Ruth Galloway (71 page)

‘No, you're all right.' Nelson gets up and goes to the bar. Ruth watches him rather warily. The exchange has put her on her guard. The last thing she wants is another row with Nelson over money.

But when Nelson comes back to the table, he doesn't seem inclined to chat. He checks his phone and then places it carefully on the mat in front of him. Then he moves it to the left of the mat, then to the right, then on top of it, then below, then to the left again.

Ruth can't stand any more. ‘What did you want to talk about?'

‘Talk?' He says it like it's a foreign word.

‘Yes, talk. That's why you got me here, isn't it? Why you suggested lunch.'

‘I just thought you might be hungry …' Nelson begins, but he has the good grace not to go on. ‘I don't know, Ruth,' he says, looking down into his (full fat) Coke. ‘I'm so confused. I think about you and Katie all the time.'

Ruth finds herself breathing fast. ‘Don't,' she says. ‘Don't think about us.'

‘You can't say that, Ruth. She's my daughter. I want to help. I want to be involved. I want to give you money, at least.'

There is a pause while the landlord slops their sandwiches down on the table. Ruth tries to speak calmly. ‘I know you want to help but you can't, can you? If you start giving me money, Michelle will find out. I've got to do this thing on my own.'

‘But she's my—'

‘I know,' Ruth interrupts. ‘But you've got your family. You don't want to break up your marriage. I respect that. But I'm afraid it means that I make the decisions about Kate.'

Nelson looks as if he is about to explode. The thought of anyone else making decisions is complete anathema to him. But, quite suddenly, all the fight seems to go out of him and he says, in a low voice, ‘I just want to be involved.'

‘You can see Kate any time.'

‘Yes, for half an hour, sitting in my car.'

‘And that's another thing,' says Ruth. ‘If you keep offering to look after her, someone will suspect something.'

‘Who?'

‘Judy, maybe. Or even Clough.'

Nelson snorts.

‘Clough's not stupid, you know. And she does look a little bit like you.'

The look of gratification on Nelson's face is almost ludicrous.

‘Really? Do you think so?'

‘Well, she's prettier than you.'

Nelson grins, reluctantly. ‘That's true. Okay, I'll be more careful but I can't help how I feel. I feel protective about her. Like I do about my daughters … my other daughters. I can't change that.'

‘You'll have to try and hide it. Especially when there are other people around. You should have seen Clough's face when you offered to hold her.'

‘Do him good. He'll have his own some day. If he ever grows up, that is.'

‘I really think he's in love with Trace.'

Nelson grunts. ‘Don't talk to me about love. Even Judy's getting married. It's all the girls at the station ever talk about.'

Ruth wondered whether she should take Nelson to task for referring to fellow police professionals as ‘girls', but she's far too interested in the news to attempt re-education. Also, she's glad of the change of subject. Nelson's probably a lost cause, anyway.

‘Is she? She's been with her boyfriend a long time, hasn't she?'

‘Since they were at school.'

‘God, I can't imagine that.' Ruth thinks of the boy she was going out with at sixteen, a spotty youth called Daniel Harris. She thinks he became a plumber. He's probably loaded. Maybe she should have married him.

‘Hen parties, wedding lists. That's all I ever hear. Even Whitcliffe—' He stops.

‘What?'

Nelson is silent for a moment, chewing his sandwich.
Ruth takes an unenthusiastic bite of hers. It tastes of wet plastic.

Nelson pushes his plate away. ‘Did you catch the name of the bloke in the Home Guard?' he says. ‘The one who's still alive?'

‘Archie something.'

‘Archie Whitcliffe. I think he's my boss's grandfather. He talked about him once. Local hero. Fighting on the home front and all that.'

‘Will that make things difficult for you?'

‘Maybe. Whitcliffe's touchy about his family. He's Norfolk born and bred. Explains a lot, in my opinion. He won't want me bullying his war hero granddad.'

‘But you're not going to bully him, are you?' asks Ruth sweetly. ‘You're just going to ask him some questions.'

‘Whitcliffe thinks I'm too forceful.'

‘Why ever would he think that?'

This time Nelson gets it. ‘I've no idea. I'm a real pussy cat.'

This makes Ruth think about Flint. She hasn't seen him today. She hopes he's all right and hasn't got shut in somewhere. Since she lost her other cat last year, she's become rather neurotic about Flint.

‘Are you finished?' she says. ‘I should be getting back to work.'

*

As they drive back through the squalling rain, Nelson asks, ‘Do you think we'll get anywhere with identifying the bodies?'

‘We might do,' says Ruth. ‘I can do isotope analysis.'

‘What's that when it's at home?'

‘It tests the chemicals and minerals present in teeth and bone. Put simply, the teeth will tell us where someone grew up, the bone will tell us where they ended up.'

‘Why's that?'

‘Because bone keeps growing. It renews itself, from the inside out. The teeth provide a record of the time that they were formed, the bones will show the chemicals and minerals absorbed more recently.'

‘That's good then, isn't it?'

‘Yes …' Ruth hesitates. ‘It's just … we can do the tests, but without the records to cross check it doesn't really help with identification. I suppose if we find out roughly where the men may have come from, we could make enquiries there. The trouble is it's so long ago.'

‘People have got long memories,' says Nelson grimly. ‘That's one thing I've learnt on this job.'

Nelson drops Ruth at the station and she drives straight back to the university where she has a tutorial at three. The Natural Sciences building is quiet. It's a grey afternoon and most of the students are probably in Halls or in the union bar. Ruth climbs the stairs to her office, thinking about Tatjana and Nelson and Kate and what Jack Hastings' mother meant by ‘he never forgot the horror'.

Hearing Tatjana's voice had been a real shock. After Bosnia, Tatjana had moved back to the States and married an American. There had been a few Christmas cards. Tatjana and her husband (Rick? Rich? Rock?) were living in Cape Cod. Tatjana was doing some archaeological work and trying to write a book. Rick/Rich/Rock was a doctor, specialising in geriatrics. ‘No shortage in Cape Cod,' Tatjana had written with typical terse humour. That had been almost ten years ago.

‘Ruth.' Tatjana had sounded unnervingly the same. ‘I had your number from the university. I hope it's okay?'

‘It's fine.' The office was not meant to give out personal numbers, but in an age when tutors send their students text messages and communicate via Facebook (not that Ruth
would ever do either of these things), nothing was really private any more.

‘So you're still teaching?' Tatjana's accent had almost gone, replaced with a slight East Coast whine, but the inflection was still foreign, the ends of each word crisp and emphasised.

‘Yes, I'm a lecturer in forensic archaeology. I teach postgraduates mostly.'

‘Did you ever write the book?'

‘No. Did you?'

‘No.' Tatjana's laugh, that sudden staccato bark, brought back the past more vividly than anything else could. The ballroom, the oil lamps, Erik telling stories about vampires, Hank playing ‘Smoke on the Water' on the guitar.

‘And Erik,' said Tatjana. ‘Do you still see Erik?'

‘Erik's dead,' said Ruth. ‘It's a long story.'

‘Erik dead. Dear God.'

‘Yes.'

‘And you, Ruth: What's your news? Are you married? Children?'

Ruth took a deep breath, watching the flickering green light from the baby monitor. ‘I'm not married but I have a child. A baby.'

Ruth remembers that there was a brief silence before Tatjana said, ‘A baby, well that
is
news. Congratulations, Ruth. A boy or a girl?'

‘A girl. Kate.'

‘Kate.'

Another silence and Ruth could almost hear the years rushing past, a whooshing sound like walking through falling leaves.

‘I'm coming to England,' said Tatjana at last. ‘I'm giving some lectures at the University of East Anglia. I wondered, could I stay with you? For a week or two?'

Ruth thought a lot of things in that moment: her cottage is a long way from UEA, two weeks is a long time, she would have to tidy the spare room. She thought so long that Tatjana said, ‘Of course, if it's a problem …'

‘No,' said Ruth. ‘No problem. It'll be wonderful to see you again.'

But will it be wonderful, thinks Ruth, searching for the key card to open her office. Seeing Tatjana will bring back a whole slew of memories, not all of them pleasant. For many years afterwards she'd had nightmares about Bosnia. Bones gleaming in the sun, a hotel with endless corridors, door after identical door, grand staircases leading into nothingness, the flames of a bonfire, Tatjana's face in the darkness.

The last time she saw Tatjana it had been a harrowing occasion. She still thinks about it, wonders if she could have said or done anything differently, if, by some small change, she could have made events turn out another way. She doesn't know if, even fourteen years later, she's ready to revisit that scene. She feels too fragile – not enough sleep, too many confrontations with Nelson. But Tatjana is her friend, and over the last year, she's learnt a lot about friendship. Tatjana must want to see her badly if she's made so much effort to get in touch. She mustn't turn her away. She mustn't let Tatjana down again.

While she is scrabbling in her organiser bag – it has so many zips and pockets that it's almost impossible to find anything – she notices that the lights are on inside her
office. She pushes open the door and finds Cathbad sitting at her desk, under the poster of Indiana Jones, reading
Alice in Wonderland
.

Although not entirely surprised – Cathbad makes rather a speciality of materialising in unexpected places – Ruth is taken aback to see him there, calm as a Buddha in his lab coat, his long hair in a ponytail, an expression of serene benevolence on his face. Although she sometimes sees Cathbad around the campus (he is a technician in the chemistry department), he rarely comes near the archaeology corridor. He once trained as an archaeologist under Erik and, perhaps for this reason, studiously avoids Phil, Ruth's boss. Certainly no two men could be less alike than Erik and Phil.

‘Lewis Carroll,' says Cathbad dreamily, ‘such a visionary.'

‘I thought he was a paedophile.'

‘He was a sad little man who liked the company of young girls. What's wrong with that?'

‘Ask Nelson.'

Cathbad smiles. To everyone's surprise, including their own, Cathbad and Nelson get on rather well. Twice they have faced considerable danger together and Cathbad is convinced that Nelson saved his life on one of these occasions. They are bound together by this circumstance, he says, forever. Nelson grunts sceptically when he hears this, but despite a famed intolerance for anything even slightly fey or alternative Nelson finds Cathbad good company. Beneath the New Age trappings is a keen intelligence at work in Cathbad. Nelson sometimes thinks that he would have made a good detective.

‘Nelson sees demons everywhere. How are you, Ruthie?'

Ruth is startled. For one thing, it seems like years since anyone has asked about her rather than Kate. For another – Ruthie? Only Erik ever called Ruth Ruthie.

‘I'm fine. You look different. What is it?'

Cathbad raises a slightly self-conscious hand to his face and Ruth realises.

‘You've shaved off your beard.'

For the past few years, Cathbad has sported a black beard, dramatically at odds with his greying hair. Without it he looks younger, more approachable and, to Ruth's surprise, rather good-looking.

‘Maddy persuaded me.'

Maddy is Cathbad's teenage daughter. It's news to Ruth that they're in contact. ‘Good for Maddy. It's a distinct improvement.'

Ruth puts her bag on the visitor's chair and waits for Cathbad to vacate hers. Instead, he smiles up at her, eyes very dark in his clean-shaven face.

‘How's Hecate?'

‘Kate,' snaps Ruth. Jesus, why can't anyone get her name right?

‘I was thinking that it was about time for her naming ceremony.'

Cathbad has appointed himself Kate's godfather. Ruth quite likes the idea of godparents (anyone turning up with presents is surely a Good Thing) but has refused to have Kate christened because of the little problem of not believing in God. Cathbad, who likes any opportunity to have a party, has suggested a pagan naming ceremony instead. Ruth doesn't believe in the pagan gods either but at least
Cathbad's plans don't involve a church. A picnic on the beach was his last suggestion.

‘Bit cold on the beach,' she says now.

‘We could have a bonfire.' Cathbad loves bonfires. He says they are libations for the gods but Nelson is convinced that he is a closet arsonist.

‘You're not going to start sacrificing goats, are you?'

Cathbad looks hurt. ‘Of course not. It's a very simple ceremony. We're just going to show Kate to the gods, that's all.'

‘Still sounds a bit Wicker Man.'

‘Forget the gods. Just see it as a party to welcome Kate to the world.'

‘That sounds okay, I suppose.'

‘Great. I'll organise it. Shall we say Thursday week? Are you going to invite your parents?'