Elly Griffiths - The Crossing Places

Sammy is thrilled to see her. 'Ruth! How lovely. I didn't think you could come.'

'No. Well, I had a bit of a cold so I thought I'd stay home, then I heard your music and-'

'I'm delighted to see you. We're delighted. Ed! Look who's here!'

Ed, a small, bright-eyed man who seems to be perpetually walking on tiptoe, bounds forward to shake Ruth's hand.

'Well, well, well, our mysterious neighbour. I'm very pleased you've come. I've been wanting to chat to you for ages. I'm a bit of an archaeology buff myself. Never miss Time Team.''

Ruth murmurs politely. Like most professional archaeologists she regards Time Team as at best simplistic, at worst deeply irritating.

'Come through.' Ed steers her into the house. Even with Ruth wearing her flat shoes, he only comes up to her chin.

The weekenders' house is larger than Ruth's because they have added a double-storey extension – she remembers the noise and irritation when it was built, three years ago.

Even so, it is on the cosy side for a party. The sitting room feels crowded even though there are actually only about five or six people in it.

'These are our friends Derek and Sue, up from London,'

says Ed, bobbing up and down beside Ruth. He really does make her feel very large. 'And this is Nicole and her husband Roger who live in Norwich, and this is, well you must know each other, this is our mutual neighbour David.'

Ruth turns in surprise to see David, the warden of the bird sanctuary, sitting uneasily on the sofa, a pint of beer held out in front of him like a shield.

'Hallo,' says David smiling, "I was hoping you'd come.'

'Oh ho,' says Ed jovially, 'what have we here? Romance blossoming on the mudflats?'

Ruth can feel herself blushing. Luckily the room is dark.

'David and I only really met a few weeks ago,' she says.

'Aren't we dreadful neighbours?' says Ed, striking himself theatrically on the forehead. 'All these years and we're only just getting to know each other. What'll you have to drink, Ruth? Red? White? Beer? I think there's even some mulled wine left.'

'White would be lovely, thanks.'

Ed prances away and leaves Ruth sitting next to David on the sofa, still holding her bottle of red.

'Oh dear,' she says, "I meant to give this to Ed. Now it looks as if I'm planning to drink it all myself.'

"I was worse,' says David. "I brought some sloe gin. It was in a Lucozade bottle. I think they thought it was a bomb.'

Ruth laughs. "I love sloe gin. Did you make it yourself?'

'Yes,' says David, 'the sloes are wonderful in autumn.

And the blackberries. One year I made blackberry wine.'

'Was it good?'

'I think so, but I'm not much of a drinker. And I didn't really have anyone to offer it to.'

Ruth feels a sudden tug of understanding. She too has weekends when she doesn't speak to anyone but her cats.

This is her choice and, by and large, she doesn't mind, it's just that meeting someone else solitary seems odd somehow. Like two lone round-the-world sailors suddenly coming face-to-face at the Cape of Good Hope. They understand each other but, due to the nature of their lives, will probably never become friends.

Ed is back, carrying a huge glass of white wine. Ruth gives him the red and he makes such a fuss of it that she suspects it must be rubbish.

'So, Ruth.' Ed stays standing beside her; she thinks he likes the sensation of looking down on someone for a change. 'Found any buried treasure recently?'

Ruth finds she does not want to tell Ed about the body in the mud or about the torques or even about the henge.

She doesn't know why, she just feels that the secrets belong with the Saltmarsh for just a bit longer. David doesn't count; he is almost part of the marsh itself.

"I teach at the university,' she says at last. 'We don't really do many digs. At least the students do a dig every spring but they always find the same things.'

'Why's that?' asks Ed.

"Because we know what is there,' explains Ruth. 'They have to find something, after all. The Americans would ask for their money back if they didn't.'

'Americans,' says David suddenly. 'Dreadful people. We had some last year, trying to catch a sanderling. Apparently they thought it was wounded.'

'What's a sanderling?' asks Ed.

David looks astonished. 'It's a bird. Quite common.

They run up and down the beach by the edge of the water, trying to catch sea creatures. These Americans, they thought it was hurt because it wasn't flying.'

'There must be some interesting birds round here,' says Ed, sounding less than interested himself. He starts bobbing up and down again, looking for someone else to talk to.

But David is transformed. 'Wonderful,' he says, his eyes shining. 'The mudflats are like heaven for them. So nutritious.

You see whole flocks stopping by on their migration routes, just to feed here.'

'Like a motorway service station,' says Ruth.

David laughs. 'Exactly! In the winter, the Saltmarsh can be covered with birds, all trying to find something to eat on the mudflats. Sometimes there are as many as two thousand pink-footed geese, for example, coming from Iceland and Greenland and there are lots of native waterfowl too: golden eye, gadwell, goosander, shoveller, pintail. I've even seen a red-backed shrike.'

Ruth feels slightly dazed by all these names but she likes the sound of them, and she likes being with another expert, someone else whose job is their enthusiasm. Ed, meanwhile, has drifted quietly away.

'I recognise snipe,' she offers. 'And I think I've heard a bittern. They've got such a sinister call.'

'Yes, we've a nesting pair on the marsh,' says David.

'Must have been the male you heard. They call in the morning, first thing. It's a kind of hollow boom; echoes for miles.'

They are silent for a moment but Ruth is surprised how comfortable she feels with the silence. She doesn't feel compelled to fill it with a cute anecdote about the cats.

Instead, she takes a sip of wine and says, 'About those wooden posts on the marsh…'

David looks surprised and is about to say something but, just at that moment Sammy bustles up and tells them that there is food in the kitchen.

'Then we've got to get you two mingling. Can't have you sitting here in silence all evening, can we?'

They both get up obediently and follow her to the kitchen.

Nelson too is at a party. His is rather more glamorous than Ruth's, and certainly noisier. It is being held in rooms above a wine bar and sparkling wine is flowing like water.

Discordant music blasts from the speakers and evil little canapes are circulating. Nelson, who arrived straight from work, has eaten about twenty and now feels slightly sick.

His last selection, a prawn in puff pastry, is floating forlornly in a nearby ice sculpture. He is dying for a cigarette.

'Alright?'

His wife Michelle drifts by, elegant in a metallic gold dress.

'No. When can we go home?'

She laughs, pretending this is a joke. 'It's a New Year's Eve party so it's kind of the idea to stay until midnight.'

'I've got a better idea. Let's go home and get a takeaway.'

'I'm

enjoying myself.' She smiles widely to prove this and flicks her long blonde hair over her shoulder. She does look fantastic, he has to admit.

'And besides' – her face hardens – 'how would it look to Tony and Juan?' Tony and Juan are Michelle's bosses, joint owners of the hairdressing salon she manages. They are gay, which is fine by Nelson as long as he doesn't have to go to their parties. He considers this attitude quite enlightened and is hurt when Michelle says he is prejudiced.

'They won't notice. The place is packed.'

'They will notice, and anyway I don't want to leave.

Come on Harry.' She puts a hand on his arm, running a manicured nail up his sleeve. 'Relax. Let your hair down.'