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The face。 Oh God； that face！
Shrill screams； the onlookers falling back； closing their ranks as though to seek protection from the glowering countenance。 The eyes bulged；'and narrowed again。 The nose was gone； burned to a black hole by a floating spark。 The mouth was open； lips moving。 Definitely moving； trying to speak！
Words。 The children heard them； reverberating inside their heads。 Inprehensible mutterings as the eyes glowed fiercely； singling out each and every one of them。
Fools； you would burn me yet again； even when your own hour of fiery destruction is nigh。 I shall be consumed by the fire which belongs to my master； but it will not destroy me。 I shall e again； more terrible than before！ And then you will scream as you burn。
Another shifting of the pyre broke the hypnotic spell which held the terrified audience； a column of black smoke gushing up from an old motor tyre and temporarily hiding the awfulness of it all。 Nobody wanted to stay there any longer。
They ran with breathless cries of terror； scattering in all directions； leaving the bonfire to burn itself out。 All through that windless night it glowed； a heap of smouldering ashes that still billowed its own warning when the demolition workers returned the following morning。 But they scarcely noticed it。
The winter came and went。 Coyle had hoped for severe weather； heavy snowfalls which would drift in the north end of the valley and prevent work from going ahead on the new 'harvest process' plant。 Instead； the atmosphere remained mild and dry； with not even heavy rains to impede the labour…force。 Still more houses were being added to the untidy sprawling suburbs。
Nothing had changed within the Coyle household。 Coyle still found ample excuses to be absent from home in the evenings without arousing Jane's suspicions。 Sarah's wardrobe was now filled to overflowing； and she had taken to wearing expensive jewellery well beyond the means of her modest ine。 Richard still went out every night； and Coyle was aware that his son had been involved in that massive and brutal brawl at the lorry…park of the transport cafe by the motorway。 The ugly wound across the boy's cheek had healed； but the scar would remain forever。 One youth had died as a result of the affray； but fortunately the police had never visited the Coyle household。 A clash of hooligans…and one less to terrorise society。
Yet there was a deadly calm in the valley that spring； a slow…climbing tension。 There was something different about the townspeople； even those employed at the plutonium plant。 Possibly a stranger visiting the town would not have noticed it。 It was only evident amongst those who lived and worked together； a lack of small talk； tempers flaring at the slightest provocation； and people hurrying about their shopping chores with scarcely a word of greeting to each other。
A cloud hung over the valley。 It was a time of waiting。 For what？ Coyle's petition forms had been filled with signatures； and only the union's ruling prevented the printing of a further supply。 This problem was overe by attaching additional sheets of plain paper。
The signatures were delivered to the Secretary of State for Energy； and a covering letter sent to the Prime Minister。 Both were acknowledged； but by this time the work was already in progress。 On 3 August the new oxide plant was fully operative。 People's uncertainty was turning to something else； although none would have openly admitted it。 It was fear…fear of the unknown； all the more diabolical in its inexplicableness。
Little did Coyle realise that the first hint of portending doom would be conveyed to him within his own household； and that he would have foreknowledge of the catastrophe he had predicted； of the disaster he was unable to convey to the people through the pages of the Herald。
September 13th。 Richard had not been to work for three days。 Actually there was nothing remarkable in that。 Five jobs since leaving school…and every one lost because of absenteeism。 It was a foregone conclusion for his parents that he would not remain much longer at the reprocessing plant。
Jane knocked loudly on his bedroom door at 7。30 a。m。 She was answered by an unintelligible grunt； and returned downstairs。 Sarah left at 8。15。 Bob at 8。30。 At 8。45 she went back upstairs； and knocked again on her son's door； this time somewhat timidly。 On more than one occasion previously she had been the subject of verbal abuse。
'Are you ill； Richard？' There was a tremor in her voice。
'No； I'm fucking well not。'
The reply brought tears to her eyes； and she hurried back downstairs。 In dealing with her son it was best to ride out the storm until they entered calmer waters。
At ten o'clock Richard came downstairs。 He was wearing his polo…necked sweater and a pair of Wrangler jeans。 Without even a glance in her direction； he went straight outside to the Norton standing alongside the garage。 She heard the clink of spanners； more cursing。 It always amazed her that anyone could swear so profusely whilst pursuing a hobby。
Twice during the morning she glanced outside。 He appeared to have stripped down the whole machine pletely； though； as far as she was aware； there was nothing mechanically wrong with it。 For him； this operation had the fascination of a jigsaw puzzle。 He took it apart； put it together； then started all over again。
She sighed in resignation as she washed and vacuumed。
Midday。 She usually prepared herself a snack of some sort； and wondered if Richard wanted anything to eat…but fearing further abuse she declined to ask him。
The afternoon wore on； and she began to prepare the evening meal。 At 5。30 p。m。 Richard came back inside； and marched straight upstairs in his oily boots。 Soon she heard the bath running。 Well； that was something anyway。 Cleanliness was not one of his regular concerns。
Shortly after six o'clock； Sarah and Bob arrived home within a few minutes of each other。 The meal was served； but still no sign of Richard。 Jane decided to remark upon it。
'Richard hasn't been to work today。'
'Oh！' Bob Coyle looked up； surprise and concern on his face。 'I wondered how long he would stick it up there。'
'It's not his fault。' Sarah leaped to her brother's defence； with the kind of natural support that children give each other against parental disapproval。 'They've laid some of them off。'
'Laid them off！' Coyle dropped his knife on to his plate。 'That's nonsense。 There's a half…page advert in my newspaper seeking to recruit more labour for this new 〃harvest process〃； as they call it。 They've sunk thousand…foot shafts into the granite below the valley； and now they're working like hell to make this diabolical stuff into blocks of solid waste to store down there for evermore。 They can't get enough men to work fast enough。 The boy's lying。'
'No； he isn't；' Sarah retorted hotly。 'They've laid thirty men off on Richard's section。 I should know。 I had to deal with all the paperwork。'
Coyle did not reply。 He continued chewing thoughtfully for some moments before he spoke again。
'Why have they laid them off？'
'I don't know。 I'm only a clerk in the office。'
'Haven't you asked？ I mean； aren't you interested in your job？'
'No。 It's just boring clerical work； and if you want to know why the men have been laid off； you'd better ask Richard himself。'
That； of course； was the logical solution； but a task he did not relish。 He finished the meal in silence。 Sarah went upstairs to change。
Bob and Jane looked at each other across the table。
There was a half…taunting smile at the corners of her lips。
He rose to his feet； and mounted the stairs thoughtfully； slowly。 Hell； of all the people to have to ask。
Coyle realised his first mistake the moment he entered his son's room。 He should have knocked。 This sanctum； adorned with posters of rock groups； speedway stars； and a host of other paraphernalia which he did not understand； was no longer the kid's bedroom to which he had right of entry at any time。 It was a temple of teenage worship where homage was paid to cardboard idols。
Richard was lying on the bed； fully clothed； arms folded behind his head。 He sat up as the door opened； his features twisting in fury and indignation。
'What the hell d'you mean by barging in here like this？' Wisely the youth had declined to use a four…lettered word。
Coyle closed the door quietly behind him。 He stood with his back to it； regarding his son with an expression as hard as the granite below 'Holocaust'。
'You haven't been to work today。'
'No； I bloody well haven't。 That's my business。'
'Not whilst you live under this roof。'
'I pay my keep。 You even make a bloody profit out of me； like you do out of everything else。'
'That's because you're never here。 Maybe that Lakin girl charges you board； too。'
Richard leapt to his feet； fists clenched and ra