‘Erm… yeah.’
‘So what I’m really thinking is, like, are we too young to have been together for so long? That’s it, really.’
‘Sorry?’
‘That’s the dilemma.’ Jane’s mind was like a pinball machine. ‘Also, I’m thinking… you and Dad?’
‘That was entirely different.’
‘How was it different?’
‘Because we… because we’d known each other for a lot shorter time than you and Eirion and there were a lot of things about him I didn’t know, and… are you trying to embarrass me?’
Jane grinned.
‘And because you and Eirion will not, unless you’re incredibly stupid or incredibly drunk, have to get married. So unless, at some stage, you…’ Merrily slumped at the table. ‘Sorry, flower, been a difficult day. Has there been anyone else in the interim I don’t know about?’
‘He says not.’
‘No… I meant you.’
‘Me?’ Jane’s eyes widened. ‘Listen, I don’t do that any more — I mean go behind your back. And if you were thinking Neil Cooper, I quite fancied Coops. Especially when I— All right, maybe we shouldn’t be talking like this.’
‘Especially when you what?’
‘When I… found out he was married, I had a weird little fantasy about being the Other Woman. But I didn’t do anything, Mum, I didn’t make any approach and neither did he, and I’ve got past it now.’
‘Erm… good.’
‘Have I shocked you? Anyway…’ Jane sprang to her feet. ‘Let’s bring it in, shall we?’
Meaning the too-big Christmas tree that Merrily had called for at a farm shop outside the village. She’d forgotten. She prised herself to her feet as Jane went out to untie the tree from the roof-rack of the car.
‘Jane…?’ Merrily thought for a moment and then called after her. ‘OK, tell Eirion I’d be happy for him to come.’
It was a time for commitment.
She watched Jane turn and bow — ‘Thank you, single parent’ — as the phone starting ringing in the scullery.
‘Always liked Eirion. Just didn’t like to say it too often.’ Going back into the house, alone, murmuring, ‘In case it put you off him.’
‘Four television crews!’ Sophie said with distaste. ‘Marching up and down, filming the house from various angles. Reporters knocking on doors, reporters under lights, talking to the cameras. Satellite dishes! It’s quite unbearable.’
The rain chattered inanely on the window pane. Merrily shifted the Bakelite phone from one ear to the other, switching on the Anglepoise at the same time.
‘So when did they reveal his name?’
‘I don’t know. Early this evening, I think. How long will this go on, Merrily?’
‘It’ll seem like for ever, I’m afraid. But I suppose tomorrow will be the worst day. Surely they have police with Helen Ayling now?’
‘No, Merrily, she’s here.’
‘Where?’
‘Helen’s staying with us. It was, in the end, the obvious solution. The press have been encouraged to think she’s left the area, with unnamed relatives.’
‘God, Sophie, is this a good idea?’
‘It was either that or some family liaison officer in the house. Besides, I’ve discovered I’m fairly competent at driving the media from my doorstep. Wanted us — neighbours — to talk about Clement. On television.’
You could feel the shudder in the phone.
‘I noticed you went off with the police,’ Sophie said.
‘Bliss.’
‘And what did you learn?’
‘He seems to be looking for a connection with Clement Ayling’s council work. Fairly obvious, I suppose. Councillors make enemies.’
‘Yes.’ Sophie sounded calmer. ‘You were right. They begin by eliminating the spouse. And then they get to the heart of it.’
‘Which is… what?’
‘It seems that Clement had been receiving abusive letters and phone calls. In relation, as you say, to his council work. Or a particular aspect of it.’
‘What — rage against school closures? That kind of thing?’
‘Road rage, actually,’ Sophie said.
Jane insisted that a Christmas tree should only be borrowed from the earth. By the time Merrily finished on the phone, she had the tree up in the hall, surprisingly perpendicular, in one of the stone tubs from the garden. Damp soil and stones around the roots — cold enough in here to ensure survival well beyond Twelfth Night.
‘Sunday, then?’ Jane was sitting on the stairs with her mobile. ‘No, that’s fine… Yeah, it will be.’
Eirion, evidently. Merrily sensed Jane trying not to sound too affectionate. She waited in the kitchen doorway.
‘Sure. I’ll certainly tell her. No, couldn’t make it up, could you? Bloody hell. Yeah, right. Bye.’ Jane looked up. ‘He says it’s really good of you. He wanted to thank you himself, but I said you were working. Mum, look, there’s something else you—’
‘Spare me a few minutes, flower?’
‘Sure.’ Jane sprang to her feet. ‘What’s the problem?’
Jane was happy, hadn’t even objected to being addressed as ‘flower’. She stood up. Open boxes of tinsel and tree-lights sat at the foot of the tree, Ethel checking them out, pawing delicately at a coloured ball, then dancing away.
No point at all in keeping quiet about this, now Clement Ayling’s name had been released. Of course, it was nothing to do with her really, but with Sophie involved…
‘Could I consult you about something?’ Merrily said. ‘Something you know much more about than I do.’
‘Fine wines? Jane Austen? Vampire Weekend?’
‘The Rotherwas Ribbon.’
‘Oh.’
‘Or as you probably know it, the Dinedor Serpent.’
‘Say no more.’ Jane came downstairs, shedding her smile. ‘What can I tell you about those bastards?’
16
Patio Gravel
A fuzz of viridian forestry, a band of lime-green field and, in the foreground, a vast open spread of red clay where the surface had been peeled away by the road contractors.
Sitting at the scullery desk, Jane had opened up the picture to full-screen. You couldn’t see the top of Dinedor Hill, where tall trees enclosed the Iron Age camp, but you could see the Dinedor Serpent. For what it was worth.
‘This is what it was like before they covered it up again,’ Jane said.
In the middle of the exposed clay, a greyish trickle of small pebbles.
Merrily said, ‘That’s it?’
You might not agree with him, but you could see where Ayling had been coming from. Clement went with a delegation to view the site, Sophie had said. Afterwards, he was quoted in the Hereford Times as saying it just looked like, ah… patio gravel.
Succinct. And probably forgivable, if you weren’t an archaeologist. His opinion was that anyone who thought a vital relief road should be abandoned or even diverted to preserve that must be quite insane. He said that, even if it was preserved, it was hardly going to be a tourist attraction. Adding that Herefordshire Council couldn’t let itself be dictated to by hippies and outsiders.
An old-style local politician. Like Bliss said, Clem Ayling’s younger colleagues would have been crouching behind some trite press statement. Ayling would hold forth… railing against the idiots and the cranks.