By 2 p.m., Mal had all the photos he could wish for safely on his camera. The press had come and had taken some photos of their own, but just of the slabs, Mal had sworn Rob and Sion to secrecy over what lay beneath. Then the coroner had turned up with the same morose policeman in tow.
"I'm no expert, obviously." The coroner was a lady in her fifties with a strong Welsh accent, a mop of iron grey curls and a cheery grin. She put her hands on her knees and stooped to peer under the slab of stone. "But if you assure me that it's an antique interment I see no reason why you shouldn't proceed along normal archaeological lines. Will the site be secure? Then carry on and - oh, this is all so exciting. I'd love another look when you've uncovered a bit more. Professional interest and all that."
Rob found a spot in the Portakabins where Mal could store his ranging rods and other kit.
"Most amazing thing I ever saw," he said. "Oh, Mal. Come here."
The memory of kissing Rob in the darkest corner of a Portakabin ensured that Mal was still grinning like a monkey when he got back to the museum.
"Well, don't you look pleased with yourself," Betty said when he came in.
"We got you a sandwich." Sharon offered him a paper bag. "And some pop and a Mars bar."
"I reckoned you might need the sugar to keep the excitement going. So - how was it?"
Mal looked from his two expectant custodians to the customers browsing the bookshelves in the library and poking at the items in the tiny museum shop. "Can I tell you later?" he said. "I need a better look at my photos and to check a few things first. But it's a great find. Something very ... unusual. I - um - just don't want to jump the gun."
Betty pouted at him. "I don't want your steenking secrets," she said. "I'll ask Rob. He'll tell me."
"Rob doesn't know what I know," Mal said. "But thanks for my lunch."
Betty snatched the bag out of reach for a moment more then let him have it.
Mal hurried up to his office and put his lunch on the desk. First things first. Card reader, SD card, cable, USB port, download. He took off his jacket and cycle helmet while he waited for the download to finish, dashed to the loo, then went back to his desk and grabbed his lunch. Just to be perfectly safe he copied all the pictures to a data stick and again to County Hall's servers, glaring at the message that it would take fifty minutes. So much for ultrafast broadband.
Once sure he had enough backups, he felt able to settle down to pore over the pictures. The series of photos weren't professional quality but they were clear and sharp: the digger, with the hill in the background, the torn up earth, the scarred edge of the slab, Rob grinning at him - he saved that one to his personal folder - Rob and Sion stooping to lift the slab, and finally a series of the contents of the cist.
It hadn't been easy getting good photos through the little gap that was all he had allowed himself to open but what he had was enough to make his heart thump with excitement. There was a bed of fine silt - water always filtered in over the years despite the close fit of the stones - and so the two sets of bones were partially buried. But enough of them were visible for Mal to see how they had merged as the bodies had flattened in decomposition. There were the expected pots, two large finely made beakers, and what were probably the weapons and other belongings of the dead. A tiny glint that Mal magnified turned out to be a piece of amber, a pale scatter of spheres, bone beads. But it was the bones that caught his attention. He scowled at them, willing them to disentangle so he could see clearly how they had been laid out. Surely they should be less mingled? Surely their apparent placement was an accident?
"This is so good." Mal sat back in his chair, already imagining a refurbishment of the large room at the back of the building where they currently had an uninspiring exhibition of Victorian porcelain. It could be the ‘Early Times’ room. They had plenty of Neolithic and a few Iron Age finds and this wonderful cist and its contents could form the kernel of the Bronze Age exhibit. There was even, if he remembered correctly, a view of Carew Hill from the window - a window that could cause all kinds of problems for delicate organic material if he didn't filter the light properly. For that he'd need sponsorship, of course. Maybe a grant? But this could catch the imagination if what he suspected was true, and could put the museum on the map.
Mal let out a breath and opened his email. His old mentor during his studies at Bristol University was an expert on the Bronze Age, in Britain as well as in Greece. Mal hastily hammered out a general 'hope you are well' message then added a plea for advice and a trimmed and resized photo. He ended with:
"The site is being developed. I'm under some pressure to excavate as fast as possible. I can't just make safe because the area is going to be dug out for a road widening. I just need to know if I'm seeing what I think I'm seeing and I can make a case for this being a find of national importance worthy of a proper excavation instead of a rescue style one. I'd really appreciate a quick reply as they have a burly bloke with a bulldozer - yeah, I know, not your thing but, oh my God, you should see him - standing by."
Mal ate his sandwich, going over the photos again, and was only just starting on his Mars Bar when the reply popped up in the corner of his screen.
"Jesus Christ. Don't do anything until I'm there. I'll be with you first thing tomorrow morning. Book me a room at the hostelry with the prettiest bar staff."
"So, no doubts then," Mal said with relish and picked up the phone to give the Red Lion a ring.
The evening at the Coach and Horses was as uproarious as any Mal had enjoyed in college. Rob and Sion both seemed wired at having been part of the discovery, Betty and Gary seemed a little jealous but otherwise enthralled as Mal showed them the photos he had printed off.
"Ewww," Betty shivered. "I don't much like seeing skeletons. A bit too much of a reminder."
"Yeah, an' I got to be out there with 'em from midnight on." Gary grimaced and took a sip of the orange juice he had insisted on having since he couldn't drink when going on duty.
"But you were out there last night, too," Rob pointed out.
"I didn't know they were there then."
"Just keep Morris away from them," Mal suggested and laughed as Morris, hearing his name, looked up with lifted ears. "No, Morris, I have nothing for you. You ate half Betty's curry as it is."
"It'll make him fart." Gary gazed at his dog with a fond smile. "Good job we're gonna be out in the open air."
Morris looked back at him, tongue lolling in a doggy grin, then his ears flattened and he stood up.
"Oh fuck," Rob muttered as the door opened. "Grab him, someone."
Mal and Gary almost banged heads as they both lunged for Morris's collar. Mal assumed that the grab was because the huge dog might make a break for it, but Gary's expression was grim.
Morris growled a huge rumbling snarl as Phil Rother, still in his uniform, came into the snug bar. His face was red and he seemed a little unsteady on his feet.
"Oh Christ." He blew out his cheeks. "There was a poetry reading in the Castle, fucking folk music in the Red Lion and the Lamb's got a hen night in. Isn't there anywhere a man can get a quiet drink in this town."
"Good evening, Mr Rother," Rob called. "Did you miss the memo? The meeting of the Association of Bigoted Homophobic Knobheads was cancelled, sorry."
There was one of those silences, during which the two elderly men who had been enjoying a quiet round of darts, abandoned their pints and their arrows, and slipped past Rother into the other bar. Rother grinned.
"That so, Dirty Rob?"
Mal straightened up, feeling he should try and do something to break the tension in the room. He did, but not quite the way he intended.
"Mr Museum," Rother beamed. "I didn't see you there but I can't say I'm surprised."
"I am," Mal said. "I was under the impression that Gaskell's site was going to be guarded tonight - until midnight by you, unless I read the schedule in Havard's office incorrectly. Can you assure me that the site is being adequately supervised? By someone who hasn't been drinking?" He shot a pointed glance to the orange juice by Gary's place-mat.
Rother flushed and took a pace towards their table.
"Don't you dare, Philip Rother." Betty was white with fury. "Don't you fucking dare!"
"Now, now." A quiet voice from the doorway caused another tense silence. The man who entered gave Rother a reproachful glance then turned an equally reproving gaze on Rob. "Betty, are you all right? I heard raised voices."
He didn't look like much of a saviour - medium sized, narrow built, unremarkable, and he was dressed almost identically to Rother, except that his shoulder flashes were white. Then the radio on his belt emitted a loud buzz and a female voice made some kind of reference to sheep on the Ross Road. Mal relaxed. The police had arrived, it seemed.
"We're fine, Brian love." Betty beamed at him. "Night off, is it?"
Brian nodded and hefted a plastic bag bulky with the corners of takeaway containers. "Just picking up a korma. First night off for - oh God, ages. So I really don't want any trouble. Not from any of you lot."
The mild gaze of one of the most beautiful pairs of grey eyes Mal had ever seen tracked impartially around the room then fixed on him. "Hello?" The smile lit up his unremarkable face. "I don't know you, do I?"
"Hi." Mal got up to offer his hand. "Malcolm Bright from the museum. We were just talking about security."
Brian shook his hand gravely and there was something in the way he held it and the warming in those amazing eyes that made Mal's gaydar give the world's smallest ping.
"PC Brian Farriner," the policemen said. "I went to school with most of this lot and could tell you some stories, Mr Bright."
"Dr Bright," Rother chanted but Brian just smiled.
"Doctor then," he said. "Nice to have met you. Oh, are these the photos from the site? Bellamy was up on your site with the coroner and was telling me about it when he got back to the station. Can I see?"
"'Course you can, Mal was just telling us about them." Rob leaned to grab a chair from another table and everyone moved up to let the law in.
"Sorry, lovely," Brian said to Morris as he moved him gently aside. "No, you can't have my supper." He put the bag on the table and reached for the first photo. Unlike PC Bellamy, Brian seemed as excited as any of them to see the photos and asked a few questions that suggested to Mal that his interest in history went well beyond watching the Discovery Channel. Given such an appreciative audience it was easy for Mal to slip into lecture mode and keep it up until Rother had gone. Everyone breathed a discreet sigh of relief.
"Can I stop now?" Mal asked and Brian laughed.
"I was interested, honestly," he said. "But I must admit it was a good way to shut Rother up."
"Git," Rob muttered.
"Yeah," Betty's lips were still pinched. "If you hadn't been here, Brian - "
"Well, I was," Brian pointed out. "And I don't think he'd have hit Doctor Bright. But he would have said more stuff. Rob, you have to keep your temper when he's around."
"I'm sorry," Mal said, "but isn't there something we can do about him? From the moment he came into the room he seemed to be set on starting trouble."
"Would have done too if you hadn't been here, Brian," Rob said. "The only reason I can think he didn't start swinging straight away was that he'd spotted Mal, here."
"But that's ridiculous," Mal said. "In front of so many witnesses?"
There was another uncomfortable silence then Rob sucked in a deep breath. "Something you need to know, Mal. Rother can get away with it. Always has. He's hated Betty since she turned him down, then laid him out with a cricket bat when he put his hand up her gym skirt."
"Too damn right I did, cheeky bastard," Betty growled. "But - but I really wouldn't want to be alone with him and he bloody knows it. And he bullies Gary because Gary wants to keep his job and because he knows that if he started something Morris would join in and Rother would make him have Morris put down. Everyone knows that Rother is the only one Morris ever growls at, but Morris looks so bloody scary the court would think he must be vicious."
Gary reached out to apply a gentle pat to her hand, covering it completely. "Won't let that happen, will we, Betty?" He turned to face Mal again, his heavy features troubled. "Rob's been bound over to keep the peace. Still got a few months to go on the sentence."
"Yeah," Sion scowled. "But Rother was having a go at me about Dad, and Rob got between us and Rother tried to take Rob apart in the car park of the Castle but someone's car got damaged and Rob got into trouble for it!"
Rob nodded, his eyes smouldering with fury. "I can't afford to be up before the beak again."
"You're doing very well," Brian put in. "And we daren't let Sion fight Rother because he wouldn't know when to stop. A cricket bat would be the least of it." He and Sion exchanged grins. "So we try our best to keep Rother away, don't we?"
"Yeah, but if he's going to make a habit of coming in here, where are we supposed to go?" Sion snarled. "We had to stop going in the Castle when he started to drink there. This is Dad's pub, and I could ask him to ban Rother but that wouldn't go down well with the publican's association. They seem welcoming enough but Dad's - well he's Dad. But more than that, they've never seen Rother behaving like that."
"I have," Mal said. "Do you think they'd take my word?"
"Well, yeah," Rob said, "except when he's fighting an Escley. Everyone knows they are bad news, see."
He didn't explain any further but everyone seemed very sympathetic. Mal made another mental note to ask Rob about it when they had some peace to talk. That wasn't long coming. Brian wanted his supper, he said, and some quality time catching up on recorded episodes of NCIS and Criminal Minds, and soon after he had taken his leave the group broke up. Sion went through to help in the bar. Betty expressed an interest in an early night and graciously accepted Gary and Morris's offer of an escort home. Rob just slipped a finger into Mal's palm and gave him a tickle with a lift of his eyebrows.
"Another pint?" he asked. "Or do you want an early night too?"
"Early night?" Mal grinned at him. "I thought we were going to play doctors?"
Back to Mal's place was a hasty five minute walk. Out of clothing and into bed took even less time but after that there was no rush and it was close to eleven before Mal collapsed, burying his face against Rob's furry pecs, and allowed gravity, and the copious amounts of natural lubrication smearing their bellies, to slide him off to rest along Rob's side. He tucked his bony feet under Rob's sturdier ones and let out a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"Well, Doc? What's the verdict?" Rob muttered. Mal could hear the smile.
"You'll live," Mal said.
"Cool." Rob stretched and yawned. When he drew his arm back in again he hauled Mal even closer and nuzzled the top of his head. "I'd invite myself to stay, but I got to be up really early."
"How early?" Mal asked, lifting his head to look at Rob. He couldn't deny that the thought of having Rob here all night was very appealing. Mal had always been a cuddler and the discovery that Rob was one too pleased him no end.
"Early early," Rob said. "Five-ish." He ruffled his knuckles through Mal's sweaty hair. "Can I invite myself to stay another time?"
"No," Mal said. "I invite you, and your rain check will be good 'til whenever."
"Rain check." Rob snorted. "Don't get those in rugby. If you're too much of a wuss to get wet while supporting your team and miss a match, that's your problem." He nudged Mal until Mal moved enough to kiss, then Rob pushed him onto his back and sat up.
"Nice dinner, nice couple of pints, even better fuck. I love Thursdays."
So do I, Mal thought as he watched Rob get up and swagger to the bathroom. Or rather any day I get to spend time with you.
Mal contemplated going after Rob to suggest they share the shower but it was only sensible to let him leave. It was getting late and Mal didn't like the idea of Rob using heavy machinery on not enough sleep. The building trade could be very dangerous. Far more so than curating, where a mishap with a stapler was about the worst that could happen. The thought of those huge pieces of metal grinding together and what they could do to a hand, or any of Rob really, made Mal feel ill. In fact the thought of anything nasty happening to Rob was very upsetting.
In the bathroom the loo flushed. Mal called over the rush of the water. "I'll see you tomorrow anyway. Got to get to the site early to plan the excavation." Rob grunted a reply but Mal couldn't catch what he said. "Are you free Friday? If so maybe you'd like to stay over then?"
"Yeah." Rob put his head round the bathroom door and grinned at him. "I would." He bowled over arm and a wadded-up towel flew across the room to land on Mal's chest. Rob grinned again and popped back into the bathroom.
"Thanks." Mal dabbed at his chest and belly and spread the damp towel demurely over his loins.
"There's so much to do," he added. "Harvey Biddulph is coming up tomorrow."
"Oh, I know him." Rob popped out of the bathroom again. "He's on the telly. The one who flails around like a heron in a hurricane."
"Yeah, that's the one. He taught me in Uni. He's coming to look at the burial and advise on the safest way to retrieve it. I know what I'd do, but it's always good to have some outside input. And then," Mal grinned at Rob as he sat on the bed, "we need to decide the best way to exhibit it."
"Exhibit?" Rob stared at him. "But surely you're just going to move it?"
"Where to?" Mal asked. "That whole area is going to be torn up over the next few years. If Gaskell has his way, anyhow. I don't really want to see that but if there's new houses then there needs to be a new school and better roads, and more jobs would be nice, wouldn't they? Maybe then all the kids won't go off to Birmingham and Hereford to find work and homes. More jobs might mean more locals can stay local and fewer incomers, like me, come in and upset the balance."
"Well, yeah, I know all that. I told you all that." Rob fished under the bed for his boxers, pulled them on then sat down again to pull on socks and jeans. "But they put that - whatever - cist there for a reason and, okay, we need to keep it safe while the work is going on, but it should go back. They shouldn't be put on show. If you died you wouldn't want to be displayed like a - like an old pot or something. Those are people."
"Yes, they are people." Mal frowned. "But that's what makes it so important to be able to see them. By putting the burial on display we can show that people just like us have been here for years and years and they loved and valued the same things we do, even if they show it in different ways. They wouldn't be displayed like a freak show but with care and respect."
"Still not right, not for people just like us." Rob was scowling now, a hot angry look in his eyes that brought Mal up short.
"Okay," Mal said. "But what should we do with them, then? I can only get funding for a proper excavation by making promises. There have to be visible results. There has to be some kind of payoff for the sponsors. Otherwise, it will be rescue, pure and simple, just get them out of the ground and shifted and box them up somewhere on a shelf."
"You can't do that!" Rob was aghast. "They need to go back. I remember when they widened the road by the chapel they had to - what do they call it - disinter some bodies, and move the headstones. But they reburied them in a special plot and made sure the families knew what happened to them."
"But that's different," Mal said. "Those were probably recent burials with family members still living."
"Oh, bollocks! Of course there are family members still living. Because if people have been here for years and years, then it's people like me and Gary and Glyn, and old Pugh, and the Farriners. They are our great great granddads and grandmas. They are family. And you look after your family. And you certainly shouldn't make a fucking exhibition of them." Rob had been pulling clothes on with sharp angry tugs and scooped up boots and jacket and headed for the door. "You're not local, Mal! There's stuff about this place you don't know. Like - like you don't know why it's called Rifle Lane for a start, you ignorant bloody sais. If you can't understand how important family is then, yeah, you are a fucking incomer and you are upsetting the fucking balance. And, no, I don't want to cash in any fucking rain checks. Stupid idea." He was still grumbling as the bedroom door slammed behind him and Mal stared at the magnolia painted plywood with his mouth open.
Rob had gone and, apparently, wouldn't be coming back. That was so unexpected, so sharp and so shocking that Mal couldn't cope with it. He turned his mind away from the raw ache of it and fixed on something puzzling but less painful.
"Syce?" he asked. "I'm a Hindustani groom? What the fuck?" Then, slowly and sadly, he made his way to the bathroom.