Grave Girl

by Amy Cross

  The bus driver stares at her for a moment, almost as if he's teasing her with the faintest possibility that he might be persuaded to let her on-board.

  "Have a nice day," he says suddenly, closing the doors and accelerating away along the road.

  The girl stands and watches as the bus makes its way to the horizon, bouncing over a pothole before it eventually dips out of view. At that exact moment, a few drops of rain start to fall.

  "Hey," the girl says quietly to herself, looking down at her bare right foot. "Hey!" she shouts suddenly, starting to run after the bus. "Hey! Stop! You've still got my shoe!"

  Chapter Two

  Eighty-seven years old and with two bad hips, Ethel Mayberry pushes the large iron gate open and shuffles into the cemetery. She pauses to shut the gate again, before making her way along the narrow path that leads between the graves. Glancing up at the statue that stands nearby, she notes the blank, expressionless gray eyes and the hint of a smile on the stone lips. Something about that statue always makes her feel a little uncomfortable; she's felt the same way ever since she was a little girl, more than eighty years ago, when she used to come and play in the cemetery with her friends. The angels of stone have a fearsome reputation in Rippon, although she doesn't believe a word of it.

  Except, perhaps, in her weaker moments.

  Her knees hurting and her hip in danger of giving out, she makes her way slowly along the path. She undergoes this little pilgrimage once a week, just to lay some flowers on her husband's grave. After a moment, however, she hears a noise behind her, as if stone is grinding against stone. Stopping, she turns around just as the noise stops. At first, she sees nothing out of the ordinary, but then she looks at the statue and realizes that it seems to have moved. Not by much, granted, but just a few inches: its head seems to have turned toward her, as if it was turning to look at her but stopped at the last moment. This isn't the first time that the statue has been a cause for concern, and the old lady doubts it'll be the last. A creak here and a rustle there, and then the angle of the sun shifts in such a way as to make it almost seem as if a stone face could move.

  Feeling a shiver run through her body, she turns and carries on along the path. She wants to get to her husband's grave as quickly as possible, because that's the only part of this whole cemetery where she feels safe. Even now, although she can hear nothing behind her, she can't help wondering whether, if she looked back, she'd find herself being stalked by the statue through the unkempt, overgrown old cemetery. Utter hogwash, of course, but still...

  She doesn't dare look back and check.

  Chapter Three

  It takes another three hours for the girl to reach the outskirts of Rippon, by which point she's removed her remaining shoe and has started walking through the grass at the side of the road in an attempt to soothe all her blisters. She settled, a couple of hours ago, for a state of semi-consciousness, which means that she's just been trudging along, staring at the horizon while trying not to notice earthly things. It's for this reason that, as she reaches the base of the town's steep hill, she doesn't notice at first that she's arrived at her destination. Finally, however, she comes to a wobbly halt by the side of the small bridge that spans the Rippon River, and her eyes begin to focus on the row of little old houses that mark the start of the town's rather circumspect sprawl.

  "Huh," she says after a moment, barely able to believe that she's finally made it. The sun has baked her brain, so she's barely able to string together a coherent thought. "Huh," she says again.

  To say that Rippon is a town built on a hill would be something an understatement. Many hundreds of years ago, when faced with the task of establishing a new community, the founders of Rippon surveyed a vast expanse of mildly rolling countryside and decided to get to work on the biggest hill they could find. Several years later, a passing cartographer would note dryly that this 'hill' came only fifteen meters short of being classified as a mountain. Undeterred, the founders of Rippon and their successors continued to build and build and build, until finally they'd completed a rather impressive little town that even today rises improbably from the ground, as if it has been built on a large boil. In a book detailing his thinking, one of the founders claimed that the idea was to make it easier to defend the town from attack; history subsequently records that no-one has ever tried to attack Rippon, and that the town has in fact rather struggled to attract any attention at all from the outside world.

  Limping through the empty streets, the girl initially finds herself wondering if perhaps she's made some kind of colossal mistake. Perhaps this is a ghost town, left abandoned many years ago? It certainly doesn't seem like there's anyone living here. Perhaps, she wonders eventually, she misread the original advertisement and the subsequent emails in which she was invited to come and start a trial period as a gardener? Street after street seems to be utterly deserted, and the girl finds herself climbing up a series of increasingly steep thoroughfares until finally she reaches what appears to be a town square, on the other side of which there's a cafe that has - wonder of wonders - a few chairs arranged outside. Walking across the square, the girl reaches the cafe and hears the clinking of glasses from inside, along with a few voices. Hauling her backpack from her shoulders, she drops it onto a small chair that immediately buckles under the weight and breaks. Sighing, the girl hobbles barefoot through the doorway and finds herself face to face with an elderly man who's in the process of cleaning some tables.

  "Is that blood?" the man asks, frowning as he looks down at her feet.

  "Huh?" The girl looks down and notices that she 's led a trail of faint, bloody footprints into the cafe. "Oh," she says, stepping back outside. "Sorry. I didn't realize. I think I broke one of your chairs, too."

  "Never mind," the man says, hurrying over and wiping the blood up with a tea towel. "New in town, are you?"

  The girl nods, feeling slightly delirious.

  "Come to see someone?"

  "Kind of," the girl replies. "I'm here to see someone named Guff Winters." She pauses for a moment. "Is that even a real name?"

  "Guff?" The man smiles as he walks around behind his counter and pours a glass of tap water, which he hands to the girl. "Guff's real, alright. He's the Mayor of Rippon. What do you want with him?"

  "A job," the girl says, drinking the entire glass in one long gulp. "I've been hired as a gardener."

  The man frowns. "You have?"

  The girl nods.

  "First I've heard of it," the man replies cautiously, "but I suppose Guff moves in mysterious ways. He'll be over at the town hall, but I'll give him a ring and see if he can come over to meet you here. You don't look like you're in any state to go wandering around." Taking the lid from a nearby cake stand, he pops a slice of raspberry tart onto a plate and passes it to the girl. "On the house while you wait. You look like you need to get your sugar levels up."

  Smiling and nodding, and far too exhausted to express her gratitude verbally, the girl takes the plate and carries it over to one of the chairs outside. She's so tired, she barely bothers to listen to the man's voice as he makes a phone call and informs this Guff Winters man that a visitor has arrived. Looking down at her feet, the girl starts to casually wonder just how much blood she lost on the journey to Rippon, and whether this is going to be a problem. After all, Rippon doesn't exactly seem like the kind of place where one might find expert medical care. In fact, the town seems generally to be a very quiet and rather dusty little place where even the afternoon breeze is too reserved to make much of a stir.

  Eventually, as she gets close to the end of her raspberry tart, the girl spots a door opening on the other side of the town square, and a short, round man emerges. Leaning heavily on a cane, the man waddles slowly toward the cafe, and the girl realizes that she's likely going to have to have a conversation. Taking a deep breath, she sits up in the chair and brushes crumbs from her t-shirt, before forcing herself to smile. Although her feet are agonizingly painful and her back feels like it
has been tightened to breaking point, she knows she has to make a good first impression. After all, it's not like she has any experience as a gardener.

  "Mayor Winters?" she asks, trying to seem friendly. As soon as she attempts to stand up, however, a jolt of pain flashes through her back, causing her to lean heavily on the table and let out a loud “Gah! Damn it!”

  The round man comes to a halt and stares at her.

  “Are you Mayor Winters?” the girl asks, wincing as she forces herself to stand up straight.

  "Absolutely," the man with a bemused smile. "Very pleased to meet you." Without stopping, he makes his way past the girl and into the cafe, where he stands for a moment, as if looking for something. "Where is he?" he asks eventually, turning to the old man behind the counter.

  "Out there," the old man says, pointing at the girl.

  Turning, Mayor Winters heads back outside, walks past the girl, and looks out across the square. "Where?" he calls back eventually.

  "Mayor Winters," the girl says, limping toward him with an outstretched hand.

  "Of course!" Mayor Winters says, turning to her and shaking her hand with enthusiasm. "I'm so sorry, I'm afraid I didn't quite manage to join the dots. I wasn't informed that the living quarters were to be inhabited by two new arrivals, but I can see a certain degree of sense in the idea of a working couple taking on the position. Allow me to be the first to welcome you to Rippon, my dear. I hope you'll have an enjoyable and very long stay in our little town. I assume your husband is in the bathroom?"

  “I don't have a husband,” the girl replies.

  “Boyfriend, then. Don't worry. We're quite liberal here in Rippon, so living in sin is most certainly permissible.”

  The girl frowns.

  "Did you have any trouble getting here?" he continues, before leaning into the cafe. "Jonathan, bring out some menus. I'm sure the town's budget can stretch to the purchase of a modest lunch for our new arrivals." Turning back to the girl, he gestures for her to sit down. "Please, won't you join me?"

  Taking a seat, the girl starts to get a slightly nervous feeling in the pit of her stomach. After all the hassle of her long journey to Rippon, she was hoping that things would be fairly straightforward once she arrived. Right now, however, it's looking as if that is not to be the case at all. Plus, she's starting to wonder if she's caused herself permanent damage by walking so far.

  "My name is Guffington Winters," the Mayor says, as the cafe owner sets two menus on the table. "I have the honor of being in charge of this wonderful little town, and I was the one who spoke to your partner about the job we're offering."

  "Partner?" the girl asks, raising an eyebrow.

  "He's certainly taking a long time in the bathroom," the Mayor continues, opening his menu and squinting at the items. "I do hope he hasn't got an upset stomach."

  "I'm not sure who you mean," the girl replies.

  "After lunch," the Mayor says, closing his menu, "I shall take you directly to your accommodation and you can orientate yourselves. I'm sure it's something of a culture shock for a pair of young people from the city. You're from Leeds, are you not?"

  The girl nods.

  "Myself, I've never been to one of the big cities, but I've seen plenty of photographs. You'll find that life here is rather different, but I'm sure you'll adapt sooner rather than later. To be perfectly honest, we've always hired locals for this particular job in the past, but I decided to try something a little different this time. I must admit, you're quite a bit younger than I anticipated, but in the spirit of making a new approach, I'm sure everything will work out just perfectly. Might I be so inopportune as to ask how old you are?"

  "I'm twenty-one," the girl says.

  "Excellent. And your partner?"

  "Partner?"

  "Your boyfriend, or whatever the fashionable word is these days. I'm afraid I don't keep up with the changing social norms of the big cities, but I'm not so old-fashioned as to insist on the pair of you having separate beds if you're not married." He sits back with a broad grin on his face. "So?"

  "So?"

  Turning to look into the cafe, he pauses for a moment. "He really is taking an awfully long time in there," he says eventually.

  "Who?"

  "Your partner."

  "I don't have a partner."

  "Oh," the mayor says, momentarily confused. "Your father, then?"

  The girl shakes her head.

  "Uncle?"

  She shakes her head again.

  "Your guardian?"

  Again, a shake of the head.

  "Your..." The Mayor pauses for a moment. "Your teacher or guide? Ward?"

  Shake.

  "Your boss?"

  Shake.

  "Your brother?"

  Shake.

  "Your cousin?"

  Shake.

  "Your -"

  "It's just me," the girl says eventually.

  "I know that," the mayor replies. "It's just you and your... friend?"

  "It's just me," the girl says. "There's no-one else. I came alone."

  The mayor stares at her.

  "We spoke by email," the girl continues. "You offered me a one month trial period as a gardener."

  The mayor blinks, his face a curious mix of vacant shock and blind panic.

  "I'm Sam Marker," the girl says.

  The Mayor tilts his head slightly, like a dog trying to understand a new command.

  "Samantha Marker," the girl adds tentatively, raising an eyebrow. "From Leeds?"

  "I think there's been some kind of mistake," the mayor says after a moment. "Sam is short for Samuel, not Samantha."

  "I think it's short for both.”

  "Perhaps," the mayor replies, "but in this case it's short for Samuel."

  The girl shakes her head.

  "That's not possible," the mayor says. "Samantha is a girl's name."

  "And I'm a girl."

  "Yes," he replies, "and the person I spoke to by email is named Samuel."

  The girl sighs. "My name is Sam Marker, and we spoke about the job. You said that if I -"

  "Yes," the mayor says, interrupting her, "but I wasn't talking to you. I was talking to..." His voice trails off and he sits staring at the girl for a moment. "You're a girl?"

  She nods.

  "Are you sure?"

  She nods again.

  "Well... that..." He pauses. "How?"

  "How?"

  "I mean, since when?" He frowns. "Did you have an... operation?"

  "No!" the girl replies quickly, brushing her hair back. "I didn't have an operation! I was a girl when you hired me, I was a girl when I was born, and I'm a girl now! You didn't ask about any of that stuff. You just asked about my experience!" She takes a deep breath, suddenly facing the prospect that her entire journey to Rippon might have been for nothing. "Is this really a problem?" she asks eventually. "I'm pretty sure I can manage some gardening work."

  "Well..." The mayor continues to stare at her, clearly at a loss for words. "It's not just... I mean, it isn't just a matter of some gardening work."

  "I can lift," the girl says. "I'm stronger than I look."

  "I have no doubt, but there are other aspects to the job that I really think might be a little difficult for an individual of your particular gender. You see, the work is likely to be rather draining, in more ways than one, and I'm just not sure that a girl is in the right position to handle some of the more complex tasks."

  Sighing, Sam looks down at her menu. "I'm a girl," she says eventually. "I'm not disabled. I'm not stupid. I'm not even a girl, I'm basically a woman, so..." She pauses, before forcing herself to look the mayor in the eye. "Are you seriously saying that just because there was a mix-up over gender, you'd consider sending me away and starting the hiring process all over again?"

  The mayor pauses.

  "Seriously?" the girl adds, unable to hide the incredulity in her voice.

  "The hiring process is rather complicated," the mayor says quietly.


  "This is the twenty-first century!"

  "Yes, but -"

  "Look. Maybe I'm not exactly what you had in mind. Maybe you thought I'd be some big, hulking guy who's really good with petunias and a rake, but I'm here, and I'm a hard worker. You told me this'd be a trial period, so let's start the trial." She waits for him to answer. "You said yourself that you were looking for someone different. Have you only hired guys before?"

  "Well... yes," the mayor replies.

  "And how's that worked out for you?"

  "Not particularly well," the mayor says, "but I don't think the problem was that -"

  "Then give me a chance," she continues. "Worst case scenario, you end up back at square one again. But at least let me show you what I can do. I'm the right person for this job. I really, really, really need this to work out, and I guarantee that no matter how long you spend looking and no matter how many big, tough guys you bring up to Rippon, you'll never find someone as dedicated and determined and hard-working as me. I mean, I even walked the whole way from the train station, just to get here. Do you really think I'm not tough enough to be your gardener?"

  "Ah, yes," he says, pausing for a moment. "Well, I'm afraid there has perhaps been another small misunderstanding." He coughs to clear his throat. "When I said that you'd be looking after a garden, I might have used the wrong word. It's not so much a garden as a... well... Perhaps I'd better show you."