Dr Frederick was listening to her, eagerly nodding his shiny head. ‘Yes. I think you’re right. I think that’s exactly it. Someone has tried to make this look authentic. But I’m afraid it certainly isn’t.’
Evie was staring at Bob, who was doing a very good job of appearing both horrified and thunderstruck. His face had pinked up in brash conflict with his ginger hair, and he was bobbing up and down on his heels demanding to know what the hell was going on.
‘I got the bloody TV people to come down for this,’ he shouted at nobody in particular. ‘What am I going to tell them now?’
‘That your plan didn’t work?’ Frank said. He took a step forward, but realised just in time that a three-foot-deep chasm stood between him and the smaller man. ‘You’ve done it this time, Peacock. You’ll not get away with this.’
‘Gramps, we don’t know for sure he did it,’ Evie said.
‘Of course he didn’t do it,’ Freda Peacock said, elbowing her way to Evie’s side. She pointed her finger at Frank. ‘And you’d better watch yourself, flinging accusations around. For all we know, you did it.’
‘Did what?’
Evie turned to see her gran standing behind her. She let out an involuntary sigh, which sounded more like a sob. ‘Gran, aren’t you needed on guard duty?’
‘They’ve been distracted by a new arrival.’ Mavis dodged to the side to see past Evie, who was blocking her way into the kitchen. ‘What’s going on in here?’
Bob Peacock was arguing with Frank now, and Tim was trying to get Dr Frederick’s attention, but he was being quizzed by Sarah and Cissy while Pip stood off to one side, scratching his head and gazing into the damp-smelling pit. Evie steered her gran back through the bare living room and out of the front door.
‘I’ll tell you in a minute,’ she said, still trying to organise her thoughts. ‘Right now I think we should try and get rid of all these people.’
The last thing Evie wanted was for the news of a faked Roman dig to be played out in front of the local papers and TV crew. So much for coming back to Cupid’s Way to stage a rescue mission. Now their best hope of gaining press coverage was going to be for all the wrong reasons, and the hoped-for leverage for getting the street listed had gone up in smoke. Evie turned back to look at Zac’s house, her mind in turmoil. At least the day couldn’t get any worse.
‘It’s that man who’s got them all worked up,’ Mavis said, jerking her head towards the crowd of people who had temporarily lost interest in the archaeology and were gathered together further up the path. Evie could see a tall man with a camera and a woman holding a fluffy microphone on a pole high in the air above someone’s head.
‘Who?’ she said.
‘Your friend, Mr Andrews. Come to try and sabotage our plans, no doubt. Pour cold water over everything. But we’ll show him, eh? Evie? Are you okay?’
‘Fine. I’m fine. Gran, we need to go back inside. There’s something you need to hear.’
Once they were back in the house, Evie locked the door and headed through to the kitchen, where the residents were still arguing and poor Dr Frederick was back in the pit being harangued by Tim and Cissy. She grabbed Frank by the elbow and pulled him over to where Mavis stood in the doorway, looking confused but also amused, as though any minute now all this would be explained and order restored. Evie whispered in her granddad’s ear, ‘Break it to her gently, please,’ then slipped back outside.
She was looking over her shoulder to make sure Frank hadn’t got distracted by Bob Peacock again, so she didn’t notice the man standing right outside Zac’s door. In fact, she was so intent on the scene behind her, and on negotiating the steps out of the house, she didn’t notice the man until she practically walked into his arms.
‘Evie,’ he said, his voice as warm and welcoming as a soft and cosy blanket. ‘It’s so good to see you. How are you?’
Evie froze. Michael Andrews had one hand on each of her arms, and was looking into her eyes with so much pleasure, she had trouble remembering how she was supposed to react. Her body was telling her to move forward, to smile and let the warmth fill her from head to toe – how wonderful to see him again, how amazing that he should evoke this reaction in her – but her mind was telling her something else entirely. He’s the enemy, Evie, said the rational voice in her head. You can’t trust him. And you can’t trust yourself, either.
She tore her eyes away from his and tried to calm her breathing. Think, Evie, think. He wasn’t here on her account – it was like Sarah had said: he’d come to see for himself whether his plans for Cupid’s Way were going to be affected by the Roman finds. The so-called Roman finds, Evie thought bitterly.
Was Bob Peacock behind it? It seemed the most likely scenario. Bob was certainly daft enough to try something like this, and he was definitely naive enough to think he wouldn’t get found out.
Evie became aware of Michael’s intense gaze as he waited for her to respond. Behind him, the crowd milled about, watching them slyly. The camera was still trained on Michael, although Evie doubted it was filming anything. The woman with the mike was talking to a man in a tweed jacket and a red neckerchief. Stig. Evie smiled. Seeing him jolted her out of Michael’s hypnotic pull. She took a step back, feeling the chipped wood of Zac’s door behind her, and said,
‘I’m fine, thanks. Totally fine. How are you?’
Her voice sounded normal, at least. Michael started to ask questions about the Roman artefacts, and the waiting crowd gathered closer expectantly. Evie demurred, trying to figure out how to get rid of them.
‘I’m afraid,’ she said, looking up at the flawless blue sky – looking anywhere other than at Michael’s questioning face – ‘I’m afraid the archaeologist has been unable to reach a conclusion today.’
A disappointed cry rippled across the waiting crowd, but only Michael spoke. His expression was wary, but his voice remained light.
‘I’m sure he’ll have something to say about the findings. I know I’m eager to hear all about them’
The accusation was out there now, and Evie heard it loud and clear. You didn’t tell me about the artefacts, I had to hear about it from someone else. Not playing fair, Evie. Not fair at all.
And worse was that tiny glimmer of hurt in his eyes. Evie steeled herself and met his gaze head on.
‘Well, it looks like we’ll all just have to–’
‘He’s coming out,’ someone shouted. ‘That’s him, I recognise him. It’s the archaeologist.’
Evie swung round, grazing her hand on the rough brick wall as she did so. Dr Frederick was hauling his frame down the steps to the path where she and Michael stood. The rest of the residents piled out behind him, Frank and Mavis last of all, looking pale and shell-shocked. Sarah’s expression said she’d quite like to thump someone, and Tim’s hair was a halo of static fluff. Zac was the only person smiling, but his smile was quite clearly plastered on and just as fake as the Roman site they’d been about to reveal. He stepped down and positioned himself next to Evie, who raised her eyebrow questioningly at Sarah. Sarah slowly shook her head, her teeth clenched together.
‘Dr Frederick?’ Michael stepped forward and held out his hand. ‘I’m Michael Andrews from Dynamite Construction. We’re interested in developing this site, so if you could possibly share your findings today it would be very helpful.’
A hiss went up as Michael spoke, but it was pretty half-hearted.
Dr Frederick shook Michael’s hand, then stood back and puffed out his ruddy cheeks. He said, ‘I have nothing to share, Sir. Nothing at all. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have real work to do elsewhere.’
He turned to go, but Michael held him back with the lightest touch. ‘What do you mean? Surely you can give us some indication of the age of the artefacts? Are there going to be further excavations?’
‘Ha! Excavations, indeed.’ Dr Frederick’s cheeks wobbled as he shook his head. ‘This is a farce, my good man, and I’ve wasted enough time here already. Now, if you’ll excuse me?’
He glared down at Michael’s hand, then turned his back on them all and huffed away along the path towards the gate.
‘Would someone like to tell me what’s going on?’ Michael said. His words were spoken lightly, but Evie was close enough to see the flash of annoyance in his eyes.
‘It’s all been a bit of a storm in a teacup,’ Zac said. Evie was shocked to feel his arm snake around her shoulder. She looked up at him, but his gaze rested on Michael. ‘There’s no reason for you to be here. The archaeologist confirmed that the pottery pieces I found were indeed Roman but he doesn’t think there are any more to be unearthed at this site. Sorry, folks. I guess we’ve all got our hopes up for nothing.’
‘Someone got our hopes up for us, you mean,’ muttered Tim. Sarah looked at him, then took up the point.
‘Tim’s right. This was no accident. Someone planted those artefacts on purpose, although why they would go to all that trouble is beyond me.’
‘I think it’s pretty clear what he intended,’ Frank said. Evie, momentarily distracted from the unwelcome weight of Zac’s arm around her shoulders, saw Bob Peacock bristle.
‘Don’t look at me, old man. I didn’t do it. How the hell would I have got in, for one thing?’
‘He’s got a point,’ said Sarah. She narrowed her eyes and looked at Zac. The watching crowd followed suit.
‘Okay, okay.’ Zac finally released Evie and held up his arms in surrender. ‘It was me. I admit it. I found the pottery a few years ago, okay? And, well, you know how it is. It just seemed like a good idea at the time. I didn’t really expect it to go so far so quickly.’ He turned to Tim with an exasperated expression. ‘I certainly didn’t expect some bozo to call in the experts within the week.’
‘Don’t call him a bozo,’ Sarah shouted, but her voice was drowned out by the outraged cries of the other residents. While Zac backed away, trying – and failing – to shut his front door on the advancing crowd, Evie’s eyes were trained on Michael. For the last few minutes he’d been watching Evie and Zac, his eyes flicking from one to the other like someone watching a tense game of tennis. Now he nodded, just one slow nod, with his lips pressed together and a half-smile twisting one side of his face. He stepped back, knocking into the advancing cameraman, then righting himself and turning away from Evie with one final devastating smile.
‘Wait,’ she called. She tried to press her way forward, but it was no good. She was being shoved back against the wall now, and Michael was almost at the south gate. When she heard the gate creak open, and then clang shut with angry reverberation, she closed her eyes and let out the smallest of sighs.
Chapter 18
‘Breakfast’s ready.’
Evie opened her eyes and groaned. The clock on the wall told her it was almost nine, but her headache said it was still the middle of the night. She braced herself, then pushed her body into an upright position, trying to keep her head as still as possible. The room shifted to the left, then righted itself, but not before Evie’s stomach had turned a full somersault. She clamped a hand over her mouth to hold back the nausea, then closed her eyes, waiting for it to pass.
Why, oh why, had she agreed to try her granddad’s homemade cider? It was legendary; she should have known better. It was also disgusting, which made her overindulgence even more shameful. She’d wanted to escape, pure and simple. The worst reason of all for getting drunk. Or possibly the best, depending on your point of view.
‘Evie? Breakfast’s on the table.’
Her gran’s cheerful voice infiltrated her fuzzy thoughts. Mavis and Frank hadn’t been too sympathetic the night before – their disappointment and annoyance with Zac had outweighed Evie’s angst over what conclusions Michael Andrews may or may not have drawn about Evie’s involvement in the hoax. So Evie had nodded her head to the first, second and third glasses of noxious cider, and now she was suffering the consequences.
By the time she picked her way downstairs, Frank and Mavis had finished their breakfast and Mavis was washing up a mountain of pans and dishes.
‘Fried eggs and bacon, the full works,’ Mavis told Evie, wiping her hands on her lurid pink apron and pushing a grease-swimming plate across the worktop.
‘You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you?’ Evie said. She took the plate to the bin and pulled an apologetic face. ‘I’m sorry, Gran, but I can’t eat this. Not this morning.’
Or any morning, she thought, trying not to look at the globules of fat congealing on top of the bacon.
‘I’ll polish it off,’ Frank said, whipping the plate out of Evie’s hands. ‘Doesn’t do to waste good food.’
‘Coffee?’ said Mavis. ‘It’s only instant. Now you’re going to be living here we’ll have to get one of those flash espresso machines.’
Evie smiled. ‘You’re still sure you don’t mind? It’ll only be for a few weeks, until I get sorted with a job and place of my own.’
The night before, Evie had brought her grandparents up to date with her news. She’d also filled them in on the offer from her mum to go out to Canada, but this wasn’t news to Mavis.
‘I didn’t tell you,’ she confessed, ‘because I didn’t want you to go. It’s like we’re just getting to know you properly again, after all these years you’ve been stuck up in Manchester. Was it very selfish of me?’
Evie reassured her it was far from selfish, and that going to Canada to help with her mum’s pet supplies business was about as far from her idea of a positive career move as it was possible to be.
‘You’ll be snapped up by a local firm here in Bristol in no time,’ Frank had said, patting Evie’s back and topping up her pint glass. ‘Good architects are always in demand.’
This was the ideal point to come clean, but somehow Evie hadn’t been able to find the words. What with Zac’s betrayal and the dashing of their Roman-ruin hopes, Evie hadn’t had the heart to add to their mounting pile of shock confessions. She thought about Zac now, and wondered out loud how he would be feeling this morning.
‘I expect he’ll be moving out soon enough,’ she said. She stuck a slice of bread in the toaster. It was all she could face.
‘No way.’ Mavis grinned mischievously. ‘We’re not letting him off the hook that easily.’
Frank smiled and held up his hand for a high-five. Evie watched them, amused.
‘What do you mean?’ She reached into the cupboard for the box of paracetamol.
‘You’ll see,’ said her gran. ‘Now, are you going to eat that toast or throw that in the bin too?’
*
After breakfast – which she forced down only to have something to line her stomach for the raft of painkillers she knew she would be popping all day – Evie dressed in her favourite old jeans and a loose-fitting T-shirt with long sleeves. When she stepped out into the communal gardens, Evie was met with the glorious sight of a bright blue sky above pink cherry blossom. The scent of early spring flowers rose up as she walked over the grass towards Sarah’s house and birdsong filled her ears. Despite the events of the day before, Evie felt her spirits lift. She had that feeling – irrational and unfathomable, but unmistakable nonetheless – that everything was going to turn out okay.
Now she just had to turn that feeling into action.
Sarah came to the door on Evie’s second knock, pulling on her coat and grabbing her keys off a small round table by the window. ‘Let’s get out of here,’ she said, and Evie nodded, trying to hide her disappointment. She’d been hoping for another coffee and a girly chat; now it looked like a bracing walk was on the cards instead.
They navigated the cobbled path around the two oak trees and past the Peacocks’ eclectic mix of gardenalia. Evie shook her head, taking in the random bits of machinery, the rusted bicycles and Freda’s odd assortment of flower containers: unmatched wellington boots, an old butler’s sink, three concrete urns that looked like they’d been pilfered from a National Trust site.
‘They’ve certainly got their own look going on here, haven’t they?’ she
said, laughing. But Sarah’s face had darkened, and her eyes were directed up towards Stig’s house.
Evie followed Sarah’s gaze. Zac was perched on a tall ladder painting one of Stig’s upstairs window frames. He was leaning out recklessly, with a paint kettle resting in the crook of his elbow and an extra paintbrush clamped between his teeth.
‘He’s got a nerve,’ Sarah hissed, glaring up at him.
Evie smiled, understanding what her gran had been talking about earlier. ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ she said. ‘I think this is his penance.’
‘Penance?’
‘Doing jobs for the residents.’ She laughed again, and pointed at the house’s forlorn exterior. ‘He’s got his work cut out for him here. And then there are all those missing roof tiles, and the rusty gates, and the drooping gutters.’
Sarah narrowed her eyes at Evie, but said nothing.
‘The allotment could do with some heavy digging, I know that for a fact.’ Evie’s eyes were twinkling. ‘Pip’s not really up to it, and neither is Frank. And I know that Bob Peacock has been meaning to get his drains cleared for a while now.’
Sarah’s mouth showed the faintest ghost of a smile. ‘My front door sticks in the rain,’ she said. ‘And I’d really like a little patio in the back yard. You know, just for a bit more privacy.’
Evie nodded, grinning. ‘I bet quite a few of you would love a new kitchen, say, or a bathroom upgrade. Seems like a local builder with a debt to pay might be just the man to keep around.’
They were laughing now, and Zac had noticed them and stopped painting. He took the spare paintbrush out of his mouth and shouted hello. He sounded tentative.
‘Hi, Zac.’ Evie gave him a disappointed little shake of her head, but felt too full of laughter to keep it up for long. ‘Hey,’ she said, ‘you missed a bit.’
Zac swung round and tilted back for a better look, nearly falling off the ladder and causing Evie and Sarah to gasp in alarm. He gave them a mock salute and turned back to the job in hand.
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