Digging Deeper (7 page)

———

By the time Flick returned home, Pierce had gone and Kirsten was getting ready to go for lunch at her parents’. Flick changed into her best going-out gear—her green skirt, mid-thigh length on the left, calf-length on the right, a fluorescent pink top and blue plastic sandals decorated with goldfish. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d bought something new. It wasn’t by choice she trawled the local charity shops. Faced with cast-off woolen skirts, button-to-the-neck polyester blouses or over-bright trendy gear bought by mistake and only worn once if at all, Flick found herself the owner of some unusual items of clothing, not all of which were revolting.

The phone rang and Kirsten yelled for her to get it.

“Buckingham Palace. How may I help you?” Flick said in as posh a voice as she could manage.

“Hi, Xanthe.”

Her antennae twitched. “Hello, Giles.”

“I’m ringing to apologize about last night.”

“Oh, okay. So have you told Beck it wasn’t me, it was you?” she asked and then cursed herself for being obvious.

“Meet me tonight in Headingley for a drink. Eight o’clock. The Cock and Bull. Bring your birth certificate.”

“What? Get stuffed.” Flick slammed the phone down.

“Who was it?” Kirsten asked as she walked in.

“Wrong number.”

“Hurry up then.”

On the way to the car Flick stopped in front of a clump of feathery purple foliage. “These are pretty. Do you know what they’re called?”

Kirsten peered over her shoulder. “Rosebay Willowherb.”

“Ohh, what a great name. Do you think your mum would like them?” Flick snapped several stems.

“They’ll definitely bring a smile to her face.” Kirsten grinned. “Now get in or we’ll be late.”

Flick moaned as she sank on to the seat. “God, I’m exhausted.”

“How much sleep did you get last night?”

“Not enough.”

“Me neither. I wish I’d hidden the condoms.”

“Eugghh.” She valued Kirsten too much as a friend to lose her over Pierce, but when Kirsten did start to see the light, Flick intended to stake her out in the sun and tape her eyes open. And if necessary, she’d smother her with honey and threaten her with an army of ants until she admitted that Pierce was not “the one”.

Flick didn’t like Pierce. He arrived on time, sent flowers and told Kirsten she looked nice but there was something too organized about him, as though he’d decided a lawyer and an accountant were a perfect balance. The same flowers arrived on the same day every month. He was never spontaneous.

“Maybe you should drop the gas station,” Kirsten suggested.

“No. Can’t. Need the money.”

“Why don’t you look for a proper job? You wouldn’t have to work such crazy hours.”

“Maybe I like things this way.” Flick warned by her tone she did not wish to continue on that track. As usual, Kirsten missed it.

“Do you want me to help with your CV? I mean, I can’t understand why you don’t even get any interviews.”

“I’m considering my options.”
Gagging you, being one of them.

Kirsten sighed. “Go on then, ask me.”

“What?”

“If he’s coming to my party.”

“Who?”

Kirsten laughed. “Mr. Phwoar.”

“You needn’t have bothered. He thinks I’m a tart who only appeals to lower life forms—sheep and Giles Hartington.”

“Well, maybe he likes tarts.”

Flick turned from the road to glare at her. “Gee, thanks.”

“I liked him,” Kirsten said.

“You’ve already got a boyfriend.” Unfortunately. Flick waited long enough to let Kirsten think she’d won before she asked, “So is he coming?”

“I knew you fancied him.” Kirsten grinned.

“Answer the question.”

“He said he’d probably come.”

Flick did her chimpanzee smile.

“And if you do that, he’ll leave again.”

Dina had set her alarm for 8:15, the mere thought of getting up before midday on a Sunday little short of miraculous. An even greater miracle she sprang out of bed when it went off. By 9:00 she was dressed, her hair straightened, makeup in place, ready to cook breakfast for Beck.
“Cook for your man to find a way to his heart.”
That didn’t come until Chapter Five but Dina couldn’t see it mattered in what order you did things, so long as you got the result. The boys were still asleep. Their snores could be heard all over the house, accompanied by a few muffled farts. Dina wrinkled her nose.

She almost threw up in disgust when she saw Jane sitting in the garden reading an archaeology book. Then, realizing it would impress Beck, Dina rushed upstairs to get her own copy of the incredibly expensive and incredibly heavy core textbook
Urban Archaeology Fieldwork in the Twenty-first Century
. She sat next to Jane.

“Oh, you managed to get hold of a second-hand copy.” Dina looked at Jane’s well-thumbed version.

“No, it no longer looks new because I’ve opened it a few times.”

Dina rolled her eyes and turned to the first page. With a bit of luck, Beck would wake up soon, see her and Jane reading together and then she could offer to make him breakfast. How impressive was that?
“Show your man you’re interested in the things that interest him.”

She hoped Beck came soon. Her eyes had begun to glaze over and she’d read only a paragraph.

———

By the time Beck emerged from his room it was almost noon. He’d been awake for hours working on his book, which was not as he’d led his colleagues to believe, yet another study of Thermoluminescence, but instead a chilling tale of a serial killer who collected gall bladders from his victims. Now Beck had his professorship, the need to use every available moment to produce an endless stream of theories that interested virtually no one, had thankfully passed. At last he had time to write something exciting and was currently weaving a complicated psychological tale with lots of clues and red herrings. He wanted the identity of the killer to be entirely unexpected.

The moment he appeared in the garden, Dina jumped to her feet and rushed toward him.

“Would you like a cup of tea?”

Beck could have sworn she fluttered her eyelashes. “Only if you’re making one for yourself. Thanks.” He sat next to Jane.

Dina returned with a mug. “Like any breakfast? Toast? Cereal?”

“No thanks. Tea’s fine. You two are keen,” Beck said with a smile as Dina made a big point of opening her book in the middle. At a rough guess, that would have put her some five hundred years beyond the period they were studying.

“Do you think we’re going to find anything on this dig?” Jane asked in a shy voice.

Beck hesitated. It was never a good idea to be negative at the start of a dig, it could jinx the whole thing. “I have a good feeling about this site. We’ll have a discussion this afternoon about how we’re going to tackle it and then have a drive around and look at the whole area. The large-scale map might—”

“I’ll get it,” Dina interrupted and dashed into the house. A moment later she was back, red-faced and flustered. “Where is it?”

“On the floor in my room, by the window.”

She hurried off again. It was like having a puppy, Beck thought, only this one had an ulterior motive.

Dina glanced around Beck’s bedroom. She needed as much information about him as she could get.
“Know your man”
took a whole chapter in her book. His room was tidy. That was so impressive. He’d put his clothes away. Fabulous. He’d made the bed. Brilliant. She sighed. This got better by the minute. A tidy guy. She didn’t like housework. He’d do it for her.

The map was on the floor on top of neat piles of booklets and sheets about the dig. She spotted Versace aftershave—good taste, and a Manchester United sticker on his bag—well, he couldn’t be perfect. A Dictaphone lay next to his laptop. Dina had heard him speaking into it a few times, vague mutterings relating to the dig. She hesitated and then picked it up, rewound it a short way and pressed play. Beck’s voice was quite clear.

“Septic tank. Outfit for Saturday. Check effect if liver ruptures. Price for gall bladders in China? What use for a bear’s penis?”

Dina shuddered and switched it off. What the hell was that about?

———

Although Flick, stuffed with Sunday lunch, had intended to have a sleep that afternoon, when she saw the length of the grass she winced. She’d toyed for a while with the idea of getting a goat, until Josh pointed out you couldn’t be sure they’d be satisfied with the grass. Left unattended they’d probably devour every flower and half the patio furniture before they started on the house. Given Flick’s abysmal record with animals, she’d end up with the only woman-eating goat in the country and wake to find herself minus a hand. So no goat, or sheep, because apart from the incident at Hartington Hall, a farmer had once told her they had a tendency to commit suicide by thinking themselves dead when they were bored. How sad was that?

Usually when Josh heard her dragging the mower out of the shed, he offered to do the lawn for her. Flick would protest, Josh would argue and she’d give way. But Josh was out and Kirsten was cleaning her room, so unless she could attract the attention of a passing rambler, Flick was on her own.

She almost dislocated her shoulder pulling on the cord to start the engine. After five minutes of frantic tugging she had to lie down on the grass. Flick looked up at the clouds and wondered if Josh could mow by moonlight. Or had she at last found a use for the strappy contraption that attached a torch to your head? Bought by her for her father, for a Christmas they would never share and still sitting in its shrink wrapping in the garage. Flick thought about what her Dad would have said if he’d seen her mowing the lawn in the dark and smiled.

“Are you dead?” Kirsten shouted from an upstairs window.

“Almost.”

“There’s a button you have to press to prime the engine.”

That’s what she’d forgotten. “Come and show me?”

“I’m not falling for that,” Kirsten called back.

Moments later the air was full of the most irritating sound of the summer. The mower dragged Flick around the lawn. She started going round the edge and then set off diagonally. A few reasonably straight lines became intermingled with several more that weren’t. When she switched off the machine to empty the grass box, Kirsten gave a loud cough.

“Can’t we have those nice neat lines like Josh makes?”

“I thought if I just did the highest bits, I wouldn’t have to do the whole thing.”

‘Think again,” Kirsten shouted.

Flick stared at the lawn and sighed. It looked a little like her hair before Kirsten sorted it out.

The exact moment she finished, Josh appeared on the patio carrying two glasses of wine.

“Trying to make me redundant?” he asked.

“Josh, if I get married I want you living in the spare room,” Flick said. “In fact why don’t I marry you? Save this entire hassle of searching for a soul mate. I mean, you’re tall, fair and handsome. I can give way on the dark because you have your own teeth. What more do I need?”

Josh laughed and handed her a glass. “Pasta for dinner?”

“Why am I still looking?” Flick dropped to one knee. “Josh, will you marry me?”

“No. You ask me every week and the answer is always the same. Talking of soul mates, Kirsten’s Mr. Perfect has arrived.”

Flick didn’t miss the tightening of Josh’s mouth. She dropped into the chair beside him and sipped the cold wine.

“Has he? He never offered to give me a hand with the lawn. The bastard probably whisked Kirsten straight upstairs.”

Josh muttered something that sounded like a growl.

The fact that Josh couldn’t stand to be in the same room as Pierce convinced Flick the guy was a loser. Pierce telling Kirsten she looked lovely came after he’d told her what to wear, right down to her shoes. He’d so undermined her confidence, Kirsten’s first thought was now whether Pierce would approve, rather than whether she liked it herself. He also had a habit of correcting whatever Kirsten said, which drove Flick wild. Kirsten worshipped Pierce so that should have been it, but it wasn’t.

“Did you have a good weekend?” Flick asked.

“Fine.”

“Parents still speaking to you?”

“Yes, but not to each other. As usual.”

“Going out with Sadie tonight?”

“No.”

Flick leaned forward and stared into his eyes. “So, do you want to whisk me upstairs?” It had been so long since anyone had held her, a tiny bit of her hoped he might say yes.

“No.” Josh smiled. “But thank you for asking.”

“You’re welcome.” Flick sat back.

“Been weeding as well?”

“No, why?”

“There’s a gap in the front garden. I’ve been meaning to pull up that clump of Rosebay Willowherb for ages.”

Flick winced. “It’s a weed?”

“A flowering weed.”

“Ah, well it’s now sitting in a pot on Kirsten’s mother’s window sill.”

He laughed. “So what else has happened while I’ve been gone?”

“Start cooking and I’ll tell you a story about a sheep.”

When Beck walked into the kitchen at 7:30 on Monday morning the house was silent. He’d scheduled everyone to be up and ready to leave by 8:00 and suspected they were all still in bed. Last night they’d walked down to the pub. Beck had said he wasn’t going to go but when Dina announced she’d stay with him, he’d changed his mind. Of course Dina changed her mind, too. Beck had drunk a couple of beers, but Dina and the three boys never had an empty glass in front of them. No wonder students were broke, the amount they spent on alcohol. The boys had drunk themselves stupid. Literally, in the case of Ross who’d tried to kiss Dina and in return received a pair of bruised bollocks. Ross walked back to the house bent over like a coat hook. Beck had difficulty not laughing.

He switched on the kettle and pulled a mug from the cupboard. He jumped when the door opened but Jane came in. Dina had made another attempt to get into his room last night, managing to move the chest of drawers he’d used as a barricade. She was stronger than she looked.

Jane smiled. “Good morning.”

“Good morning. I suppose it would be foolish of me to think the others are outside waiting by the van. We might as well have some toast.”