But then it struck me—email. Face to face with Dad, I couldn’t hide much from him. He knew me too well. But with email, I could choose exactly what I told him. I could quite honestly say I’d been told there was a dig in the quarry, and had he heard about it? If he asked any awkward questions I’d have plenty of time to think up a reply. It was still a risk. It might stir up all kinds of trouble. I’d have to be very careful, but I had to give it a shot.
I’d finished my beans on toast, so I picked up the dirty dishes. I looked at the dishwasher, thought of Mum, wondered when she was coming back. “Nah,” I said. I clattered the dishes into the sink and hurried back up to my room.
I opened up my laptop. It was a decent machine and still quite new, another thing Dad had bought me after he moved out. Mum hadn’t been pleased, but Dad had said I needed it for my schoolwork, so that was that. While I watched it boot up, a thought hit me. “Of course,” I whispered. “Google it.” Why hadn’t I thought of it before?
I opened the browser. What should I type? The obvious thing was to try the name of the place, Scaderstone Pit. I typed that in, but I knew the results had come back too quickly—no matches. I thought I’d spelled the place right. No typing errors. I tried “Scaderstone quarry.” Again, nothing. I knew it wouldn’t be much good, but I tried “quarries.” That was ridiculous—almost ten million entries. I tried limiting the search to pages from the UK. That cut the list a lot, but there were still nearly two million results.
I sat back in my chair and stared gloomily at the screen. I was stuck. And there was something else: could there really be a dig at the quarry if it didn’t show up on the internet? And wasn’t it a bit weird that there was nothing about the place at all? After all, it had been a real quarry once, hadn’t it?
But there was no need to give up; I could still fire off an email to Dad. I opened up my email program and started to type. It took me a while to get it right.
Hi Dad. How RU? Don’t worry—I know txting drives you mad! I’ll write in proper English. I thought I’d drop you an email, then you can read it later if you’re doing the dreaded marking. Plus it gives me an excuse to muck around on the computer. Things are quiet here. Mum is out with you-know-who. School is OK—except for French.
I went around to Matt’s house the other day, which was a good laugh. We played his new game. It was cool, but his mum kicked us off after only one measly hour. She uses the kitchen timer! We had a walk down past the quarry. Matt reckoned there’s some archaeologists doing a dig in there. He says there might be all sorts of ancient Roman coins and swords and stuff lying around in there. I said it wasn’t so old. I told him you’d know. Or maybe you could tell me how to find out?
Send me an email soon.
See you next weekend.
I didn’t know how to close it. I wanted to put love from, but it didn’t seem right among the white lies. I sat and stared at it for a while, then clicked on send. It was only an email. I shut the laptop down. It was too late to expect a reply that night. Still, I was quite pleased with myself. It was all true except for the bit about the Romans, and I was pretty sure that I did once have a conversation like that with someone. It was done anyway. All I could do was to wait for a reply and hope that he didn’t suss me out.
It was getting late, but I didn’t feel like going to bed. I’d had that sleep earlier, and it had put me out of routine. Not that I had much of a routine anymore. I could stay up as long as I wanted. What could Mum say about it when she came in so late? I didn’t have to answer to anyone anymore.
I found myself wishing that Mum would come home, give me a hug, like she used to, and send me to bed. But that wasn’t going to happen. And I didn’t know what to do with myself. I sat on my bed and put the TV on. As usual, there was nothing interesting on, and anyway, I couldn’t concentrate on it. I was getting drowsy, but there were too many questions and ideas droning around my mind. I shut my eyes for a second. There was one question that bothered me more than anything else: how was I going to get my phone back? Could Dad help in some way? I thought back to the email, remembering it, trying to decide if I’d given too much away. Would Dad believe that I’d been talking about ancient Romans with Matt? Suddenly I was wide awake again. What about Matt? Would he help me? He was a good friend. My best friend really. I just wasn’t sure if it was fair to get him involved– especially if the Brewer gang turned up again. I pictured the look he would give me when I asked him. The phrase “You’re on your own” wouldn’t be far from his lips.
That’s if I tell him, I thought. I could keep quiet about the Brewers. After all, we might not meet them, and then there would’ve been no need to worry him, no harm done. But I would know. And I’d regret lying to Matt, I was sure of that. Damn it. Life must be easy for born liars. I’d have to tell Matt the truth. But that didn’t mean I shouldn’t try to talk him around, make it seem like an exciting idea. I could always tell him about the car—the MG—he wouldn’t be able to resist that. And he wouldn’t have to actually do very much. He wouldn’t even have to go into the quarry. He could just keep a look out. I’d ask him during lunch break the next day.
I lay back and shut my eyes. I smiled. I had a plan.
CHAPTER 40
1939
VINCENT CHARLES CORBETT stood back to admire his handiwork. He used a cloth to wipe the dust from the stone’s surface. “There,” he whispered. “That’s coming on nicely, that is.” It was a special piece made to replace a damaged lintel up at The Lodge. It was quite ornate, and it had to match the old one precisely. Vincent smiled. This job was testing all his skills as a stonemason. It’s a shame, he thought, there aren’t many who can afford to have a piece like this made. Never mind, it’s not a bad place to work. He looked around the quarry. It was a busy day; they’d done some blasting yesterday, and everyone else was working hard at the far end of the quarry, sorting, grading, shifting the rock. He watched as Mr. Burrows, the foreman, fussed over everyone, shouting out orders and threats to anyone who looked like they might be slacking. Vincent allowed himself a grim smile. Who did Burrows think he was? He looked like an overexcited rooster, marching up and down like that. He acted as if he owned the place, although they all knew that the quarry’s owner, Mr. Matthews, was the one in charge. Still, the rest of the blokes were decent enough to work alongside. And Vincent got his pay packet every week, which was more than many could say. He earned enough for his rent and upkeep, and there was always enough left for a pint or two. He’d even managed to put a little away for a rainy day.
He was a hard worker and proud of it. His workmate, Bob, on the other hand, was not only work-shy but crafty enough to get away with it.
Vincent turned to look around the quarry. For the third time that morning he muttered, “Now where are you, you lazy little devil?” But there was no sign of him. He’d probably sneaked off somewhere for a sit down and a fag. Vincent pulled out his hanky, mopped his brow and blew the dust from his nose. It was a scorcher of a day. Bob would be lurking out of the sun somewhere. There wasn’t a lot of shade in the quarry; it was mainly bare rock. There was just the one patch of greenery—a group of stunted shrubs and twisted trees that had somehow rooted themselves in the rock. They clung to the slope on the only part of the quarry that hadn’t been worked yet. Vincent supposed that, one day, the trees would be cut down, and then what a barren place the quarry would be. For the moment though, they provided a hiding place for Bob. Vincent strode toward the place, forming a few choice words in his mind. Vincent wouldn’t say anything to the foreman—Bob knew that. But boy, he’d be sure to give the lazy devil an earful when he found him.
Vincent arrived at Bob’s usual hideaway and pushed past a bush, ready to let rip. But there was no one there. There was something though. He sniffed. That was it—cigarette smoke. All the lads smoked, but this had to be Bob. Everyone else was working right at the other side of the quarry.
He called out, but not too loudly in case the foreman should hear. “Bob? Bob, where a
re you, man?” There was no reply. Damn. He was an annoying little blighter. Vincent called again, a little louder. “Bob. Come on.” This time there was a rustling from the slope above. Vincent looked up and was amazed to see Bob looking down at him. Bob was quite a way up the slope, his head sticking out from the undergrowth. He looked almost comical. He must’ve been lying on his stomach on a ledge. This was stretching things, even for Bob. Vincent was fuming. “What the bloody hell–”
But Bob wouldn’t let him finish, hissed, “Shut up, man! Do you want Burrows to hear you?” He sounded desperate, and for good reason. He’d been warned—mend his ways or lose his job. Mr. Burrows didn’t make idle threats. And that made Vincent think.
“That’s right, and if he finds us mucking about in here he’ll give both of us our cards and send us home.” That would do the trick, Vincent thought. Bob may have been idle, but he wouldn’t want to get anyone else in trouble with the foreman—none of the lads would. They stuck together. They had to. There were plenty of men who would be ready to take their place. But Bob didn’t seem to have heard him. And there was something in Bob’s expression, something in his eyes. He looked anxious, nervous. He reminded Vincent of the way his Uncle Alf had looked when he came back from the trenches. Vincent hesitated, thought about getting some help, but couldn’t think what he’d tell the others. Instead he thought of his Uncle Alf and tried a softer tone. “Come on, Bob, let’s get you down from there.”
At least Bob had heard him that time. He looked Vincent straight in the eye, pleading, “No. You’ve got to come up here. There’s something here, something…I can’t tell you. You’ll have to see it for yourself.”
Vincent was curious now. Bob must’ve found something valuable and didn’t want to share it. But he wasn’t about to go on a wild goose chase. “What sort of thing?”
Bob glanced back over his shoulder then turned again to Vincent. He was clearly struggling to find the right words. “It’s a…a rock…a slab of rock but it’s…I can’t say. Come here and have a look.”
Vincent sighed. It didn’t sound like something valuable after all. Perhaps if he humoured Bob it would calm him down. That’s what they’d had to with Uncle Alf. He looked back toward the quarry. There was no one nearby—for the moment.
Vincent gave in. “All right, all right. I’ll give you two minutes. How do you get up there?”
Bob looked a little relieved. “Over there, on your right, there’s some steps.” Vincent could see nothing of the sort, but he walked toward the place where Bob was pointing. Bob was getting quite excited. “That’s it. Right a bit…a bit more. There! Straight in front of you.” And so they were. When he was up close, Vincent could see where Bob had pushed through the undergrowth. Narrow, steep and eroded, but steps nevertheless.
He took a deep breath, muttered, “Of all the daft things…” and started to climb.
CHAPTER 41
2010
“WHEN YOU’VE FINISHED YOUR BREAKFAST, can you put your things in the dishwasher and turn it on?”
“Uhuh,” I said, concentrating on scooping up another spoonful of cereal.
Mum put her hands on her hips. “Are you listening?” she said.
I looked up. “Yeah,” I said. “Dishwasher—got it.”
She smiled. “OK,” she said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to sound grumpy.”
I looked at her as she checked her reflection in the mirror on the wall. She ran her fingers over her eyes and frowned. Even I could tell she looked tired. But then it was Monday morning.
“Right,” she said. “I’m off to work. You won’t forget to lock up, will you?”
“I won’t,” I said.
“And have a good day at school.”
“I won’t,” I said.
“OK,” she said as she grabbed her handbag. Now who wasn’t listening? And then she was rushing out of the front door. “Bye,” she called. “Take care.”
“Bye,” I said as the door slammed shut. I breathed a sigh of relief. Finally she was out of the way. Mum made a fuss if I was “messing about on the computer” before breakfast, and I was very keen to check my email.
I scraped up the last of my cereal and headed upstairs. As I switched on my laptop I remembered I hadn’t put my things in the dishwasher. Oh well—I could do it later. While the laptop booted up I checked my school bag. It all seemed OK. Soon I had my emails. “Cool,” I said. Dad had replied. He’d sent it late the night before. But the first few lines made me squirm. It looked like Dad was sharper than I gave him credit for:
Listen. What have I told you about that quarry? I need to talk to you about this. It’s too late to phone now. In a way that’s just as well—give me time to calm down a bit. You’ve still got me worried though. You know that quarry is an illegal tip. There could be all sorts of dangerous stuff down there—toxic chemicals, pesticides, asbestos, anything. Do NOT go in there, OK?
Had he guessed I’d already been into the quarry? I wasn’t sure. At any rate, the rest of the message was more helpful:
I haven’t heard anything about a dig. It doesn’t seem likely. There’s not much chance of finding anything interesting in there now. The place was an active quarry for years. They would have found anything worth having by now. And anyway, I’m afraid you and Matt were both wrong. The quarry was there long before the Romans came to Britain. Some people say the quarry is part of the reason there’s a settlement here in the first place. If that’s true, then it could be Neolithic or even earlier. End of lecture! But don’t feel bad, you were right about one thing—I do know where to find out more. It’s getting late now, but when you come around at the weekend I could show you some good websites—that’s if you really are interested.
I’ve got to sign off now and get some shut-eye.
Work hard at school. Take care of yourself. Look after Mum.
Love you.
Dad ;-)
Well, my plan had sort of worked hadn’t it? Dad was suspicious, but he couldn’t know I’d been in the quarry. I read the part about the dig again and sighed. What about Cally? Had she really made all that up? Perhaps it had made her feel safer to invent a bunch of friends, or maybe she was just messing with me—just like the KFC girls. “Girls,” I muttered. But Cally wasn’t like the girls I knew; she’d seemed so nice. No, not nice, she was fantastic. And she was clever too. All that stuff she’d said about magnetometers—she couldn’t have made that up. I nodded to myself. “Looks like you got it wrong, Dad,” I said.
I looked at my watch. Time to go. A couple of clicks to shut my laptop down, and I was on my way.
* * *
At lunchtime, Matt was waiting for me when I came out of maths. We were in the same group for most things, but Matt was in a different maths set from me. We never talked about it, but I was in the top class, and Matt wasn’t. It didn’t bother him. It was me that had a problem with it. I’d have given anything to be in his group. And not just to be with a friend. I didn’t belong in the top group. It was a constant competition, a struggle. It just wasn’t me.
But it didn’t stop us from hanging around together every lunchtime. And there he was, leaning his shoulder against the corridor wall and trying to look cool. What was I going to say? I’d been thinking about it all morning, trying out lines in my head and trying to guess Matt’s response. It hadn’t done any good. I’ll just have to wing it, I thought. The main thing is not to look too worried. I took a deep breath. All I had to do was be my usual self. And that shouldn’t be too difficult. Our routine was pretty much the same every day.
I rolled my eyes, puffed my cheeks out. “Thank god that’s over,” I said. “You been waiting long?”
Matt smiled. “Nah. Few minutes. We packed up early. Played a game till the end. Soon as the buzzer went, we were gone.”
I smiled. This was good. I could carry this off. “Huh,” I said. “Old Taylor sprinting off to the pub again, is he?”
Matt laughed at that. “Well, he reckoned it was ‘cos we’d all worked
hard, but now I come to think of it, he was screwing running spikes into his sandals.”
We both sniggered. Mr. Taylor was semiretired, and in the afternoons the mints he sucked didn’t quite cover the smell of beer on his breath.
“He’s in training,” I said. “For the teachers’ triathlon: the pub dash, the sarcastic putdown and…what’s the other one?”
“The freestyle nervous breakdown.” Matt put his hands on his cheeks and did his famous impression of The Scream.
I cracked up. And it felt good. Everything was back to normal. Maybe I’d just keep quiet about the quarry. Forget the whole thing. All of it. Write the phone off as a loss. See if Mum or Dad could wangle a new one on their insurance or something. It happens. People lose things all the time. Yeah. That was a very, very good plan.
I grinned. “Come on, Matt,” I said. “Stop trying to look cool. I’m starving. Let’s go and get some chips.”
Matt snorted and put on his best Californian accent. “Whoa,” he drawled. “Thanks for the, like, compliment, dude, but who said I was, like, trying?”
I chuckled as we set off down the corridor. “Oh, man,” I said. “You kill me, you really do.”
Later, I wondered if that was the moment things went so wrong. I stopped worrying about the quarry and my phone and the Brewers. I shrugged it off. The whole thing was just a story I’d tell my friends. And they wouldn’t even believe me. But that didn’t matter. It was all just a joke. You see, that was when I let my guard down. And in a way, that led on to what happened in the end.
CHAPTER 42
1939
A SHOUT ECHOED around the quarry. It startled Vincent, and his hobnailed boot slipped on the narrow step. He grabbed hold of an exposed tree root and steadied himself, but that didn’t stop him cracking his shin on the sharp edge of a step. He grunted. He knew how to take a knock or two. True, a few harsh words came into his head, but he’d keep those for Bob’s benefit. What was he doing, shouting like that? Mr. Burrows might come looking for them at any moment, and Vincent wasn’t accustomed to making excuses. He kept climbing.
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