careful to avoid the floorboard that creaked outside her brothersâ door. She didnât breathe again until she reached the landing at the top of the stairs. Her father coughed and she froze. She waited what seemed like hours until silence engulfed the house once more. Gripping the banister, she crept lightly down the stairs to the front door and reached for the cloak.
Holding the doorknob in her hand because it was prone to rattle, she opened the door, stepped into the porch and closed the passage door behind her before opening the door to the street.
Tom was standing, pressed against the house wall in a pool of moonlight. She caught hold of his hand. It was ice cold.
She laid her finger over his lips and pointed towards the mountain end of the street. Stopping only to lace on her boots, she ran ahead of him. The air was clear, frosty, the temperature freezing, the moon strong enough to light their way. She headed for the ruins of an old farm cottage. Every bit of wood in the place had been taken by the strikers for fuel. But although the building had no roof, windows or doors, its walls were still standing. Once inside them she drew back from the doorway into a dark corner out of sight of a passer-by.
âAre you mad?â she whispered when Tom followed her. âIt might be the middle of the night but there are people everywhere. The men work the drift mines at this hour, and there are usually soldiers and police out to catch them. Management usually move their blacklegs at night.â
âI had to see you,â he murmured. âI wanted to tell you that if I had known what it was like here I would never have signed a contract with pit management. When we walked around town today and I saw the soldiers and police I realized that the struggle here, was no different from the struggle in Ireland. Only Iâd been tricked into joining the wrong side. Then, when I saw your father and the others on the picket line, saw what they were going through just to fight for a decent wage, I decided I had no choice but to break my contract.â
âYou left the soup kitchen with the police.â
âThey said theyâd arrest my uncle and his housekeeper for helping a criminal if I didnât go with them. And, that is why I have to go back to the other blacklegs now. Iâve been a fool and made a terrible mistake. But the last thing I can do is let them put my uncle and his housekeeper in prison for my stupidity.â
âDid the police allow you out to come looking for me?â
âNo.â He moved closer to her in the darkness. She saw his breath clouding in the moonlight that streamed through the door. Felt the warmth of his body as he stood almost, but not quite touching her. âThey put a dozen of us in the hayloft of stables at the back of a pub and told us to wait there until they can move us into the colliery.â
âWhat pub?â
âOne of the men with us said it was the White Hart. He recognized the yard. I didnât see any more of the place because they brought us in under tarpaulins in a butcher's cart. Two policemen were left to guard us. But they locked us into the stables and disappeared. After a couple of hours I decided it was worth trying to find you to explain why I signed the contract. I stuffed my jacket with straw and pushed it under one of the blankets they gave us. The other men promised theyâd cover for me if the officers came back. But itâs not likely. When I climbed out of the skylight on to the roof, I saw the soldiers in the pub kitchen. They were stretched out in chairs in front of a fire with their eyes closed.â
It was only then Amy noticed that Tom was in shirt sleeves. âYou must be freezing without your jacket.â
âIâm used to the cold.â
âDo you have to go back to the stable,â she pleaded.
âYou know I do. Iâve brought enough disgrace on my uncle as it is. Besides, the other
Learning to Kill: Stories