Chapter 10
‘What the hell are you doing, running down the middle of a country lane in Rothersley? Why aren’t you in college?’
‘And what the hell are you doing, driving like an utter pillock down the middle of a country lane in Rothersley? You could have killed me. And why aren’t you in college?’
We both stared at the other and eventually Theo said, ‘Hang on, let me pull into that verge over there.’ He indicated with his hand, before putting the Mini into gear and driving twenty metres or so ahead. I walked behind the car, my pulse still racing at the shock of seeing him here in Rothersley.
On my territory.
By the time I reached him, he was out of the car, sitting on the grass and drinking from a can of Coke. He offered the can to me as I moved to sit by him and, thirsty from the walk in the warm sunshine, I took it from him, enjoying the fizz as it hit my dry throat.
‘OK,’ he said as I handed the can back to him, ‘you first.’
‘I live here,’ I said simply.
‘What, on this lane?’ He smiled. ‘I didn’t realise you’d finished university. I thought you were just one year ahead of me?’
‘I am. I’m having my year out.’
‘Back home?’ Theo pulled a face.
I was embarrassed, knew I must have appeared awfully unadventurous to Theo Mandeville. I appeared so to myself: living back at home had never been on my wish list. ‘I tried to get London,’ I said quickly, ‘but there was nothing doing.’
‘I get that,’ he replied. ‘I’m trying my hardest to be in London myself next year. Or even abroad. Bloke on my course has got himself New York.’
‘Wow. He’s lucky. I didn’t realise your course encourages a year out too?’ And then, not wanting him to know I knew exactly what he was studying, I hurriedly went on, ‘Sorry, which course are you on?’
‘History.’ He tilted his head back to receive the last drops of Coke before decimating the tin with his fist. ‘I just want to be somewhere I can continue to play squash as much as humanly possible. I was at the British Open last month in Wembley.’
‘You were actually playing there?’ I couldn’t quite keep the awe from my voice.
‘I wish!’ Theo laughed. ‘We went to see Jahangir Khan play in the final.’
I didn’t want to know who we was. I shook my head slightly to rid myself of visions of the gorgeous blonde who’d been on the squash court with him back in Leeds.
‘And it just made me realise even more how much I want to get on the UK circuit and then the world circuit.’
‘Right.’ I pulled a face. ‘Instead, you’re in Rothersley. I don’t even know if there are squash courts round here.’
‘Good ones actually.’ Theo smiled. ‘Can’t believe you don’t know them. On Smith Lane? I’ve played a couple of games there.’
‘So, is that where you’ve been? Playing squash, as well as hooky, from lectures?’
Theo nodded. ‘I’ve been playing a match – it’s Wednesday – sports afternoon – over at Sheffield uni. There was an accident on the M1 and I was diverted off. I took a wrong turning and found myself on this country lane where I saw you skipping along.’ Theo turned to look at me, grinning.
‘And did you win?’ I asked, feeling myself go pink when he didn’t lower his gaze.
‘I did.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, can I give you a lift home?’
I held up the brown envelope I’d been given to deliver. ‘I’ve a job to do.’
‘Well, can I give you a lift to your “job to do”?’ Theo air-quoted the words, his eyes still on mine, and I had to laugh.
Was delivering leaflets a summing-up of my political career so far?
I suppose we all had to start somewhere.
‘Actually,’ he went on, ‘I could murder a lager. Anywhere you’d recommend? ’
‘There are some really pretty villages round here,’ I said. ‘Silkstone, Cawthorne, Hoyland…’
‘Cawthorne? That’s supposed to be lovely. Do you have to be home? I mean, do you have to deliver those leaflets right away?’
‘The Mandeville Arms in Cawthorne is a good twenty-minute drive from here,’ I said. ‘Oh, Mandeville? One of your relatives?’
‘You remembered my last name?’ Theo looked slightly taken aback. Did he think I’d been stalking him in the way Fliss clearly had the previous year?
I examined my foot where a huge blister had developed on my big toe and, in doing so, evaded a response to his question.
Theo peered over at my foot. ‘You can’t walk on that. Come on, I’ll take you to your job to do.’
‘Leaflets from my boss,’ I said, holding up the envelope before standing and brushing grass from my dress.
‘And who’s your boss?’ Theo raised an eye, clearly interested.
‘Arthur Scargill,’ I replied proudly.
‘Blimey!’ Theo stared. ‘You’ve got yourself in the middle of the strike? Oh, of course, I remember now. Your dad? He’s a miner?’
I nodded. ‘Yep, we’re all in the thick of it.’
‘They can’t expect to win? Stop the government closing these mines? They’re not financially viable, surely?’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Well, you know, I read the news like anyone else. Watch the TV when I get chance…’ He trailed off, slightly embarrassed. ‘So, where do you need to be?’
‘The Alamo.’
Theo stopped in his tracks. ‘The Alamo? Sorry, don’t think I’ve enough petrol to get us to Texas.’
‘The Rothersley Alamo.’ I laughed. ‘On Pit Lane, down towards the colliery. It’s a sort of headquarters for the striking miners.’
Theo opened the car door for me and whereas, in the past, I might have thought, I’m a strong independent woman – I don’t need a man to open the door for me, it felt good.
Hell, what a turn of events. I’d been – let’s face it – sexually assaulted by my now ex, John Dyson, and a few hours later I was sitting next to Theo Mandeville, giving directions towards the colliery and the group of mainly men sitting, standing, chatting and smoking at The Alamo.
Once we’d arrived, Theo parked but kept the engine running and the men, as one, turned to stare, clearly trying to work out who the Mini belonged to. Friend or foe? As I got out of the car, Theo put a hand on my arm. ‘Will you come with me then?’
‘For a drink?’
Theo nodded.
‘OK.’ I remembered my manners. ‘Thank you, that would be lovely. Just give me five minutes.’
‘John got himself a new car?’ Mum had clearly spotted me from inside one of the wooden cabins and had come out, wiping her hands on a tea towel. ‘What happened to his Audi?’
John Dyson’s pride and joy was his Audi Quattro which he’d drive around Rothersley at speed. I’d always felt slightly carsick in it, urging him to slow down as he showed off, taking corners unnecessarily quickly.
‘Friend of mine from university,’ I explained.
‘Off for a drink with him, Mum. I’ll see you later.
’ I handed her the brown envelope. ‘Can you make sure our Les or someone gets these?’ My brother Les, despite being only eighteen, had embraced the whole strike action with a militance never before seen in our family and, while both Mum and especially Dad agreed totally in principle with what Les said and did, I knew they worried about where his overly combative stance might take him.
‘I’m off, Mum.’
‘What about your tea? Are you back for your tea…? Shall I keep you something…?’ Mum was following me down the lane, trying, I knew, to see – without appearing too nosy – just who was in the Mini’s driving seat.
‘It’s fine, Mum, really. I won’t be late.’
‘OK?’ Theo asked as, once again, he’d made his way round to open the car door for me.
I was conscious of the eyes of those at The Alamo turned towards the stranger.
We were a tight-knit community and, especially at the moment, in the middle of militant action, strangers were looked upon with, if not exactly suspicion, then caution.
‘Fine, yes,’ I said hurriedly, sitting and pulling on the seat belt.
‘Goodness,’ Theo said with a slight laugh, ‘I can see why it’s called The Alamo. I thought I might have to give a password? Show some credentials. Right, come on, then, my being a North Yorkshire native, you can show me the delights of South Yorkshire.’
‘There really are some beautiful places round here, you know,’ I said. I wasn’t quite sure, by his tone, if Theo wasn’t offering up cynicism about the area.
We drove almost in silence for the first ten minutes, the only words spoken being my directions towards the village of Cawthorne and Theo reiterating: ‘Down here? This way?’
As he concentrated on the unfamiliar roads and winding country lanes, I was able to steal covetous glances in his direction, taking in his profile, his olive skin, his dark blond hair which, every now and again, he’d run a hand through.
When he did, occasionally take a brief look across at me, and I met the incredibly beautiful brown eyes that searched out my own, I realised I’d fallen in love with his face, his eyes, his confidence that very first time in the Wimpy Bar when Fliss had pointed Theo Mandeville out to me.
I studied his hands, tanned and confident on the steering wheel, imagining them cupping my face, unbuttoning my shirt, and I had to shift slightly on the seat.
‘You’re right,’ Theo suddenly said and I jumped slightly. Gosh, if he knew what I was thinking: where I’d been with him in my fantasies!
‘Right?’
‘It’s absolutely stunning round here.’
‘It is.’ I felt pride at his words. ‘You’re very tanned,’ I went on when he didn’t say anything further. ‘You’ve not got a tan like that in Yorkshire.’
‘No.’ He paused and then relented. ‘My godmother has a place in Cortina.’
‘Cortina?’ Wasn’t that the name of a car?
‘Cortina d’Ampezzo.’
‘Oh?’
‘She skis. She knows I love skiing and, you know…’
I didn’t know – Theo obviously inhabited a totally different world to my own.
‘She’s very generous – lets me and a friend stay and ski whenever we want. It was a particularly warm end of season this year. We were able to sunbathe when we stopped for lunch as well as ski.’
A friend? Again, I had visions of the blonde but, instead of on the squash court effortlessly hitting back every ball Theo sent her way, this time competently skiing after him down a snow-filled valley. ‘Not your family?’ I asked, pushing the blonde out of my mind’s eye.