Martin

either. Just music – Agadoo. Keith pulls into car park. Pete says, Probably be back to Kiveton tomorrow. Keith nods. Chris nods. I nod. Pete gives us three quid each. I say goodbye. I walk over road to Bottom Club. I get in our car. I drive home. I park in drive. I unlock door. I step inside – There’s nothing. No one – My hands are black. My face blue. The sea is cold. The wind old – Day 189. I wake up at midnight on a pile of clothes on bedroom floor. That’s all that’s left. Clothes and bits of my gear. Nothing else now. Makes place seem massive. Ironic really, Cath had always wanted a bigger place. Makes it smell, though. I walk from room to room. I open up windows. Room to room. Downstairs. Letter from TSB still on floor in hall. Back up stairs. Then down stairs again. End up stood in kitchen. No cooker now. No fridge. No washing-machine. Nothing. Just spaces where they used be. I just stand there looking out on back garden again – It’s black. Pitch black. Pissing it down – Never going to be a patio now. No conservatory here. I light a cigarette – Expensive habit that, she says. I turn round – Nothing. No one – I close my eyes. My heart – You have stolen my language. You have stolen my land – Bloody hell, says Pete. Thought you’d have buggered off and left us again by now. I say, You bloody want me to, do you? He shakes his head. He says, You know I don’t – Then shut up and open that envelope, will you? He laughs. He opens envelope. He takes out paper. He says, Silverwood. Entire room groans. Keith shouts, Lovely. Pete says, Where were you expecting? Las bloody Vegas? How about Doncaster racecourse? says Tim. John Smiths brewery? Tell you what I’ll do, says Pete. I’ll have a word with King Arthur next time he pops round, shall I? You do that, says everyone. You do that. Pete smiles. He says, Now that’s all sorted, let’s have you all up Silverwood then. Day 192. About hundred yards from pit, headlights go on full in our faces. Krk-krk. Bastards. Hands straight up to shield our eyes. Few stones aimed at lights. Hear horses coming then. Dogs. Vans. Everyone off like a shot. Into woods. Off road. Through trees. Best plan. Out of lights. Into fog and mist. Hooves still coming. Dogs barking. Headlights shining through trunks and branches. Throwing shadows left and right. Police boots over deadwood. Truncheons banging on their shields. Lads going down. Falling over stumps and fucking roots of trees. Picked up by snatch squads and beaten badly. No arrests today. Just lot of fist. Mainly older blokes getting it and all – Hear them go down but you can’t see them. Fog and lights in your eyes – I hear voices above me then. Look up and there are blokes hanging from trees – Just swinging there in fog with lights behind them. Dangling like strange fruit off branches – Police and dogs waiting for them underneath. Truncheons out and teeth bared ready for fruit to fall – For dead to drop. It is Yorkshire, 1984 – You have buried my family. You have buried my faith – Day 195. I wake on floor again. I get up off floor. I walk over to window. I look out – There’s a car on road. Passenger door open. There are men in car. Man at gate – There are shadows over man. He stares up at house. He points up at window. His bones white in night – I step back out of sight. Into my own shadows. I stand against wall. I hold my breath – I listen to gate open. I hear footsteps on path – I hear them whisper. I hear them echo – Hear them moan. Hear them scream – It is dark. I swallow. I spit. I swallow again. I hear knock on door. I listen to letterbox rattle – I listen to it whisper. Listen to it echo – Listen to it moan. Listen to it scream – It is dark. I close my eyes. I open my eyes. I close them again. I listen to him try door. I hear him shake it – I hear him whisper. Hear him echo – Hear him moan. Hear him scream, Martin! Get up, you lazy fucking sod. Day 201. Pete comes back from Panel. Pete says, It’s provocation. Pete’s right. Provocation is only word for it – DHSS now said contractors at Maltby are engaged in secondary strike action. Not laid off like they’d said before. DHSS has stopped their dole – Contractors have gone back. Board have fucking stuck them in their back-to-work figures – It’s bloody bollocks.