The last box is being hauled up the cliff, swaying wildly in the wind as the two men pull on the ropes. Ruth squints up at the dark shape, strangely reluctant to leave until the last skeleton has left its resting place. ‘Come on!’ yells Trace. There is only a thin line of pebbles left, and in places the waves are already pounding against the rocks. Trace and Ruth run along the narrow strip of land, hugging the cliff, trying to dodge the waves. As they reach Sea’s End House, they have to wade out to the stone jetty. Trace surges ahead, creating a wake in the churning water. ‘Jesus,’ she shouts, above the noise of the sea. ‘It’s deeper than it looks.’
They have an anxious few minutes, struggling against the surprisingly strong undertow. The wind sounds loud and angry and it is nearly dark. Twice Ruth almost loses her footing. She can feel water seeping unpleasantly over the tops of her wellingtons. She should have worn waterproof trousers. She tries not to think that the reason she didn’t was because they make her look like a Michelin man and she knew that she would be seeing Nelson.
At three o’clock Ruth had rung Shona who had finished teaching for the day. Shona drove over and collected Kate, taking her back to her house in King’s Lynn. Ruth trusts Shona (up to a point) but she also knows that the nearest her glamorous friend ever comes to motherhood is weekend visits from her married lover’s children. She hopes she won’t take Kate for a McDonald’s.
Wiping the wet hair from her eyes, Ruth sees that Trace has reached the path. Without checking to see if Ruth is all right, she runs up the slope towards Sea’s End House, slapping her pockets for her iPhone. Ruth climbs slowly out of the icy water, her trousers now drenched almost to her thighs. She looks back. Across the bay, in the car park, she can just make out Ted and Craig loading the boxes into a van. Clough is there too. She can see his reflective jacket. Nelson has not come back. On the beach, the sea has reached the inlet and waves rush joyfully into the narrow cleft between the rocks. The grave of the six men has been destroyed. Water covers the beach, the biggest waves breaking against the cliffs with a sound like smashed glass.
Ruth walks slowly up the slope. She is desperate to get back to Kate but she has to check that all the finds are accounted for. In the car park her Renault is beside the plain white police van. Ted and Craig are shutting the double doors. Clough is watching. A little way apart Trace is talking into her phone. Clough catches Ruth’s eye. ‘She loves that thing more than me.’
Ruth hasn’t usually got much time for Clough, whom she regards as the worst sort of sexist, racist Neanderthal policeman, but something in his expression touches her. She is also surprised to hear him use the word ‘love’, even facetiously. Can the famously commitment-phobic Clough really have fallen at last?
Ruth smiles. ‘I’m sure she doesn’t.’
Clough shrugs, looking rather rueful. ‘Bone boxes are in the van. Post-mortem’s set for tomorrow, nine o’clock.’
‘Does Nelson know?’
‘He said to say he’d see you there.’
‘Thanks.’ Ruth has a last few words with Ted before heading back to her car. Clough calls after her. ‘Look after that baby of yours. She’s a little star.’
Wonders will never cease, thinks Ruth as she drives off into the night. Kate has turned her into a nervous wreck and Clough into a human being. Whatever will she accomplish in the next four months of her life?
The first thing that Ruth hears as she approaches Shona’s house is the sound of crying. More than crying; this is screaming, wailing, the sound of a banshee in full-throated howl. The neat terraced house seems almost to be pulsating with the noise. Ruth runs up the path but Shona has opened the door before she reaches it. A scarlet-faced monster squirms in her arms.
‘I’m sorry, Ruth. I’ve tried everything. Lullabies, classical music, ride-a-cock-horse. The lot. She’s been at it for nearly an hour. I think she must be ill or something.’
Ruth reaches out her arms for Kate who takes a deep breath, leans into her mother’s neck and instantly falls asleep. The silence feels immense, far more than mere absence of sound.
‘My God.’ Shona sounds both awed and rather resentful. ‘All she wanted was her mum.’
‘She’s probably just cried herself to sleep,’ says Ruth, speaking gruffly to hide how she feels. This has never happened before. Secretly she has never felt before that she is any better than anyone else with Kate. It is her mother, comfortably upholstered and full of maternal authority, or Sandra, who have seemed like the real experts. Ruth may feel that she knows Kate but she has never been sure that the compliment is returned. Until now.
Juggling Kate with what now seems to be practised ease, she follows Shona into the sitting room. The normally stylish room bears the signs of Shona’s struggle to placate the baby. A half-full bottle of milk rolls on the polished wood floor and CDs of suitably soothing classics lie scattered over the sofas. The TV is showing some primary coloured children’s programme and an open bottle of wine sits on the coffee table.
Shona follows Ruth’s glance. ‘Didn’t even have time to get myself a glass.’
Ruth doesn’t comment on the fact that Shona has been drinking while in charge of her baby. It’s her fault, her lack of contingency planning, that has led to Shona having to cope with a screaming baby all afternoon and she’s grateful – if slightly worried at the urgency with which Shona now grabs a glass and fills it to the brim.
‘Do you want some?’ asks Shona as an afterthought.
‘No thanks. I’ve got to drive.’
‘I’ll make you a cup of tea,’ says Shona, not moving.
‘It’s okay,’ says Ruth. ‘I ought to be going.’ She starts to arrange Kate in her car seat, an unnecessarily complicated device bought for her by Cathbad.
‘How was the dig? Things looked pretty busy when I left you. What did you find?’
Ruth looks over her shoulder at Shona, who is sitting cross-legged in an armchair, her bright red hair falling over her eyes. In the past she has had reason to distrust Shona’s interest in her work but she feels that she, or Kate, owes her something, information at the very least.
‘Six skeletons,’ she says. ‘They look comparatively recent.’
‘Good God, Ruth,’ says Shona, sounding almost amused. ‘Are you going to be mixed up in another murder?’
‘I wasn’t exactly mixed up in the last one,’ says Ruth with asperity. ‘Unless you count a madman trying to kill me.’
‘I would definitely count that.’
‘Well, in this case, I’ve simply been called in to examine the bones. Look at how they’ve been buried and so on.’
‘Mmm.’ Shona looks unconvinced. ‘I saw the mad Irishman there,’ she says. ‘And that purple-haired bitch. Anyone else from the university?’
Ruth looks curiously at Shona as she struggles with the last strap. Shona also works at the university, teaching English, but for the last year she has been having an affair with Ruth’s boss, Phil. Just before Christmas, much to everyone’s surprise, Phil left his wife for Shona. Ruth isn’t sure if Shona herself wasn’t rather shocked by this development. Certainly she hasn’t rushed to move Phil into her house. He is renting a flat nearby ‘while the kids get used to the situation’. Presumably Shona knows a good deal about the workings of the archaeology department. Ruth wonders why she dislikes Trace so much.
‘Steve and Craig from the field team,’ she says. ‘I thought Phil might look in.’
‘Oh, he had a meeting with some sponsors,’ says Shona vaguely.