Why Aren't They Screaming? (10 page)

Loretta agreed that it was; not so much because she'd never heard of such a thing before as because Baldwin's, with its forbidding frontage, didn't strike her as the sort of house with which anyone would fall in love at first sight.

‘What was he like?' she asked, feeling uneasy. Although there was no obvious link between the harmless incident Clara had just described and all the other things that had happened at the house in recent days, she found it hard to dismiss this latest event as mere coincidence. But what was the connection?

‘Perfectly charming,' Clara said, answering Loretta's question. ‘Late forties, public-school accent, didn't say precisely what his job was but I gathered he was in the City. The number on his card was genuine, by the way, I did check.' She glanced sideways at Loretta as though she had read her mind. ‘The woman who answered put me through to his secretary, and she knew all about his trip up here. So – where does that leave us?'

‘But why–'

‘This is the turning,' Clara interrupted, signalling right. The camp's just up here on the left. I'll leave the car here. There was a lot of rain a couple of weeks and it's still rather muddy.'

She parked the car at the side of the tarmac road which led up to a gate in the perimeter fence. In front of them a sign bore the name ‘RAF Dunstow', and gave dire warnings about contravening the Official Secrets Act. Someone had painted over the word ‘RAF' with the letters ‘USAF'. A bored sentry in a box just inside the gate pretended not to see them. To their left was a belt of trees, and a track running along the side of the fence. Loretta followed Clara along the track, which was rutted by the passage of vehicles. To her right, the high wire fence had been topped with coils of the razor wire she recognized from Greenham. A hundred or so yards inside the base, huge arched structures made of concrete blotted out the light; it took Loretta a moment to recognize them as aircraft hangars, smaller than the Cruise missile silos she had seen elewhere but, to her eyes, just as sinister.

‘Hideous, aren't they?' said Clara, turning to address Loretta over her shoulder. ‘Hello, it's me,' she called, suddenly leaving the track and moving into a clearing in the trees to their left. At the far side an old coach had been parked, its shape and condition suggesting it was at least twenty years old. Half a dozen tents had been pitched in front of it and, in the centre of the clearing, a group of women were sitting round a pit from which a thin column of smoke drifted steadily upwards. The women were drinking from mugs, and odd pieces of clothing had been hung out to dry on a makeshift washing-line between two trees. From the branches of another tree was suspended a torn sheet which had been painted with the slogan:
Take the toys from the boys.

Loretta was nervous. Her visits to the women's peace camp at Greenham Common had always coincided with major demonstrations, and she didn't know how these women would react to the arrival of a stranger on a quiet Monday afternoon. Especially after Friday night, she thought, spotting a caravan further into the trees; the area around the door was smoke-blackened, and she remembered someone saying that the attackers had attempted to set fire to it.

‘Want some tea?' A middle-aged woman stood up, beckoning Clara and Loretta over to the ancient vinyl sofa on which she'd been sitting. Several other women glanced up at the visitors and nodded greetings. Their attitude was neither friendly nor unfriendly, Loretta thought; it was as if their minds just happened to be on other things. One was writing a letter on airmail paper, Loretta noticed, accepting the offer of a seat. Another was knitting a jumper in purple and green, presumably because they were suffragette colours.

‘Oh, er, no thanks.' She realized that the middle-aged woman had repeated her question about tea.

Clara joined her on the sofa, also refusing refreshment. ‘How's things?' she asked.

‘Could be worse,' said the woman, who had a soft Edinburgh accent. ‘Hetty and Ulrike were thrown out of the caff place on the main road this morning – the manager says we upset the other customers. Tender plants, lorry drivers.' She shrugged. ‘Thanks for bringing the commodes, by the way. I've asked everyone not to go to use them alone at night, and
we bought some good strong torches this morning. We had a good post, nearly thirty pounds in donations.'

She and Clara fell into conversation about the events of Friday night, giving Loretta the chance to have a good look round the camp. Most of the tents were proper canvas affairs, and there was an air of permanence about the place which contrasted sharply with conditions at Greenham, where the women were subject to repeated evictions by council bailiffs. Even so, she marvelled at the willingness of the women to give up the comforts of everyday life to live in primitive conditions next door to thousands of hostile servicemen. It wasn't just the idea of being exposed to the elements that bothered her, it was also the sheer relentless boredom of spending day after day in the same place. Much as she agreed with their convictions, Loretta admitted to herself, the life of the peace women was not for her.

‘Loretta!'

She turned her head, and saw Peggy and another woman emerging from the trees, their arms full of wood. Getting to her feet, she walked across the clearing to meet them, waiting while Peggy added her haul to the stock of firewood piled under a tarpaulin next to the old coach.

‘How're you feeling?' Peggy asked, straightening up.

Loretta was about to answer when she saw Peggy's expression freeze; the girl was looking past her towards the track from the road, a look of utter dismay on her features. Loretta turned and saw a young man in jeans standing on the edge of the clearing, his feet planted firmly apart as though he was preparing to resist any challenge that might be thrown at him. There was an unnatural silence in the camp, and an air of tense anticipation. When he finally spoke, his words were an anticlimax.

“Lo, Peggy. I've been looking for you.'

Peggy stayed where she was, the group of women and the fire between herself and the newcomer.

‘You needn't have bothered. I'm all right where I am.'

‘You must be joking! Call this a home?' He gestured towards the camp with his left hand, not even trying to conceal his contempt. ‘This is no place for you, girl. The bike's down the road. Why don't you come home?' For a
second he sounded unsure of himself; it was more a plea than a question.

Peggy said nothing, and another uncomfortable silence ensued. After a moment the man moved further into the clearing, stopping on the edge of the group of women. Loretta could see a complicated tattoo on his left forearm: a heart pierced by an arrow, and in its centre a woman's name, Peggy.

‘You keep back, don't come any closer!' His movement had stirred Peggy into action. She looked around frantically, as if for a weapon. ‘Keep away from me, Mick, I mean it! I don't want nothing to do with you any more!'

‘For Christ's sake, Peggy –' He began to advance round the circle of women, holding out his right hand as though coaxing a shy animal. ‘Look, we gotta talk – for the kid's sake. What've you done with the kid?'

A squeal of rage broke from Peggy. ‘Don't you mention her, you, you –' Words seemed to fail her. ‘She's in a safe place where you'll never get your hands on her, you vicious bastard! Get away from me,
get away!'

The man had rushed forward, and Loretta began to move; Clara was quicker, posing her considerable form between Peggy and the enraged Mick.

‘That's
enough
!' she cried in tones that rang across the clearing. ‘Peggy's told you she doesn't want you here, whoever you are, so you can take yourself off! Go on, you heard me!' She pointed back in the direction of the road. ‘Go
on.'

The young man glowered at her for a second, then ducked suddenly under Clara's arm and made a successful grab for Peggy. The two struggled together, Peggy screaming and gasping as she tried to break free, Mick cursing as her kicks and scratches went home. Loretta and Clara flung themselves into the fray, and Loretta received a sharp blow to the side of the head as Mick let go of Peggy and grappled with his new assailants. She staggered back, as other bodies rushed past her; seconds later Mick was on the ground, shouting ineffectual obscenities at the half dozen women who had pinned him down. She saw Clara lean forward, fixing him with a fierce glare as she addressed him slowly and clearly.

‘In a moment, my friends and I are going to let you go. I'm going to count to ten, and if you haven't got the sense to disappear before I get there, we'll have to do something that'll make you sorry you ever came here. Understand?'

Loretta heard the words ‘you old bitch' escape the man's lips as he made another bid for freedom. Clara was unperturbed.

‘That's quite enough of that, young man. You've already shown us what bad manners you have.' She went down on one knee and poked him sharply in the chest. This is my land and I don't want the likes of you on it. Got it?'

Mick nodded his head in sullen agreement, and Clara stood back.

‘All right, eveyone, let him go. One... two... three...'

Mick was already on his feet and making for the edge of the clearing. When he reached the track, he turned and jabbed two fingers obscenely in Clara's direction. ‘I'll be back!'

‘Seven... eight...'

He disappeared down the track. Clara shook her head, and turned to Peggy, who was hugging herself with both arms, apparently oblivious to the trickle of blood running down her face from a cut over her right eye.

‘My poor girl,' Clara said, moving to embrace her. ‘Let's take you back to the house and clean you up. Loretta, are you all right?'

‘I think so.' Loretta felt her head gingerly. ‘Clara, you were magnificent.'

Clara shrugged, dismissing the incident, and began to lead Peggy along the track to the road where the car was parked. Loretta climbed in the back after Peggy, who was whimpering quietly; when Loretta took her hand, Peggy held it tightly.

‘Take her in while I park the car.' Clara stopped outside the front door of Baldwin's and handed Loretta the keys. Loretta opened the door, returned the keys to Clara, and led Peggy inside. She drew a chair from under the kitchen table and helped Peggy into it. Peggy folded her arms on the table, put her head down and started to sob. Loretta placed a hand on the girl's shoulder and then, as she became calmer, went about the business of putting the kettle on. She returned to
the table, took a seat opposite Peggy, and waited.

‘He's me husband.' Peggy looked despairingly at Loretta.

‘I guessed he was.'

‘I don't know how he found me. The women at the place I was staying, the refuge, they
promised
they wouldn't tell.'

Loretta spotted a box of tissues on the windowsill and leaned across to offer them to Peggy. Now she had time to take a proper look, she could see that the cut over Peggy's eye was superficial.

‘You were in a refuge?' she asked gently, wanting to know more but unwilling to press her.

‘Yeah. He hit me, see. It wasn't me I minded about – well, not much. It was the kid. She's only two. I don't want her to grow up with that – seeing her dad lay into me every time he's been drinking.'

‘What's her name?' Loretta asked, wondering but not daring to ask where the child was.

‘Maureen,' Peggy said. ‘After me mum. That's where she is now, with me mum. D'you wanna see a picture of her? Oh, you can't – it's in me bag, it's up at the camp.' She started to get up.

Loretta leaned across and placed a restraining hand on Peggy's arm. ‘Don't worry, we can get it later. I'll go up there, or Clara. Just sit quietly for a while.'

Peggy sank back into her seat. ‘I didn't know where else to take her,' she said, returning to the child's whereabouts. ‘When I left him last month, I took her to this place for battered women, but I didn't wanna keep her there, there wasn't room to swing a cat. And I knew he'd find me somehow. So I took her to me mum. She's got a sister in–' Peggy stopped, glanced nervously at Loretta, and looked down at the table. ‘Her sister lives up north. Mick won't find them there, he never took no notice of me mum. I thought he might see sense after a bit and I could have her back.' She clasped her hands together and stared blankly into space.

‘So how did you – why did you come to the peace camp?' Loretta asked, wondering whether Peggy's presence at Dunstow had more to do with her need to hide from Mick than her opposition to nuclear weapons and American bases.

‘Oh, I was in the refuge when they bombed that place, you
know, Libya,' Peggy said. ‘When I heard it on the radio, I thought, Christ, that's the last straw. I can get the kid away from Mick, but how can I save her from these bombs? I didn't know much about it before, but in the refuge everyone was talking about it all the time. This girl Yvonne, she was one of the helpers, she'd been to that place where they have the Cruise missiles, Greenham. Then she told me there'd been a camp set up here, where the planes went from. And I thought, this is me chance, it's not the sort of place I wanna take Maureen. So when I was well enough to take her to me mum's and get her settled, I hitched here. I wasn't just hiding from him, you know.'

‘Sorry,' Loretta mumbled, embarrassed at the ease with which the girl had read her thoughts. I'll make some tea.'

At that moment Clara breezed in and led Peggy away to the downstairs bathroom to wash the blood off her face. When they reappeared, Peggy was looking uncomfortable in a Liberty print dress several sizes too big for her.

‘I've put Peggy's things in the washing-machine,' Clara announced. ‘She's going to stay here for a day or two in case that man comes back. No, Peggy, you really can't go back to the camp for the moment. You'd got to be sensible about this. Look, if he doesn't show up in the next week or so, we could even have your daughter brought here. All right?'