Dying Fall

was afraid. I wondered if someone might have been intimidating him.’
    ‘I see,’ says Nelson. ‘Well, I’ll give Sandy a call. There’s probably nothing in it, mind. Just a nasty coincidence.’
    ‘Coincidence,’ says Ruth in an odd voice. ‘Maybe. But I’d be very grateful if you could ask around a bit.’
    ‘Be glad to,’ says Nelson. ‘I haven’t spoken to Sandy for years.’
    *
    Nelson drives home thoughtfully. Normally he manoeuvres his car as if he is being pursued by mafia hitmen but, today, lost in the past, he stops meekly at traffic lights and even allows a bus to pull out in front of him. Sandy Macleod. Just one mention of that name and it all came back. Harry and Sandy, new recruits to the Blackpool police force, patrolling the pleasure beach, interrogatingtax-evading landladies in guest houses filled with plastic models of Elvis, eating chips in the squad car, the windows so steamy that every villain in Lancashire could have gone past unnoticed. Suddenly Nelson can smell the Golden Mile – chips and doughnut fat and the heady tang of the sea.
    It’s not the first time recently that he has been hit by a wave of nostalgia. When, in May, Blackpool was promoted to the Premier League he had surprised himself by being close to tears as he watched the final match against Cardiff at Wembley. He had wanted to be there, in that joyous tangerine crowd. He wanted to be part of the victory parade in Blackpool, saluting the heroes who would – incredibly enough – soon be facing Manchester United and Chelsea. He has been a Seasiders fan all his life and has a tattoo (and a chip) on his shoulder to prove it. But as his wife and daughters do not share this enthusiasm he has got out of the way of going to matches, has become, in fact, a typical Southern softy armchair fan. Now, more than anything, he wants to be in Blackpool for the new season, he wants to go to Bloomfield Road and watch his team play. He turns into his drive, dreaming of Ian Holloway lifting the Premier League trophy.
    Michelle is out but she has left his supper in the microwave and a tasteful array of holiday brochures on the breakfast bar. Italy, France, Portugal, the Seychelles. Nelson pushes them to one side and gets a beer from the fridge. When Michelle comes home, he is at the computer,taking a virtual ride on the Big Dipper, three empty cans at his side.
    ‘I know, love,’ he says. ‘Let’s go to Blackpool.’

CHAPTER 3
    ‘There’s a man in a purple cloak looking for you.’
    Ruth isn’t unduly surprised by this news. She looks up at the student peering over the edge of the trench, a nervous-looking American woman called Velma who is always asking questions about health and safety. Velma has already had to be driven to A & E twice, once after scratching herself on a flint (although students have upto-date tetanus jabs) and once after an allergic reaction to ice cream.
    ‘Where is he?’ asks Ruth, straightening up.
    ‘Over by trench number one.’
    ‘OK. Do you want to take over here?’ Ruth has had enough of her trench, which has yielded only three rusty nails and a few flakes of animal bone.
    Velma climbs carefully into the hole, holding aloft a hand which is still wrapped in a bandage.
    ‘I think I saw a snake over there in the grass,’ she says.
    ‘Grass snake,’ says Ruth breezily. ‘Harmless.’ She knows nothing about snakes. She’ll have to ask Cathbad who,last year, narrowly escaped death from a poisonous adder.
    Cathbad, the figure in the purple cloak, is kneeling down to examine a tray full of pottery fragments found earlier in the week. From a distance, he looks like he’s at prayer, an impression heightened by the cloak and the bowed head. Cathbad’s long hair is loose around his shoulders, and as he raises his head at Ruth’s approach he looks somehow ageless, a figure turned to stone. Then his mobile rings.
    He gets to his feet. ‘Yes,’ he says. ‘Yes. Thanks for telling me.’ As Ruth gets closer, she gets the feeling that Cathbad is somehow shrinking and growing older before her eyes.
    ‘Hi Cathbad,’ she says. ‘What brings you here?’
    Cathbad looks at her, and for a second she thinks that she can see tears in his eyes.
    ‘Judy’s had her baby,’ he says.
    ‘Oh,’ says Ruth. ‘Good.’ She doesn’t know quite what to say as she’s not sure if Cathbad is the father of Judy’s baby and she suspects that Judy herself doesn’t know. What is clear is that Judy’s