Dying Fall

Norfolk too, mainly directed towards Eastern European incomers, but somehow she never thought it would happen at Pendle and certainly never to Dan.
    ‘Anyway,’ Nelson is saying, ‘Sandy’s going to do some investigating. I’ll let you know how he gets on.’
    ‘Thanks,’ says Ruth. ‘How’s your holiday?’
    Nelson grunts. ‘OK. My mum and sisters are driving me mad.’
    ‘Happy families.’
    He gives a short laugh, then says. ‘Funny thing, Ruth. I was at Lytham today and I thought I saw Cathbad.’
    ‘Cathbad?’ echoes Ruth rather wildly.
    ‘Yeah. Cathbad pushing a pushchair. Crazy, eh?’

CHAPTER 12
    Clayton Henry turns out to live in a converted windmill just outside Kirkham, another picturesque town on the Roman road to Ribchester. Ruth, expecting a few charred sausages washed down with warm wine, is amazed to see a marquee, a bouncy castle and what looks like liveried staff carrying trays of champagne glasses.
    ‘Bloody hell,’ says Cathbad, as they park behind two Porsches and an Alfa Romeo. ‘Is it a wedding?’
    ‘He said barbeque,’ says Ruth, getting Kate out of her car seat. Kate looks up at the pink castle swelling out of the side of the windmill.
    ‘Balloon,’ she says, in wonder.
    Ruth feels rather embarrassed, turning up with Kate and Cathbad in tow. She doesn’t know quite why she accepted Clayton’s invitation in the first place. For years, her instinct has been to start inventing excuses at the first mention of the word ‘party’. What an earth has made her become sociable in her old age? Partly it’s curiosity. She wants to meet Dan’s colleagues. Up until now shehas been unable to imagine her glamorous friend in the grim surroundings of the cigarette factory or even digging outside the city walls in Ribchester. Maybe the party will shed some light on Dan’s decision to abandon the dreaming spires for a shabby ex-polytechnic. And Cathbad had been keen to come. Unlike Ruth, he enjoys a party and she feels that he deserves some fun. He has been sweet to her over the last few days, looking after Kate, cooking for them all, asking interested questions about the finds at Ribchester. But it makes her sad to see him so muted and domesticated. He has even stopped wearing his cloak. Maybe a party will awaken the old, eccentric, libation-loving Cathbad.
    All the same, as they walk towards the windmill, she wishes they didn’t look so much like a
couple
. But Kate insists on holding one of Ruth’s hands and one of Cathbad’s so that they approach the house as a unit – man, woman and child. It’s like an advertisement for a company strong on family values but weak on style. And that’s another thing; she’s wearing the wrong clothes. Cotton trousers and loose top are OK for a family get-together but all wrong for a party with waiters. As they walk through a rose-strewn archway into the garden all Ruth can see are women in flowery dresses. Although it’s a cool summer’s day, there seems to be an abundance of flesh on show – spaghetti straps, Lycra minis, strapless midi dresses. She sees men in striped blazers, women in hats. No one else is wearing beige cotton trousers.
    ‘Ruth!’ Clayton Henry comes towards them, resplendent in a Hawaiian shirt and white trousers.
    ‘Hi.’ Ruth has brought a bottle, which seems wrong now. She pushes it into Henry’s hands nonetheless.
    ‘How kind.’ He looks around for somewhere to put it.
    ‘This is Cathbad,’ says Ruth, ‘my friend. And Kate, my daughter.’
    ‘Pleased to meet you.’ Cathbad and Henry exchange a hearty handshake though Ruth thinks there is something watchful about both men, as if they’re summing each other up.
    ‘Cathbad, did you say?’
    ‘Yes,’ says Cathbad modestly. ‘It’s a druidical name.’
    ‘How fascinating,’ says Henry and looks as if he’s going to say more, but at that moment a glamorous woman with long blonde hair floats out of the house.
    ‘Darling, have you seen the …’ She stops.
    ‘Pippa,’ says Henry, with apparent delight. ‘Do come and meet Ruth and Cathbad and their little girl. This is Pippa, my wife.’
    If Clayton Henry is making assumptions about Ruth, Ruth realises that she has been guilty of the same crime. Without thinking much about it she had assumed that Henry, with his soft voice and pointed shoes, must be gay. She could just about imagine him married to some plump Bohemian type but not this willowy beauty with model-girl hair and the kind of shoes