Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone

by Janet MacLeod Trotter

  Carol thought of the corgi toast rack and winced. ‘Not much really. And I’m not staying for dinner. I’m meeting Kelly at the Welfare later. I’ll just dump my stuff and go.’

  ‘Wishful thinking,’ Vic murmured and winked at her.

  As Fay’s hold tightened on her arm, Carol felt her heart sinking.

  It was very strange walking into her old home. It all looked much the same as when she had crept out ten months ago and yet it no longer felt like home at all. Her mother shrieked at her arrival in the sitting room and caused her father to spill sherry over a small blonde woman who turned out to be Simon’s new girlfriend. Panic ensued as damp cloths were fetched and everyone gawped at and gave their opinion on Carol’s outrageous appearance.

  Simon at least remembered to kiss her in welcome and introduced Kate, a fellow police cadet from Durham.

  ‘I told you she’d come back for the garden party, Ben,’ her mother declared.

  ‘You’re not proposing she comes dressed like that?’ Her father was still having difficulty recognising her, Carol realised.

  ‘She can borrow one of my dresses,’ Fay announced, ‘and a matching headscarf. She’ll look fine once I’ve had a go at her.’

  ‘Perhaps there’d be time to get Margaret in to do her hair,’ Nancy thought aloud. ‘I wish you’d given me some notice, Carol. It’ll be difficult to arrange. And Mrs Hunt’s made up your bed for Kate. We’ve got so many staying tomorrow.’

  ‘That’s OK,’ Carol said hastily. ‘I can stay over at Kelly’s for a few days.’ She was appalled at the prospect of wearing one of Fay’s tent-like Indian dresses at the dreaded garden party and was madly thinking of how to get out of it all.

  ‘Nonsense,’ Nancy dismissed the idea. ‘We need you here where we can keep an eye on you. You’re not going to run off again. You’ve no idea how embarrassing it’s been for your father and me.’

  ‘She can stay with us,’ Fay suggested. ‘That’s all right, isn’t it, Vic?’

  Vic gave a smile and a nod of consent. ‘Fine by me, if that’s what Carol wants to do.’ Carol could tell he was highly amused by the whole drama but she was grateful that he was at least taking her wishes into consideration.

  ‘Yes, OK,’ Carol agreed with reluctance, thinking it was the lesser of two evils. Her parents were already driving her mad and she realised that she would find it very hard living at Granville House again as if she had never been away. Her mother was already reproaching her for having been away on her eighteenth birthday and telling Kate how they’d had to cancel the marquee and the caterers and the dance band.

  Carol found it impossible to escape the family supper and sat through two hours of her mother and sister talking of foreign holidays and beauty treatments and health foods, while her father bored Simon and Vic with talk of the pit and the Coal Board. Carol sympathised with the glazed look that had crept into Kate’s eyes and came up with an idea.

  ‘Would you like to go and see the fireworks in the park, Kate?’ Carol asked her loudly.

  She gave an enthusiastic yes.

  ‘We’d have to go now, or we’ll miss them,’ Carol continued. ‘Anyone else want to come?’ She stood up before anyone could scotch the idea and Simon soon followed.

  ‘But what about coffee?’ Nancy asked in disappointment.

  ‘We’ll come back for that,’ Simon assured his mother. ‘Kate wants to see something of Brassbank while she’s here.’

  ‘But there’s nothing to see,’ Nancy said with incredulity.

  ‘Come on, it’s the Jubilee,’ Carol said impatiently and thought how Auntie Jean would have laughed to hear her sudden enthusiasm.

  ‘Let them go,’ Vic said with an easy smile. ‘We’ll stay and drink some of Ben’s excellent brandy, won’t we, doll?’ To Carol’s relief, Fay agreed and they were on their way out into the chilly night and heading for the park on foot.

  Simon and Kate walked with their arms wrapped round each other and chattered all the way. Carol could tell they were eager to be alone together and once they reached the crowds of people in the park, she slipped away from them, saying she had spotted Kelly. That wasn’t hard to do as her friend was in the centre of the action around the trestle tables of drink, her animated face lit by the glow of the bonfire.

  ‘Here, have a beer!’ Kelly called to her and waved her over, thrusting a plastic cup in her hand. ‘Where’ve you been? You missed the party at the Welfare. Denise Wilson won the fancy dress as a lump of coal. It could only happen in Brassbank.’

  ‘I couldn’t get away. And tomorrow they want to dress me up for a garden party.’

  Kelly gave a raucous laugh. ‘Don’t worry. You’ve never done anything yet that they’ve asked of you so why start now? Just stick with me, Carol man.’

  Carol laughed and raised her drink. To the Jubilee!’

  She took a long swig and watched a cascade of green lights pepper the night sky as the first fireworks were set off.

  A couple of drinks later, Carol bumped into Lesley Paxton and Eddy Todd and she found herself warming to Eddy’s banter. Val Bowman came up and gave her a huge, plump hug and told her to come into the shop the following week. After that, Carol realised that Kelly had disappeared in the crowd and she spent the next half an hour trying to find her friend to no avail and cursing her elusiveness. Just as she was on the point of giving up, Carol spotted Kelly heading away from the park with a tall dark-haired man. Squinting into the blackness she thought she recognised the shape of Sid Armstrong and instinctively stood back from the firelight so they did not see her. She still felt awkward about Sid because of the interest he had shown in her last summer. Good luck to him and Kelly, she thought. But it meant that she couldn’t take refuge at Kelly’s tonight and would have to walk up to Fay’s house at Brassy.

  Carol decided to set off, suddenly aware of how tired she was after the journey and the emotion of returning home. Leaving behind the sounds of celebration and the popping of fireworks, she set off in the damp. Passing the bright oasis of lights in the chip shop, Carol felt at peace as she strode up the hill and hummed to herself. She was surprised at how much she had missed the village and although she had no idea what she was going to do now she was back, she knew she was pleased to be here.

  As she climbed past the allotments and felt the sea breeze, a memory came back to her of Mick Todd upbraiding her on the beach for not caring about the village or the pit. ‘Or the people who support your comfortable life,’ he had accused. How wrong he was! She cared about them all. But she had only come to this realisation since being away, so perhaps he had a point. She had been too content just to drift along, questioning nothing, making her petty rebellions against her parents but doing nothing to change her life. At least now she had proved she could stand on her own two feet. She had rejected the comfortable life that Mick had derided and whatever the future brought, she would make the best of it and rely on her own abilities, not her parents’ money, she determined.

  A motorbike roared past her and startled her thoughts in the tranquil night.

  ‘Road hog!’ she shouted after it.

  To her dismay, the bike slowed further up the road, hesitated, then turned round. In panic, Carol wondered if the rider could possibly have heard her abuse and was coming back to take issue with her. Certainly, he was coming back.

  The biker slowed down right beside her and put out a foot to balance himself. Carol couldn’t help appreciate the smell of fuel. The man raised his visor and she found herself being watched by familiar unblinking blue eyes.

  ‘Do you need a lift? It’s late to be out walking on your own,’ he said.

  Carol peered closer, thinking she must be mistaken because he sounded just like Mick Todd. It was as if thinking about him had conjured him out of the night.

  ‘I heard from Lesley you were back,’ he grunted. ‘Are you making for your sister’s?’

  ‘Er, yes, I was,’ Carol stammered. Her heart was banging like a bass drum and she found it imposs
ible to say any more.

  He seemed suddenly unsure of her hesitancy and looked about ready to snap down his visor. ‘Of course, if you prefer to walk . . .’

  Carol found her voice again. ‘No, I’d appreciate a lift. It’s a long pull up to Brassy.’

  She thought she saw him grin, but it was difficult to tell beneath the helmet. He reached for a spare helmet on the back of the bike.

  ‘Here, put this on.’

  He indicated for her to climb on the seat behind him. Carol swung herself over and gripped the seat as they moved off, wondering what had possessed her to accept the lift. For a few moments, she sat there rigid and terrified by the way the bike rolled with the bends in the road, but then she relaxed and bent with it like Mick was doing. As they sped towards Brassy, past the ghostly churchyard where her sister had been married, Carol felt a surge of exhilaration. What on earth had prompted Mick Todd to stop and pick her up? Whatever it was, it filled her with a new energy and excitement.

  Too soon they reached Fay’s house. Carol was surprised Mick knew where it was. There were lights on in the grand portico, but no sign of the car.

  Carol shouted over the noise of the engine, ‘Doesn’t look like they’re home yet, and I haven’t got a key.’

  ‘What do you want to do?’ Mick shouted back.

  Carol felt like doing something rash. ‘Do you want to go to the beach? Walk for a bit?’ she asked, expecting him to tell her to get lost.

  He turned to look at her but she couldn’t see his expression.

  ‘Aye, why not?’ he agreed and revved up the bike.

  This time, Carol tentatively held on to Mick as they sped back along the coast. Breathing in the smell of leather from his jacket, she felt a strange thrill at being with him. Fireworks continued to light up the black sky and the village still looked the same as they cruised through it, but Carol knew something had changed, as if she had taken a momentous step in the last few moments.

  Chapter Six

  They abandoned the motorbike on the rough ground above Colly’s Leap, but walked in the opposite direction as they both wished to avoid any reminder of the evening when they first met. The tide was out and they were able to make their way along the wet sand without scrambling across rocks. Mick asked about London and Carol spoke of her time away. She realised he was the first person she had talked to about her adventures, for none of her family had seemed the least bit interested. Her parents had made it plain that the sooner the escapade was forgotten, the better. Mick, on the other hand, appeared genuinely interested and laughed at her tales. As they meandered along the deserted shoreline he told her about his family, his job at the pit, about his parents’ battle over the Jubilee. He found himself telling her things he never normally talked about.

  ‘But the reason me dad spends so much time up at the allotment has nothing to do with gardening like Mam thinks. He goes there to read,’ Mick divulged.

  ‘Why doesn’t he read at home?’ Carol asked. ‘Too noisy with your Linda around, I suppose.’

  Mick chuckled. ‘No. It’s because he reads historical romances.’

  ‘Never!’ Carol exclaimed.

  ‘Aye. He gets them from a second-hand stall in Whittledene, or the library. Says he’s getting them for the wife, but Mam never sees them. She thinks he only reads the papers.’

  Carol clapped her hands and laughed. ‘I love it! Who would have guessed your dad’s a romantic?’

  ‘Don’t you go telling anyone, mind.’ Mick was suddenly unsure if he should have told her. ‘Me and Eddy are the only ones who know - but Dad thinks no one knows.’

  ‘Brownies’ honour,’ Carol smiled and did a mock salute.

  Mick grinned. ‘Don’t tell me they let you in the Brownies?’

  ‘Aye, I was an elf for nearly a year. But on bonfire night I set fire to my tie and they threw me out.’

  Mick snorted.

  ‘Well,’ Carol defended herself, ‘I’d seen them on the telly burning flags - something to do with Vietnam - and I thought I’d try it.’

  They walked on, recounting tales from their childhood.

  ‘I keep thinking it’s time I left home,’ Mick smiled ruefully. ‘It seems that crowded and I never get any peace from Linda. But I’d never have the guts to take off like you did.’

  Carol looked at him in surprise. ‘It was nothing to do with guts,’ she joked. ‘I just couldn’t stand being at home any longer. You’re lucky, you’ve got a happy home where your mam and dad care about you. You shouldn’t knock it.’

  Mick suddenly stopped and seized her hand. ‘I got it all wrong about you, Carol,’ he said in a deep voice, ‘but I was prejudiced against you, thought you were a snotty rich cow, if I’m honest.’ He watched her, a little unsure.

  ‘Ta very much!’ Carol laughed.

  ‘It never occurred to me you might be unhappy, not in that grand house and with all that money and your dad being Ben Shannon. You see, I’ve grown up with me dad telling me that your dad turned his back on the rest of them, going over to the management side. They used to be friends as bairns, you know.’

  ‘My dad and your dad?’ Carol exclaimed.

  ‘That’s what he says.’

  ‘Then why is he so against my dad?’ Carol asked. ‘Is it just because he’s management?’

  Mick shook his head. ‘It goes a lot deeper than that.’

  ‘The recent strike, then?’ Carol suggested. She remembered them having to use candles at home during the dark winter nights of 1972 and 1974 which she had enjoyed. But her father had been foul-tempered and her mother had moaned about the lack of heat in their draughty house.

  Carol saw his reticence. She squeezed his hand. ‘Tell me, please.’

  Mick sighed. ‘I don’t know the full story, but it goes back to our grandfathers. They were both at Brassbank pit during the lock-out in twenty-six.’

  ‘Yeah, Dad’s always been proud of me grandfather working his way up to be overman.’

  Mick drew his hand away and looked at her in sudden anger. ‘Aye, but I bet he didn’t tell you that he betrayed his own marras to get where he did?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Carol demanded.

  ‘Your grandfather Shannon was a scab!’ Mick spat out the word. ‘He went back to work for the bosses while his friends and their families stayed out and starved. It was because of men like him that the strike failed and the pitmen lost everything they’d been fighting for for years. But men like your grandfather were rewarded with good jobs for doing their dirty work.’

  Carol flushed. She had never heard this before and was shocked by Mick’s venom.

  ‘He must have had his reasons,’ she said.

  The look of disappointment on Mick’s face made her stomach leaden. ‘Me dad would say there’s no excuse good enough to turn your back on the men you work with and see them and their families hammered. If they’d stayed out, united, they would’ve got the conditions they were fighting for. Me grandfather Todd was branded a troublemaker and never worked again. He died at the age of forty-five. Didn’t even live to see me dad get his first job down the pit or the industry nationalised. Me dad’s very bitter about that, and that’s why he resents what your dad’s had in life, I suppose.’ He gave her a sad look. ‘Our fathers must’ve been about six or seven when the lock-out happened. Course, after that they would never have been allowed to be friends.’

  ‘No,’ Carol gulped, feeling the burden of shame for her family. She would never again be able to look at the proud family photograph in the dining room of her bearded grandfather and stoical-faced grandmother without thinking of his betrayal. ‘I’m really sorry about your grandfather. There’s so much I don’t know about this place - never bothered to find out.’

  Mick saw the unhappiness in her face and felt a pang of guilt for upsetting her. After all, it was hardly her fault she was born a Shannon. He did not know what had spurred him on to offer her a lift earlier; the impulse had taken him by surprise. But ever since Lesley Paxton ha
d joined them at the Welfare and talked about Carol Shannon returning with her punk hairstyle, he’d not been able to stop thinking about her. So when he had found her on the road, it was as if they were meant to meet and he had been thirsty for her company and eager to prolong the evening with her.

  He took her gently by the elbow and steered her towards a shelter in the rocks. ‘I could tell you things - so could me dad. And Grandda Bowman’s full of stories about the past - he’s a walking history book about the village.’

  Carol felt herself shaking at his closeness. ‘Can’t see your dad wanting to talk to me. And after what I said to your mam . . .’ She blushed hotly.

  ‘They’ll feel differently once they’ve got to know you a bit,’ Mick smiled.

  She looked into his blue eyes and felt her heart leap. ‘Do you think so?’ she whispered.

  ‘Aye, I do,’ he said and leaned towards her. Cradling her head of spiky hair in his hands, he kissed her gently, tentatively, on the lips. Carol responded, her insides melting. They kissed more confidently, with increasing vigour, their arms going round each other in exploration. She buried her hands in his long hair and felt the roughness of his chin on her cheek, his hands waking her body to pleasant sensations.

  They broke away and grinned.

  ‘Wow, Carol!’

  ‘I’m glad I came home after all,’ she laughed. ‘I think I’ve wanted to do this for months, if I’m honest.’

  ‘Me too,’ Mick chuckled. ‘It drove me mad when Sid said he’d kissed you on the beach. I kept imagining it was me.’

  ‘Mick Todd! Go on then, imagine some more.’ Carol laughed low and pulled him towards her.

  They lay for hours on his leather jacket, kissing and hugging and talking until they became suddenly aware of the tide at their feet, Already there was a watery pale light seeping into the sky over the North Sea and it came as a shock that the short night was waning.

  They scrabbled up the rocks and shook the dirty sand off their clothes. Carol shivered with cold, but nestled into Mick’s arm as they made their way back along the top of the cliff to where they had left the bike.