Page 69 of The Way We Are Now

‘Badly hurt, love. Got himself in front of a horse. A couple of us managed to get him off to the side where he got taken off.’

‘Taken off? He was arrested?’

‘Ambulance came for him. He was pretty much out of it, but we managed to find his driving licence so could identify him. Didn’t look – or sound – at all like a miner. Rotherham General, I’d guess.’

‘Right, Les,’ I said, once I was back out in the glare of the hot late afternoon. ‘We need to find a phone box and ring Mum and ask her to get Uncle Maurice to pick us up. Then I need to ask to borrow some money so I can get a taxi to the hospital…’

‘Where’s Mum going to get money for a taxi?’

‘I’ll pay her back with next week’s wages. I’ve got to get to Theo.’

Over an hour later, Uncle Maurice’s Ford Cortina came over the brow of the hill. Dad was sitting at the front and Mum in the back. Apparently, Aunty Sandra had got her best shoes on and been ready to come too until she realised there would be the two of us to fit in as well.

‘Oh, Leslie,’ Mum said, shocked into giving him his best Sunday handle. ‘What have you done?’

‘What have I done?’ Les was indignant. ‘What have they done? To us? Mum, it was a massacre.’

‘Aye, I heard. A load of ’em managed to get back to The Alamo. And it were on t’news at six.’

‘Please, please, please, I need to get to the hospital,’ I interrupted. ‘Theo’s been hurt.’

‘Theo has?’ Mum and Dad spoke as one, both turning together, staring at me.

‘He didn’t go with you?’ Mum was horrified. ‘You didn’t take him as well? No! What on earth for?’

‘Mum, he saved me,’ Les now said, rubbing at his tired eyes. ‘He pushed me out of the way before I went under a flaming great horse. He said he knew about horses. If he hadn’t, it’d be me at the hospital.’

‘Jasna cholera!’ Dad always reverted back to his native Polish when he was angry. ‘He our guest! We look after him, feed him, drink him and then you two take him to danger where he end up in ’ospital? What matter with you two?’

‘Anna, have you told his parents?’

‘His parents?’

‘His parents, yes!’ Mum was getting angry herself. ‘Anna, what have you done?’

‘Let’s get to the hospital,’ Uncle Maurice said, trying to calm the waters. ‘Which one?’

‘I don’t know,’ I wailed.

‘Probably Rotherham General. Let’s try it. It’s just five miles or so.’ Uncle Maurice reversed carefully and we set off.

Uncle Maurice’s blue Cortina was his pride and joy; he washed and polished it every Sunday without fail, but God, he was one cautious driver, slowing down for every bump, driving under the 30 mph limit, and I wanted to scream at him to put his foot down. We were all so tense we didn’t speak until Mum said, ‘Anna, you ring his mother when you find out what’s happened.’

‘But I don’t know them,’ I said. ‘What do I say?’

‘You’ve spent a weekend with them,’ Mum snapped. ‘Of course you know them. So, we find out what’s happened, and then you ring them and you tell them the truth.’

The truth? That my striking miner family had taken the heir to Mandeville Hall off on a jolly away-day riot and, oh dear, I’m afraid he got clobbered by the police? He might even be… I closed my eyes against the awful thought. Oh, Jesus…

Twenty minutes later, looking like something out of My Family and Other Miners, we exited the car as I looked wildly around for A & E. Mum was shouting instructions to go one way, Dad shouting in Polish to go the other, with Uncle Maurice telling us to go straight ahead, he’d been there before when he was so constipated he thought he’d die from the need to have a proper shit. As Les, now with a black eye and blood on his white T-shirt, slid from the car, wincing that his head hurt and would we all stop effing shouting, I saw I wouldn’t have to ask Directory Enquiries for Mandeville Hall after all.

Sir Hugh and Lady Mandeville, in all their sedate upper-class glory, were ahead of us, walking towards reception. Ava, dressed in a cool beige linen dress and heels, turned at the commotion behind her, stopped and stared, placing a restraining hand on her husband’s arm.

‘Oh, Mrs Mandeville… Lady Mandeville,’ I corrected myself. ‘You’ve heard? How is Theo? Have you seen him?’

Mum came hurrying on behind, out of breath as she shot out a hand to Theo’s mother.

‘I’m so sorry, love,’ she panted. ‘We’ve only just heard. How is he? He’s such a lovely lad. He had a picnic with us only last night. Up at th’allotment in t’sunshine… We made him some Polish stuff. My husband’s Polish…’ It’s not often I’d seen my mum nervous, but she was now and trailed off, wilting under the Mandevilles’ haughty gaze. I realised she still had on her apron and ancient flip-flops, the bunion on her left foot seeking freedom from the footwear.