job, leaving a vacancy.’
‘He’s coming back?’
‘So it seems.’
He sounded quite bitter, and she might have asked him more if Coops hadn’t seen them and come over.
‘Jane.’ He didn’t sound excited to see her. ‘You get days off?’
‘All over,’ Jane said. ‘The work ran out. The Pembrokeshire highways department were doing this road improvement scheme close to an Iron Age camp. One of those situations where the archaeologists get to go in first to see if there’s anything interesting. And if there is, the council still builds the road.’
‘It’s called Rescue Archaeology, Jane.’
‘I know. Anyway, we found signs of a couple of hut circles, but no strong reason to hold off the bulldozers. We had like twenty-eight days before the road-building guys moved in? And that was it. Nothing. Anticlimax. So I’m home.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Hoping I can get something local. I mean, sooner or later they’re going to have to check out the Ledwardine Henge – either it is or it isn’t.’
‘Sooner rather than later, Jane, only if the supermarket scheme goes through.’
‘I thought those bastards were going bust.’
‘If that happens, it might actually slow things up for you.’
‘What a trashy world,’ Jane said.
Coops didn’t seem like the same guy. Certainly not standing next to Tris. Not so long ago, he’d still seemed fairly young and cool; now he had that family-man look, his hair too cleanly cut, his jeans too functional.
Nothing lasted. Jane felt this unexpected tear-pressure. You went away and everything changed. It was like the space she’d made for herself over the years had closed up behind her and wouldn’t reopen for her now.
‘Well, then,’ Tris said. ‘See you around, Jane.’
As if he knew he wouldn’t. She watched him walk away, up the bank to where part of the moat remained as an extended duckpond below the Castle House Hotel.
‘Tris is temporary,’ Neil Cooper said.
‘Too good-looking to last?’
‘Nothing lasts. Although everything does. In some form.’
‘There’s philosophical.’
‘There’s experience. Sorry, Jane, don’t mean to be depressing.’
‘You found some bones, then.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Should he have kept quiet about it?’
‘Tris? No reason to.’ But his expression had darkened. ‘Anyway… you enjoyed it while it lasted.’
‘Well, I got to do bits. Under supervision, obviously.’
Second week in Pembrokeshire, she’d found this metal artefact and they’d let her excavate it herself. Took an hour of intimate trowelling to bring up what could have been part of a gold torque. If it hadn’t been the end of a towing chain from a tractor. She’d still kept it – gap-year souvenir.
Coops said, ‘And you’re still committed to becoming one of us?’
Jane was gazing across Castle Green, this grassy space bordered by the river and the benches where people sat in summer to eat sandwiches and check their phones, or just get pissed. In Pembs, she’d been reading this thick book by the archaeologist FrancisPryor, who could walk into a modern landscape and tell you in minutes what used to be there, by the colour and texture of the soil, the positioning and content of hedges, field boundaries, ditches and field drains, the stones under your feet. A touch of the visionary about Francis Pryor, who had written that walking into a strange landscape was like meeting someone for the first time. Asking yourself if this was a place you could trust.
This place must’ve been seriously trusted to get the castle and the Cathedral. The castle was all gone, every stone of it, but if you half closed your eyes you could almost see cold, etheric walls. And underneath…
‘You
have
found some bones, right?’
‘Some old human remains were exposed, yes,’ Coops said. ‘When the tree came up.’
‘A tree had grown on top of an old grave?’
‘So it seems.’
‘So you put a quick trench in.’ Which she could see, over the
‘He’s coming back?’
‘So it seems.’
He sounded quite bitter, and she might have asked him more if Coops hadn’t seen them and come over.
‘Jane.’ He didn’t sound excited to see her. ‘You get days off?’
‘All over,’ Jane said. ‘The work ran out. The Pembrokeshire highways department were doing this road improvement scheme close to an Iron Age camp. One of those situations where the archaeologists get to go in first to see if there’s anything interesting. And if there is, the council still builds the road.’
‘It’s called Rescue Archaeology, Jane.’
‘I know. Anyway, we found signs of a couple of hut circles, but no strong reason to hold off the bulldozers. We had like twenty-eight days before the road-building guys moved in? And that was it. Nothing. Anticlimax. So I’m home.’
‘Oh dear.’
‘Hoping I can get something local. I mean, sooner or later they’re going to have to check out the Ledwardine Henge – either it is or it isn’t.’
‘Sooner rather than later, Jane, only if the supermarket scheme goes through.’
‘I thought those bastards were going bust.’
‘If that happens, it might actually slow things up for you.’
‘What a trashy world,’ Jane said.
Coops didn’t seem like the same guy. Certainly not standing next to Tris. Not so long ago, he’d still seemed fairly young and cool; now he had that family-man look, his hair too cleanly cut, his jeans too functional.
Nothing lasted. Jane felt this unexpected tear-pressure. You went away and everything changed. It was like the space she’d made for herself over the years had closed up behind her and wouldn’t reopen for her now.
‘Well, then,’ Tris said. ‘See you around, Jane.’
As if he knew he wouldn’t. She watched him walk away, up the bank to where part of the moat remained as an extended duckpond below the Castle House Hotel.
‘Tris is temporary,’ Neil Cooper said.
‘Too good-looking to last?’
‘Nothing lasts. Although everything does. In some form.’
‘There’s philosophical.’
‘There’s experience. Sorry, Jane, don’t mean to be depressing.’
‘You found some bones, then.’
‘Who told you that?’
‘Should he have kept quiet about it?’
‘Tris? No reason to.’ But his expression had darkened. ‘Anyway… you enjoyed it while it lasted.’
‘Well, I got to do bits. Under supervision, obviously.’
Second week in Pembrokeshire, she’d found this metal artefact and they’d let her excavate it herself. Took an hour of intimate trowelling to bring up what could have been part of a gold torque. If it hadn’t been the end of a towing chain from a tractor. She’d still kept it – gap-year souvenir.
Coops said, ‘And you’re still committed to becoming one of us?’
Jane was gazing across Castle Green, this grassy space bordered by the river and the benches where people sat in summer to eat sandwiches and check their phones, or just get pissed. In Pembs, she’d been reading this thick book by the archaeologist FrancisPryor, who could walk into a modern landscape and tell you in minutes what used to be there, by the colour and texture of the soil, the positioning and content of hedges, field boundaries, ditches and field drains, the stones under your feet. A touch of the visionary about Francis Pryor, who had written that walking into a strange landscape was like meeting someone for the first time. Asking yourself if this was a place you could trust.
This place must’ve been seriously trusted to get the castle and the Cathedral. The castle was all gone, every stone of it, but if you half closed your eyes you could almost see cold, etheric walls. And underneath…
‘You
have
found some bones, right?’
‘Some old human remains were exposed, yes,’ Coops said. ‘When the tree came up.’
‘A tree had grown on top of an old grave?’
‘So it seems.’
‘So you put a quick trench in.’ Which she could see, over the
Similar Books
