Carol felt her knees buckle, but Lotty held her and the other policeman grabbed her arm.
‘You don’t have to identify him now. You can come in the ambulance—’
‘I want to see him now!’ Carol gasped and pushed forward.
They took her over. Her insides had never felt so cold, so leaden. But she wanted to see him, was desperate to touch him . . . Please God! Help me! she sobbed to herself.
Lotty clung to her beside the bundled form on the stretcher. As they pulled the blanket off his face, Carol could feel Lotty’s warm grip supporting her, giving her strength in this worst moment of her life.
She gasped at the familiar face staring up at her. His skin looked clammy and grey, the green eyes staring but unseeing.
Carol heard Lotty cry out beside her in disbelief.
‘Oh my God! Oh, no!’
Carol was bewildered. A first kick of relief went through her as the truth registered. It was not Mick.
Then shock stunned her once more. She knew the dead man at her feet.
It was Eddy.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Carol could not remember how long she remained on the beach that night, weeping with Lotty at what they had found. It may only have been a few minutes, yet it seemed endless.
Eddy’s body was removed with swift efficiency and the crowd dispersed. She and Lotty were led to a police car. From somewhere the young vicar from Brassy, Steven Copeland, appeared to comfort them. Carol must have been shivering - she had rushed out in T-shirt and skirt - for someone put a blanket round her and gave her a mug of coffee.
She was quite numb now. Mick had not thrown himself off the cliff. She was guilty at her relief. But dear, kind Eddy was dead. The tears gushed again. Yet Mick was still missing. Where had he gone? And what had Eddy been doing alone on the cliff in his pit clothes? Was it suicide? She already heard murmurs around her that Eddy must have been drunk and fallen accidentally.
Then George Bowman was at her side, trying to tell her something.
‘He’s here, Carol,’ he said gently.
Carol peered into the dark around the dunes as two figures hurried forward.
Charlie and Mick.
Carol fell into Mick’s arms with relief. ‘Oh, Mick, Mick!’ she sobbed. ‘I thought you were dead!’
Mick held her tight as if he would never let her go. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he kept repeating. ‘I didn’t mean to be gone so long. I’m sorry!’
She was aware that he smelt smoky, like a bonfire. But she did not care where he had been, just that he had returned.
Later, when the initial relief was over, they took Lotty and Charlie back with them to Dominion Terrace. Charlie was deeply upset by his brother’s death. They all needed to be together.
‘But where were you all day?’ Carol demanded at last. ‘You had us worried sick. And you took your pit clothes.’
Mick looked contrite. ‘I went up to Grandda’s, sort of to say me goodbyes. You were right; I was dwelling too much on the old man, the past. Anyways, I made a bonfire by the old railway.’
‘Bonfire?’ Carol was confused.
‘Burnt me old work clothes.’ Mick’s face was grim, haunted. But his voice was strong, defiant. ‘Well, I couldn’t march into the pit with the other lads this morning so I had me own little protest up there, where I’ve been digging out me coal and pretending I was still a pitman for the past year.’
Carol leant over and hugged him quickly. ‘Oh, Mick, I’m sorry. I should have understood.’ She ached to think of him so cut off from his former marras, unable to share in their camaraderie. That had been the cruellest part of his sacking, she realised.
Lotty went and made some tea.
They talked on late into the night about Eddy and what could have happened to him. Charlie was ridden with guilt about arguing with his brother over taking redundancy. He had not spoken more than half a dozen words to him in the past week. He had called that evening to ask Eddy to search for Mick and been annoyed at not finding him in. None of them had seen him since the day before last.
‘I saw him on his way to The Ship two nights ago,’ Mick said. ‘He was canny, laughing and trying to get me down for a pint. He can’t have killed himself. He must’ve been drunk. It’s just a tragic accident.’
But Carol was not so sure. When she had last seen him to speak to in the park, his mood had been unstable. He had been guilty about the redundancy and trying to hide his hurt at the pit closing. And she remembered how he had been trying to tell her something. Why had she not listened to him properly? She was filled with remorse. If only she had let him speak his mind!
Eventually, Lotty took the shattered Charlie away. Carol and Mick went to bed. The letters were still lying scattered across the bedspread. Mick looked away shyly.
‘They were lovely letters,’ Carol said quietly. ‘I’ll keep them for ever.’ She put her arms round him. ‘Why did you choose today to show them to me?’
Mick regarded her with his piercing blue eyes. ‘Because I finally saw how much I’d hurt you, taking meself off all day, cutting you off, when all the time you were working yourself into the ground to keep the pit and the village alive. I was that ashamed. I felt like I’d really let you down, Carol. The letters - they were all I could think of to give you. I don’t have owt else.’
Carol kissed him tenderly. ‘Thank you. They’re worth more than anything else in the world you could give me.’
They went to bed and held each other through the night, unable to sleep as they remembered Eddy and how deeply they would miss him.
The funeral was delayed for a week while a postmortem examination was carried out. There would be an inquest later. Many people came to Charlie’s door in Septimus Street to express their sympathy and it struck Carol what a popular man Eddy had been. Val was very upset and Lesley came round in floods of tears at the news, wanting to talk of the old days. Carol went with Mick to see Captain Lenin, knowing how bereft the publican would be without his close friend.
They sat with him in his nautical garden while he gazed out to sea, quite emotional.
‘I know they’re saying he was drunk,’ the Captain sighed and shook his head, ‘but he hadn’t been in here all day. I was expecting him, but he never came. If you ask me, the pit closing was the finish of Eddy. He joked about hating it, but it was his life.’
Mick would not have this. ‘Eddy left Brassbank a few years back, remember? He could have transferred to another pit again.’
‘But he couldn’t stay away from here, could he? He lived and breathed for Brassbank,’ the Captain pointed out. ‘Anyways, they found him in his pit clothes. What was he doing dressing up in them when he’d already finished? It’s a strange, sad business.’
After a drink, he perked up a bit and they were able to talk about happier times. Captain Lenin recounted many of Eddy’s favourite tales. They left him chuckling with tears in his eyes, looking out to sea where he and Eddy had so often gone fishing together.
‘What do you think, Carol?’ Mick asked as they returned home.
Carol shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. But I do think Eddy was a lot more unhappy than we realised - he was just good at hiding it. I wish I knew what it was he was trying to tell me in the park before, you know ... I feel so guilty.’
The day before the funeral, Mick got a call from a local solicitor, asking him and Carol to visit his office. He was a young man called Andy Potts who had helped defend some of the arrested pickets during the strike. He showed them into his shabby office above two empty shops that had gone bust after the strike and gave them coffee out of brown, chipped mugs.
‘Your uncle came to see me a week before his death,’ Andy told them.
‘Eddy?’ Mick was surprised.
‘Yes. He wanted to make a will. You and your wife Carol are the main beneficiaries.’
Carol and Mick exchanged astonished looks.
There are a few personal items which are to go to his brother and sister-in-la
w. But his redundancy money - it’s in a building society account - it all goes to you two.’ He showed them the amount.
‘That much?’ Carol gasped. ‘Fancy Eddy doing that!’
‘B-but why us?’ Mick stammered.
Andy Potts knew Mick’s situation well. ‘I imagine he wanted to help you out. He spoke of you both very fondly. I think it upset him a lot to think you’d never work again.’
‘Aye, that’s right,’ Carol agreed, ‘he said as much to me.’
Mick was overwhelmed. ‘You don’t think this means he . . .?’
Andy shook his head. ‘We can’t assume this is the act of a suicidal man. He was quite urgent about wanting to make this will, that’s true. But I think he would have used the money to help you out anyway. I’m sure that was his intention.’
‘Oh, Mick,’ Carol held her husband’s hand tearfully. ‘What a canny, canny man!’
The news of Eddy’s generosity touched them all and lifted Charlie and Lotty’s spirits. When they reached the Methodist Chapel on the funeral morning, they were overawed to see it packed to overflowing. Carol and Mick had decided to take Laura. Eddy had been so close to their daughter and they did not want her to feel left out. Better to confront death at an early age than to pretend it did not happen or could not be mentioned, they decided. It was the way of mining people from generations of experience, Carol knew.
Outside the chapel, Mick and Charlie took their places at the front of Eddy’s coffin and carried him in, supported by Captain Lenin and Stan Savage, Marty Dillon and Frankie Burt. Carol and Lotty and Laura followed behind, with Val and the Dimarcos and some of Eddy’s old marras from the pit.
Just as they were about to go in, a car drew up noisily at the gates. Two latecomers tumbled out.
Lotty’s drawn face gasped at the sight. ‘Linda?’
‘Eeh, Mam!’ Her daughter hurtled into her arms and burst into floods of tears. Carol saw Dan following nervously behind. She waved him to come in with them. Now was not the time for recriminations. It must have taken some guts to show his face in Brassbank for Linda’s sake, Carol realised.
She went in beside the weeping Lotty and Linda. The chapel erupted in a loud rendition of ‘Bread of Heaven’ that wrung Carol’s heart. How Eddy would have enjoyed the singing, she thought tearfully.
At the end of the service, as they filed out, she noticed with a jolt that her parents and Simon were standing near the back. She was astonished that her mother and father had bothered to attend. For a brief moment she caught their look and thought her mother seemed strained, even tearful. She was glad they had come. She gave them a weak smile and walked on.
‘Look, there’s Auntie Kelly and Uncle Sid!’ Laura piped up.
Carol glimpsed their estranged friends among the large congregation and it made her think what a special person Eddy had been that he could inspire affection from all sides of a torn community. However briefly, Eddy had performed the miracle of bringing them all together. Perhaps some of the old hurts could be healed by it, Carol hoped suddenly.
As they emerged into the strong sunlight, the colliery band struck up a tribute. They all stood and listened for a moment in the airless, baking street as the coffin was lifted into the hearse by Eddy’s family and friends. The jazzy strains of ‘Unforgettable’ by Nat King Cole filled the air.
Carol dissolved into tears. Eddy had been whistling that song the last time she had spoken to him. Mick came and put his arm round her.
‘Do you remember when Eddy got a lend of the hearse to go and fetch the Christmas presents during the strike?’ Mick said.
Carol smiled at the memory. ‘Aye, and then he gave a lift to some of the pickets down to The Ship. Said it nearly gave Captain a heart attack when he saw the hearse roll up outside his pub.’ They both laughed.
Suddenly Carol was aware of groups of mourners around them, talking about Eddy, laughing and telling jokes just as he would have wanted them to.
He was buried in the family plot in the large cemetery at the top of the village and then everyone was invited to the wake in The Ship. Charlie had hired the whole pub for the occasion and Lotty and Carol and Val had been busy preparing a cold buffet for days beforehand. The beer flowed and Mick kept playing Eddy’s favourite hits on the old jukebox.
People spilled out into the sheltered garden and stayed all afternoon. Carol had an overwhelming sensation of Eddy being with them. She knew he would have approved of the brave attempts to be cheerful. But she was glad when she and Mick and Laura could leave and walk home alone. It was a hot afternoon and Mick took Laura off to chase the ice-cream van they could hear in the neighbouring street. Carol sat on a chair in the yard, kicking off her shoes and closing her eyes. The funeral had been a trial for them all, but she felt comforted by the day.
Still, she could not shake the doubts from her mind about Eddy’s death. Perhaps they would never know if it had been suicide or not. It was easier to think of it as an accident, she thought in resignation. After all, Eddy had fallen into Colly’s Leap before when drunk, so many years ago when she had first met Mick . . . She was jolted by a sudden thought. What if Eddy’s first fall into Colly’s Leap had been an attempt to end his life too? Carol’s heart began to hammer. No! That was ridiculous! Eddy had nothing to be depressed about in those days, she assured herself. Still, the thought left her feeling queasy.
Hearing the telephone, she dragged herself wearily inside.
‘Carol, it’s me.’
For a moment she did not recognise the voice. It had been so long. ‘Mother?’ she queried.
‘Yes, of course!’
‘Well, don’t sound so offended. I haven’t heard you for that long,’ Carol reminded her.
‘Yes, I know, I’m sorry,’ Nancy answered. Carol was surprised by the climbdown. ‘Listen, I need to talk to you. Could we meet somewhere private?’
‘Mother; we’ve just buried Eddy. Can’t we leave it for a day or two?’
‘Please, Carol!’ Her mother sounded close to tears.
Carol did not know whether to feel annoyed or alarmed by her mother’s sudden contact. ‘Is it about leaving Brassbank?’
‘No, it isn’t,’ her mother said, ‘but it is important. Your father’s gone out to the garden centre. He doesn’t know I’m ringing you.’
Carol sighed. ‘OK. I’ll meet you in the cemetery. No one’ll see you there.’
‘Oh, I couldn’t go there!’ her mother said in panic.
‘Well, the park will be busy. It’s either that or you come round here,’ Carol answered with impatience.
‘Very well, the cemetery. In twenty minutes?’
Carol agreed and rang off. When Mick returned, she suggested that Laura go round and play with Louise. She was happy to do so after being with adults all day. They walked her round, and then Carol explained to Mick about the telephone call.
‘I want you with me,’ she told him. ‘I don’t know what it’s about, she wouldn’t say, but I can’t face her on my own today.’
Nancy was waiting for them just inside the gates, her car parked discreetly under the high wall. She was horrified to see Mick.
‘Whatever you tell me, Mick will get to hear anyway,’ Carol defended him. ‘We don’t have secrets from each other and I’m not going to hide him away from you any more.’
Nancy nodded and began walking towards a secluded bench under a chestnut tree. They followed, Mick wishing Carol had not insisted he come. He had never felt comfortable with the haughty Nancy Shannon, even though she was a distant cousin of his mother’s. Yet today she appeared nervous and upset; the air of superiority gone.
They sat down, Carol watching her mother twisting an embroidered handkerchief round and round in her hands. Her heavily made-up face was flushed and her faded eyes quite bloodshot with crying.
‘This is very difficult for me,’ she began, ‘but I have to tell you. It’s been such a burden for so long, Carol...’ She broke off and wiped her nose. The twisting started again.
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Carol felt Mick shifting uncomfortably beside her, itching to be gone. ‘We haven’t much time, Mother,’ she said, a little irritated.
‘I have a confession to make, a large one that I can’t bear to carry alone any more.’ Nancy breathed in deeply. ‘I don’t want you to stop me when I’m halfway through. So please just listen to me for once, Carol, without interrupting, will you?’
Carol sat, tight-lipped, remembering familiar scoldings.
Nancy sat bolt upright, her hands busy in her lap but her voice more calm.
‘We were happily married at first, I suppose, your father and I. But I always expected us to move away from here. It was my dream come true when he began his training at one of the Newcastle pits and we could live in the city. We lived in a big semi with a nice, manageable garden and it was only fifteen minutes into the city centre and all the shops. I had that many friends, other young mothers like me with small children, and such a social life . . .’
Carol made an impatient gesture indicating she had heard all this before. Nancy scrunched up the handkerchief into a tight ball. ‘So it broke my heart when he announced we were coming back here so that he could be under-manager. I’d married Ben to get away from Brassbank and here I was being dragged back with two little ones to that big cold house - impossible to heat in the winter—’
‘But you loved that house, Mother,’ Carol exclaimed.
‘I hated it!’ Nancy cried. ‘It was so big and I had no neighbours, no social life. Ben was working all hours and never had time for me or the children. I was so unhappy - so lonely, Carol. I hated Brassbank.’
Carol heard Mick snort with impatience. But in a way, Carol understood. It must have been hard for the young, sociable Nancy to be torn away from the home and new friends she had made; to find herself stuck in an unwelcoming old house all day with small Fay and Simon and no husband around.
Carol put a hand on her mother’s. ‘Go on.’
Nancy’s voice trembled. ‘I had my own car, a little Hillman - my only escape. I used to take the children out on picnics. One day in the park I met an old flame, as they used to say, someone I used to go courting with before I married Ben. As youngsters we’d gone to dances in the Welfare and even into Whittle - it was still a small town then. He was fun. I’d forgotten how much fun. So I began seeing him again and the more I saw of him, the less lonely I felt. Your father didn’t even seem to notice, so I just carried on, meeting out of the village, going off in the car. Or he would meet me on his scooter. Sometimes I’d leave Fay and Simon with my mother and pretend to go shopping. It went on all summer and into the autumn. I couldn’t believe I was getting away with it, until. . .’
Durham Trilogy 03. Never Stand Alone Page 42