David Storey - Saville

Finally the fields around Saxton appeared on either side. Beyond the summit of a hill he could see the colliery mound.

‘I’ll get out here,’ he said and waited then while Stafford found the ticket. He got up to the door as the train pulled into the narrow cutting. ‘I’ll see you, then,’ he said and nodded, flushing, Stafford, his arm round Marion, having scarcely raised his head.

‘You’re getting off here, darling?’ Marion said as if suddenly aware, then, of him standing by the door, lowering the window and reaching the handle. ‘Aren’t you kissing Audrey goodbye?’

He leaned down briefly and brushed her cheek.

‘I’ll see you, then,’ he said and stepped down to the platform. He closed the door and glanced inside.

Audrey hadn’t moved; red-cheeked, her hair disarranged, she gazed out at him from across the carriage. He glanced back along the platform, wondering when the train might move.

A porter came past and tested the door, then went back along the platform shutting others.

Finally a flag was waved; the engine whistled. The platform trembled as it drew away.

‘What’re you doing here?’ she said.

‘I thought I’d come across,’ he said.

She leant against the gate, glancing back along the track, towards the farm.

‘My mother saw you first,’ she said. ‘“Who’s that young man?”’ she asked me. ‘“Cycling up and down.”’

‘I thought I’d just come past,’ he said.

‘Whose bike is it, in any case?’ she said.

‘A neighbour’s.’ He added, ‘He lends me it. He lives next door.’

The road came over a stretch of heathland on the opposite side of which stood several houses set out like stone blocks across the slope. The farm stood some way back, beneath a clump of trees. A field of rhubarb separated it from the road itself, the hedged track leading to it rutted, and lined here and there with pools of water.

‘Do you want to go for a ride?’ He waited.

‘Where to?’

‘Anywhere. I can’t go far. I’ve got to get back in about an hour.’ He waited once again. ‘I could leave the bike here. We could go for a walk.’

‘I don’t fancy walking much,’ she said.

She’d stepped up now on to the rung of the gate, and swung it to and fro against the post. Over her blouse she wore a coat, her hair fastened back to make a tail above her neck.

A bus came across the heath and stopped at the houses. One or two people got off; she glanced across.

‘Have you seen Marion?’ he said.

‘We went riding yesterday.’ She gestured back vaguely towards the house. ‘She came here for tea as well,’ she added.

A man, wearing jodhpurs, had crossed over the road from the direction of the bus stop and had now approached the gate. Colin recognized her brother.

‘Hello, our Audrey,’ he said, glancing at her but not at Colin, and pushing back the gate. ‘Not getting into any trouble are you?’

‘None that you need mind,’ she said.

‘I shouldn’t let the old ’un catch you, then,’ he said, gesturing off towards the house. He set off up the track towards the farm. Indifferent to where he walked, he splashed slowly through the puddles.

‘Jonathan,’ she said, and gestured back. ‘He’s been riding as well,’ she added.

‘Don’t you fancy getting your bike?’ he said.

‘How do you know I’ve got one?’ she said.

‘I don’t know,’ he said. ‘I thought you might.’

‘I could meet you tonight,’ she said, slowly, stooping to the gate.

‘Where’s that?’

‘I go to church,’ she said. ‘So does Marion. I could see you after.’

‘What church is it?’

‘St Olaf’s.’

‘How do you get there?’

‘It’s over at Brierley. I go by bus.’

The church, he calculated, was seven miles away. It would mean an hour on the bike, at least.

‘What time does it finish?’ he said.

‘About half-past seven to eight,’ she said.

‘I might see you there,’ he said, and turned away.

‘I’ll walk to the end of the road,’ she called, suddenly, stepping from the gate. She glanced back, awkwardly, towards the farm. ‘They’ll be watching from the house,’ she added.

She walked beside him, swinging her coat. He pushed the bike beside him, at the edge of the road.

Finally, when they reached the bus stop, she glanced back once more towards the farm.

‘I better go back, I suppose,’ she said. Her cheeks were flushed; she glanced towards the houses on the opposite slope as if reluctant to be seen talking by anyone she knew.

‘I might see you at the church,’ he said.

‘I’ll ring Marion,’ she said. ‘She might ring Stafford.’

He turned to the bike.

‘See you,’ she added and waved her arm, yet scarcely glancing as he pedalled off. He looked back from the crest of the hill: she’d already reached the gate and, running, had turned up the track towards the farm.

I’ve looked all over the place,’ his father said, ‘for nearly an hour.’

‘I went to Stafford’s,’ he said.

‘Tha what?’

‘To fetch a book.’ He’d taken it with him, inside his coat; he brought it out now and dropped it on the table. ‘I needed it for my holiday work,’ he said.

His father gazed at the book for several seconds.

‘And thy’s been right over theer?’ he said.

‘I came back’, he said. ‘as fast as I could.’

His father shook his head. He pointed to the door. ‘Thy brother’s been roaring his head off. He sets some store by thy being with him, tha knows.’

‘I went as quick as I could,’ he said.

‘There’s more important things than books.’ He added, ‘Mrs Shaw’s more than enough, you know, with Richard.’

His mother was ill; on the second day of her illness she’d been taken off to hospital. Colin was alone in the house with Steven and Richard when his father was at work. On this occasion, however, cycling over to Audrey’s, he’d left Richard with Mrs Shaw and Steven playing in the field; the kitchen itself was already tidy: he’d washed up the pots before he’d left. The floor, too, he’d swept, and had made the beds; he hadn’t intended being away for longer than an hour.

‘I told Mr Shaw’, he said, ‘when I borrowed his bike.’

‘Well, Mr Shaw isn’t in at present,’ his father said. He stooped to the fire with a lighted match; Steven, who’d been crying on the doorstep, had come inside, sitting on a chair and rubbing his eyes. Richard’s cries, loud and prolonged, came from Mrs Shaw’s next door.

Colin picked up the book; his own name, he realized, was inside the cover. ‘I said, if I was free, I might go over tonight.’

‘Wheer?’ his father said. He swivelled round.

‘Stafford’s.’

‘And what’s so important about Stafford, then?’

‘I said I might go over, if you didn’t need me here,’ he said.

‘I need you here. Don’t you think I need you here?’ his father said.

‘I just though you might be in tonight. It’s some work I wanted to check,’ he said.

‘Well, you can check your work in here,’ he said. He gestured round him at the kitchen; then, attracted by the roaring of the fire, he covered it, briefly, with a sheet of paper.

He stood over it for a while.

‘We don’t ask much of you, any road,’ he added.

‘I’ve helped you in the past,’ he said.

‘Aye,’ he said. ‘After how much asking?’

He took the paper away; the fire roared up.

‘We don’t need all that coal on. Not in summer time,’ he added.

His father went to work that night, Colin saw him off at the door.

‘Think on,’ he told him before he left. ‘Thy’s two young ’uns to look to now. No gallivanting off.’