Hugh banged his fist against the mantel. Intensive union activity had taken its toll not only on him but on four others who were blacklisted. Again his voice rose as he told the men that there were some working with their union badges sewn into their collars for fear of the managers knowing they were members.
Taffy Rawlins twisted his cap and blurted out, ‘Lot o’ men tried workin’ in other collieries. Soon as it was discovered they was union men, none of ‘em could get taken on.’
Harry Jones rose to his feet, jabbing the air with a stubby finger. ‘Ay, an’ rumour ‘as it, any man what’s a member has ‘is name circ’lated from the union roster.
They’ll never get work, not now the strike is on, not when it’s over.’
Taffy was at it again, waving his cap. ‘I believe, Hugh Jones, an’ there’s many that says I’m right, your union is bloody destroying a man’s right ta work.’
Dramatically, Hugh tore off his threepenny-piece-sized union badge and held it up above his head.
‘If we don’t join this union now, if we don’t pull together, you’ll all be no better than the pit ponies left down the mines to rot. The managers, the owners, don’t give a hang whether a man dies or not, they’re more worried about losing a dram than they are about any man.’ Hugh’s voice was earshattering in the hot, stuffy, confined kitchen. ‘You lose a dram o’coal, mun, and what happens? The buggers make you pay for it. But when have they paid for a man’s life? The proprietors know the men are weak, that they have no organization so they can do what the hell they like. The pit manager can sack when he pleases, and the poor bugger can do nothing about it, and they’d hardly pay him a penny … Am I right, tell me?’
Throughout the meeting Gladys took copious notes for the minutes. Willie paid little attention, picking his teeth with a match and yawning. Evelyne kept feeling his eyes on her but refused to return his stare.
At last the meeting broke up and Evelyne packed what food was left over from tea and slipped it to Taffy for his kids. Hugh walked Gladys home, still arguing with Harry. Willie made no move to leave with his aunt, sitting in Hugh’s chair by the fire. ‘I just seen there’s a good film at the pictures, Evie, last show’s at nine, fancy an outing?’
Evelyne folded her arms. ‘My name’s Evelyne to you, son, or Miss Jones. And if you want some advice I’d clear out.’
Willie looked completely unabashed. He propped his feet on the fireguard.
‘That’s none too friendly, considerin’ we’ll be related soon.’
Evelyne would have liked to swipe his gloating face.
‘I’ve no intention of makin’ a friend of you, none at all, and I don’t want you in this house again, now out… go on, hop it.’
His piggy eyes glinted, and he slowly removed his feet from the fireguard. He looked at her, and she could almost see the wheels churning round in his flushed head.
‘Way I hear it, you should think yourself lucky bein’ asked out, there’s not many lads left in the village. There’s plenty of young girls panting to go to the pictures so don’t put yourself out, Miss Schoolteacher.’
Evelyne watched the cocky boy saunter out, and she restrained herself from aiming a blow at the back of his stocky, flushed neck. As the door closed behind him, Evelyne went to fetch her heavy coat. She wrapped a scarf around her neck and slipped out the back way. She didn’t want anyone to see her, to know where she was going.
The gypsies were just setting up their camp, the wagons and trailers drawn up in a semicircle, a group of men erecting the big, round living tents. A fire blazed in the centre of the ring, and a few children were hanging round, wearing cotton dresses and thin, threadbare woollies. Although barefooted they seemed hardly to notice the cold, but they noticed Evelyne striding up the hill. She’d opened up her coat as she was warm from the long walk, and her cheeks flushed pink from the evening air.
A runny-nosed little boy with huge, dark eyes watched her, a brooding look on his tiny face, then he put out his hand.
‘Give us a penny, come on missus, just a copper, we’re starvin’ hungry.’
Evelyne looked down at the tiny boy already adept at begging, and showed him her empty pockets.
‘Is Freedom with you, boy? I need to talk with Freedom.’
At that moment a woman with a shawl wrapped around her appeared from behind the bushes. She grabbed the child by the hair and walloped him, with a cold, angry look at Evelyne.
‘There’s no one of that name here.’ The children ran like hell away from the sharp-tongued woman, the little boy looking back at Evelyne. She went nearer to the camp, and now the men turned and stared with the expressionless, unnerving faces. She stood looking around, then spoke loudly, her voice echoing.
‘I need to speak with Freedom, is he here with you?’
They made no reply, just turned their backs and continued working. Women passed hooded looks to one another and she saw two men talking together in sign
language.
‘I know he’s with you and I have to talk with him.’ A grey-haired man, wearing clothes fit for a scare-crow, shuffled towards her. He came within about six feet of her and showed his toothless, shiny gums as he spoke.
‘There’s no one by that name here, wench. Git out of it. Listen to what I say, go away from here.’
Evelyne turned and walked out of the field and headed down the steep path, thinking to herself that at least she’d tried. She stuffed her hands into her pockets and felt the newspaper clippings, paused, looking back, and then walked on. She took the narrow path round the mountainside, beginning to think herself stupid for risking walking out this late, and so close to the gypsy camp. All her father’s old warnings came back to her and she quickened her pace.
Freedom had watched her walk into the camp, seen the way she stamped her foot angrily, turned on her heel and marched out. She had snapped a dead branch off a tree and was whacking the hedges as she walked along. He sat up in the fork of a tree, watching her with his dark eyes, amused, smiling. She was an odd one, that was for sure. As Evelyne walked beneath his tree he dropped down, and she shrieked with terror. When she saw it was him, she put her hands on her hips and let him have it.
‘That’s a fine thing to do! You nearly gave me heart failure, you did!’
With a mocking bow, but without saying a word, Freedom began to walk along beside her. Evelyne took the newspaper cuttings from her pocket.
‘I suppose you’ve read all these? You can read?’
Freedom cocked his head to one side, smiling. She only came up to his shoulder and had to look up into his face. His hair had grown longer and he had tied it back with a leather thong. He now wore a gold earring in his right ear.
‘I’ve come to tell you to leave, the police will be here, that’s what I’ve come all this way to say.’
With one quick hop Freedom was in front of her, walking backwards.
Still walking, she continued, ‘You can’t just go around killing people, even if what they did was a terrible thing. The law must know the boy’s here, and with the fair being here too, they’re bound to come around asking questions.’
Freedom halted and she walked straight into him. He gripped her arm, hurting her. Evelyne looked into his face, she wasn’t afraid, she never had been afraid of him, but he hurt her wrist and she jerked her hand free. ‘I said the fourth boy’s here in the village, and you know it, that’s why you’re here.’
Freedom took the tree branch from her hand and swiped at the bushes in anger.
‘I’m here to fight at Devil’s Pit, nothing more.’
Evelyne fell into step beside him, told him he was crazy, the police wanted to question him about the murders. If he came out in the open to fight, they would certainly arrest him. They had even put his name in the papers.
‘So, Evelyne, you came to warn me, is that it?’
She tripped over a stone and he caught her, but she moved quickly out of reach. Flippantly, she said she was amazed that he remembered her name.
‘You remembered mine, I heard you asking for me, and I thank you.’
They walked on and she asked after Rawnie. Freedom told her that she was now Jesse’s woman and would be at the camp. As they walked she became aware of his familiar but strange, musky perfume, and even more aware of his cat-like litheness. He seemed hardly to make a sound as he walked, his step surprisingly light for his size.
