This Little Piggy by Bea Davenport Read Free Book Online Page B

his head and said, “Nah, nah, it never came from me.”
    He looked grey-faced, Clare thought. “Should I come back in a few minutes, if you’re in the middle of something?” Anything that avoided getting their backs up any further.
    “Why, no, have a seat, I think you might as well hear what we all think about our wonderful leader.” A stocky little man stood up and offered Clare his chair. For a moment, Clare wasn’t sure whether to take it or not. She couldn’t work out the atmosphere and what exactly was going on. She looked at the only one she knew by name. “George?”
    George wiped his hands across his face. “I’m resigning from the union.”
    Clare blinked. “Because of the strike?” A few weeks earlier, George had given her a long interview in which he’d told her the miners had no choice if they wanted to protect their jobs and the strike was a moral responsibility for all the men. “What’s changed your mind?”
    “I’m trying to tell them. We need to have a proper ballot before we carry on. And I’m sure we’re walking into a bloody great trap that the government’s made for us.”
    “The ballot would be a waste of time.”
    Clare looked over at the new speaker, a tall, broad-shouldered man in his late twenties. “The fact that we’re all out there on the picket line is enough to show the men support the action. And what’s the choice? Roll over and let Mad Ian McGregor close all the pits down?” There were murmurs of agreement.
    “No, just to do some more talking, that’s all. To make a strike official, through the proper channels, if that’s what it comes to.”
    George Armstrong had been in the union for twenty-five years and he’d been the branch leader for fifteen of them. Clare had enough biographical details to turn the story into a front page lead, with just a few more quotes.
    “So, George, if you’re leaving the union, does this mean you’ll be crossing a picket line?”
    Armstrong screwed up his face as if the very thought was causing him physical pain. All the men were staring at him.
    “George. Don’t do it, man. Change your mind right now and we’ll all forget about it.” It was the tall young man from the back again. Clare couldn’t remember seeing him before today.
    She followed Armstrong as he walked out of the office and into the bright daylight, squinting and blinking hard. Clare pretended not to notice he was struggling not to cry. They chatted a little longer. Armstrong refused to let Clare send a photographer out, but it didn’t matter. The paper had a folder full of library pictures they could use.
    “George, I’m really sorry to ask this right now, but the reason I came out to see you was because of this baby’s death at the flats.”
    George looked at her as if she was talking another language. “What’s that got to do with me?”
    “Nothing, I hope. But some of the Donnelly family are saying the baby’s murder might’ve been linked to the strike. Because Rob went back to work. I just wanted to know what you thought about those rumours.”
    George gazed across the road at the colliery gates. Clare waited for him to say the idea was outrageous and an insult. Instead, he shook his head. “I don’t think it’s very likely. If anything bad happens these days, someone tries to blame a striking miner. But it’s no good asking me, love.” He jerked his head back towards the union hut. “Go in and ask someone from the new regime.”
    “Who’s taking over from you?” Clare asked.
    George twisted his mouth. “I’d put my money on Finn McKenna.”
    “Which one’s McKenna?”
    “You saw him in there. The gobby one at the back.”
    “Have I met him before?”
    “It’s unlikely. His family’s from round here but he was working down Nottingham way. He wasn’t even a miner. Says he was in security or some such at the pit. And the strike made him join the union and come out on the picket lines. Or that’s his story, anyway.”
    “You