Union Belle

by Deborah Challinor

  ‘Would it have gone wrong if Jack hadn’t moved here?’ he asked.

  ‘I really don’t know.’

  And she didn’t, either, but Jack had come to Pukemiro, and talking about what might have happened if he hadn’t was pointless.

  ‘I thought it was the strike upsetting you,’ Tom said in a tone that implied he couldn’t believe how stupid he’d been. ‘I thought if I could make it so we went back to work, you’d be happy again and everything would be all right. But it wasn’t the strike, was it? It was Jack. I made a complete fucking idiot of myself with that one, didn’t I?’

  Ellen said, ‘No, you didn’t. And you wouldn’t have done it anyway. You’re not a scab, Tom, and you never will be.’

  She could see that he was faintly mollified by her words, but also that they weren’t enough; he needed to have the upper hand, which saddened her, because he’d never had it at any time during their marriage.

  ‘You accused me of being weak and gutless before,’ he said, ‘and you’re right. I shouldn’t be sitting here having a nice chat with you about all this, I should have chucked you out days ago. Other blokes wouldn’t put up with it.’ He pulled at the loose thread again until the bottom of his sleeve began to unravel. Then, with obvious reluctance, he asked, ‘Did you think about going away with him?’

  Ellen noted that he was referring to the idea in the past tense, as if the possibility would now never eventuate.

  ‘He never asked me,’ she said, and felt her heart ache at the sudden flare of hope in Tom’s eyes.

  ‘I don’t want you to see him any more.’

  She had known he would say that: any man with an ounce of pride would have to say it.

  ‘He won’t be coming around here,’ Tom went on, sitting up straighter now that he was laying down the law, ‘you won’t go to his house, and when we’re out you won’t speak to him. You’re not to go anywhere near him.’ Then he played his best card. ‘It’s for the best, Ellen, it’s for the boys.’

  He was blackmailing her. She knew it and she forgave him for it immediately, because she knew he loved his sons dearly. But the relief that often comes with forgiveness didn’t make her feel any better, because she knew in her heart that she wouldn’t be able to abide by his demands.

  With impeccable timing there was a timid knock on the door and Davey pushed it open. ‘Mum, can I have another sandwich?’

  His socks were sagging around his ankles, one of his pockets was turned inside out and there was a smear of dirt on his cheek. Ellen held out her arms and he ran into them and buried his face in her breasts. She prayed that no one had said anything to either him or Neil, but it was clear that they knew that something was badly wrong.

  She held him at arms’ length and gazed into his small face. He had a cold and there was a trickle of snot glistening on his top lip. She wiped it gently away with the hem of her cardigan.

  ‘Did Grandma not feed you at her house?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m hungry again. Mum?’

  ‘What, love?’

  ‘I don’t want to go back there.’

  ‘To Grandma’s?’

  ‘Mmm.’

  ‘Why not? Don’t you like it there?’

  ‘I do, but it’s better here. I missed you.’

  Ellen glanced over Davey’s fair head at Tom, who was staring back at her, the expression on his face making it very clear that he thought she was to blame for the boy’s sudden clingyness. And she supposed she was.

  ‘I want you here too, love, I missed you too.’ She gave him a quick cuddle then got up to make him another sandwich.

  ‘Ellen?’

  Alerted by the tone in Tom’s voice, she turned slowly around to face him. ‘What?’

  ‘Did you hear what I said before?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Then say it. Say “I won’t see him again”.’

  ‘See who?’ Davey asked, looking from his mother to his father, then back to his mother again. They both ignored him.

  Ellen stood very still for a moment, feeling rage and a sudden, sharp panic thumping in her chest. The bastard—he knew that with Davey in the room, there was only one thing she could say.

  ‘I won’t see him again,’ she said.

  But she saw him two days later. She simply walked out of the house, down Joseph Street and into Robert Street, through his gate and up to the front door.

  He opened it before she’d even knocked and pulled her into his arms, kicking the door shut behind them. He hugged her so hard she almost couldn’t breathe. ‘I saw you coming up the path,’ he said into her hair. ‘Christ, I’ve been so worried. I wanted to come and see you but I didn’t want to make it worse. Did you get my note?’

  She stepped back from him, nearly in tears from the relief of seeing him. ‘No, the only note I’ve had is one from Rhea Wickham telling me I’m suddenly not needed on the women’s auxiliary any more. Did you leave me one?’

  Jack nodded. ‘I came around on Sunday night, really late, and stuck it in the copper in your washhouse. Haven’t you done any washing since then?’

  Ellen giggled at the incongruity of his question. ‘No, I haven’t. I’ve had rather a lot on my mind lately. How did you find out?’

  ‘The woman from next door came over about two minutes after I got home on Sunday evening, bursting to tell me to watch my back because someone had told Tom you’ve been coming to see me. Does he know you’re here?’

  ‘No, he’s down the street seeing Pat at the moment. He’ll be home soon so I can’t stay long, but I had to see you.’

  ‘How was he?’ Jack asked.

  Ellen tilted her face so he could see the faint mark on her cheek. ‘He was a bit free with his fists,’ she confessed, although she felt strangely uneasy saying it. There was no satisfaction in it at all. ‘I don’t blame him, though.’

  Jack wrapped her in his arms again. ‘My poor girl, what have I done to you?’

  ‘You? You haven’t done anything to me, except make me happy. This isn’t your fault, Jack. I made the decision to start seeing you, and I’m making the decision to carry on seeing you.’ She hesitated. ‘If you want that, I mean.’

  ‘Christ, of course I want it.’ He smoothed a strand of hair back off her face and regarded her seriously for a moment. ‘That’s you all over, isn’t it? Tom belts you and you don’t blame him. I seduce you and get you into all sorts of trouble, and you say it isn’t my fault.’

  ‘You didn’t seduce me, I wanted it to happen. And I’m so pleased it did,’ she said, resting her cheek against his chest. ‘I’m just not that keen to blame it on anyone else.’

  ‘You’re a bloody hard woman, Ellen.’

  ‘Sorry?’ She raised her head, startled.

  ‘It’s a compliment. You’re strong and you’re stubborn. You’re a real coalminer’s wife.’

  ‘I’m a coalminer’s daughter, too, Jack, don’t forget that. It’s bred into me.’

  ‘I know, it’s part of why I love you.’

  ‘I love you too, Jack.’

  He bent his head and kissed her, a long, lingering kiss, but, with a huge effort, she pulled away from him.

  ‘We can’t, Jack. Tom will be back soon and when he finds out I’m not there he’ll be straight down here. And anyway, I can’t go home to him all…well, without having a wash.’

  ‘Have one here,’ Jack said.

  ‘I can’t, not today.’

  ‘When, then?’

  ‘I don’t know, I don’t know when I can get away.’

  ‘Is Tom going up to Auckland on Friday?’

  ‘No, he’s staying here for the big meeting in town, and he’s quite happy to go to it because he knows you’ll be there too. Otherwise he’d be at home, making sure I don’t leave his sight.’

  ‘Do you really think so?’

  ‘No. I don’t know. Maybe. Probably.’

  ‘Poor bugger, this must be driving him mental,’ Jack said.

  ‘You like Tom, don’t you?’


  Jack nodded. ‘He’s a good bloke and I’ve got nothing against him. I feel like a prize bloody bastard, actually.’

  ‘But not enough of one to stop what we’re doing?’

  ‘No, not enough to stop.’

  They stared at each other for a moment.

  ‘But when can we meet?’ she said, frustrated because she couldn’t think of a single opportunity.

  ‘There’s a committee meeting on Thursday, to sort things out before the Friday meeting.’

  ‘But won’t you have to go?’

  ‘No, I resigned.’

  ‘From the union?’ Ellen was stunned.

  ‘No, just from the committee. Well, I can’t stay on it, can I? Tom’s the secretary.’

  ‘What did Pat say?’

  ‘He said it was a bugger, but if that’s the way it was, so be it.’

  ‘I thought you were his golden-haired boy, the new blood rising up through the ranks of the union and all that.’

  ‘You’ve got a sarcastic tongue on you sometimes, haven’t you?’

  ‘No, I mean it, I thought Pat had his eye on you.’

  ‘No, it’s Tom he wants. I think Pat was happy to sacrifice me. He’ll do anything to keep the union steady, especially at the moment, and one of the committee members sleeping with the secretary’s wife doesn’t quite fit in with his plans.’

  ‘He always was a bit of a mercenary bastard, Pat.’

  ‘Has to be, though, doesn’t he? I don’t begrudge him. It’s a tough job, union leader.’

  ‘Yes, it is,’ Ellen said, thinking about Tom’s ambition to one day take Pat’s place. ‘You’re not bothered, stepping down?’

  ‘No, there’s plenty of other committees around the country.’

  A nasty little prickle of fear hooked its claws into Ellen’s spine. ‘Would you go somewhere else?’

  ‘I might have to, after this.’

  She looked at him helplessly, and saw that he knew exactly what she was thinking. ‘What are we going to do?’

  He enfolded her in his arms and rocked her gently. ‘Don’t worry, love, we’ll work something out.’

  She leaned into his warmth and the solidness of his chest, her eyes closed, willing herself not to cry. A sharp, painful lump had formed in her throat and she didn’t trust herself to speak.

  ‘So, could we meet on Thursday?’ he asked.

  She cleared her throat. ‘Are you free?’

  ‘Of course I’m bloody free, and it’s no problem for me, but what if Tom catches on? He’ll be even more suspicious when he finds out I’ve resigned. He might not even go to the meeting himself when he does find out.’

  ‘He’ll go. He won’t miss it.’

  Tom did go to the Thursday meeting, and he went knowing that, before he was even halfway down the street, Ellen would be slipping off to meet Jack. He knew she’d been with him on Tuesday, because he’d seen it in her face when she’d come home; he’d been waiting for her and neither of them had said anything, but he’d known.

  They hadn’t said much to each other at all since then, and had spent the last two days stepping around one another in the house, being civil in front of the boys but only just. He slept on the couch and spoke to her only when he absolutely had to. He was being childish, he knew that, but as he couldn’t decide whether to throw himself on his knees and beg her to stop what she was doing, or to wring her neck, he thought it best if he just kept his mouth shut. There didn’t seem to be a lot to say any more anyway. The strike was disintegrating, his beloved wife was having an affair, his life was crashing down around his ears, and there didn’t seem to be a bloody thing he could do about any of it.

  He also went to the meeting on Friday in Huntly, with almost a thousand miners jammed into the town hall. He didn’t know whether to take that as a good sign or not. Some of the mass meetings called by the Waikato central council over the past few months had been poorly attended, which had suggested an alarming level of apathy from the rank and file. But this one was different because today they would be discussing whether they would accept the Minister of Labour’s terms for a return to work, terms that Sullivan had issued after the miners had approached him, independent of the watersiders, about what conditions might be imposed should they decide to go back.

  Tom sat down next to Bert near the front, and had a good look around but couldn’t spot the one face he desperately wanted to see.

  ‘Good turnout,’ he said.

  On the stage was a trestle table where the central council would sit. Tom could see Bob Amon standing to one side, talking animatedly to someone and smacking a rolled-up sheaf of papers into the palm of his hand.

  ‘Depends how you look at it,’ Bert replied, rolling a smoke. ‘If we vote and the hall’s full of jokers who’ve had enough of the strike no matter what, we’re buggered. If they’re pissed off with Sullivan’s conditions and happy to stay out, we’ll be home and hosed.’ He licked the edge of his paper, pressed the smoke into shape, and lit it. ‘You getting on all right now, you and Ellen?’

  ‘No, I think we’ve had it.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that,’ Bert said, ‘I really am. Anything I can do?’

  ‘You could put a bullet through the back of Jack Vaughan’s head for me.’

  Bert looked at him, one eye closed against the smoke from his cigarette. ‘You mean it?’

  ‘No, but it would make things a lot simpler.’

  ‘You got on well with Jack, didn’t you?’

  ‘For a while there, yeah.’

  Knowing Tom well enough to be sure he wouldn’t mind the question, Bert asked, ‘Does that make it worse?’

  Tom thought about it. ‘Yeah, it does. It might be slightly easier to stomach if it was some bastard I didn’t know, if it had to be anyone at all, but bloody Jack, Christ. What a fuck-up.’

  He turned around again to scan the crowd, and froze. There he was now, coming into the hall and slipping into a seat near the back. Tom exhaled, angry and relieved at the same time. Bert turned to follow his gaze and spotted Jack himself.

  ‘You want to keep out of his way, Tom, just to be on the safe side.’

  ‘He wants to keep out of my fucking way!’ Tom said, making heads around him turn sharply.

  ‘That’s what I meant,’ Bert said. ‘It might be an idea to go straight home after the meeting’s finished.’

  It was good advice, but Tom didn’t take it.

  There was a lot of talking during the meeting from Bob Amon, and some more depressing news about the weakening resolve of strikers around the country, including some miners at pits in other areas, but when it came time to vote, a good majority rejected Sullivan’s terms for a return to work. They were dictatorial and, as Amon pointed out, would almost certainly lead to victimisation and the loss of former favourable working conditions. The men weren’t tempted to break their strike. The atmosphere of solidarity in the hall was strong after that, and there was talk of declaring the entire Waikato coalfields permanently black, and of reducing Huntly to a ghost town.

  A good majority also headed for the pub the minute the meeting concluded, and Tom went with them. He walked the short distance from the town hall along the main street with Vic and Bert, all the time with an eye open for Jack, hoping that he was off to the pub as well, but knowing at the same time that they would both be a lot better off if he wasn’t.

  But he was there already when they arrived, standing at a table with Pat and Lew. He nodded amicably as they approached, collected his beer and casually moved off to another table. It was an uncomfortable situation for the Pukemiro men, who didn’t know where to look and didn’t want to get involved, but it was far worse for Tom, who knew he wouldn’t be leaving the pub that night without taking at least one swing at Jack.

  He got stuck into the beer straight away, buying the first round and an extra one to keep him going. By five o’clock he was in a fine state, drunk and mean with it. Knowing that something was brewing, the others kept a wary eye on him to make sure he
didn’t cause any trouble with the wrong people. Jack stayed away, at a table in the far corner, although anyone observing the two men, and that was almost everyone in the bar, was aware that they were eyeing each other up. The occasional visitor to Jack’s table suggested, just quietly, that it might be a good idea if he left now, while he still could, but Jack wouldn’t budge.

  ‘He’s bigger than you, lad,’ Wobbly Minogue pointed out, ‘and he’s got a skinful. He’ll do you like a dog’s dinner.’

  Jack just nodded, calm and stoic; he knew what was coming and was quite relieved that it finally was. He would much rather it was this way than what had gone on all week, the two of them skulking around Pukemiro like a pair of dirty old tomcats, both bristlingly aware of each other’s presence but neither quite willing to encroach on the other’s territory.

  ‘No, he won’t,’ Doug Walmsley said. ‘Jack here’s got more weight behind him, given his height. It affects the centre of gravity with the punches.’

  Wobbly stared, blinking slowly. ‘Who made you a boxing expert all of a sudden?’

  ‘I don’t need to be a bloody expert, I’ve got eyes.’

  ‘Bloody red ones tonight, too,’ Wobbly said. ‘No, Tom’ll have him.’ He turned to Jack. ‘Sorry, lad, nothing personal.’

  Jack shrugged and took another sip of his beer.

  ‘He bloody won’t,’ Doug said, banging his glass down on the table, but not emphatically enough to spill the contents.

  ‘He will, you know,’ Wobbly said, refusing to be swayed. ‘Tom McCabe’s got bloody long arms.’

  ‘He won’t.’

  ‘He will, and I’ll put a quid on that.’

  ‘You haven’t got a quid.’

  ‘Yes, I have, and if I don’t bet it I’ll only drink it by six o’clock.’

  Jack shook his head at the pair of them, then risked a glance across the room at Tom, but he wasn’t where he had been a few minutes ago. Jack looked quickly over his shoulder to make sure he wasn’t coming up behind him, then relaxed as he saw Tom’s big form moving through the smoke away from the bar, four handles gripped in his hands. If he kept going like that, Jack thought, he wouldn’t have to fight him: Tom would be out cold on the floor all by himself.