‘I’m going to stay on and help,’ he announced, finally.
Dan sniffed. ‘What on earth for?’
‘They still need manpower, for the library. And generally, for the repairs.’
Dan looked with him at the skinned library, loosely held by the rubble at its base, forlorn and out of place, an eyesore.
‘They’d be better off knocking it down and starting again.’ The building seemed to flounder, to shift and creak, even as they were gazing at it. ‘I don’t see the point. In any of it.’ He rubbed thoughtfully at his bandages. ‘But I suppose, if you like. We could get the van fixed and bring it down and find a good place to park. I suppose a couple more weeks won’t make much difference.’
Gadiel spoke with quiet steadiness. ‘I didn’t think we’d both stay. I didn’t think you’d want to. I thought it would just be me.’
Dan pushed himself up, awkwardly. ‘Oh, come on, man. You want to come in the van, don’t you?’
Gadiel smiled. ‘I think I’ll just stay. On my own. And do something useful.’
‘But, man, we were going to travel together. That was the plan. It was going to be cool.’
‘I know. But things have changed, Dan.’
Dan pushed at his spectacles, leaving his hand across his face for a long moment, obscuring his eyes. ‘Yeah, well, things are changing everywhere, aren’t they? That’s the point, man. All over the place. This was just a setback. An anomaly. Whatever we’d done here – well, time’s up on places like Marlford, and pretty soon it’ll all be different. The squat – it could have been something. Given a chance. It’s a setback, that’s all.’
‘I’m not travelling with you. I’ll come and sort out about the van. I’ll help you get it back. But after that—’
‘You’re going to split on me, man, aren’t you?’
Gadiel offered him a sad smile. ‘I don’t think I can look out for you any more,’ he said.
The manor looked much as it had always done, the stonework resolutely intact, undiminished and unconcerned. But there was a car, parked in the smear of shadow beneath a beech tree, and it drew them across the front of the house.
They stood looking at it, stupidly: a small black car, unremarkable.
‘I’m not going in. Not if mad old Barton’s there,’ Dan said.
‘He doesn’t have a car. It won’t be him.’
‘But it’ll be someone visiting him, won’t it?’
‘Hello.’ A voice sounded close behind them. ‘Can I help you?’
They knew it was not Ernest bearing down on them, but they started nonetheless; Dan gasped, clutching defensively at his injured shoulder.
‘Sorry.’ The man fiddled in his pocket for keys. ‘Didn’t mean to frighten you. Spooky old place, though, isn’t it? It gets you like that.’ He smiled amiably and then lowered his voice, as if giving away a great secret. ‘Gives me the willies.’
‘We were looking for Ellie,’ Gadiel explained. ‘We know Ellie.’
The man shook his head. ‘Can’t help you. The family’s gone off somewhere. Someone at the office might know, if I ask – but I haven’t got any information myself, I’m afraid. I think the fire was the last straw for them.’
‘The fire?’ Gadiel pushed his hair hard behind his ears. ‘Has there been a fire? Has anyone been hurt?’
‘No one was hurt. It was just a case of faulty electrics. It started with a light in the billiard room. The girl…’
‘Ellie,’ prompted Gadiel.
‘That’s the one. She was playing a game, apparently.’ He shook his head and raised his eyebrows to signal Ellie’s certain madness. ‘At four o’clock in the morning, mind you. All by herself. Loopy or what?’
He caught sight of Gadiel’s expression. ‘No offence. Just an observation. She got the house evacuated, that sort of thing. It could have been a whole lot worse if they’d all been asleep in bed. A whole lot worse.’
Dan stared at the façade. In the clear afternoon light it looked cleaner than before. ‘It doesn’t look like there was a fire.’
The man came alongside and looked with him at the lurching cadence of stone and glass. ‘It’s gutted inside, more or less. This wing.’
‘But you know we’ve got our stuff in there, man. We’ve got things, upstairs, in the house. I mean, do you think it would be all right if we went to get them? Would it be safe?’
The man grimaced. ‘I don’t think I can let you go in.’
‘But we had a squat – upstairs. We’ve got belongings there, man. Clothes and the radio and some books,’ Dan continued.
‘A squat? In there?’ The man whistled, shaking his head. ‘What on earth for?’
‘We were making a statement. We were challenging obsolete structures and anachronistic opinions.’
‘Were you?’ The man shrugged, giving them a quizzical, sidelong look. ‘Well, sorry – you can’t go back. It’s dangerous. The staircases are gone; the ceilings are down – there’re whacking great holes in the floor. I’ve done the assessment and, frankly, the place is a wreck.’
‘But what should we do? We had rights there. We were squatters.’
‘If it were me,’ the man said, ‘I’d cut my losses. These things happen. Old places like this – they’re death traps.’
Gadiel scanned the front of the manor once more. ‘But there’s no one in there? He’s not there – Mr Barton?’
‘Nope.’ The man shook his head. ‘Just me. And I’m off now. I’ve got another appointment.’
‘And Ellie – you don’t know where she’s gone?’ Gadiel asked, too quietly, knowing the answer.
The man did not seem to notice the question. ‘Even before the fire, the place must have been crumbling. There’s damp, dry rot, woodworm. All kinds of leaks. That’s without the dodgy electrics. That’s what happens these days. No one can afford to keep these houses up.’ He made a looping descent with his thumbs. ‘And so they come down. Crash, bang.’ He clapped. ‘Wallop.’ He waved a hand across the expanse of estate. ‘Look at it all. It’s a mess. A waste. Good land going to waste. There’s even some weird old codgers camped out down there – God, they’ve been there for years, apparently. We’re getting rid of them.’ He looked at his watch. ‘Look, I’m sorry, like I said, I have to go. If I were you, I’d keep out of the way.’
He turned the key in the car door and stamped his feet gently against the ground to shed loose dirt from his shoes. ‘Don’t go in. You’ll get hurt.’
He raised a quick hand, a brief farewell.
The car pulled away, taking the sweep of the drive slowly. Dan and Gadiel watched until it had disappeared into the stippled shadows of the lime walk.
‘Do we dare it then? Do we go in?’ Dan asked.
Gadiel was ahead of him already, making for the portico. He looked back over his shoulder but said nothing. Dan ran a step or two to make up the ground between them; they went on together.
The front door to the manor was open, or perhaps it was no longer there at all. As soon as they stepped up onto the portico, they were struck by the cold air, the pungent smell of smoke and charred wood, the vacancy where the grandeur of the old hallway had been. It brought them to a halt.
Gadiel went forward carefully. He placed one hand on the doorframe, an anchor, and leaned forwards as far as he could.
‘Well?’ Dan pushed up behind him. ‘What is there?’
Gadiel pulled back, moving quickly away from the manor, stepping down onto the churned gravel.
‘Gadiel? Are we going in? What’s it look like in there?’
‘It’s gone,’ Gadiel replied. ‘Gutted. And it’s like—’
‘Like what?’
Gadiel smiled uncertainly; he shook his head. ‘It’s weird, that’s all.’
‘What is, man? What’s weird?’
‘Well, it’s like you can still hear the fire. It’s like you can hear it rushing through the house and the roar of it and the crackle of the flames. I thought I heard the crack of glass – with the
heat.’
‘But that’s impossible, man. It isn’t on fire. It must have been put out days ago.’
‘Yes, I know. And it’s freezing in there. You feel the cold coming out. But even so…’
Dan laughed. He pushed his spectacles up with a jab of his finger, glanced at Gadiel and stepped up to the threshold, poking his head through the doorway.
Gadiel stayed where he was, scuffing the gravel with his boot. He saw Dan flinch and draw back, a moment later making a hurried retreat.
‘Well?’
‘Let’s just get the van. We’ll leave the squat. It must have gone.’
‘Did you hear it, though? Did you hear the fire?’
Dan refused to answer. He put his hand on the wound in his shoulder, still sore.
‘This place plays tricks,’ was all he said.
Dan stared at the space in front of the abandoned stables.
‘My van. It can’t have gone. It didn’t work, man. It was kaput – broken down. It can’t have gone.’
But the yard was empty, and there was no one to ask.
They went down the track to Home Farm, but the house there, too, was deserted, the pigs rushing at them noisily across the yard. Gadiel climbed a tree, sliding into a nook from where he could see into the windows and hallooing, cupping his hands, shouting out as loudly as he could, but there were just the animal noises coming back at him, restive.
Dan leaned his forehead against the top bar of a gate. ‘I can’t believe it. Insidious, that’s what it is. This whole thing, man – insidious. We should never have come.’
‘Well, we didn’t come on purpose, did we? It was just luck.’ Gadiel slid easily onto the ground and put a hand on Dan’s back. ‘Don’t worry, we’ll look for it. We’ll look all over.’
But it felt hopeless even as they began. For an hour or so they trailed around, peering into fields and following faint tracks. Even though it was obvious that no one could push a van through the dense woodland that circled the mere, they tramped through the undergrowth anyway.
Finally, Dan stood at the water’s edge, watching the thin waves slap against a tree root. ‘What if it’s down in there?’ He leaned over as far as he could, as though to catch a glimpse of submerged bodywork shimmering below the surface, but he saw only his writhing reflection.
‘I think we have to accept it’s gone, Dan.’
‘But it can’t have. It can’t have just vanished, man. I don’t believe it.’
In the end, the men told them what had happened. They were seated on folding chairs in a line on the scrappy roadway in front of the hutments, waiting; as the squatters approached, they rose, steadying themselves.
Hindy stepped forwards. ‘We had wondered if you might return at some point,’ he said.
Dan frowned at a coil of barbed wire that curled into the mud, trying to make sense of its viciousness. ‘My van’s gone.’
‘And we heard about the fire,’ Gadiel added, more kindly. ‘We’re very sorry.’
‘There was no tragedy.’ Luden was brisk. ‘Not in the end. There was no need to come.’
The men exchanged glances, condemning such extravagant behaviour.
‘No – we didn’t come for that. We came to collect our things,’ Dan explained.
‘Look,’ said Gadiel. ‘We don’t want to bother you. But do you know where they’ve gone, Mr Barton and Ellie? Did they tell you?’
‘And about my van?’ Dan prompted. ‘We’re looking for my van. It was in the yard, man, but it’s disappeared.’
Hindy seemed troubled. He cleared his throat. ‘Mr Quersley took the vehicle, I understand.’
‘What? The librarian? How?’ Dan stared.
The men all nodded solemnly, confirming Hindy’s story.
‘We were unable to prevent him.’ Ata was apologetic. ‘We didn’t even know about it until it was too late, I’m afraid.’
‘And he was hell bent,’ added Luden.
‘But how…? It was broken. He couldn’t have taken it. Not without equipment.’ Dan looked from one to the other of them. ‘I don’t understand.’
‘He spent some time on repairs, I believe,’ said Hindy.
‘But he had no right to do that. It’s my van.’
‘Yes, indeed.’
Ata looked at Hindy, and then took up the explanation more fully. ‘It seems he acquired a manual of some sort and worked hard to make the vehicle ready. He simply drove off. He never mentioned a word to Mr Barton, nor even to us, after everything. It was the evening of the fire, around midnight – or possibly later. We couldn’t be sure of the exact time. We were having rather a lengthy hand of cards and we heard the engine whilst we were playing.’
‘The thing was spluttering,’ Luden pointed out. ‘It’s not the finest example of motor engineering.’
‘We were going to investigate. But at that hour…’ Ata allowed the idea to drift away.
‘Do you think he’s coming back?’ Gadiel asked. ‘There’re animals still at the farm and it doesn’t look… He won’t have gone for good, will he?’
Ata looked at Hindy, who replied with great care.
‘My own opinion is that he will be gone for some time.’
Dan was sharp. ‘But this is theft, man. In anybody’s book. It’s a crime. I’m going to inform the police. I need to get on; we both need to get on. We need to find the van. We can’t just let him drive off in my van.’ He stormed off towards a clotted mound of broken stone and rusting wire and kicked at the debris.
Luden sat down heavily, as though things were concluded. ‘Well.’ It was a dismissal of sorts.
‘Yes, we’ll be going. I’m sorry,’ Gadiel said. ‘But just… can you tell me where I might find Ellie? I’m – we’re rather concerned about her. She didn’t go with him, did she? With Mr Quersley and the van?’
The men fixed flat expressions on him.
‘I’m afraid we can’t tell you,’ Hindy replied.
‘Oh, come on – you must know something.’
‘We know rather less than you might think. We were not party to Mr Barton’s plans. Nor Miss Barton’s. Not in any way.’
‘Is Mr Barton coming back? Do you know that, at least?’
‘Mr Barton was lost here at Marlford.’ Luden leaned back in his chair. He spoke gravely, as though delivering a legal judgement. ‘His attempts to be a fitting incumbent were – as you saw for yourselves – ridiculous. Why would he come back?’
Dan circled around, coming towards them again to hear the end of the discussion. ‘But you’re still here,’ he pointed out. ‘Why would you stay on here if no one’s coming back?’
‘We keep an eye on things,’ Hindy said.
‘We fill a gap,’ Ata added. ‘A void, if you like.’
‘A gap in what?’ Dan glanced involuntarily back towards the manor, as though it might be some kind of architectural service the men performed.
Hindy, too, looked away towards the house. ‘In people’s minds, I suppose.’
Dan snorted. ‘But if they evict you, then you’ll have to go. The man we met at the house was damn certain they would evict you. You see? You should have supported us, man. You should have joined the squat. Then you couldn’t have been evicted.’
‘We’ll ignore any attempt to evict us,’ Hindy responded, evenly. ‘I imagine we’re quite secure here. We’ll continue as we’ve always done.’
Dan shook his head at them. ‘I’d like to see you – just the three of you – trying to hold out against bailiffs and enforcers, and what-have-you. I’ve seen this kind of thing before. It takes skill, you know – political nous. To play the game the right way. But if we’d only got going here, if people had come and joined us—’
‘That was never a possibility,’ Luden said.
‘Yeah, but don’t you see? You stand no chance. You’re defeated, man.’
The men looked at him, puzzled, as though he were asking them to solve a complicated sum.
‘You can’t stay here. You’ll be chucked
out – sent to an old folks’ home or something.’ Dan wondered if they had grown deaf in his absence: they showed no signs of understanding. ‘I mean, what have you been trying to do, man? What have you been holding out for?’
He gave them time to answer, but they just looked at him, uncomprehending. They were shaking, it was true, each of them trembling, but it may have been the cool breeze from the mere chilling them through, or their age catching up with them.
‘Marlford’s finished. It’s done for,’ he said, slowly. ‘It’s succumbing to the inevitable forces of change.’
Ata smiled, at Dan first and then in turn, carefully, at each of them. Hindy and Luden took up the smile and stretched it between them.
Gadiel sighed. ‘Look, we’re sorry, about everything, but you really don’t know about the Bartons? You can’t tell us where they are?’
‘We know nothing.’ Hindy’s smile was still fixed.
‘Nothing? Not the slightest clue?’
‘Nothing.’
Gadiel frowned at them, baffled, knowing that they would not help him. He had the odd impression that he was talking to mannequins, outdated, dumped in a tangled strip of wasteland, lined up on chairs as a joke: they seemed suddenly to have shed their flesh, taking on the sickly, disturbing sheen of old plastic. He turned his back on them.
As he and Dan returned to the village, Gadiel took one last look – he could not resist – but what he saw was uncertain, the cluster of dilapidated hutments meaningless, the rotting debris a confusion, the men still unmoving; none of it really worth his attention.
Twenty-Eight
One of the diggers dropped its load, adding to the clamour around the library, trussed now in wires and chains, boarded up and braced, veiled with plastic sheeting, unrecognizable. Victoria Street had been churned into a filthy track of black mud, most of the buildings wore complicated strata of grime; the Hepworth Barton Bank had acquired solid bespoke shutters. New walkways promised novel ways of negotiating the streets, suggesting different vistas, disrupting old routines. Most of the shops had found ways of serving customers from side doors or back windows, from borrowed premises and disused garages. At the newsagents, a stone’s throw from the nymph, they were selling postcards of modern Marlford, views of buildings slumped by subsidence, of the gaping pit in the middle of the village, of Braithwaite Barton gazing serenely over his dismembered legacy. The disintegration had brought an element of fame.
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