The Outcast Dead (14 page)

When she gets to the university, she finds that the lights and cameras have been set up in one of the science labs.

‘It was too poky in the archaeology department,’ explains Aslan. ‘We liked the light in here and all those Bunsen burners and jars with ‘Biohazard’ written on them. It’s what the viewers expect a lab to look like. It’s a pity we haven’t got one of those glass boards to write on, like in
Prehistoric Autopsy
.’

Ruth agrees that a glass board would have been awesome. Privately she wonders how they got the notoriously prickly Head of Science to agree to the filming at all. Perhaps she too isn’t immune to the magic of TV. The science department always reminds her of Cathbad, who was, until recently, a technician here.

Phil bustles over, wearing a pristine white coat. It makes his face look very brown. Or is he wearing tinted moisturiser?

‘Looking forward to talking about the reports, Ruth?’

‘I haven’t read them yet,’ says Ruth.

Phil looks momentarily discomfited and hands over a paper folder. ‘I meant to give it to you earlier. It’s very much what we expected anyway.’

Ruth flicks through the report. The bones are of an adult female and they are estimated as being about a hundred and fifty years old. Phil’s right. There’s nothing new here. The bones show the woman to have been fairly healthy, though the teeth have faint brown ridges which might point to periods of childhood malnourishment. This would tie in with Frank’s story of Jemima Green’s early years. The stable isotope results also point to the subject being from the local area. Mineral analysis shows
a low marine diet, fairly typical for someone living about twenty miles inland.

Dani prances over. She’s wearing a frayed denim mini skirt and, from the back, looks about ten.

‘Right, we’ll start off with you walking down the corridor. Phil, you ask Ruth what’s in the report. Ruth, you explain. Emphasise the fact that the bones are the right age. Then we’ll have you in the lab looking at the bones themselves. Is there anything else of interest?’

Ruth mentions the teeth.

‘Brilliant. Frank!’ Dani calls.

Frank wanders over with a Styrofoam cup in his hand.

‘Frank, Ruth is going to say that the teeth show that Mother Hook had a deprived childhood. Can you say a bit about that?’

‘Sure.’

‘Then we’ll just have a long shot of the three of you with the bones and Corinna can do a voice over.’

Ruth can just imagine how this will sound. ‘So these are definitely the bones of the horrific monster known as …’ No room for doubt or ambiguity or a hundred years either way.

A make-up girl appears and starts dabbing at Ruth with a sponge. ‘Do you think they should be wearing coveralls, Dani?’ she asks.

Please say no, begs Ruth silently. She looks like a Teletubby in paper coveralls.

‘No, lab coats will do,’ says Dani. ‘Ruth, maybe you
should have your hair up. It would make you look more academic.’

‘Er … Dani?’ Phil is smiling engagingly.

‘Yes?’

‘Perhaps I could do the explaining and Ruth could ask the questions. After all I am the Head of Department …’

‘Nah. She’s our bones lady. Five minutes, people!’

*

By lunchtime Ruth feels as if she has walked down the corridor a thousand times. Again and again she has smilingly explained to Phil and Frank that the bones found in the trench are the right age to be those of Jemima Green. Time after time she has examined the bones, holding them up to the light and trying not to notice when strands of hair escaped from her bun and fell into her eyes. She is utterly fed up with the sound of her own voice saying that brown ridges in the teeth could indicate a period of arrested development such as illness or malnutrition. She never before realised how a simple action can become almost impossible if you perform it enough times. By the end of the morning she has almost forgotten how to walk. Her mouth aches from smiling and her hair has finally given up the fight against the pins and hangs limply round her face.

‘One more time,’ says Dani. ‘Let’s go from the bit about the teeth. Dex, come in for a close-up of the tooth on Ruth’s hand.’

Ruth holds out the tooth, wishing that her hands didn’t look so rough and unfeminine. She hasn’t even got
an expensive watch or bracelet to liven things up. Still, at least this way you can’t see her nails. She explains again about the ridges.

‘That ties in well with what we know about Jemima Green,’ says Frank. Ruth admires his ease on camera. Every time he says these words it’s as if he’s saying them for the first time. ‘We know she had a very poor childhood, she was the youngest of nine children and her father was a farmer in Saxlingham Thorpe, just around the corner from here. These were very tough times for small farmers. New machinery was coming in and making it almost impossible for smallholders to make a living. And, of course, it was probably an accident with one of these new-fangled farm machines that cost Jemima her hand.’

This is only conjecture, as far as Ruth can make out, but Frank knows his audience. Ruth can imagine that Dani will illustrate Frank’s last remark with a close-up of the infamous hook. It’s clever too that he keeps calling her ‘Jemima’. But Ruth thinks that it’ll take more than using a cosy first name to get the audience on Mother Hook’s side, especially when Corinna is painting her as Dracula’s more bloodthirsty sister. Also, by no stretch of the imagination is Saxlingham Thorpe near King’s Lynn.

‘OK,’ says Dani. ‘Let’s call it a wrap. Thanks Phil and Ruth. That was great.’

Ruth stands up, relieved that she will never have to suck in her stomach for the camera again. But Phil, on the other hand, seems rather disappointed.

‘Is that it?’ he asks.

Dani is looking into the monitor. She glances up. ‘Yes. Except for the night dig, but you won’t have to speak then.’

Won’t have to speak
. Ruth can see the horror of this reverberating in Phil’s mind. He looks around the laboratory, at the cameras and make-up girls and researchers ready to record his latest words of wisdom. She can just imagine Phil contrasting this with a typical day at UNN – lectures, seminars, funding meetings, the continual battle to get people interested in any discipline that doesn’t involve field trips to New York.

The Head of Department seems to be coming to a decision. He beams round at the room. ‘In that case,’ he says, ‘I’d like invite you all to a meal at Iagos tomorrow. We’re celebrating Ruth’s forty-third birthday.’

*

Ruth walks across the landscaped lawns that lead to the car park. She is still absolutely seething. How dare Phil use her birthday as an excuse to suck up to his new TV friends. She is sure that without Shona he would have had no idea that her birthday was coming up.
And
he told everybody how old she will be. The worst thing was that everybody, including Corinna, Aslan and Dex the cameraman, said they’d be there. So now Ruth is stuck with celebrating her birthday at an over-priced restaurant in the company of people she hardly knows and who, she is sure, she will never see again. Even Frank, asks a sly voice in her head. Does she care if she never sees Frank again? Shut up, she tells the voice. Frank is a TV star, the
George Clooney of armchair historians. He would never look twice at her.

Despite her rage, Ruth feels slightly soothed as she walks beside the ornamental lake. The campus is looking its best in the soft summer sun. Although the students have all gone home, the summer school residents are draped picturesquely on the grass, some are playing football and one is even flying a kite, brilliant red against the blue sky. A radio is playing and she can hear the sound of laughter and faint shouts from the tennis court behind the humanities block. It’s like a blueprint for an ideal community – all ages and nations coming together in the pursuit of knowledge. Ruth knows that this Utopian vision won’t stand close examination. In reality, all the holiday students are middle class and most are middle aged. But if she doesn’t look too closely it feels like the new Jerusalem, Norfolk style.

In the car park, though, there’s a sight which jars with the idyll. A police car and, beside it, DS Judy Johnson talking on her phone. Ruth waves but doesn’t approach. After a few minutes, Judy puts away her phone and strolls over.

‘Hallo Ruth.’

‘Hi Judy. What are you doing here?’

Judy grimaces. ‘Missing child alert. We had a tip-off that he was seen near the university.’

‘Oh God,’ says Ruth. ‘Have you found him?’

‘False alarm,’ says Judy. ‘That was the station just now. He’s been found safe and sound at home. The mother just panicked when she couldn’t see him in the garden.’

‘Thank goodness.’ Ruth thinks of Kate and pushes the thought away. She doesn’t like to think of what must lie behind Judy’s false alarm – the panic, the growing sense of dread, the frantic searching, the call to the police. Then the sighting in the garden, the child perhaps concealed by a tree or a playhouse. The passionate embrace, the tears, the slightly shame-faced second phone call. Even so, it seems to her that there is now a slight cloud over the perfect summer day.

‘Nelson says you’re making a TV programme,’ says Judy. ‘I saw the trucks.’

‘We’re a very small part of the programme,’ says Ruth, feeling slightly proud all the same. ‘They finished filming us today.’ Suddenly she has an idea. Why shouldn’t she invite some of her own friends to the dreaded birthday dinner?

To her surprise, Judy is enthusiastic. ‘Great! I’ve always wanted to go to Iagos and it’ll be a real treat to go out on my own.’

‘Bring Darren too if you like.’

‘No,’ says Judy. ‘He can babysit.’

Ruth will have to sort out babysitting too. She can ask Clara, her regular, or maybe Sandra will help. This is another time when she misses Cathbad, who was always happy to look after Kate. But, then again, if Cathbad were here, he would definitely be going to Iagos. He loves socialising, even if he does call it ‘absorbing positive energies.’

‘See you tomorrow then,’ she says to Judy.

‘Yeah. Thanks, Ruth.’

Judy gets into the police car and is driven away by its uniformed occupant. Ruth is just opening her car door when she hears someone calling her name. She looks round. It’s Frank, carrying two leather-bound books.

‘Ruth! Glad I’ve caught you.’

‘Do you want a lift somewhere?’

‘No. You’re OK. I’ve got my car and I’ve just about mastered driving on the left now.’ He grins and Ruth finds herself smiling back.

‘No, I wanted to give you this.’ He proffers one of the books. ‘It’s Jemima Green’s diary. You said you’d like to have a look.’

‘Oh, yes.’ Even so, Ruth feels a curious reluctance to touch the thing. It’s the same feeling she had when she first saw the bones in the trench. Don’t get involved with Mother Hook. Don’t let her get involved with you.

‘I was looking through it last night,’ says Frank, as if the writings of a murderess are ideal bedtime reading, ‘and something struck me when she was writing about Joshua Barnet. I’ve made a note. I’d be interested to see what you think.’

‘OK. I’ll let you know.’

‘There’s The Book of Dead Babies too,’ says Frank, holding out the other volume.

‘Thanks,’ says Ruth. ‘Thanks a lot.’

‘See you tomorrow then,’ says Frank. ‘I’m looking forward to it.’

‘Me too,’ says Ruth, putting the books in her car. ‘Me too.’

The police car drops Judy at the station. She doesn’t want to go in and hear the latest on the Donaldson case – how everyone always knew it was the father all along. She has always believed in Liz’s innocence, but now that she has been released she can’t escape a slight uneasiness. Why didn’t Liz mention earlier that she thought she might have heard her husband’s voice on the intercom? It’s all very well for Madge to say that Liz was in a fugue state, but she always seemed perfectly rational when interviewed. And she has always said that she was alone when David died. Bob is still denying that he was ever in the house that day. Will he be the first killer to be convicted by Facebook? Superintendent Whitcliffe says that it’s a test case. He seems to find this very exciting.

It’s three o’clock. If she leaves now she can collect Michael from the childminder and have three hours alone with him before Darren gets home. She has plenty of overtime owing after all. Making her mind up Judy walks quickly to the car park. She doesn’t want to run
into Clough and have to listen to a barrage of thinly veiled criticism. ‘Half day is it?’ ‘Your turn to pick up from nursery?’ It’s so unfair. She hasn’t taken a single day off since she had Michael. Darren says that she is working harder than ever.

She relaxes when she’s on the road. Judy loves driving, and before she was married cars were her greatest extravagance. She still regrets giving up her high-powered jeep for a sensible Fiat but at least it has plenty of poke. She whizzes through the gears and is first away at the lights, allowing herself a little smile of satisfaction in the rear-view mirror. Tosser. Serve him right for putting go-faster stripes on a Ford Focus.

She has phoned Debbie the childminder to say that she will be early, but when she arrives at the neat little house in Castle Rising there’s no one at home. Fuming, Judy calls Debbie to be told that she and ‘the kids’ are still at the park.

‘I’ll meet you there,’ says Judy, cutting off further explanation.

There’s no reason why Debbie shouldn’t have taken the children to the park – it’s a lovely day after all – but Judy is irritated all the same. She doesn’t like Debbie saying ‘the kids’, it reminds her that as well as Michael Debbie looks after two other children, jolly three-year-old twins called Archie and Tom. This is perfectly legal – Judy has checked – childminders are allowed to care for up to six children, though only one of these can be under one. In theory, Judy likes the fact that Michael has the company
of Archie and Tom, in practice she resents anyone who takes attention away from her precious baby. Of course, in a big family children have to fight for adult attention, it’s perfectly normal. But that’s another thing. Judy doesn’t like Debbie saying ‘the kids’ because it sounds as if the children are hers.