“The Avebury Stone Circles are the largest in Britain, located in the third largest henge. In all, the surrounding bank and ditch and the area enclosed cover eleven point five hectares…”
“Beth!” I cry. She is wandering close to the edge of the bank. The grass is slick with frost-melt.
“Oops.” She corrects her course, gives a little laugh.
“Eddie, I’m going to test you on this later!” I shout. My voice blares in the still air. An elderly couple turn to look. I just want him to listen to Beth.
“The quarrying methods used include antler picks and rakes, ox-shoulder blades and probably wooden shovels and baskets…”
“Cool,” Eddie says, dutifully. We pass a tree grown into the rampart, its roots cascading above ground like a knotty waterfall. Eddie scrambles down it, commando-style; crouches down, clings to it, peers up from three meters below us.
“Are you an elf?” Beth asks.
“No, I’m a woodsman, waiting to rob you,” he replies.
“Bet you can’t get me before I pass this tree to safety,” Beth challenges him.
“I’ve lost the element of surprise,” Eddie complains.
“I’m getting away!” Beth goads, sauntering onward. With a rebel yell Eddie scales the roots, slipping and sliding, bashing his knees. He grabs Beth with two hands, makes her squeal. “I submit, I submit!” she laughs.
We walk out, away from the village along the wide avenue of stones that leads away to the south. The sun shines on Beth’s face-a long time since I saw it lit this way. She looks pale, older, but there are blooms in her cheeks. She looks serene too. Eddie leads us, sword aloft, and we walk until our toes get too cold.
On the way back I pull up at the Spar in Barrow Storton for some ginger beer for Eddie. Beth waits in the car, quieter again now. Eddie and I are pretending not to notice. There’s a horrible feeling of her teetering, being on the edge of something. Eddie and I hesitate, wanting to pull her one way, scared of accidentally nudging her, tipping her the wrong way.
“Can’t I have Coke instead?”
“Yes, if you’d rather.”
“I’m really not that bothered about alcohol, to be honest. I had some vodka last term, in dorm.”
“You’ve been drinking vodka?”
“Hardly drinking. Drank, once. And I felt sick, and Boff and Danny were sick, and it stank the place out. Gross. I don’t know why grown-ups bother,” he says, airily. His cheeks have a glorious pink flare from the bite outside. Eyes bright as water.
“Well, you might change your mind later on. But for Christ’s sake don’t tell your mother! She’ll have a fit.”
“I’m not stupid, you know.” Eddie rolls his eyes at me.
“No. I know.” I smile, wincing at the weight as two huge bottles of Coke go into the basket. As we approach the till, Dinny comes in. The bell rings above his head, a jaunty little fanfare. At once I don’t know where to look, how to stand. He has walked right past Beth, in the car. I wonder if she saw him, if she knew him.
“Hullo, Dinny,” I greet him. I smile. Casual neighbors, nothing more, but my heart is high in my chest. He looks up at me, startled.
“Erica!”
“This is Eddie-I mean Ed-who I was telling you about. My nephew-Beth’s boy.” I pull Eddie to my side, he grins affably, says hi. Dinny studies him closely, then smiles.
“Beth’s son? It’s nice to meet you, Ed,” he says. They shake hands, and for some reason I am moved, I am choked. A simple gesture. My two worlds coming together with the press of their skins.
“Are you the Dinny my mum used to play with when she was little?”
“Yes. I am.”
“Erica was telling me about you. She said you were best friends.” Dinny looks at me sharply, and I feel guilty, even though what I said was true.
“Well, we were, I suppose.” His voice calm and low, always measured.
“Stocking up for Christmas?” I butt in, inanely. The Spar is hardly bursting with seasonal fare; threadbare tinsel taped to the edges of the shelves. Dinny shakes his head, rolls his eyes slightly.
“Honey wants salt-and-vinegar chips,” he says, then looks away sheepishly.
“Did you see Mum, outside? She’s out there in the car-did you say hello?” Eddie asks. A flutter in the pit of my stomach.
“No. I didn’t. I’ll… I will now,” Dinny says, turning to the door, looking out at my grubby white car. His eyes are intent; he moves straight, shoulders tense, as if compelled to go to her.
I can see him, through the glass in the door. Between the spray-on drifts of fake snow in its corners. He bends down at the window, his breath clouding the air. Beth rolls the window down. I can’t see her face with Dinny in the way. I see her hands go up toward her mouth and then flutter away again, drifting as if weightless. I duck; I crane my neck to see. I strain my ears, but all I can hear is Slade on the radio behind the counter. Dinny leans his bare arm on the roof of the car and I feel the ache of that cold metal on my own skin.
“Rick-it’s our go,” Eddie says, nudging me with his elbow. I heave the basket onto the counter, am forced to break off my surveillance and smile at the gloomy-looking man at the till. I pay for the Coke, a Twix and some ham for lunch, and rush to get back out to the car.
“So what do you do now? You always wanted to be a concert flautist, if I remember rightly?” Dinny is saying. He straightens up from leaning on the car, folds his arms. He looks defensive suddenly, and I notice that Beth has not got out of the car to talk to him. She barely looks at him, keeps rearranging the ends of her scarf in her lap.
“Oh, that didn’t quite pan out,” she says with a thin little laugh. “I got to grade seven and then…” She pauses, looks away again. She got to grade seven the spring before Henry disappeared. “I stopped practicing as much,” she finishes, flatly. “I do some translating now. French and Italian, mostly.”
“Oh,” Dinny says. He studies her, and the moment hangs, so I blunder in.
“I struggle enough with English-trying to teach it to teenagers is like trying to push water uphill with a fork. But Beth always did have a gift for languages.”
“You have to listen, that’s all, Rick,” Beth says to me, and it is a reproof of some kind.
“Never was my strongest suit,” I agree with a smile. “We’ve just been to Avebury. Ed was keen to see it because they’ve been doing it at school. Mind you, once we got there you were more interested in having a hot fudge sundae in the pub, weren’t you, Ed?”
“It was amazing,” Eddie assures us. Dinny gives me a quizzical smile, but when Beth asks him nothing more, his face falls slightly and he steps back from the car.
“So, how long are you staying?” he asks, and he addresses this to me, since Beth is staring straight ahead.
“For Christmas, definitely. After that, we’re not really sure. There’s a lot of sorting out to be done,” I say. Which is honest and ambiguous enough. “How about you?”
“For the time being,” Dinny shrugs; even more ambiguous.
“Ah.” I smile.
“Well, I’d better be getting on. Good to see you again, Beth. Nice to meet you, Ed,” he says, nodding to us and walking away.
“He didn’t get the chips,” Eddie observes.