Marlford (13 page)

And he pulled her to him, kissing her, wrapping his arms so tightly around her shoulders that she was enveloped.

It was too late then, to say anything sensible.

He pushed gently, encouraging her backwards until she brushed up against the broken wall, his lips still fixed to hers. Anchored now, he unwrapped his arms, moving his hands to her waist and holding her there, finishing the kiss slowly.

Ellie could not help but lean into him. She nuzzled against the sandpaper skin of his jaw and let herself rest there against him. It seemed magical, for a moment, as though the world had dropped away, suspending them in space.

Fifteen

T
he books had been piled into cardboard boxes and crates from the grocer's, and taken to one of the empty almshouses to be stored. A carpenter had removed the shelving. Panels of bricks had been knocked from the wooden frame with a modest wrecking ball.

Gadiel swept debris into sacks and barrows, wheeling it through the slosh of a muddy alleyway and dumping it out of sight on a slope that banked down to the river and the chemical works. In no time at all, the library became skeletal, the flesh stripped from its weathered bones.

No one in Marlford had actually moved a building before, but it was common knowledge that the feat could be achieved in a day, with organization. So, now it came to it, there was little fuss. The village was placid, ordinary: shoppers stepped round the muddy puddles; boys rolled stones under the boards and into the pit; a bus pulled up beyond the bank, its engine idling.

A lorry manoeuvred awkwardly in front of the Assembly Rooms and reversed down Victoria Street. Men began to gather in anticipation, sloppy in their work
clothes, and soon there were more children, older women in pairs, the vicar flanked by parish councillors, someone with an ostentatious camera. The 3rd Marlford Boy Scout Pack and the Barton Infantry Volunteer Brigade formed an uneven cordon. The lorry dropped its tailgate with a clank and the delivery of logs clattered down, splashing onto the muddy road in front of the fishmonger's.

The operation went smoothly for an hour or more. They hoisted the rollers and packed them close, creating a track that ran from the front of the library across the boarded crater to the far pavement. The logs sat snugly in the layer of damp mud that coated the cobbles. Braithwaite Barton offered stoic encouragement.

Gadiel took up a position alongside one of the ropes. In front of him were two infantrymen, attentive, and to either side there were two more lines of volunteers, talking companionably. The ropes lay slack.

A Boy Scout handed out cotton gloves, beige and floral, too small for broad hands. Then a policeman gave a signal, ceremoniously, holding his handkerchief above his head and dropping it into the briny sludge, and they began to heave, digging their heels into the ridges between the cobbles, bending their knees, leaning back and resisting the burn of the rope on their skin.

After a few minutes there was a shout. Gadiel looked across and saw the men on one of the other ropes standing up, relaxing their hold. He, too, released his grip. Those around him were coughing and massaging sore hands. The spectators still waited, optimistic.

It was impossible to tell what was happening to the building. At the front, two or three men were on their hands
and knees examining the footings; after a few minutes, they went to the far corner, repeating the investigation. Someone stepped forward with a copy of the plans and held it up, a blueprint of possibility. Discussions went on.

Another Boy Scout emerged with plastic cups of orange squash. The ropes lay dormant in the mud.

Half a dozen volunteers began digging around the perimeter of the library, their spades clanking against stones and rough support timbers. After ten minutes, the chug of an unsteady engine heralded the arrival of a small, red tractor, an earth shovel attached to the front, bouncing. It came from the cricket ground at the far end of the village, manoeuvred around the nymph and approached warily over the cobbles, like a small boat negotiating a rocky inlet in a spring tide. Several children ran to greet it. The men with spades straightened, leaning heavily on the handles.

The crowd parted just enough to allow the tractor to pass. The groundsman who drove it touched the peak of his cap in thanks, lowering the shovel when he reached the library.

For several minutes there was the pleasing growl of the engine as the tractor moved backwards and forwards; the hopeful scrape of the shovel extension; a spray of brine, sand and mud anointing the spectators.

The tractor worked diligently but slowly. The lines of men along the ropes disintegrated, children lost interest. The afternoon peeled away. Behind the works' chimney, the clouds were stained with colour and the chill of evening began to coagulate around the cracks and fissures, clinging to the damp mud that was slung across the street. The clatter of machinery seemed too loud for the escaping day.

With the ground loosened finally, they tried to pull one more time. The tractor made its way to the back of the building, where it could lever and push. The ropes were aligned again; the men set themselves with care. Gadiel resumed his place, feeling the tug of effort already stiffening in his shoulders. Those who had remained to watch pushed forwards.

The library moved, timbers creaked, groaning in complaint; the tractor engine could be heard whining with effort – but there was definite movement. Nothing perceptible: no jolt or collapse, nothing more than a slight change of tension on the ropes, but enough to be encouraging. A tremble of delight animated the spectators, sending children cartwheeling. Gadiel, in unison with the men ahead of him, took a small step backwards and continued to pull. At the front, a rhythm was called out with anxious enthusiasm, choreographing each heave. They took another step back, no more than six inches – but progress, nonetheless. A shout from someone on the left rope forewarned of too much force on that side as the corner of the building slid onto the rollers, gathering pace, tilting the frame. On the right rope they attempted to redress the balance, putting extra weight into their efforts; more men fitted into the lines to help, one of them pushing in front of Gadiel. They tried again, pulling until their eyes bulged.

By dusk the tractor had run out of fuel. Its wheels had worn trenches, which quickly filled with water, stranding it: it would have to be towed away. The groundsman kicked disconsolately at its tyres, sending stones and mud skittering into the ruts.

The library had been pulled only slightly out of place, its frontage balanced askew on the logs, its rear dragging in the mud and seeming to have sunk even more. Like a crooked tooth, it jutted awkwardly, poking from the neat row of buildings on Victoria Street with defiance.

Gadiel stepped away from the worst of the mud and rubble, finding a quiet place below the bank. He leaned against a wall, weary and aching, staring at their achievement.

‘Why is it stuck out like that?'

He started at Dan's question.

‘What? What are you doing here? I thought you were at the squat.'

‘I just came to see.'

‘Now that it's all finished for the day, is that it? When you wouldn't have to help?'

‘No way, man – I've been busy.' Dan sent a quick, narrow glance towards his friend and then looked away to the library. The last daylight teased webs of shadows through the empty structure.

Gadiel lit a cigarette.

‘I met Ellie,' Dan said.

‘Did you?'

‘I told her what we were doing. At the squat.'

Gadiel shifted; Dan's view of his face was obscured.

‘She gets to you, doesn't she, because she's so different?'

‘No, it's not that. It's nothing like that,' Dan protested. ‘Man, you're… you're wrong. I just explained about our aims and principles. We talked about stuff.'

‘I thought she was everything you hated – the old hierarchies and all that.' Gadiel still did not look at his
friend. Instead, he studied the stub of ash at the end of his cigarette.

‘No way – she's pretty cool.'

Gadiel blew smoke slowly.

‘We had a bit of a walk,' Dan said.

Gadiel shuffled the stiffness from his limbs and came back to resettle against the wall. He did not reply.

‘We went for a prowl, man, in the long grass.' Dan made the words wink, sly between them, his boast hanging in the short silence. ‘I think I seduced her.'

Gadiel was very still.

‘One over for the forces of change, man.'

Gadiel threw down the end of the cigarette. ‘But she's not here now?'

‘What, Ellie? No. She went home. I told her I'd see her later.'

‘Yeah, and what about the squat?' With a sudden lunge, Gadiel grabbed at Dan's arm, pulling him round. ‘Weren't you supposed to be looking after the squat? Isn't that what you said? Isn't that what you said was the most important thing? Well, isn't it, Dan? And instead, you've been… I thought we weren't supposed to allow her to “infiltrate”. Isn't that the rule?' He laughed bitterly. ‘You want to be part of it, don't you? Marlford and Ellie and all the history – you can't admit it, but it really turns you on. The more you snipe at it, the more you love it.'

‘Ow! Let go!' Dan pulled free. He stepped away, glaring at a point on Gadiel's chest as if the fact of their physical difference was located there. ‘All right – calm down. Man, it's not like it's some big love affair. We only had a bit of a smooch.'

Gadiel spoke very carefully. ‘You shouldn't do that. She's not like that. She won't understand. She'll think you're serious.'

Dan shrugged. ‘It doesn't matter. She's cool.'

‘Yes, it does matter. She's not like the girls you usually go with.'

Gadiel thought of Ellie under the towering oaks in the woods, something inexpressibly solemn and old tangled with her youth, an irretrievable sadness that allowed her to hold her own against the ancient stateliness of the trees. He sighed. ‘So, what are you going to do?'

‘What do you mean?'

‘About Ellie? What are you going to do? I thought you told her you'd see her later.'

‘I had to say something, man. She wanted it all agreed. She wanted a… a “tryst” she called it.' Dan laughed. ‘Perhaps she thinks I'm going to marry her.'

Gadiel's voice seemed to come from somewhere new, ricocheting bluntly from the stones behind him. ‘So – are you?'

‘What? Am I going to marry her? Man, don't be—'

‘No. Are you going to see her later? She'll have believed you. She'll be waiting for you.'

Gadiel watched Dan's thoughts settle, seeing some kind of resolution solidifying in the contours of his friend's face. ‘I'm going for a walk.' He was suddenly exhausted. ‘Or a drink. I need to buy some ciggies.'

‘I'll wait for you,' Dan said.

‘No. Thanks. No need. You ought to get back. There should be someone at the squat. Isn't that right? Besides, there's Ellie.' Gadiel pulled at his damp sleeves. ‘You promised Ellie.'

He took a step towards the abandoned skeleton of the library but then changed his mind, picking his way across the crumbling cobbles and settled grime at the top end of the street and dropping towards the nymph. He was aware of Dan for a while, walking down the pavement on the other side, returning to the manor. They remained in step, their paths parallel until Gadiel broke the symmetry, pausing at the greengrocer's to study something in the uneasy reflections of the lit window. Afterwards, when his friend had gone, he retraced his steps, settling himself finally on the bench at Braithwaite Barton's feet and watching the night clamp down over the village, the lights from the works thrusting into the dark on unfamiliar trajectories.

Sixteen

E
llie was at the side entrance to the stable yard, the door hanging loose from its hinges behind her, gaping. In front of her she saw Dan, standing with his van, one hand flat against its side, as though he were patting the rump of a large horse.

‘I didn't know where you'd be,' she said. Bats emerged from the broken roof and skimmed close to her head; a barn owl chittered. ‘I didn't know where to look for you. I thought… well, you'd promised we were having a walk again, but I couldn't come to your side of the house and I just – I saw you going past, when I was looking from the window. So I came down.'

He seemed to be assessing her, deciding something. He ground his finger against the vehicle's rainbow flank. If there had been flesh there, he would have left a hard, black bruise.

‘I'm supposed to be manning the squat. Occupation is key, a continual presence.'

‘Weren't you going to come?'

He drew his hand along the glossy bodywork. The space between them seemed to be darkening quickly,
pulling Ellie away into the shadows as the night sank into the enclosure of the yard. He felt something unexpected might happen if he let his touch fall from the van and went to her.

‘If we stayed on here for twelve years, we'd acquire rights to ownership.' This was a fact, incontrovertible. It settled his queasiness. He threw a glance back towards the manor.

‘Are you staying that long?' Ellie felt her heart begin to throb, as though she had been running. ‘That's a very long time. Twelve years.'

‘It's a legal requirement, man, a minimum occupation. A continuous occupation.'

‘You'd be… well, we'd both be – we'd be… you'd know Marlford as well as I do.' She crossed to the wall, closer to where Dan was standing. ‘I can't imagine it.'

She perched on the top of the mounting steps that climbed alongside the stable door and stretched out her legs.

He had not meant her to like the idea. ‘It wouldn't have to be me that stayed for twelve years, not all the time. That's not how it works, man. It would be out of my hands – once the others arrive and the squat gets known… it would get a life of its own. It would roll over from generation to generation, each one sustaining the principles we're setting out now.'

‘But if you wanted to stay—'

‘Yeah, man, of course.' He laughed sharply. ‘If I wanted to, I could stay. But why would I want to?' He smiled into the murky distance beyond the arch, appearing to consider the prospect of such a future. ‘But, man, it would be politically powerful, an established squat like
that, so deep-rooted – a living tradition of freedom and democracy.'

He pushed his hair from his face. There was a moment of absolute stillness. Then he broke back to the present, brisk now, purposeful. He moved over to her and flashed a kiss at her cheek; a tease, perhaps, a slight token.

Ellie felt a shiver, tantalizing, like cold water on hot skin. He had sealed it then, his promise to remain at Marlford.

‘I didn't know, earlier,' she said. ‘When we were walking together – I didn't know… I'm not very used to romance. I was worrying all afternoon, in case I'd misread the situation.'

He sat down beside her, pushing up close so that there was room for them both on the narrow step. He slung an arm around her shoulders to balance himself.

‘What is there to misread?'

In the fading light, it seemed as though the yard walls were leaning in.

‘I'm sorry,' she replied. ‘You have to understand – I've never had a lover before. Not an accepted lover. I've thought about it often, of course. Very often – I've imagined what it would be like – but that's not the same at all. I can see that now.'

‘Is that what I am then? An accepted lover?' Dan frowned at the quaint phrase.

‘Well, aren't you?'

Her certainty was beguiling. Dan pulled his arm tight, bringing her closer. He kissed her again and then again, harder, squeezing his hand against her breast. He felt her flinch.

‘Come on. We can't stay out here. Come in the van with me.' He eased her from the step, fumbling in his pocket for the key. His breath came hot against her neck.

She could not quite see his face. ‘Oh, but – wait…'

His hair obscured his features; he was busy with the lock. She heard the creak of the hinges on the van door and, for a moment, she glanced behind them, thinking she heard another noise – the men perhaps, creeping through the shadows.

‘Dan. Wait.' She was anxious now. ‘I can't. If anyone found out…'

He held out his hand from the doorway and swung her up into the van. ‘It'll be fun,' he said. ‘That's all. We'll have some fun.'

‘No. I can't risk it.' She pulled her hand from his and turned away.

He was close to her, pressed up against her. ‘Come on – Ellie!'

‘I don't know. I think I might just go back. To the house.' She looked hard into the dark corners of the yard, but there was no one else there, she was sure of that now. Oscar Quersley would be on patrol at this hour; the men would be at the hutments, perhaps even asleep – it could not have been them she had heard. There was just the two of them, and he was looping his arms across her shoulders and settling his chin against her.

‘Don't let me down, man. It'll be old patterns repeating,' he complained lightly. ‘You know the kind of thing – the false promises of the upper classes, the potential for change unfulfilled.'

He held her tighter. He was laughing. But when she
looked at him, he was surprised by the solemnity of her expression.

The barn owl screeched, forlorn. Dan started at the noise and then drew close to her again. ‘Ellie?' She seemed wedged in the doorway.

The frogs gulped their strange accompaniment.

Her smile came slowly. ‘
And yonder all before us lie deserts of vast eternity
. Isn't that it?' She leaned into him.

He had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Ellie – it's no big deal. Just a bit of fun, man. Trust me.'

She raised her lips to be kissed again, taking his hair in her fingers. She was surprised by the grip of the curls.

She heard the door click shut quietly behind them, the smallest of sounds, but one she remembered.