The Ghost Fields (Ruth Galloway) (23 page)

Kate has come for a sleepover. When Clara couldn’t babysit, Ruth considered cancelling her date with Frank. But when she casually mentioned this to Judy over the phone, Judy came up with this alternative. Ruth was reluctant at first. She didn’t want Kate to wake up on her birthday morning in someone else’s house. But Kate was all for the idea and, in the end, Ruth had given in. She will go round to Judy and Cathbad’s for a birthday breakfast and then they’ll all go swimming (Judy has the day off). In fact Ruth feels that she will agree to almost anything to avoid throwing a birthday party and inviting all the children in Kate’s reception class. She had been amazed to learn, from other mothers, that this is the accepted protocol these days. ‘So none of the kiddies feel left out, you see,’ explained Chelsea, one of the friendlier of the teenage mums in the playground. At the thought of thirty children in her cottage, Ruth feels quite sick. And the idea of having the party in a public space – McDonald’s, say, or a soft-play area – sounds, quite frankly, like a Disney-themed version of hell.

Now Kate skips off happily into the sitting room, where Michael has constructed a den in her honour by draping sheets over most of the furniture. Ruth and Judy perch on the uncovered edge of the sofa.

‘Are you sure it’s not too much trouble, having Kate?’ says Ruth.

‘It’ll be no trouble,’ says Judy, easing herself backwards. ‘Cathbad will do all the heavy-duty playing.’

As if to corroborate this, Cathbad bursts into the room, still wearing his mask, and proceeds to lay siege to the den. Thing barks wildly from the hall.

‘Does he ever play quietly?’ asks Ruth.

‘Hardly ever,’ says Judy. ‘Though he does read a good bedtime story.’

This conjures up such a cosy image that Ruth suddenly feels reluctant to go out into the cold and spend an uncomfortable evening exchanging small talk and trying not to mention nubile kid sisters. She’d rather watch
The Secret Garden
with Kate, Michael, Judy and Cathbad, eat organic chicken nuggets and have an early night. But she has squeezed herself into her best trousers and a sparkly top so she has to get on with it.

‘Have a lovely time,’ says Judy at the door.

‘I’ll try,’ says Ruth.

She is meeting Frank at the restaurant. She thought it would be easier if she had her car with her; she can escape at any time and she won’t be tempted to drink too much. Frank has chosen a restaurant on Blakeney Quay because ‘apparently the views are spectacular’, but it’s pitch black by the time that Ruth arrives and all she can see of the water is a dark void where boats clink gently against each other.

Frank is waiting for her in the bar. When he stands up, she is struck again by how tall he is. Like Nelson, he gives the impression of dwarfing all the other men in the vicinity. But, unlike Nelson, Frank doesn’t seem threatening. He’s more like a large, gentle animal, an Old English sheepdog perhaps, or a grizzly bear. But, then again, bears aren’t particularly gentle in real life, as opposed to children’s stories. Maybe Frank, too, is steelier than he looks.

He’s certainly all charm tonight, ordering her a drink and complimenting her on the sparkly top.

‘I should have come dressed as a witch,’ says Ruth. Compliments always make her feel nervous. ‘Seeing as it’s Halloween.’

‘It’s funny,’ says Frank. ‘Back home, kids dress up for Halloween. I mean, trick or treating’s a big deal. But they dress as all kinds of things, not just witches and monsters. I remember one year Sean was determined to be a dinosaur. Took Ali months to sew on the spikes.’

Frank hardly ever mentions his kids, Ruth realises. They’re grown-up now, of course. The mention of his dead wife is unusual too. She notes that Frank – for all he claims to be a new man – didn’t do the sewing himself.

‘I don’t like all the dark stuff,’ says Ruth, ‘though Cathbad would say that it’s in the tradition. The Day of the Dead and All Saints’ Day.’

‘How’s Cathbad celebrating tonight?’

‘He’s babysitting,’ says Ruth. ‘What are you going to eat?’

While they wait for the food, they talk about Lockwell Heath and the American airbase, about history on TV and Hilary Mantel’s books. It’s not until they have finished their main course that Frank says, ‘I want to explain about Gloria.’

‘There’s nothing to explain,’ says Ruth.

‘We’re not . . .’ For once, the ever-articulate Frank seems lost for words. He runs his hands through his hair and fiddles with his wine glass. ‘I’m not . . .’

‘For God’s sake,’ says Ruth, ‘don’t say “it’s nothing serious”. Honestly, it’s nothing to do with me.’

Frank sighs. ‘We’ve been seeing each other for about three months. Gloria’s a researcher on one of my regular programmes. We’ve got a lot in common.’

‘How old is she?’ asks Ruth.

Frank looks surprised. ‘How old is she? Thirtyish, I suppose.’

Ruth looks sceptical. Gloria may not be the teenybopper she had imagined but ‘thirtyish’ is still quite young for a man in his fifties.

‘I didn’t think you were interested in me,’ says Frank suddenly. ‘When I invited you to Seattle, you suddenly went silent. I didn’t hear from you again. I thought I’d come on too strong.’

Ruth considers. Is that what happened? She remembers getting the invitation and feeling gratified and worried in equal measure. America suddenly seemed an awfully long way away. Could she really bear to be apart from Kate? But if she took Kate with her, would she be able to cope with a querulous child on a transatlantic journey? Was it fair on Kate? Was it fair on Frank? She certainly remembers lying awake at night with these thoughts chasing around in her head. But had she really never contacted Frank again? It’s possible, she supposes. It’s just not the way she remembers it.

‘I’m sorry,’ she says at last. ‘I did want to come. It’s just, it suddenly seemed . . . too much.’

‘I thought it might be because of Nelson,’ says Frank.

Ruth stares at him. She has never told Frank that Nelson is Kate’s father. Can he possibly suspect?

‘What do you mean?’ she says at last.

‘I don’t know,’ says Frank. ‘It just that he sometimes seemed rather possessive of you and Kate.’

‘There’s nothing between me and Nelson,’ says Ruth. ‘We’re just friends. Besides, he’s married.’

‘I’m sorry,’ says Frank. It seems that they have been saying nothing else to each other all evening. ‘Looks like I got it all wrong.’

‘Well, it’s OK now,’ says Ruth with bracing cheerfulness. ‘You’re with Gloria and you’ve got loads in common and everything.’

‘Yes,’ says Frank. ‘It’s just . . . well,
we
had loads in common, Ruth. I really thought we might be able to make a go of it.’

Ruth notes the past tense. ‘You can’t look back,’ she says. ‘That way madness lies.’

Frank laughs. ‘I’m a historian and you’re an archaeologist; that’s what we do – look back.’

‘Well, it’s time we stopped,’ says Ruth. ‘Are you having coffee?’

Clough and Cassandra are also out on a date. At least that’s what Clough is calling it in his head. He has taken some trouble choosing the venue, a Mexican restaurant that was well reviewed in the
Eastern Daily Press
(Clough reads it at the barber’s). He thought it would be the kind of trendy place that Cassie would like (cocktails were mentioned) but he had reckoned without the Dia de los Muertos, the Hispanic version of Halloween. They are met at the door by capering ghouls in devil masks and, when they eventually find their table amongst the drapes and floaty cobwebs, they are offered drinks in tiny glass skulls.

‘What is it?’ asks Clough.

‘Traditional Guatemalan’ is the not altogether reassuring answer.

Clough drinks. It’s horrible, managing to be sweet and acidic at the same time, but it’s probably not actually on the list of poisons.

‘I wouldn’t bother if I was you,’ he tells Cassie.

‘Oh, I’ll try anything once,’ she says, draining the liquid.

This is distinctly hopeful.

The food, which comes on wooden blocks, is your average Old El Paso stuff. Clough tries to talk to Cassie about her job and her family and her ambitions and all that women’s magazine stuff. But it’s hard when the band are playing loud enough to wake the dead. But then again, maybe that’s the idea.

‘So, why did you become a policeman?’ asks Cassie, doing some of the
Woman’s Own
stuff herself. Unfortunately, just at that moment, Clough swallows a chilli by mistake. He chokes and splutters while Cassie pats him on the back. His eyes stream. The devil masks of the waiters blur and pulsate. The music seems to be beating into his skull.

‘Dave?’ She leans over. He can smell her perfume, something lemony and slightly spicy. ‘Shall we go to a pub?’

Clough wonders if it’s too soon to ask her to marry him.

Frank insists on walking Ruth to her car. Outside the restaurant, the water slaps against the harbour wall and the boats are still jangling gently, as if they are having a whispered conversation. The sea is out there, thinks Ruth. You can’t see it but it’s there. Miles and miles of dark water, just waiting. She feels oddly light-headed, even though she has only been drinking mineral water.

The lower part of the car park is still waterlogged. At the top end, Ruth’s Renault sits beside Frank’s hired car, a Golf this time.

‘Do you remember when I crashed into you?’ says Frank. ‘Talk about an explosive start to a relationship.’

But do they have a relationship? thinks Ruth. It seemed possible once, but now she thinks that they were just cars that passed in the night.

‘Kate still talks about that day,’ says Ruth. ‘Turns out to be her favourite car journey ever.’

‘She’s a great kid,’ says Frank.

‘She is,’ agrees Ruth. She searches in her organiser handbag for her car keys. Why can’t she ever find anything in any of its endless pockets?

‘Ruth,’ says Frank. And then he steps closer and kisses her. A proper kiss – a film star kiss, the last swooning moments before the credits roll. It’s not a friend’s kiss or a colleague’s kiss. Surrendering to it, Ruth thinks that she no longer understands anything any more.

‘Have you arrested hundreds of people?’ asks Cassie.

‘Hundreds,’ says Clough. ‘I’ve probably arrested half the people in this pub.’

Cassie laughs, though it’s nearer to the truth than she thinks. Clough has found a real drinker’s pub, one frequented by Irish Ted and the field archaeology crew and miraculously free from music, cocktails or waiters in devil masks. The clientele is almost entirely male, dour pint-swillers gathered around the television or the pool table. Cassie, in her black lace dress, has already caused quite a stir, especially when she played – and beat – Clough at pool.

Now they are on their third pints (Clough has never met a girl who drinks pints before; his head is swimming), sitting in a dark corner by the fruit machines.

‘Why did you become a policeman?’ Clough has a feeling that she has asked this before. He tries to answer the question honestly.

‘I wasn’t much good at school,’ he says. ‘My mum thought I was bright but I didn’t do any work. I was only interested in playing football. I thought about joining the army but the idea of being stuck in some desert waiting to be shot, it didn’t appeal somehow. That left the police. My kid brother had been in trouble a few times and the local police had been really good about it, really tried to help. I suppose that gave me the idea.’

‘Were you ever in trouble?’

‘Just fighting. The usual stuff. Nothing serious.’ Clough hopes she won’t ask him about Mark. He doesn’t want to spend the evening talking about his brother’s life of crime.

‘What’s your boss like?’ she asks. ‘He seems a bit serious.’

Clough smiles. ‘He’s all right. It makes you serious, this job. We’ve had some tough cases over the past few years. But the boss . . . he’s seen us through it. He looks out for us and we look out for him. We’re a team.’

‘It sounds as if you like him.’

Clough considers. He’s not given to questioning whether he likes people or not, especially other men.