about sponsoring a Topham history prize at the university.
Cathbad is the first person that Ruth sees as she walks into the entrance hall. He is standing looking at the stuffed figure of the Great Auk. The moth-eaten bird is the only survivor of Caroline’s enthusiastic modernisation. The lobby has been freshly painted, the map of King’s Lynn and the oil painting of Lord Percival Smith have been replaced by computer screens asking visitors to rank their experience from ‘Awesome’ to ‘Disappointing.’ Instead of the dusty chandelier, modern light fittings snake across the ceiling and, in honour of the Indigenous Australian guests, the Aboriginal flag, bands of black and red intersected by a glowing yellow sun, covers one wall.
Ruth blinks. ‘Blimey. This is all a bit different.’
Cathbad turns and smiles. ‘I know. These days, if you stand still long enough, Caroline either paints you or plugs you in.’
Cathbad is looking impressive in a fur-lined cloak with his long hair loose. Ruth is pleased to see him dressed up. The last few times they have met it has been in the university canteen and Cathbad was in his ordinary clothes and white coat. He looked like any other middle-aged lab technician and there was something in his eyes, something sad and rather defeated, that made Ruth in turn feel sad. Cathbad told her that Judy had ended their relationship. ‘She said that she wanted to give her marriage a proper chance. I supported her, of course. The spirits are strong within her.’ Judy certainly seems strong these days. Maybe it’s because she was in charge when Nelson was ill, because on the couple of occasions that Ruth has seen her recently, Judy has been in full-on police professional mode. She wonders if Judy will be here today. She knows that Nelson and Superintendent Whitcliffe are expected. Whitcliffe is making a speech complete with references, according to Nelson, to Mother Earth and the mystic unity of the nations.
Ruth and Cathbad walk through the Natural History gallery. The stuffed animals are still here, red in tooth and claw, and Ruth realises that she would be quite sad to see them go. The only concession to modernity is an interactive display showing endangered species, the world pulsing with red, amber and green lights. Ruth presses on Australia and an icon of a koala fills the screen. Surely koalas aren’t endangered? They’re in all the ads.
Cathbad is staring at a case labelled ‘Wandering Albatross’.
‘That’s a great name, isn’t it?’ he says. ‘Wandering Albatross.’
‘Do me a favour and don’t name your next child Albatross.’
‘I won’t have another child,’ says Cathbad.
They walk into the replica study where the stag still gazes down from the red-painted wall. Ruth looks at the waxwork figure of Lord Percival Smith, the man who thought it would be a good idea to collect human bones and keep them in boxes. She notices that the label describing him as ‘adventurer and taxidermist’ is missing. Ruth is sure that Bob and Caroline will find a better phrase to describe him.
This time they take the door not into the Local History Room but into a space marked New World Collection. And it
At the end of the room Caroline Smith, resplendent in a gold dress decorated with vaguely Aboriginal patterns, is pouring glasses of champagne. There is a table laden with food and drink and decorated with pine branches. The smell reminds Ruth of her fantasy Christmas tree. Clough is already getting stuck into the buffet and various local reporters wander round clutching glasses. A handsome man in a black suit stands beside Caroline, dispensing bonhomie.
‘Have you met my brother Randolph?’ says Caroline.
So this is the man Judy referred to as the highwayman. He’s certainly very dashing, like a Georgette Heyer hero. Cathbad and Ruth shake his hand and Randolph offers some pleasantries on the day and the weather (bright but cold).
‘Be a bit different in Australia.’
Bob Woonunga has told Ruth that he is going back to Australia for the winter. ‘I need warmth in December.’ Ruth thinks of her friend and the cards with the sun-bathing Santas. A hot Christmas still doesn’t seem right to her. She has to admit though that this whole business has given her a new interest in Australia. She sees herself walking across red sand, watching the sun go down on Ayers Rock, or Uluru as Caroline would call it. She imagines blue seas and vast deserts, formed by the Great Rainbow Serpent himself. She thinks about souls made from mud, about cloud and rain spirits and the demons who hunt children by night. Really, her imagination has come on a long way since
She agrees with Randolph that things are, indeed, different in Australia, and after a few further pleasantries he turns away to greet some new arrivals. Ruth grabs a handful of crisps and looks for someone to talk to. She wants to be talking to someone when Max arrives, not standing on her own by the buffet like a saddo.
‘Hi Ruth.’ It’s Clough. The other person guaranteed to be found near the food. Ruth greets him with enthusiasm. She wonders if Nelson has arrived.
‘Hi Clough. How are you?’
‘Surviving.’ Clough gives a brave smile. He has been recommended for a bravery award and still limps sometimes – when he remembers. ‘How are you? How’s that baby of yours?’
‘Fine. Not really a baby anymore.’
‘Bet she’s excited about Christmas.’
‘She is.’ Kate can now say Christmas and Santa and, worryingly, Baby Jesus. Who taught her that one? Ruth wonders.
‘Christmas isn’t Christmas without kids.’
Ruth looks at him with interest. She wonders if he and Trace are thinking of having children. She’s heard rumours that they’ve bought a dog. She asks, and is rewarded by seemingly endless photographs of a labradoodle puppy.
‘It’s the only breed that Trace isn’t allergic to.’
‘He’s lovely,’ says Ruth truthfully.
‘Do you want to see pictures of my dog?’ Max is leaning over her shoulder. Ruth turns and smiles.
‘Hi.’
‘Hi Ruth.’
Clough, who has been watching this greeting curiously, wanders away, trailing crumbs.
‘How is Claudia?’ asks Ruth.
‘Fine. She sends her love to Flint.’
‘Would she… would you…’ But, before Ruth can finish, Bob Woonunga, glorious in an even bigger and furrier cloak than Cathbad’s, appears in the doorway and asks them to step outside.
In the tiny museum garden, overshadowed by office blocks and the flats managed by Stanley, the scourge of dog owners, Bob has built a bonfire. ‘It’s called a coolamon,’ says Max. He tells Ruth that he’s hoping to have his own repatriation ceremony in Sussex soon. As eucalyptus branches are in short supply, the pyre is comprised of pine branches and their scent is like expensive bath oil.
‘Crack!’ Ruth jumps but it’s only Cathbad and his friends with their clapping sticks. A strange procession starts to form. Bob, in his cloak and now a feathered headdress, chanting, and occasionally shouting out strange staccato cries that echo in the cold air. Then Caroline and Randolph, carrying what looks like a rectangular box but which, Ruth supposes, is actually the coffin containing the skulls and bones of the ancestors. Then Alkira Jones and Derel Assinewai carrying a second box. They are followed by a little girl, as solemn as a bridesmaid, carrying a large feather, just like the one Ruth found on the spare-room bed.
Caroline and Randolph place their box in front of the fire. Alkira and Derel follow suit. Randolph carefully unwraps an Aboriginal flag and places it over the coffins. Judy, watching from the back, thinks of the time when she imagined her funeral, the last post, the folded union jack. Next to her, Darren smiles and takes her hand. He’s so excited about the baby that he hardly likes to let her out of his sight. Judy squints through the smoke so that she can see Cathbad. He should look ridiculous in that cloak, but to Judy he looks wonderful, like an ancient warrior. Darren squeezes her hand. ‘Tired?’ Judy shakes her head.
Randolph clears his throat and takes a piece of paper from his pocket. ‘On behalf of the Smith family, alive and
