Dark Corners

Chapter 10

June 1998

Five weeks before…

It didn’t take long for the forlorn security hut to feel like something the group could own. Over the past week they had smuggled in a few small beanbags, while Georgia had brought some posters from her bedroom to give the place a homey feel, and Jamie had brought his dad’s old caravan fridge, only to discover the electricity didn’t work after all. Still, Baz agreed that it would be a good place to store whatever booze they had as nobody would mind drinking it warm. To compensate, Jamie also took his dad’s battery-operated radio, allowing the group to listen to the chart show on a Sunday night, and play cassette tapes, and despite their varying musical tastes, they didn’t argue. The space was theirs, a seven-way joint custody of their own place, and they knew they needed to compromise to ensure it stayed a haven from the village. So Baz listened to his drum and bass, Chloe listened to Robbie Williams, and Jamie listened to the hip hop he currently enjoyed. The music didn’t matter, only that it was their music, in their space, at a volume of their choosing.

But it wasn’t quite perfect, not for everyone, even with the music and posters and alcopops. The hut made Holly feel uncomfortable. She had tried to voice it to Neve and Jamie on the walk there, stating that the place gave her the creeps, but her complaints were quickly dismissed. The lane was spooky, yes, they all agreed. But that was only because of the stories told to them as kids to stop them venturing towards the dangerous mine. They had worked, too, because no one – not even Baz – had suggested they explored the abandoned space, and tunnels below.

When Baz and Michael first introduced the group to the hut, their excitement was infectious – they all agreed it was the best idea the hopeless pair had ever had. By the time they left two hours later, they’d vowed to make it their own. The group had met most evenings that week, Wednesday being the only night they didn’t because Jamie had to work for his dad. It had become an unspoken rule of the hut: if someone couldn’t come, the gang shouldn’t meet. This Saturday, Jamie was supposed to be at work again, but Baz and Michael insisted Jamie take the evening off.

Michael arrived first, lighting the candles to give the place some atmosphere. Flopping onto a beanbag, he sighed and watched the shadows dance on the ceiling, proud of what he and Baz had achieved. The group were due to meet at eight, but he had intentionally arrived thirty minutes early so he could take it all in. He hadn’t had a space he could call his own before, a bedroom where he could shut the door and forget the world. His grandparents’ place was only a one-bed, and although they converted the small dining room attached to the lounge into a bedroom, it had never quite felt like something that was his. The stud wall was thin, and his granddad often stayed up into the early hours watching the television with the volume up so loud the speakers rattled. Michael didn’t complain though – he loved them dearly and was grateful to them for taking him in, for not having him become a kid in the care system when his own mother couldn’t cope. He needed the hut more than anyone else, just to give himself some breathing space.

Turning on the radio, he nestled into the beanbag and put his hands behind his head. As Dave Pearce chatted with guests he hadn’t ever heard of, a new boy band of some kind, he closed his eyes. Luckily for him, the chat didn’t last long, and Will Smith began to rap his latest hit. He thought about skinning up a joint but didn’t. He would wait for Baz who would want to share it and was better at rolling than he was. After several more songs and several more questions fired from Dave Pearce to the boy band, Baz crawled through the hatch, making Michael jump.

‘Shit, Baz.’

‘Thought I was the boogie man.’

‘Thought you were the police more like.’

Baz scrambled up onto his feet and chuckled.

‘You been here long?’

‘Just got here,’ Michael lied.

‘I can’t wait for tonight,’ Baz said, rubbing his hands together.

‘What are you up to?’ Michael asked, noticing Baz’s scheming smile.

‘Nothing.’

‘Bullshit.’

‘Well, I was thinking…’ Baz started, sitting down beside Michael and throwing his feet onto the badly damaged walnut coffee table. ‘We won’t be hanging out much now – the exams are nearly done, and we won’t be at school. Jamie will work more, which means Neve will no doubt be in the pub more.’

‘Why would she be in the pub more?’

‘Oh, come on, can’t you see that they have a thing going on?’

‘Jamie and Neve?’ Michael said, unable to hide his disappointment. ‘Is something really going on with them two?’

‘Not yet, I don’t think. But it will. Trust me, it will,’ Baz replied, raising his eyebrows and digging an elbow in Michael’s side before continuing. ‘Georgia will start her apprenticeship in the salon in Nottingham, Chloe won’t be around as much if Neve isn’t and Holly will begin to drift away from this place – we both know she’s never been sold on the hut.’

‘Shit, that’s sad,’ Michael said.

‘So, with the group’s imminent collapse, I thought we should have a little party.’

Baz took something from his pocket, but in the low light Michael couldn’t make out what it was. He grabbed the torch and angled it towards Baz’s cupped hands to see a small bag with white powder inside.

‘Is that speed?’ he asked.

‘Yep.’

‘Where the fuck did you get that from around here?’

‘My skunk dealer got hold of a bit.’ He smiled.

‘Shit,’ Michael replied, trying to match Baz’s smile, but missing the mark by a long way.

‘Don’t worry, mate, it’s gonna be a good night.’

‘You done this before?’

‘No, have you?’

‘No.’

‘Relax, Michael,’ Baz said, slapping his mate on the shoulder. ‘Everything’ll be fine.’

Michael wasn’t convinced, but didn’t say anything, and instead asked Baz to roll a joint that they could enjoy while they waited for the others to arrive, a request Baz was more than happy to comply with. No sooner had the joint been rolled and lit, the rest of the group joined, apart from Jamie. In spite of the darkness in the hut, they could all see the fresh cut on Georgia’s lip which she tried to cover with dark lipstick. They all saw it, but they didn’t say anything.

‘You think his dad has made him work?’ Baz asked Neve.

‘Why would I know?’ she said.

‘Well, cos, you and him—’

‘Me and him what? Nothing is going on between Jamie and me.’

‘She’s telling the truth,’ Chloe chipped in.

‘And I don’t want anything to happen between us either,’ Neve added.

‘Now she’s lying,’ Chloe said, nudging her friend and drawing a laugh from Baz and Georgia. Blushing, Neve tucked her hair behind her ear and caught Georgia’s eye. She couldn’t tell if she was laughing with her or enjoying her embarrassment.

‘Well, he said to me earlier his dad was cool for him to have the night off work,’ said Michael, unknowingly rescuing Neve. ‘So, I guess we wait.’ He and Baz shared a conspiratorial smile.

‘What are you boys up to?’ asked Holly, who until then had remained quiet.

‘You’ll see, when Jamie gets here.’

No sooner had Baz finished his sentence the hatch door opened and in crawled Jamie.

‘Speak of the devil.’

‘Sorry I’m late. Dad needed help changing a barrel, what have I missed?’

‘Nothing,’ said Neve a little too quickly, drawing smiles from the group and making Baz chuckle.

‘What?’ Jamie smiled, but with the hint of paranoia creeping across his face.

‘Honestly, its nothing,’ said Georgia, giving him a reassuring squeeze on the arm. Probably to piss Neve off more than anything.

‘Right then, now we’re all here I’d like to say something,’ said Baz, moving around the coffee table to place himself against the wall where the security window used to be.

‘We’ve been friends all the way through primary and secondary school,’ he began in a clear, commanding voice. He’d obviously rehearsed his speech. ‘We survived our teachers. Our lessons. We’ve survived the boredom of Mr Law’s science class and him droning on and on. We survived our mock exams and the ball-ache of revision. And now, we’re just five short days from the beginning of the end of our school journey.’

‘Christ, you sound just like Mr Kessell. What was his speech about anyway?’ Jamie said, changing the subject, much to Baz’s annoyance.

‘Just saying what he needs to, to get us out the door,’ Michael said.

‘You think?’

‘Sure, that’s all a head teacher cares about. Getting us to the finish line, and then pushing us away.’

‘Well, I liked his speech today,’ Chloe said. ‘About how if we worked hard and did well, we could do anything we wanted. It’s hopeful.’

‘It’s deluded,’ Michael said.

‘Anyway!’ Baz interrupted. ‘Can I continue?’ He cleared his throat and picked up where he left off. ‘As I said, we are just five short days from the beginning of the end of our school journey.’

‘Baz, this is a bit over the top,’ said Michael, prompting a punch on the arm from Georgia.

‘Shut up, I’m enjoying this.’

‘Thank you, Georgia.’ Baz still sounded as if he was delivering a speech. ‘And as much as I don’t give a flying fuck about these exams, I know you all do, my friends. I know what these exams mean to you and I know that until this nightmare is over, you will be cramming in unnecessary knowledge in order to get a piece of paper telling you that you’re smarter than I am.’

‘Baz, do you want to…’ began Holly, not enjoying the speech as much as everyone else.

‘So…’ he interrupted. ‘I have convened this gang meeting – insisting Jamie had the night off – so we could all be together to toast our futures.’

‘But we haven’t finished our exams yet, Baz – what exactly is there to toast?’ said Holly, looking at her watch, wishing she was at home studying.

‘We’re doing this now because no matter what happens with our exams, I know everyone here is going on to do great things. We’re celebrating because regardless of how well you do, Holly, and how shit I do, we will all be OK.’

Holly nodded to Baz, shocked that underneath all of the practical jokes and boisterous behaviour there was someone who was thoughtful and kind. Holly didn’t like Baz much, but in that moment, she warmed to him in a way she hadn’t before.

‘So, let’s all say what we want for our lives. I’ll go first. I want to be a pilot.’

‘A pilot?’ Michael laughed. ‘Aren’t you a bit fat?’

‘Michael!’ Holly snapped. ‘Don’t be a dick!’

‘Yeah, Michael, don’t be a dick,’ Baz echoed, but smiling at his best mate. ‘What do you want to be then?’

‘A mechanic.’

‘I want to be a barrister,’ Holly said, beaming with ambition. ‘What about you, Neve?’

‘I don’t know what kind, but I want my own business.’

‘Jamie, Chloe?’

‘I want to write,’ said Jamie, quietly. ‘Not like books or anything, but for a paper maybe?’ He waited for someone to shoot a comment, laugh at him, but no one did.

‘I want to be a midwife,’ Chloe said. ‘I’ve always wanted to help babies.’

They looked to Georgia who hadn’t volunteered like everyone else and waited.

‘I just want to get out of this place,’ she said, smiling, but without a hint of mirth.

For a moment, they sat in silence. Unsure what to say or do next, Georgia looked away, uncomfortable. Baz cleared his voice again, and giving Georgia a squeeze on the arm, he spoke.

‘So, this evening, we drink, we laugh, we talk of the future, and we do so safe in the knowledge that regardless of what happens this summer with our exams and our results, we will all get what we want out of our lives.’

‘Nice speech, Baz,’ said Jamie, as he started to give a round of applause, prompting everyone else, including Holly, to clap and cheer.

Baz took three mock bows, then took out the small bag containing the speed. ‘Let’s make this night one we will never forget.’

Chapter 11

22nd November 2019

Afternoon

Between deciding to go back to the village and actually beginning the journey, there was just less than twenty-four hours, but to me it felt like a week. I tidied my flat, removing Oliver’s pictures and putting them in a box in the bottom of the wardrobe. It was tough, definitive, but I needed to do it. After, the living room felt empty, sterile. And then it was time to leave, and a sick feeling rose in my stomach. There was nothing to suggest Jamie had actually come to harm, but I couldn’t shake the feeling something terrible had happened in the village, again.

I could have booked a train to go home, but instead decided to hire a car – the idea of not being able to leave the village when I wanted made me uncomfortable. As I left the flat to go collect it, I felt a growing trepidation build.

I had no idea how my return would go down. I hoped enough time had passed for me to slip in unnoticed, or if people did recognise me, they would realise I was a different person. I was no longer the scared, sad and abandoned 16-year-old girl; I hoped enough time had passed for them to understand why I left, a frightened child grieving for her best friend. But I wasn’t convinced people would see it like that. The village was small, the people clung on to the past, more so than in any other place I’d been to since leaving. Perhaps it was the miner’s mentality. I knew from the infrequent times I saw Dad, he still defined himself through the mine. People in the village didn’t forget things – they hadn’t moved on, I guess, because they didn’t have anything to move on to. They were born not into the village, but into the mouth of the mine. Then, after it closed, and Chloe went missing, the village was torn apart by grief, and frozen in that moment.

I often pondered what I would be like if I’d stayed, and if my old friends would still be my friends. Would I have stayed with Jamie and now be a scared or grieving wife? I stopped myself. It was pointless wondering about a life that hadn’t existed.

I took the Overground to Southall and walked half a mile to pick up the Vauxhall Corsa that would be mine for a week just before the car hire place closed for the evening. I paid the hefty deposit on my credit card and they handed over the keys. In my mind, I would stay only a few days at most.

As I drove out of West London towards the M40, I tried not to imagine those first few moments when I would step back into the village. Instead, I listened intently to what the DJ was saying on Radio 1, and the songs that she played. I soon realised I didn’t know any of them, and so put on my classics playlist and settled as Savage Garden’s Darren Hayes serenaded me with ‘Truly Madly Deeply’. It took me back to a memory of Chloe, of us the year before we sat our exams. She loved that song and would sing it at the top of her voice, often out of tune. Once, Baz caught her doing so, and she blushed to the scarlet of our school jumpers. Thinking about that made me smile. It had been a long time since I’d smiled about Chloe. After Savage Garden, Madonna came on, followed by Texas. And I felt myself slip into a comfortable nostalgia where I remained until I saw the headstocks of the mine, the sight of them rekindling the same fear as it had when I was young, and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering.

I hoped, as it had been so long, they would be smaller than I remembered. If anything, they were larger, more imposing. The dark towers loomed ahead, the headstocks’ wheels like eyes, guarding the dead that resided down the mine against ever leaving. It also watched the people living above ground, spying their mistakes, learning their secrets. From up there, the villagers must look like ants, scurrying around the aged, dying colony. I turned the music off, almost as if I didn’t want the mine to know I was coming. In my rear-view mirror, I saw a car approaching quickly behind me. I assumed they would see the road was clear, and then overtake, but they didn’t. I sped up a little, realising I was doing about forty-five in a sixty zone, but the car behind didn’t slow, it drew closer and closer until it was so close, I couldn’t see it in my side mirrors.

The road we were on was narrow, and I couldn’t find anywhere to pull over to let whoever was behind me pass. Focusing on the road ahead, of which I could only see a hundred yards at a time, I started to panic. My foot went down and the speedometer crept up until I was doing just shy of 80 mph. The car behind stayed on my tail, and I was sure it was going to shunt me. Then, white marks reappeared as the road widened and the car swerved round me and carried on recklessly, careering up ahead. I took my foot off the accelerator, and the car started to slow. I was swearing under my breath, sweating under my jumper. It was obviously just some kids, doing what all kids do when they feel invincible, but for a moment, I thought they were trying to get me. To hurt me. I felt stupid for even thinking it. Paranoid and stupid. Chloe disappeared a long time ago, and life had moved on. I shouldn’t assume people would still be angry with me for leaving. Why would they be? There are more pressing things at hand, like the reason I was coming back now. Jamie.

Despite this realisation, I still felt like I was going to be sick, so I pulled over and got out of the car. It was cold and the wind strong. To my right, the mine watched me curiously. I almost said something to it but stopped myself. Instead, I got back into the car and drove slowly into the village. Maybe subconsciously I thought if I moved quietly, I wouldn’t be noticed. I drove past the old social club, remembering how business took a nosedive just months after the mine closed. Now, its windows were boarded up and the sign outside was paint-stripped and weather-beaten. Thick weeds grew through cracks in the tarmac of the car park. It was the first thing you saw inside the village, I guess, it summed the place up well. It looked like no one had been around for decades. I hoped the same wouldn’t be said for The Miners’ Arms. I needed a drink before seeing Dad. Without slowing, I continued towards the centre. It was time to let someone know I was back.

Chapter 12

22nd November 2019

Evening

As I made my way to the other end of the village, I could see the smaller working man’s pub Jamie’s father used to own ahead of me. Its sign was lit, suggesting it was still in business. I wanted nothing more than to have a peaceful drink as I familiarised myself with the place I once called home. To breathe in its smells, and deal with the inevitable memories I wouldn’t want to recall.

Parking outside The Miners’ Arms, I kept my head low and darted inside. It was exactly as I remembered from when I was too young to drink. The walls were still adorned with photographs throughout the years of the pits in operation. I didn’t need to look, I remembered what was in each of the frames. There were smiling men in short-sleeved shirts in the dead of winter, veins bulging in their forearms from the grafting they did day in, day out. Photographs of them erecting the headstocks, which were the tallest ever erected in England. Overhead images of before and after the mine was closed in 1997. Above the bar hung postcards of the mine, their corners curled through age, the white of the paper now a nicotine-stained yellow. The pub was scruffier than back when I was young, but the smell hadn’t altered at all. And for a moment I was back in the summer when Jamie and I were madly in love. The biggest difference between now and then was this place was once busy – people laughing, joking, and eventually drowning their sorrows after their livelihoods changed. Now the pub was near-empty, except for a few old men, perched on bar stools, looking into their pints.