Heartland Read Free Page B

wanted to be sure of was that while they sat dreaming of exploding planes and a rain of blood and their paradise of virgins, there were people dreaming other dreams, dreaming of an England where people looked after their own, were safe to walk the streets, were proud to be English.
    He nearly went in the army. He’d been certain when he was a kid that he would. His grandad would tell him stories about Germany at the end of the war, about crossing the Rhine. His grandad looked after him then, while his mum and dad were both away. Even after his mum came out and Stacey moved back with her, he stayed with his grandad. When his grandad saw who Stacey was hanging around with he had a couple of good chats with Glenn about what was right and wrong, told him about the trouble in the sixties up in the town and over in Smethwick, about Enoch and the rivers of blood and the marches to support him. To hear people now you’d think the sixties were all peace and love. History was written by the winners.
    Even when Anne was pregnant with Jordan he was still dreaming of the idea. He’d got talking to Dave Woodhouse when he was back on leave one February night, telling Glenn about how he’d spent the bells on New Year’s Eve with a rifle trained on some Fenians staggering up the Falls Road, his finger itching, how it was more of a thrill than banging back a few in the Lion or getting tickets for Caesar’s up in Dudley. After all, you could have your fill of beer when you got back on leave.
    Glenn would’ve done it, but you had to think about your family. It was no life to bring children up in, no life to give Anne. They’d got together at school. Married at eighteen, she’d had Jordan the following year. Toni three years after that, Casey three years later. They might stillhave another. Another couple, he thought. He was looking after his family. He wasn’t going in the army or in jail. Work was going OK. It was hard, he’d felt it more in his knees and back this last winter. Scaffolding was work for young lads, really. Still, the next couple of years, he could maybe set something up himself. Let some other bastards do the donkey work. He’d got a head for it. This political stuff was helping as well, talking to different people, getting things organized.
    He’d spent the last ten minutes putting some washing out to dry. Anne would be back from her mother’s with the kids in a minute. She’d do the food when she got in. If he got this washing out, he’d chop a couple of onions to start things off. Anne hated the way they made her cry. He looked out over the low fence, down Dudley Road to the mosque and the falling-down terraced houses huddled between the canal and the main road. They’d have to move when the girls got bigger but for now, their own house, in a row where the old dairy used to be, was great. They kept their house nice. He looked down the road again – picking out rubbish in the backyards, roofs that needed doing up, the mosque in the old school building that still had entrance gates that said Junior Boys and Junior Girls – and thought about what the area should have been like and what it was coming to. This was the front line. A change was going to come. He was sure of that.
    Argentina attacked. Campbell came across to cover.
    Thass it, Sol. Rob wasn’t sure where his voice ended and his dad’s began.
    He leaned forward in his chair, as if to quicken Campbell’s run. Jesus. Batistuta caught him, clattered into him and it suddenly looked like something from a Sunday morning.
    It put Rob in mind of the game the other week. How it was all suddenly too late to change his mind and how thebreath he’d taken as Mark Stanley, the ref, blew the whistle, turned into a sigh. It had been a long time since he’d been nervous for a game and he felt an old tightness in his legs that surprised him. He’d stamped his feet as he glanced at Lee to