The Lives She Left Behind (11 page)

At first there was nothing, but instinct prompted him to wait and to slow his breathing, deep and long, to a point where the world slowed down with him. The even line of the roof peak twitched
and shifted before his eyes and he discovered he could pull it down a little further in his head. In his mind’s eye he tugged tiles out of place, let the guttering droop at one end. As he
peeled paint from the window frames the door shuffled sideways to where it had once been, the porch sagging. The house slowly loosened as ruin crept between the stones and he blessed this new trick
that seemed very, very old.

A man came out of the ether like a print developing in a chemical bath and for just one clear moment he was standing there alone in front of the door facing Luke. He knew the man – Mike
Martin, the teacher, as his younger self. Then she came bursting out of the same lost past, a miracle, to stand there beside the teacher where she should never have been. The girl with a hundred
faces now had only one. It was wide and smiling, framed by a flood of shining brown hair.

For just a moment she was clear to him, this glorious girl who filled his void, but she scorched his mind’s eye and he could not make her stay. The house snapped and wriggled back to the
implacable bleakness of the present and left him bereft. Her name mattered as much as his because he knew in his bones that all those hundred faces he had seen shared that single name.

He felt an awareness of an imminent revelation, not here but back at the place he should never have left, back at the old hill fortress of Montacute, and though this house held a million more
possibilities for his imagination or his memory or both, he knew he had to go straight back there to chase it down. In a single shock he knew she was there, that she had certainly been there
yesterday, close within his reach if only he had looked with the right eyes. Three girls, his age, and she was one – standing right there, and he had let her go. His mind raced back to the
fragmentary memory of each girl – the blonde, the dark girl, the short girl – and found to his despair that he had no idea which one she was.

It was simple. Montacute called him and he had to go, so he got back on his bike to ride all that way again, but this time he did not trust in instinct to find the way. Stopping at a petrol
station, he leafed through a road atlas and borrowed a pen from the irritated man behind the counter to write down his route. It took him longer, struggling into a strong south-west wind, on main
roads this time, passing trucks buffeting him with fists of air, and then eventually he saw the hill rise once again and turned to where he knew the diggers’ tents were pitched.

There was a police sign in the way, square in the middle of the track. It said
ROAD CLOSED
and it filled him with foreboding. He ignored it and rode on. A great deal had
changed since the day before. Most of the tents had gone from the field. An army truck and two police vans were parked alongside the few remaining cars. A policeman stood there, barring the
way.

‘Sorry, you can’t come through,’ he said.

‘I know what happened. I was here on the dig yesterday. I just wanted to see the others.’

‘They’ve gone,’ said the man. ‘There’s only a few of your lot left. The army’s up there. You’ll have to wait down here.’

A door slammed in the field and a rough diesel burst into life. Luke saw a red pick-up truck start to move. The policeman stepped to one side to make way and to Luke’s huge relief, he saw
Dozer at the wheel. The truck stopped.

‘Hello, matey,’ said Dozer through the open window. ‘You back again?’

‘Yes, but he says I can’t go up there.’

‘Too right. There might be a big bang at any moment. It’s just Rupert and his students and me plus the army amateurs.’ He grinned at the PC, who sniffed.

‘Where have the others gone?’

‘Home,’ said Dozer. ‘Why?’

The boy sagged. ‘No reason. I’d better go then.’

‘Yup, ’fraid so. Where was it? Wincanton? You biked all that way again?’

‘Yes.’

‘Blimey.’ Dozer considered. ‘Well, you’re in luck. I’m going to Bridgwater to pick up some gear. I could go that way. Pop your wheels in the back.’

With only a hazy knowledge of Somerset geography, Luke had no idea how kind that offer was. ‘Are the girls still here?’ he said. ‘Are they Rupert’s students?’

‘Some of them were, but no, they’ve all gone. They hadn’t done the training, you see – the explosives stuff.’

‘All the girls have gone?’

‘That’s right. It’s just the lads here now.’

With a heavy heart, Luke did what the man said and settled into the ripped plastic passenger seat.

‘So what brought you cycling all the way back again, young fellow?’ Dozer asked as they reached the main road. ‘You been bitten by the digging bug?’

‘No. I mean, I liked it. Thank you for showing me how.’

‘I wasn’t looking for thanks. I was looking for the reason a boy shags himself out on a bicycle.’

He got no answer to that.

‘Got nothing better to do?’

‘No.’

‘So what else do you like doing, Luke?’

The boy frowned. ‘Nothing much.’

‘Nothing? That’s a sad word. Me, at your age I liked bikes too but only if they had engines for pedals.’

‘Motorbikes?’

‘Yeah. If God had meant us to pedal he wouldn’t have invented the four-stroke motor. I got my first BSA when I was twelve – a knackered old two-fifty. Put it straight with some
help from my dad. Thrashed it round the fields. Then it was Velocettes and more BSAs and Enfields and still more BSAs. Never Triumphs. You were a BSA man or a Triumph man – it was like the
Beatles or the Stones.’

The boy listened without really understanding, enjoying the enthusiasm in Dozer’s voice.

‘Got the tattoos, got the leathers. Finally got a Norton Atlas.’

‘What’s that?’

‘Back in those days it was the quickest bike you could buy, which makes it lucky I was only doing eighty-five when I came off it on the Keynsham road. Six months in hospital then six more
months’ recovery. That was when I got into digging. Had to fill up my time. My physio was a digger. He got me along on one. Never looked back. So come on, there must be something in your life
like that?’

‘Not really.’

‘That won’t do. I know there’s something. Football?’

‘No, I don’t get football.’

‘Another sport then?’

‘I’m not interested in heroes.’

‘Why not?’

‘I don’t need superhumans.’

‘Out of the mouths of babes and sucklings. Come on then – I’m not stopping until you tell me one single thing you really like to do.’

‘I like to walk round the fields where I live.’

‘Come on. I need more than that. Unless you mean you’re a poacher.’

‘No. I just like . . . imagining. I like to look at old houses and woods and churchyards and think about how they used to be. I like to read books. Old books are best. I like to sit in the
evening and watch the sun set and think how many times it has set before.’

‘Wow, that’s deep. Not exactly sex and drugs and rock ’n’ roll. You like being alone?’

‘No, but I’m not a very popular person.’

‘You seem a nice enough bloke to me.’

‘I like talking to people who know stuff. You know stuff. People my age don’t.’

‘It’ll come out all right if you just wait then. You see, there’s someone out there for you.’ Dozer looked across at him. ‘Whoops! I didn’t mean to upset
you.’

Luke wiped his face fiercely. ‘I’m all right.’

‘You just haven’t met them yet, that’s all.’

‘Maybe. So what happened back there? What was it all about, the grenades and all that?’

‘Well, I guess it was all about the British Resistance Organisation. Ever heard of that?’

‘No.’

‘Neither had I but I have now. You know about Dunkirk?’

‘A bit.’

‘1940? Hitler pushed our poor old army out of France. All the little ships went across to save our lads and we thought the Germans would be across the Channel any minute. They talked about
fighting them on the beaches but they knew we wouldn’t stop them there so they set up the BRO. Lots of hidden bunkers with a network of wireless stations to rally the resistance. Code name
for the local network round here was Chirnside and it seems our hole was part of it. Funny really, same old reason that the old guys chose their hill forts – good view, hard to surprise
people. So anyway, they had a big hole as their bunker with generators and an emergency exit with a nasty booby trap to make a huge bang if the Jerries found it. They just forgot to take it all
away afterwards. Turns out there were no records this one was ever there.’

‘So everyone went home?’

‘Like I said, everyone except me and the students.’

‘And all the girls too?’ Luke had to ask. If any of the girls were still there with Rupert, he needed to get out of the truck before it took him any further away.

‘The girls again, eh?’ Dozer gave him a sudden sharper look. ‘Ah,’ he said. ‘
Cherchez la femme
, as they say in Scotland.’

‘What does that mean?’

‘It means I think I’ve rumbled the nature of your sudden interest and the reason why your bicycle looks so tired. Now, do you mean the students or the other three?’

The boy squirmed in silence and Dozer chortled. ‘I reckon you mean the other three. They’re your age. No, they’ve gone. So, which one is it? Let me guess now. There was Jo
– she’s the quiet one. There’s Ali – she’s the dumpy, bossy one, and oh yes, there’s the blonde. Now then, what was she called? Lucy, that was it. My
money’s on Lucy. But hang on a mo. I was with you the whole time. You never even got to talk to her, did you? Blimey, she must have made an impression.’

‘I thought maybe I knew one of them, that’s all. Do they come from round here?’

‘No. Nowhere near. Down west somewhere. Exeter maybe? They were really hacked off when they found out they had to go.’

‘So they have gone?’

‘Oh yes, they’ve gone.’

Luke was silent. ‘Funny thing, though,’ said Dozer, ‘they made quite an impression on me too. Shall I tell you?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, when they turned up I thought they didn’t know their arses from their elbows apart from Ali, the dumpy one. We all know her mum, you see. Christine Massey. She’s led
loads of digs. You don’t mess with Christine, so I guess Ali’s been brought up eating with a trowel. They were mucking about like school friends do and Ali was getting cross cos she
wanted to take it all a bit more seriously and Lucy, the blonde one, she was getting up to all sorts of stuff.’

‘What sort of stuff?’

‘Boy stuff. Those students of Rupert’s from the uni. She fancied one of them – Andy, the big, gormless one. Anyway, then the girls told this story round the campfire. Oh boy,
what a surprise that was. You should have heard it.’

So he told the boy his version of Jo’s story, altered a little in the retelling as all stories are, and at the end Luke asked him the question that was racing round his head. ‘Which
one told the story?’

Dozer frowned. ‘I dunno for sure,’ he said. ‘They were dressed up. It wasn’t the little one, Ali. I could tell which one she was. She went first. I was the other side of
the fire. Must have been Jo or Lucy. Anyway, her story got through to old Rupe. He told them it fitted this next place we’re digging.’

‘Who’s we?’

‘Me and him and the students. Anyway, that was just Rupert making two and two equal ninety-eight and a half. I don’t think those girls had any idea there really was such a place. It
was just a made-up story to them.’ A thought struck him. ‘You must know it, matey, this place? If it’s Wincanton way, it must be near where you live.’

‘What’s it called?’

‘Pen Selwood,’ said Dozer. ‘Whoa there! What’s wrong?’

Luke had jerked up in his seat and was trying to control a vast excitement. ‘Yes, I know where it is,’ he said as calmly as he could. ‘It’s right by my turning.
You’ll see the sign. You’re all coming to
dig
there?’

‘When we get this one done, yes. Another Norman castle site. Just a quick look at the earthworks.’

‘Why did he think that was the place?’ Of course it would be the place, he was thinking to himself. If she had started to tell a story from the depths of her long, long memory, where
else would it be?

Dozer told him about the three castles and the conversation afterwards.

‘It certainly tickled everyone’s fancy. We sat round until the wine ran out trying to guess why any village needed three castles. One of the girls reckoned they were guarding the
Holy Grail. Conrad – that’s the bloke Ali was leaning against – said it must have been the headquarters of the Norman College of Advanced Castle Building and they were all that
was left of the students’ final-year projects. Rupert got all serious and said the ridge had strategic importance but that was reckoned to be far too boring. Anyway, I’ve
volunteered.’

‘Volunteered for what?’

‘To go and dig with them when they get there. He said I could come along to set an example so they know how not to grow up. It’ll be a week or two yet.’

‘At Pen?’

‘Is that what they call it round your way? Saves time, is that it? Mustn’t waste that extra second.’

‘So who exactly is going?’

‘You haven’t been concentrating, have you? Rupe and his lads are doing a quick dig there for English Heritage. There’s some problem with erosion.’

‘Is anybody else going?’

‘Not apart from the girls.’

‘The
girls
?’

‘Well, maybe. They weren’t sure.’

‘What did they say?’

‘I heard them arguing about it. One of them wanted to go there, the others had different ideas. I reckon you put those three in a room and you’ll always have four opinions, maybe
five.’

‘Which one wanted to go to Pen?’

‘Blimey, junior! I wasn’t paying that much attention. What’s got into you?’

‘I’d just like to know,’ he answered vaguely, but he was burning up with the urgent need to know exactly which one.

Dozer thought hard. ‘I saw them looking at the map. They were still arguing. Wherever they were going, they had to walk there on account of not having much cash. Oh, I remember. Lucy, the
blonde, said she’d never walked that far in her life and Ali, the bossy one, said it was just a matter of putting one foot in front of the other and then Lucy asked her how many times she
would have to do that and it went on like that.’