Mal wrapped up well, found his wallet and phone - because Rob might conceivably pick up his messages if he had a tea break - and picked up a tote bag for his shopping. Then he let himself out of the flat and shuffled along to Tesco.
In the past few days it was clear that autumn had given way to winter. There was a vicious bite in the air and a hint of sleet on the wind that ruffled the tinsel on the decorations strung across the road. Christmas was just around the corner as far as Pemberland's retail establishments were concerned. He guessed he ought to think about presents, especially with regard to mailing them early to his parents. Zoë was easy - she had an extensive Amazon wish list - but he should try to think of something special for Harvey and there was Sharon and Betty and the weekend girls. He remembered how, a few weeks ago, he had sounded Rob out gently about what he might like for Christmas. The holiday had seemed a much more attractive prospect when he'd had Rob's company to look forward to.
In Tesco everything was red and white and unbearably jolly. Mal wandered round in a bit of a daze, quite enjoying the purposeful bustle of the other shoppers and adding items to his basket more on the principle of what he fancied than how useful they would be. That was the only upside of being ill. Normal healthy dietary considerations could go out of the window in favour of eating things that made him cheerful. He was in the frozen food department considering whether to buy a chicken korma or a beef lasagne for supper, when he was startled at the pressure of a hand landing on his shoulder.
"'Lo there, Mal. You feelin' better?" Gary, up in his personal space, seemed even bigger than usual.
"Hello, Gary. Back on my feet, but still not too good. Er, don't mean to be alarmist but hadn't you better step back. I wouldn't want you to catch this."
"Naaah, I don't get colds," Gary said. "Else I'd'a had it. Half the security guys have got it and so have most of my dad's boys."
"Really? Is it holding up your work?"
"Not mine so much. We're doing extra shifts to cover." Gary grinned. "I'll be able to afford a fortnight somewhere warm in January at this rate. But Dad's lost a few days. It's not safe to run a big site with too few men. Especially with some of the team leaders off. Silly buggers try to do too much too fast and that's when accidents happen. Rob's - "
"Rob's had an accident?" Mal was aware that his already husky voice had broken.
"No." Gary raised his eyebrows. "Not that I heard of, anyhow. He's been really sick. Probably got what you've got."
Mal grimaced, remembering the heat of Rob's kiss and the fevered look in his eyes. "Ah, sorry to hear that," he said. "Is he, um - on the mend?"
"Yeah, he's staying at mine. His dad's a useless fucker and his mam can't cope with 'em both so I went and got him. Mam's looking after him. Hey, but, what's happened between you two?"
"Happened?" Mal felt he was getting a little better at casual.
"Yeah, he's been miserable as fuck even without the flu." Gary frowned, glanced around and moved even closer. "Everything else is okay, but I noticed you haven't been about much and Betty's all tight lipped. You haven't stopped seeing each other or something, have you?"
Mal looked at Gary's collarbones, which were level with his eyes, and tried to get his head round the idea that this immense, intimidating, and very straight man was trying to facilitate his gay best friend's love life. It was one of the sweetest things he'd ever seen.
"We had a disagreement," Mal admitted. "Over something quite important too. I'm not happy about it either, Gary, but - well, it was a trust issue. I'm sorry."
"Trust?" Gary began to shake his head. "No, nuh-huh, Rob don't play around. Might flirt a bit, you know what he's like, but I'd never seen him as into someone as he was into you. And now he's absolutely miserable. I dunno what you said to him but that's not like Rob."
"I'm sorry," Mal said again. He hesitated, unsure how much to confide in Gary. "Let's just say it wasn't about our relationship. It was about something else. An ethical matter."
Gary stared at him. "Ethics. What the fuck have ethics got to do with who you love?"
"Could you love someone who didn't like Morris?" Mal asked.
"Oh? ... Oh, yeah, right, I understand. Good job I got someone who thinks he's wonderful then. But hey, if you don't like dogs you wouldn't have to do anything with Flash. He doesn't bother with anyone apart from Rob's dad."
"Flash?"
Gary grinned at Mal. "The Escley family dog, duh? Hey, I got to go get ready to meet Betty from work. Bye, Mal."
Gary hurried to the checkout and Mal continued his shopping, part amused by Gary's misapprehension and part interested. So Rob had a dog that would only bother with Rob's dad. Mal had never had a pet. As a child it had been impossible because Dad was allergic, and ever since leaving home he had lived in rented accommodation with strict ‘no animals’ rules. He imagined himself living with a dog as big as Morris, then hastily downsized it to something more manageable. A Jack Russell maybe? Or a cat? Cats were easier, weren't they? Aloof and self-contained? Or maybe a goldfish?
Mal paid for his shopping, adding a little Christmas cactus to his basket as an impulse buy at the last moment. It had occurred to him that perhaps it would be a good idea to practice looking after something non-sentient before he committed to caring for an animal.
"You won't be much company," he told it as he stepped out of Tesco and headed for home, "but we'll see how we do. Who knows? This could be the beginning of a lovely friendship."
A stifled sound behind him drew his attention to two small girls in hats and mittens, one set pink and the other a strident purple, wearing matching navy blue anoraks. They were very small, carrying dinky little pink rucksacks, and scarlet in the face with trying to hold in their giggles. Mal blushed too, aware that he had been caught out talking to a small plant.
"Ladies," he said, and drew aside a little to let them pass.
"See, I told you," the one in purple muttered. "Ever so posh. Dad says he's giving Uncle Rob one."
"One what?" asked the other.
Mal stared at them, mortified, as a lorry rumbled past, drowning the reply. Rob's nieces - he couldn't recall their names - but surely they were no more than six? He looked over his shoulder, wondering where their mother might be, or Kevin. Surely someone should be with them?
He fell in behind them, trying not to walk so close that he scared them but close enough to be available should he be needed. Cactus in one hand and bag in the other, he followed them along the road and picked up that the purple one hated broccoli and would be sick if anyone offered it to her. The pink one said she felt the same. Then the purple one said she hated carrots and would be sick. She sounded as though she was looking forward to it. Mal wondered how far they intended to walk because the spit of sleet had steadied into a down pour. Almost immediately the answer came as the pink one sighed and said, "Are you sure we can walk to Brynglas? It's ever such a long way. Can't we go see Uncle Terry instead?"
"Uncle Terry makes us do our reading," the purple one said in tones of utter contempt.
Uncle Terry. The only Terry Mal knew was the benign mountain of a man in the barbers' shop. "Excuse me," he said.
The purple one glared at him. "We're not allowed to speak to strangers. Not even if you've got sweeties."
"Or puppies," added the other. "Especially puppies."
"I haven't got either," Mal said.
"Well bug'roff then," the purple one said.
"All right. It's a pity, though, because I've been sick too and I'm not sure I can cross the road to where your Uncle Terry works on my own." Mal coughed pathetically into the cactus. "That's a long way."
"No it isn't!" they chorused, and Mal walked the rest of the way home with a child each side, to show him how to use the pelican crossing and to make sure he didn't get lost. The child in the pink hat, who seemed a lot quieter than the other, had taken the cactus from him and was carrying it while the other held his hand. When they reached the hair dressers they insisted he come right in.
"Mal?" Lillian paused in blow-drying a lady who fixed Mal with a suspicious stare. "Paige, Kimberley, what are you doing with Mr Bright?"
"He was lost." Paige rolled her eyes. "So we brought him home. He di'nt know how to work the crossing either."
There were three ladies in the process of having their hair done and they all exchanged glances and said, "Awww, the little dear." Mal wasn't sure whether they were talking to him or the child. Terry had no doubt. He came running in response to Lillian's yell and stooped to take the dripping hats, mittens and coats from the girls.
"What are you doing here? It's not Thursday," he said. "Mal, just give me five, 'kay?"
Mal waited on the doormat while the girls were settled in the waiting area with their homework and a biscuit each, then he followed Terry back into the barbers.
"What the fuck?" Terry asked. "Where did you find them this time?"
"This time? They were outside Tesco and said something that made me think they might be your nieces, and something about walking to Brynglas. I thought it would be better to bring them here."
"Jesus Christ - " Terry began then added, "Oh no, Mal, I'm not angry with you. Thanks so much for having the common sense to bring them here. No, but I'll swing for that Kevin Escley. He knows bloody well it's his turn to collect them from school on a Wednesday."
"Maybe he's been held up?" Mal asked.
"I'm going to find out now." Terry took a phone from his pocket and pressed a couple of buttons then put it to his ear. A moment later he said, "Yeah, of course it's me. Had you forgotten it's Wednesday, you clown?" The phone squawked and Terry's scowl grew darker. "Yes - yes, they are, no thanks to you. Where are you? You're where? Oh Jeez, don't bother. I'll call Julie. She can pick them up when she finishes work. Yes, of course I'm going to tell her. Yeah, you just do that." He finished the call with a stab of his forefinger. "Wanker's in Leominster. Says he forgot what day it was. The apple didn't fall far from the tree with that one. Um, sorry. I'm talking about Rob's brother."
"We've met." Mal grimaced. "A bit of a different approach to Rob."
"Yeah, not half." Terry was texting, big thumb moving without hesitation. "You sound like you've got what Rob's got."
"Yes, and I don't want to spread it around so I'd best get home," Mal said.
"Hazards of being in a relationship, I guess." Terry sounded a bit wistful. "Right, that's Julie informed. She'll go spare. That's the third time in the past two months. Thanks, Mal. You're a lifesaver. I'd give you a hug, but I'll let Rob do that."
"Er ... " Mal felt his cheeks heat again. Terry had tilted his head and was leaning slightly towards him. For a moment Mal contemplated spilling out all his worries, his regret that he had ruined something that could have been so good, and just how much it hurt to know that he had hurt Rob - but Terry had problems of his own, sitting in reception complaining about having to do sums. "I'd best get home."
"Oh? Okay, then." Terry escorted him past the interested customers to the door. "You're looking a bit shaggy round the ears, boy."
"I'll make an appointment," Mal promised, "but not until I've stopped coughing."
"Yeah, that'd be good. You take care now." As the door closed behind Mal he heard Terry's voice rise. "Right, you two, what did I say about walking home on your own?"
By Friday Mal was back at work though still feeling distinctly fragile and prone to dozing off at the drop of a hat. The flu had left him with a hacking cough that tended to get worse at bedtime and no amount of cough syrup could calm it. Also the amount of spam in his inbox had reached epic proportions and he wasn't sure he'd ever reach the bottom of it. Consequently when he had a phone call on Friday morning he answered it with less than good cheer.
"You sound awful," Harvey said. "Oh God, you got my flu, didn't you? Haven't you recovered yet?"
"No," Mal said. "Though I'm not sure you should be taking credit for the flu. I think it's gone round the entire town."
"Nasty. Right, to make amends, I'll come and take you out for a curry. We'll go to that nice little pub, the Coach and Horses."
"No, we won't," Mal said. "I can't go in there. It's Rob's local."
"Of course you can." Harvey laughed. "I won't take no for an answer. Meet you there at seven? I'm driving back from Northumberland the pretty way."
"You can go if you like," Mal said. "I'll see you whenever."
"Oh dear. Then I'll get a takeaway and bring it round at about eight." Harvey said. "No arguing. I want to talk to you about the exhibition."
"Can't stop you." Mal was well aware that he was being less than gracious. "Always pleased to talk exhibitions with you, Harvey, but I'm not well enough to deal with exes and their disapproving and hostile pals."
"Don't be dramatic, Mal. It doesn't suit you. Eight o'clock. If you're still feeling rough, put the street door on the latch and I'll lock it behind me when I come in."
"Why does everyone feel the need to manage me?" Mal demanded.
"We'll stop when you show signs of managing yourself. Later. Now, put me through to the desk again. I want to talk to Sharon."
There was no point in arguing with Harvey in that kind of mood. Also, when Mal put Harvey back through to the reception, Sharon's tone was such that Mal wondered just who it was that Harvey was really coming to see, and that made him stop and think a bit.
Okay, he and Rob were over. He had texted Rob again and had also left a voice message that he hoped had sounded rational and not too needy, requesting a meeting to talk things over, but all his efforts had been ignored. He had to face up to the fact that their relationship was at an end because he had stupidly over-reacted. He had parted from lovers before and he had still been part of their social circle. The only one from whom he had parted without any sympathy had been bloody Oliver, but that was a completely different situation. He still missed Rob, a lot, and this hurt far worse than leaving Oliver, but he loved his job in this quiet and close knit little town and wasn't going to give it up for anything. All the same - the Coach and Horses tonight with a runny nose, red rimmed eyes and hardly any voice? No, he couldn't. He'd accept the curry though.
By half four he'd had enough of emails, the cool disapproval of Betty, and Sharon's anxious attempts to cheer him up. He said goodbye to them, fended off Marcia who felt that changing a printer cartridge might help his recovery, and headed for home.
His intentions were good. He changed the sheets on the spare bed and started to tidy the flat, but he sat down with a cup of tea at six and didn't wake up until quarter to eight. By then the best he could do was to put things in neat piles and push the vacuum cleaner around, wincing at the noise. There had been an occasion when he and Harvey had shared a disgusting 'hole in the ground' toilet filled with flies in a corner of a field in Wiltshire. If Harvey could survive that he could survive a bit of mess.
Vacuum back in its cupboard, he popped down the stairs to put the door on the latch and then settled down to read through his report on the development and the finds. At eight fifteen he heard a voice in the hallway and feet on the stairs and realised, with panicky horror, that Harvey had brought people home with him.
"If one of them's Rob, Harvey," Mal muttered as he went to open the flat door, "we're going to have words."
But to his surprise the first person in through the door was big Terry, the barber, his arms laden with bags belching fragrant steam. "There you are! He's awake," he shouted over his shoulder. "Hi, Mal, got the plates out?"
"Er, yes. Kitchen's that way." Mal stepped aside to let him in and smiled a greeting to Glyn Havard and Leo Farriner, each of whom were carrying bags of poppadums. Harvey brought up the rear brandishing two bottles of wine, one white, one red.
"Mal! We stopped at the off licence. I wasn't sure if you'd have any vino in."
"No, I haven't," Mal admitted. "Hello, guys. I wasn't expecting visitors. Please excuse the mess."
"Oh, don't apologise." Leo offered Mal one of his fleeting little smiles and a white envelope addressed in a beautiful cursive script. "I was going to put this in the post for you but Harvey suggested I come round and give it to you now. I - um - can't stop. Got to get home to the dog, you know how it is."
"Are you sure?" Mal was struck that every time he had seen Leo he had been alone or leaving in order to be alone. He had never actually seen him relaxed and looking comfortable. "You'd be very welcome. Please, stay and share. It looks like you brought masses."
"That's kind but Jolly will be expecting her walk," Leo said. Terry returned from the kitchen with a smaller package which he handed to Leo and after a brief round of goodbyes the solicitor was gone.
"That's a pity," Mal said as he chivvied people into chairs and helped to provide plates and eating utensils. "Am I the only one who thinks he maybe doesn't get out enough?"
"Still grieving," Glyn said.
"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I knew he was divorced but I didn't know - "
"Oh no, she hasn't died." Glyn shook his head. "Sweethearts since college, set up in business together, but it turned out she was more ambitious than he was. Went off to London to get her Silk but Leo didn't like it there and it's hard to keep a marriage going at a distance."
"He misses her," Terry said. "We keep an eye on him and sometimes make him do stuff for his own good. But usually he plays the dog-walking card and it's a bit hard to argue with that."
"Maybe another time then?" Mal looked around. "Has everyone got what they need? Thanks for bringing me my supper."
"No problem," Harvey said. "And I hope you don't mind me bringing Glyn and Terry. Like Leo they had intended to call on you this weekend anyway. I've just accelerated things a bit."
"Oh yes." Mal eyed Terry, who was already digging into his lamb rogan josh like a champion. "And why's that? Or shall we eat first?"
"Let's take the edge off," Glyn suggested, grinning at Terry who waved his fork in agreement.
Mal picked at his food. He was hungry, he could actually smell the curry and it was fantastic, but there was an atmosphere in the room that made him nervous. Harvey had planned something. It had happened before. Once Harvey had tried to set him up with a gorgeous American student over here to study hill forts - blonde, sun kissed, leggy, with a killer smile, but unfortunately female. After some polite explanations, a few months later Harvey had set him up with an Italian linguist, right sex this time, which had been more fun. Then there was the time Harvey had decided the entire dig team needed massages to work the kinks out of their backs after a particularly gruelling series of fingertip excavations, and they had ended up in a place that may have had massage parlour on its advertising material but offered many other more startling services. Harvey always meant well.
To while away the time Mal put down his fork and picked up Leo's letter. It wasn't sealed, the flap just tucked neatly in. Mal opened the envelope, enjoying the feel of the heavy high quality cream stationery, and extracted the single sheet of paper. Actually, to call it paper was an insult. This was more like vellum, thick and crisply folded with a classy embossed letter head reading just ‘Lockhart Farriner’ with an address and a phone number. It screamed old fashioned reliability. It fitted the premises he remembered, with stone steps, a portico and the type of blue rinsed receptionist who would only allow you access to her charges if you had a bloody good reason. Then he read the typed words - actually typed, none of this new-fangled printing - and almost dropped the paper.
"Mal?" Harvey said. "What's wrong."
"Nothing," Mal said. "It's a letter, properly notarised, from Vanessa Gaskell's solicitor, that would be Leo, on his client's behalf, confirming that all finds from the High Rifles Lane development, large and small, are to be donated to the museum and inviting me to send them any necessary legal paperwork. Also, since she says she can trust the local museum staff to - er - here it is - 'do the right thing for the finds and for the community', she promises on behalf of Gaskell Developments to match any funding we raise elsewhere. That - that could be incredibly generous if the Heritage Lottery Fund comes through with some cash."
Terry gave an approving nod. "Good girl that 'Nessa. She deserved better than Gaskell."
Mal looked around at his companions. "None of you are surprised," he said. "What am I missing?"
"Community?" Glyn said. His tone was gentle rather than critical. "You've never lived anywhere like this. Like it never occurred to you to ask for help when you got ill. Here we don't leave people to suffer, we pitch in to help. It never occurred to you that poor Rob might be offering to take the blame for what had happened because he cared so much for you that he just couldn't keep lying to you. Stupid thing to do, because he's spent the past week wondering when to expect a visit from police accusing him of - I dunno, reckless endangerment of antiquities, or something. He's been sick with worry, and that's made the flu even worse. And that's not fair because we were all in it."
"All of you?" Mal's shock overrode his shame at how he had treated Rob, so the words came out a bit more loudly than he had intended.
"You betcha." Terry grinned at him. "We'd intended to draw Rother down to the other end of the site and put a sack over his head but seeing him go into the Portaloo was just too good a chance to pass up. I never thought the silly bastard would tip it up. That's something you gotta look out for, Glyn."
"Believe me, I am." Glyn grinned. "Everything's properly pegged down now. So, Mal, after that meeting at Sharon's we went to the pub and thrashed out a plan. Terry had remembered 'Nessa coming in to have her hair done and saying something about the High Rifles Lane land being in her name. We rang Leo and asked who would own what under those circumstances then Terry rang 'Nessa. Once she understood that she had the right to object, she was outraged that her property was being taken out of the town without her permission and got those letters made up. When it was clear that Culmstock was going ahead I offered to provide the equipment and a means of hiding the cist. Some of the other lads offered their muscles. We didn't want to involve Rob but in the end he did drive the digger. We needed the best to be sure of getting the cist onto the lorry without damaging it but that's all he did and he only offered because I said I'd do it and Rob said I'd fuck it up. And then he dashed off to join you at the bonfire and Sion put the digger in the ditch."
Mal tried to speak but Terry very calmly picked up the story. "I drove the lorry and Glyn moved the cist to the store with a forklift. Nice and cool and not too dry in there."
"What humidity level was it? How did you know it would be safe?" Mal demanded, but a gentle clearing of the throat from Mr Biddulph gave him his answer. "Harvey, you were a party to this?"
"I most certainly was," Harvey said. "I got wind of it by accident and there was no way I was going to let the burial be damaged, so you bet I checked the premises over. And I made sure that everything was packed to museum standards, too.”
"Is there nobody in this bloody place I can trust?" Mal demanded. "What did you think you were doing?"
"Taking care of our own," Terry growled. "I told you we do that. You knew that. Rob told you that. You don't have any excuse. What was being done to that burial was shameful. That's no way to treat your ancestors, lugging them all over the country."
"But that burial is so special." Mal felt like crying. "Don't you understand how rare it is to be able to identify archaeological cadavers as a couple and even rarer for there to be an implication that they might be a same sex couple? This is one of the most important finds ever. It must be studied."
"Then study it," Glyn said. "Nobody ever said you couldn't do that. Vanessa has given you carte blanche. Study them, find out who they are. How about a DNA test? See if they match up with anyone round here. It could be a great project."
Harvey was nodding so hard his hair shook. "Yes, root the research in the local area. Find descendants. Build a display about longevity and community spirit, and about love too. Nobody who sees those bones could deny that they were buried with love and respect."
"And display them with respect," Terry added. "That's the least they deserve."
Mal stared at them. "I don't know what to say. You've put me in an impossible position professionally. Nobody will ever believe that I wasn't a party to this theft."
"Not a theft. If anyone checks we have a paper trail." Glyn grinned. "I wasn't going to do a thing without it. Okay, they were a bit late but I've got a copy of the letter Vanessa sent to Culmstock refusing him permission to remove the burial, a copy of his reply stating that he felt the permission granted by her husband was sufficient and that if she took matters further he'd have no choice but to bill her for his services, and her response saying he could keep his hands off and she'd expect his invoice. There's also a final document addressed to me requesting that in view of Culmstock's refusal to comply I should arrange for the burial to be removed to a place of safety. Not our fault if, due to an administrative error, it took a while to reach the police."
"Then they'll be charging us with wasting police time instead of theft." Mal shook his head. "It's still a criminal offence and the last I heard they took it pretty seriously."
"We took legal advice as soon as we realised what had happened." Glyn shook his head. "It's going to come down to whether they decide to prosecute for Wasting Police Time or reprimand us for a Failure to Act."
"You also might have noticed that we timed the - er - removal so you were in clear sight at a big public event the whole time?" Terry wasn't actually scowling but his grave expression was quite daunting. "Rob insisted on that. He didn't want anyone to assume that you might be involved. And you were so gobsmacked when you arrived at the site and thought the burial was damaged that the police were convinced. Nobody's that good an actor."
"Anthony Hopkins is," Harvey said. "Olivier. Ben Whishaw. But not Mal. He's completely transparent. Like now he's wondering if he could get away with killing us all so none of us can tell anyone just how much of a twit he feels."
"No, just you, Harvey." Mal snarled. "Glyn, Terry, I know that you meant well but you have no idea what a position you put me in. Harvey, on the other hand ... Christ, Harvey, what do you expect me to do now? How do you expect me to react?"
Harvey had drawn breath to reply but Glyn cut in first. "I'll tell you what we expect you to do," he said, his tone sharp. "I expect you to get in touch with Rob - preferably in person but over the phone will do if you're too much of a coward to look him in the eye - and tell him that you're not going to press charges for - for criminal damage or whatever it was. I had to persuade him not to give himself up yesterday, he's so sick with worry. We could have forgiven you for letting the burial go off to London, there wouldn't have been much you could do to stop it, but I'm finding it hard to forgive you for what you've put Rob through this past week."
His words struck Mal like a bucket of ice water. "But I wouldn't have done that. I'd never have done that to him. If he didn't know that - "
"How would he know that?" Terry's brows had drawn down and Mal was reminded again of just how huge and intimidating the man could be if he wished. "Okay, you've been knocking boots but you've only known each other for a couple of months. Rob - idiot - tried to take the blame for all of us. And it didn't occur to you that he'd have had to have help? Or that Glyn would have had to be in on it because Rob would never have used his equipment without asking permission? Or that Rob wouldn't have been capable of coming up with a plan like that in the first place? He'd have been more likely to have chained himself to the cist - first hiding all the available bolt cutters - or to Culmstock's van. Or to have decked the fucker. You don't know Rob at all, and he sure as fuck didn't know you the way he thought he did."
"No, apparently not." Mal glared at them all, flushed with shame and anger and aching desperate sadness. "Which explains why, despite me doing my best to get in touch he hasn't responded. I've tried texting and calling. I've left messages. I'm sorry - more sorry than you can know—that he's been so upset but I've tried and he clearly doesn't want to know. And if I've messed up our relationship I'm not going to commit professional suicide as well."
"Oh, cut the bloody drama." Harvey rolled his eyes. "I've spent the past week dealing with TV divas in the Northumbrian fog. I was hoping for a bit more clarity and a lot less selfishness down here. Mal, you need to look hard at the situation here and realise that very little of it is about you. This is about the good people of Pemberland and what they see as being right and proper. You can either be a part of it and be helpful, or get out of the bloody way. An expert," he put his hand on his chest and gave a little bow, "will assure everyone that none of the finds are damaged, and in two to five years, depending upon availability of funds, a terrific exhibition will be unveiled at the Pemberland Centre for Heritage and Culture, and all the great and good will come to sip cheap champagne and nibble canapés. And they'll all agree that you've done a great job - unless you hand in your resignation to make a self-immolatory point, like a swishy little drama queen."
The words fell into a dead silence as both Terry and Glyn stared at Harvey. Mal stared too, not sure whether to be offended or impressed.
After a moment Terry cleared his throat. "Um …Harvey, while I don't entirely disagree with what you just said, can I just make the point that I'm the only person in the room qualified to be tossing homophobic slurs at Mal without sounding a bit - "
"Oh God, mea culpa, Terry, I'm so sorry."
"Apology accepted. So, Mal - what he said, right? And this is only going to be a big deal if you make it so," Terry said. "Culmstock should never have been involved."
"Mea culpa again," Harvey admitted.
Glyn nodded. "You only asked for advice, Harvey. You didn't expect him to steam in and take over. No, the job should have been handled locally and if that meant the cist was dismantled and moved bit by bit and the skeletons reassembled later that would have been fine. They looked like good strong lads to me and the local boys don't mind a bit of inconvenience in a good cause. What we need to know, Mal, is if you're going to play ball with us over this? Can you imagine we're in a position where, instead of Culmstock, some other boffin came here and helped us raise the burial without interference? No theft, no vandalism, no threat to your professional reputation, no countrywide interest from the media."
"No accusations of pulling a publicity stunt?" Mal flopped back into his chair. "What choice do I have?"
"There's always a choice, Mal." Harvey tilted his head. "But you need to really think through the consequences of making the wrong one. And I'm not talking about your professional position, either."
"Yeah, we think you could fit in well here, and be happy." Terry's grin was cheerful. "I reckon we'd best leave you to think it over, don't you, Glyn? And if I was you I wouldn't be phoning Rob. I'd get out there and find him."