A stuffed wolf, on its hind legs and dressed as a pirate, was guarding rolls and rolls of orange carpet.
‘Oh,’ Madeleine said, ‘I think we should go.’ She realised that she sounded like Anne in the Famous Five.
‘They can’t have more than one stuffed wolf,’ said Max, taking her hand. ‘Let’s see what’s through here.’
They went through a pink velvet curtain.
‘We’re in the gods!’ said Max. They were a hundred feet above the revellers. They sat on the cold floor and leant against a column to watch what was happening beneath them. ‘Feeling hot, hot, hot’ drifted up, but Madeleine and Max were quite cool now.
‘Let’s see where this goes.’ They followed the row of seats, then went out through another door, through a fire exit and they were on the roof. A metal staircase led down the side of the building, like a New York fire escape in a movie, rusty and ready for the hero and heroine to go swinging down. But they didn’t.
They could see the whole of the city, and smell the sea. The rain had almost stopped, or perhaps they were just so high up that the drops were blown away. Max put his arms around her. She could feel the strong, thick flesh of his face. His shoulders were huge. She felt enclosed. She looked up and kissed him.
‘Come to Seattle with me,’ he said.
‘Um, I was maybe going to do a PGCE.’
‘Do you want to be a teacher?’
‘Um, no.’
‘Then don’t.’
She kissed him again.
‘Come to Seattle with me.’
Chapter 35
It was turning out to be a bad day for Professor Martyn Swatridge. The Students’ Union paper had come out with a story about the site of the proposed new facilities. Honestly, who did they think was in line to benefit from them?
NATURE RESERVE AND COMMUNITY PROJECTS
THREATENED BY NEW FACILITIES
The working group charged with finding a site for the long-awaited new sports science facilities and leisure centre have earmarked the university’s botanical garden as the best place to put it.
The peace and tranquillity of the garden, home to many rare birds and unusual plants such as Japanese knotweed and convolvulus, could soon be shattered by the sound of excavators and workmen listening to Radio Two.
Our reporter visiting the garden found a party of schoolchildren hard at work on their little plots, as well as a group of vulnerable people with health issues tending their own beds.
The department of Botany uses the garden for its research, and DramaSoc is about to use it as a Regent’s Park-style backdrop for its next production, A Midsummer Night’s Dream starring the lovely Phoebe Enright, who is tipped for the top and heading for a leading London drama school, as fairy queen Titania. It could all turn into a bit of a nightmare for Professor Martyn Swatridge, chair of the working group. Rumours of tree protesters ready to mobilise may persuade him to think again.
Well, he’d be damned if he was persuaded to think again by some thrusting ignoramus on the student rag. First he’d heard about the kids and the loonies’ gardens. Damn. Better go take a look.
It was Midsummer’s Day. Felix had gone to the garden to meet Guy. They would be going round to Judy’s for tea. When Felix arrived he could see that Guy was busy talking to some students in the greenhouse. The garden seemed full of people. The students who were doing the play were making a lot of noise. Felix thought that they were just mucking about, but actually they were getting ready. They had a honeycomb of pop-up tents for the costumes and props, and tables to use for selling drinks and programmes. They were sellotaping posters to the front of the tables and hanging decorations and strings of lights in trees. They were even using his special spying tree. He stood and stared. Nobody took any notice of him. He decided to go his secret way, down the secret path to visit the newts.
Professor Martyn Swatridge ran a hand over his bristly maw, and went into the garden. Funny how you could work somewhere for more than thirty years and still not know every corner of it. He gave the thespians a wide berth and sat down on one of the railway-sleeper edges of a raised bed. It looked bloody new. He read the sign:
‘This is the Future and Hope Project Garden. We hope you will enjoy looking at it. We are a group of survivors of the mental health system. This is all our own work. The garden is here by kind permission and with the support of the university’s Community Liaison Department. Thanks!’
Yeah, thanks a bloody lot, he thought. Bloody left hand not knowing what the right hand, his hand, is doing …
Runner beans were making the most impressive wigwam he had ever seen. They probably called them bloody tipis now, or yurts. There were sweet peas and Californian poppies, tomatoes and strawberries and tiny, newly planted lavender bushes. It all looked very new, could only have been there a matter of weeks, and it all seemed very jolly and much better than his own sour, half-hearted efforts at home. I’ll give them bloody raised beds, he thought. He was pleased to see a dandelion clock. He blew it hard at some of the rows of seedlings. Probably lettuces. Ha!
He could see another little plot on the other side of what were probably once some rather nice lawns. He went to take a look. This one had a line of jolly scarecrows to guard it. Marigolds predominated. He detected the work of small people. You wouldn’t have caught his own kids doing gardening voluntarily, maybe if he’d paid them enough …
He decided to go to the top of the garden, to take in the whole picture. The path was steep and zigzagged. Bloody hell, was that a banana tree? And there were giant cabbages on sticks. A wild rose snagged his trousers, he slipped on some loose stones, grabbed at something and got a palm full of scratches. Some of these leaves were bloody sharp. At the top he puffed and struggled to catch his breath. There really should have been a bench. He sat down heavily on a bit of mossy tree trunk.
Well, the place was huge, but very sloping, probably subsidence problems. Plenty of room for anything though. He could see the students, some now in costume, a few Athenians and fairies and rude mechanicals. There were ranks of plastic boxes that must have been filled with ice and bottles. He started to get his breath back. An annoying pair of chalk-blue butterflies fluttered around his head. He tried to bat them away, but they took no notice. He sat very still and attempted to ignore them.
Perhaps the committee was going to have to go with another option. Maybe too much opposition to the plan here. More mileage in developing this as an environmental asset.
Then he saw a child, a little kid in school uniform darting around through the trees. Probably up to no good, nicking stuff, or damaging things.
‘Hey!’ he yelled ‘What are you doing?’ He galumphed down the zigzag path. The boy had disappeared into a copse, but he was after him. The wet leaves were too slippery, his left shoe went right under water. You couldn’t even see where the paths stopped and the streams began. Bloody self and hasty hazard.
‘Hey you! What do you think you’re doing?’
He had the boy cornered now, just a little squirt, probably only seven or eight. He grabbed his wrist.
‘What are you doing in here on university property, eh?’
‘Um, um,’ said Felix. All the things they’d always told him at school came flashing into his head.
Run, Yell, Tell!
Never, Never Go!
He tried to yank his wrist free, but the man was too strong. He had a horrible smell and grey and red skin.
‘Well?’
‘Let me go!’ Felix tried to free himself again, but the man just held on tighter and caught hold of his other wrist too. ‘Let me go!’
‘You tell me what you were doing. Smashing things? Damaging plants, eh?’
Felix felt the blood stopping in his arms.
‘My dad works here,’ Felix managed. ‘He’s right there in the greenhouse.’
The man loosened his grip very slightly. Felix tried to kick him but his legs were all wobbly and he missed.
‘Oh, he works here, does
he? What is he, grounds staff? You shouldn’t be in here, you know.’
Felix wondered if he could get past him, perhaps there was a way over the fence behind them that would come out at Erica’s. Then he realised what he must do.
‘DAD!’ he yelled, louder than he had ever yelled before. ‘DAD! DAD, HELP!’ And Guy heard. He came running. Everyone in the garden heard, and some of the students came running after Guy.
‘DAD! HELP!’
‘FELIX!’
Guy appeared through the trees. ‘You get away from my boy!’ He pushed the attacker in the chest, really hard, saw him slip and fall backwards, his head was in the water.
‘Dad, mind the newts! There are babies!’
‘What the hell are you doing?’ Guy growled. He was standing over the man now. He could put his boot on him, his leg was poised to do it.
The attacker sat up. ‘Bloody hell!’ he said. ‘I thought he was a vandal. I didn’t touch him. I never would … Got kids of my own.’
Guy had his arms around Felix, who was almost crying.
‘Did he touch you?’
‘He grabbed my wrists.’
‘Look,’ said the attacker, ‘I thought he was a vandal. I was protecting university property. I’m on the Acquisitions, Developments and Maintenance Committee! I’m Professor Martyn Swatridge.’
‘Oh you are, are you?’
Felix had now picked up a big stick. Guy felt like picking up a rock, but instead he let the attacker struggle to his feet. The back of Swatridge’s head was wet and muddy. He had huge damp patches on his back and legs. His jacket was soaked. His shoes were ruined.
‘What are you doing going after little boys in a garden?’ said Guy. Some of his students had appeared behind him. Phoebe, Oberon and some fairies were there too.
‘Look, I thought he was a vandal. I made a mistake. I’m sorry.’
He could see the looks of complete disgust on their faces.
‘I’m all right, Dad,’ said Felix. ‘But I hope the newts are OK. His head went right in one of their ponds.’
‘The newts will be fine. They’ll have just thought a big log fell in or something. Felix, are you really OK?’
‘Yeah, Dad.’
Swatridge was trying to leave. He could feel something in his hair, probably a glob of blood. When he put his hand to it, he discovered some sort of disgusting water snail. He tossed it back into the pond. He had to say ‘Excuse me, excuse me,’ to get through the students. They all turned and watched him leave. There were oak leaves sticking to his jacket. His trousers had thick stripes of muckiness.
‘He looks like a tractor in a cartoon ran him over,’ said Felix, and they all laughed, but Guy could see how uneasy they all felt.
‘Who was that slimeball?’ asked one of the fairies.
‘Professor Swatridge. History department,’ said Oberon.
‘Would you like a drink?’ Phoebe asked Felix. ‘We have some nice pink lemonade.’
‘Um, no thanks,’ said Felix. ‘I don’t really like fizzy things.’
‘We’re going to tea somewhere anyway,’ said Guy. ‘We might as well go now. Thanks, all of you.’
As the students left he heard them muttering, ‘Swatridge … History … followed the little boy into the woods … grabbed him … Lucky escape … Lucky we were all here … should be reported … locked up …’
Professor Swatridge took a long slow route back to his car. By going round the backs of buildings, and by cutting around behind the bike sheds and the bottle banks, he managed to avoid meeting anybody he knew. He took off his jacket and carried it, he raked at his hair. The trousers were hopeless. If only he were like some of his colleagues and kept a complete change of clothes in his office. Lots of them had toothbrushes and shampoo and soap, the philanderers and those who might sometimes find it necessary to sleep on their office floors. If he went home now, Patricia wouldn’t be back yet. The kids didn’t even look up when he went in.
In the shower he replayed the scene again and again. How could he have been so stupid? It would follow him like a vile stray dog on a holiday. It would thump along behind him like a knot tied in the tail of a rat, a knot that could never be untied. He would now have to make sure that the garden was left alone. The committee must back off, or the story might come out.
He emerged from the shower fresh and determined. He bundled the muddy clothes into a bag for Patricia to take to the cleaner’s. On second thoughts, he would take them himself, although he’d have to find out which one they used. Then, in the comfort of his study, he composed an email to everyone on the working group.
From: Professor Martyn Swatridge
Rare and protected species of newt in botanical garden. Also unusual water snails. Development plans likely to result in costly public enquiry & defeat. Student body may be hostile following article today. Suggest we now explore other options. Believe local school may have excess playing fields. Derelict dairy buildings/site nearby also a possibility.
Just moments after he had sent it the phone rang. It was Dave Crickley (Sports Science).
‘Are you sure we aren’t giving up on this one a bit easily? It’s not as though there’s that much space up for grabs around here.’
‘I’ve taken a good look at the site. It’s really treacherous terrain. Real potential landslip problems. And with that stream. Could be disastrous. They’ve got the fucking newts on their side. We might have to think again.’
‘Maybe. I’ll have to take another look too. And get back to you.’
‘There’s more potential in the garden as a garden. Could be a real asset. Future agenda item here. Enhancement and proper management of botanical garden. Creation of possible small-scale attraction. Potential venue for receptions, etc. Would attract funding plus good PR. We could shunt more resources into Botany. But we’d have to get some fresh blood in. Really make something of it.’
‘Shouldn’t that be fresh sap, ha ha.’
‘Yeah. Cut out the dead wood in that department. We’ll talk next week.’ Professor Swatridge put the phone down, poured himself a shot, and managed a small, slow smile.
Chapter 36
They were sitting in Judy’s garden, sipping cold beers, a pre-show drink. Felix was in Judy’s old wicker rocker, which was peeling and cracked after too many summers. She should have been putting something SPF 15 or higher on it. It was so frail now that it wouldn’t bear the weight of anyone much heavier than Felix. Next summer, thought Judy, I will get another. Felix, who seemed much less shaken than Guy, was gazing into Judy’s pond.
‘It really is the world’s smallest pond,’ she told him, ‘but it is self-sustaining.’
‘I like it,’ said Felix. ‘But I think you should get some fish.’
‘I don’t know what they’d think of the fountain.’
‘You haven’t got a fountain.’
‘Oh yes, I have. A solar-powered one. A present from one of my sisters.’
‘You’ve got millions of relatives,’ said Felix. ‘I wish I had some more. Mine are all gone or far away.’
‘Oh Felix,’ she said, and hugged him. But he just seemed a bit startled, so she stopped and left him to the contemplation of the pond. She went back to where Guy was sitting, and decided that something had been unsaid too long.
‘I knew your wife a little,’ she said. Guy froze. ‘Just from being in the library. She was lovely, wasn’t she? I’m so sorry that you lost her. I do think you are doing so well with Felix. He’s a delightful little boy.’
‘Uh,’ said Guy. ‘Thanks.’ Even at this distance of years he still felt liable to start crying if someone said something kind to him about it.
‘It must be terribly hard for you,’ Judy went on.
‘Uh,’ said Guy, and looked down into his beer.
‘I was so sorry when I heard about it, and saw it in the papers. And I realised that I’d seen her on the morning that it happened.’
‘Oh?’ said Guy, suddenly sitting up.
&nbs
p; ‘Yes. In the library, and then afterwards. I was on my way home, she was waiting at the bus stop. She told me she was going to get something for Felix for starting school. I remember thinking that she was very well organised as it was still only July.’
‘Really? Did you really? You see,’ he took a big gulp of beer to hide the crack in his voice, ‘I don’t know what she was doing. I’ve never known … why she was in that car. If there was something …’
But this is terrible, thought Judy. I have, perhaps, been sitting on a clue, something that can help him, something that he didn’t know. ‘She told me she was going shopping for school clothes,’ she said firmly. ‘I expect he just came along and gave her a lift, showing off that new car. I expect that was all.’
‘Thank you,’ said Guy. ‘Thank you.’
‘I’m so sorry. I should have said something before. I didn’t realise it might be important. I’m so sorry. I should have mentioned it when I wrote with my condolences. I didn’t realise.’
‘Really, you weren’t to know. It’s only a tiny detail,’ said Guy gruffly. He took another swig of the beer. ‘You weren’t to know. There were no clues that anything was wrong. It’s just that I’ve never known …’
‘Perhaps that was all there was to know,’ said Judy. ‘He happened by and gave her a lift.’
‘I guess I’ll never know,’ said Guy.
For a long time they sat in silence, watching Felix watching the pond.
‘I lost someone once,’ said Judy. ‘Two people really.’
‘I’m sorry.’
‘He was a poet, a visiting lecturer. Chilean. We were in love, at least I thought so. He went back to Chile. The coup happened. I never heard from him again. He seems to have been what they call “disappeared”.’
‘I’m so sorry,’ said Guy.
‘I sometimes feel that I am doing the dance that Chilean women do, La Cueca Sola, to show that their men have been taken away. It’s the most elegant form of protest. The saddest too. Of course I’m not that elegant; but my arms are empty.’
‘Oh, I’m so sorry,’ said Guy. ‘And you said two people …’
A Bit of Earth Page 20
