Page 72 of The Way We Are Now

‘…as well as an operation to try to save his arm where it was badly crushed under the horse he apparently managed to take hold of and pull away from your brother. Some feckless miner who was attacking the police just because they were getting on with the job of keeping civil order.’

‘Which arm?’ I asked dully, any fight I might have had in me draining away.

‘Well, of course, it had to be his right hand and arm, didn’t it?’ Araminta put in. ‘How on earth he’ll carry on with his course next year is anyone’s guess. All that writing he’ll have to do for his final dissertation.’

All that squash playing he won’t now be able to do, I thought, turning away and sitting down.

With a final couple of disdainful looks in my direction, the Mandeville sisters moved away towards the car park, but then Vivienne turned back, saying sternly over her shoulder, ‘Please, keep away from my brother and my family. That’s all we’re asking.’

And with that, they exited the building.

I tried a couple more times to see Theo, but even Sympathetic Sam had been given his orders. ‘Family only, love.’ He glanced down at a sheet of paper. ‘Not just Mr Whittaker, the consultant’s orders, but his family’s as well. Sorry.’

There was nothing for it but to leave. ‘Can I at least write him a note?’ I asked Sam.

He looked doubtful. ‘The thing is, Anna, the family seem to think you’ve some sort of hold over him – you know, a bit like the Moonies?’

‘What?’ I stared in disbelief and Sam went slightly pink. ‘Oh,’ I hissed, the kid’s kindness over the coffee and bacon sandwich long forgotten, ‘well, if we’re going down that road, how about like Bagwan Shree Rajneesh? Or… or… even Charles Manson?’

‘Who?’ Sam looked blank for a second. ‘Oh, that murdering guy? Well, according to what I heard, you did accuse him of murdering your best friend.’

‘What?’ I stared again. Were the Mandevilles coming out with the same story to everyone, in order to keep me away from Theo?

‘Sorry, just relaying what they told the consultant. Look, he has to rest. He’s not to get himself agitated. You could ring, I suppose. You know, tomorrow?’

‘Right.’ I knew when I was beaten. ‘Best way to get back to Rothersley, from here?’

‘Car.’

‘I don’t have one.’

‘Stagecoach bus. The 218/218A goes direct to Rothersley.’

‘I’ve no money,’ I said.

‘Shanks’s pony then,’ Sam said, obviously getting fed up with me and regretting the coffee and sandwich.

I’d just have to plead with the bus driver and offer up an IOU.

Utterly dejected, I made my way to the entrance but stopped as a couple were heading through it from the car park.

I instantly recognised Theo’s brother-in-law, James, the Tory MP and subject of Les’s attack on Theo up at the allotment. I was about to take his arm, speak to him, but then saw who was accompanying him. Immaculate in a cool cream flowing dress, her beautiful face almost hidden behind a huge bunch of matching creamy lilies, was Susannah. She gave me a look of utter contempt before accompanying James down the same corridor the sisters had left only a few minutes earlier.

And there, outside, patiently waiting for me, were Dad and Uncle Maurice. I climbed into the car and burst into tears.

June morphed into July. The heatwave and the strike went on, and flying pickets continued to travel to other villages in an attempt to persuade miners there not to capitulate and go back to work, but the battle became more that of hardship for the miners and their families. What would eventually be a year-long strike resumed without any real negotiation on either side. The men and their wives took refuge at The Alamo, trying to keep their spirits up, as well as their heads above water when the bills came in.

I’d so had enough of working at the office and was more than ready to resume my studies at Leeds at the end of September. John Dyson appeared to have moved on – to where no one seemed to know, but there were rumours his aim was Westminster – politics at the highest level. I was thankful I didn’t have to see his face at my desk for the remaining month I was expected to be in the office. There were other rumours rife at work: plots, counterplots and subterfuge abounded in those few, last, hot weeks I had left at the NUM, and I was glad when my final day came and I left, accompanied by a box of Black Magic and a promise from Linda that she’d always be around if I needed more help with any future lords, earls, dukes or even Prince Charles.

And then, one evening at the beginning of July, Theo rang me. He thought I should know he was going home. He’d heard how I’d rung the hospital virtually every day and thought it only fair that he let me know what was happening. I asked if I could see him and he agreed, saying he was allowed out in the grounds, and I could meet him at the hospital the following afternoon – a Saturday – before he was picked up by his father in the evening.

Breathless with nerves, I showered, dried my hair and carefully applied make-up before dressing in what I knew was Theo’s favourite outfit of mine – a simple low-cut navy sleeveless dress.

I took the crowded Saturday afternoon bus from the town centre, my palms sweaty with the thought of seeing him, praying all the way there that Theo and I would be OK. That he’d still love me as much as he’d professed that final evening in the house in Holland Park.

I found him, as instructed, sitting in the hospital’s memorial gardens waiting for me. Dressed in chinos and navy T-shirt, his beautiful brown eyes hidden behind a pair of shades, he’d grown a beard and it suited him. I watched him from a distance, just wanting to take in every bit of him and, appearing fully engrossed in a book, he didn’t notice me until I walked right up to him and stood in front of him.

‘Jane Austen?’ I smiled.