‘No. Why should he?’
‘No reason.’ Cathbad raises his hand in a cheery gesture of farewell. ‘Take care of yourself, Ruth. See you on Friday.’
After her brush with Cathbad’s sixth sense, Ruth is in the mood for solitude as she negotiates the narrow road across the marshes. But even from a distance she can see that she has company. A low-slung sports car is parked by her gate and a flash of brilliant red hair is visible in the driving seat.
Shona. Once Shona was Ruth’s closest friend in Norfolk, perhaps her closest ever friend. But then the Saltmarsh case came up and, along with everything else in Ruth’s life, her friendship with Shona was thrown into disarray. Ruth discovered things about Shona’s past that made her wonder if she had ever really known her friend at all. Worse, she felt betrayed. But somehow they have survived. Shared grief over Erik, a shared sense of regret and a desire to salvage something positive from that terrible time, have drawn them together again. Perhaps they are not quite as open with each other as they once were. Ruth can’t forget that Shona lied to her, by omission at least, for almost ten years. Shona feels that Ruth judged her too harshly for those lies. But they need each other. Neither has another close confidante and friends are precious. Ruth’s slight sense of irritation at the disruption of her solitude has almost dissipated by the time that she has parked her car behind Shona’s.
‘Where have you been?’ Shona hugs her. She is wearing a witchy green dress that billows in the wind from the sea. Her hair flies out in fiery points. Shona’s beauty sometimes makes Ruth feel almost angry; at other times it makes it possible to forgive her anything.
‘At the university.’
‘You work too hard.’
Shona is also a lecturer at the university, in the English department. Over the past ten years she has embarked on a series of disastrous affairs with married colleagues and is currently involved with Ruth’s boss, Phil. Ruth hopes that she is not in for an in-depth analysis of Phil’s prowess as a lover and the likelihood of his leaving his wife. The thought of making love to Phil would make her feel sick even if she wasn’t pregnant and in her opinion his marriage to Sue, a dull aromatherapist, will endure for ever.
Ruth opens the door and fends off an ecstatic Flint. Shona bends down to stroke the cat. She has often looked after him when Ruth is away.
‘Hallo, darling, come to Auntie Shona. Ruth, I’m going to give up men and buy a cat.’
Ruth has heard this many times before. ‘Cats aren’t so good at mending the Christmas lights. Or checking the oil in cars.’
‘No, but they’re better listeners.’ Shona cuddles Flint who stares hopefully at the floor.
‘True. And they don’t leave the loo seat up.’
Shona sits on the sofa with her feet curled under her. She looks like someone preparing for a long, cosy chat. Ruth offers tea but Shona says she’d prefer a glass of wine. Ruth puts some crisps in a bowl and stuffs a handful in her mouth before bringing them through to the sitting room.
‘Phil says you’ve found a skeleton,’ says Shona.
‘Well, the field team found it. It’s on a building site in Norwich.’
‘The field team. Is that the mad Irishman?’
‘Ted. Yes. He’s not Irish though, is he? Why’s he called Irish Ted?’
Shona’s eyes gleam. ‘It’s a long story. So, the body. Any signs of foul play?’
Ruth hesitates, Shona is always interested in a good story. Maybe that’s what comes of being a literature expert. Ruth is less sure about her discretion. The last thing she wants is Shona telling everything to Phil in some steamy pillow-talk session. On the other hand, she badly wants to talk to someone.
The head has been chopped off,’ she says.
‘No!’ Shona is agog. ‘Is it a ritual killing then?’
Ruth looks curiously at Shona. Strange that this should be Shona’s first question. Or maybe not strange coming from someone so closely involved with Erik, that expert on ritual, sacrifice and bloodshed. She doesn’t think that most people would immediately connect a headless body with ritual.
‘Maybe,’ she says. ‘The Romans sometimes made sacrifices to Janus, the God of doorways. This body is under a door.’
‘Is it Roman then?’
‘We won’t know until we’ve done the dating. It could be Roman or medieval but I don’t think so. The grave cut looked modern.’
‘Janus. Was he the guy with two faces?’
‘Yes. The God of beginnings and endings. January is named after him.’
Shona shivers. ‘Sounds creepy. But, then again, a lot of men are two-faced.’
‘How’s Phil?’
Shona smiles, rather sadly. ‘Pour us a glass of wine and I’ll tell you.’
Ruth pours two glasses of wine and hopes that Shona won’t notice how slowly she drinks hers. Wine makes her feel sick these days. It’s almost as if her taste buds can separate the drink into its component parts: acidic grapes, fermenting alcohol, a hint of vine leaves. She can almost taste the peasants’ feet.
Phil, it seems, has been showing his unpleasant face to Shona. He wants her to come away with him to a conference in Geneva but is insisting that they travel separately and that she pays her own fare. Ruth hides a smile. Phil’s stinginess is a standing joke in the department. Apparently he says he loves Shona but has taken to referring to his wife’s ‘fragility’, as if it will be Shona’s fault if anything happens to upset her.
‘I wouldn’t mind but she’s as strong as a horse. Looks like a horse too. An unattractive horse… Ruth, why aren’t you drinking?’
Ruth looks guiltily at her glass. Shona has emptied hers but Ruth has only managed a few queasy sips.
‘Are you OK?’
Everyone seems to be asking her that, thinks Ruth. She suddenly feels a great urge to tell Shona about her pregnancy. People are going to have to know sometime. Cathbad has already guessed. Maybe everyone is talking behind her back. And she’ll need an ally when she tells Phil. She takes a deep breath.
‘Shona? I’ve got something to tell you.’
‘What?’ Shona is instantly alert, her eyes, with their long glittery lashes, fixed onto Ruth’s face.
How to put it into words? ‘I’m expecting a baby’ sounds twee somehow. And she has a hard job thinking of the baby end of things. Better just be as factual as possible.
‘I’m pregnant,’ she says.
‘What?’
Suddenly Ruth is scared of what she might see in Shona’s face. She knows that Shona has been pregnant twice and has had two abortions. Will she see envy, hatred, resentment? She forces herself to look at Shona and sees, to her amazement, that there are tears in her eyes.
‘I’m pregnant,’ Ruth repeats.
Shona reaches over to touch Ruth’s arm. ‘Oh Ruth…’ she says tearfully. And then, ‘Are you sure?’
‘Yes. I’m about thirteen weeks.’
‘Thirteen weeks. Oh my God.’ Shona wipes her eyes and seems to recover some of her equilibrium. Her expression is now straightforwardly curious. And she asks the question that Ruth dreads.
‘Who’s the father?’
‘I’d rather not say.’ This doesn’t go down any better with Shona than it did with Ruth’s parents. Shona flicks her hair impatiently.
‘Oh, come on, Ruth. You can tell me. Is it Peter’s?’
‘I can’t say.’ Now Ruth feels herself getting tearful. ‘Please.’
Shona leans over to give her a proper hug. ‘I’m sorry. I’m just… gobsmacked. Are you keeping it?’
‘Yes.’
‘That’s brave,’ says Shona quietly.
‘Not really. I haven’t thought it through. The implications, I mean. But I do want it. Very much,’ she adds.
‘You’ll be a great mum! Can I be godmother?’
‘In a strictly non-religious sense, yes.’
‘I’ll be its auntie. Like I’m Flint’s auntie.’ There is a distinctly brittle edge to Shona’s laughter now.
