All at once the fight began. Miners and policemen were one swaying shifting crowd. A policeman’s helmet showed here and there among the bare heads and cloth or woollen caps. The lorries had come to a standstill. The small body of police seemed to be trying to force a pathway for them through the solid wall of pickets, who were pushing with all their weight against them.
“Stay here. I’ll come back.”
Walter ran forward to join the two press men with the camera on the outskirts of the scuffle. For an instant Flora felt frightened at being left alone, and then told herself not to be absurd.
The worst of the scuffle was going on now round the first lorry. It was being pushed gradually off the path onto the grass at the side. An ambulance turned in from the lane, Flora saw a policeman emerge from the crowd milling round the lorry, half carrying on his arm another one who was bare-headed and had his hand over his face, where blood was running down between his fingers. The ambulance moved up. Two policemen came out of the crowd round the lorry carrying by one arm and one leg a young man who was still kicking and fighting when they bundled him into the van. They turned and ran back into the fight.
She heard a crash and a triumphant shout, saw the first lorry with its wheels in the air above the fallen load of coal.
She thought despairingly, even if the miners are right, what can happen in the end to a country where the law can be over-ruled by violence.
The driver of the third lorry, a young man with a mop of lint-coloured hair, and a vivid green jersey, got down from his cab, and went to speak to the driver of the lorry in front of his. They seemed to be arguing, the young man on the ground waving his arms, and pointing towards the power station. He returned to his own lorry and climbed into the cab. The second lorry turned slowly off the track, and onto the grass. The third lorry backed about fifty yards, then started forward again. The driver accelerated, drove at an increasing pace along the track, and without slowing down, went straight into the solid wall of pickets in front of the gates.
There was a swirling confusion, yells, a shriek, and then the lorry stopped. Flora could see the light head and bright jersey of the young driver as he leant out of the cab apparently staring at something below. The fighting and scuffling seemed to come to an end as suddenly as if a wind ruffling a sea had dropped.
Hardly knowing that she was doing it Flora got out of her car and moved nearer to the crowd. She looked for Walter but could not see him. One of the reporters ran past her calling out to another who had just arrived.
“The lorry went through at about thirty miles an hour, and ran over a young man. He’s still alive.”
With a sudden fear that it might be Tom, Flora went on moving forward. The ambulance passed her.
In a curious way the police seemed to be once again in charge of the situation. They had cleared a space round the lorry and were standing in a ring round it. Most of the pickets had drawn back to their first position in front of the gate. Flora could see the driver of the lorry leaning against it with his arm over his face, and a policeman holding him by the other arm. She could not see who was on the ground in the middle of the ring, but suddenly her arm was clutched, and she found Nan at her side shaking and sobbing.
“It’s Ben, he fell under the lorry. He’s dying. Oh, oh, make them understand that I belong to him! Make them let me go with him in the ambulance! It’s all my fault.”
Tired out but immensely relieved Flora drove back in the early evening from Garthwaite to Doncaster.
It seemed more like a week than a day since she had left the hotel with Walter that morning. For the first time for some hours it occurred to her that he might be wondering what had happened to her. She had not seen him since he left her to join the reporters. When Nan went off with Ben in the ambulance she had driven to Garthwaite to bring Mrs Coates to the hospital, where Ben was being X-rayed. Coates had not yet come up from the mine. She had driven back there to fetch him, and after that had sat with the three of them in the hospital waiting-room while Ben was on the operating table.
Coates, a heavy silent man, sat staring straight before him. Mrs Coates once put a finger to her eye to wipe off a tear that was trickling out, but otherwise she maintained the same stoic silence. Once she slipped a hand through her husband’s arm, and he put his big hand over it. Both of them waited with the patience born of long experience in a life that never had been easy.
Nan was shivering from shock although the waiting-room was warm. She could not keep still, she grimaced, fidgeted, kicked the leatherette bench on which they were sitting, got up and went to the window, came back and sat down again. Her father ignored her; her mother gave her once or twice a disapproving glance. They did not know exactly what had happened but they perhaps suspected that she had somehow been mixed up in it. They were irritated that she could not manage to imitate their own stoicism.
Nan clutched at Flora’s arm.
“I must speak to you, alone. I must. Couldn’t we go somewhere? Anywhere out of this awful room? Let’s go outside.”
“It’s very cold and you’re shivering already. Besides you want to be here when they come to tell us how Ben is.”
“Only just for a minute or two.”
“All right.”
They did not need to go outside; there were a few chairs in the entrance hall where visitors could sit down before making the ascent to the wards. Nan was still holding tightly to Flora’s arm.
“It’s all my fault. I’ve killed him.”
“A broken leg and two broken ribs are bad enough but they are not likely to be fatal injuries. What exactly did happen?”
“When all the others ran off to join the pickets, I was going to stay and look after the camp. Tom asked me to, he asked me to get some food ready for them when they came back. I was going to. I like Tom. I think he’s a really fine person. Then Rick was going after the others and I called out ‘Good luck’ to him. He stopped and said, ‘Yes, it’s all very well, just a bit of fun for you. You’re only playing at the whole thing. You’re not expected to risk getting knocked on the head by a bloody great policeman.’
“I was so angry I ran after him. I just didn’t think at all, I was so angry. Ben wasn’t going to join in with the pickets, he doesn’t approve of anything but what they call lawful picketing, that’s why he volunteered to drive coal to the hospitals. I ran into the middle of it all and he was trying to pull me back and that was how he didn’t see the lorry in time and fell under it. And now I’ve killed him; just because I wanted to show Rick, I’ve killed Ben.”
Flora repeated her assurances that Ben was likely to recover. Nan rejected her comfort. “He’s never been strong like the other two.” Flora realized that without in the least knowing it Nan wanted the drama at its most intense. No wonder the Coateses found her a bit beyond them.
“I’ll never speak to Rick again anyhow,” Nan sobbed. “I’ve done with him. You won’t want me to go back to Oxford now, will you?”
“I must go. We’ll see about you when we hear how Ben is. Now we’d better go back to your father and mother. They’ll be wondering where you are. Perhaps,” Flora added without conviction, “you can be some comfort to them.”
She put her car in the park and went into the hotel. She asked at the desk if Mr Brackley was in. The girl, glancing at the keys, said he was. She thought he might be in the television room.
Flora discovered the television room at the far end of a passage. Walter was sitting in a big chair watching the news. Seeing Flora in the doorway, he got up and switched off without saying anything.
She threw herself into the chair next to his.
“Oh it’s been such a day! It seems to have lasted for a week. Thank goodness it’s over. I need a large drink.”
Walter got up, rang the bell, and returned to his chair.
“I had no idea where you were; whether you had gone back to Oxford or not.”
“Oh no, I was here. I looked round for you when I went off after the accident, b
ut I couldn’t see you.”
“You couldn’t have looked far.”
“I expect I didn’t, there was so much to do. When Nan had gone off in the ambulance with Ben, I went to Garthwaite and fetched Mrs Coates to the hospital. Then I went back for her husband. He was still down the mine. They were operating on Ben’s leg, it was broken in two places. We waited until we heard he was out of the theatre, then I took all the Coateses out to a snack bar and made them eat something. We came back to the hospital and sat there again until Ben was out of the anaesthetic, and they let Mrs Coates and Nan see him for a minute. I drove them back to Garthwaite afterwards. Ben was very dopey of course, but he told Nan she must come back to Oxford with me. So that’s all right.”
“Except for Ben.”
A waiter put his head in at the door.
“Tell him what you want.”
Flora gave her order. “What about you?”
“I don’t want anything at the moment.”
Through her fatigue and the euphoria induced by reaction, and by having got what she wanted about Nan, Flora became aware of something wrong.
“What have you been doing?”
“I stayed until the lorries had gone off and everything was quiet. Then I brought Tom here to lunch and argued with him. He refused to go back to Fordwick, he said he was going to stay at Pennythorpe as long as the strike lasted. I’m going back to London first thing tomorrow morning. You’ve got your car now, and I presume you can look after yourself.”
“Yes, of course.” But that was not at all like the way he generally spoke to her.
“The lorries didn’t get through?”
“No. How could they? But of course they will try to get coal in again on Monday. They must. The power station is running short. The Police are calling up reinforcements, the miners are sending for some of the mobile pickets. The whole thing is bound to escalate.”
She felt that something besides that was making him so stiff and unsmiling.
“I’m sorry I didn’t let you know where I was going. I didn’t think about anything at the moment except the accident.”
“And now you’ve got the girl to agree to go back to Oxford with you, you aren’t thinking any more about the accident. It’s no joke for a young miner to have his leg badly broken.”
“I know it isn’t.” She felt hurt; all day her whole thought had been for Ben and for his family in their anxiety. “Coates says they will find Ben a job on the surface when he’s fit for it, until he’s ready to go below again.”
“Anyhow it doesn’t matter to you, does it, so long as Nan gets her First ?”
The waiter brought her drink. She took the glass and gulped down half of it without thinking about it. The warmth of the whisky after the cold, long day made her feel active and belligerent.
“I’m sorry about Tom. But I do rather admire him for sticking to his purpose.”
“I don’t see why you should admire him for being a bloody fool.”
“But Walter, it’s only like you going to Spain.”
“And what difference did I make to the war in Spain? What difference will Tom make to this affair? It will end the same way, with the Government and the Coal Board giving the miners all they are asking for except for a bit of face-saving, whether Tom gets knocked on the head or not.”
“You think I’m obsessional about Nan. You’re just as obsessional about Tom.”
“He happens to be my son. Nan is not your daughter.”
“Blood relationships aren’t the only ones. In many ways Nan is more my child than she is the Coateses’.”
“Don’t deceive yourself, Flora, she isn’t. She’s the daughter of a miner who seduced a girl and nearly broke up the whole of his family life, only his sister stood by him. Nan is like her father, somebody who does what she feels like at the moment without regard to anyone else.”
“She’s also exceptionally gifted and only twenty.”
“She’s a clever girl whose gifts you probably exaggerate because you’re obsessional about her.”
“And you’re obsessional about Tom. He might be a delicate girl. He’s a vigorous young man with a good deal of character of his own which he has managed to developy in spite of the fact that you don’t give him much chance.”
“I’m sure that being a don you think you know best how all young people should be treated. I’ve had a good deal more experience of life than you have and I don’t happen to agree with you. I don’t want to hear your opinion of my relationship with my son.”
Flora drank the last of her whisky and put her glass down on the table with a hand that trembled.
“I’ve never heard you talk like this before, Walter.”
“You don’t know much about me, do you? Since we’ve been seeing more of each other you’ve been far too self-absorbed to be aware of anything about other people. They are simply characters who play their part in your story.”
There was a surprised feeling somewhere in her that Walter had most unexpectedly stopped playing his.
“That’s not fair. Since you’ve known me better I haven’t been my real self.”
“I should say you have. A sentimental schoolgirl drowning in self pity.”
Flora jumped up. “That’s enough. I don’t want to have any more to do with you. I’m going to bed. I shall go off first thing tomorrow morning. I hope Tom gets back to Fordwick all right. Thank you for bringing me here. Good night.”
She was still quivering with anger when she reached her bedroom. She banged about the room, taking off her clothes and pulling on her nightgown and dressing-gown. She wasn’t going down to the dining room where she would encounter Walter again. She would have a bath, ring down for some sandwiches and coffee, and then read herself to sleep. Tomorrow she would have breakfast in her room, start early to pick up Nan at Garthwaite, take her to say goodbye to Ben at the hospital, and then drive her back to Oxford. Flora herself had plenty of work waiting for her there, and there were always interesting things to do and people she liked for company. She could do without Walter; except for ordinary family occasions she need never see him again.
Then she began to cry. Once the tears started she could not stop them. They ran down her cheeks and over the edge of her chin. She sat on the bed shaking with sobs. The quarrel was not only itself; it was an echo, a repetition of the quarrel with Hugh, another dreadful end to something which again, as she was now beginning to realize, had become the warm centre of her life. It was true what Walter had said. She was a schoolgirl, she was self-absorbed, and didn’t know anything about people, so when she loved anybody it would always end badly.
There was a footstep in the passage and a knock at her door.
“Who is it?”
“Walter. Aren’t you coming down to dinner?”
“I don’t want any.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“Is anything wrong? Let me in.”
Telling herself that she never wanted to see him again she unlocked the door.
“Flora! What’s the matter?”
She was so astonished that he could ask her that she opened her mouth and stared at him.
“I didn’t upset you by anything I said, did I?”
“Of course you did.”
“I was only in a bad temper with Tom really.”
“I’m not Tom.”
“I didn’t mean any of it.”
The air went out of her anger.
“Oh, neither did I.”
In a passing flash of perception she knew that at the time they both had, but so what?
“I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too.”
“Don’t you understand, Flora? I love you. I’ve loved you ever since that evening last summer when I was in Oxford and you came out to dinner with me … do you remember? Then afterwards I thought it was too soon to say anything to you. I thought I must give you time to recover from your great loss. I meant to wait at least a year, especially
as I am really too old for you. But I do love you, I want to marry you and live with you till death do us part.”
“I love you too.”
“Darling!”
She was not without a stab of pain, a sharp memory of Hugh, as Walter’s mouth pressed hard on hers and his arms gripped her. After a minute or two he said,
“There isn’t anything to wait for, is there?”
“No.”
He lifted her and laid her gently on the bed. She watched his shadow swoop across the wall as he threw off his clothes and came towards her.
Flora sat contentedly in her car outside the hospital. She had expected that Nan, after saying goodbye to Ben, would emerge gloomy or tearful, but she came out of the swing doors smiling and jumped briskly into the car.
“How is Ben?”
“He says he’s comfortable. He’s got a plaster on right up his leg and above his knee but they’ve told him it ought to mend as good as new. He says they’ll find him a surface job at the pit till he’s fit to go down again.” Nan slid a sideways glance at Flora’s face.
“Ben said I ought to thank you for coming up after me and say I was sorry you’d been troubled. Well, I do thank you, and I am sorry for you having to come up. But I’m not sorry I came because a wonderful thing has happened. I’ve been waiting all the morning to tell you about it. I’ve done it again.”
“What?” Flora inquired with some apprehension.
“I’ve rewritten that poem. The one I wrote last summer, called Elegy For a Lost Sister. Do you remember?”
“Yes I do.”
“You said it was very bad. You tore it to shreds.”
“I thought it was you who did that.”
“I suited my action to your words. I’d forgotten all about that poem until last night I put my hand into the pocket of the old jeans I was wearing, and the other copy was there. I read it again and saw how right you were about it. It was bad, bloody bad. When I went to bed I couldn’t go to sleep, and I started thinking about the poem again, and it suddenly came to me how it could be written. I got up and crept downstairs without waking anybody. I went into the kitchen where there was still a bit of warmth, and I rewrote the poem. At least I wrote quite a different one. It isn’t called Elegy for a Lost Sister any more, it’s called The Other Baby. And I can’t wait for you to read it, because I do honestly believe it’s the best I’ve ever done.”
Snow and Roses Page 25