He does have a habit of appearing out of nowhere.
Thats why I cant believe that hes gone.
Judy talks about Cathbad as if hes dead but hes alive and well, living in Lancashire. Ruth knows that hes staying away because he wants to give Judy a chance to make it work with Darren. She wonders if she should say this now. Judy must know that Ruth knows about her relationship with Cathbad but theyve never discussed it. They are friends but their friendship has strict limits. They have never talked about Ruths relationship with Nelson either.
Bloody Cathbad, says Judy, and it sounds as if shes crying. How could he do this to me?
He loves you, says Ruth.
Does he?
I know he does.
They drive in silence for the next few minutes. Ruth sees Claras car parked outside her house, just as it was that night in the snow.
Do you want to come in for a cup of tea?
No thanks. Id better get back.
Thanks for the lift.
Judy raises her hand in acknowledgement. As Ruth watches, she performs a complicated three-point turn and then the car is lost in the darkness.
The Book of Dead Babies
For A
You never spoke yet we miss your silence
You never walked but we miss your step.
Dearest Child, sweet Babe
Now you are singing and dancing with the angels.
Your cheek was cool and soft as snow
Precious Girl, we loved you so.
For R
The rocking horse is riderless now
The soldiers sad without their friend.
Oh we miss your laugh and your ready chatter
Your sleepy smile at the days end.
Sleep well, my Babe, my little Angel Boy
The time was short and yet so full of joy.
For J
Mothers have no favourites, that is known
But the heart has secrets that can neer be shown.
I loved you my Child with a Mothers heart
Though another bore you, you were mine by rights
Of love and kindness.
Oh the painful nights
Without you, my most Precious Son
But you, at least, I see in my most secret eye
Because, my Child, I know just where you lie
And when the good Lord calls me from this life of pain
I will lie beside you and hold you in my arms again.
CHAPTER 19
Saturdays are the worst, thinks Cathbad. Weekdays arent too bad. He works as a lab assistant at the university four mornings a week. Then he comes home and takes Thing for a long walk. In the evenings he reads or watches TV. He has started writing the story of his life though its harder than youd think. The things he wants to say – about his mother and grandmother and the importance of the old ways – seem stubbornly out of reach. Sometimes he abandons autobiography altogether and writes letters to Michael. These he tears up before he is tempted to send them.
He has made some friends. There is a local druid community and they are welcoming enough, though tediously devoted to pub quizzes. He has been out with the other technicians a few times, there is even an attractive redhead in the Modern Languages Department who has made overtures of more than friendship. But Cathbads heart is frozen. He doesnt think he will ever be able to love a woman again.
Saturdays are bad because he imagines Judy and Darren in their little house, having breakfast, reading the papers, deciding what to do with their precious free hours. Worst of all, he imagines Michael in his high chair, smiling at Darren and calling him Daddy. He sees the family in slow motion, like the end of a romantic film, laughing as they run along beaches and eat ice creams and cuddle furry animals. Lou Reeds Perfect Day plays in the background. He tells himself that Judy will probably have to work at weekends, that she hates ice cream and isnt sentimental about animals. It doesnt help much because it reminds him what Judy is really like. Shes his polar opposite: shes measured and rational, not given to flights of fancy or messages from the spirit world. She likes fast cars, he drives an ancient Morris Minor. She understands the Tote, he bets on horses with unusual names. He believes in the Pagan Gods, the Virgin Mary and anyone else who might be helpful in a crisis. Judy trusts only in her wits and the police procedure handbook. Why, then, does he miss her so much? Why do other women – not only the redhead but the female druids with their homespun skirts and books on homeopathy – seem so pallid in comparison?
But this Saturday Cathbad determines to invest in positive energies. He takes Thing for his early-morning run, breathing in the heady air on top of Pendle Hill and asking the spirits of earth and sky to watch over them. Then he returns home full of good intentions. Cathbads cottage was once owned by a witch and this, to him, makes it a highly desirable residence. He speaks to Dame Alice now as he feeds Thing, makes coffee and listens to the news on the radio. The rumbling Radio 4 voices remind him of Ruth. Dame Alice, Wise Woman, help me to get through today without thinking of Judy. There is no sign from Dame Alice but Thing looks at him hopefully, wagging his tail. Cathbad pats the dog and wonders how to fill the next few hours. He could go into Clitheroe for the market, he could do some work in the garden, he could write the next chapter of his memoirs. He could burn some herbs and try to meditate, or he could walk to Fence and have lunch in a pub. Hes so lucky, the world is wide open to him. He sighs and goes to look up Judys house on Google Earth.
Judy is not running along the beach to the strains of Lou Reed. She is with Darren and Michael in the car, on their way to see Darrens parents. Its another sunny day, though there are clouds gathering in the sky that promise rain before nightfall. Darren is singing along to Radio 2 and even Michael is beating time with his cuddly giraffe. They are going to the sea-side (Darrens parents have moved from Kings Lynn to Southwold). What could be better?
Bet Mum and Dad will think that Michaels grown, says Darren.
They only saw him two weeks ago.
Hes growing all the time.
Michael is actually rather small for his age. It annoys Judy that Darren talks about him as if hes a prizefighter or a rugby forward. Hes a champ. Look at those arm muscles. Hell be a devil in the scrum one day. Michael has long eyelashes and sensitive fingers. Judy thinks that he may grow up to be a concert pianist.
Wonder if well get in the sea today, says Darren.
Judy shivers. Itll be freezing.
Not for our champ, says Darren. Hes tough.
Judy says nothing. She leans forward and switches over to Radio 4.
Ruth is also at the seaside. She and Shona are walking along the seafront at Cromer. Ruth is holding Kate by the hand and Shona is wheeling Louis in his pushchair.
Out! shouts Louis. Out! Out!
When we get to the beach, says Shona. Shes wearing a short flowery dress and looks like something from a retro catalogue. Louis, on the other hand, looks very contemporary indeed. Hes a few months older than Michael but twice as big, a ginger-haired heavyweight with a penchant for camouflage and loud noises.
Out! Sea! Now!
Kate puts her fingers in her ears.
They walk past the helter-skelter and the pier. The tide is going out and people are already setting up deckchairs and windbreaks on the sand. The sun is warm but, looking towards Overstrand, Ruth can see grey clouds gathering. Tears before bedtime, her mother used to say. She really must ring her parents tomorrow.
Catch a crab, sings Kate. Catch a crab, a crab, a crab. Nelson once caught a crab fishing from Cromer pier and Kate has never forgotten it.
Maybe later, says Ruth. She knows that she and Shona will never be able to catch a crab. Its a man thing, like skimming stones (Nelson can do that too).
They release Louis from his chair and walk down the steps to the beach. Ruth spreads out a blanket and Shona finds the buckets and spades. Ruth is wearing a skirt for once and she stretches out her legs in the sunshine. Shona is kneeling beside Kate, filling a castle-shaped bucket with sand. Ruth is filled with an unexpected wave of happiness. It suddenly seems a very wonderful thing, to be sitting on the beach with her friend and their children. Kates face is stern with concentration as she turns the castle upside down. Louis beats his spade on a thermos flask. The sun sparkles on the sea and from the pier comes the tragic tinny tune of the merry-go-round. She closes her eyes.
Ruth?
Shona is looking at her, shielding her eyes from the sun.
Mmm.
Whats going on with you and the American guy? The one that looks like George Clooney.
He doesnt look like George Clooney.
He looks more like George Clooney than anyone else in Norfolk.
Ruth has to acknowledge the truth of this. Nothings going on, she says. Hes working on the programme, thats all.
Last night Ruth had opened Franks present. It was a book of poems, leather-bound and old-looking. Poems by Alfred Lord Tennyson. Ruth had sat looking at it for some time. She hasnt read poetry since A-Level English, many years ago. What was Frank trying to tell her with this gift? That she was a fellow intellectual? That they share an interest in the much-maligned Victorians? Or maybe it was just an old book that he had lying around.
Nothings going on, she says again.
You seemed to be having a very cosy chat last night.
We were talking about Jemima Green.
Shona pulls a face. I dont know how you can bear to think about that monster. Killing all those poor children. She must have been pure evil.
Actually, says Ruth, there was a good chance that she was innocent. She was only convicted of one murder and there was just circumstantial evidence against her.
Shona stops Louis from upending the thermos. Youre joking! What about that "Dont cry little darling" stuff? What about the body snatchers and the devil worshipping?
A myth grew up around her. She was a scary-looking woman with a hook for a hand. Who was going to believe that she was innocent?