“I don’t,” he said.
“OK, you don’t. Now can we go please?”
The Newman family tree was getting closer. Lawrence was curious to see how it was getting on. The country sun burned. His hair had started to grow back now but it was still downy, so his scalp felt the heat, and when it was wet it formed into imbricated little spikes.
Lawrence looked identical to his dad at the moment. Sorry Arthur with his runny nose, his balsam and his hangovers. Lawrence watched Duncan, who’d powered ahead like he had a point to prove, and had to wonder what Arthur would make of giving up the last word the way he’d just done. His father had a famous mouth, which was one of the best things about him. Picking Lawrence up from school in Asa’s Fiesta, nettling Asa for the state of the interior; the fact he was never allowed out for a drink past ten. Arthur was always taking the piss out of Lawrence’s mam, too, making her laugh because she knew her brews were too milky and the fact she never dusted the bookshelf despite always saying she was getting around to it. Lawrence didn’t want to be like Arthur and sometimes thought he hated his dad, but people like Duncan swanned about, always had done and needed telling.
“Well, seeing as you want to go into it,” he said, forgetting his new way of speaking entirely, “I just reckon it’s an easier life for people like you, you’ve had it as set out as Sunday dinner.”
Luckily Evie was out of earshot as Duncan bit down on the bait. “Come on,” he said. “That’s hardly our fault.”
“Never is,” said Lawrence.
“It’s wrong of you to try and make me feel embarrassed, Lawrence.”
“I’m not saying you should be embarrassed. Just that you should think.”
“I do think. I think we manage. We’re well managed.” Duncan was pleased by that. “And if other people aren’t then that’s their lookout.”
“My dad says rich people are usually rich at someone else’s expense,” replied Lawrence truthfully.
“Oh, everyone in shitholes like Litten has an attitude like yours. My dad works bloody hard.”
“So do most people, but they still don’t get paid a bomb for doing fuck-all like them in parliament do.”
“Dad’s not in parliament.”
“Still reckon he’s no idea what real world’s like.”
“And you do?” said Evie.
Lawrence buckled at the sight of her, his beams and buttresses seeping dust.
“Well… no, but I’m a lad aren’t I… a young man.”
“So you say.”
Duncan came down the hill to stand with Evie. It would always be the two of them, Lawrence realised.
Duncan said, “There’s a bigger picture than most people see. It’s not just about them, it’s everyone. If this country’s going to compete on a… God, listen to me trying to explain this. The best way I can put it is Clive knows about things, and that’s why he’s where he is, and your dad’s where he is, wherever that is. The point is our families are basically the same. All families are.”
“You seriously reckon we’re the same?”
Duncan raised his voice, yet still managed to maintain his smug overlord manner. “Politics isn’t about making money. It’s about helping people.”
“I thought it were about helping country.”
“People are what make up this country.”
“You ask the miners if they feel part of this fucking country.”
Were they swallows Lawrence could see, or were they swifts?
Soon he was relaxing, taking in the view spread unevenly past Evie’s dark, mysterious head. This landscape seemed so personal, with its enclosed fields, the tractor busying itself above the broadness. Lawrence could see the Litten Path. It made him think of his family.
From her bag Evie produced a litre bottle containing some bright, evil-coloured liquid. “We call this a shit-mix,” she said. “Every spirit we could find in the house. Stir in a bit of water and as much blackcurrant as it takes to make it taste all right.”
Lawrence took a swig and managed not to gag. “Normally I get cider.”
“A babyface like you can get served?”
“Too right I can.”
“It’s funny what you can get away with in the countryside,” said Duncan.
“Police aren’t too fussed,” replied Lawrence, “Usually if you’ve been up to something it’s the locals you need to worry about.”
Evie didn’t even wince when she drank. “The countryside’s too small,” she said. “No one here’s looking for anything new… Clive’s words, though for once I can’t say I disagree. You got to admit it’s pretty boring here.”
It was strange hearing what you felt coming out of someone else’s mouth. Lawrence supposed people in Litten were going through everything, just like they were in the south, yet their lives felt drab by comparison. Being alive was surely different elsewhere. It just had to be.
“Would you stay?” he asked the Swarsbys. “If you had a choice.”
Both shook their heads.
“Where would you go?”
“Guess,” said Duncan.
“London’s your home.”
Duncan nodded. “And Litten’s yours.”
“No…”
“I’m going to run if Clive makes us stay. Seb and I will disappear.”
“Yeah,” said Lawrence, absently. He’d always wanted to see the capital. The tubes and umbrellas and bowler hats.
“Have you even been to London, Lawrence?”
“Course I have.”
“You haven’t.” Evie nudged him playfully.
“Have.”
“When?”
“When I was younger.”
“Younger than now?” She had such cruel eyes. “What was your favourite part?”
“…Westminster.”
“Oh, Westminster, Westminster, wherefore art thou, Westminster? Name another place you went to. Give me a street, a central station.”
Lawrence took the bottle and swigged from it, this time failing not to gag. If this was how Evie wanted to play it… “It was ages ago,” he said. “And my mam took me, she’s from down there. Like I say, I were young, I can’t be expected to remember every part. What’s happened to your mam, Evie? You hardly talk about her. She must be coming to join you all at some point.”
The bereft expression on Evie’s face made Lawrence feel terrible. “Oh she’ll be in her kennel somewhere,” she said. “Clive’s well shot of her.”
“Mummy’s still in London,” Duncan offered.
“Bram’s setting her up,” said Evie.
Her brother’s eyes were fixed and stony. “Bram’s dad’s best friend.”
Evie made a vomiting noise. “It’s his place we’re staying in,” she said, “His family owned the colliery. What’s its name again?”
“Brantford.”
“That’s it.”
“Sounds like a nice guy.”
Neither Swarsby agreed.
“…I’m sorry to hear about your mam, Evie.”
“She made a tough choice,” said Duncan.
“So very tough,” Evie said.
Lawrence wasn’t sure if she was being sarcastic or not. “Are she an’ your dad still together then or what?” he asked.
“Oh yes,” said Duncan.
“Well why isn’t she here then?”
Evie piped up. “It’s Clive, he’s—”
“Had his problems,” Duncan interjected. “He needed a break and so did Mum.”
“Luckily we had Bram,” said Evie. “Our hero.”
“Evie.” Duncan glanced at Lawrence. “The opportunity arose to come here, so Dad took it. It’s as simple as that. A fresh start, new fight. That holiday in France was good for him.”
“It was in the paper,” said Lawrence.