The Northern Clemency. Philip Hensher
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city had been made by fire out of water. And there was the earth, too, which Francis did see something of. Around the city, in earthworks and diggings, coal was still heaved to the surface. It was everywhere. The city made its money from steel; it was driven by its waters; it was built on coal.
Francis saw almost none of this, as they drove into Sheffield for the first time. He saw a nightmare terror of a landscape; he ascribed evil to it. He had no means of seeing the money and power that these sights produced; he saw black waste, and bursts of fire, and smelt that hard, mineral smell. But he should have looked: in 1974, Sheffield’s splendour was coming to an end.
And the motorway, with its raw, uncouth society of fire and mineral gave way now to something like a town: shops, offices, glass buildings, bridges and, at last, people. ‘I don’t remember any of this,’ Sandra said. It was a shock to hear a voice in the car: they’d been quiet since the Sheffield turn-off.
‘No, you wouldn’t,’ Bernie said. ‘We came up by train, don’t you remember?’ She subsided again; that wasn’t what she’d meant, Francis could tell. She was mostly just complaining.
‘I’d feel a lot easier if we could see the van,’ Alice said.
‘It’ll be at the house by now,’ Bernie said. ‘We’ll go up there to make sure, and then we’ll go off to the hotel. The men won’t want to start unpacking tonight.’
‘Where are they going to stay?’ Francis asked.
‘They’ll have made arrangements,’ Alice said.
Daniel, Jane and Tim drew the curtains and switched on the television. They watched Why Don’t You? – Tim fervently, Daniel making sarcastic remarks about the sort of kids who go on telly. Tim wanted to watch Blue Peter, but Daniel got up before it started and turned over to watch The Tomorrow People. Then the cartoon – it was Ludwig, which was rubbish. ‘Where’s Mum and Dad?’ Jane said. They were always home by now – they generally coincided, except on Fridays when Malcolm stayed late and Katherine came home before him on the bus.
The news started. It was boring. There was going to be an election. There’d been one before, Daniel remembered, and that had been boring too, because at school they talked to you about it and tried to get you to say who you’d vote for if you’d got a vote. At school, most of the kids said they were Labour but that was only because their parents were. There was one kid who said he was Liberal but everyone called him a poof, because the Liberals were poofs, everyone knew that. Sometimes Daniel said he was Labour but at others he said he was Conservative and once he told a girl he thought Communism was best. He didn’t really care. They were all old and boring.
‘I think the Conservatives are going to come first,’ Tim said, ‘and the Labour are going to come second and the Liberals are going to come third. That’s what I think.’
‘Why do you think that?’ Jane said, but Tim didn’t know.
They’d stopped talking. Even when Nationwide came on, and there was a story about a dog that drank beer, they didn’t say much. It was nearly seven o’clock before they heard the key in the lock. It was their mother. She looked tired and angry; for once her hair was untidy – she’d not really done it since the party the night before.
‘Has your father not called?’ she said.
‘No,’ Jane said. ‘Where is he?’
‘I don’t know,’ she said. ‘He didn’t come to pick me up. I tried to call the office but they’d all gone home. I came home on the bus.’
‘These two’ve been in all day,’ Daniel said. ‘He didn’t call, did he?’
‘No,’ Tim said. ‘No one’s called.’
‘I don’t understand it,’ Katherine said.
For some reason, Jane felt she couldn’t say she’d seen him at lunchtime. He hadn’t wanted to be seen; she didn’t feel she should let on.
But Daniel said, ‘He came home at lunchtime. And then he went out again.’
Katherine looked at him. ‘What did he do that for?’
‘How should I know? I didn’t see him. I was at the pool all day. Jane saw him.’
‘Jane,’ Katherine said, ‘did he say anything? I don’t know where he’s got to. If he’d gone to the pub he’d have phoned, surely.’
‘He never goes to the pub,’ Daniel said, ‘except on Fridays.’
‘But did he say anything about being late?’
‘I only saw him,’ Jane said. ‘I didn’t speak to him. I was in the garden. He didn’t see me, I don’t think.’
Katherine looked at her. It sounded strange, your family avoiding each other, hiding and not speaking. But it made sense to all of them. ‘I expect he’s been held up,’ she said. ‘Let’s not worry just yet.’
‘He’s never held up,’ Tim said, his voice emphatic. ‘He’s always home by now.’
‘He’s got a good reason, I’m sure,’ Katherine said. ‘Let’s not worry. Have you had your dinner?’
The children looked at each other, surprised. The idea of making their own dinner was a new one. No one had ever suggested it.
‘All right,’ Katherine said. ‘Just let me get changed. There’s the food from last night to finish up. That OK?’
‘Aren’t we going to wait for Dad?’ Daniel said.
‘He’ll be home soon,’ Katherine said.
They’d forgotten about the party food, which was sitting in the fridge on two big plates under foil, not separated out now, but the remains of half a dozen dishes jammed together. The vol-au-vents were flaking, soft and clothy, the Coronation Chicken a little brown and crusty round the edges; the rice salad, flecked with red peppers, hadn’t really been touched the night before, and it didn’t look nicer now. Everything seemed sad and unfestive, like tinsel in the full light of day. Jane and Daniel took it out, and she set the table with five places. There was some lettuce and tomatoes too; she made a salad, put out the salad cream.
‘I don’t like rice,’ Tim said, following her from the kitchen to the dining room. ‘I don’t like that yellow stuff either. I want beans on toast.’
‘You be quiet,’ Jane said. ‘You’re too fussy about your food.’
‘I can’t help it.’
Katherine came down, her face washed and recomposed. ‘Good girl!’ she said brightly, when she saw Jane had set the dinner out. They ate; there was nothing to wait for with the food. Daniel ate quickly; he was always hungry, and nothing got in the way of that. Katherine filled a plate for Tim, ignoring his protests; he poked at it, eating a little here and there. Neither he nor Daniel was thinking about their father. Jane put food on her plate – a strange assortment, like the hopeful random selection you make at a party, not necessarily meaning to eat everything but taking a bit of each. She watched her mother nervously; she was looking around her, on edge, not eating. After a few minutes, Tim said, ‘I don’t like rice,’ again. ‘I don’t like those red things, those peppers, in it.’
‘Then don’t eat it,’ Katherine said abruptly. ‘Go hungry.’ She got up sharply – almost as if she were going to strike him – and went into the hall. They could hear her rifling through the address book by the telephone. Jane and Daniel exchanged a short, scared look. Their parents had suddenly altered. From the hall, the noise of dialling.
‘Hello?’ Katherine said. ‘Hello, Margaret? This is Katherine Glover, Malcolm’s wife…Yes, that’s right, at the Dennises…Yes, I remember. I know this sounds a little strange, but did Malcolm have anything – Oh, I see…Really? That sounds unusual…No, I didn’t. Well, I’m sure there’s some perfectly innocent explanation – he’ll be home soon, I expect.