The Exiles

outside a fox’s badger hole, or a rabbit’s badger hole, or a badger’s badger hole. Ruth had found three burrows, side by side, dug in the fell above the house, and she had examined the bare red earth around them for footprints, but found nothing to indicate whose holes they might be. The only thing to do was to wait and see who came out, and she remembered her book had stressed the importance of sitting downwind of the sett, so that the badgers would not smell you.
    ‘It’s sideways wind now,’ thought Ruth. ‘It’s changed since I came out. And got colder.’
    The sun slipped behind a thick cloud bank that hung low over the horizon, and all the colours in the landscape lost their daytime glow. A train came tearing into the village station and Ruth counted its wagons as it passed the signal box. Twenty eight. The noise of the train rattled and roared through the dusk, echoing off the fellside until it faded away up the coast. Nobody was in the garden anymore. The badgers should be coming out soon and Ruth strained her eyes to stare at the empty patch of ground where she expected them to appear. It was still empty, and the wind through the bracken made distracting rustling sounds, and in the ink-misty village a farm dog barked and barked. Ruth hoped it would not frighten the badgers, who still had not appeared. Perhaps they could smell her. Ought she to have disguised her smell? But then the badgers would have smelt the disguised smell. It was all very difficult.
    A soft wooden hooting sound, over and over again.
    ‘Owl,’ thought Ruth without opening her eyes.
    The grass smelt nice.
    A noise woke Ruth, and with an awful jump she cracked her head on a rock. There were very loud screamings and mixed up yells. Big Grandma and Naomi and Rachel and Phoebe were all standing at the bottom of the garden in the dark, bawling her name.
    ‘Coming!’ she shouted, slipping and tumbling through the bracken, but the noise continued. Nobody could hear her reply; they were all making such a racket themselves. Among the voices she could hear Graham, but he wasn’t calling her name.
    ‘Eh up, come oop, come oop,’ he was yelling on two flat notes; just the same call as they used to bring in the cows for milking.
    ‘I’m coming!’ Ruth shouted again, and this time they heard her and the noises they were making changed to exclamations and mutters and triumphant grunts.
    ‘I fell asleep.’
    ‘We know,’ said Naomi, ‘we heard you snoring.’
    ‘In, in, in,’ shouted Big Grandma. ‘The lost lamb has returned. Go in and put the kettle on.’
    ‘Lost cow,’ corrected Graham, meaning no offence. ‘I called her in with the cows’ call. If you were looking for them badgers you had no hope. There’s only rabbits in the holes up there.’
    ‘You might have said.’
    ‘How was I to know?’ demanded Graham. ‘It’s lucky I was here to call you down.’
    ‘You’re always here,’ Phoebe pointed out.
    ‘So are you,’ said Graham, ‘more’s the pity!’
    ‘Aren’t there badger setts round towards the old quarry?’ asked Big Grandma. ‘Couldn’t you take them up there some day, Graham, and show them? Usual rates of course,’ she added, as if it was a private code.
    ‘I might,’ said Graham, who was paid fifty pence an hour for doing odd jobs for Big Grandma. ‘It’ll take a bit of time though, it’s a fair old walk round there.’
    ‘Doesn’t matter if it takes all day,’ said Big Grandma cheerfully. ‘You can take a picnic and show them the cave.’
    ‘Cave?’ asked everyone. There were no caves in Lincolnshire.
    ‘When?’ asked Naomi.
    Graham frowned thoughtfully, as if he were in constant demand all over the village and had to ration his favours.
    ‘Couldn’t make it tomorrow.’
    ‘Why not?’ demanded Rachel.
    ‘The next day then?’ suggested Big Grandma.
    Graham shook his head as if it wasn’t going to be easy.
    ‘Couldn’t come Sunday either,’ he said. ‘Mum wouldn’t like it. Monday I’ll take them, if nothing comes up.’

    Naomi’s letter arrived in Lincolnshire three days later. The postman delivered it to her father as he left the house for work in the morning, and he charged Mr Conroy for the delivery because the letter only had a used stamp. Mr Conroy did not think much of this, and he stuffed the letter rather crossly in his pocket instead of taking it in to his wife. He did not take it out again until tea-break, at which time he forgave Naomi completely.