David Peace - GB84

Neil Fontaine does ninety up the M1 with the Jew asleep on the backseat –

Neil Fontaine likes to drive North through the night. To hurtle into the new dawn. To meet the light head on –

The Jew wakes in the black of the back. He is disorientated and has a hangover. He taps on the partition. Neil Fontaine lowers the glass.

The Jew says, ‘Where on earth are you taking me, Neil?’

‘Oxton, sir.’

The Jew struggles to remember why on earth Neil would be taking him to Oxton.

‘Grey Fox, sir.’

The Jew slumps back in his seat. The Jew sighs. The Jew says, ‘Quite.’

Neil Fontaine turns off the Tchaikovsky.

The Jew sits forward again. The Jew says, ‘Can we stop somewhere, Neil?’

Neil Fontaine exits the M1 at the next services –

Leicester Forest East.

Neil Fontaine parks the Mercedes among the lorries and the coaches.

‘Please tell me you’ve brought my flying-jacket, Neil,’ says the Jew.

Neil Fontaine nods. He says, ‘Along with a complete change of clothes, sir.’

‘You’re a national treasure, Neil. A national treasure.’

‘Thank you, sir,’ says Neil Fontaine. He gets out of the car. He opens up the boot. He takes out a small suitcase and the worn leather flying-jacket with the blood-spotted collar. He closes the boot of the car. He opens the back door of the Mercedes.

The Jew steps out into the sunshine. He has found his sunglasses and his panama.

Neil Fontaine points. He says, ‘I believe the toilets are that way, sir.’

‘Very good, Neil,’ says the Jew.

Neil Fontaine hands him the small suitcase.

‘Thank you, Neil,’ says the Jew.

Neil Fontaine watches the Jew cross the car park of the Leicester Forest services. The Jew is wearing a cream tuxedo cut short in the manner of a hussar, with a gold brocade front and matching epaulettes. His jodhpurs are tucked into his riding boots. He takes off his panama as he enters the toilets.

Neil Fontaine lights a cigarette. Neil Fontaine waits.

Five minutes later the Jew reappears in his flying-jacket and his chinos. He hands Neil the small suitcase and his panama hat. He puts his aviator sunglasses back on. He caresses his moustache. He stretches. He breathes in deeply through his nose. He slaps Neil on the back. He says, ‘What’s the ETA, Neil?’

Neil Fontaine checks his watch. He taps it. He says, ‘Under an hour, sir.’

‘Let’s press on then, Neil,’ says the Jew. ‘Our people are waiting.’

Neil Fontaine says, ‘Certainly, sir.’

The Jew gets in the back of the Mercedes. Neil Fontaine closes the door.

They drive on to Oxton –

The Green Dragon.

Neil Fontaine holds open the door of the pub for the Jew. They go up the stairs to the first floor. There are two men sitting at a table in the corner. One of them has prematurely grey hair. He is wearing sunglasses. Both men stand up as the Jew approaches –

The man from the Mail says, ‘Stephen Sweet meet Grey Fox.’

The Jew shakes hands with the man with the prematurely grey hair. The Jew says, ‘Do I call you Grey or Mr Fox?’

Grey Fox shrugs his shoulders. He says, ‘Whichever you want. It’s just a —’

The Jew holds up his hand. The Jew says, ‘Or how about just plain Hero?’

This Grey Fox has turned a deep red. He takes off his sunglasses.

The Jew sits him down. The Jew says, ‘You are the bravest man I’ve ever met.’

The man from the Mail nods. He says, ‘The bravest man in Britain.’

Grey Fox shakes his head. Grey Fox says, ‘I’m just an ordinary man who —’

The Jew squeezes his hand. The Jew says, ‘You are a far from ordinary man, sir. You are an extraordinary man. Please, I want to know everything. Tell me your story, Grey Fox. The story of the Bravest Man in Britain —’

The Jew and Grey Fox sit side by side at the table in the corner of the upstairs bar of the Green Dragon public house in Nottinghamshire.

Grey Fox doesn’t drink. The Jew does –

‘Hair of the dog that bit me‚’ he says. ‘Now, please, tell me everything —’

‘There was no one you could turn to,’ says Grey Fox. ‘The branch officials were on strike. You couldn’t go in on the nightshift because they’d brick your house or worse. Richardson — our leader — came down to Welfare and he called us scabs. Told us all to stop scabbing. I thought, What-the-bloody-hell-is-this-world-coming-to when this man who is our elected representative comes down to our Welfare and tells us, the men that pay his wages, tells us that we are scabs? I was offended, Mr Sweet. Offended and afraid because folk didn’t know who to turn to. But I thought there must be hundreds like me —’

The Jew is leaning forward. He hangs on to the words of Grey Fox –

‘The areas were like islands though. Isolated from one another. Some pits were cut off. Rumours were going round, that was all we heard. I wanted to bring people together. Then at Mansfield on May 1, I got the chance. I got the chance to make a difference. I gave my name and number out to people on slips of paper. That night the phone started ringing and it’s never stopped since —’

The Jew nods. His eyes are full of tears –

‘Then again, I’ve always said, and I still say, if fifty per cent were out and it was official, then Grey Fox would be one of them.’

Grey Fox stops speaking.

The Jew is drying his eyes. He is wiping the tears from his cheeks.

Neil Fontaine stares at Grey Fox –

Grey Fox looks back.

Neil Fontaine smiles at him –

Carl Baker, 35-year-old blacksmith and father-of-two from Bevercotes Colliery. Carl Baker, the former small businessman, now of 16 Trent Street, Retford—

Carl Baker smiles back, because he is a nice man –

He is a very nice man, but Carl Baker already has his doubts. And his doubts will become regrets. His regrets will bring blame. Blame will bring bitterness –

Then Carl Baker won’t be a very nice man any more.

‘Will you please excuse me?’ he says. ‘I need to use —’

‘I think it’s downstairs,’ says the man from the Mail.

‘Would you like Neil to go with you?’ asks the Jew.

Carl Baker looks at Neil Fontaine. He shakes his head. He says, ‘No, thanks.’

The Jew smiles. He nods. He stands up to let Carl Baker out.

Carl Baker puts his sunglasses back on. He goes downstairs for a shit –

‘That’s his fourth today,’ says the man from the Mail.

The Jew turns to the man from the Mail. He says, ‘Well done, Mark.’

Mark from the Mail laughs. He says, ‘My pleasure. Now, about the —’

The Jew raises his hand. He says, ‘Neil will take care of the details.’

Neil Fontaine hands Mark from the Mail a piece of paper and a pen.

Mark from the Mail looks down at the notepaper. He looks up at Neil Fontaine.

‘Your name, branch, sort code and account number, please,’ says Neil Fontaine.

Mark from the Mail nods. He writes quickly. He hands the note back to Neil.

Carl Baker comes back upstairs. He sits back down. He takes off his sunglasses.

‘You really are a hero to me,’ says the Jew. ‘And not just to me and the thousands of terrified miners who want to work and are too intimidated to leave their families and their houses, but you’ll also become a hero to millions of ordinary people throughout this country and around the world who are sick and fed up of the bully-boys and the Black Shirts, the Socialists and the skinheads –

‘Have you ever seen On the Waterfront with Marlon Brando?’ asks the Jew.

Carl Baker shakes his head. He says, ‘I don’t think that I —’