A Room Full of Bones (33 page)

Cathbad is looking impressive in a fur-lined cloak with his long hair loose. Ruth is pleased to see him dressed up. The last few times they have met it has been in the university canteen and Cathbad was in his ordinary clothes and white coat. He looked like any other middle-aged lab technician and there was something in his eyes,
something sad and rather defeated, that made Ruth in turn feel sad. Cathbad told her that Judy had ended their relationship. ‘She said that she wanted to give her marriage a proper chance. I supported her, of course. The spirits are strong within her.’ Judy certainly seems strong these days. Maybe it’s because she was in charge when Nelson was ill, because on the couple of occasions that Ruth has seen her recently, Judy has been in full-on police professional mode. She wonders if Judy will be here today. She knows that Nelson and Superintendent Whitcliffe are expected. Whitcliffe is making a speech complete with references, according to Nelson, to Mother Earth and the mystic unity of the nations.

Ruth and Cathbad walk through the Natural History gallery. The stuffed animals are still here, red in tooth and claw, and Ruth realises that she would be quite sad to see them go. The only concession to modernity is an interactive display showing endangered species, the world pulsing with red, amber and green lights. Ruth presses on Australia and an icon of a koala fills the screen. Surely koalas aren’t endangered? They’re in all the ads.

Cathbad is staring at a case labelled ‘Wandering Albatross’.

‘That’s a great name, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Wandering Albatross.’

‘Do me a favour and don’t name your next child Albatross.’

‘I won’t have another child,’ says Cathbad.

They walk into the replica study where the stag still gazes down from the red-painted wall. Ruth looks at the
waxwork figure of Lord Percival Smith, the man who thought it would be a good idea to collect human bones and keep them in boxes. She notices that the label describing him as ‘adventurer and taxidermist’ is missing. Ruth is sure that Bob and Caroline will find a better phrase to describe him.

This time they take the door not into the Local History Room but into a space marked New World Collection. And it
is
a new world: a long light room painted white, with doors opening onto a patio. The rainbow serpent forms splashes of colour on the walls along with hugely magnified words from Bob’s poems. There is a display of children’s artwork and a papier-mâché model of a kangaroo. Where are Lord Smith’s branding irons and dingo traps, wonders Ruth. If they are present, they are buried somewhere under the red and yellow flags. This is a land of primary colours; darkness has no place here.

At the end of the room Caroline Smith, resplendent in a gold dress decorated with vaguely Aboriginal patterns, is pouring glasses of champagne. There is a table laden with food and drink and decorated with pine branches. The smell reminds Ruth of her fantasy Christmas tree. Clough is already getting stuck into the buffet and various local reporters wander round clutching glasses. A handsome man in a black suit stands beside Caroline, dispensing bonhomie.

‘Have you met my brother Randolph?’ says Caroline.

So this is the man Judy referred to as the highwayman. He’s certainly very dashing, like a Georgette Heyer hero. Cathbad and Ruth shake his hand and Randolph offers
some pleasantries on the day and the weather (bright but cold).

‘Be a bit different in Australia.’

Bob Woonunga has told Ruth that he is going back to Australia for the winter. ‘I need warmth in December.’ Ruth thinks of her friend and the cards with the sunbathing Santas. A hot Christmas still doesn’t seem right to her. She has to admit though that this whole business has given her a new interest in Australia. She sees herself walking across red sand, watching the sun go down on Ayers Rock, or Uluru as Caroline would call it. She imagines blue seas and vast deserts, formed by the Great Rainbow Serpent himself. She thinks about souls made from mud, about cloud and rain spirits and the demons who hunt children by night. Really, her imagination has come on a long way since
Neighbours
and maybe this is due to
her
friendly neighbour. On balance, she’s glad that Bob’s coming back for the new term.

She agrees with Randolph that things are, indeed, different in Australia, and after a few further pleasantries he turns away to greet some new arrivals. Ruth grabs a handful of crisps and looks for someone to talk to. She wants to be talking to someone when Max arrives, not standing on her own by the buffet like a saddo.

‘Hi Ruth.’ It’s Clough. The other person guaranteed to be found near the food. Ruth greets him with enthusiasm. She wonders if Nelson has arrived.

‘Hi Clough. How are you?’

‘Surviving.’ Clough gives a brave smile. He has been recommended for a bravery award and still limps sometimes – when
he remembers. ‘How are you? How’s that baby of yours?’

‘Fine. Not really a baby anymore.’

‘Bet she’s excited about Christmas.’

‘She is.’ Kate can now say Christmas and Santa and, worryingly, Baby Jesus. Who taught her that one? Ruth wonders.

‘Christmas isn’t Christmas without kids.’

Ruth looks at him with interest. She wonders if he and Trace are thinking of having children. She’s heard rumours that they’ve bought a dog. She asks, and is rewarded by seemingly endless photographs of a labradoodle puppy.

‘It’s the only breed that Trace isn’t allergic to.’

‘He’s lovely,’ says Ruth truthfully.

‘Do you want to see pictures of my dog?’ Max is leaning over her shoulder. Ruth turns and smiles.

‘Hi.’

‘Hi Ruth.’

Clough, who has been watching this greeting curiously, wanders away, trailing crumbs.

‘How is Claudia?’ asks Ruth.

‘Fine. She sends her love to Flint.’

‘Would she … would you …’ But, before Ruth can finish, Bob Woonunga, glorious in an even bigger and furrier cloak than Cathbad’s, appears in the doorway and asks them to step outside.

In the tiny museum garden, overshadowed by office blocks and the flats managed by Stanley, the scourge of dog owners, Bob has built a bonfire. ‘It’s called a
coolamon,’ says Max. He tells Ruth that he’s hoping to have his own repatriation ceremony in Sussex soon. As eucalyptus branches are in short supply, the pyre is comprised of pine branches and their scent is like expensive bath oil.

‘Crack!’ Ruth jumps but it’s only Cathbad and his friends with their clapping sticks. A strange procession starts to form. Bob, in his cloak and now a feathered headdress, chanting, and occasionally shouting out strange staccato cries that echo in the cold air. Then Caroline and Randolph, carrying what looks like a rectangular box but which, Ruth supposes, is actually the coffin containing the skulls and bones of the ancestors. Then Alkira Jones and Derel Assinewai carrying a second box. They are followed by a little girl, as solemn as a bridesmaid, carrying a large feather, just like the one Ruth found on the spare-room bed.

Caroline and Randolph place their box in front of the fire. Alkira and Derel follow suit. Randolph carefully unwraps an Aboriginal flag and places it over the coffins. Judy, watching from the back, thinks of the time when she imagined her funeral, the last post, the folded union jack. Next to her, Darren smiles and takes her hand. He’s so excited about the baby that he hardly likes to let her out of his sight. Judy squints through the smoke so that she can see Cathbad. He should look ridiculous in that cloak, but to Judy he looks wonderful, like an ancient warrior. Darren squeezes her hand. ‘Tired?’ Judy shakes her head.

Randolph clears his throat and takes a piece of paper
from his pocket. ‘On behalf of the Smith family, alive and dead …’ he begins. Ruth thinks of Bishop Augustine who was also, of course, a member of the Smith family. There is already a battle royal over his (or her) remains. Randolph wants them to be buried in the cathedral, near the statue with the warning about the great snake, but Janet Meadows and the other local historians want a private burial in accordance, they say, with the Bishop’s own wishes. The coffin will find a home in the Smith museum, though Ruth, who has heard about the poisoned spores from Nelson, thinks that she will probably give visiting it a miss. She looks at Phil, standing proudly beside Shona. Was his flu also courtesy of the Bishop? Trust Phil to come into contact with a deadly virus and still only suffer from man flu.

‘On behalf of the Smith family alive and dead,’ says Randolph, Lord Smith, ‘I would like to apologise, here and now, for the actions of my ancestor in removing these bones from their sacred place of rest.’ He pauses and looks at Caroline. ‘Our ancestor was wrong to remove the bones and my father was wrong to keep them here, in the museum, when they should have been returned to the fields of their fathers.’ That’s a nice phrase, thinks Ruth. Did he get it from Bob, who is smiling encouragingly, or from Caroline, who is gazing fiercely into the middle distance? Is she thinking that she is the one who should have made the speech? She was the one, after all, who lobbied for the return of the relics. Why should Randolph take centre stage, just because he’s a man? That much, at least, hasn’t changed since Bishop Augustine’s time.

‘We return the ancestors to Mother Earth and to the arms of their people. We remember those who have died, especially my father Lord Danforth Smith.’ He falters slightly and looks at Caroline again. Then his voice strengthens. ‘We also remember Neil Topham, who loved the museum and who, in his own way, honoured the ancient dead.’ He looks straight ahead, as proud as a French aristocrat making a speech at the foot of the guillotine. ‘We ask,’ he says, ‘that our family, the Smith family, should be free from the curse brought down upon the head of our father. We ask that we be free, as the ancestors are now free.’

There is some applause, faint and tinny in the open air, but most people seem rather baffled by the mention of the curse. Ruth sees Phil laughing with Shona behind his hand and some of the reporters smiling as they think of an amusing new slant to give their articles. But Caroline squeezes her brother’s hand with what looks like genuine gratitude and Bob Woonunga smiles at them benevolently.

Whitcliffe now begins an interminable speech about understanding between nations. Nelson, who has to stand at his side looking supportive, wishes that an Aboriginal thunderbolt would fall from the sky and transform his boss into a toad. He looks for Ruth in the crowd and sees her next to that other archaeologist, the one who gave him so much trouble a few years ago. Are they together now? He supposes he should wish them well; Ruth could do with some company and, after all, he’s married, more married than ever it seems, after his illness and miraculous recovery. Michelle seems to have moved on from
jealousy and resentment; now she is almost terrifyingly strong and optimistic. She has even agreed to let him see Katie. At the thought of Katie, Nelson’s face softens.

Whitcliffe finally draws to a close. Bob make a brief but poetic speech, welcoming the ancestors back to the sacred land. Of course, strictly speaking they are not repatriated yet. Their journey will not end until the Qantas Airbus delivers them to Brisbane airport in two days time. Even then, the relics face another journey by road and sea to Minjerribah, the islands in the bay. But to all intents and purposes the handover is now complete. Bob shakes hands with Randolph and Caroline, Derel raises the didgeridoo to his lips, and a new tune breaks out – a happier, more joyful sound. Cathbad lights the fire and the smoke reaches up into the winter sky (Stanley rings later to complain). The little girl, who turns out to be Alkira’s daughter, carefully places the feather on the bonfire.

Perhaps because of the smoke, starlings roosting on the nearby rooftops rise into the air in their own inky cloud. Murmuration, thinks Nelson. Now why does he know that word? As the crowd disperses, he finds himself next to Randolph Smith.

‘How’s everything at the stables?’ he asks.

Tamsin Smith and Len Harris have both been remanded in custody pending trial. Tamsin is denying everything and, as she has employed an expensive and unscrupulous QC, it promises to be quite a battle. Nelson’s looking forward to it; he hasn’t had a good fight for ages.

‘Not too bad,’ says Randolph. ‘Some owners have taken
their horses away but we’ve got some who’re loyal to us. And we’ve got the horses that Dad owned, like The Necromancer. He’s a terrific prospect. I’m going to enter him for next year’s National.’

‘Did you hear that?’ says Nelson to Clough, who is hovering nearby, eating crisps. ‘Your favourite horse is going to run in the National. You must have a bet.’

‘I never want to see that horse again,’ says Clough with dignity.

Randolph laughs. ‘He’s a reformed character, Sergeant. You should see him. I’ve been riding him out twice a day and he’s a lamb.’

‘I’ll take your word for it,’ says Clough.

Ruth and Max are watching the birds wheel and turn in the darkening sky. Ruth thinks of the Saltmarsh, of the lonely, beloved landscape, of walking with Kate and Max on the beach.

‘Do you want to come for Christmas?’ she blurts out. ‘It’ll be quiet, just me and Kate, but we could get a tree, roast some chestnuts.’

Max’s face breaks into a smile worthy of Bob Woonunga himself. ‘I’d love to,’ he says.

He reaches out and takes her hand. Ruth is rather taken aback. It’s been so long since she’s been in a relationship that she’s forgotten how couples behave. Do they really hold hands like this? It feels rather odd but she’s willing to try anything once. She lets her hand rest in his.

‘Hallo Ruth.’

‘Hi Nelson.’ She tries to remove her hand but Max’s hold tightens. ‘Do you remember Max Grey?’

‘Yes,’ says Nelson, without enthusiasm. ‘How are you? You’re a long way from … Brighton, isn’t it?’

‘I’ve come for the ceremony’ says Max. ‘And to see Ruth of course.’

‘Well, I don’t blame you for giving Norfolk a miss,’ says Nelson. ‘Not much of a place is it?’

‘On the contrary,’ says Max, smiling warmly at Ruth. ‘I like Norfolk very much. I have a feeling I’m going to be spending a lot more time here. In fact, I’m coming to Ruth for Christmas.’