by Jenny Kane
Fifteen
September 8th
Sam held his hands under the cold tap and took a long deep breath. He was shaking, but he didn’t feel sick. Nor was he drenched in sweat. Only his hands and the back of his neck had dotted with perspiration as he’d stood on the threshold of the downstairs bathroom, looking down the short corridor that led to the kitchen. Bert had told him the kitchen back door had been propped open, in the hope he’d walk the short distance.
He hadn’t made it, but nor had he bolted out of the manor. This time, with the knowledge of his friends cheering him on from wherever they happened to be around the house, and the less pure thought of a sleeping next to a naked Tina inside every night – not to mention the desire to wipe the disapproving expression off his father’s face – Sam had taken a single step into the corridor. He’d stood with his back to his usual exit, facing the length of tiled floor corridor. He hadn’t moved, but he’d counted to ten before turning and walking – not running – back outside.
Bert had been delighted; his enthusiasm and praise for Sam made him buoyant as he went to report progress to Mabel in the kitchen.
Now, pressed against the open window inside the bathroom, Sam watched the water splash over his skin as he pictured the kitchen. He’d been in there before, so he could go in again. It might have been a crisis that took him there back in July, but that didn’t matter. He’d sat at the kitchen table with Tina and survived. The roof hadn’t caved in on him and the walls hadn’t sucked the life out of his lungs, even though his brain had told him that both these things would definitely happen.
Drying his hands, Sam headed to the corridor and tried again. He stood where he had with Bert and focused on the red and black floor tiles. They were the originals; he knew that from the particulars he’d studied before buying the house. As he stood there, he pictured all the feet that had crossed them during their lifetime, from the Lord and Lady of the manor checking on their staff, to maids, butlers, cooks, gardeners and beyond.
They all lived here and they all walked along that corridor without even thinking about it, so I can too.
Sam gulped; the perspiration he’d just washed off was already creeping back. He could hear their guests and Tina in the kitchen chatting as they worked together to prepare dinner. They must have come inside via the rear door. He attempted a smile; it was Dave’s night to cook, so the meal would be good. Sam’s smile died. He wanted to join them. Suddenly the boundless safety of the outside felt like the loneliest place in the world.
Tina walks along here every day.
Sam counted to twenty, but his feet wouldn’t move.
Okay, you don’t have to go to the kitchen today, but you do have to count to sixty before you can go outside again.
Focusing on the open kitchen door, only five paces ahead of him, Sam curled his hands into fists and pushed them into balls, digging his fingernails into his palms. ‘Twenty-eight, twenty-nine, thirty…’
He almost called out, but not wanting to ruin the surprise for Tina, nor wanting anyone to witness his frozen state, Sam forced his mind to consider how comfortable the sofas had looked in the drawing room the evening before, when he’d peered through the open window. How nice it would be to curl up there, next to Tina, and be part of things. Not always on the outside staring in.
‘Forty-nine, fifty…’ Almost time to move, almost… ‘Fifty-nine, sixty.’
Sam was back outside, his lungs heavy and tight in his chest, before there was any chance of saying sixty-one. He hadn’t known he was going to run, but something had taken over, and he’d run. Survival instinct. It had saved him so often in the past; now it was ruining his life.
*
Thea slowed her pace as she saw Sam hurtle from the house. Hoping Helen hadn’t noticed his hasty exit, she made a play of pointing out where the house’s brickwork had altered over the years.
Keeping an eye on Sam, she waited until he was stood upright and was breathing normally, before hailing him. ‘Sam, excellent timing, there’s someone I’d like you to meet.’
Introducing Helen, Thea shared the good news that her former boss agreed with her theory that the site was larger than originally thought. Not a fort, but an extended fortlet; possibly built over two periods of construction, first with round walls made of wood and stone, with ditches and banks, and then with new walls of a more solid stone construction.
‘That’s fantastic.’ Sam’s moment of panic faded. ‘And you’re from the Roman Baths?’
Helen took his hand. ‘I should have phoned to let you know I was coming. I’m having a few days’ holiday down here and thought I’d come and, in all honesty, curiosity got the better of me.’
‘I’m very glad it did.’ Thea grinned. ‘Helen’s staying at the Stag and Hound.’
‘Excellent choice. Moira, the landlady, is lovely.’ Sam could smell the aroma of jacket potatoes wafting from the kitchen. ‘Now – if my senses are anything to go by, dinner is almost ready, so why don’t you join us? We’re going to have it outside while the weather is holding, if that’s alright. We have blankets to wrap around the shoulders if you’re cold.’
‘I’d love to, as long as there’s enough food and I won’t be in the way. Thea has told me what you’re doing here. It sounds brilliant.’
‘Actually, my offer of food came with an ulterior motive.’ Sam gestured for them to join him as he walked towards the benches by the kitchen door. ‘Thea and I wondered about including archaeological techniques as part of the rehabilitation we offer here. I’d be interested to know what you think.’
‘Gut feeling, it’s a good idea. Archaeology is a transferable skill after all.’
‘It is?’
‘Sure.’ Helen pushed a stray red curl from her eyes. ‘It teaches patience, determination and the ability to focus. Not only do you need to be able to see and identify what you’re searching for, but you also need to be able to map it, draw it, measure it, and interpret it. Plus, you’re constantly learning to fight the urge to rush when it’s exciting, or give up when you’re resigned to sifting through miles of nothing much.’
Thea agreed. ‘Then there’s field walking. For those who don’t fancy the slow pace that goes with excavation, there’s searching for surface items. It’s also disciplined, but produces more immediate results.’
‘If there’s something to find of course,’ Helen added. ‘Here it would be more woodland walking than field walking, but it will need doing if you want to build a full picture of the site’s development. Then there’s the research, report writing, cataloguing, data analysis… I could go on.’
As they approached the kitchen, Sam saw Tina and Woody laying plates and cutlery on two benches that had been pushed together. ‘Would you be able to oversee all that, Thea?’
She laughed. ‘If you were happy for me to give up everything else, then yes, but we’d have to provide basic training first. I could do that, but if you wanted me to oversee the site and co-run the retreat—’
Sam cut in, ‘I get it. Your plate is already overflowing. So, we’d need an archaeology tutor after all. Is it possible to employ such a person on a temporary basis?’
‘Absolutely,’ the women replied in unison, before Thea added, ‘I can put an ad in Current Archaeology, but you should know it’s a skilled position. You’d have to pay proper wages.’
‘I was thinking of talking to Tina about getting a bank loan to tide us over with wages until we’re running properly.’
Sam looked so pleased by this prospect that Thea found herself holding back on the news about the second email from Treasure Hunters, saying instead, ‘I wish Shaun’s lot could afford to pay to film here.’
Sam paused. ‘I did wonder about saying we’d wait until the next series.’
Thea shook her head. ‘I’d already thought of that; they’re booked up. If we waited for a series episode then we are talking the year after next, which would mean delaying using the site for therapy purposes.’
‘Chri
stmas it is then.’
Crossing her fingers inside her pockets, Thea smiled. ‘I’m talking to Shaun later. I’ll ask how they’re getting on time-wise.’ Changing the subject, she sniffed. ‘Dinner smells amazing! Come on, Helen, I’ll introduce you to everyone.’
September 9th
Thea blinked against the stark light of her mobile phone screen. There was no message from Shaun.
After clicking on the bedside lamp, Thea pulled a jumper over her shoulders as she shivered in the early morning chill. She’d tried to call him three times the evening before, but each time the phone had taken her to voicemail. The texts she’d sent had gone unanswered.
She knew it was possible that the phone signal wasn’t working down there. When Shaun had checked the place out, prior to filming, in the summer, they’d had a few connection issues, but nothing since he’d gone there this time round. Thea felt frustrated as well as concerned. Not only did she want to talk to him in general, she had to tell Shaun about Treasure Hunters’ latest offer – and she wanted to ask what he thought about an idea Helen had had during dinner.
Perhaps he got talking to that ‘very helpful’ Sophie, and forgot the time.
Wondering where that thought had come from, and not liking how it unsettled her, she yanked her duvet up under her chin.
Giving herself a mental shake, Thea put off getting up for a few more minutes, turning her thoughts to Helen. Her friend had fitted in with everyone straight away. Thea had always envied Helen’s ability to work with anyone; it was one of the reasons she was so good at running the Roman Baths. Helen always seemed to know how to get the best from the people she worked with – when to be stern and when a smile would go a long way.
Chatting away to Woody, Ann and Dave as if she’d know them all their lives, Helen had stopped chewing mid mouthful and asked Sam if he’d considered asking for sponsorship. It was so obvious that Thea had cursed herself for not thinking of it. As Mill Grange’s co-manager it was the sort of idea she ought to have come up with.
The Roman Baths couldn’t sponsor anything else; they were already spoken for in that capacity many times over but, Helen had suggested they ask Landscape Treasures to sponsor them. An archaeology training scheme championed by a popular television show wouldn’t be a bad idea. Or, if that was too costly long term, perhaps they could sponsor the first month’s work by paying for a tutor, or buying the tools they needed. Thea had jumped on the idea like a dog with a bone. If Landscape Treasures were actively backing the site, then surely Treasure Hunters wouldn’t be so keen to film it.
Thea reluctantly climbed from her bed, then dressed and headed to the kitchen.
This morning, as soon as the table was laid with cereal, yogurt, bread and the various spreads they’d accumulated in the hope that no taste would go unsatisfied, Thea intended to grab her laptop and email Shaun. If he didn’t reply to that, then she’d allow herself to worry properly.
Sixteen
September 9th
Shaun threw the linen off his bed.
It wasn’t there.
Then he lifted up the mattress and peered beneath.
It wasn’t there either.
He checked the door to his room. It was locked. No one could have come in while he was asleep unless they had a key. ‘Be rational!’ Shaun snapped. ‘Think! Your mobile isn’t where you always put it at night, so you lost it before you came to bed.’
Regretting the extra pint he’d drunk in the bar downstairs the night before, Shaun rubbed his temples, acutely aware of the headache that was only just on the right side of a hangover.
Gulping down a mouthful of water, Shaun talked himself through the previous evening. ‘We finished filming and got back from Bodmin as the dig closed for the night. I had my phone then because I texted Thea to say I’d call later. Then I checked the porta-shed. Everything was where it ought to be.’
Shaun remembered having his phone downstairs when he’d been in the bar. Phil had invited Sophie to join them. Phil had been so pleased with her work on camera that he’d gushed to the point of embarrassment. That, and a nagging edge of guilt that he’d enjoyed the moment, albeit fleetingly, when Sophie’s hand had brushed his knee, had tempted Shaun into having another drink with the AA.
‘My phone was on the table. I’m sure it was because I was going to call Thea as soon as we’d eaten… then…’
An image of Sophie asking for a selfie to mark her television debut wafted through his mind. She’d insisted on everyone being in it, but that hadn’t stopped her throwing her arms around his shoulders, despite both Phil and Ajay being closer. He had a feeling that her request had gone on to develop into something of a selfie frenzy. Shaun rubbed his forehead.
Sophie smelt of coconut and shea butter.
The memory brought Shaun up short as he glugged back a glass of water.
Why am I remembering that? Thea smells of shea butter too. That’ll be why. I was reminded of Thea.
Had the phone been there on the table after that? Now he concentrated, Shaun was convinced it had been on the table in front of him prior to the selfies, but hadn’t a clue about afterwards. I must have left it somewhere.
Shaun gave up trying to work out why he’d all but destroyed his room hunting for a phone he knew wasn’t there, and went for a shower.
As the water pounded against his skull, he wiped the sleep from his eyes. ‘Wake up and get on with the day! You want to finish on time to get back to Thea, remember?’
The thought of Thea reawakened the sense of guilt at how much, against expectations, he was enjoying Sophie being around. But by the time he’d finished washing, he’d convinced himself he had nothing to be guilty for. He simply liked the student archaeologist’s company.
‘You drank too much and left your phone somewhere. Probably by the sinks in the cloakroom, or at the bar.’ Tugging on his working clothes, Shaun picked up his laptop and headed to breakfast. He’d check that his phone hadn’t been handed in, then he’d email Thea.
*
Thea exhaled as she blew across the top of her coffee. Glad that no one had emerged from their quarters yet, she felt a ripple of relief as an email from Shaun pinged into her inbox.
Morning love,
Sorry for lack of call last night – I’ve mislaid my phone. Hopefully I haven’t completely lost it! I recall seeing it in the bar – but the drink was flowing rather more freely than usual. I suspect someone else picked it up by mistake. I’ll ask Sophie and the boys once they’re up.
All okay up at Mill Grange?
We’re a tiny bit behind schedule, but nothing to worry about. The filming itself is on time, just slow dig-wise due to lack of JCB.
Miss you – any chance of you popping down to see the excavation?
Lots of love,
Shaun xx
*
Sophie and the boys? So is she part of the main team now, this Sophie?
Thea felt sad as she typed her reply. She’d love to go and see the site and Shaun, but with so much to do, she knew it was impossible.
Hi Shaun,
I admit I was beginning to worry – it’s not like you not to call when you say you will. I hope the head isn’t too sore this morning! (There’s Ibuprofen in the outside pocket of your rucksack in case you can’t find any.)
Hectic here. The first three guests have arrived – all lovely, although I think Tina is finding it hard to mix with them. They knew Sam from his days abroad, and I suspect she’s feeling a bit left out.
Sam is working hard with Bert to overcome his claustrophobia.
I’m glad to read you’re almost on schedule down there. I haven’t had the chance to tell Sam yet, but Treasure Hunters have upped their offer. I’ll be in touch again when I’ve spoken to Sam.
Helen – my old boss from the Roman Baths – is here. She’s had an idea about sponsorship…
By the time Thea had explained Helen’s idea, and then deleted what she’d written and started again, Ann arrived in the kitchen
, fully dressed for the day, and gagging for a cup of tea. Leaping into hostess mode, Thea was soon grilling toast while she learnt far more about the effect of desert sand on the knees if you spent too long in shorts than she thought it possible to know.
*
Sam stared at the calendar on his phone. The date his mother had suggested in her latest letter for dinner at Malvern House, the 26th to the 27th of September, was impossible. Even if he’d made progress with Bert, which he hadn’t, he couldn’t possibly manage an overnight stay by then. He could just imagine what his father would say if he arrived with the tent.
He glanced across the garden at Tina. She was chatting to Woody, while he sanded the gate to the walled garden. Her arms cradled a bowl of vegetable peelings for the chickens, she had a blotch of mud on her left cheek, and her plaits were in disarray. She wasn’t the neat office blonde he’d first met when he’d arrived at Mill Grange – well, not unless she was in financial advisor mode for the Exmoor Trust. Every day he loved his girlfriend more, especially for overcoming her natural deference and talking to his friends. I ought to tell her. I ought to acknowledge that I’ve noticed she’s fighting her anxiety about not fitting in.
He bit back a sigh. Tina was fighting her fears and winning, whereas he…
Thinking of his mother, Sam wondered how she’d get on with Tina. Well he hoped they’d get along. He didn’t waste his time thinking about his father’s reaction to his girlfriend. She wasn’t from the right sort of family, so that was that.
Sam was convinced his father was behind the invitation being for an overnight stay. It was a test to see if his son could handle it. Well, it was out of the question anyway. He only had a few weeks in between Woody, Ann and Dave leaving and the full-paying guests arriving. His parents would have to wait.