The men did not respond. Ernest continued to rock, gazing out of the long windows, rolling shreds of meatpaste absently in his fingers.
His change of mood surprised them all: he stood suddenly, pushing back his chair with desperate energy, rattling the table. ‘They’ll wish they never saw Marlford. Taking my supper, damn them – sitting at my table – and then… and then… the scoundrels – with Ellie. Come on, let’s be at them. Let’s get the guns and be at them.’
The men took a step back.
Hindy was stolidly matter of fact. ‘Mr Barton, we appreciate your invitation, but I’m afraid we’re not able to join you on this occasion. We’ve talked about it, of course, and we’ve decided that enforcement is best left to you, as master here.’
‘We feel the defence of Marlford is best in your hands,’ Ata added.
Ernest did not understand. He frowned, tugging his robe across his chest. ‘But you always chip in. Always. And look at it this way—’
Luden did not let him speak. ‘We’re quite decided.’
‘But don’t you see – Ellie… my daughter…’
Hindy smiled. ‘Mr Barton, we’ve provided you with information. We feel we’ve fulfilled our special role. It’s not really our job to rid Marlford of the squatters. That’s for you to do.’
‘Just shoot them and have done,’ Luden urged.
Ernest stared at them.
‘But I don’t see why you won’t join me. For goodness’ sake, what’s happened to you? You used to be… yes, you used to be proper men.’
‘You’re very kind.’ Ata smiled.
‘We used to do all this kind of thing together. A crack squad. A task force. Don’t you remember?’
All three faces regarded him blankly.
‘We’re comrades. We’re comrades in arms. That’s how it all began.’ Ernest closed his eyes for a moment, remembering. ‘Hindy – I’ve seen you fell a deer at a hundred yards, man.’
Hindy gave no indication that he recalled the achievement.
‘And I’ve got the shotguns from the farm. There’s enough for all of us – you can pick your weapons yourself. There’s the rifle – damn it, there’s a bloody cricket bat if you want to cudgel the blighters to death.’
They did not reply. Luden simply shook his head very slowly, as if the movement pained him.
‘Well, I tell you – I will not be held to ransom.’ Ernest slammed his fist on the table. Paste and broken cracker spat into the air. The men did not move. ‘I will not let them get away with this. If you won’t join me; if you won’t… damn it, I don’t know what game you’re playing this time, but we can’t afford to mess around.’ Ernest howled, ‘Do what you bloody well like. I’m rescuing Ellie.’ And he strode from the room, his robe floating, flashing scarlet.
In the hallway he paused, expecting them to come after him, to call, at least, to bring him back. But there was hardly a sound from the dining room, merely the slightest rustle of clothing.
Ernest grunted, then he tried to whistle, a jig of some kind, but the notes were desolate and shrill and he let them fade. For a long while afterwards, he felt the grip of the abandoned tune squeezing at his heart, making his blood run slow.
‘Quersley!’ He drew himself up and strode on towards his study. ‘Quersley! Load the damn shotguns. Might as well shoot the whole blasted lot of them.’ His words were newly savage, echoing.
Eighteen
Gadiel jerked open the door and swung up into the van. Ellie yelped, yanking the sleeping bag up around her shoulders and pulling it tight under her chin, exposing Dan the more: uncovering his torso and leaving his legs bare, a scrap of brown nylon across his thighs and groin.
Dan stretched out, flexing his feet.
‘Are you still part of the squat, or what?’ Gadiel spoke only to Dan. ‘Dan?’
Ellie saw the way Gadiel looked around, taking in the disorder already cramping them into the van: flung clothes pressing in around them, a narrow pathway from the door to the makeshift bed.
She noticed that he avoided the slightest of glances in her direction.
Dan picked up his spectacles from the floor and settled them slowly on his nose; he followed Gadiel’s gaze, too. ‘Yeah, man, but you see – we’re rather marooned.’
‘Marooned.’ Gadiel repeated the word flatly.
‘She is all states, all princes, I – nothing else is.’ Dan tugged at the sleeping bag.
‘What?’
‘It’s poetry, man. Ellie taught me. It’s about love.’
‘John Donne,’ Ellie explained.
Gadiel ignored her. ‘I didn’t know you were in love,’ he said to Dan.
Dan reached across to sling an arm around Ellie. ‘We’re in bed.’ He offered it as absolute proof. ‘Together.’
Gadiel was forced, finally, to look at them both, to look at Ellie. She blushed, tightening her grip on the sticky nylon.
‘Well, I thought you wanted to run a squat, to experiment with a new society, or whatever it is your manifesto is. But if you’re holed up here with your’ – Gadiel glared – ‘poetry, well, that’s different.’ He threw his head back, despairing. ‘Oh, come on. What were you thinking?’
Ellie could not tell if the question was for her. ‘It’s only temporary,’ she replied. ‘We’re not staying in the van for—’
Gadiel kicked at a shoe. It skidded into the air and hit the side of the van with a clank, silencing her.
Ellie wished he would go away. She knew that much, the hope faintly nagging, as though it might later be important, but it was the feeblest of desires: everything inside her had been doused, the spark of her thoughts entirely quenched, leaving only the incontrovertible weight of her flesh, which seemed overwhelming.
She let the sleeping bag drop towards her shoulders and lay pushed up against Dan, leaning across and kissing him gently on his upper arm, sinking back, tasting him on her breath, the van seeming the complete world, Marlford fading.
Dan inclined his head towards Ellie and winked at Gadiel. ‘The sexual revolution,’ he said, quietly.
Gadiel reddened, his features tight. He opened his mouth to speak but no words emerged, only a faint, low moan. He threw a final, vicious glance at Dan and stormed out of the van.
Dan sat up so quickly that Ellie fell away from him. He seemed to be listening hard, trying to hear Gadiel in the yard, perhaps waiting for his friend to shout to him.
Ellie opened her eyes sleepily.
‘He’s fed up with me, man.’ Dan found his T-shirt by the side of the mattress and slipped it hurriedly over his head. ‘I was only… he needn’t rush off like that.’ He leaned across and tugged the cover from Ellie with a flourish, the peremptory movement of someone snatching away a tablecloth to leave the tea set undisturbed.
Ellie squealed, clasping her arms over her breasts and slamming her knees up to her stomach.
‘Come on, get your clothes on.’ Dan stood to pull on his trousers. ‘You’d better get dressed in case someone comes. I can’t leave you here like this.’
‘But where are you going?’ Ellie fumbled for her clothes in the mess of sleeping bag and grubby linen. She felt hurried and clumsy, too much aware of her nakedness; she bent away, surprised by the stinging heat in her cheeks, as though someone was slapping her face. She tried to get her dress over her head. When she finally pushed her arms through and pulled it down, all she saw of Dan was a raised hand as he hurried outside. The door slid closed behind him with a hollow smack.
*
Gadiel had not left the yard. He was under the arch, his attention still fixed on the van. He did not seem surprised to see Dan coming towards him, his clothes awry and his feet bare.
‘It’s not fair, Dan. It’s not fair what you’re doing.’
Dan stood on a pebble and yelped, hopping theatrically for a pace or two and then picking his way more gingerly across the cobbles, his eyes fixed to the ground in an effort to avoid more obstacles.
‘I told you yesterday,’ G
adiel went on, ‘but you didn’t listen. And I never thought you’d go this far.’
The large, flat flagstones beneath the arch were softened with moss, which grew damp and thick near the walls. Dan found a comfortable place to stand and settled his feet, breathing out contentedly as though relaxing after the most strenuous of tasks. Then he looked up and grinned. ‘I went all the way,’ he said.
Gadiel shook his head. ‘You’re so pleased with yourself, aren’t you?’
‘I am pleased, man. It was cool. It was a great night.’
‘And is that all that matters? Is that it, Dan?’
Dan wriggled his toes in the nest of moss. ‘Look, man, be cool. I get it – you want me back on duty at the squat. It’s cool.’
Gadiel examined his friend’s face, his gaze steady, but Dan’s breeziness was unshakeable. He sighed. ‘I just think we should decide if we’re going on with the squat, or if we’re just… messing about.’
Dan nodded cheerfully. ‘Yeah, I’ll come back with you. You’re right, man – you’re right to keep your eye on the bigger picture. We’ve got to be steadfast warriors in the battle for change.’ He glanced down at his feet. ‘What about my shoes?’
‘You can go back for them,’ Gadiel answered. ‘And check that Ellie’s OK.’
Dan wrinkled his nose in the direction of the van. ‘I don’t know, man…’ His face brightened again. ‘Why don’t you carry me, Gadiel? You can give me a piggyback back to the squat, can’t you?’ He leaned forwards so that he could see the manor, judging the distance across the weedy gravel. ‘It’ll be a cinch, man.’ He leapt onto Gadiel’s back, clamping his legs around his friend’s waist. Gadiel puffed at the sudden weight and stumbled. ‘Oh, come on, Dan. Get down. This is ridiculous.’
He flipped his shoulders sharply in an attempt to dislodge Dan’s hold, but it had no effect. Dan just giggled, jabbing his heels into Gadiel’s thighs in an attempt to spur him forwards, flapping his elbows like a jockey. Gadiel resisted, planting his legs apart to balance himself and then, gradually and purposefully, backing up towards the curved wall of the arch.
Dan complained: ‘Stop it. What are you doing, man? You’re trapping me.’ He slapped at Gadiel’s face but Gadiel kept pushing back, using the strength in his legs, leaning with all his weight so that even when they were tight against the wall he could continue to press, crushing Dan against the bricks.
Dan’s protests took on an edge of panic. ‘Gadiel… stop it, man. Come on – it hurts.’
Gadiel did not seem to hear.
In a frantic effort to halt the struggle, Dan pulled at his ears, twisting them hard; when this had no effect, he leaned forwards and bit Gadiel’s shoulder.
Gadiel pulled away suddenly, silently, and Dan slipped from his mount. They faced each other, both of them rubbing their wounds, accusatory, and then, without a word, Dan stomped away towards the squat, bringing his bare feet down defiantly on the gravel, exposing the pain of his progress for his friend to witness.
Gadiel waited until Dan was no longer in sight and then returned to the van. He knocked gently.
‘Ellie?’ There was a pause. ‘Ellie? Are you all right? Can I come in?’ He heard something – it might have been a reply – and he opened the door quietly.
Ellie was straightening her dress, paying attention to the creases, a twist in the narrow belt, the unsteady slope of the neckline. She did not look at him.
‘I just thought… Dan’s gone back to the squat,’ he said. He made his way further into the van, his eyes on the floor, and bent down to pick up Dan’s shoes, hooking the broken backs over his fingers. ‘He – he forgot these.’ He held them out to where Ellie was perched on the bed, uneasy, looking at her knees, her hair falling about her face.
‘You should be careful,’ Gadiel went on, his words undemonstrative.
‘I’m quite all right,’ she replied. ‘Thank you.’
‘No, but, I don’t think you understand. Dan’s not… we’ve been friends for ages. But, well, with girls—’
He let the warning ferment.
Ellie raised her head, looping her hair behind her ears and glancing at him finally. ‘I’m not sure it’s any concern of yours. But, anyway, as it happens, it’s as Dan told you – we’re in love.’
‘But love for you and love for him – that might mean different things.’ She was so pale and dishevelled, so forlorn. He stepped towards her. ‘Look, Ellie—’
‘Don’t be silly. Love is love.’
They faced each other, the stagnant air of the van holding them close, Dan’s shoes gaping between them.
‘Really, I’m quite all right. I’m fine.’ But some of Ellie’s certainty was already gone.
‘Please, Ellie, please. Just think about what you’re doing. Just be careful, that’s all. You don’t know what it’s like. You don’t know how you might be hurt.’
Ellie pulled her legs towards her, clutching them uncomfortably around the knees. Her face seemed fleshy, loose; Gadiel wondered if it was just the unaccustomed cascade of her hair distorting her features.
‘You’d be surprised what I know,’ she retorted. ‘The world’s great literature deals with just this kind of thing. I’m quite prepared. I’ve been prepared for ever.’
He sighed. He had done his best. ‘It’s different, when it happens to you,’ he said, quietly. ‘That’s all. You might find it’s different. Not the way you’d thought it would be.’
She smiled at him. ‘Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide late schoolboys and sour ’prentices.’
But he did not recognize the quotation, and he had no reply for it.
‘I’ve got to go,’ he said.
When Ellie finally emerged – stepping down cautiously from the van as though from a very great height – it was several minutes before she began to remember how it had all come about. In the warmth of the day, an unperturbed quiet hung over the estate, the sun high above the stable roofs, the summer light unusually calm and soft. Swallows twisted in greeting as they skimmed her head, and the lean of the old walls offered a welcome of some kind. It was tranquil and settled, indifferent, as though what she had done was in the order of things. But still, it did not seem quite right. She felt oddly dislocated from it all; she could not tread with any certainty. And she was distracted by the clumsiness of her body, which seemed to drag like an unseasonal coat, stifling.
She took a step or two away from the van under the dilatory gaze of the stable clock. The hands jerked round, making an effort, but it did not feel like Marlford.
Ellie gazed up at the washed blue of the sky and found that she was weeping.
Nineteen
When Ernest saw Dan’s colourful figure kaleidoscoped through the small panes of the front window, he hurried across the cavernous hallway, his footsteps pounding against the old stone, the rifle clutched to his chest. He unlocked the central door on the disused side of the manor and kicked it open, pushing into a small room – a butler’s pantry of sorts – stacked with letter openers and shoe horns, walking sticks, croquet mallets and riding crops: relics of lives lived out. Ernest brushed straight through, taking another door, which led from the back of the cupboard directly into the cluster of abandoned rooms, one opening into another, the manor rolling out before him.
Surprise was important in an attack of this kind, surprise and cunning, speed of thought. So Ernest galloped, ignoring the flush of pains. He found the old panelled stairway that climbed to the bedroom corridor and squeaked his way up on the creaking boards; the noise took him aback – a sudden drench of nostalgia. He paused briefly at the top, gasping, leaning into the corner so that he was hidden.
He peeked round so that he could see along the corridor, looking past a bust towards the blocked arch at the far end. There was nothing – the mess, of course, the squalid evidence of the squat – but no sign of life.
He fired the rifle.
The noise was astounding. The bullet sank into the wall somewhere at the far end near the breeze-bloc
k stuffing of the arch-making such a satisfying thud that he fired again almost immediately, the first recoil of the gun still humming in his shoulder. He heard someone shriek. The blood rushed, thundering, into his head; his arms and legs trembled; he could not contain the flood of excitement.
He jigged, fleet-footed, on the spot, the rifle flapping. ‘Squatters? Are you there?’ Dust and plaster fell, drifting lightly. ‘Do you hear me? Squatters?’ He reloaded smoothly and settled the rifle more firmly in his grasp. ‘I know she’s here. I know you’ve got her. Consider this fair warning. Give her safe passage and get out of my house. Get out of Marlford.’ He aimed the gun towards one of the haphazard piles of old furnishings, lining up the sights on the obscene poke of an upended chair leg. ‘Or I’ll shoot you,’ he finished, with a flourish. And he fired off another bullet.
Dan crouched in the doorway to the gold bedroom, staring down the corridor, open-mouthed and pale. Gadiel was kneeling on the bed. They were both very still for a moment, listening.
‘He’s mad,’ hissed Dan. ‘He’s going to kill us.’
Gadiel had returned only a few minutes before the attack; he still had Dan’s shoes clasped in his hand and a look of contempt in his eyes. He did not reply.
‘Oh, come on, Gadiel – you can’t be grouchy, man. We’re in this together. Haven’t you noticed? There’s a mad man shooting at us.’
Ernest shouted again. ‘Do you hear me? I know you’re bloody well there.’
‘Gadiel! We’ve got to do something.’
Dan crawled backwards, moving quickly. He reached up to the bed and pulled at Gadiel’s arm.
Gadiel shook him off. ‘Keep still. Just sit it out. He’s blustering.’ His whisper was angry, unforgiving. He pulled further away.
‘But we should say something. We should try and talk him round. That’s what happens, isn’t it, in this kind of situation?’ Dan pushed at the bridge of his spectacles while he thought of a solution. ‘Effective lines of communication, I bet that’s the thing, man – the priority.’
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