The Buried Circle - Jenni Mills [87]
CHAPTER 21
‘Not Druids,’ says Martin, as we approach the Red Lion. ‘Please tell me there won’t be Druids.’
A lively wind shoos the clouds across the night sky. Wiccans celebrate rituals according to the moon, and tonight is the first full moon after the vernal equinox–which also makes it Easter on Friday. The campsite behind the car park has already sprouted a few tents: pagans of various persuasions who’ve started their bank-holiday break early.
‘Of course there will be Druids. Also witches, goddess worshippers and–’
‘Enough. My father will be rotating in consecrated ground. I told you he was a vicar, didn’t I? Broad-minded, ecumenical, but nevertheless drew the line at sacrificing goats.’
What is this masculine obsession with goats? ‘There will be no goats,’ I say firmly. ‘Not so much as a gerbil.’
But Martin is clambering onto an archaeological hobby-horse. ‘The point is there never were Druids at Avebury. Druids came several thousand years later, and hung around sacred groves, not stone circles. And, frankly, what we know of Druids today is all nineteenth-century construct–started by a load of rich, middle-aged Victorian men with nothing better to do than dress up in white sheets and silly hats and hold secret rituals.’
‘Don’t let our Druids hear you talking like that. They take it very seriously’
‘Is your chum the shaman going to be there?’
‘Not tonight. He’s taken a party of men to camp in the Savernake Forest on a discover-your-inner-wild-man weekend.’
‘Wish I’d known. Sounds right up my street.’
The cottages look cosy, glowing curtains drawn against the night, chimneys emitting thin streams of smoke that the wind tosses into the ragged clouds. Sensible villagers, warm villagers, unbothered by the full moon, hunkered around their fires watching the Ten o’clock News and the late film. On the corner of the main road, the pub is a blaze of light. The pagans generally gather at the tables outside, but we’re early.
‘Inside for a drink to warm us up?’ suggests Martin, as we cross the road. ‘Or, put it another way, I am not freezing my bollocks off on a bench waiting for Druids. I’ve more time for Wiccans, mind. Another completely made-up faith, invented mid-twentieth century, but there’s something about a Wiccan that appeals to my lapsed Anglicanism. Did you know there are actually Christian Wiccans too?’
He gives me a naughty sideways grin as we go inside.
Martin’s all right, really. Now I know him better, I can’t imagine why I fancied him, except that something can happen between the filmer and the filmed. They spend so long staring into each other’s eyes through either end of a camera.
‘Have you got a boyfriend?’ I ask, as he sets two whiskies on the table. ‘If that question isn’t off-limits.’
‘It is, actually’ Martin’s voice is unexpectedly sharp.
‘Sorry, I didn’t mean…’
‘No, no.’ He sits down heavily. ‘I should be saying sorry. It’s a sore point at the moment. Tell me about the men in your life instead. I couldn’t help noticing there seemed to be something between you and that bloke from the National Trust.’
‘What, Michael? My best Outraged-of-Avebury ‘I like older men, but he’s old enough to…’
‘Don’t come the innocent with me, flower. You’re far too young to pull it off.’ Martin raises his whisky glass. ‘Here’s to bad boys who break our hearts. No, I mean the other one. The Midnight Cowboy. Mr Stroke My Stubble in his fancy boots. My, don’t you blush easily?’
‘Oh, him. Well, there is a history. Past tense.’
‘Sorry, now I’m being appallingly nosy. You don’t have to tell me anything.’
‘No.’ The level in my whisky glass is sinking unnervingly fast. ‘Well, yes. Thing is, he’s married. Works here, goes home every weekend. Anyway, it was a one-off mistake. I’m not stupid enough to think he’s going to leave her.’
‘Oh, petal, they never do. Believe me, been there, done that. You’re better off without him. Good God, was that a pair of antlers going past the window?’
‘It’ll be Trevor.’
Outside, pagans have started to assemble: some thin girls in jeans sharing a spliff with an even skinnier