The Thank You Present - continued
Dec. 31st, 2014 05:22 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
zaboravitiвчерашний кусок, тоже примерно треть.
Simon: Oh, go away, whoever you are.
Marsha: Simon, I know you’re in, I can see the light under the door.
Simon: What do you want?
Marsha: For God’s sake, would you just open up?
Simon: I’m busy!
Marsha: I’m not going anywhere. Let me in!
Simon: What?
Marsha: Oh, would you take a look at yourself!
Simon: What did you want, Marsha?
Marsha: The state of this flat!
Simon: I didn’t say you could come in.
Marsha: All these bottles… How much have you been drinking?
Simon: I just have to do this my own way.
Marsha: You want to join him, is that it? Huh? You’re trying to kill yourself too, are you?
Simon: Don’t even think about tidying it up. I will do it but when I’m ready.
Marsha: You do know what day tomorrow is?
Simon: Yes, I know, the inquest.
Marsha: I thought you might have forgotten.
Simon: I haven’t forgotten.
Marsha: You need to get yourself together, Simon. You can’t stand up in that witness box looking like that.
Simon: No. You’re right. I’ll have a shave.
Marsha: What’s all this? Where’s all this lot come from, all these scrapbooks?
Simon: They’re Griff’s, I’m using his press clippings to prepare me speech.
Marsha: What speech?
Simon: For the memorial service, I’m thinking of organising one.
Marsha: Oh, Simon.
Simon: Actually, it’s helping. See this?
Marsha: What about it?
Simon: Remember that woman we met at the funeral? Julie Kirkbride, the miner’s widow?
Marsha: What about her?
Simon: She was grateful for an article Griff had written, well, this is the article, the one that kicked it all off.
Griff: So, what can you tell me about that Julie Kirkbride that we’re off to see?
Rachel: She’s a strong-willed woman and you like them, don’t you?
Griff: If you weren’t a feminist, I might suspect you’re flirting with me.
Rachel: In your dreams, mister. …Nice car.
Griff: Are feminists allowed to like cars?
Rachel: You may have read Simone de Whatsit but you know nothing about feminism. I can wear lipstick if I want to, I can wear a skirt if I want to, I can even like a flash car if I want to, but that’s my decision, not yours.
Griff: Isn’t the entire notion of a flash car suspiciously… I don’t know, phallic?
Rachel: Yeah, and guess what? Feminists can like a bit of phallic and all from time to time. You want to turn left here.
Griff: So, tell me about you.
Rachel: Why d’you wanna know?
Griff: Well, like I said, I find you interesting.
Rachel: Well, tough.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: Maybe after we’ve won.
Griff: In which case I’m doomed to perpetual frustration.
Rachel: Why have you got such a downer on us?
Griff: It’s not that I have a downer, as you put it, more that, as I explained yesterday, you’re fighting on Maggie’s terms. She’s been planning this for years, coal stocks at a record high, police drafted in from all over, Union structure that’s hopelessly compromised…
Rachel: Meaning?
Griff: That’s what we’re investigating today, isn’t it?
Rachel: Gerry Sutcliffe? Does it make the entire Union hopelessly compromised?
Griff: Okay. You’re the government. You’re planning a war. What are you going to do?
Rachel: It’s not like the Union hasn’t been planning and all.
Griff: You’re going to want information, you’ll tap every phone, bug every office, have spies and informers plugged into every level of decision-making. I don’t suppose Scargill can fart right now without MI5 smelling it first.
Rachel: You think the leadership hasn’t taken that into account?
Griff: But what if the leadership itself is compromised?
Rachel: Oh come on.
Griff: You hear rumours in this job.
Rachel: Are you seriously telling me…
Griff: Obviously not the elected leadership.
Rachel: So who then?
Griff: I’m not in the business of starting witch-hunts.
Rachel: Are we talking about Campbell Brodie here?
Griff: Sorry, who?
Rachel: Campbell Brodie, all elected official, sits on the exec.
Griff: What about him?
Rachel: Is he the one you’ve heard rumours about?
Griff: I don’t know anything.
Rachel: ‘Cause when you look at some of the decisions he’s made…
Griff: I’ve probably got it all wrong. Maybe the government hopelessly miscalculated and we’ll all be living in a social utopia of brotherly love a year from now.
Rachel: <…> brotherly.
Griff: Hah. It might surprise you to learn that when I was at school…
Rachel: And what school was that? Eton?
Griff: No.
Rachel: I bet it was posh.
Griff: All right, posh-y. I happened to be chair of the Socialist Society.
Rachel: Yeah, and?
Griff: I was expelled.
Rachel: For chair in the Socialist Society?
Griff: Hardly, we only had two members.
Rachel: So what then?
Griff: It might have had something to do with allowing myself to be seduced by the French conversation teacher.
Rachel: [Laughs.] Did she have a corset and a whip?
Griff: No, but she did teach me French.
Rachel: [Still laughing.] Oh, shut up!
Griff: Do you like being spoken to in the French tongue?
Rachel: Keep your eye on the road!
Griff: What are you doing for dinner tonight?
Rachel: I don’t do dinner, I have tea, and I certainly won’t be having it with you.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: So, what happened to the Socialism?
Griff: How about breakfast?
Rachel: Shut up and answer the question!
Griff: What happened to the me that used to be a Socialist>
Rachel: Yeah.
Griff: Hard to do this job and stay committed. Too many compromises, too many expense account lunches.
Rachel: Have they bought you off?
Griff: Partly. Truth is, I never felt comfortable wearing the badges, couldn’t wave the banner any more. The sense that, somehow, life was just too damn complicated to be reduced to a set of slogans.
Rachel: No one ever got anywhere in politics without an ideology.
Griff: The problem is, you don’t so much adopt the ideology as the ideology adopts you, you become its prisoner. Either that, or you’re burned as a heretic. Which isn’t a fate I’ve ever particularly relished.
Rachel: Unless it’s for the sake of a French conversation teacher.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: You want to turn right now. Oh, shit. Turn round.
Griff: No, it’s all right, let me handle this. This is where a public school education comes into its own. [Gets out of the car.] Morning, officer.
PC: Can I ask you your business in the area today, please, sir?
Griff: Yes, of course. Terence Griffiths, journalist. Here is my press card and this is my assistant, Rachel Kirby. We’re researching an article on picket line intimidation.
PC: I see.
Griff: But if our presence is going to cause a problem, just say, we’re very much aware of the pressure you’re under.
PC: No, you go right ahead, sir.
Griff: Very kind of you.
PC: Be careful parking, sir. If word gets round that the press are in the village, they’ll <…> your windscreen.
Griff: I’ll bear that in mind, thank you, officer.
Rachel: Picket line intimidation?
Griff: If you want the story, compromise.
Rachel: Maybe for you. Did you hear his accent? He’s never from around here.
Griff: Neither are you, for that matter.
Rachel: So?
Griff: I’m just saying.
Rachel: If anyone’s intimidating anyone, it’s them. It’s like a military occupation.
Griff: Which is what I was saying before.
Rachel: So why aren’t you writing about that?
Griff: Because today I’m writing about you or, rather, your story. Now, where exactly does this Julie Kirkbride live?
Rachel: Half a mile up on the left. But the copper was right about your windscreen. Best park up and walk the rest of the way.
Griff: So, tell me about Gerry Sutcliffe.
Rachel: Talk to Julie, she knows him way better than me.
Griff: Is it ‘Gerry’ with a G or ‘Jerry’ with a J?
Rachel: ‘Gerry’ with a G and Judas with a J. Basically, he’s been stalling on this strike from day one, <…> resolutions, withholding phones, failing to implement Union instructions, and <…> basically.
Griff: Why?
Rachel: Well, exactly.
Griff: If he’s so hated, how did he get elected in the first place?
Rachel: See that? New miners’ welfare. He got that built. Squeezed the money out of management and got re-elected off the back of it. I say ‘squeezed’ but more they’ve bought him off. Been like snakes in a sack ever since.
Griff: And you suspect that he’s been taking backhanders off the NCB?
Rachel: Straight into his bank account.
Griff: Only there’s this ridiculous thing we have in this country, called libel law. Do you have proof?
Rachel: This is where she lives. Come and meet Julie, she’ll give you proof.
Rachel: Julie, this is Terence Griffiths, he’s a journalist up from London.
Julie: Oh, yes.
Rachel: He wants to write a story about Gerry Sutcliffe.
Julie: Does he now?
Rachel: I’ve told him what’s been going on but he needs to see the evidence.
Julie: You mean the bank statements?
Griff: Gerry Sutcliffe’s bank statements? How did you come by them?
Rachel: Julie works as the secretary at the pit office. Her husband used to be a face worker. D’you mind if I say, Julie?
Julie: No, you go ahead.
Rachel: He was killed in an accident five years ago.
Griff: I’m sorry.
Julie: I’m not. And that’s not the story.
Griff: So, he left the bank statements lying around at work?
Rachel: He’s not that stupid! You want me to tell him, Julie?
Julie: No, it’s all right. When the strikes first call, Gerry Sutcliffe refuses to endorse the walkout.
Griff: Rachel’s explained.
Julie: His wife is disgusted, seeing how her dad was a collier and she’s got three brothers down pit. Can’t take the shame, she leaves him.
Griff: Okay.
Rachel: So, we all sit down and come up with a plan.
Griff: Who’s ‘we’?
Rachel: Women Against Pit Closures.
Julie: It was word out there Gerry Sutcliffe’s feeling all lonely and sorry for himself.
Rachel: And he’s always had a soft spot for Julie.
Julie: Which is how I get to get the short straw.
Griff: I think I see where this is going.
Julie: I call round, friendly-like, pretended I’m on his side. Put a clothes peg up me nose and I shag him.
Griff: Really?
Julie: And then when he’s asleep, I go downstairs and have a root through his drawers, find the bank statements, have them photocopied and put the originals back the next day.
Griff: Very resourceful. You don’t happen to have them?
Julie: There you go.
Rachel: See these deposits here and here? For a thousand pounds each?
Griff: How do you know they are from management?
Julie: Have a cousin who works in the bank. That account is opened on the first of March, day NCB announced the closure of Cottonwood.
Rachel: Which was what kicked off the whole strike!
Julie: The account is opened by James Nokes.
Griff: Who’s James Nokes?
Julie: Calls himself a journalist and he doesn’t know who James Nokes is.
Rachel: Write that down. James Nokes is very well known around here. He’s local area manager for the National Coal Board.
Simon: Only Paul Harris didn’t want to know.
Marsha: Who’s Paul Harris?
Simon: He was at the funeral. The one I had a row with at the wake.
Harris: I can’t print this.
Griff: I’ve done my homework, everything stands up.
Harris: I still can’t print it!
Griff: Why not?
Harris: Don’t be so bloody naïve, Griff, you know why not.
Griff: Are we talking about the TV franchise?
Harris: This is not the time for this newspaper to start pissing off the government.
Griff: Listen, Paul, it’s not like I don’t know how this business works. Nine times out of ten I’d go along with it. But this is different. The most important industrial dispute in a generation! Here is proof of the back-to-work movement being financed through the back door by management and you don’t want to print it?
Harris: You’ve got one instance, Griff.
Griff: Who’s being naïve now?
Harris: I can’t print it!
Griff: Please, don’t make me stoop to anything so vulgar as blackmail, Paul.
Simon: Griff knew where all the bodies were buried, you see. And Paul Harris knew he knew. So, this was the compromise, tucked away on page 5.
Marsha: Did it not get picked up?
Simon: No. A couple of weeks and it’s all forgotten about, except by her. Rachel. She didn’t forget about it.
Griff: Wow, look at you.
Rachel: [Kisses him.]
Griff: Ah! What was that for?
Rachel: You’ve got it printed. Sutcliffe’s resigned, his house is up for sale, that definitely deserves a kiss.
Griff: Does the sisterhood know you’re dressed like that?
Rachel: I told you before, if I want to wear lipstick and a skirt, I will, as long as it’s on my terms.
Griff: You’re in a very cheerful mood.
Rachel: It’s a victory! Small one but still worth celebrating.
Griff: So what are you doing here?
Rachel: Saying thank you.
Griff: I mean in London.
Rachel: Oh, right. Women Against Pit Closures. We’re picketing the TUC. Fancy it?
Griff: Not top of the list on my day-off and I do have something of a hangover. How did you find this address?
Rachel: You’re a very important person.
Griff: Seriously.
Rachel: A friend who works in the NUM Press Office. Do you mind?
Griff: No! I’m glad to see you.
Rachel: Are you going to invite me in?
Griff: Ah.
Rachel: Is it a problem?
Griff: It’s just I’ve got someone with me at the moment.
Rachel: Ah, I see.
Griff: Simon. You met him that day in Mansfield, the day of the contact lens.
Rachel: [Laughs.] I thought you meant a woman.
Griff: Would that have made a difference?
Rachel: If she was teaching you French conversation, it would.
Griff: Hah! Am I allowed to suspect your motives at all in coming here?
Rachel: Suspect what you like.
Griff: Are you going to come in then?
Rachel: Certainly not gonna shag you out here on the pavement.
Griff: Ha-ha-ha!
Griff: I’ve just put some coffee on, do you want some?
Rachel: Sure.
Griff: Simon, you remember Rachel?
Simon: Hello again.
Rachel: Nice place. Well, it would be.
Griff: Simon and I made something of a night of it last night, didn’t we, Simon?
Simon: He’s a corrupting influence, this man should be avoided at all costs.
Rachel: Oh, nice sofa. How do you ever half leave, eh (?)?
Griff: Rachel’s here to picket the TUC.
Rachel: Not till tomorrow. You’re not the only one with the day-off.
Simon: So, where are you staying tonight then?
Rachel: Don’t know yet.
Simon: Listen, I should be running along.
Griff: Don’t go, stay for coffee at least, I’ll be two minutes.
Rachel: So, did you read the piece he got in the paper? Brilliant, eh? A few more like that and we can win this strike.
Simon: He put his neck on the line for you.
Rachel: I know, and I’m grateful. We all are.
Simon: When you say ‘we’…
Rachel: What about it?
Simon: You’re not from a mining family, are you?
Rachel: I feel passionate about this cause, I need to do me bit. This is a defining struggle of the trades union movement… What’s that look for?
Simon: It’s just that word, ‘struggle’.
Rachel: Ah, well, that’s just because you’ve never had to. You’re worse than him. Did you go to public school and all?
Simon: No, actually.
Rachel: I bet you had a privileged upbringing, though. University, good job, well paid. If you ever had to struggle a bit, you might see things a bit different.
Griff: Rachel, you’ll be astonished to hear, is a Trotskyist.
Rachel: So?
Griff: How do you like your coffee, Rachel?
Rachel: Black, no sugar.
Simon: So, of the fifty-seven varieties, what sort of Trotskyist are you exactly?
Rachel: Why d’you ask?
Simon: I’m interested.
Rachel: No, you’re not! You just want to take the piss.
Simon: That’s not true.
Rachel: Fifty-seven varieties? You think it’s all a game, that I’m just mucking about, playing revolutionary? Well, I’ll tell you this. There’s more than miners’ job at stake here. We lose – we lose everything, there’ll be no unions at all ten years from now, not worthy of the name. Have you got kids?
Simon: Nope.
Rachel: Well, don’t. ‘Cause there won’t be a world worth living in.
Simon: I didn’t mean to insult you. So, what drew you to the cause? How did you get involved?
Rachel: I volunteered. I gave up me dissertation and volunteered. You probably find that a bit hard to understand.
Simon: Dissertation doesn’t sound very proletarian.
Rachel: Drop dead!
Simon: Sorry?
Rachel: You’re patronising me and I won’t have it.
Griff: There you are. Finest Italian caffeine, guaranteed to spit in the eye of the most ferocious of hangovers.
Simon: Actually, Griff, I should be getting along. I’ve stacks to do before Monday. Sorry about the coffee.
Griff: I’ll see you out.
Simon: Bye, Rachel.
Rachel: See ya.
Griff: What’s the problem?
Simon: Like I say, I’ve got stuff to do.
Griff: I was picking up an atmosphere.
Simon: Yeah, well, I don’t think she likes me very much and the feeling is not entirely unreciprocated.
Griff: Look, I know she can come across as a bit confrontational sometimes but once you get past that…
Simon: It’s your life.
Griff: What’s that supposed to mean?
Simon: Just be careful, yeah?
Griff: Of what?
Simon: I don’t know. I just have got a funny feeling.
Griff: Do you now? Well, you know what? You can take your funny feelings and stuff them up your flaming fundament, my friend, because between you and me, I couldn’t give a flying <…>.
Simon: Sorry?
Griff: I like her, okay? I really, really like her. And I’m not having your jealousy…
Simon: My what?
Griff: …drive a wedge between us.
Simon: What’s got into you?
Griff: How can I make this clear... Your company has conspicuously lost its charm for me. Good-bye.
Simon: We didn’t speak for five months.
Marsha: He was punishing you.
Simon: It worked. I was upset. Really upset. And confused.
Marsha: Why confused?
Simon: Not like it was the first time, women were always throwing themselves at Griff. But this was different. I’d bump into him, of course, press conferences and the like. He’d just blank me, it was awful. Meanwhile, rumours are starting to fly around that Griff’s writing a big story about Campbell Brodie.
Marsha: Campbell Brodie? The one that woman mentioned at the funeral? The NUM official that died?
Simon: That when it came out it would blow the whole thing wide open. Would have been late October. NACODS were talking about joining the strike, the government were getting the wobbles, it was all getting very hairy, and then one night, out of the blue…
[Phone ringing.]
Simon: Hullo.
Griff: Simon, it’s me.
Simon: Griff?
Griff: I want you to get in a cab and come over.
Simon: Griff, it’s two o’clock in the morning.
Griff: I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important. Get your arse here, now.
Griff: I need your help.
Simon: Griff…
Griff: I know what you’re going to say but there’s no time for that. So, can we just skip it?
Simon: What’s this about?
Griff: Campbell Brodie.
Simon: What about him?
Griff: He’s an MI5 mole.
Simon: What?
Griff: He’s sitting on that executive and every word that’s said is with the Cabinet Committee by lunch-time.
Simon: How do you know?
Griff: Look at the evidence! The donation from the Czech miners, the one all the fuss was about – Campbell Brodie. The negotiations that were going to happen but then didn’t – Campbell Brodie. The funds that were supposed to be hidden away on a foreign bank account but weren’t – Campbell Brodie. And I could go on.
Simon: That’s all circumstantial.
Griff: Okay. Okay. Take a look at this. It’s blurred, because of the telephoto, but the guy on the passenger seat is Campbell Brodie, the guy on the driver’s side is Ian McBride.
Simon: Who’s Ian McBride?
Griff: Officially, a pen-pusher in the MoD, unofficially, an MI5 officer with special responsibility for sticking it to the NUM.
Simon: Where was this taken?
Griff: Leicester Forest East service station, yesterday morning.
Simon: And who took it?
Griff: [Sighs hesitantly.]
Simon: Griff?
Griff: Rachel.
Simon: What?
Griff: I wouldn’t have had this story without her.
Simon: Griff!
Griff: All summer we got nowhere. But then last week she got a tip-off and started tailing him. This is the result. If this comes out, on the back of the yes vote from NACODS, the government will be blown out of the water.
Simon: And since when were you in the business of blowing governments out of the water?
Griff: [Takes a puff on his cigarette, very agitated.] If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never get a bigger story than this.
Simon: That wasn’t the question.
Griff: I couldn’t live with myself and not follow this up! …So?
Simon: What do you want me to do?
Griff: My news editor isn’t going to want to touch this.
Simon: Why not?
Griff: Oh!
Simon: The TV franchise?
Griff: That, and the fact that old fatso is invited over the Chequers every other weekend. But if I tell Harris your lot have got the story too…
Simon: What?
Griff: …he wouldn't have any choice, he'd have to go with it.
Simon: I don’t know.
Griff: Oh, come on.
Simon: It’s one photograph!
Griff: [Desperately.] Simon… I know I’ve treated you less than well, I know I let my temper get the better of me, I know I said things best left unsaid. But this is about more than you and me.
Simon: And how did you come to acquire these convictions all of a sudden or is that a silly question?
Griff: You’ll probably laugh at this but… she’s actually taught me one or two things about moral courage. She should be completing her PhD around now, instead she’s taken a year off to fight for something she believes in. When have either of us done anything like that? …Don’t make me beg, Simon.
Simon: I’ll see what I can do.
Griff: Thank you. You keep that copy and show it to your editor in the morning.
Simon: Okay.
Griff: But don’t run it till I say. I’m trusting you here.
Simon: Okay! Just as a matter of interest, what’s the PhD in?
Griff: [Chuckles.] You’ll laugh.
Simon: Go on.
Griff: The role of women in the Chartist Uprising of 1848.
Simon: Hah, ha-ha.
Griff: …Are we mates?
Simon: Yes, Griff, of course, we’re mates.
Griff: This is the big one, Simon. This is going to change our lives for ever.
Simon: He was right about that. But not in the way either of us was expecting.
TBC
Simon: Oh, go away, whoever you are.
Marsha: Simon, I know you’re in, I can see the light under the door.
Simon: What do you want?
Marsha: For God’s sake, would you just open up?
Simon: I’m busy!
Marsha: I’m not going anywhere. Let me in!
Simon: What?
Marsha: Oh, would you take a look at yourself!
Simon: What did you want, Marsha?
Marsha: The state of this flat!
Simon: I didn’t say you could come in.
Marsha: All these bottles… How much have you been drinking?
Simon: I just have to do this my own way.
Marsha: You want to join him, is that it? Huh? You’re trying to kill yourself too, are you?
Simon: Don’t even think about tidying it up. I will do it but when I’m ready.
Marsha: You do know what day tomorrow is?
Simon: Yes, I know, the inquest.
Marsha: I thought you might have forgotten.
Simon: I haven’t forgotten.
Marsha: You need to get yourself together, Simon. You can’t stand up in that witness box looking like that.
Simon: No. You’re right. I’ll have a shave.
Marsha: What’s all this? Where’s all this lot come from, all these scrapbooks?
Simon: They’re Griff’s, I’m using his press clippings to prepare me speech.
Marsha: What speech?
Simon: For the memorial service, I’m thinking of organising one.
Marsha: Oh, Simon.
Simon: Actually, it’s helping. See this?
Marsha: What about it?
Simon: Remember that woman we met at the funeral? Julie Kirkbride, the miner’s widow?
Marsha: What about her?
Simon: She was grateful for an article Griff had written, well, this is the article, the one that kicked it all off.
Griff: So, what can you tell me about that Julie Kirkbride that we’re off to see?
Rachel: She’s a strong-willed woman and you like them, don’t you?
Griff: If you weren’t a feminist, I might suspect you’re flirting with me.
Rachel: In your dreams, mister. …Nice car.
Griff: Are feminists allowed to like cars?
Rachel: You may have read Simone de Whatsit but you know nothing about feminism. I can wear lipstick if I want to, I can wear a skirt if I want to, I can even like a flash car if I want to, but that’s my decision, not yours.
Griff: Isn’t the entire notion of a flash car suspiciously… I don’t know, phallic?
Rachel: Yeah, and guess what? Feminists can like a bit of phallic and all from time to time. You want to turn left here.
Griff: So, tell me about you.
Rachel: Why d’you wanna know?
Griff: Well, like I said, I find you interesting.
Rachel: Well, tough.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: Maybe after we’ve won.
Griff: In which case I’m doomed to perpetual frustration.
Rachel: Why have you got such a downer on us?
Griff: It’s not that I have a downer, as you put it, more that, as I explained yesterday, you’re fighting on Maggie’s terms. She’s been planning this for years, coal stocks at a record high, police drafted in from all over, Union structure that’s hopelessly compromised…
Rachel: Meaning?
Griff: That’s what we’re investigating today, isn’t it?
Rachel: Gerry Sutcliffe? Does it make the entire Union hopelessly compromised?
Griff: Okay. You’re the government. You’re planning a war. What are you going to do?
Rachel: It’s not like the Union hasn’t been planning and all.
Griff: You’re going to want information, you’ll tap every phone, bug every office, have spies and informers plugged into every level of decision-making. I don’t suppose Scargill can fart right now without MI5 smelling it first.
Rachel: You think the leadership hasn’t taken that into account?
Griff: But what if the leadership itself is compromised?
Rachel: Oh come on.
Griff: You hear rumours in this job.
Rachel: Are you seriously telling me…
Griff: Obviously not the elected leadership.
Rachel: So who then?
Griff: I’m not in the business of starting witch-hunts.
Rachel: Are we talking about Campbell Brodie here?
Griff: Sorry, who?
Rachel: Campbell Brodie, all elected official, sits on the exec.
Griff: What about him?
Rachel: Is he the one you’ve heard rumours about?
Griff: I don’t know anything.
Rachel: ‘Cause when you look at some of the decisions he’s made…
Griff: I’ve probably got it all wrong. Maybe the government hopelessly miscalculated and we’ll all be living in a social utopia of brotherly love a year from now.
Rachel: <…> brotherly.
Griff: Hah. It might surprise you to learn that when I was at school…
Rachel: And what school was that? Eton?
Griff: No.
Rachel: I bet it was posh.
Griff: All right, posh-y. I happened to be chair of the Socialist Society.
Rachel: Yeah, and?
Griff: I was expelled.
Rachel: For chair in the Socialist Society?
Griff: Hardly, we only had two members.
Rachel: So what then?
Griff: It might have had something to do with allowing myself to be seduced by the French conversation teacher.
Rachel: [Laughs.] Did she have a corset and a whip?
Griff: No, but she did teach me French.
Rachel: [Still laughing.] Oh, shut up!
Griff: Do you like being spoken to in the French tongue?
Rachel: Keep your eye on the road!
Griff: What are you doing for dinner tonight?
Rachel: I don’t do dinner, I have tea, and I certainly won’t be having it with you.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: So, what happened to the Socialism?
Griff: How about breakfast?
Rachel: Shut up and answer the question!
Griff: What happened to the me that used to be a Socialist>
Rachel: Yeah.
Griff: Hard to do this job and stay committed. Too many compromises, too many expense account lunches.
Rachel: Have they bought you off?
Griff: Partly. Truth is, I never felt comfortable wearing the badges, couldn’t wave the banner any more. The sense that, somehow, life was just too damn complicated to be reduced to a set of slogans.
Rachel: No one ever got anywhere in politics without an ideology.
Griff: The problem is, you don’t so much adopt the ideology as the ideology adopts you, you become its prisoner. Either that, or you’re burned as a heretic. Which isn’t a fate I’ve ever particularly relished.
Rachel: Unless it’s for the sake of a French conversation teacher.
Griff: Hah!
Rachel: You want to turn right now. Oh, shit. Turn round.
Griff: No, it’s all right, let me handle this. This is where a public school education comes into its own. [Gets out of the car.] Morning, officer.
PC: Can I ask you your business in the area today, please, sir?
Griff: Yes, of course. Terence Griffiths, journalist. Here is my press card and this is my assistant, Rachel Kirby. We’re researching an article on picket line intimidation.
PC: I see.
Griff: But if our presence is going to cause a problem, just say, we’re very much aware of the pressure you’re under.
PC: No, you go right ahead, sir.
Griff: Very kind of you.
PC: Be careful parking, sir. If word gets round that the press are in the village, they’ll <…> your windscreen.
Griff: I’ll bear that in mind, thank you, officer.
Rachel: Picket line intimidation?
Griff: If you want the story, compromise.
Rachel: Maybe for you. Did you hear his accent? He’s never from around here.
Griff: Neither are you, for that matter.
Rachel: So?
Griff: I’m just saying.
Rachel: If anyone’s intimidating anyone, it’s them. It’s like a military occupation.
Griff: Which is what I was saying before.
Rachel: So why aren’t you writing about that?
Griff: Because today I’m writing about you or, rather, your story. Now, where exactly does this Julie Kirkbride live?
Rachel: Half a mile up on the left. But the copper was right about your windscreen. Best park up and walk the rest of the way.
Griff: So, tell me about Gerry Sutcliffe.
Rachel: Talk to Julie, she knows him way better than me.
Griff: Is it ‘Gerry’ with a G or ‘Jerry’ with a J?
Rachel: ‘Gerry’ with a G and Judas with a J. Basically, he’s been stalling on this strike from day one, <…> resolutions, withholding phones, failing to implement Union instructions, and <…> basically.
Griff: Why?
Rachel: Well, exactly.
Griff: If he’s so hated, how did he get elected in the first place?
Rachel: See that? New miners’ welfare. He got that built. Squeezed the money out of management and got re-elected off the back of it. I say ‘squeezed’ but more they’ve bought him off. Been like snakes in a sack ever since.
Griff: And you suspect that he’s been taking backhanders off the NCB?
Rachel: Straight into his bank account.
Griff: Only there’s this ridiculous thing we have in this country, called libel law. Do you have proof?
Rachel: This is where she lives. Come and meet Julie, she’ll give you proof.
Rachel: Julie, this is Terence Griffiths, he’s a journalist up from London.
Julie: Oh, yes.
Rachel: He wants to write a story about Gerry Sutcliffe.
Julie: Does he now?
Rachel: I’ve told him what’s been going on but he needs to see the evidence.
Julie: You mean the bank statements?
Griff: Gerry Sutcliffe’s bank statements? How did you come by them?
Rachel: Julie works as the secretary at the pit office. Her husband used to be a face worker. D’you mind if I say, Julie?
Julie: No, you go ahead.
Rachel: He was killed in an accident five years ago.
Griff: I’m sorry.
Julie: I’m not. And that’s not the story.
Griff: So, he left the bank statements lying around at work?
Rachel: He’s not that stupid! You want me to tell him, Julie?
Julie: No, it’s all right. When the strikes first call, Gerry Sutcliffe refuses to endorse the walkout.
Griff: Rachel’s explained.
Julie: His wife is disgusted, seeing how her dad was a collier and she’s got three brothers down pit. Can’t take the shame, she leaves him.
Griff: Okay.
Rachel: So, we all sit down and come up with a plan.
Griff: Who’s ‘we’?
Rachel: Women Against Pit Closures.
Julie: It was word out there Gerry Sutcliffe’s feeling all lonely and sorry for himself.
Rachel: And he’s always had a soft spot for Julie.
Julie: Which is how I get to get the short straw.
Griff: I think I see where this is going.
Julie: I call round, friendly-like, pretended I’m on his side. Put a clothes peg up me nose and I shag him.
Griff: Really?
Julie: And then when he’s asleep, I go downstairs and have a root through his drawers, find the bank statements, have them photocopied and put the originals back the next day.
Griff: Very resourceful. You don’t happen to have them?
Julie: There you go.
Rachel: See these deposits here and here? For a thousand pounds each?
Griff: How do you know they are from management?
Julie: Have a cousin who works in the bank. That account is opened on the first of March, day NCB announced the closure of Cottonwood.
Rachel: Which was what kicked off the whole strike!
Julie: The account is opened by James Nokes.
Griff: Who’s James Nokes?
Julie: Calls himself a journalist and he doesn’t know who James Nokes is.
Rachel: Write that down. James Nokes is very well known around here. He’s local area manager for the National Coal Board.
Simon: Only Paul Harris didn’t want to know.
Marsha: Who’s Paul Harris?
Simon: He was at the funeral. The one I had a row with at the wake.
Harris: I can’t print this.
Griff: I’ve done my homework, everything stands up.
Harris: I still can’t print it!
Griff: Why not?
Harris: Don’t be so bloody naïve, Griff, you know why not.
Griff: Are we talking about the TV franchise?
Harris: This is not the time for this newspaper to start pissing off the government.
Griff: Listen, Paul, it’s not like I don’t know how this business works. Nine times out of ten I’d go along with it. But this is different. The most important industrial dispute in a generation! Here is proof of the back-to-work movement being financed through the back door by management and you don’t want to print it?
Harris: You’ve got one instance, Griff.
Griff: Who’s being naïve now?
Harris: I can’t print it!
Griff: Please, don’t make me stoop to anything so vulgar as blackmail, Paul.
Simon: Griff knew where all the bodies were buried, you see. And Paul Harris knew he knew. So, this was the compromise, tucked away on page 5.
Marsha: Did it not get picked up?
Simon: No. A couple of weeks and it’s all forgotten about, except by her. Rachel. She didn’t forget about it.
Griff: Wow, look at you.
Rachel: [Kisses him.]
Griff: Ah! What was that for?
Rachel: You’ve got it printed. Sutcliffe’s resigned, his house is up for sale, that definitely deserves a kiss.
Griff: Does the sisterhood know you’re dressed like that?
Rachel: I told you before, if I want to wear lipstick and a skirt, I will, as long as it’s on my terms.
Griff: You’re in a very cheerful mood.
Rachel: It’s a victory! Small one but still worth celebrating.
Griff: So what are you doing here?
Rachel: Saying thank you.
Griff: I mean in London.
Rachel: Oh, right. Women Against Pit Closures. We’re picketing the TUC. Fancy it?
Griff: Not top of the list on my day-off and I do have something of a hangover. How did you find this address?
Rachel: You’re a very important person.
Griff: Seriously.
Rachel: A friend who works in the NUM Press Office. Do you mind?
Griff: No! I’m glad to see you.
Rachel: Are you going to invite me in?
Griff: Ah.
Rachel: Is it a problem?
Griff: It’s just I’ve got someone with me at the moment.
Rachel: Ah, I see.
Griff: Simon. You met him that day in Mansfield, the day of the contact lens.
Rachel: [Laughs.] I thought you meant a woman.
Griff: Would that have made a difference?
Rachel: If she was teaching you French conversation, it would.
Griff: Hah! Am I allowed to suspect your motives at all in coming here?
Rachel: Suspect what you like.
Griff: Are you going to come in then?
Rachel: Certainly not gonna shag you out here on the pavement.
Griff: Ha-ha-ha!
Griff: I’ve just put some coffee on, do you want some?
Rachel: Sure.
Griff: Simon, you remember Rachel?
Simon: Hello again.
Rachel: Nice place. Well, it would be.
Griff: Simon and I made something of a night of it last night, didn’t we, Simon?
Simon: He’s a corrupting influence, this man should be avoided at all costs.
Rachel: Oh, nice sofa. How do you ever half leave, eh (?)?
Griff: Rachel’s here to picket the TUC.
Rachel: Not till tomorrow. You’re not the only one with the day-off.
Simon: So, where are you staying tonight then?
Rachel: Don’t know yet.
Simon: Listen, I should be running along.
Griff: Don’t go, stay for coffee at least, I’ll be two minutes.
Rachel: So, did you read the piece he got in the paper? Brilliant, eh? A few more like that and we can win this strike.
Simon: He put his neck on the line for you.
Rachel: I know, and I’m grateful. We all are.
Simon: When you say ‘we’…
Rachel: What about it?
Simon: You’re not from a mining family, are you?
Rachel: I feel passionate about this cause, I need to do me bit. This is a defining struggle of the trades union movement… What’s that look for?
Simon: It’s just that word, ‘struggle’.
Rachel: Ah, well, that’s just because you’ve never had to. You’re worse than him. Did you go to public school and all?
Simon: No, actually.
Rachel: I bet you had a privileged upbringing, though. University, good job, well paid. If you ever had to struggle a bit, you might see things a bit different.
Griff: Rachel, you’ll be astonished to hear, is a Trotskyist.
Rachel: So?
Griff: How do you like your coffee, Rachel?
Rachel: Black, no sugar.
Simon: So, of the fifty-seven varieties, what sort of Trotskyist are you exactly?
Rachel: Why d’you ask?
Simon: I’m interested.
Rachel: No, you’re not! You just want to take the piss.
Simon: That’s not true.
Rachel: Fifty-seven varieties? You think it’s all a game, that I’m just mucking about, playing revolutionary? Well, I’ll tell you this. There’s more than miners’ job at stake here. We lose – we lose everything, there’ll be no unions at all ten years from now, not worthy of the name. Have you got kids?
Simon: Nope.
Rachel: Well, don’t. ‘Cause there won’t be a world worth living in.
Simon: I didn’t mean to insult you. So, what drew you to the cause? How did you get involved?
Rachel: I volunteered. I gave up me dissertation and volunteered. You probably find that a bit hard to understand.
Simon: Dissertation doesn’t sound very proletarian.
Rachel: Drop dead!
Simon: Sorry?
Rachel: You’re patronising me and I won’t have it.
Griff: There you are. Finest Italian caffeine, guaranteed to spit in the eye of the most ferocious of hangovers.
Simon: Actually, Griff, I should be getting along. I’ve stacks to do before Monday. Sorry about the coffee.
Griff: I’ll see you out.
Simon: Bye, Rachel.
Rachel: See ya.
Griff: What’s the problem?
Simon: Like I say, I’ve got stuff to do.
Griff: I was picking up an atmosphere.
Simon: Yeah, well, I don’t think she likes me very much and the feeling is not entirely unreciprocated.
Griff: Look, I know she can come across as a bit confrontational sometimes but once you get past that…
Simon: It’s your life.
Griff: What’s that supposed to mean?
Simon: Just be careful, yeah?
Griff: Of what?
Simon: I don’t know. I just have got a funny feeling.
Griff: Do you now? Well, you know what? You can take your funny feelings and stuff them up your flaming fundament, my friend, because between you and me, I couldn’t give a flying <…>.
Simon: Sorry?
Griff: I like her, okay? I really, really like her. And I’m not having your jealousy…
Simon: My what?
Griff: …drive a wedge between us.
Simon: What’s got into you?
Griff: How can I make this clear... Your company has conspicuously lost its charm for me. Good-bye.
Simon: We didn’t speak for five months.
Marsha: He was punishing you.
Simon: It worked. I was upset. Really upset. And confused.
Marsha: Why confused?
Simon: Not like it was the first time, women were always throwing themselves at Griff. But this was different. I’d bump into him, of course, press conferences and the like. He’d just blank me, it was awful. Meanwhile, rumours are starting to fly around that Griff’s writing a big story about Campbell Brodie.
Marsha: Campbell Brodie? The one that woman mentioned at the funeral? The NUM official that died?
Simon: That when it came out it would blow the whole thing wide open. Would have been late October. NACODS were talking about joining the strike, the government were getting the wobbles, it was all getting very hairy, and then one night, out of the blue…
[Phone ringing.]
Simon: Hullo.
Griff: Simon, it’s me.
Simon: Griff?
Griff: I want you to get in a cab and come over.
Simon: Griff, it’s two o’clock in the morning.
Griff: I wouldn’t be doing this if it wasn’t important. Get your arse here, now.
Griff: I need your help.
Simon: Griff…
Griff: I know what you’re going to say but there’s no time for that. So, can we just skip it?
Simon: What’s this about?
Griff: Campbell Brodie.
Simon: What about him?
Griff: He’s an MI5 mole.
Simon: What?
Griff: He’s sitting on that executive and every word that’s said is with the Cabinet Committee by lunch-time.
Simon: How do you know?
Griff: Look at the evidence! The donation from the Czech miners, the one all the fuss was about – Campbell Brodie. The negotiations that were going to happen but then didn’t – Campbell Brodie. The funds that were supposed to be hidden away on a foreign bank account but weren’t – Campbell Brodie. And I could go on.
Simon: That’s all circumstantial.
Griff: Okay. Okay. Take a look at this. It’s blurred, because of the telephoto, but the guy on the passenger seat is Campbell Brodie, the guy on the driver’s side is Ian McBride.
Simon: Who’s Ian McBride?
Griff: Officially, a pen-pusher in the MoD, unofficially, an MI5 officer with special responsibility for sticking it to the NUM.
Simon: Where was this taken?
Griff: Leicester Forest East service station, yesterday morning.
Simon: And who took it?
Griff: [Sighs hesitantly.]
Simon: Griff?
Griff: Rachel.
Simon: What?
Griff: I wouldn’t have had this story without her.
Simon: Griff!
Griff: All summer we got nowhere. But then last week she got a tip-off and started tailing him. This is the result. If this comes out, on the back of the yes vote from NACODS, the government will be blown out of the water.
Simon: And since when were you in the business of blowing governments out of the water?
Griff: [Takes a puff on his cigarette, very agitated.] If I live to be a hundred, I’ll never get a bigger story than this.
Simon: That wasn’t the question.
Griff: I couldn’t live with myself and not follow this up! …So?
Simon: What do you want me to do?
Griff: My news editor isn’t going to want to touch this.
Simon: Why not?
Griff: Oh!
Simon: The TV franchise?
Griff: That, and the fact that old fatso is invited over the Chequers every other weekend. But if I tell Harris your lot have got the story too…
Simon: What?
Griff: …he wouldn't have any choice, he'd have to go with it.
Simon: I don’t know.
Griff: Oh, come on.
Simon: It’s one photograph!
Griff: [Desperately.] Simon… I know I’ve treated you less than well, I know I let my temper get the better of me, I know I said things best left unsaid. But this is about more than you and me.
Simon: And how did you come to acquire these convictions all of a sudden or is that a silly question?
Griff: You’ll probably laugh at this but… she’s actually taught me one or two things about moral courage. She should be completing her PhD around now, instead she’s taken a year off to fight for something she believes in. When have either of us done anything like that? …Don’t make me beg, Simon.
Simon: I’ll see what I can do.
Griff: Thank you. You keep that copy and show it to your editor in the morning.
Simon: Okay.
Griff: But don’t run it till I say. I’m trusting you here.
Simon: Okay! Just as a matter of interest, what’s the PhD in?
Griff: [Chuckles.] You’ll laugh.
Simon: Go on.
Griff: The role of women in the Chartist Uprising of 1848.
Simon: Hah, ha-ha.
Griff: …Are we mates?
Simon: Yes, Griff, of course, we’re mates.
Griff: This is the big one, Simon. This is going to change our lives for ever.
Simon: He was right about that. But not in the way either of us was expecting.
TBC
