A Room Full of Bones: A Ruth Galloway Investigation

will find a better phrase to describe him.
    This time they take the door not into the Local History Room but into a space marked New World Collection. And it
is
a new world: a long light room painted white, with doors opening onto a patio. The rainbow serpent forms splashes of colour on the walls along with hugely magnified words from Bob’s poems. There is a display of children’s artwork and a papier-mâché model of a kangaroo. Where are Lord Smith’s branding irons and dingo traps, wonders Ruth. If they are present, they are buried somewhere under the red and yellow flags. This is a land of primary colours; darkness has no place here.
    At the end of the room Caroline Smith, resplendent in a gold dress decorated with vaguely Aboriginal patterns, is pouring glasses of champagne. There is a table laden with food and drink and decorated with pine branches. The smell reminds Ruth of her fantasy Christmas tree. Clough is already getting stuck into the buffet and various local reporters wander round clutching glasses. A handsome man in a black suit stands beside Caroline, dispensing bonhomie.
    ‘Have you met my brother Randolph?’ says Caroline.
    So this is the man Judy referred to as the highwayman. He’s certainly very dashing, like a Georgette Heyer hero. Cathbad and Ruth shake his hand and Randolph offerssome pleasantries on the day and the weather (bright but cold).
    ‘Be a bit different in Australia.’
    Bob Woonunga has told Ruth that he is going back to Australia for the winter. ‘I need warmth in December.’ Ruth thinks of her friend and the cards with the sun-bathing Santas. A hot Christmas still doesn’t seem right to her. She has to admit though that this whole business has given her a new interest in Australia. She sees herself walking across red sand, watching the sun go down on Ayers Rock, or Uluru as Caroline would call it. She imagines blue seas and vast deserts, formed by the Great Rainbow Serpent himself. She thinks about souls made from mud, about cloud and rain spirits and the demons who hunt children by night. Really, her imagination has come on a long way since
Neighbours
and maybe this is due to
her
friendly neighbour. On balance, she’s glad that Bob’s coming back for the new term.
    She agrees with Randolph that things are, indeed, different in Australia, and after a few further pleasantries he turns away to greet some new arrivals. Ruth grabs a handful of crisps and looks for someone to talk to. She wants to be talking to someone when Max arrives, not standing on her own by the buffet like a saddo.
    ‘Hi Ruth.’ It’s Clough. The other person guaranteed to be found near the food. Ruth greets him with enthusiasm. She wonders if Nelson has arrived.
    ‘Hi Clough. How are you?’
    ‘Surviving.’ Clough gives a brave smile. He has been recommended for a bravery award and still limps sometimes– when he remembers. ‘How are you? How’s that baby of yours?’
    ‘Fine. Not really a baby anymore.’
    ‘Bet she’s excited about Christmas.’
    ‘She is.’ Kate can now say Christmas and Santa and, worryingly, Baby Jesus. Who taught her that one? Ruth wonders.
    ‘Christmas isn’t Christmas without kids.’
    Ruth looks at him with interest. She wonders if he and Trace are thinking of having children. She’s heard rumours that they’ve bought a dog. She asks, and is rewarded by seemingly endless photographs of a labradoodle puppy.
    ‘It’s the only breed that Trace isn’t allergic to.’
    ‘He’s lovely,’ says Ruth truthfully.
    ‘Do you want to see pictures of my dog?’ Max is leaning over her shoulder. Ruth turns and smiles.
    ‘Hi.’
    ‘Hi Ruth.’
    Clough, who has been watching this greeting curiously, wanders away, trailing crumbs.
    ‘How is Claudia?’ asks Ruth.
    ‘Fine. She sends her love to Flint.’
    ‘Would she … would you …’ But, before Ruth can finish, Bob Woonunga, glorious in an even bigger and furrier cloak than Cathbad’s, appears in the doorway and asks them to step outside.
    In the tiny museum garden, overshadowed by office blocks and the flats managed by Stanley, the scourge of dog owners, Bob has built a bonfire. ‘It’s called acoolamon,’ says Max. He tells Ruth that he’s hoping to have his own repatriation ceremony in Sussex soon. As eucalyptus branches are in short supply, the pyre is comprised of pine branches and their scent is like expensive bath oil.
    ‘Crack!’ Ruth jumps but it’s only Cathbad and his friends with their