Under World

by Reginald Hill

  ‘Right,’ she said firmly, determined not to risk having sympathy mocked again. ‘What’s going on? You weren’t all that coherent. Have you been in an accident?’

  ‘Very sharp of you, Mrs Pascoe,’ he said. His voice was slurred.

  ‘Was anyone else involved?’

  He started counting on his fingers.

  ‘Well, there was me and the bike and the tree,’ he said. ‘That makes three.’

  He burped and she smelled the sweet heavy smell of rum. The sailor’s drink.

  ‘You’ve been drinking,’ she said.

  ‘Christ, you sound just like my mam, or a bloody wife!’ he said. ‘Yes, I’ve had a couple of jars. So what?’

  ‘So you shouldn’t have been driving,’ she said weakly.

  ‘I wasn’t,’ he said with his slow smile. ‘I had my eyes closed and me hands on me head. If they built straight roads round here, I’d likely still be going.’

  ‘Why did you ring me, Colin?’ she demanded.

  ‘Why’d you come?’ His voice was stronger.

  ‘I thought you were in trouble.’

  ‘And that bothered you? Must be bloody good money they pay you at yon University to come running like this! Was that your husband that answered the phone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Didn’t he mind you rushing off like that?’

  ‘He didn’t say what he thought.’

  ‘Silly twat,’ said Farr.

  Ellie said, ‘All right, Colin. I’m pleased you’re not badly hurt and I see now I misunderstood you. So, out you get. Have you got plenty of change? You may have to ring quite a few taxi firms before you find one that will come out here.’

  ‘Eh? What’s up?’ demanded Farr.

  ‘You were right. They don’t pay me anything like enough to oblige me to put up with drunken jokers,’ said Ellie. ‘So out.’

  He didn’t move. Then he said in a low voice, ‘I’m sorry. I don’t know how to talk to you … no, that’s daft … it sounds like I’m a peasant and you’re a princess and that’s not what I mean! It’s just that I feel I’ve got to meet you head on somehow, like it were a kind of challenge … I mean, like when I rang up, I expected you’d just tell me to sod off. It were like riding along with my eyes closed. You know what’s going to happen so when it does, it just sort of confirms things, means you were right to expect the worst. But you said you’d come, right off, no fuss, so I don’t know what to expect, and I’m a bit pissed and my head hurts and I’ve got to fight back else you might have an advantage … Listen, why’d you come?’

  ‘Not to put you down, that’s for sure,’ said Ellie. ‘Why’d you ring me? Are you in some sort of trouble?’

  ‘Trouble?’ he said in such a low voice she could hardly hear him. ‘Am I in trouble or is he in trouble … or out of trouble … like Dad … a way out of trouble … to take … to give …’

  ‘Colin,’ she said urgently, ‘has something happened? At home? At the pit?’

  He slumped back and closed his eyes. Ellie for a heartstopping moment thought he’d slipped into unconsciousness, or worse. Then his lips started to move again. She put her ear so close she was almost touching and she could feel his breath light as a summer breeze that hardly stirs the grass.

  ‘… blood on your coal … they say … blood and flesh and bones and brains … dark place for a dark deed … man can’t toil all his life in darkness without drinking some of it in … not possible! Not possible!’

  His voice suddenly rose to a scream and she jerked her head back. His eyes were open again and watching her.

  She said, ‘Colin, what are you talking about?’

  He frowned in concentration, then pulled the bottle from inside his leather jerkin and took a long draught. Ellie said, ‘Oh Colin, must you?’

  He seemed to consider the question seriously then replied. ‘Yes, I must.’

  But he replaced the bottle in his jerkin.

  He said, ‘You know what Mam said when Dad had his accident? She said, “At least it means he’ll end up dying in God’s good air and not down that stinking hole.” She’s always been a one for finding good in bad, my mam. She told me she felt glad when I went to sea. She cried because I were going but she felt glad too. She thought it meant that I’d be like Dad, able to die in God’s good air, or at least God’s good water, eh?’

  He laughed. It sounded contrived.

  He went on, ‘I got to thinking of it today. I shouldn’t have gone on shift. Last night I thought I’d never go underground again, but after what Mam told me … well, I had to think, and dark seemed right place to think … he killed himself though, stands to reason, mebbe not because … I don’t know … but he had left her, hadn’t he? He’d have loved a little lass of his own … after me Mam couldn’t … that’s why he were so fond of … bloody Satterthwaite! that bastard deserves everything … but I shouldn’t have … it was so black down there, I had to get out, I had to get out, I told Jim I were sick … all the way along the return I could feel the dark flooding after me like water, and all the way up in the Cage. Seeing that sky again … oh God!’

  He stopped, leaned his head back and took in a deep breath as though reliving the experience. Ellie found she’d put her hand over his and he turned his over to grasp hers loosely. It felt easy, companionable, safe.

  She said, ‘You still haven’t told me what you’re doing out here.’

  ‘I didn’t want to go home and worry Mam, so I got on me bike and went for a ride. And I stopped for a drink. And it seemed a good idea. So I stopped for some more. And when I got properly bevvied up, I crashed the bike, came staggering on here and rang you. All right?’

  His voice was loud and harsh.

  Ellie said, ‘Why me? Why not a garage? Or a taxi? Or a friend?’

  ‘I thought I did,’ he said. ‘Ring a friend.’

  ‘Crap,’ said Ellie firmly.

  ‘You mean you’re not my friend?’

  ‘I mean I’m not the kind of friend you ring up when you’ve crashed your bike!’

  ‘Now that’s a real middle-class luxury,’ he mocked, suddenly wholly himself again. ‘Having categories of friendship.’

  ‘I like it when you give yourself away,’ said Ellie calmly. ‘You’ve got to be really clever to play dumb all the time.’

  ‘And mebbe you’ve got to be a bit thick not to know when it’s best to play dumb,’ he retorted. ‘All right, here it is. After I’d been drinking a bit I got to thinking I’d really like to sit down and talk things over with someone, not with one of my mates or anyone who had owt to do with Burrthorpe, but someone who’d mebbe see things a bit clearer from the outside. You were the only one I could think of.’

  ‘Thanks,’ said Ellie.

  Farr laughed. ‘Truth were your idea,’ he said. ‘Any road, I don’t know if I’d have done owt about it, but when I came off the bike and got to this box, I meant to ring a garage, like you said. But then I thought: Why not her? See what she says, what she does. There, that’s how it was. Satisfied now? Or shall I lie back here while you ask a few more questions?’

  ‘Colin, I’m not a psychologist,’ said Ellie carefully. ‘Nor am I a schoolteacher. Either we talk on level terms or we don’t talk at all.’

  ‘Level terms?’ he sneered. ‘What do you know about anything? How could you understand owt? Middle-class cow!’

  She was beginning to feel uneasy at these swings of mood. Was it the drink that caused them? Or his head wound? Or something deeper, darker?

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I can’t understand for a start why you’ve stayed on at the pit as long as you have if you hate it so much.’

  ‘How the hell should I know?’ he demanded. ‘Look, I went back after Dad died, like I said. That were to show ’em, to shut ’em up. Then the Strike started. You remember the Strike? Or did you mebbe not notice in the academic world? It lasted a year, just on. It was pointless leaving then. It would have looked as if I were giving in, letting my mates down. Besid
es, at least you didn’t have to go down that bloody hole. There were some good times. It brought us all together. Sometimes I’d think I must be mad, freezing on a picket or having my arse kicked by a bloody police horse, all to save a place and a job I hated! Then I’d go down the Welfare, see how everyone was pooling their resources and pulling together, and I’d start to feel that mebbe there was something here worth all the shit, that mebbe it had taken the Strike to awaken it and it’d not go back to sleep in a hurry even when the Strike were over.’

  ‘And were you right? Have things changed permanently?’

  ‘For some people, mebbe. Some of the women say so. Good luck to ’em if they can keep it up.’

  ‘But for you …?’

  He shook his head, winced, shook it again as if defying the pain.

  ‘So, if things didn’t change for you,’ said Ellie, ‘why are you still there?’

  ‘Just because it went back to what it was before!’ he exclaimed angrily. ‘Because people were still saying things, because … oh, a hundred becauses, not one of ’em you’re like to understand … then there was that bloody copper writing in the paper. That’s the last straw, I reckon. Since I saw that and realized it was all going to be raked over again, I’ve been going around, I don’t know, looking for someone to kill, it feels like, even if it’s only myself!’

  He pulled the bottle from inside his leather jerkin once more and took a long pull.

  ‘Colin!’ she said.

  ‘Want some? Sorry, it’s empty.’

  He laughed and threw the bottle out of the window. The air was full of the sweet smell of rum.

  ‘Time we got you home,’ said Ellie grimly, starting the engine.

  ‘What’s the hurry?’ he asked with a sudden change of mood. ‘Dark night, country road, let’s get in the back and get to know each other.’

  ‘Christ, Colin, I thought we got that out of the way last time.’

  ‘No! That were just a game. This time I really fancy you.’

  He swayed towards her and embraced her. She didn’t struggle till she smelled the rich rum stench of his breath. He tightened his grip and tried to force her round to face him.

  ‘What’ll you do when you’re finished with me?’ she demanded. ‘Drop me down a shaft?’

  He released her instantly.

  She said, ‘I’m sorry.’

  He said, ‘You can go to hell!’ and started fumbling with the door, banging his head in frustration against the glass as he failed to find the handle. His head wound seemed to have opened up again. There was a smear of brown down the window. Suddenly desperate to be back among lights and people, Ellie put the car in gear and set off along the road. For a few moments it seemed as if he might still try to get out, then he slumped back in his seat, closed his eyes and let out a long groan of pain or despair. Then he was still.

  What the hell am I doing here? Ellie asked herself. How did I get into this?

  The road was narrow and winding. She should have wiped the smeared screen before starting but she certainly wasn’t going to stop now and see to it. With relief she saw an illuminated sign ahead which told her she was approaching the main road. From here it shouldn’t take long to get to Burrthorpe and dump her dangerous cargo. After that, all she had to worry about was getting home and explaining to Peter what she had been doing.

  The main road was broader and straighter and she managed to pick up a bit of speed, so much so that when a poorly lit section of road works loomed up, she didn’t see them till the last moment and had to swing the wheel savagely. There was a bang as her nearside wing caught one of the plastic warning cones and sent it spinning towards the verge.

  ‘Oh shit,’ said Ellie as she straightened the car up. And ‘Oh shit!’ she repeated with redoubled force as her hitherto disregarded rear-view mirror blossomed with a blue flashing light.

  She did the right things, getting out of the car and walking a few steps back to meet them. For once in her life she hoped that she might be recognized as Inspector Pascoe’s wife but these two were strangers to her. They courteously asked to see her licence and insurance, neither of which she had.

  ‘I came out of the house in a bit of a rush,’ she explained.

  ‘Oh aye? Have you been drinking at all, missus?’

  ‘No!’ she denied indignantly.

  ‘Well, we’ll have to ask you to take a breathalyser test,’ said the constable. ‘You’ve committed a moving traffic offence.’

  ‘What the hell was that?’ she demanded, ready to take a stand against random testing.

  The policeman merely glanced back towards the road works.

  ‘Oh, that,’ said Ellie. ‘They ought to light the things properly.’

  ‘Not very well lit, is it?’ agreed the constable. ‘Just blow in here, till you inflate the bag.’

  She took the breathalyser and blew with all her strength. The policeman examined the results. Then to her amazement he said, ‘I’m sorry, madam, but this is positive. You’ll have to come with us for further tests.’

  ‘You’re joking!’ exclaimed Ellie indignantly. ‘There’s something wrong with your machine.’

  ‘Mebbe,’ agreed the constable with the patience of one who has heard it all before, ‘but we’ll find that out back at the station, won’t we?’

  Ellie opened her mouth to let out her gale-force indignation when suddenly she remembered. Of course she had been drinking. How many bottles of wine had Peter and Wield and herself got through over supper? It seemed such an age ago that it required a piece of conscious computation to work out that barely an hour had elapsed since she’d dashed from the house with not a thought for what she had drunk that night.

  Was it worth explaining this to the policeman? Or was this perhaps the moment to forget her principles and drop Peter’s name into the conversation?

  The decision was postponed by an unexpected interruption. It was a laugh, long, merry, drunken. It came from Colin Farr who had opened the passenger door the better to eavesdrop on Ellie’s exchange with the constabulary.

  ‘Drunk in charge of a drunk!’ he hiccoughed. ‘That’s grand. Lecturing me, and you’re full of pop yourself!’

  The policemen exchanged glances and one of them wandered across to Farr.

  ‘’Evening, sir,’ he said politely. ‘I’m afraid your friend isn’t going to be able to drive you any further and I don’t think you had better take over the car, had you? Best come along with us too, eh?’

  ‘Get fucked,’ said Farr, all merriment ceasing as if cut off by an electric switch.

  ‘That’s a nasty cut, sir,’ said the policeman. ‘Have you been in a fight or something?

  ‘Just a little accident, Officer,’ said Ellie hastily. ‘Colin, you wait here. Either I’ll be back or I’ll fix for a taxi to pick you up.’

  ‘No need,’ said Farr, trying to stand up, ‘I’m fine. I can foot it back to Burrthorpe from here. But I’m not …’

  ‘What’s your name, son?’ interrupted the policeman.

  ‘Not the same as yours, so I’m not your fucking son, am I?’ snarled Farr.

  ‘Now don’t you get stroppy with me, lad!’

  ‘Look, his name’s Colin Farr,’ said Ellie, wanting to defuse this situation. ‘He’s nothing to do with this, is he? I mean, he’s just a passenger, so can’t we just go to your station and get this silly business sorted out?’

  ‘Farr? Colin Farr from Burrthorpe?’ To Ellie’s horror the nearest policeman suddenly seized Colin’s arm in a tight lock. ‘Right, sunshine. You’d better come along with us after all. Oh no, none of that!’

  Colin had swung his free arm at the man’s face and next moment he was bent double, shrieking in pain, as the policeman savagely thrust the locked arm up between his shoulder-blades. The other cop was leaning into the car, talking into the radio.

  ‘What’s going on?’ demanded Ellie. ‘I’m dreaming this! What the hell do you think you’re doing?’

  Farr was forced past her and thrust in
to the rear seat. Ellie was contemplating an assault on the arresting constable’s back when she felt her arm gently taken by the other man who had finished on his radio.

  ‘Don’t make things worse,’ he said wearily.

  ‘What’s happening? Why are you arresting my friend?’

  ‘Friend, is he? You should mebbe pick your friends more carefully.’

  ‘And you should mebbe pick your victims more carefully!’

  And Ellie heard herself doing what long ago she had vowed she would never do, parading her relationship to Peter, and her mainly pretended intimate acquaintance with every senior officer from Dalziel up to the Chief Constable, in an effort to extract privileged treatment. Dubious at first, the man ended up convinced, but not overly impressed. It was like using the ultimate weapon and seeing it explode like a soap-bubble.

  ‘Look, I’m sorry, Mrs Pascoe, and I’ll see your husband gets informed, but you’ll still have to come in with us.’

  ‘Can’t you get it into your skull, I’m not worried about my husband being informed,’ said Ellie, sadly disillusioned. ‘It’s me that I want informed. What’s going on?’

  The man hesitated then said, ‘All I can tell you, Mrs Pascoe, is that half an hour ago we got a call from South Yorkshire asking us to keep an eye out for your friend, Colin Farr. Said he’d most likely be riding a motorbike.’

  ‘But why? What’s he supposed to have done?’

  ‘He works at Burrthorpe Main, doesn’t he? Well, at the end of the last shift they found a man dead down the pit, a deputy name of Satterthwaite. And the South Yorks force would like your friend Mr Farr to help with their inquiries!’

  Chapter 8

  ‘I don’t believe any of this,’ said Pascoe.

  On his arrival at Burrthorpe police station, he had been neatly intercepted by Detective Chief Inspector Alex Wishart of South Yorks CID whose presence in this outpost of his constabulary empire was not reassuring. Something serious was going on. Quickly Wishart gave him a brief outline of events as they involved Ellie.

  ‘What it comes down to is that my wife has been picked up drunk in charge of a murder suspect?’