The Bones Beneath

‘How’s Nicklin?’ he asked.

‘He seems fine,’ Thorne said.

‘You know what I mean.’

‘What?’

‘How’s he being with you?’

Thorne did not want to get into the letters that Nicklin’s mother had handed over, or that moment in the toilets at the service station, or the way his guts jumped whenever Nicklin smiled at him. He did not want to talk about it or think about it any more than he had to.

‘He’s enjoying it,’ he said.

‘Yeah, I bet.’

‘He likes it when we’re on the back foot.’

‘Well we need to get on the front foot again,’ Brigstocke said. ‘Get this boy’s body found and get Mr Nicklin back to Long Lartin. See how much he enjoys that.’

‘We’re not going to find anything, Russell. Not unless we’re allowed to dig.’

‘I know.’

‘This forensic archaeologist seems good, and I’m no expert but I reckon she’s definitely going to need a shovel.’

Brigstocke began to swear again, this time as much at Thorne as anybody else. ‘I’ll sort it,’ he said.

Back at the school, they sat around awkwardly, killing time.

Huw Morgan and his father had gone, presumably to begin work over at the lighthouse. A middle-aged woman, who Burnham introduced as his wife, came in to replenish the sandwiches, then left again without talking to anyone, her husband included. Burnham clutched his satellite phone as though his life depended on it, while cups of tea were drunk and small groups conducted muted conversations around the edges of the gloomy hall.

Holland, Markham and Karim. Howell and her CSI.

Thorne got up and walked towards the trestle table, past Nicklin and Batchelor, whose handcuffs had been removed for as long as it took them to eat a couple of sandwiches each and who were now sitting silently with Fletcher and Jenks, the four of them in a row beneath the line of grimy windows. Thorne helped himself to a couple of sandwiches, knowing he might not get a chance to eat anything else until they were on the road back to Long Lartin.

He did not hear Robert Burnham moving up behind him.

‘Sorry,’ the warden said.

‘It’s fine.’

‘You must think I’m a dreadful bloody jobsworth.’

‘Not dreadful,’ Thorne said.

Burnham produced a weak smile. ‘Look, I heard what that woman said about… dogs, so I know what it is you’re going to be digging for.’ He glanced across at Nicklin and Batchelor. ‘How serious it is, I mean. But this place has all ma

‘Because it’s special,’ Thorne said. ‘I know.’

‘You’ve heard that?’

‘Oh yes.’

‘Well, only because it’s true.’

Thorne bit off half the sandwich. He chewed quickly, then pushed the other half in behind it, talked with his mouth full. ‘Sadly, if things go how I’m hoping, I won’t be here long enough to find out.’

‘You should come back,’ Burnham said. ‘Another time.’

Their exchange had barely risen above a whisper, but had clearly been audible to one person at least.

‘Tell him about the king,’ Nicklin shouted.

Thorne and Burnham turned to look.

‘Tell him…’

By now, everyone else in the hall had stopped talking and the silence was only broken by the ringing of Burnham’s phone, which appeared to startle him so much that he almost dropped the handset. He answered the call. He said, ‘Thank you,’ and nodded a good deal and told the caller that he hoped he had not been too much of a bother, but that it was important to do things properly. He began to talk about some problem with the island’s herd of Welsh Black cattle, but took a moment to look across at Thorne and give him an over-the-top thumbs-up.

‘Are we on?’ Howell asked.

Thorne nodded, looking at his watch. It was just after ten o’clock and they had wasted almost an hour. ‘Right,’ he said. ‘Let’s get out there and dig.’

‘Thank God for that,’ Nicklin a

He caught Thorne’s eye and smiled.

Still enjoying it.

TWENTY

Tides House

Once the boys had eaten and done the washing-up, they were asked if they would like to gather in the communal sitting room.

‘Nice being asked to do things,’ Stuart said. ‘Instead of told.’

Simon followed him into the room. ‘What if we say no?’

‘I’m sure we’ll find out,’ Stuart said.

The woman who appeared to be in charge told them that her name was Ruth. She said that they could call her ‘Ruth’ instead of ‘miss’ and that from now on she was going to be using their first names too. It was all about respect, she said. She introduced the other members of staff who were standing behind her. She used their first names as well, but Simon forgot them all straight away. He was rubbish with names, but he thought he was a pretty good judge of character and could tell right off which ones he ought to steer clear of. The other woman who was on the staff seemed OK. The bloke with the straggly beard was nice, while a couple of the others looked like they didn’t want to be there at all and the one with the fat face and greasy hair was clearly to be avoided if at all possible.

Simon had come across plenty like him before.

Ruth definitely liked the sound of her own voice. It sounded similar to the voice of the judge Simon had been up in front of the last time he’d stolen a car. Like a newsreader or something, even though Simon thought that Ruth was trying hard not to sound like that. It was impossible though, to sound like you came from one sort of place when you came from another.

She made a long speech.

She told them she believed in fresh starts and second chances. That punishment alone was never going to work. She said they should count themselves lucky to have been sent to Tides House, but that she was lucky too, because she would have the privilege of seeing them change, of watching them blossom.

Stuart sat next to Simon, rolling a cigarette. He laughed when Ruth said blossom and handed Simon the roll-up when he’d finished it. Simon couldn’t remember anyone ever giving him a cigarette before.

Fags were like money inside.

Ruth was still blathering on. She was fifty if she was a day and ski

‘I’d like to make her blossom,’ Stuart said.

Simon laughed because it was way fu

‘This is a very special place,’ Ruth said. ‘In lots of ways. You’ll already have noticed it’s a small island, so even though there’ll be times when you might want to run, the simple truth is there’s nowhere to go. Well, there is, but I don’t think any of you is that strong a swimmer.’ She waited for laughter, but there wasn’t any. ‘We may not call you prisoners here, but there are rules and we want you to follow them. The rules will make life better for all of us, because we’re all living here together. Now I know this is not what you’re used to…’

Simon saw one of the men behind her lean across to a colleague and whisper, ‘You’re telling me.’

‘… but please don’t make the mistake of thinking we’re a soft touch. If you refuse to follow what rules there are here, if you persistently disrupt the community on the island in any way, you’ll be on the next boat back. Simple as that. But… if you take this chance, if you embrace this opportunity, I promise that you’ll get a great deal out of it.’