‘And what’s this Bagman’s name?’
‘Neil Granger. You might have a bit of luck there, I suppose.’
‘I’m afraid Neil Granger’s dead, sir.’
Is he? Well, I didn’t know him so well. I just remember him from last year. The Border Rats raided one of our sets.’
Thanks a lot, sir. You’ve been very helpful.’
‘Well, don’t tell anybody that. I’ll get kicked out.’
Ben Cooper had already found the right place by following the noise. The courtyard was a new development enclosed by shops and paved to match the original setts. The design amplified the sound of the Border Rats band, which included a melodeon, concertina, drum, recorder and fiddle. Cooper didn’t recognize any of the musicians, even allowing for the costumes and makeup. Presumably, these were some of the Hey Bridge contingent. But Scott and Ryan Oxley were there, with their rag coats, top hats and blacked-up faces, along with Sean and Glen, and even little Jake, blacked up and with his own stick, almost as tall as himself.
There was no sign of Lucas Oxley. But the old man, Eric, stepped forward from the band and addressed the crowd to introduce the group and the first performance.
Then the music began - melodeon and concertina playing in a minor key, with the drum beating time for the striking of the sticks. Six of the dancers stood up straight, crossed over once, then
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twice, turned and dashed their stick together. A double clash, then another turn and they advanced again, with the sun flashing off their mirrored sunglasses and the black make-up on their faces glistening with sweat.
Instinctively, the audience began to draw back, shuffling their feet uneasily as the dancers moved towards them. The Border Rats marched proudly, almost swaggered, their sticks over their shoulders and heads held high, confident that no one would get in their way. In contrast, their spectators began to resemble a small flock of sheep, huddling closer together and shying nervously as they clutched at their hot dogs and cameras. One small child seemed momentarily paralysed. His fingers lost their grip, and his ice cream landed on the flags with a crunch and a splatter of white.
The dancers did an about-turn and advanced towards the crowd on the far side. Then they spun through ninety degrees and did the same to left and right, with the crowd backing away from them each time, until they had cleared sufficient space in the middle.
The music paused, then started again, much faster. The dancers had established their territory, and now they were going to perform their ritual.
In the enclosed courtyard, the simultaneous clash of the sticks was so loud and at such a pitch that it was painful on the ears. The Border Rats were building up a head of steam and really going for it in a dance called Much Wenlock. Then Eric Oxley announced that the next was a fighting dance. This turned out to involve charging, screaming and clashing. Some of the tourists in the audience were starting to look a bit scared. They were backed up against the shop windows and had no escape route when the sticks started flying and the boots came trampling near their sandals and trainers.
A dance called Brimfield looked positively obscene, with the dancers holding their sticks thrust into their groins as blatant phallic symbols. But then they started throwing the sticks instead. They passed high overhead, but were caught each time before they landed among the audience. Cooper wondered whether their public liability insurance was up to date.
Cooper spotted his new neighbour, Peggy Check, across the crowd, and he worked his way round to speak to her. She gave the impression of being a small oasis of good humour and normality in a widening desert of irrationality, and that was what he needed at the moment.
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‘So what happened to the coffee?’ she said when he reached her.
‘Sorry?’
She smiled. ‘You invited me round for coffee the night before last, and when I called you weren’t in. Or you didn’t answer the door anyway. Did I get the time wrong?’
‘Oh God, I’m sorry.’
‘You forgot.’
‘Well
‘I was hoping you got called away on urgent police business or something exciting.’
‘Well, it was something like that.’
‘You’re not very convincing, Ben.’
‘I’m really sorry.’
‘And now you’re blushing.’
‘Look, can we make it Monday instead? I’m off duty then. Or maybe we can have lunch?’
‘OK, that would be great.’
To Cooper’s relief, she seemed to put it out of her mind then, and turned to watch the dancers. They had begun a chant. The words seemed to be something about darkness and light, death and renewal.
Peggy had an expensive-looking digital camera with an LCD display on the back panel. Cooper watched her try to focus on the performance over the shoulders of the crowd.
‘Why digital?’ he said.
‘I’m going to e-mail some shots to my mom in Chicago,’ said Peggy. ‘She can’t wait to see what Edendale is like now.’
‘I see.’
‘Also, I have a personal website. I’m going to put up a report of my trip when I get back.’
