They found the Southney turnoff about eight thirty, the day still clear and warm but not quite as bright as it had been for over a week now. None of them said a word as they came onto the sliproad, and passed so closely the Havahostel at which so much of the business linking the three of them rested. The short drive along the Corridor was uneventful enough, yet Grey felt a growing sense of expectation. It was though, as they passed from the rural landscape of the A road to the built-up surrounds of the town, that he began to notice signs, stirrings.
It was something in the nature of the knots of men, all in their green overalls; who would probably have been meeting to walk into work at about this time anyway, but who looked more numerous today, more concentrated into groups, their faces as they caught his passing gaze bearing what he sensed to be a seriousness and a desire for something needing to be done. Grey was certain something was afoot as they neared the High Street, and he saw the queue of similarly clad fellows at the first cashpoint they would have come to walking in from this side of town, the men displaying stoical intent in their grim holding of the line outside the bank. Stood just to the side of the queue, a couple of others were talking with strong body language and jutting hand motions, perhaps already having had confirmed to them by the hole in the wall what it would confirm to the others in time; confirm what Grey and Keith Pitt and indeed Thomas Long had known all week: that the money owed for this month’s labours would not be present in their accounts this morning as it ought to be.
In the few seconds that they in the passing car were witness to the scene, the two men who had already had their financial fortunes told seemed to argue, in the way only long-standing friends could without falling out over it; one deciding to stay at the bank, the other joining the growing movement of men not wanting or needing to check their accounts, and so walking past them on toward the plant.
‘He must have Direct Debits due,’ said Cori of the one who had stayed behind. ‘My guess is he’s waiting for the bank to open, while his mate would rather argue it out at work.’
‘Poor sods,’ muttered Grey, as the timebomb set for payday began its slow detonation. He had known this would happen, that the knowledge thus far private must become public – and of all the possible outcomes, it was always something like the one unfolding around them now that had been the most likely.
‘What’s happening?’ asked Isobel from the back seat. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘It’s the trouble at Aubrey’s,’ answered Grey. ‘They’re not able to pay the workers today.’
‘Of course. It’s the last Friday in the month.’
‘Your dad works there, doesn’t he,’ asked Grey, he having half-missed the earlier conversation.
‘Yeah, we lived by his paydays. Mum worked there too, before she had me. That’s where they met.’
‘You know, she never mentioned that, in all the times I spoke to her,’ noted Grey.
‘After I’d left, you mean?’
‘Yes, after you left.’
‘I used to love his paydays. Dad always used to treat me,’ she reminisced; before bursting out, ‘Ha! Chad’s Classics!’ upon spotting her old haunt as they drove along the row of shops. ‘He fancied me rotten you know, Chad, and I wasn’t very kind to him.’
‘You’ll hit a lot of memories like that,’ said Cori smiling through the mirror.
As they reached the far end of the High Street, the men in green seemed to be yet more numerous, the junction at the dogleg in the road that led on to the plant seeming a rallying point for the disenfranchised. Grey wondered if some group instinct taught them to gather together before approaching their adversaries?
It was at this junction though that Cori had to wait to turn right across the flow of morning traffic, in order to arrive at the station a short distance along the minor road. As they waited by the crowd, one of the men assembled recognised Grey through the car window,
‘Inspector,’ he called in recognition, loud enough for Grey to hear through the glass, ‘They haven’t paid us! What are you going to do about it?’ Grey, knowing full well there was precisely nothing he could do in this situation and at this moment, stared grimly forward willing the car to move. Meanwhile, the man, who had now come up to the car and had planted his opened palm on the roof above the passenger door, had his attention caught by the person he now spied sitting in the back. It took a moment, as the recognition formed,
‘Wow, that’s...’ he mumbled, before stepping back and turning to a man stood near him at the kerb, ‘Look, that’s..!’ But as he grabbed the fellow’s arm and pointed the car was, mercifully for Grey, just pulling away.
‘There’ll be a lot of that, too,’ said Grey to Isobel, he hoped kindly, as they moved down the short stretch of road, just catching the corner of the town square before swerving into the police staff parking area; and as it turned out, another crowd scene, hardly less ordered that that they had just passed through.
They pulled in to park beside a black maria bearing a neighbouring station’s insignia, as all around them men and women in anything from standard issue uniform to full-blown riot protection were assembling equipment, organising into groups, or clambering on or out of vehicles that arrived quickly and kept their engines running before leaving again.
Hardly the clear run he had been hoping for, and knowing there was going to be no way to do this inconspicuously, Grey turned to Isobel, ‘These guys were handing out “Missing” posters of you for six months. There isn’t one of them who isn’t going to recognise you.’
‘That’s okay.’ she said quietly.
‘Come on then,’ he said, jumping out quickly to open her child-locked door for her. The feeling, he would think later, was perhaps that of a chauffeur opening a limousine door for an actress at a film premier; as in a ripple effect, starting with those officers stood nearest to them as they exited the vehicle, the busy yard silenced, people forgetting their tasks or where it was they were supposed to be rushing to.
‘Isobel,’ a female voice said in a reverent whisper.
‘Bloody hell, he’s found her,’ a man said roughly.
A Constable Grey knew came up to pat him on the shoulder. ‘Good on you, boss,’ he said, beaming. And there was a general hum of wonder and approval as the trio moved through the carpark.
By the time they had entered the shaded section, where the office above overhung on columns to form a carport, Superintendent Rose – who Grey knew found it instructive of his officers’ comings and goings to prefer an office with a window overlooking the carpark to one with a more favourable view of the town square – was waiting to meet them at the back door. He broke out into a smile upon the sight of Grey and Cori’s passenger.
‘Welcome home, Miss Semple,’ he offered as he took her tiny hand in both of his and shook it warmly. ‘It really is wonderful to see you.’ He stood there a moment, Grey fearing it might become slightly embarrassing had he lingered longer. Thankfully though he continued, ‘You’ve picked a hell of a day for it though – there’s likely to be a bit of trouble at the Aubrey plant today, Miss. Hence our officers’ rushing around like this.’
‘Yes, we saw the men on the way in.’
‘Then hopefully you’ll forgive us if we cannot offer the kind of welcome we would have liked to. Inspector, can we speak a moment?’ he said less loudly, turning to Grey. The Inspector was soon to learn that the Super’s joy at seeing Isobel was very much out of tune with his general mood.
‘There was some trouble at Aubrey’s last night,’ began Rose cautiously, ‘some pushing and shouting, bricks thrown and bottles smashed. Nothing our men couldn’t handle, we’ve had a couple there all night. Ravi Chauhan’s running the show.’
‘Right,’ the Inspector listened intently.
‘Now, I’ll tell you all about it when you come up; but in a nutshell the decision has been made: that when all the men arrive for work today, they’re not going to be let in. It might be for the best,’ continued the Super. ‘I suppose if there is any disru
ption, then Wuthertons would rather it wasn’t happening on the premises – the last thing anyone wants is a sit-in.’
‘So they’d rather have them rioting outside?’
‘I’m sure they’d rather have none of those things,’ answered Rose exasperatedly.
‘Well they could try paying the men. They’re not doing it for fun.’
‘I’m sure Wuthertons are well aware of that.’
‘I was in a sit-in once, at university,’ announced Grey from nowhere, and loud enough to bring the others standing by back into their conversation. ‘It was in the student canteen, something about subsidised food.’
‘How did it end?’ asked Rose, eager for his experiences.
‘It lasted three days, I came out eight pounds heavier.’
Isobel laughed with spontaneous glee. She could still be quite girlish at times, noted Cori.
‘I never know if he’s making half of this stuff up,’ the Superintendent shook his head. ‘A fine way for a senior officer to behave.’ Rose soon regained his composure though, and turned back to Isobel, ‘All this trouble does mean though, love, it might be difficult to get hold of your dad.’
‘It’s probably a bit much to see her family just yet,’ answered Grey on her behalf, she seeming quite happy for him to do so.
‘Of course, of course. Well, it might be for the best anyway if you stayed here for a while. We don’t know what it will be like outside later. The Inspector has picked a corker of a day to bring you back! Have a rest in one of the offices, have something to eat. Maybe we can get a doctor in to look at that eye. Come up when you have a minute, Grey.’
‘I’ll be right there,’ answered the tired Inspector; as pausing only to give the found girl one last adoring look, Superintendent Rose headed back upstairs and to his worried rooms.
Chapter 24 – Business upon Grey’s Return