“Just on her arm … Reassuring … like this …” Holly placed her hand on Marianne’s forearm. It was an innocent enough gesture.
“I don’t want that woman in my house,” said Marianne, going back into her bedroom, sitting on the bed and slapping the duvet cover. “Why did she have to spoil such a lovely evening?”
Holly hovered. “It doesn’t have to be spoiled, Mum. Please. Don’t blame Dad. There must be an explanation. It’ll be okay.”
How trusting the young were. She knew it wouldn’t be okay. Whatever he said, the fact remained that Charmaine had sought him out when she needed help. What did that say about their relationship?
Marianne went to the bathroom and got ready for bed. No sexy lingerie tonight, Johnny, my dear.
About forty minutes later, the front door banged shut and Johnny appeared in the bedroom doorway looking sheepish. Marianne was in bed reading, but she put her book down and gave him an expectant stare.
“What could I do?” he said. “She was in a right old state.”
“About what, exactly.”
“Oh, man problems. Stuff …”
“You’re not going to tell me?”
“I’d rather not. She asked me not to.”
“I’m your wife.”
“This is her business.”
“You said you’d stopped seeing her.”
“I have. Out of school. But we work together. I can’t not listen when she tells me things. Please Mari … Don’t be like this. We’ve had a lovely evening. Let’s not spoil it.”
“You just did,” said Marianne, turning away from him and onto her side, flipping the off switch on the bedside lamp and plunging the room into semi-darkness.
39
Archaeobabble
Towards the end of October Marianne was sitting on the sofa writing up her journal with some enthusiasm. A smile flickered now and then as she scribbled and paused, then scribbled some more. She was dressed in a summer skirt and camisole but the evening air was cool, so she had wrapped a warm cardigan around her shoulders.
Johnny was in the office-bedroom and hadn’t been seen for over an hour. He said he was preparing a worksheet for the following day, but he may have been surfing eBay, or buying early Christmas presents, or ordering champagne and flowers as a romantic gesture, or (surely not!) gazing upon some enterprising luscious-lipped student with a loan to pay, a webcam and wearing not many clothes. She wasn’t sure; today she didn’t care.
Beside her was a copy of the archaeological magazine Antiquity, and on the front of this in large white type and superimposed over a photograph of an impressive rock formation with turquoise sea beyond, it said ‘Edward Harvey Uncovers Scilly Mystery’.
She had been reading the article describing Edward’s excavation of the Troy Town Maze on Castella Down at the western edge of the island of St. Agnes. This had been part of his recent digging on the Isles of Scilly, and was the first significant archaeological work on that island since the Isles of Scilly Survey by Vivien Russell in 1980. Edward had discovered the much talked of, but never previously confirmed existence of a maze far predating the 1795 one, supposedly built by a lighthouse keeper searching for something to do to while away the daylight hours.
The fascination with mazes in general, and now the Troy Town maze in particular, meant Edward Harvey’s name was appearing in all the serious newspapers and he had been given an early morning grilling on the Today programme. Indeed it was surprising he hadn’t yet appeared on the national news. Marianne was delighted at his recognition, but it also served to remind her of her own lack of achievement and the notes she was making in her journal were now very much concerned with the book. Since the reunion there was a new urgency to developing a plotline.
Maya and Adam … Friends Reunited … Lucy and Lydia …
To: Edward Harvey
From: Marianne Hayward
Date: 29th October 2002, 20.05 Subject: Amazing!
Hi Edward,
I have been reading about your work on the Troy Town Maze. Interesting!! It is written with such enthusiasm, I find it hard to believe you have ever thought of giving up the job. I was under the impression that the maze had been irretrievably ruined by supposedly well-meaning dowsers in 1988. Most of the guide books I’ve read say that the archaeology was destroyed, and many regular St. Agnes visitors report that the new maze does not give the same ‘feeling’ as the old maze. When we were there, we didn’t know what we were supposed to feel, but I remember sitting on the grass close by and Johnny saying how peaceful he felt. For me there was something other-worldly about it. I mean all of St. Agnes is peaceful, but the maze area was like peace in another dimension.
It’s the symbolism that I find interesting. You write: ‘the spiral is a journey towards the very centre of our being and then back again into the world …’ Was that tongue-in-cheek? Do you believe it, or are you just pandering to the likes of me – witchcraft for the modern masses?
Having made this discovery, what are the plans? Will there be any chance of moving the current maze back to where it once was, or will this further disrupt the archaeology? If there is any possibility of restoration, then it will make a lot of people very happy.
Having said this though, I still sometimes wonder what archaeology is for. I mean does it serve any purpose other than increasing our understanding of our forebears – knowledge for the sake of knowledge?
Best wishes,
Marianne
For a few moments after she sent this email, she was mentally transported back to Scilly; to the boats and the silvery sands; to the the sculpted granite outcrops and the heady scent of agapanthus blooms; to a time when she and Johnny rolled on the grass like adolescents, revelling in their first holiday alone since Holly had been born.
To: Marianne Hayward
From: Edward Harvey
Date: 31st October 2002, 21.16
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Hi Marianne,
Thanks for your feedback on the article. Perhaps the ‘grubbing about’ worked its magic on me!
You ask the purpose of archaeology. Shall not take this as an insult! Most of my non-archaeological friends soon adopt a glazed look when I try to explain my subject area. It is simply to understand how people of the past interacted with their environment and to preserve such history for present and future generations. But then you know that, anyway. Once archaeology is destroyed, it is lost forever.
What we found was not the lighthouse keeper’s labyrinth, or indeed the one that supposedly existed before that. Our discovery was of a much, much earlier one lying below and beside the area damaged by the dowsers. Acted on a hunch and for once it was fruitful! Always very sceptical about the spiritual aspect until St. Agnes. You could say I had a transforming experience on Castella Down … Feeling at peace with the world; knowing this was what I was supposed to be doing. All great stuff! It is not archaeology that I would like to give up, but teaching and all its annual predictability of admissions and interviews and exams and marking … We also had some success in discovering yet more burial cists on Wingletang Down – but these have not been so newsworthy.
Best wishes,
Edward
To: Edward Harvey
From: Marianne Hayward
Date: 2nd November 2002, 22.15
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Hi Edward,
Do you realise it is a year since I found you on FR?!
Is there a difference between a labyrinth and a maze and d’you think the more recent copycat mazes – sorry, labyrinths – exert the same effect? Never having had dealings with an archaeologist before, I am ashamedly ignorant of the discipline – hence silly questions… Here’s another one… Would there be a place for archaeology once all pre-historical sites had been excavated? In other words, could you have new archaeology (neo-archaeology??) being created in historical times?
As for giving up teaching, could you not revert to grubbing about on a more permanent basis?
To: Marianne Hayward
From: Edward Harvey
Date: 8th November 2002, 22.42
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Hi Marianne,
Have been asked far sillier questions!
If the historical record of people and their lives is complete and accurate, then there should be little need for archaeology. However, such is the curiosity of people that one can imagine in a few millennia, digging up some bones buried with some artefacts and wanting to know more about whom the bones belonged to and the life that they led.
You have been watching too many ‘Time Team’ programmes! Sadly the grubbing about doesn’t generally pay enough to support ever growing family!
A labyrinth is a unicursal maze – you just follow the path. No decisions to turn left or right; no dead ends. They say walking a labyrinth is an exploration of consciousness – hence spiritual connection. Mazes are multicursal and require an active mind for problem solving.
As for the copycat ones giving the same feeling, I can’t say. Many of the original ones were built on ley lines, so the power may come from that rather than the labyrinth itself. If your copycat labyrinths have any effect then it can only be because of the meditation of walking the spiral – unless of course they are also placed on ley lines.
Am lecturing on the subject of the TTM in London at the Society of Antiquaries (Piccadilly) on 5th December at 4.30 p.m. You would be very welcome to come if you are free.
Edward
Marianne’s heart quickened ever such a little and hardly daring to hope that a meeting might finally occur, she gingerly leafed through the pages of her college calendar.
To: Edward Harvey
From: Marianne Hayward
Date: 12th November 2002, 18.01
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Hi Edward,
Do you never have qualms about digging up bones? I know they are treated gently, but is that not more in the interests of preservation than compassion?
As far as I can see, there is nothing to stop me coming to your lecture this time!
Marianne
Surely this time there would be no hitches …
To: Marianne Hayward
From: Edward Harvey
Date: 13th November 2002, 22.11
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Hi Marianne,
It is believed by many archaeologists that we do the dead a great favour by discovering them and bringing them to the notice of the world. The Egyptians, for example, practised mummification with the intention of preservation for eternity. What better way to live forever than to be discovered by archaeologists? However, there is also a trend towards repatriation of bones that have been removed from their country of origin, and also, following excavation, towards re-burial. Edward.
To: Edward Harvey
From: Marianne Hayward
Date: 15th November 2002, 20.43
Subject: Re: Amazing!
Edward,
I am not convinced that the original owners of most bones necessarily feel the same way as the Egyptians! Many people propagate for continuity; others write books. Skeletons don’t exactly show one in the best light – not compatible with our looksist world! I suppose the Egyptians believed that mummification would preserve them as they were. The way cosmetic surgery is going, suggests perhaps one day we will all be buried looking about forty-five and full of non biodegradable fillers and implants. Future excavations might then discover zillions of startled Anne Robinsons!
Marianne.
To: Marianne Hayward
From: Edward Harvey
Date: 15h November 2002, 22.45
Subject: Re: Amazing!
God forbid!!
Ted
40
Meeting Lydia
When the snow came and turned south-east London winter white, it was like being in another land. Marianne was conscious of the feel of it squashing beneath her feet, each step silent until the final compacted crunch against the pavement. It wasn’t crisp and icy but as soft as cotton-wool, almost melting, but not quite. How often are there days like this when the snow falls during the daylight hours instead of making its stealthy appearance with the foxes under cover of darkness?
She looked up at the trees and the branches carrying their fragile load – a breath of wind and they would be shaken clean. The air was still and cold, and the virgin whiteness on the path tempted her to be the first to leave a trail.
To: Edward Harvey
From: Marianne Hayward
Date: 2nd December 2002, 15.43
Subject: Meeting Lydia
Hi Edward,
The promised snow has come and there was grid-lock from early morning and through the rush hour. Buses were stranded, lorries jack-knifed and cars abandoned. Forgotten to grit it seemed.
I didn’t have to go to college because we were having a Reading Day and it was oh so beautiful. Do hope these conditions don’t get in the way of our meeting next week. Looking forward to your lecture.
Best wishes,
Marianne
Marianne wondered again if life after meeting Edward would be the same as before. Would the bubbles all burst and leave her lost once again in a midlife wilderness of predictability? Would he make her feel safe like he did all those years ago within the dark grey walls of Brocklebank Hall? Perhaps it would be better not to know and to stay forever with her dreams that somewhere out there was a man without the human frailties of most of the people she knew.
But she had to take the risk. Their tenuous link would not sustain unless there was opportunity for growth, and moving on could only happen if they each knew who they were talking to. You can’t be proper friends with a disembodied voice, she thought, puzzling over the paradox of this, together with the knowledge that dozens of people left their life partners on a whim to see what lay at the end of the rainbow of emails from someone first encountered in cyberspace.
There would be no dubious agenda with Edward. Logic said there would be no need to worry about who she was or what she said. But this was all speculation and she did worry. She was repeatedly worried that she had said the wrong thing in email. The ‘I could tell him everything’ feeling might be appropriate if they met, but she probably couldn’t or shouldn’t tell him everything in cyberspace.
When she returned from her walk, she unearthed her planetary ephemeris from a pile of books on one of the shelves in the office. She kept thinking about Holly’s comments in the restaurant about astrology – specifically about moon compatibility. Once she believed such things without question and in this current state of uncertainty, any information would be useful.
August 20th 1956.
She leafed through the pages and placed a ruler under the numbers that were relevant for that date. Then she glanced down the column with the crescent moon symbol at the top. She saw two wavy lines, one above the other.
Moon in Aquarius!
They had harmonious moons in air signs, signifying understanding at an emotional level. Of course they had. Her eyes scanned the rest of the line of numbers and she thought she spotted other potential contacts with her chart; trining Mercuries for one. But she couldn’t remember her own details exactly and she felt it would be intrusive to probe any further without his permission. Compatible moons were enough, at least for now.
To: Marianne Hayward
From: Edward Harvey
Date: 3rd December 2002, 22.45
Subject: Re: Meeting Lydia
Hi Marianne,
Very busy time of year teaching. No snow here. Think positive!
See you Thursday!
Best wishes,
Ted
She thought positive.
The snow began to melt a little when the sun came out, but it was so very cold and banks of ominous grey clouds were never far away.
When the day arrived, she was a complete bundle of anxiety and neuroses, made worse by the fact that she had half a day at college to complete
. Her eyes shone, she taught with extra passion; her breathing was a shade faster and mounting excitement was evident in the tone of her voice.
All day she had been visualising a parking space at Beckenham Junction station. One of her friends said it always worked for her. Marianne was sceptical; it couldn’t work – especially not at this station at three o’clock in the afternoon. So she left early in case she needed to walk from the town car park.
But there was a space! Thank you. Now she was far too early. Twenty minutes to while away before her train was due. Twenty minutes in the freezing cold. She would wait in the car where the sun shining on the windows made it seem deceptively warm. Oh this was good being able to park so close. There was a chance her shoes would get to the point of hurting if she had to walk very far.
‘Shoes maketh the woman,’ her mother used to say from a three-inch stiletto elevation when Marianne was in her teens. Today she had brought ones with medium heels to change into; a compromise between comfort and crippling pain, and more respectable than the flat ones she wore in college.
Then there was the question of whether she needed to wear a cardigan. Clouds kept scudding across the sun and in seconds the air was full of tiny stinging sleety rain like pins against the skin. There would be bound to be somewhere she could leave her coat at the venue, and she could stuff her cardigan and scarf down the sleeves and emerge a picture of elegance and composure. Ha!
What about a hat and umbrella? Hats squashed hair and umbrellas required shepherding like children. Hats and umbrellas were anathema to ‘cool’ on a day of such significance when ‘cool’ was everything. Would she take a risk that the worst of the wet stuff had passed and leave them in the boot?
Finally she set out wearing the cardigan and scarf but minus hat and umbrella. Only one and a half hours to go and they would meet and thirty-four long years would be over …
This is madness, feeling like this; like a schoolgirl going to a party, knowing that a special someone might be there. Unbalanced, crazy woman! Get a grip! You cannot arrive in a state. You cannot give yourself away. He cannot ever know that once you thought he was so wonderful.
She clomped across the bridge over the railway tracks, listening to the echo, then down the stairs – dodging a grey-haired man who was in her way, but she didn’t scowl. This was a good day for her and everyone would be treated to a smile. Then she heard the announcer say that the train on the platform was just about to depart for London Victoria. If she hadn’t been faffing around with her hat, she could have caught this one. But she didn’t want to be too early, and she didn’t have her ticket yet; couldn’t risk travelling without that.
Meeting Lydia Page 30