Union Belle

by Deborah Challinor

  She had changed, there was no doubt about it. He’d caught her several times lately staring off vacantly, and when he’d asked her what was she thinking about, each time she’d said ‘nothing’. But she was preoccupied and he knew it, and it was driving him around the bend. She usually did talk to him when she had something on her mind, but not this time, and he was feeling left out and increasingly anxious. No, not anxious, scared.

  And it wasn’t just Alf dying like that, either, or the revelation that he hadn’t been her real father, although both of those things had knocked her all to the pack. The day she’d come home and told him about it he thought he was going to have to get Dr Airey in, she was that white and shaken. Bloody Gloria—all her airs and graces and her fancy furniture, and she had a secret like that! Alf must have been a saint, taking in a child that wasn’t his. There weren’t many blokes about who’d do something like that.

  No, it was more than that, and it had started before Alf had his accident. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but whatever it was, it had been there all right. Ellen had never been a short-tempered sort of woman, and she was nearly always reasonable even when he wasn’t, but lately all sorts of things had been getting on her nerves. If he dropped his clothes on the floor in the bedroom, or left the paper spread out on the kitchen table, or came into the house with his boots on, he certainly knew about it these days. It wasn’t that she nagged at him, she still very rarely did that, but her mouth would go all thin and she’d whip around tidying up and refusing to meet his eye.

  And last night, shouting at him to cook his own eggs—she’d never in their married life done anything like that before. He’d been a bit pissed, it was true, and coming home drunk had never impressed her, but she’d always tolerated it. And it could have been a lot worse—he hadn’t been blind drunk, and he hadn’t passed out or thrown up everywhere. It wasn’t as if he did it regularly, either, just now and then; he wasn’t another Alf, hardly ever at home, or Stan Mason, whom everyone knew regularly belted his wife after he’d been on the booze.

  So why had she been so angry? He knew she’d been worried because he was late, but the way she’d looked at him, almost as though she despised him, had scared the hell out of him. Somewhere in the back of his mind he had the vague but terrifying sensation that she was slipping away from him, just a little bit each day, but slipping away nevertheless.

  Sometimes he’d catch her watching the boys, sometimes with love, sometimes with sadness and sometimes as though she couldn’t recognise them, as though someone had come along and plonked two kids she’d never met before at her kitchen table. And they knew something was up, too. Davey, who didn’t often confide in him, he was ashamed to admit, had asked him last week if Mum was sick, and he hadn’t known what to say. Finally he’d said no, she just had a lot on her mind at the moment. But he’d seen that even Davey was no longer satisfied with that answer.

  And Neil had got worse at school. Tom still felt embarrassed about what had happened the last time they’d spoken to Ted Carlyle. He’d already been to see Ted once, but the second time—a meeting Ted had specifically requested a couple of weeks ago—Ellen had come too, apparently because she didn’t trust him to get to the bottom of things by himself. Ted had said Neil’s behaviour was becoming more than a bit of a problem: he now appeared to be the ringleader of a small gang that was going around picking on other boys, kids of the opencast men who had gone back to work. The troublemakers had been reprimanded and given detention, and their desks moved as far away from the other boys as possible, but the bullying hadn’t stopped. There were always two teachers on playground duty now, to keep an eye on the sixty or so kids at the school, but even then ‘accidents’ were still occurring. Ted had also informed them that he’d had to give Neil the strap last week, but even that hadn’t solved the problem.

  ‘It’s as if he’s persecuting those particular boys,’ he’d said. ‘Frankly, I find it extremely disturbing and disruptive. Where do you think he’s got it from, this dislike for the opencast lads?’ he’d added, looking straight at Tom.

  Tom had stared straight back. ‘Home, probably.’ There had been no point in denying it. ‘You know the feeling in the town about the opencasters.’

  ‘Of course I know, but I won’t condone it in my school.’ Ted had crossed his arms then, and sighed. ‘I understand how tough the strike has been on everyone, I really do, but I can’t allow bullying among my pupils, for whatever reason. If the worst comes to the worst, you’ll have to take Neil out of Pukemiro School and send him in on the train every day to Huntly Primary. Or to Rotowaro, perhaps, although he’d probably get into just as much trouble there.’

  Ellen had said, ‘But he’s only ever gone to Pukemiro!’

  ‘And why only Neil?’ Tom had asked, irritated because Ted seemed to be singling his son out. ‘What about the other boys in this…gang?’

  ‘Because Neil is the ringleader,’ Ted had replied, ‘and he seems quite happy to admit to it. As I said, I find it really quite disturbing.’ And then he’d looked down at his desk, as if he felt embarrassed. ‘Tom, Ellen, I hope you don’t mind me asking this, but is everything all right at home?’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Tom had said.

  ‘Well, I’m not saying this is the case here, but sometimes when a child’s home life is unstable, there are often problems at school.’

  ‘Between me and Ellen?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘There’s nothing wrong with us, is there, love?’ Tom had reached for Ellen’s hand; she’d taken it, but she hadn’t said anything.

  Ted hadn’t said anything, either, for a minute. Then he’d leaned back in his chair. ‘Well, I suggest you have a good long talk with Neil, because he can’t go on the way he is, and if he does you really will have to think about moving him. I also suggest that you save your views about the opencasters for the pub, Tom, if you don’t mind me saying so.’

  Tom hadn’t minded. Ted Carlyle knew the inside of the Huntly pub as well as anyone else, and he was right: that was the place for those sorts of discussions, not the family tea table.

  If he was honest about it, even back then, early in May, he’d known something was wrong between him and Ellen, but he wasn’t going to discuss that with Ted Carlyle. After that meeting they’d told Neil he could end up going to Huntly Primary if he wasn’t careful, which he would have hated, then Tom had given him a bloody good whack across the back of the legs with a willow cane, and so far there’d been no more complaints from the school about his behaviour.

  But things with Ellen hadn’t improved. In fact, they’d deteriorated. She didn’t seem to be too keen on the physical side of things either, now. They hadn’t had sex since before Alf’s accident, although he couldn’t blame her for that: she’d been shattered and so, in fact, had he. Alf had been a good bloke and losing him like that had been a hell of a shock.

  Even before then, though, she’d seemed reluctant. Tom was accustomed to having sex at least once a week if not more. He knew she sometimes let him have what he wanted when she wasn’t really that keen, but women were like that—they often weren’t as interested in the physical side of things. Not that he’d had a huge amount of experience before he’d married Ellen, but he knew what was what. But it made him feel good that she was willing to accommodate him even if she didn’t particularly fancy it. She did it for him, and he loved her for it. He’d never forced her, of course, that wouldn’t have been on, and anyway he was confident she always got some pleasure, even if it was only from the really close cuddle. She liked those.

  But they hadn’t even had that sort of sex for a while, and he was missing it. And it wasn’t as though he hadn’t tried. He stroked her and put his arms around her and said nice things when they went to bed at night, but she hadn’t responded, except to say that she was sorry but she was too tired, or she had a headache, or didn’t feel up to it.

  But she wasn’t grumpy and remote all of the time. Sometimes she could be in a very good mo
od, flitting about and laughing and having fun with the boys. You’d almost think she’d had a few, although he knew she hadn’t. And she seemed to be in good form whenever they went out, except for when they’d gone to see that Marlon Brando film; she’d been pretty out of sorts that night. He loved it when she was bright and happy, because it was almost as though the old Ellen were back.

  And she was still a battler. She was as staunch about the strike as she’d ever been—more so, in fact, since Alf had died. She’d said the other night that on top of everything else, she felt duty-bound to see it through to the end in honour of her dad’s memory. He’d nearly had a heart attack when she’d come out with it, too, because it made what he was thinking about doing even more difficult. She wouldn’t like it, not to start with anyway, but he’d be doing it for her, and for the boys, and he knew she’d understand in the end. He had his principles—he’d always have his principles—but the fear that had been creeping up on him over the past month, and which was now damn near suffocating him, was so bad he was ready to put all that aside if it meant that he and Ellen could get back on track again.

  He decided to talk to her about it on Monday night, when the boys had gone off to Gloria’s for their dinner and to keep her company, and he and Ellen had the house to themselves for a couple of hours.

  They’d just finished their own meal of roast beef and vegetables. Normally Ellen enjoyed roast beef but this lot had been as tough as old boots; it obviously hadn’t been hung long enough, but beggars can’t be choosers, and there were a hell of a lot of beggars in Pukemiro these days.

  ‘That was a bit tough,’ she said as she started to clear the table.

  Tom looked as though he wanted to agree but he kept quiet—probably, she suspected, because he thought she might take it as a criticism of her cooking. He’d been tiptoeing around her a lot lately. She felt him watching her for several minutes as she moved around the kitchen.

  Then he said, ‘Sit down, Ellen. I want to talk to you about something.’

  She had her back to him, making a space on the bench for the meat platter, and she felt her shoulders tense. To her ears his words sounded harsh and accusatory.

  ‘Can’t it wait until I’ve done the dishes?’ she asked.

  ‘No, it can’t. But put the kettle on, eh?’

  While she was doing that, Tom got up and draped Fintan’s blanket over his cage. He wasn’t nearly so vocal if he was in the dark. Usually the things he came out with were funny, but obviously Tom wasn’t in the mood for it tonight.

  Ellen sat down hesitantly, noting that Tom looked wounded by her caution, as though he thought she didn’t trust him any more.

  He got out his tobacco tin and put it to one side, then set his elbows on the table. ‘I’ve been thinking,’ he said, ‘and I think I know what’s going on.’

  She knew that her eyes were round and frightened and that her face had suddenly gone very pale. ‘What do you mean?’ she said.

  ‘I know what’s going on, and I know what to do about it.’

  Her hands shook slightly, and she busied them doing up the buttons on her cardigan. Gloria had knitted it for her; it was pale lemon and she hated it, and only ever wore it around the house. ‘I’m not sure I know what you mean, Tom,’ she said, staring down at her hands. Had it finally come?

  ‘With you and me,’ he said. ‘I know you’re unhappy at the moment, and I know why. It’s the strike, isn’t it?’

  Her head came up. ‘What?’

  ‘It’s the strike, you’re worrying yourself sick over it. I think it was all right at the start, but it’s gone on for so long you’ve worn yourself out. It’s the strain, isn’t it, that’s making us…well, making us the way we are at the moment?’

  He’d never been very good with words and he wasn’t making himself particularly clear now, but Ellen felt relief flood though her. She thought he’d found out about Jack, but obviously that wasn’t it at all. Her eyes filled with sudden tears as she looked at him across the table and saw how pleased he was to have worked out what was troubling her.

  He was gazing at her intently, and she wondered what he could see in her face.

  ‘It’s all right,’ he said, ‘I understand, I really do. The strike, and that business with Neil and then your dad, it’s no wonder you’re feeling blue.’ He reached out and took her hand. ‘I don’t blame you, love, I don’t blame you at all. You’ve been a real trooper through all of it.’ Seeing more tears now, he rushed on to get it all out. ‘So I’ve been thinking. I know how important the strike is, supporting the watersiders and all that, and I think we’ve done a great job, the miners and the freezing workers and everyone else. I’m really proud of what we’ve done and I’d do it all again if I needed to, there’s no doubt about it.’

  He seemed to run out of steam then, and sat back to roll a smoke. The thump of fear in her heart gradually subsiding, Ellen watched as he plucked a plug of tobacco from his tin and laid it along the crease of a paper. He rolled the paper expertly with his right hand, licked the edge, moulded the cigarette into shape and lit it. Apparently calmed by the ritual and ready to go on again, he took a deep drag and blew the smoke up towards the ceiling.

  ‘But it’s going to be over soon, Ellen,’ he said.

  She opened her mouth to speak, but he held up his hand to stop her.

  ‘No, listen. We’ve been out for fourteen weeks now, and its getting worse by the day. It is, love, and there’s no denying it. We ran out of money weeks ago and so has just about everyone else around here, there’s scab unions at nearly all the ports and most of the other unions have gone back to work. What we’re doing, staying out, isn’t making a hell of a lot of difference any more.’ He paused. ‘I think we should go back.’

  Ellen was stunned. ‘You mean, break the strike?’

  Tom nodded. ‘I was thinking of going around, just quietly, and talking to some of the other jokers about it, sounding out what they think of the idea. I know plenty of families are in just as much shit as we are.’ He glanced up and caught sight of the look on Ellen’s face. ‘What? What’s the matter?’

  ‘You’re thinking of scabbing?’ she said, incredulous.

  ‘No, not scabbing. Going back to work.’

  ‘Well, if that’s not scabbing, what the hell is it? Tom, can you hear what you’re saying?’

  He stared at her, dismayed at her response. He’d known she might not take to the idea straight away, but he hadn’t expected this.

  ‘We’d vote on it,’ he said, ‘I’d just be floating the idea. I know for a fact that a fair few of the jokers would be bloody relieved to get back.’

  Ellen knew it too, but she said, ‘You can’t do that, that’s inciting the men to scab! And only Pat and a majority of the committee can approve a vote, and only if Bob Amon and the central committee allow it, you know that.’ She slammed the palms of her hands on the table in frustration. Her panic that Tom might have discovered her secret had gone, but this sudden announcement from him was almost as disturbing. ‘Tom, what’s got into you?’

  ‘Nothing’s got into me!’ he said, his voice rising in desperation at her refusal to even consider what he was suggesting. ‘I just think it’s time we had a look at going back to work. Then if we did…’ He trailed off.

  ‘If you did, what?’

  ‘If we did, then things between you and me would go back to normal.’ His eyes pleaded with her. ‘Things really aren’t right between us, Ellen, are they? I can’t do or say a bloody thing any more without you biting my head off. I can’t seem to do anything right. You seem so, oh Christ, I don’t know…’ He grappled for the right word. ‘Distant, that’s what you are, distant. You never used to be like this, we used to talk about everything, you and me. Now it seems like we’ve got nothing to say to each other at all, and I don’t even know what you’re thinking any more. I want us to be back the way we were before all of this started. For God’s sake, Ellen, it’s scaring the shit out of me!’

  Ellen regar
ded his stricken face in horror: to make her happy he was offering to scab, to deliberately destroy his reputation as a union man in the Waikato, and quite possibly throughout the entire country, because everyone knew how that sort of thing followed a man around. If he did what he was suggesting, and it got out, which it would, he would never mine underground again. They would have to move away from the coal, to a place where he could find some other sort of work, where people wouldn’t point them out as the family who had scabbed.

  ‘Tom, no,’ she said. ‘No, you can’t.’

  He looked just as upset as she felt, and she knew it was costing him a great deal even to make such a suggestion. But he had made it, and for a moment she hated him for it, for his weakness and his desperation.

  But then the flash of contempt passed, and she saw his proposal for what he clearly believed it was—a genuine attempt to fix what he thought had gone wrong.

  Poor, dear Tom. She was flooded with guilt and remorse at the misery she was causing him. She had thought, over the past six weeks, that she had very carefully concealed her feelings from him: her elation after being with Jack, the anguish of having to wait until she could see him again, her awful guilt at what she was doing, her dismay at her growing suspicion that she had married the wrong man. But she knew now she’d been having herself on—he hadn’t understood it, she was right about that, but he’d certainly seen it. He’d seen it all. And now he was willing to throw away one of the most important things in his life because of it.

  She couldn’t let him. She couldn’t let him because he was wrong about her, but, more than that, she couldn’t bear to see him brought so low. She had already cheated him of some of his dignity, even if he didn’t know it; she wouldn’t rob him of what he had left.

  She stood up and went over to him. He had his head down, as though he didn’t want her to see what was on his face. The light above the table shone down on his short, clean hair, and she felt a powerful surge of affection for him. She loved him still, she knew it, she just wasn’t sure if she was in love with him. She put a finger under his chin and lifted his head, forcing him to look up.