22. THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS

Ground penetrating radar makes a grisly discovery in the garden of Huckelberry Cottage whilst Anthony and Emma discuss a humanities lesson at school.

THE COTTAGE IN THE WOODS

22. Talk of Babies

Doctor Grimm was insistent despite the fact that what he wanted would take quite a bite out of his budget. But ever since he had first been to look at Huckelberry Cottage and in particular its small enclosed garden he had been troubled by what looked like almost level shapes that could, he thought, be the remains of ancient graves that had been flattened by time, and by ancient he didn’t mean prehistoric but probably a few decades bearing in mind the soft loamy soil they were in.

So he was having the entire garden scanned by ground penetrating radar, and he judged that his decision had been justified, as he said to Inspector Greengage who had come along to see exactly what was going on and whether it might reinforce his case against the old woman who had everyone except for himself fooled into thinking she was three sheets to the wind.

“What do you expect to find, Henry?” asked the Inspector, freshly arrived and impressed by what he saw as three white-coated men wandered slowly back and forth over the untended garden scanning slowly and expertly before pausing, in almost perfect unison, and waving to Doctor Grimm.

“Remains,” explained the pathologist to the Inspector, “bones that have been here long enough for any tissue to have rotted away, but bones from which, if we’re lucky, we might find yield some DNA. That’s what you want isn’t it, Ricky? Concrete evidence?”

Inspector Greengage was almost as irritated by the pathologist’s use of his Christian name (which he detested) as that same pathologist was by his use of the name Henry, which, unknown to him was equally detested by its owner.

“What is it?” Doctor Grimm called to one of the scanners.

“There’s something here, sir, looks like a whole skeleton and maybe a little something else, can’t tell the gender, of course, but it’s not been disturbed by wildlife.”

“Let’s get it up,” decided the doctor.

“I should think so!” snapped Greengage, “if it’s evidence of the sort I’m looking for it will be damned useful in court when we finally get the b***h behind bars!”

“You’re not one for forgiving, are you Ricky?” asked Henry Grimm.

The digging was a carefully performed activity, with even small pieces of old rubble being examined minutely just in case they were important before being cast aside as rubbish.

“Hold it!” decided one of the men who were digging, “there’s something here!”

“Quick!” squeaked Inspector Greengage, “Is it a man or a woman?”

“It’s a child,” came the response, then, “maybe a baby…”

“So the old woman had a child, did she?” grinned Greengage, suddenly happier than he’d been for days, “probably out of wedlock, back in the days when it was shameful to give birth to offspring if you didn’t have a wedding ring on the proper finger… that’s what it must be, and she probably suffocated the poor little sod before it could take it’s first breath… and then dug that hole and shoved it in so that the worms could have a special treat and nobody else be any the wiser!”

“Don’t rush to judgement, Ricky,” advised the pathologist, “it’s early days.”.

“This isn’t what the radar picked up, sir,” said one of the men busy scanning the site, “this was lost in the clutter of adult bones. There’s an older skeleton down here, and we’re going to dig down until we find it.”

“Older?” asked Greengage, “what do you mean… it’s been there longer or the bones are older?”

“Both,” came the reply, “and the wee bairn must have been here for several decades… we’ll know more when we get it all up.”

“Oh glory!” sighed Inspector Greengage, “it just gets better and better...”

Meanwhile,

“My humanities teacher,” murmured Anthony quietly to Emma, quietly because he didn’t want to risk being overheard as they were in her bedroom with the reluctant approval of Mrs Scratchpole, “he told us what it as like years ago when people of our age wanted to kiss and smooch and stuff, but didn’t want a baby as a consequence.”

“Kissing doesn’t make a girl pregnant, silly,” smiled Emma.

“I know it doesn’t. But it was part of a one thing leads to another lesson,” he said, “and sometimes kissing isn’t the only thing people like us get up to.”

“Don’t I know it,” grinned Emma, “I can quite easily tell what’s on your mind when we’re kissing by looking at the shape of your shorts!”

“And I can tell what’s on your mind by looking into your eyes,” he told her, “and right now you’re in an inviting frame of mind. I can tell, so there’s no need shutting your eyes: I’ve taken note already.”

“Well, I do sort of like you,” she admitted, “and some things are perfectly all right if a girl likes a boy.”

“And I like you. Quite a lot, as it happens,” he replied, knowing that he was blushing but not able to help it.

“So what did this teacher of yours tell you?” asked Emma.

“Well,” he said slowly, “they mostly learned to behave themselves, to keep a distance instead of getting close, like we do when the mood’s on us!”

“And the men kept their parts in their pants, I suppose!” she laughed. “I don’t believe that! Men have no idea how to behave when they’re with a sensitive young woman, say like me.”

“But these days it’s not so important,” he sniffed, “girls have the pill if they want it, so everything’s okay, whereas in the past, and not so long ago either, girls had to be careful.”

“And boys didn’t have to?” she teased.

“I know,” he sighed, “it doesn’t sound fair, does it, but it’s always been down to the girls to say no and the boys to beg!”

“And it explains why there are many billions of people on this planet because boys are better at begging and the girls are worse at saying no, I suppose?”

“Maybe, sometimes, a girl’s quite sure she’s saying no, but when it comes out of her mouth it’s in the form of yes please.” he grinned.

“Anyway, what’s all this got to do with me and you?”

“You know what it’s got to do with us because, well, I hate putting it into words, but if I don’t love you I don’t know what this feeling inside my head is,” he told her awkwardly.

“I know what it is,” she sighed, “and I think it’s rather sweet and I’ve got the same feeling inside my head about you.”

He looked thoughtful for a moment. “That old woman in the cottage,” he began, “she won’t have had anyone to feel like that about, will she, and now she’s too old for it to matter.”

“I do believe you’re developing a sensitive side,” she teased him.

He laughed back at her. Maybe I am or maybe it’s just growing old enough to care about other people, but I do find it sad. The upside, I suppose, is she’s never had to choose between saying no or yes please!”

“And never had a baby,” she suggested.

“I should hope not! That cottage is no place to bring a baby up in! To start with, the roof looks as if it’s held up more by luck than anything physical.”

“And she’s not the motherly sort! Can you imagine how how the poor little devil would be dressed when he went to school?”

“If he went to school, I’d think,” he suggested, and added “or she.”

“Anyway, back to your humanities lesson. What was the outcome? Don’t snog or if you must, be careful, or have a big family?”

“Like my folks?” he pulled a face. “My mum and dad really do love each other, I know they do, they often sneak up to their bedroom together, and I hear them pushing a bolt across so that we don’t catch them at it if we should chance to accdentally barge in. And there are seven of us, with another one on the way.”

“Maybe that was the best solution before the pill came along. Hope to strike it lucky or if you don’t, well, kids can be a joy, can’t they? Kids like you,i mean, Ant.”

“You’re taking the pill, aren’t you, Emma my love?”

She pulled a face, “maybe,” she said.

“And may I ask why?” he asked.

“Just in case I lose my voice in the middle of saying no!” she laughed.

“And when might you want to say that?” he asked.

“Not today, lover boy, not today,” she murmured, and pursed her lips and kissed him smack on his.

“It’s okay,” he smiled, “I know what not today means.”

“You do?”

“Tomorrow. It means tomorrow!” and he laughed.

© Peter Rogerson 13.02.23

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