Thinking of you.
Flying back to Bristol tomorrow. No point asking if you fancy a drink I suppose? x
Hey there, Phoebe Sloan. Are you still ignoring me?
Evie swallowed. Her decision to move back to Bristol had absolutely nothing at all to do with him. But that didn’t mean she hadn’t thought about him constantly this week, wondering what he’d say when he heard the news. After all, Michael was still the only person who knew she’d lied about her job at Lee, Lee and Meredith in the first place. In bed at night she imagined complicated sets of circumstances that had Michael encountering his own epiphany and leaving his Goliath corporation to take up the fight alongside Evie. Together they would form their own environmental organisation, and their first task would be to save Cupid’s Way.
Of course, this was total bunkum. Pie in the sky. Michael Andrews was a dyed-in-the-wool businessman, a fact Evie could not ignore. There would be no walking off into the sunset ending for them. If she failed to save her grandparents’ home – if Dynamite Construction got its way – she wouldn’t be able to look at him ever again, let alone speak to him. And if she won the day, if they managed to get the street listed or protected in some way, what would Michael think of her then? Would he blame her for the lost opportunity?
She began to type a reply, but then deleted it. She was too full of pent-up energy to think through what she wanted to say, and she wasn’t going to agree to meet up with him until she’d settled back into Cupid’s Way and come up with a proper plan. There was just the slightest possibility that what her gran had suggested was true – that Michael was only interested in her so he could find out what the opposition was up to. She didn’t want to think about this possibility, but she couldn’t ignore its existence.
The final text was from her gran, and it read: Call me. Evie dialled straight away. Mavis answered on the first ring, breathless as though she’d been running.
‘Evie,’ she said, diving straight in, ‘you have to come back.’
‘I am. I mean, of course I will. What’s up?’
‘It’s so exciting, Evie. I think all our problems might be over.’
Evie leaned against the kitchen counter and listened. An archaeologist was visiting Cupid’s Way at the weekend to check out the artefacts. Would she like to be there? Evie was busy nodding, even though her gran couldn’t see her.
‘Of course I’ll come. Is it okay if I have the spare room again?’ She didn’t add that she needed the room for the foreseeable – there was plenty of time for that when her gran wasn’t so keyed up.
‘This is it, Evie,’ Mavis said, her voice breaking. ‘I think Zac’s little discovery could be the answer to all our problems. I think Cupid’s Way might be saved after all.’
Chapter 17
This time, Evie drove to Bristol – a journey that cost her dear in the goodwill of her long-suffering car. By the time it limped up to the edge of Cupid’s Way, the ancient Fiat was emitting noxious and worrying puffs of black smoke and a strange knocking had started every time she turned the wheel. When Evie pulled in and switched off the engine she almost heard its sigh of relief.
‘You can rest now,’ she said, patting the steering wheel with the palm of her hand. ‘Well done.’
She jumped out and hauled two battered brown suitcases from the back seat. The rest of her belongings were rammed into the boot; what she couldn’t fit in the car she’d sold or given away or dumped. It was the most cathartic thing she’d ever done in her life. It felt wonderful.
She entered Cupid’s Way via the north gate, stopping every few minutes to rest her cases on the cracked path. Although only a week since she’d left, the first signs of blossom had started to bud on the trees and the gardens were proudly showing off patches of bright yellow daffodils. Evie took in a deep lungful of the smell of freshly turned earth from the allotment to her right. The sky above her was that pale, washed-out blue you only saw in early spring. She could hear birdsong and distant voices and the discordant clanging of Pip and Cissy’s wind chimes. She dragged her suitcases towards number eleven, then stopped by the purple bench and listened again. Those voices weren’t so distant anymore – they were getting louder. And louder. Evie looked back and saw a small crowd of people flowing up the central cobbled path towards her. She smiled uncertainly. A welcome committee? It was nice, but not really what she’d expected. She parked her cases and turned around, arranging her face into an embarrassed grin.
The assembled group stopped about three metres away and focused its attention on a short man holding a loudspeaker. No one seemed remotely aware of Evie’s presence. She tucked her hair behind her ears and peered at the man. It was Bob Peacock, wearing what looked like a white bed sheet. She rubbed her eyes with the heels of her hands and looked again. He was definitely dressed in a sheet, thrown over one shoulder and tied underneath his pot belly with a length of rope.
‘Evie,’ said a voice at her side. She looked round, relieved to find Sarah Lowry standing next to her. She’d started to think she might have wandered into a parallel universe.
‘What’s going on?’ Evie said. Sarah pulled a face, and nodded in Bob Peacock’s direction.
‘Did you ever see anything like it? He’s turning this place into a circus.’
‘Is the archaeologist still coming?’
‘That’s what this lot are here for. Half of Bristol have turned out, by the looks of it.’
Evie laughed at Sarah’s exaggeration – there were only twenty or so people milling about under the cherry blossom tree, while Bob fiddled with the loudspeaker.
Sarah saw her expression. She said, ‘You haven’t seen inside Zac’s house yet. There are even more of them in there, and a reporter’s coming from the Bristol Observer, and someone from English Heritage. Apparently your friend’s coming too,’ she added, throwing Evie an odd look. Evie knew instantly who she meant, but pretended she didn’t.
‘What friend?’
Sarah didn’t answer. She sighed and let her shoulders slump. ‘It’s Tim’s doing, although I don’t think he intended this. He’s the one who invited the archaeologist along, but it kind of snowballed. Bob’s pretty much taken over – he’s got this whole Roman thing going on. He’s taking them on a tour in a minute.’
‘Of course.’ It was obvious now. ‘The sheet is supposed to be a toga.’
‘Poor old Freda’s been forced into one, too. And the renters – not that they needed much persuading. It’s all a bit of a laugh to them.’
‘I don’t think that’s true. Cissy’s really settled here. They’re just as keen to stay as the rest of you.’ She’d been about to say “the rest of us”, but checked herself in time. She wasn’t officially a resident yet, and now didn’t seem the right moment for a big announcement.
‘I’m going to see what they’re up to,’ Sarah said. She stalked off towards Zac’s house, and after a beat, Evie followed.
She spotted Frank talking to a man in a suit, and was surprised when she got closer and saw it was Councillor Martin. This time his tie was yellow. Evie wondered what her gran made of that colour choice.
As she approached, a woman in her forties with short black hair and a winter tan strolled up to Frank and tapped him on the arm.
‘Do you live here?’ she demanded. Frank took a step back, then nodded, a tentative sort of smile on his face. Evie picked up her pace.
‘Why the hell are you being so selfish? Don’t you want my children to have decent health care? Do you know I have to get a bus all the way over to Farngate just to see the doctor?’ The woman stuck out her chin, fairly fizzing with anger. ‘You people, you’re all the same.’
Evie reached Frank and slipped her arm through his. He looked down at her, dazed. Councillor Martin had already stepped forward and was trying to calm the woman, but his words slid off her like ice cream thrown against glass.
‘You’d get compensation,’ the woman said. Her voice was hoarse.
‘It’s not about the compensation,
’ Evie said, keeping her voice low. ‘These are people’s homes. They’ve lived here all their lives. They don’t want to be moved on, to say goodbye to their memories.’
‘Well, lucky them. La-de-da. How nice to live somewhere all your life, to not have to worry about being moved on from pillar to post. My boys and me, we’ve been moved about so many times I don’t know my arse from my elbow. Memories is up here, isn’t it?’ The woman tapped her head with a crooked finger. Her nails were painted in blue, green and yellow swirls.
The councillor moved her on, employing his best consoling tone. Evie distinctly heard him tell her there was little to worry about. The medical centre would be built, no matter what.
No matter what. She turned back to her granddad, feeling rattled. Frank was shaking. Evie registered that he was wearing his best V-neck jumper over a shirt and tie, and the image in her head of him dressing this morning, combing his thin hair over his scalp, pulling on his stay-press slacks, brought a lump to her throat.
‘Don’t worry,’ she told him. ‘It’ll be fine.’
‘So vicious,’ he said, staring after the woman with the black hair. ‘I didn’t realise.’
‘Me neither,’ Evie agreed, then she steered him back towards Zac’s house. Bob had finally managed to get the loudspeaker to work and his voice crackled across the gardens. The archaeologist – someone called either Frederick or Bedwick, it was hard to tell – had arrived and was about to verify the findings.
‘She wants us to just give up, Evie,’ Frank said. ‘Just take the money and move on. She thinks we’re selfish not to.’
‘It doesn’t matter what she wants, does it?’ Evie squeezed his arm. ‘And anyway, once these Roman artefacts have been verified I bet the council will rescind their plans quicker than you can say “Marcus Aurelius”.’
‘What?’
‘Nothing. Come on, there’s quite a crowd building up.’
They pushed their way to Zac’s door, but then realised all the action was happening at number six – the house Zac was doing up for his mother. As they slipped between the onlookers, Evie wondered whether they’d meet the lucky recipient of Zac’s efforts soon. He didn’t talk about her much, for such a clearly devoted son. She ducked under someone’s elbow, then dragged her granddad around to the right.
Mavis was standing guard in the doorway of number six. She waved them in, ignoring the protests of the people crowding around her. ‘Get back,’ she said authoritatively. ‘The expert needs room to work.’
‘Thanks, Gran,’ Evie said as they slipped inside. ‘What’s happening?’
Mavis gave her a kiss and a brief hug, before resuming sentinel duty. ‘Everyone’s back there in the kitchen. Dr Frederick is examining the site.’
Evie smiled at her gran’s easy adoption of the term “site”. ‘Don’t you want to come and see?’ she said.
‘Nah. Someone has to keep this lot at bay.’
There was barely room for Evie in the kitchen – Dr Frederick took up more than his fair share of space with his broad frame and jutting belly. The florescent light bounced off his bald head, and Evie caught a glimpse of bright blue eyes and ruddy cheeks. The residents were crowded around him like petals on a flower. Zac stood on the archaeologist’s right hand side. His eyes kept flitting from the turned-over earth to the expert’s face and back again. Evie slipped in beside Frank, who looked down at her and raised his eyebrows expectantly. She threw him a reassuring smile.
Zac had left the rest of his findings in situ, as instructed by Tim after he’d been in touch with Dr Frederick at the museum. The piece of pottery found on the night of the party had already been handed over, but Tim said the rest of the artefacts needed to be seen in their original positions for a proper assessment to be made. The press were here, ready to photograph the residents holding their authentic Roman finds, along with their impressive expert, and Evie figured that once the papers ran that story, some kind of outcry over the current plans for Cupid’s Way was inevitable. Which could only improve their chances of getting them scrapped.
She rubbed her hands together and peered into the pit where Dr Frederick stood. The hole was almost three feet deep in the middle, with earth banked up at the sides in stratified layers. Evie wondered what Zac had been doing digging down so far in the first place.
Tim, standing on her left, tipped his head to the side. ‘I’ve been reading about the Kings Weston Roman Villa,’ he said. ‘This could be just as important, you know.’
‘It’d be amazing if it was,’ Evie agreed. ‘But you know, if there are the remains of some kind of settlement down here it’ll mean a lot of disruption.’
‘Better than being bulldozed, though,’ Frank said. ‘Hold on, he’s coming out.’
Bob Peacock held out his hand to help the archaeologist up, but anyone could see Bob didn’t have a hope in hell’s chance of pulling the man out of the hole on his own. Zac stepped forward and grabbed Dr Frederick by his elbow, and Cissy, pressed against the far side of the room, opened the back door to let in some air. Evie chewed on a fingernail, watching the man’s face for clues to what he’d found. She thought about what Sarah had said. Michael was rumoured to be coming along today to see the findings for himself. He could be out there right now, waiting.
She watched the archaeologist and waited for his verdict. She couldn’t help feeling that whatever he was about to say would have a profound effect on the future of Cupid’s Way. One way or the other, something was about to change.
‘Well,’ said Dr Frederick. Everyone edged forward an inch further. In his chubby-fingered hand he held the red-brown piece of pottery Zac had found over a week ago. ‘This item’ he said, lifting it up high, ‘is absolutely authentic. I would say it dates from the end of the third century AD.’
There was a hushed intake of breath and then Bob Peacock let out a cheer. ‘Atta boy,’ he said to Zac, slapping him on the back. Zac, looking completely stunned, toppled and nearly fell into the hole. He righted himself and a strange look – shock or relief, or something else Evie couldn’t name – passed across his face before he broke out into a huge grin.
‘That’s what I figured,’ he said, looking directly at Evie. ‘Totally authentic.’
Evie was still watching the archaeologist. His red-lipped mouth had turned down at the corners. He glanced around, as though confused, then said,
‘But the item itself is not from this site.’
Zac stopped shaking hands with Pip and looked up. ‘What?’
‘This item is not from this location,’ Dr Frederick repeated. ‘It is of Roman origin, probably some kind of drinking vessel, but it was very unlikely to have been found here. As for these other items,’ he waved his hand to take in the muddy ditch with its scattering of artefacts, partially unearthed by Zac’s careful digging, ‘these are all from vastly different eras, and completely different social strata.’
Evie leaned forward for a closer look. She saw a couple more bits of pottery, something that might have been a metal coin or a badge, and a long chunk of iron probably about an inch thick. They looked exactly like the artefacts she’d seen in the museum as a child.
‘But they are genuine?’ Zac said. ‘They are all Roman, right?’
Dr Frederick nodded. He had edged backwards towards the kitchen door and was leaning against the frame as if getting ready to make a quick getaway.
Zac said, ‘So there must have been some kind of Roman settlement here, right? A house or a villa or something.’
‘Of course there was,’ said Bob. Tim was watching the archaeologist closely, his fingers laced on the top of his head, while Sarah had her eyes trained on Zac. Evie was starting to get an uneasy feeling in her stomach. She thought about the crowd outside, the photographers from the local press, the residents of the new estates. What did it mean? What exactly had Zac unearthed here?
‘No,’ said Dr Frederick. His cheeks were even more ruddy now, as though the effort of trying to make his point was physically demanding.
‘No, no. There is nothing here. This house was built on nothing at all.’
‘How can you tell?’ Tim demanded. His thinning hair stood on end where he’d rubbed it. ‘You’ve only been here five minutes. You’ve barely glanced at the rest of the stuff.’
‘Tim,’ Sarah said, reaching out her hand but stopping short of touching him. ‘You called Dr Frederick in yourself. He’s your expert. We have to trust what he says.’
‘We need to get more people in, more experts,’ Tim said. He didn’t look in Sarah’s direction, and after the briefest pause she dropped her hand to her side.
‘Better experts,’ Bob added.
Dr Frederick bristled. ‘I can assure you it won’t matter how many experts you involve, this is not a site of archaeological interest. The items are not placed correctly, there are in the wrong layer of subsoil, they are from eras of Roman rule so disparate it would be impossible for them to have been situated here in any habitual manner.’
‘I don’t understand what he’s saying,’ Frank whispered to Evie. ‘I can hear all the words but they don’t make any sense. Are they Roman or not?’
But Evie was still listening, trying to process what it all meant. It was only when she heard the words ‘artificial placement’ that the final pieces slotted into place. She sighed, feeling a heaviness settle on her chest. It was wrong – it was all completely wrong. All their hopes had been raised for nothing.
‘It’s faked,’ she said, tipping up her chin and turning to face her granddad square on. ‘I’m sorry, Gramps, but someone has been having us on.’
Frank shook his head. ‘I don’t … What are you saying?’
Sarah narrowed her eyes and regarded Evie warily. Tim became very still.
‘All this.’ Evie pointed at the objects lying at the bottom of Zac’s excavated kitchen floor. She laughed, a choked, hoarse sound. How silly it seemed now – the coin, the pottery, the iron tool. Someone’s idea of what a Roman settlement might look like. Someone incredibly stupid. ‘All this has been staged, for our benefit. Someone’s gone to a lot of trouble to make it look like a genuine archaeological discovery.’
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