Midnight is a Lonely Place

He glanced at her sharply. The muffled word, filtered through the threadbare fur of the teddy bear, held a note of real terror.

‘OK. No sweat.’ He tried to smile. ‘Sleep well, prat.’ That was more like it. More normal. Sort of.

Downstairs the others were sitting around the fire with mugs of steaming tea. Greg took up position with his back to the inglenook – a speaker addressing a meeting. ‘We have to fill in that excavation. Alison must not go up there again, and I think, personally, that Kate ought to move out of the cottage.’

‘So that you can move back in.’ Kate’s words were mild enough, but he saw a hardness in her face which spoke a great deal about her determination to stay, and did he but know it, of her increasing unease in his company.

He sighed. ‘No. As a matter of fact I have no desire to move back in at the moment. But do you really want to stay there? After everything that has happened? I can’t believe you are getting much work done if you keep being interrupted.’

‘As a matter of fact, I am working very well at the moment, thank you,’ Kate retorted. ‘And it would be very small-minded of me to resent the time I’ve spent with Alison. She’s a nice, intelligent girl. I’m getting fond of her. I don’t know why she stayed out at the dig like that – I’m sure she will explain when she feels better – but it has not put me off staying at Redall Cottage in any way. Those locks you have put on for me make me feel as though I were living in Fort Knox.’

‘I agree about filling in the excavation,’ Roger put in. He leaned back on the sofa comfortably. ‘There has been nothing but trouble since Allie found that place. I suggest we get Joe up there with a bulldozer to flatten it.’

‘No!’

Kate hadn’t realised the word came from her own mouth until she saw everyone staring at her. ‘No,’ she repeated more softly. ‘I don’t think we should do that. It’s an important site. Much better we get in touch with the local archaeological society or the museum or someone quickly and get them out here to see what is really there.’

‘I don’t think we want to know what is really there,’ Greg said abruptly. ‘Don’t you agree, Dad? Allie is upset enough as it is.’

‘She’s not upset at the idea of it being a grave,’ Kate retorted.

‘Excuse me, but I think she is. She may be a brash, tiresome kid on the outside, and she certainly has loads of guts, but inside she is hurting. This whole thing is upsetting her a lot. You’ve seen yourself how it’s stimulated her imagination. It’s bad for her. Ma,’ he appealed to his mother, ‘you must back me up.’

Diana frowned. She had been listening to the whole exchange in silence. ‘You’re both right in a way. She is obsessed by that place and I don’t think that is good for her, but I don’t think the right answer is to try and bury it. It would still be there and she would know it.’

Kate nodded. ‘Better to get it excavated properly – a rescue dig can be arranged very quickly, you know. Then we’ll all know the truth.’

‘The truth about what?’ Greg’s voice was very quiet. ‘What is it that’s so important we know? I don’t think there is anything there that we need to know about. Nothing at all.’

XXXI

The light was strangely cold. In the cool dawn before the sunrise the marsh was laved with a pale veiling of mist which lapped across the grasses and reeds in a silent, muffling shroud.

Nion stood at the edge of the pool. Bathed, dressed in his finest array, he was ready. Behind him the two priests stood, the tools of their trade openly displayed before them on a wooden altar – a rope, a knife. They waited now, in prayer, respectfully watching his preparations. When the moment came he would tell them.

He frowned. Why only two priests? He had expected them all, a circle of attendants, not this quiet, almost shabby affair unwitnessed and unsung. Slowly he began the business of preparation. Around his neck he wore two torcs. The great twisted golden torc, the symbol of his royal blood and priesthood, and below it one of carved silver which Claudia herself had given him. He took off the first, pulling the heavy gold over his warm skin, feeling the constriction, swallowing, closing his mind to what was to come. He took the torc in his hands, gently running his fingers across the intricate design on the metal, admiring it for the last time. It was truly a worthy gift to the gods. He held it up above his head, half expecting an early stray beam from the still-hidden sun to catch the gleaming metal. None came. He murmured the words of offering and then hurled it with all his might into the mist- covered water. It was gone before him to the world beyond. Next came the silver. Pulling it from his neck he touched it to his lips, then he hurled it after the first. He turned and gathered up his weapons. Sword, spear, dagger. One by one he raised them in offering, balanced across his palms, and threw them. Beneath the curling white of the mist they sank into the cold brown water and began to settle inexorably into the mud.

His clothes next. He unfastened his cloak, folding it carefully into as small a bundle as possible, doing it slowly, meticulously, perhaps stretching out the last few moments before the rim of the sun showed above the sea. Pinning the bundle with his cloak pin he hurled it after his weapons. Next came the bag of coins, his leather belt, his armlets, his tunic. Finally he was naked, save for the strip of woven ash bark around his arm, his birthright and his name sign. The cold air played across his skin. He frowned. He would not want the priests to think that his shiver was one of fear. Imperceptibly he straightened his shoulders, his eyes, like theirs, upon the eastern horizon which with every second grew brighter. Behind him he was conscious suddenly that one of the priests had reached to the altar and taken up the garotte. He was winding it onto his hands.

Nion clenched his fists. The sun had still not appeared but out there, beyond the cold waters, hidden by the mists, the gods were waiting.

The phone at Redall Cottage was working again by late afternoon. Roger drove Kate back there in the Land Rover through the heavy sleet and slush and toured the cottage with her room by room. ‘It all looks all right,’ he said at last. He had insisted on lighting the stove and carrying in a new supply of logs. ‘Are you really quite sure you feel happy about staying here?’ On the kitchen table stood a cardboard box full of tins of food, a jar of coffee, a bottle of Scotch, some matches and several other things that Diana had extricated from her own larder. ‘Just in case you get trapped by this awful weather they’re forecasting,’ she had said to Kate. Taking her aside she too had asked her yet again if she wanted to stay with them, but Kate was adamant. ‘I must work. Really.’

Roger looked round, seemingly reluctant to leave. ‘Are you sure you’re happy about this?’ he asked again.

‘Perfectly happy.’ She grinned at him. ‘Really. I want to get back to work.’

‘Good.’ He gave a gentle smile. ‘Well, you know where we are if you want anything.’

She stood at the door to watch him drive away into the woods, then she turned back to the house. Nothing had been decided about the excavation. Greg had wanted it buried deep beneath the sand; Roger and she had wanted to call the Colchester archaeological people and Alison, when at last she had woken up had become totally hysterical at the thought of anyone touching it at all. In deference to her tears Diana had vetoed any action at least for a day or two and reluctantly, Kate had had to acquiesce. It was after all their land; their dune.

She glanced at her watch. It was nearly four. She put on the kettle and then hauling herself onto the stool, she reached for the phone. Anne was in.

‘Hi, stranger. I was wondering how you’d been getting on.’ Her sister’s voice was cheerful.

‘I’m fine. How’s Edinburgh?’

‘Wonderful. Better than I had hoped even. The job is quite fascinating and I love the city and C.J. loves the flat. It’s huge compared with our old one, and there’s a walled garden at the back. He’s in seventh heaven. At least he was until the snow started.’ She laughed. ‘So tell me about the wilder shores of East Anglia.’

‘A bit strange, actually.’ Kate paused, watching the steam begin to rise from the kettle spout. ‘Anne. Are there such things as poltergeists?’

There was a moment’s silence the other end of the line. ‘Now there’s a fascinating question. Why do you ask?’

‘Various reasons.’ Kate smiled wryly. There would be no turning back now until Anne had wormed the last tiny detail out of her. She took a deep breath. ‘Let me tell you the story then you give me your opinion…’