‘Interfering bastard,’ he says. ‘What did he want?’
‘To interfere, I suspect. His dad was sweet though. Very interested in history. He was talking about the church that was meant to have been here.’
‘Father Hennessey mentioned it too. Said it used to cure lepers.’
Ruth thinks of St Hugh’s decapitated skull, performing miracles on its own, of St Bridget’s cross, holy fires and sacred wells. Fairy tales all of them but, like fairy tales, curiously compelling.
‘They’re Catholics, you know,’ says Nelson suddenly, ‘the Spens family. Edward Spens was telling me. His grandfather converted sometime in the fifties.’
‘I thought there was something odd about him,’ says Ruth.
They are walking back towards the archway, where Kevin Davies is now standing, looking sadly at the devastation all around him. Ruth stops and takes a gulp from her water bottle.
Nelson puts his hand on her arm. ‘Are you all right?’
The sudden kindness in his voice makes the blood rush to her head again.
‘Fine,’ she snaps, ‘just hot.’
‘Hot?’ says Nelson. ‘It’s never hot in Norfolk.’ And he bounds away across the rubble.
CHAPTER 11
By the time Ruth gets in her car, her back feels like it is splitting in two. She wedges her jumper at the base of her spine and thinks that it is only a matter of time before she has a little corduroy lumbar cushion and thus becomes officially middle-aged.
She drives to the university to drop off the animal bones. As she gets the box out of the car she wonders whether lugging bones about is ideal behaviour for a pregnant woman. Funny but they don’t mention that in the books. Ruth estimates that she is now thirteen weeks pregnant. She is having a scan next week which should, apparently, give a more accurate date. Maybe then, at last, the whole thing will start to seem real.
She is so deep in thought that she doesn’t notice the white-coated figure coming in the other direction.
‘Sorry!’
Thank goodness, she doesn’t drop the box but the effort causes her to fall to her knees. The white-coated man helps her up.
‘Ruth! Are you OK?’
It is Cathbad.
When he is in his full Druid outfit, complete with flowing purple cloak, Cathbad can look impressive, even magnificent. Now, with his greying hair drawn back in a ponytail, white coat, jeans and trainers, he looks like any other ageing hippy who has finally found a nine-to-five job. Ruth is pleased to see him though. Despite everything, she is fond of Cathbad.
‘I’m all right.’ She gets to her feet rather slowly, annoyed to find herself slightly out of breath.
‘Are you taking those to the lab? I’ll help you.’
Ruth hands over the box though still keeps hold of her precious rucksack.‘Did you get my email?’ asks Cathbad as they walk along the deserted corridor. It is nearly six o’clock and most of the students, and a lot of the lecturers, have gone home.
‘About Imbolc? Yes.’
‘Are you going to come?’
‘Yes. Is it OK if I bring a friend?’
‘Of course. The beach belongs to everyone.’
He smiles modestly but Ruth knows that Cathbad regards this particular stretch of beach, where the henge was discovered, as very much his personal property.
‘He’s an archaeologist. I think you’ll like him.’
‘Is he the chap from Sussex? I’ve heard good things about him.’
Impressed by Cathbad’s spy system (or sixth sense), Ruth asks, ‘What have you heard?’
‘Oh, that he’s got an open mind. That he’s respecting the spirits. That sort of thing.’
Ruth wonders which spirits Cathbad means. Earth spirits, nature spirits, household spirits – there’s a wealth of choice for the truly open-minded. She decides not to enquire further. They have reached the lab and Ruth locks the animal bones in the safe. Tomorrow she will clean them and examine them further.
Cathbad is waiting for her outside. ‘You look tired,’ he says as they walk back towards the car park.
‘I’ve had a long day. Been working on site.’
‘Even so,’ Cathbad reaches out to take her rucksack, ‘you ought to be careful, in your condition.’
Ruth stops dead. The rucksack, which she had not quite relinquished, falls to the floor.
‘
Cathbad looks back at her innocently. ‘Just that you should be careful. Especially in the early months.’
Ruth opens her mouth and then shuts it again. ‘How did you know?’
‘It’s fairly obvious,’ says Cathbad, ‘to the trained eye.’
‘Since when have you had a trained eye?’
‘Well, I’m a scientist,’ says Cathbad, sounding offended, ‘and an observer.’
‘And you guessed just from observing me for a few minutes?’
‘Well, I saw you the other day on campus and I thought… maybe. When I saw you today, I was sure.’
Ruth does not like the implications of this. If Cathbad has noticed, who else has realised? Phil? Her colleagues? Nelson?
‘How far on are you?’ Cathbad asks chattily, as they push through the swing doors.
‘Thirteen weeks.’
‘Lovely.’ Cathbad is obviously doing the sums. ‘A Scorpio baby.’
‘If you say so.’ Ruth is never sure which star sign is which. She is Cancer, home-loving and caring according to the books, which proves that it’s all crap. They have reached Ruth’s car and Cathbad hands over the rucksack.
‘Thanks.’ Ruth slings it into the back seat. ‘See you on Friday.’
‘Yes,’ says Cathbad. ‘Tell me, Ruth, does Nelson know?’
‘Does Nelson know what?’
‘About the baby.’
Ruth looks hard at Cathbad who stares guilelessly back. There is no one on earth who knows about her night with Nelson. Cathbad must surely be fishing in the dark.
