This is How it Ends by Eva Dolan

Author:Eva Dolan
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781408886625
Publisher: Bloomsbury
Published: 2017-11-14T13:53:14+00:00

Ella

Then – 22nd September

‘Carol didn’t do anything special, you know,’ Molly said, as they leaned into the steep climb of Ripon Road, moving in single file because the pavement was lined with bins waiting to be taken in by residents not yet home from work. ‘Did you get in touch with Brenda?’

‘I’m still trying,’ Ella said. ‘She’s a councillor, she must get loads of requests for interviews. And it’s not like my PhD is that important.’

‘I think she’ll be happy to talk to you.’ Molly stopped to let a kid on a bike whizz past them down the hill. ‘She made something of herself after the strikes. That’s the kind of story you want. Miner’s wife turned political player. Still fighting for her people. That’s impressive, right?’

Was Molly jealous of her interest in Carol’s campaigning? Ella wondered. Was that why she was trying to deflect her attention away on to other targets?

Carol and Molly had been friends since the mid-eighties and on the handful of occasions Ella had seen them together she might have taken them for sisters. There was a bond there, unmistakably strong, the kind forged in adversity. And from what she already knew of the time they’d spent at Greenham Common together, she imagined they’d shared some long dark nights, couldn’t have many secrets left from one another.

That kind of bond was sometimes as much hate as love.

My generation didn’t invent the frenemy, she thought. We learned it from our mothers, and even a committed feminist like Molly wasn’t immune, it seemed.

If Molly had been involved with Women Against Pit Closures, Ella would have gladly accepted her input. But she’d spent the miners’ strike taking photographs only the left-wing press would buy, because her reputation blacklisted her everywhere else. She’d given money, but that wasn’t a story.

‘Make sure you tell Brenda I said to get in touch.’ Molly glanced back over her shoulder. ‘And make sure she knows about your run-in with the riot police. She saw enough of her friends beaten up; it’ll be a good icebreaker. That’s the key with interviews. You’ve got to establish a rapport right from the off.’

Ella sighed quietly, wondering if Molly realised how patronising she was being.

Most of the summer had been taken up with interviews. Eight weeks of establishing a rapport with women who hadn’t wanted to talk to her to begin with. Who opened their doors to her already deeply suspicious.

Yes, Molly had got the doors to open, but the rest Ella had done for herself.

And she was proud of that.

Molly stopped outside a white stucco terrace with flaking black railings and a palm tree poking up from the yard of the garden flat, fairy lights wrapped around its scaly trunk. It was a touch of whimsy Ella struggled to accept from the hard-faced, hard-talking woman she’d met before. The sash window was up, letting out the smell of dope smoke and Patti Smith’s plaintive voice, a song Ella could sing by heart.

Carol opened the door in denim shorts and a man’s shirt, her dark-blonde hair piled into a rough bun.

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