The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [149]
There’s a flurry of movement, a shout, and suddenly it’s Pete on the ground, clutching his shoulder and grunting through clenched teeth. ‘You tosser, you’ve dislocated my fuckin’–’
Ed’s getting to his feet, using the metal detector he’s pulled out of Pete’s hands as a kind of crutch. ‘Crikey’, he says, making the word grate. ‘My heart bleeds. You, you bastard, were about to kick me in the balls–what d’you think I’m going to do, lie back and wait for you to get on with it? Indy, get in the Land Rover. No, driver’s side.’
Karl backs away towards the Transit, hands in the air. Ed waves the metal detector threateningly at him. I climb into the Land Rover.
‘Key in the ignition,’ says Ed. ‘Turn it. Headlights on.’ The engine throbs and the scene springs to dramatic life, Karl flattening himself against the Transit doors, terrified, the other man still on the ground, trying to push himself one-handed onto his knees. ‘Now put her in reverse. Let the clutch out–no, not yet, wait till I say go, then straight backwards, if you please.’
In the wing mirror, I watch him walk round the back, carrying the metal detector. He emerges on the other side, his hands empty.
‘OK, Indy.’ He grins at me through the windscreen. ‘Your turn. Go.’
I grasp the gear stick, hesitate, then shove it back into neutral, turning off the engine. I don’t want to be the one to do this.
‘I’m sorry,’ I say. ‘I…can’t.’ I hand him the keys through the open window. Impossible to explain my reluctance, and the sudden queasiness that has swept over me.
Ed gives me a puzzled stare, lets me climb out, then gets into the driver’s seat. Karl shrinks away as I approach the white van, eyes like a spooked horse’s. He really isn’t very bright, I realize–possibly even has learning difficulties.
‘Is that your metal detector?’ I ask him. ‘Not his?’
Karl nods nervously. ‘Pete’s is still in the van.’
‘Hang on,’ I call to Ed. ‘Don’t…’
But he doesn’t hear me because the engine catches. The Land Rover moves backwards, and the back wheels crunch on something solid. Then the vehicle comes forward again, with another sick-making splintering crunch. Ed turns off the engine, climbs down, and walks to the back to look. ‘Don’t think the Man In Black will be detecting much Bronze Age treasure with that.’
‘What the flick you on about?’ says Pete, clambering awkwardly to his feet, still clutching his damaged shoulder. ‘That’s criminal fticking damage. Could sue you. We got rights.’
‘Not to dig up ancient monuments.’
‘Ancient monuments?’ says Karl, next to me.
Ed pulls a phone out of his pocket–the phone that has no charge. ‘And don’t pretend this is innocent because I took a photo when you stopped at Yatesbury. Any more aggro and it’s going straight to English Heritage and the landowner, van numberplate, the lot.’
‘We didn’ touch a thing at Yatesbury,’ says Pete. He limps towards the passenger door of the Transit, rubbing his shoulder. ‘Never even had the detectors out. ‘Sides, what were you doin’ at Yatesbury if you aren’t after same as us?’
‘You wouldn’t have found much there.’ My legs are trembling. ‘It’s an airfield. The ground’s full of old metal so you’d never’ve been able to pinpoint antiquities.’ I touch Karl’s arm and whisper, ‘Sorry.’
In the headlights, Pete gives me a withering glare.
‘Who said anything about antiquities? Course it’s a fucking airfield, you daft cow, that’s what we were fucking there for. We’re into aviation archaeology’
‘You’re shivering,’ says Ed, as the white Transit turns awkwardly and bumps down the track, taking Pete and Karl back to Bristol, probably via the nearest A and E. ‘Jump in the Land Rover, and start the heater. It’s the one thing that does work efficiently in this vehicle.’
I haul myself into the driver’s seat and turn on the engine. Hot air blasts out of the vents. ‘I wish we hadn’t done that. They were harmless.’
‘Harmless? He hit me with a metal detector, for God’s sake. They deserved it.’
‘Karl didn’t. He was just some poor slow-witted kid, and it