The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [164]
our Brushwood Boy and Cromley are partnered! Donald’s navigator apparently broke his leg falling off his bicycle after revels in the NAAPI, but young Davey stepped into the breach. Cromley’s lucky to have such a steady chap flying with him. You should have married the Boy, Heartbreaker–I never understood why the pair of you didn’t tie the knot long ago.
For once, the kicker in my belly remained still. It must have understood the shapeless fear in my heart.
CHAPTER 44
The drizzle has hardly let up, but nearly four hours after Solstice sunrise Avebury’s still clogged with footsore pilgrims. Despite gritty eyes and a mouth like the bottom of a birdcage, I’m too wired to sleep after the visit to the spring. I woke a surprised Frannie for breakfast at six thirty, then set out an hour later for the stone circle. Drumming pulses from the campsite; I half expect to see John, but there’s no sign of him.
A black 4×4 lurches off the main road with squealing tyres and pulls up at the top of the high street, dance music blasting combatively, going head to head with the pagan bongos. The window on the driver’s side glides down and Ibby pokes her head out. ‘India! You might have told us.’
‘Told you what?’
‘That there wouldn’t be anywhere to park. Got up at the crack and drove here from Bristol to film sunrise–bastard police wouldn’t let us stop. We’ve been cruising the lanes for hours–missed the whole bloody thing apart from a couple of wobbly shots out of the car window, and footage of crusties’ vans parked on the Ridgeway’
‘I thought you knew.’
‘How could we know? You’re supposed to be the sodding researcher.’
Not worth the row to say that since I’ve not so far been paid I don’t see why I should nanny the film crew through every minute of their day.
‘I told Martin.’
‘Well, he didn’t pass it on. Probably has his head up his arse again about that married man he pines for in Bath.’
‘What married man?’ And how come Ibby knows about this and I don’t?
She ignores the question. ‘And if you read your callsheet, you’d remember he isn’t joining us until early afternoon, for filming at the Long Barrow. Don’t forget you said you’d help cart the equipment up there when you finished at the caf. We haven’t a soundman today, so I can’t manage without you. Two o’clock. Don’t be late.’
Harry, in the passenger seat, mouths, ‘PMT,’ careful not to let Ibby see him.
She slams the vehicle into gear again. ‘We’re off to breakfast in Marlborough.’
The window slides back up with a clunk, the 4 × 4 executes a neat turn and squeals away.
There’s still an hour before my shift starts at the caf–in the kitchen, for a change, so I can leave in time to help the film crew this afternoon. Corey hasn’t yet arrived, and I don’t have a key, so I wander over to the Trust offices in the hope of finding one. Ed’s beaten me to it. His jacket and boots are in the lobby.
He wanders into the kitchenette, looking rumpled, as I’m filling the kettle.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask. ‘I thought Graham was covering the overnight Solstice watch.’ It comes out sharper than I intended, perhaps because my encounter with Bryn at the spring is making me feel guilty, as if I betrayed Ed in some way.
He doesn’t seem to notice, but yawns dramatically, playing for sympathy. ‘Couldn’t sleep.’
‘What kept you awake?’
‘Oh, this and that.’ He hoists himself onto the countertop a couple of feet away, long legs kicking the cupboard door. ‘If you’re making a cuppa, I’ll have one. Want to come out with me to pick up litter round the Long Barrow this morning? I have strictest instructions it has to be pristine for your film crew.’
‘Sorry. I’m sandwich-making in the caf as soon as Corey opens up.’
‘I’ll manage.’ His eyes follow me as I open the cupboard looking for coffee and sugar. ‘Knowing Graham, he’ll probably turn up to help, in spite of being up all night chasing pagans off the verges. Sad bastard can’t seem