She watched him for long seconds, a feeling of total helplessness slowly enveloping her. Finally he looked up and swallowed hard, 'I'm sorry,' he whispered.
'Don't be,' she told him.
He shook his head, moisture brimming in his eyes. He exhaled deeply, 'I asked Hayes to get in touch with me if they need me anytime.'
She opened her mouth to speak but he raised his hand, 'It's the only way, Debbie. I'll go off my head otherwise.'
They finished eating. He looked across the table at her and smiled. She glanced up at the clock on the wall of the cafe and saw that it was approaching two o'clock.
'I've got to be getting back,' she said, reluctantly.
'I'll walk you,' he said, standing up.
The town was busier as they walked back to the library. People were looking in shop windows and talking on street corners. A number spoke to the young couple as they walked, as both were well known within the town.
When they reached the steps of the building, Lambert put his arms around his wife's waist and kissed her.
'What will you do this afternoon?' she asked.
'Never mind me,' he said, smiling. 'You get back to your cataloguing.'
He turned to leave but she caught his arm and pulled him to her, her lips seeking his. He felt her moist tongue flick over the hard edges of his teeth before plunging further into the warm wetness of his mouth. He responded almost ferociously, pressing her close to him, anxious to feel her body against his own. Finally she pulled back. He ran an index finger across her soft cheek and smiled.
'See you later,' he said.
As he turned, she called after him and he stopped, listening.
'Tom,' she said, 'I love you.'
He smiled, 'I know.' And he walked off.
Steve Pike poured himself another cup of tomato soup from the thermos and watched the steam rising from the thick red liquid. He took a sip, wincing at the plastic taste, but he persevered, taking a draw on his fag to deaden the flavour.
'Want some?' he asked, pushing the cup towards Mackenzie.
The other man shook his head, and after stuffing the remains of a sandwich into his mouth, pulled a small metal flask from the pocket of his parka.
He took a hefty swing and smacked his lips, 'Stuff your soup,' he said, 'I'll stick to this.'
From where he sat, ignoring the dampness which was seeping through the seat of his trousers, Mackenzie could see the church clock. Its metal hands were at three-twenty. He glanced down at his own watch once more. Despite winding, it still wasn't working. Bloody Russian crap. Next time he'd get a Timex.
Squatting on the dark earth, Steve looked around. They were well across the clearing, almost halfway. The high grass and weeds had been cut down behind them; tomorrow they would cut down the remaining vegetation and, after that, dig it all into the soil.
'We'll go as far as that tree stump today,' said Mackenzie, pointing to a gnarled knob of wood which jutted out of the climbing grass like a beacon. It stood about two feet high but was nearly that width across the neatly cut base. Someone, many years ago, had chopped it down and, what was more, they had done it with amazing precision. The severed trunk was as smooth as formica on its darkened diameter. It reminded Steve of a table, as if it had grown in that shape for some purpose.
'That's going to take some shifting,' said Mackenzie, taking another pull from his hip flask, 'I bet the bloody roots go down for yards.' Steve looked around the clearing: the darkened area of earth strewn with chopped down grass, and that which lay beyond, rampant with clotted outcrops of weed. Not a wild flower in sight.
'I wonder why they wanted it cleared?' he said.
'Well,' said Mackenzie, 'it is a bloody eyesore. Christ, I shouldn't think it's been seen to since the fucking cemetery was opened.'
Steve wasn't satisfied. 'But it's out of sight of the rest of the place, you can't even see it from the driveway.'
Mackenzie turned on him irritably, 'What the bloody hell does it matter why they want it cleared? Perhaps they're expecting lots of people to peg out and they want somewhere to put them. How the bleeding hell should I know why they want it cleared?'
'All right, keep your shirt on. I was just curious.'
Mackenzie grunted. 'Why bother about it? As long as we get paid for doing it I couldn't give a bugger what they want it for.' He drained the last drops of brandy from his flask. He shook the flask and dropped it back into his pocket.
'I'll tell you what,' he said, 'it's getting colder. I reckon we'll have a frost tonight.'
'It is bloody cold,' said Steve, softly, almost to himself.
He threw what was left of his soup onto the ground and pushed his thermos into his lunchbox.
Grumbling, they returned to cutting down the sea of weeds and grass. Mackenzie straightened up sporadically and massaged the small of his back, groaning with the ache that had settled there. He drove his spade down hard and felt it connect with something solid. He pawed away the earth and saw a root as thick as his arm. And the tree stump was more than three feet away. He groaned inwardly. Shifting it was going to be harder than he'd anticipated. He lifted the spade above his head and brought it crashing down on the root, severing it with a powerful blow.
'Steve.'
The youngster turned.
'There's a couple of hatchets in the work bag. Go and get them. We'll chop the bloody thing free.'
Steve nodded and headed off to fetch the tools. Then he heard Mackenzie call again. 'And bring the crow bars too.'
He returned a moment later with the tools to find Mackenzie leaning on the tree stump. He took an axe from Steve and set to work, hacking through the thick roots until the sweat began to soak into his coat. But neither of them removed their jackets because it was getting so cold. Mackenzie could feel the biting iciness catching in his throat and he half expected to see his laboured breath frosting before him in the freezing air. Steve too, slashed away at the tentacles of root, watching as sap oozed, bloodlike, into the earth.
It took them nearly half an hour to free the stump.
Panting, Mackenzie picked up the crow bar and motioned for Steve to do the same. They slid the clawed prongs under two sides of the stump and, at a given signal, pressed down on the iron levers as hard as they could. Their faces turned bright red with the effort and veins stood out angrily on both men's foreheads.
'Hold it a minute,' gasped Mackenzie.
Steve was fit to drop. He had never known exertion like this in his life and, if he had his way, he'd never have it again. They tried again but the stump remained stuck fast as if driven into the soil with some gigantic steam hammer. It was like trying to pull a masonry nail from a wall with your fingers.
'Couldn't we both try it from the same side at once?' offered Steve, not really caring now whether they moved the bloody thing or not. He didn't know why they just couldn't have gone round it.
Side by side, they prized the crow bars deep beneath the stump, Mackenzie eventually shouting in angry frustration.
'Fuck the bloody thing.' He threw his bar to the ground and stood, hands on hips, staring at the recalcitrant stump which seemed to grin back at him as much to say, you might as well forget it.
'Does it matter that much?' Steve asked timidly.
Mackenzie exploded, 'Of course it matters, you stupid little bastard. How the hell are they supposed to turn it into a fucking burial plot with that stuck in the middle?'