Brian?’
‘Yes.’
‘Why would he do that?’
Hardwick looked at her. ‘He just did.’
‘But why? I assume he must have had a reason?’
‘I told you, he’d been drinking. Most of the day and into the evening. Of course he’d blame me – what else was he going to do?’
‘It was irrational, then?’ Catherine said. ‘The drink talking. No truth in what he was saying? That somehow you’d driven her away?’
Hardwick took his time in answering.
‘Back then, back then I thought, I reckon we all thought, most of us any road, it were the man ruled the roost, went out, earned the bread, brought it back home. Every man to his castle, right? Then, with the strike, when that happened, somehow going out to work, going down that bloody pit day after bloody day, shift after shift, it weren’t enough. And there were women, just lasses some of ’em, up on their hind legs telling us we was wrong. What we were doing, what my old man’d done before me, working every God-given hour to put food on’t table, it were wrong.’
He looked quickly up and then away.
‘I couldn’t fathom it out. Not as if we were on strike, not Notts, not the pit where I worked, but all of a sudden I was being called blackleg, scab, all sorts. And Jenny, the way she’d look at me . . .’
He faltered into silence.
‘You argued about it?’ Catherine suggested. ‘Fought?’
‘Nay. Not really. At first, maybe, but then not overmuch. If we’d argued it through more it’d maybe not’ve been so bad. Instead she just looked at me like I were some insect’d crawled up out of ground. Despised me in the end, that’s what she did.’ A slight shake of the head. ‘Not as I could’ve blamed her, not altogether. Not a lot of love between us by then, truth be told. And I dare say I was drinking more than I should.’
‘She didn’t approve?’
‘I liked a pint or two, always had, but no more than the next man. But after she turned agin me it got worse.’ Another shake of the head, firmer this time. ‘I’d’ve not stuck wi’ me either, if I’d had the choice.’
‘So you thought that was why she’d left you? Because of the drinking, and the difference of opinion about the strike?’
‘What else?’
Catherine gave Resnick a quick glance.
‘There were rumours,’ Resnick said, ‘she might’ve been seeing someone else.’
‘Jenny?’
‘What I heard.’
‘People say all sorts. Don’t have to mean they’re true.’
‘It wasn’t something you’d argued about, then?’
‘Strike, that’s all she were interested in. Soup kitchens. Makin’ speeches. Shakin’ her fist on picket line. More’n me. More’n her kids. I doubt she’d have time to give some other feller a second look.’
It was quiet. Somewhere, another room, the ticking of a clock.
‘So at the time,’ Catherine asked, ‘where did you think she’d gone? When you thought that’s what had happened.’
‘Didn’t know, did I? At first, I thought maybe gone off to see her folks, p’r’aps, over in Ingoldmells, both alive then. But, tell the truth, after a while I didn’t much care. Last couple of months afore she left, like I say, almost never saw hide nor hair of her any road. An’ when I did she were al’ays, you know, givin’ me that look. Sounds wrong now, in light of what happened, but when it were clear she’d gone I were almost glad.’
He looked away.
Catherine gave it a moment. ‘Is that why,’ she said, ‘it was the best part of a week before you reported her missing?’
‘Maybe. Maybe so, aye. That and Christmas coming straight after.’
‘Once it had been officially reported,’ Resnick said, ‘Keith Haines, he was the one carried out the investigation.’
‘If you can call it that.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Oh, he went round asking questions, right enough. Took – what d’you call ’em? – witness statements. Like that copper who were round here. Me, o’course. Jenny’s sister, Jill, she were living
‘Yes.’
‘Why would he do that?’
Hardwick looked at her. ‘He just did.’
‘But why? I assume he must have had a reason?’
‘I told you, he’d been drinking. Most of the day and into the evening. Of course he’d blame me – what else was he going to do?’
‘It was irrational, then?’ Catherine said. ‘The drink talking. No truth in what he was saying? That somehow you’d driven her away?’
Hardwick took his time in answering.
‘Back then, back then I thought, I reckon we all thought, most of us any road, it were the man ruled the roost, went out, earned the bread, brought it back home. Every man to his castle, right? Then, with the strike, when that happened, somehow going out to work, going down that bloody pit day after bloody day, shift after shift, it weren’t enough. And there were women, just lasses some of ’em, up on their hind legs telling us we was wrong. What we were doing, what my old man’d done before me, working every God-given hour to put food on’t table, it were wrong.’
He looked quickly up and then away.
‘I couldn’t fathom it out. Not as if we were on strike, not Notts, not the pit where I worked, but all of a sudden I was being called blackleg, scab, all sorts. And Jenny, the way she’d look at me . . .’
He faltered into silence.
‘You argued about it?’ Catherine suggested. ‘Fought?’
‘Nay. Not really. At first, maybe, but then not overmuch. If we’d argued it through more it’d maybe not’ve been so bad. Instead she just looked at me like I were some insect’d crawled up out of ground. Despised me in the end, that’s what she did.’ A slight shake of the head. ‘Not as I could’ve blamed her, not altogether. Not a lot of love between us by then, truth be told. And I dare say I was drinking more than I should.’
‘She didn’t approve?’
‘I liked a pint or two, always had, but no more than the next man. But after she turned agin me it got worse.’ Another shake of the head, firmer this time. ‘I’d’ve not stuck wi’ me either, if I’d had the choice.’
‘So you thought that was why she’d left you? Because of the drinking, and the difference of opinion about the strike?’
‘What else?’
Catherine gave Resnick a quick glance.
‘There were rumours,’ Resnick said, ‘she might’ve been seeing someone else.’
‘Jenny?’
‘What I heard.’
‘People say all sorts. Don’t have to mean they’re true.’
‘It wasn’t something you’d argued about, then?’
‘Strike, that’s all she were interested in. Soup kitchens. Makin’ speeches. Shakin’ her fist on picket line. More’n me. More’n her kids. I doubt she’d have time to give some other feller a second look.’
It was quiet. Somewhere, another room, the ticking of a clock.
‘So at the time,’ Catherine asked, ‘where did you think she’d gone? When you thought that’s what had happened.’
‘Didn’t know, did I? At first, I thought maybe gone off to see her folks, p’r’aps, over in Ingoldmells, both alive then. But, tell the truth, after a while I didn’t much care. Last couple of months afore she left, like I say, almost never saw hide nor hair of her any road. An’ when I did she were al’ays, you know, givin’ me that look. Sounds wrong now, in light of what happened, but when it were clear she’d gone I were almost glad.’
He looked away.
Catherine gave it a moment. ‘Is that why,’ she said, ‘it was the best part of a week before you reported her missing?’
‘Maybe. Maybe so, aye. That and Christmas coming straight after.’
‘Once it had been officially reported,’ Resnick said, ‘Keith Haines, he was the one carried out the investigation.’
‘If you can call it that.’
‘How d’you mean?’
‘Oh, he went round asking questions, right enough. Took – what d’you call ’em? – witness statements. Like that copper who were round here. Me, o’course. Jenny’s sister, Jill, she were living
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