on theNottinghamshireleaders.

Neil Fontaine calls room service. The Jew wants wine with his lunch –

Their President ruling the Right’s demand for a national ballot out of order.

Neil Fontaine calls room service again. The Jew wants another bottle of wine –

Their National Executive proposing to reduce the 55 per cent majority required for strike action to a simple majority and to convene a Special Delegate Conference.

The Jew drinks bottle after bottle. The Jew lies on the double bed –

Their President leaning out of an upstairs window with a megaphone to tell the mob below, ‘We can win provided we show the resolution we did in 1972 and 1974.’

The curtains fall. The sun goes in. The hotel windows are closed –

‘Easy. Easy. Easy,’ chant the mob on the dark streets of Sheffield.

The Jew puts pillows over his head. The Jew shakes. The Jew sobs.

Neil Fontaine picks up another empty bottle. He rights another upturned table.

The Jew gets up. The Jew wobbles about amid the wreckage of his hotel suite. He is panting. He is drunk. He is morbid –

‘These are the dreadful hours, Neil. The dreadful hours of his shameful war –

‘He has his army, Neil. His Red Guard. The Shock Troops of Socialism –

‘But where are our soldiers, Neil? The soldiers who will fight this war with us, who will win this war for her –

‘Oh, she has placed so much faith in me, Neil. So very, very much –

‘And I have failed her, Neil. Failed her so very, very miserably –

‘She expects so much, Neil. So very, very much –

‘And I must deliver, Neil. Deliver her victory –

‘Victory, Neil. Victory –

‘I promised her victory, Neil. Promised her nothing less …’

The Jew falls back onto his bed. He is sobbing. He is drunk. He is moribund.

Neil Fontaine picks up the Jew’s bedding from the carpet. He draws the curtains. He puts a blanket over the Jew. He tucks him in –

‘Easy. Easy. Easy —’

He wishes him sweet dreams. He kisses him goodnight.

She’s still screaming. She’s still shaking. She’s still trying to wipe his blood from her clothes. From her hair. Her face. The dogs going mental in the back –

They’re on the A49 outside Ludlow. A Little Chef up ahead –

The Mechanic turns into the car park. He switches off the engine. He grabs her –

Joyce stares at him.

The Mechanic holds her by her shoulders. He says, ‘You got family?’

She chews her lips in her teeth.

The Mechanic squeezes her hard. He says, ‘Have you got any family, Joyce?’

She stares.

The Mechanic says, ‘Who?’

‘My son,’ she says.

‘How old is he?’

‘He’s nine.’

The Mechanic asks, ‘Where is he now?’

‘School.’

‘Where’s school?’

‘Worcester,’ she says.

The Mechanic looks at the dashboard clock. He says, ‘What time’s school finish?’

‘Quarter to four,’ she says.

‘Who picks him up?’

‘Me or his dad.’

‘His dad?’ the Mechanic asks. ‘Where’s his dad?’

‘It’s Vince,’ she says. ‘Vince is his dad.’

The Mechanic sits back. He watches a young couple come out of the Little Chef —

He watches them run from the rain, run for the cover of their car.

Joyce squeezes herself between her legs. She says, ‘What am I going to do?’

‘Go pick your car up,’ the Mechanic says. ‘The police will be waiting for you.’

‘They’ll have found him already?’

‘No,’ he says. ‘But I set fire to the office when we left.’

She starts to cry. She starts to shake again.

‘Just think of your boy,’ he tells her. ‘Think of him and you’ll get through this.’

She wipes her eyes with her hand. She nods. She says, ‘What shall I say?’

‘You haven’t seen Vince since last week. He’s been depressed about his marriage. You went into the office this morning. Vince wasn’t there. You tried to find him. There was nosign. You came backto the office. Fire.’