The door opens. A middle-aged man in a suit appears –
‘Mr Parish?’ asks the man.
Neil Fontaine squints into the sun. He says, ‘Yes.’
‘Brendan Matthews,’ says the man. ‘Nice to be able to put a face to the name.’
Neil Fontaine shakes the man’s hand. He says, ‘John Parish. How do you do?’
‘How do you do?’ says Brendan Matthews. ‘Step this way.’
They walk up the white wooden steps into the Portakabin. A young woman is talking on a telephone at a school desk. They go through into Brendan Matthews’ office –
‘Can I offer you something to drink?’ asks Brendan Matthews.
Neil Fontaine raises a hand. He says, ‘I’m fine. Thank you.’
Brendan Matthews unlocks a filing cabinet. He takes out a large manila envelope. He hands it to Neil Fontaine. He says, ‘These are the photocopies of their licences.’
Neil Fontaine takes out the photocopies. He flicks through them.
‘I know you’ll obviously want to do your own checks,’ says Brendan Matthews. ‘But I’m confident these men will meet your needs.’
Neil Fontaine opens his briefcase. He asks, ‘How many are there?’
‘Fifty, as requested.’
Neil Fontaine puts the manila envelope inside his briefcase. He takes out another large envelope and fifty smaller plain brown envelopes held together with a rubber band. He hands the fifty smaller envelopes across the desk to Brendan Matthews. He says, ‘These are retainers of five hundred pounds for each man.’
‘Thank you very much,’ says Matthews.
Neil Fontaine hands him the large envelope. He says, ‘This is a deposit for the transport. The wagons are to be covered with Corporation stickers, which will be with you by the end of the week. Further payment will then be made when we are certain of the dates and the numbers. The men are to be paid in cash on a daily basis.’
‘Hundred quid a run?’ asks Matthews.
‘There and back,’ says Neil Fontaine. ‘Two runs a day with a completion bonus.’
‘That’s good money,’ says Brendan Matthews.
Neil Fontaine smiles. He says, ‘You want to give me a copy of your licence?’
‘It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr Parish,’ laughs Brendan Matthews.
Neil Fontaine and Brendan Matthews shake hands and say their goodbyes.
Neil Fontaine leaves Gainsborough. He drives to Scunthorpe. To Anchor –
To the furnaces. To the Queen Mary.
Neil Fontaine looks at his watch. It’s stopped. He taps it. It’s started –
Time slips, like a furnace.
It stops again. It starts again.
*
Terry felt the tide had turned. The Mansfield rally had been a magnificent occasion –
A triumph. A show of strength –
Just as Terry had planned.
Terry felt his own stock had risen. His own star back on the rise –
Yesterday, Mansfield. Today, Paris. Tomorrow, the world –
Just as Terry had planned.
Theresa packed Terry an overnight bag. Shirt. Vest. Pants. Socks. Razor. Toothbrush. Towel. She stuck the kids in the back of the car. Half asleep. She drove him to the station. They kissed him goodbye. He got the Manchester train. Taxi to the airport. The President and Joan were at check-in. They didn’t acknowledge him. He didn’t acknowledge them. The President was calling himself Mr Smith. He was wearing a hat. Sunglasses. They were not to speak to each other until Paris –
The flight took one hour.
There was a big car waiting at Charles de Gaulle. The President took off his hat. His sunglasses. He sat in the back between Terry and Joan. Pierre from the MTUI sat in the front with the driver. They went straight to their big modern offices in East Paris. They met François and Jean-Marc. They had good coffee. They talked about the dispute. The prospects for peace. Then the President and Joan went off with Pierre and François for the meeting with their international comrades –
The French, the Polish and the Australians.
Terry was sent upstairs to meet with Claude. They discussed international law. They discussed international banking. They discussed legal strategies. They discussed financial strategies. They discussed law firms. They discussed private banks. They discussed clauses. They discussed routes. They discussed lawyers. They discussed accountants. They discussed fees. They discussed funds. They discussed perjury. They discussed penury. They discussed sequestration. They discussed bankruptcy –
The meeting took two hours.
There was another big car waiting to take them to a late lunch at Chartier. They sat at the long tables. The waiters wrote their orders on the paper table covers. The President had the chicken and chips. A salad. The house red.
Terry Winters had the same.
The President leant across the table. He touched Terry’s arm. He raised his glass. The President said, ‘There’ll be no more scab coal from Europe, Comrade.’
Terry raised his glass.
The President shouted, ‘Vive la Révolution!’
The President loved Paris. Revolutionary City. Second only to sacred Leningrad. Holy City. The President loved the bread. The cheese. The good coffee. The red wine. The President carried Zola everywhere. Germinal.
Terry had a copy too. He couldn’t get into it –
Terry threw it across the hotel room. He hadn’t slept. He couldn’t –
The President and the fucking Frogs had bloody left Terry in town after lunch. The President and Joan had had their own plans for the rest of the day. The evening –
Plans in which Comrade Terry had not been included.
Terry sat up in his single bed. Terry could see the rooftops of Paris. The pigeons. He called Theresa. Click-click. The kids. He said he’d be home tonight. Terry hung up. He called Diane. She wasn’t there. Terry wished she was here. He went to the bathroom. He touched himself. He shaved. He washed. He went downstairs.
Pierre and Francois joined the Union for breakfast. The President ate croissants. He drank hot chocolate. Terry asked for toast and a pot of tea. Then they checked out. Pierre and François drove them back to the MTUI offices. They had informal meetings. They made informal plans. They ate another late lunch together. Pierre drove out with them to Charles de Gaulle.
The flight took one hour.
They were back in Manchester for half-five. The President put on his hat again. His sunglasses. Len was there to meet them. They didn’t offer Terry a lift –
They weren’t going his way.
Terry said he’d see them in London. Terry took the train home. It was raining.
*
Today is the day. The first of many days. The start of the action. The start of many actions. Neil Fontaine parks behind the Law Courts. Fred Wallace sits in the back with his two mates and the Jew –
Today is their day in court. Their first of many days.
Fred is here to issue writs against his own Union, at both area and national level. Fred will first argue the strike in the Nottingham Area is not official. Fred will then argue the instruction to strike does not have to be obeyed. Fred will also threaten to issue further writs if the local branch elections are postponed –
These are expensive arguments for little men in cheap suits –
Frightened men.
Neil Fontaine switches on the signal. He listens to the Jew rally his troops –
‘They stalk your streets while you work. Terrorize your women. Your children. They daub your houses in paint while you sleep. Break your windows. Slash your tyres. Kill your pets. They watch your windows to see when your lights go on. Force you to dress in the dark. Watch your doorways and drives to see who works and who strikes. How long before the arson starts? Before your women are assaulted? Your children? These are the same men who would have you thrown out of your own Union. The same men who are using your own subs which you have loyally paid — and continue to pay –