The House At Sea’s End

something nasty about the way he says ‘fiance’.

‘We’ve never discussed it,’ she says, with dignity.

Cathbad grins. ‘I’d start discussing it, if I were you.’ And he disappears into Ruth’s room.

Judy washes in the bathroom, noticing that Ruth uses surprisingly expensive soap. What is it about Cathbad that always makes her feel slightly uneasy? She first met him over a year ago. Nelson had needed to get across the Saltmarsh at night, in a storm, and Cathbad had been the only person to know the mysterious hidden pathway. Judy had been impressed with him then. She did not, like the rest of the team, see him as a nutcase, one of the weirdos that often hang around police stations offering unsolicited help and advice. There is a stillness about Cathbad that attracts Judy. He is contained within himself; he doesn’t see the need to seek approval from anyone else. Darren is like a big golden retriever, rushing round and licking everyone. Like me, love me, pat me. And, yes, he wants ten children.

The next time Judy met Cathbad had been at a summer solstice party at the Roman dig at Swaffham. It had been a fairly wild night, she remembers. She had danced with Cathbad but then she had danced with Dave and Irish Ted too. She has an image of Cathbad lighting a fire, high up on a hill. The flames in the darkness, the druids chanting, the scent of burning herbs. Ruth had been there with her archaeologist friend, Max. What had happened to him?

It was only at the naming day party that she had really spoken to Cathbad. They had talked about Catholicism and paganism and the role of godparents. Judy tries to remember whether she told him that she was getting married. She does remember that she’d found him quite attractive at the naming day, which she hadn’t before. What was different?

The spare room is tiny, just a single bed, a chest of drawers and a wardrobe. The rest of the space is taken up with cardboard boxes, stacked one on top of each other. It’s not exactly cosy. The top of the chest is crowded with creams and make-up. Jesus, no wonder Tatjana looks so good. There is also a book written in some incomprehensible language and a picture of a beautiful, dark-eyed child. Judy picks up this last and examines it. She spent a long time chatting to Tatjana after her hen party and she never mentioned that she had a child. She turns the photo over. On the back, in a flowing hand, is written ‘Jacob 1995’.

Judy gets into the narrow bed and determinedly turns out the light. She’d better get some sleep or she’ll be useless tomorrow. The roads will still be bad after all that snow so getting home will be no joke. She supposes that she’ll have to stay here until Ruth or Nelson gets back. She sits up.

‘Cathbad?’

He appears in the doorway, still wearing combats and a black T-shirt.

‘Cathbad, do you think Nelson is Kate’s father?’

Cathbad sits heavily on the foot of the bed. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes, I do.’

‘Jesus.’ Judy considers this. It feels wrong, sitting here in the dark with Cathbad. It feels wrong because it feels right.

‘Does anyone else know?’

Cathbad shakes his head. ‘I don’t think so. They’re both very private people.’

‘But the boss is married.’

‘I’m sure he loves his wife.’

‘But what about Ruth?’

Cathbad sighs. ‘She loves him, I think. But him? He loves the baby, the idea of being a father again. But I don’t think he’ll ever leave Michelle.’

‘Cathbad?’

‘What?’

‘Are you really a wizard?’

Cathbad grins, his teeth very white in the darkness.

‘What do you think?’

‘I don’t know what I think.’

‘I’m not a wizard,’ says Cathbad. ‘I’m just someone who tries to live a certain way. In harmony with nature, in harmony with the old traditions. My mother though…’ He laughs softly. ‘A few hundred years ago she would have been burnt at the stake. She knew a spell to make your hens lay, to charm back an unfaithful husband, to make a man irresistible to women. She was a witch, all right, even though she went to mass every Sunday. This was rural Ireland. Everyone went to mass even if they were queuing up in Mammy’s back yard the next day.’

Judy tries to imagine Cathbad as a child. He seems ageless somehow. ‘My dad’s Irish,’ she says. ‘He’s a bookie.’

‘That accounts for the bond between us.’

‘Is there a bond between us?’

‘I think so, don’t you?’

Judy moves her legs, trying not to touch Cathbad. The trouble is, the room’s too small. It’s getting smaller by the second.

‘Do you want to go to sleep?’ asks Cathbad.

It’s as if he’s asking a different question altogether. Judy struggles with her answer.

‘Yes,’ she says at last.

Much later, Judy wakes from a confused dream about ice floes, hooded figures, sacred fires. Groping on the floor, she finds her watch. Five o’clock in the morning.

The landing is silent. No sound from Clara downstairs. Suddenly a soft footfall makes her jump and something rubs against her legs. She stifles a scream and, looking down, meets luminous green eyes. Jesus, she’d forgotten Ruth had a cat. Shakily she strokes Flint’s gently butting head. Where has he been hiding all this time?

In the bedroom, Kate is still sleeping, making little snuffling noises. Cathbad is lying across the double bed. Asleep he looks much younger.

‘Cathbad?’

He is awake in an instant.

‘You’ve shaved off your beard.’

Cathbad reaches for her, pulling her down on the bed next to him. He is strong, much stronger than he looks. He smells of wood smoke and expensive soap.

‘We can’t,’ says Judy. ‘I’m getting married in two weeks.’

‘It was meant to be,’ says Cathbad, kissing her neck.

I don’t believe in any of that, Judy wants to say. I’m a rationalist, a policewoman and I’ve only ever slept with one man. But, instead, she is kissing him back, greedily, urgently, moving her body against his.

CHAPTER 25

It is nearly nine o’clock when Ruth wakes up. The curtains are open and the room is full of light. There’s no sign of Nelson. She goes to the window, wearing the duvet over her shoulders. Outside the sky is bright blue and the snow blindingly white. There are no footsteps on the path down to the beach, where the sea is breaking gently against the frosted pebbles. Still draped in the duvet, Ruth pads into the bathroom. From the bathroom window, which faces the side of the house, she sees Nelson, in his shirtsleeves, clearing the snow from around his car. She watches him dreamily, not thinking of anything very much. He is working hard, his breath billowing around him, but he’s doing it all wrong, bending his back rather than his knees. Ruth noticed this once before. When was it?

How could she have gone to bed with him again? After trying so hard to keep her distance, to be independent, not to jeopardise his marriage. Perhaps she’s pregnant. Maybe they’ll continue to have sex once a year and, in a few years’ time, they’ll have a family of five. Don’t be silly, she tells herself. It’s highly unlikely that she’s pregnant again and last night was a one off. Another one off. It was the snow, the house, the relief of discovering that Kate was all right. A combination of circumstances that will never occur again. Ruth is free to get on with her life. She leans against the window, her breath misting the glass.

As she watches, another figure comes out of the house. Jack Hastings. He is warmly dressed in a heavy coat and peaked cap with the inevitable dogs running around him. He says something to Nelson and Nelson laughs, the