‘Everyone all right?’ Tim asked, as if to show that the Carroll family had a caring side.
‘That was the easy part,’ Wayne said, his dark eyes flicking over the crew for signs of weakness.
‘What next?’
‘We tip her on to the near edge. Then hold her steady at the point of balance, letting the trailer take the strain. This has to be done in one go. We don’t want anyone’s fingers squashed. You, mate.’
Diamond looked right and left. ‘Talking to me?’
‘Come this side and stand between Roger and me.’
More used to giving orders than obeying them, Diamond was having to rein himself in. He squeezed between the brothers and bent over the stone. The others stood at the ends and took a grip as well as they were able.
‘I’ll count to three again.’
On the word they braced and tugged.
Stubborn to the last, the stone wife refused to move.
‘Maybe if we slid it a little way over the edge, some of us could get a better grip,’ Halliwell suggested.
‘Who’s running this show?’ Wayne said. ‘We do it my way, right?’
Halliwell rolled his eyes.
And the next attempt was successful — except for a yelp of pain from Diamond.
‘Trouble, guv?’ Ingeborg asked.
‘Something went in my back, I think.’
Not what anyone wanted to hear. The stone was poised on one edge, just as planned. Most of the weight was now being taken by the trailer, but everyone was needed to hold the delicate balance.
‘Keep her steady. Nobody move,’ Wayne said without a shred of sympathy.
‘Are you all right?’ Tim asked Diamond.
‘I’m not sure. I’m okay in this position. Lifting might be a problem for me.’
‘We need a stand-in.’ Tim turned to Denis Doggart. ‘Could you…?’
‘Absolutely not,’ the auctioneer said. ‘You need a porter for that.’
‘Don’t look at me,’ Tank Sherman said. ‘I get hernias.’
Diamond said, ‘I think I can manage.’
‘I can do it,’ Ingeborg offered.
‘Don’t even think about it.’ Manfully, he summoned a grin and said, ‘Let’s go.’
‘If you’re certain,’ Tim said.
Wayne said, ‘Let her tip this way, but gradual. If we lose control now, all of us are going to end up in hospital. When I say the word, lift her clear and lower her on to the dolly.’
Tim added with a look at Diamond, ‘Bending at the knees, not the back.’
The manoeuvre began. The stone tipped slowly at first, and then with more force, off the edge of the trailer and into the arms of the six men. Grunting, bearing the weight, but without any shrieks of pain, they controlled the descent to the dolly. She settled with a satisfying thud.
‘Beautiful job,’ Tim said.
For Diamond, there was double satisfaction. He’d avoided a slipped disc and he’d had a close look at the back of Wayne’s head.
Everyone straightened up, backed away and rubbed hands. Diamond rubbed his back.
‘We haven’t finished,’ Wayne said. ‘She has to be dragged inside.’
Roger Carroll, who had not said much until now, said, ‘I reckon the three of us can manage that.’
‘Give me a moment to get my breath back,’ Tim said.
‘I can take your place,’ Halliwell offered. ‘Then we’ll all go for that coffee we were promised.’
‘Before we do,’ Diamond said, ‘I’ve got a favour to ask of you, Tim. Mrs. Gildersleeve and her sister made the journey especially to scatter the ashes of her late husband at the site of the Chaucer house. You took me to the spot before. Would you mind?’
Monica (with the urn) and Erica waited a few yards away in a dignified stance that was a silent appeal.
Even the hard man Wayne would have found it difficult to refuse. Tim was a softer touch. ‘No problem,’ he said.
Diamond thanked him. ‘I fully intended to join you, but my back’s playing up and I don’t think I can manage the walk across the field. Ingeborg will take my place.’
‘Right away?’ Ingeborg said.
The sisters were obviously ready to go. Ingeborg, quietly fuming, would never get her coffee. The four got into the Volvo and Erica did a three-point turn and drove them away.
The Wife of Bath was trundled into her temporary new home and everyone not actually pulling or pushing headed inside as well — except Diamond and George the driver.
Tim Carroll gave the directions to North Petherton from the back seat.
‘It’s not far then?’ Erica said, at the wheel.
‘A couple of miles.’
‘You’re interested in Chaucer, obviously,’ Monica said to him.
‘Through the local connection,’ Tim said.
‘But are you familiar with his poetry?’
‘What I know of it, yes.’
‘In that case, perhaps you’ll be kind enough to help with the valediction.’ She took a sheet of paper from the glove compartment and handed it to him. ‘A few lines from the Prologue to The Canterbury Tales.’
Talk about being put on the spot.
Ingeborg, uncomfortable with this, said to Monica, ‘I didn’t know you were planning a ceremony. Tim agreed to show us the site of Chaucer’s house, nothing else.’
‘He’s a Chaucer scholar. It’s serendipity that he’s with us. He’ll do it beautifully.’
‘If that’s really what you want,’ Tim said. ‘I’d have worn my suit if I’d known.’
‘You couldn’t have dressed better than you have,’ Monica said. ‘What you’re wearing is ideal. John would have approved. And it isn’t meant to be a ceremony, but just a dignified farewell to my dear husband.’
So it was that after they had pulled up at the edge of the field and picked their way across the rutted ground to the area Tim pointed out, the four stood together with lowered heads. From across the field, the drone of motorway traffic was steady, but could almost be ignored in the intensity of the moment. This unmarked patch of ground was where the Chaucer house had once stood, where the Wife of Bath had been buried for centuries until the Victorians had unearthed her, and where John Gildersleeve had come with high hopes and been disappointed.
Monica ended the meditation by tugging at the lid of the urn and finding it too tight to open. She turned to Tim and passed the urn across.
‘Be an angel, would you?’
He looked uncomfortable.
Ingeborg was thinking this had the potential to be a disaster, but Tim managed to ease the lid away and keep the urn upright. Not a speck of ash was spilled. He returned it to Monica.
She said, ‘Now, Tim, if you would.’
He took the paper from his pocket and in a low voice started reading Chaucer’s words:
Tim’s voice was faltering. He stopped, his eyes welling with tears. ‘I’m sorry. I can’t go on.’ He thrust the paper into Ingeborg’s hand and took several steps away from the little group.
Emotion can get to people on occasions such as this. What could Ingeborg do, except take up the recitation? She intoned in a firmer voice than Tim’s: