Marlford (20 page)

Twenty-Seven

W
hen Dan was released from hospital, three days after he was shot, Gadiel went to meet him at the bus stop at the far edge of the village, beyond the cricket ground. He seemed quite well. Nonetheless, they walked unhurriedly, at an invalid's pace.

‘It looks all right.' Gadiel gestured at the bulge of dressing under Dan's T-shirt.

‘Yeah, man. It's cool.' Dan was melancholy.

It was odd, how little they had to say. They did not seem to know each other. Dan's journey to the hospital had already been enough to separate him from Marlford; his return had a temporary air, a concession.

‘I did some exploring, while you were laid up,' Gadiel said, eventually. ‘I went down to the works, camped out a couple of nights, by the side of the salt lakes there.'

‘Flashes,' Dan corrected him. ‘They're called flashes.'

They walked on, the lines of cottages stretching out to meet them and gather them in, the hedges and trees, the open cricket field giving way suddenly to the firm enclosure of the grid of streets.

They paused at the nymph and lolled against the fountain ledge.

‘I wanted to head off,' Gadiel continued. ‘I wanted to think about things.'

The water plinked steadily behind them; ahead, Victoria Street was barred, cordoned off with heavy barriers. The village seemed deserted, as though Braithwaite Barton's experiment was over and time had moved on, abandoning the elegant buildings, the sculpted stonework, the tended flowerbeds and identical window boxes; abandoning the heaving pit of wet rubble and the skewed library, leaving it all as testament to something not quite decided.

Dan puffed thoughtfully at his cigarette. ‘I don't know what I'm going to do about getting my van.'

A coil of yellowish smoke wound across from the works, hardly carried by the still air. They could hear the clank and groan of a heavy vehicle edging round the bend at the top of Victoria Street, piled with equipment: girders and pulleys, bulky chains. They watched while the load was delivered and stacked by the benches at Braithwaite Barton's feet. Then the lorry reversed and disappeared, the rumble of it fading.

‘It'll be all right,' Gadiel said. ‘We can talk to Ellie about it.'

Dan shook his head energetically. ‘That place is vicious. We've escaped once. I'm not going through it all again, man.'

‘But don't you feel sad for her? We've just left her there, on her own. I was thinking about it while you were in hospital, and I reckon – well, she must have liked you, to go with you in the van like that. She must have thought—'

‘She was messing about.' Dan stabbed a foot at the stone fountain. ‘Just hanging out. That's all. Expressing herself… experimenting.'

‘You don't mean that. You know that's not true.'

‘After I was shot, she told me she never wanted to see me again. She chucked me out of the house, man. She's one of them, through and through – unreconstructed. There's nothing we can do with her.'

Dan remembered it that way now, having thought it over. He dropped his finished cigarette-end, a stubby finger. It pointed at him, accusatorily; he kicked it away. ‘That was it… you know. One of those things.'

‘I think we should go back.' Gadiel was firm. ‘I think we should go back and see her. We can't just leave her, we can't just run away.'

‘I am not going back there.'

‘Oh, come on, they're not going to shoot you again, Dan. It was just a confusion, that's all. It got out of hand.'

‘No way, man.'

‘But you want your van back, don't you? You're not going to just leave it there to rot?'

Dan glared at him. ‘I'm working on a strategy for it.'

‘But you don't need a strategy. You just need to go and talk to them. It's no big deal. We can go and face up to things.'

‘What do you mean, “face up to things”? We haven't done anything to face up to.'

Gadiel splashed his hand through the water pooling at the nymph's feet. ‘Let's just go back, Dan. One more time. You need to get your van, I want to… I want to talk to Ellie. We can show them that you're all right now, that it doesn't matter about being shot. It'll resolve things.'

Dan huffed. ‘I think it matters. I don't like being shot.' But he recognized Gadiel's determination. ‘Look, if it wasn't for the van, you know – if they didn't have my van, I wouldn't set foot there again.' He thought of something else. ‘And I'm not getting into debate with Ellie. We're done with all that, man. I'm not getting into it all again.'

‘I'll talk to Ellie,' said Gadiel.

Dan shuffled up against the rim of the fountain, leaning back to take the weight from his injured shoulder; Gadiel took a step or two away across the cobbles.

‘I'm going to stay on and help,' he announced, finally.

Dan sniffed. ‘What on earth for?'

‘They still need manpower, for the library. And generally, for the repairs.'

Dan looked with him at the skinned library, loosely held by the rubble at its base, forlorn and out of place, an eyesore.

‘They'd be better off knocking it down and starting again.' The building seemed to flounder, to shift and creak, even as they were gazing at it. ‘I don't see the point. In any of it.' He rubbed thoughtfully at his bandages. ‘But I suppose, if you like. We could get the van fixed and bring it down and find a good place to park. I suppose a couple more weeks won't make much difference.'

Gadiel spoke with quiet steadiness. ‘I didn't think we'd both stay. I didn't think you'd want to. I thought it would just be me.'

Dan pushed himself up, awkwardly. ‘Oh, come on, man. You want to come in the van, don't you?'

Gadiel smiled. ‘I think I'll just stay. On my own. And do something useful.'

‘But, man, we were going to travel together. That was the plan. It was going to be cool.'

‘I know. But things have changed, Dan.'

Dan pushed at his spectacles, leaving his hand across his face for a long moment, obscuring his eyes. ‘Yeah, well, things are changing everywhere, aren't they? That's the point, man. All over the place. This was just a setback. An anomaly. Whatever we'd done here – well, time's up on places like Marlford, and pretty soon it'll all be different. The squat – it could have been something. Given a chance. It's a setback, that's all.'

‘I'm not travelling with you. I'll come and sort out about the van. I'll help you get it back. But after that—'

‘You're going to split on me, man, aren't you?'

Gadiel offered him a sad smile. ‘I don't think I can look out for you any more,' he said.

The manor looked much as it had always done, the stonework resolutely intact, undiminished and unconcerned. But there was a car, parked in the smear of shadow beneath a beech tree, and it drew them across the front of the house.

They stood looking at it, stupidly: a small black car, unremarkable.

‘I'm not going in. Not if mad old Barton's there,' Dan said.

‘He doesn't have a car. It won't be him.'

‘But it'll be someone visiting him, won't it?'

‘Hello.' A voice sounded close behind them. ‘Can I help you?'

They knew it was not Ernest bearing down on them, but they started nonetheless; Dan gasped, clutching defensively at his injured shoulder.

‘Sorry.' The man fiddled in his pocket for keys. ‘Didn't mean to frighten you. Spooky old place, though, isn't it? It gets you like that.' He smiled amiably and then lowered his voice, as if giving away a great secret. ‘Gives me the willies.'

‘We were looking for Ellie,' Gadiel explained. ‘We know Ellie.'

The man shook his head. ‘Can't help you. The family's gone off somewhere. Someone at the office might know, if I ask – but I haven't got any information myself, I'm afraid. I think the fire was the last straw for them.'

‘The fire?' Gadiel pushed his hair hard behind his ears. ‘Has there been a fire? Has anyone been hurt?'

‘No one was hurt. It was just a case of faulty electrics. It started with a light in the billiard room. The girl…'

‘Ellie,' prompted Gadiel.

‘That's the one. She was playing a game, apparently.' He shook his head and raised his eyebrows to signal Ellie's certain madness. ‘At four o'clock in the morning, mind you. All by herself. Loopy or what?'

He caught sight of Gadiel's expression. ‘No offence. Just an observation. She got the house evacuated, that sort of thing. It could have been a whole lot worse if they'd all been asleep in bed. A whole lot worse.'

Dan stared at the façade. In the clear afternoon light it looked cleaner than before. ‘It doesn't look like there was a fire.'

The man came alongside and looked with him at the lurching cadence of stone and glass. ‘It's gutted inside, more or less. This wing.'

‘But you know we've got our stuff in there, man. We've got things, upstairs, in the house. I mean, do you think it would be all right if we went to get them? Would it be safe?'

The man grimaced. ‘I don't think I can let you go in.'

‘But we had a squat – upstairs. We've got belongings there, man. Clothes and the radio and some books,' Dan continued.

‘A squat? In there?' The man whistled, shaking his head. ‘What on earth for?'

‘We were making a statement. We were challenging obsolete structures and anachronistic opinions.'

‘Were you?' The man shrugged, giving them a quizzical, sidelong look. ‘Well, sorry – you can't go back. It's dangerous. The staircases are gone; the ceilings are down – there're whacking great holes in the floor. I've done the assessment and, frankly, the place is a wreck.'

‘But what should we do? We had rights there. We were squatters.'

‘If it were me,' the man said, ‘I'd cut my losses. These things happen. Old places like this – they're death traps.'

Gadiel scanned the front of the manor once more. ‘But there's no one in there? He's not there – Mr Barton?'

‘Nope.' The man shook his head. ‘Just me. And I'm off now. I've got another appointment.'

‘And Ellie – you don't know where she's gone?' Gadiel asked, too quietly, knowing the answer.

The man did not seem to notice the question. ‘Even before the fire, the place must have been crumbling. There's damp, dry rot, woodworm. All kinds of leaks. That's without the dodgy electrics. That's what happens these days. No one can afford to keep these houses up.'
He made a looping descent with his thumbs. ‘And so they come down. Crash, bang.' He clapped. ‘Wallop.' He waved a hand across the expanse of estate. ‘Look at it all. It's a mess. A waste. Good land going to waste. There's even some weird old codgers camped out down there – God, they've been there for years, apparently. We're getting rid of them.' He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I'm sorry, like I said, I have to go. If I were you, I'd keep out of the way.'

He turned the key in the car door and stamped his feet gently against the ground to shed loose dirt from his shoes. ‘Don't go in. You'll get hurt.'

He raised a quick hand, a brief farewell.

The car pulled away, taking the sweep of the drive slowly. Dan and Gadiel watched until it had disappeared into the stippled shadows of the lime walk.

‘Do we dare it then? Do we go in?' Dan asked.

Gadiel was ahead of him already, making for the portico. He looked back over his shoulder but said nothing. Dan ran a step or two to make up the ground between them; they went on together.

The front door to the manor was open, or perhaps it was no longer there at all. As soon as they stepped up onto the portico, they were struck by the cold air, the pungent smell of smoke and charred wood, the vacancy where the grandeur of the old hallway had been. It brought them to a halt.

Gadiel went forward carefully. He placed one hand on the doorframe, an anchor, and leaned forwards as far as he could.

‘Well?' Dan pushed up behind him. ‘What is there?'

Gadiel pulled back, moving quickly away from the manor, stepping down onto the churned gravel.

‘Gadiel? Are we going in? What's it look like in there?'

‘It's gone,' Gadiel replied. ‘Gutted. And it's like—'

‘Like what?'

Gadiel smiled uncertainly; he shook his head. ‘It's weird, that's all.'

‘What is, man? What's weird?'

‘Well, it's like you can still hear the fire. It's like you can hear it rushing through the house and the roar of it and the crackle of the flames. I thought I heard the crack of glass – with the heat.'

‘But that's impossible, man. It isn't on fire. It must have been put out days ago.'

‘Yes, I know. And it's freezing in there. You feel the cold coming out. But even so…'

Dan laughed. He pushed his spectacles up with a jab of his finger, glanced at Gadiel and stepped up to the threshold, poking his head through the doorway.

Gadiel stayed where he was, scuffing the gravel with his boot. He saw Dan flinch and draw back, a moment later making a hurried retreat.

‘Well?'

‘Let's just get the van. We'll leave the squat. It must have gone.'

‘Did you hear it, though? Did you hear the fire?'

Dan refused to answer. He put his hand on the wound in his shoulder, still sore.

‘This place plays tricks,' was all he said.

Dan stared at the space in front of the abandoned stables.

‘My van. It can't have gone. It didn't work, man. It was kaput – broken down. It can't have gone.'

But the yard was empty, and there was no one to ask.

They went down the track to Home Farm, but the house there, too, was deserted, the pigs rushing at them noisily across the yard. Gadiel climbed a tree, sliding into a nook from where he could see into the windows and hallooing, cupping his hands, shouting out as loudly as he could, but there were just the animal noises coming back at him, restive.