Dying Fall, A (6 page)

‘Has he got a new girlfriend yet?’ asks Judy, with something like a sneer.

‘Nelson says he’s going out with a lap dancer.’

Judy snorts. ‘Wishful thinking. Bet that’s just what Nelson would like to do himself.’

‘I don’t think so,’ says Ruth, appalled at the idea. ‘Nelson’s quite prudish really.’

‘If you say so.’

There is a slight pause. Ruth looks down at the baby, asleep in his Moses basket. His hands are clasped on the crocheted blanket as if he’s praying.

‘Have you thought of a name yet?’ she asks.

‘Yes,’ says Judy.

‘Well, what is it?’ asks Ruth. ‘Are you going to make me play twenty questions?’

Judy looks away. ‘Michael,’ she says, towards the window.

Ruth wonders if she’s heard right. ‘Michael?’

Judy looks back at her, chin raised. ‘Yes, Michael.’

Ruth looks back at the sleeping baby, her mind racing. Why has Judy named her child after Cathbad? Does this mean that Cathbad is the father? Does Judy think that Ruth doesn’t know Cathbad’s real name? Does she suspect that Ruth suspects about Cathbad?

‘It’s a lovely name,’ she says at last. ‘Strong.’

Judy shrugs. ‘He’s got strong lungs at any rate.’

On cue, Michael wakes up and starts crying. Ruth takes the opportunity to escape.

‘I’d better be going,’ she says. ‘Max is coming down tonight.’

‘Romantic evening in, eh?’ says Judy. Her tone is distinctly unfriendly. She picks Michael up and jiggles him against her shoulder. The yelling increases.

‘No,’ says Ruth, gathering up her bag. ‘We’re going out for a meal with Shona and Phil.’

Judy knows how Ruth feels about Phil but she elects to take this as evidence of Ruth’s glamorous baby-free lifestyle. ‘It’s all right for some.’

Ruth has had enough. ‘Bye, Judy,’ she says. ‘Take care of yourself.’

Judy says, in a more conciliatory tone, ‘Do you think you
will
go to Lancashire?’

‘I’m not sure. I quite fancy the idea of a holiday but it’s a bit of a long drive.’ Judy looks at her over Michael’s fluffy dark head. ‘The boss is going to Blackpool for the summer. Did you know?’

Ruth shakes her head.

‘You might all meet up on the beach,’ says Judy. ‘That would be fun.’

Ruth drives to King’s Lynn to collect Kate and then heads off home. She’s tired from the day’s digging and can’t, offhand, think of anything she’d like less than squeezing herself into smart clothes and going out for a meal with her boss and his gorgeous partner. But when she’d told Max he had been surprisingly keen. He’d even offered to come down early on the Friday night. Ruth looks at the clock on the dashboard. Six o’clock. Max might even be there now. He has probably bumped into Cathbad on the doorstep. Cathbad is babysitting tonight.

She feels strangely disturbed by her visit to Judy. It’s not that she expected Judy to be enveloped in a happy cloud of baby love. She can remember the strange, disorientating days of early motherhood too well. But Judy seems odd, almost angry. Is she angry with Cathbad? Herself? With Ruth for being Cathbad’s friend and for having a child with a conveniently invisible father?

And those text messages. At first Ruth had almost been able to convince herself that it was a joke, that some student had got wind of her possible visit and was trying to wind her up. But last night’s message, coming just after all those creepy stories about ravens, had chilled her to the core.
You have been warned.
Who is warning her and why? And Nelson’s policeman friend thinks that Dan might have been murdered. Should she tell Nelson about the texts? She probably should but she shrinks from it somehow. One way and another, she’s needed Nelson’s help rather a lot over the last few years. She doesn’t want to play the damsel in distress again. It’s not a flattering look for a twelve-stone woman. She takes the turn onto the Saltmarsh road, over-steering slightly and coming dangerously close to the ditch. Get a grip, Ruth. Being rescued by the AA would be only one step up on being rescued by Nelson.

As she approaches her cottage, she sees Cathbad’s ancient Morris parked by the long grass. Max hasn’t arrived yet. A wave of what she doesn’t want to acknowledge as relief sweeps over her. It’s just because I’m tired, she thinks.

Kate wakes up as soon as she sees Cathbad.

‘Piss,’ she shouts ecstatically.

‘Peace, Hecate,’ says Cathbad, leaning in to release her from her car seat. ‘I’m going to look after you tonight.’

‘Please don’t teach her any more words,’ says Ruth.

‘Words are power,’ says Cathbad.

‘I think I can do without the power of piss,’ says Ruth, opening the door.

Ruth makes tea while Kate and Cathbad play on the floor with stickle bricks. Flint watches from a safe distance. It’s all so cosy that Ruth finds herself wishing that she wasn’t going out that evening. That she and Cathbad could get a takeaway and watch
Have I Got News For You
after Kate has gone to sleep.

‘When’s the demon lover arriving?’ asks Cathbad.

‘Any minute,’ says Ruth, not bothering to rise. She sits on the sofa, fiddling with her phone. It’s a smart model, new last year and she still hasn’t plumbed the depths of its powers. Cathbad watches her from across the room.

‘What’s up?’

It’s no good; Cathbad’s extrasensory powers have been awakened.

‘I saw Judy today.’

Cathbad doesn’t react, just carefully balances a red brick on top of a blue brick. Kate undoes them again.

‘How was she?’ he asks.

‘Fine. The baby’s lovely. He’s . . .’ She pauses, clicking random buttons on the phone.

‘What? Ruth, what is it?’

Ruth looks up. ‘He’s called Michael.’

Cathbad’s expression of pure joy is painful to see. Ruth almost wishes she hadn’t told him but how could she not?

‘After me?’ he whispers.

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth, but deep down she thinks that Judy did name her baby after Cathbad. Why else would she be so defensive about it? What does it mean? That Judy is acknowledging Cathbad as Michael’s father or that she’s giving the baby his first name because he’ll never have his last?

‘Do you think she wants to see me?’ asks Cathbad.

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. ‘After Kate was born I really wanted to see Nelson. It seemed all wrong that he wasn’t there. But it’s different for Judy. She has a husband.’

‘But who does she love?’ asks Cathbad.

‘Don’t ask me,’ says Ruth. ‘I don’t even know who I love.’

And, as if inspired by druidical sixth sense, Max walks into the room.

The evening isn’t too bad. They go to a nice Italian restaurant and Phil doesn’t complain too much about the prices. Shona looks stunning in a pink velvet mini dress but Ruth, in black trousers and a vaguely sparkly top, doesn’t feel too frumpy in comparison. Max and Phil talk easily about the Swaffham dig, about surveying and total stations and the impossibility of gaining English Heritage funding. After a while, Ruth gets fed up with being relegated to baby talk with Shona.

‘I might be involved in an interesting dig soon,’ she says. ‘Really,’ says Phil, his money-making antennae on alert. ‘Anything to do with that guy at Pendle? I was the one who gave him your number.’

What do you want, thinks Ruth, a medal? She hasn’t forgiven Phil for this intrusion on her privacy.

‘Yes. He wants me to give my expert opinion on some bones.’

She stresses the word ‘expert’. God, she must be drunk.

‘Were these the ones found at Ribchester?’ says Phil. ‘He mentioned something about them to me.’

‘Ribchester?’ says Max. ‘That’s a really important Roman site. There have been excavations there since the eighteenth century. It’s a cavalry fort. Very interesting. I’ve dug there myself.’

Ruth doesn’t like the way that Phil turns to Max as if relishing the chance to hear from a real expert. She was the one requested by Dan, she is ‘one of the country’s leading experts on bone preservation’. At that moment, she resolves to go to Pendle.

‘I’m looking forward to seeing it,’ she says, sprinkling parmesan on her pasta.

‘When are you going?’ asks Max. He smiles at her across the table, making Ruth feel ashamed of her annoyance.

‘At the end of July,’ she says, smiling back. ‘When term ends.’

‘Perhaps I could come too,’ says Max. ‘For some of it at least.’

‘That would be great,’ says Ruth, wondering why she doesn’t feel more enthusiastic about the idea. ‘I’m not quite sure when I’m going yet.’

‘Will you take Kate?’ asks Shona. She is leaning against Phil’s shoulder, hair tousled and eyes sparkling. How can she fancy him?

‘I don’t know,’ says Ruth. ‘Depends how long I’ll be there. If it’s only for a few days, I might ask my parents to look after her. They’d love it.’

This is true. There is nothing Ruth’s parents would like better than to get their hands on Kate while she is still young enough to brainwash.

‘You should go,’ says Phil, pouring himself more wine without offering it round. ‘It’s been a while since you’ve done any original research, hasn’t it?’

Ruth feels rather embarrassed, coming home with Max to find Cathbad on the sofa watching Graham Norton. It’s as if she and Max are carrying a huge banner saying ‘We’re just about to have sex’. Max is rather tactful, though. He goes into the kitchen to make tea, leaving Ruth and Cathbad to talk.

‘How was Kate?’ asks Ruth. She has sobered up at bit but is still finding it an effort not to slur her words.

‘Fine. Not a peep out of her.’

‘It was very kind of you to babysit.’

‘Not at all. I enjoyed it.’ He gets up and reaches for his jacket. Ruth feels rather sad that he isn’t wearing his cloak.

‘Bye, Cathbad,’ says Max from the kitchen. ‘See you soon.’

At the doorway, Cathbad turns and says, with elaborate casualness. ‘Oh, Ruth. If you are going to Lancashire, I’d love to go with you.’

As they turn onto the motorway, a huge sign above them points the way unambiguously to The North. Ruth, rather stressed from following Cathbad’s directions (‘I think it’s this way—Oh, look at that bird! Is it a buzzard?’), views it with relief. At least this must mean that they’re going the right way. All the same there is something, to her, slightly chilling about the wording. She remembers Dan’s letter with its reference to the ‘frozen and inhospitable north’. She is going into alien territory, and for a moment she thinks she understands how the Roman legions must have felt, leaving the sunny comfort of Italy and travelling northwards to the barbarous lands of the AngloSaxons.

It is July 29th and, as Ruth had predicted, the good weather has broken and rain is forecast. Ruth, Cathbad and Kate are on their way to Lytham. When they stopped for petrol outside King’s Lynn, Ruth thought how much they must look like a normal, nuclear family. Cathbad, in jeans with his greying hair in a ponytail (no cloak—thank God), could be any hippyish dad, siphoning unleaded into the battered family car. Ruth, coping with a fretful Kate and buying sweets for the journey, was aware that she looked every inch the frazzled mum. This must also have been the vision in Max’s head when he had said, ‘Everyone will think you’re a couple, you and Cathbad.’ It had been an odd thing for Max to say. For one thing, he prides himself on not caring what people think. For another, he knows that Ruth and Cathbad are just friends, he even knows about Judy. And, for another . . . well, he hasn’t any right to comment, has he?

For the last few weeks, Ruth has been thinking a lot about her relationship with Max. In July, after term had finished, Max came down for a week and they hired a boat on the Broads. Having nearly been murdered on a boat once, Ruth is not that keen on sailing as a pastime, but despite being involved in the same incident Max is a keen waterman. And it had been lovely, drifting through the flat Norfolk fields with the sky high and blue above them, Max at the helm, Kate shouting out with pleasure whenever she saw a swan, or a cormorant, or another boat—or anything really. That had been the only problem; Kate had been so excited that Ruth had had to keep hold of her all the time. She had been fitted with her own cute baby life-jacket, but even so Ruth wasn’t taking any chances. By evening, as they moored under willow trees or in shallow backwaters, Ruth was exhausted, far too tired (and conscious of Kate only a few feet away) to make love in the narrow double bed.

On their last evening, as they drifted along the Wherryman’s Way, Max had said, ‘Kate’s had a great time, hasn’t she?’

‘She’s loved it,’ said Ruth. Max had bought Kate a miniature captain’s cap and she was sitting on his lap with her hands firmly on the helm. It would make a great picture, if only Ruth could remember where she’d put her phone or camera.

Max turned to Ruth, who was sitting on the bench seat behind him.

‘Do you worry about her being an only child?’

Ruth had been surprised. She had been so shocked to have a baby at all that she had never considered Kate’s single-child status. Of course, in theory she had two halfsisters, but in reality it was just the two of them—Ruth and Kate. Was there something wrong with that?

‘No,’ she said. ‘It’s not as if I have much choice.’

‘But you do,’ Max had said, turning back to Kate. ‘We could have a baby.’

Now, filtering into the motorway with all the other families, hot and fractious at the beginning of the summer holidays, Ruth thinks about Max’s incredible statement. She has honestly never thought about having another baby. Getting pregnant with Kate had seemed like a miracle and, like all miracles, it was a one-off, inconvenient as well as wonderful. She has always thought that Kate was her one chance at motherhood—a chance she once thought she would never have. But she is only forty-two, it’s not impossible that she should have another child (though she ought to get a move on if she’s considering it). She thinks back to her fantasy family on the beach at Blackpool. Is it possible to imagine a baby next to a toddler Kate? A baby with Max’s curly hair? Would Max be in the fantasy too? He didn’t mention marriage or even living together. In fact, after dropping his bombshell, he had never mentioned the subject again, had not even waited for Ruth’s reply (just as well as she had no intention of giving one). They had parted on easy, affectionate terms, Max saying that he would try to come up to Lytham for the second week of Ruth’s holiday. Now she wonders if she had imagined the whole thing. Does Max really want her to have his baby? He doesn’t have children, maybe he is just desperate to be a father. But, if so, why not pick on some fertile twenty-something graduate student? Max is an attractive man, it shouldn’t be too difficult. Why bother with her—overweight, introverted, an expert on old bones?