Sarah Rayne: What Lies Beneath

A plane was going to fly over Priors Bramley that Saturday in order to drop a small explosive device. But it was not a bomb, people said firmly. It was the planned and precise dispersing of chemical substances; a geological and botanical experiment. Whatever it was called, it was quite a big event for the area; people talked about it avidly. It helped balance the shock the Priors Bramley residents had received when they were told they had to leave their homes.

Clem’s Great-aunt Rose had lived in a cottage in Priors Bramley all her life. ‘She had to move out, though,’ he said, as they walked out of Upper Bramley that Saturday morning. ‘She said she doesn’t mind giving way to progress, but she doesn’t hold with folk careering along roads at fifty miles an hour. And the money they gave her wouldn’t buy a dog kennel, never mind a decent house for folk who had to put up with six years of fighting Hitler.’ He put on a voice like a cross old lady when he said this, and Veronica giggled nervously.

‘The lady in the wool shop told my mum she’d spent all those years dodging German bombs and now they’re going to drop one right on her own village,’ put in Ella.

‘It isn’t a real bomb, though, is it?’ said Veronica worriedly. ‘It’s only to spray chemical stuff into the village to see what happens to the plants and things. Then they’ll build the road. We had a letter through the door telling us about it.’

‘So did we,’ said Clem. ‘But my father says they aren’t telling us the truth. He reckons it’ll be ages before they get round to making the motorway, and he says they’re experimenting with nerve agents, like that place near Boscombe Down. They’ve got laboratories and whatnot there, and it’s all really secret.’

‘What’s a nerve agent?’

‘I think it’s stuff they might want to use if there’s a war. My father doesn’t think it’s a good idea at all; he says those things make people really ill or grow two heads. He’s pretty worried about the Russians, though. Well, he’s pretty worried about a lot of people in the world.’

‘I don’t want an atom bomb to be dropped on Bramley,’ said Veronica. ‘Atom bombs burn your bones. I heard my parents talk about it.’

‘They aren’t dropping an atom bomb,’ said Clem in exasperation.

‘Whatever they’re dropping, they aren’t doing it until midday, anyway,’ said Ella. ‘So we could walk through the village one last time, couldn’t we? I’d like to do that.’

‘I would too,’ said Clem eagerly. ‘I could write about it in my diary. Did I tell you I was given a diary for Christmas?’

‘Yes, about a million times.’

‘It’d be a pretty good thing to write. “The Last Day of a Doomed Village”, that’s what I’d call it. And it could be an adventure for Ella’s birthday.’

Ella’s tenth birthday was the day before, which was important because of being double figures. Veronica’s mother had said it was a landmark, and added it was a pity Ella’s mother had not let her have a party.

‘She’s got too much to do to be having parties,’ Ella told her friends. ‘But she’ll make sandwiches and we can have a picnic on Mordwich Bank. After the dare, I mean.’

Veronica was still not sure about the bomb, but they generally did what Ella said on account of her being the eldest, so she said it would be a good thing to walk down the village street on its last day.

They set off at half-past ten, which Clem thought would give them masses of time for the dare.

‘I had to tell my mother a lie about where we’re going,’ said Veronica, as they went over the old railway bridge, which was called the Crinoline Bridge, and from there into Sparrowfeld Lane, which was fringed with big horse chestnut trees, and where they came to collect conkers every autumn. ‘And I had to promise we weren’t going anywhere near Priors Bramley, on account of the plane and the bomb.’

‘It isn’t a bomb—’

‘Well, whatever it is, how long will we be doing this dare?’

‘Not long. It’s twenty to eleven now,’ said Ella, who had been given a watch for her birthday. ‘We could do the walk in half an hour and we’d be in Mordwich Meadow for half-past eleven easily. We’ll see the plane go over while we eat our sandwiches.’

They went down Mordwich Bank towards the village in its saucer-shaped piece of land. For several weeks the area around Priors Bramley had buzzed with all kinds of activity – people moving out of their shops and houses, like Clem’s great-aunt Rose, and men unwinding immense rolls of barbed wire to fence the village in and keep people out, and nailing up notices that said ‘Danger!’ and ‘Keep Out!’.

‘It’s very quiet,’ said Veronica nervously as they went round the curve in the lane.

‘That means we’ll hear the plane coming.’

‘Good, because I don’t want to be sprayed with poison or grow two heads.’

‘It’s just for the plants, I told you. And you’d better take that red hair ribbon off,’ said Ella suddenly. ‘It’ll show up on the hillside, and we don’t want to be seen.’

Even without Veronica’s red hair ribbon to advertise their presence they had to be careful, but as they approached the lane that wound straight into Priors Bramley, the only two people they saw were a workman knocking nails into a big notice board, and a policeman talking to him.

They pressed back into the hedge and Clem said, in a whisper, that they could squeeze through it. ‘Then we can scurry along until we find a break in the wire. I bet there’ll be a bit where we can wriggle through.’

‘I don’t want to wriggle on the grass. I’ve got my pink frock on,’ objected Veronica.

‘That’s your silly fault.’

They squeezed through the hedge and ran along the sides of the spiky wire, keeping as low as they could. Ella’s heart was racing and she expected to hear the policeman shout to them at any minute. But nothing happened and everywhere was silent.

It was Clem who found a place where they could edge through the sharp coils of wire. ‘But keep flat to the ground,’ he said. ‘I don’t think that policeman can see us from where he is, but you never know.’

Tacked to the fence was another warning sign. This one was in scarlet lettering.

Veronica faltered at the sight of this, but Ella grabbed her hand and hurried her along the road because if they were going to do this they didn’t have time to waste. From within the village came the chime of St Anselm’s church clock. Eleven chimes.

‘That might be the last time we ever hear that clock chime,’ said Veronica. ‘That’s sad, isn’t it?’

‘They aren’t going to poison the clock,’ said Ella. ‘It’ll go on for ages. Anyway, we’ll hear it chime the quarters. A single bong for the quarter and two bongs for the half-hour.’

‘It’s still sad, however many bongs it is.’

‘And anyway,’ said Clement, ‘St Anselm’s hasn’t been used for years and years. I’m surprised they’ve still got the clock going at all. The church has got deathwatch beetle or something. That’s why everyone goes to St Michael’s on Sundays.’

But it is used, thought Ella. None of you knows it, but when no one is around somebody goes inside the church and fills it with music. I’ve heard it.

‘Where now?’ said Veronica, as they reached the village street.

‘Cadence Manor,’ said Ella. ‘That’s what we said. It isn’t far.’