up at the clock on the wall of the cafe and saw that it was approaching two o'clock.
'I've got to be getting back,' she said, reluctantly.
'I'll walk you,' he said, standing up.
***
The town was busier as they walked back to the library. People were looking in shop windows and talking on street corners. A number spoke to the young couple as they walked, as both were well known within the town.
When they reached the steps of the building, Lambert put his arms around his wife's waist and kissed her.
'What will you do this afternoon?' she asked.
'Never mind me,' he said, smiling. 'You get back to your cataloguing.'
He turned to leave but she caught his arm and pulled him to her, her lips seeking his. He felt her moist tongue flick over the hard edges of his teeth before plunging further into the warm wetness of his mouth. He responded almost ferociously, pressing her close to him, anxious to feel her body against his own. Finally she pulled back. He ran an index finger across her soft cheek and smiled.
'See you later,' he said.
As he turned, she called after him and he stopped, listening.
'Tom,' she said, 'I love you.'
He smiled, 'I know.' And he walked off.
***
Steve Pike poured himself another cup of tomato soup from the thermos and watched the steam rising from the thick red liquid. He took a sip, wincing at the plastic taste, but he persevered, taking a draw on his fag to deaden the flavour.
'Want some?' he asked, pushing the cup towards Mackenzie.
The other man shook his head, and after stuffing the remains of a sandwich into his mouth, pulled a small metal flask from the pocket of his parka.
He took a hefty swing and smacked his lips, 'Stuff your soup,' he said, 'I'll stick to this.'
From where he sat, ignoring the dampness which was seeping through the seat of his trousers, Mackenzie could see the church clock. Its metal hands were at three-twenty. He glanced down at his own watch once more. Despite winding, it still wasn't working. Bloody Russian crap. Next time he'd get a Timex.
Squatting on the dark earth, Steve looked around. They were well across the clearing, almost halfway. The high grass and weeds had been cut down behind them; tomorrow they would cut down the remaining vegetation and, after that, dig it all into the soil.
'We'll go as far as that tree stump today,' said Mackenzie, pointing to a gnarled knob of wood which jutted out of the climbing grass like a beacon. It stood about two feet high but was nearly that width across the neatly cut base. Someone, many years ago, had chopped it down and, what was more, they had done it with amazing precision. The severed trunk was as smooth as formica on its darkened diameter. It reminded Steve of a table, as if it had grown in that shape for some purpose.
'That's going to take some shifting,' said Mackenzie, taking another pull from his hip flask, 'I bet the bloody roots go down for yards.' Steve looked around the clearing: the darkened area of earth strewn with chopped down grass, and that which lay beyond, rampant with clotted outcrops of weed. Not a wild flower in sight.
'I wonder why they wanted it cleared?' he said.
'Well,' said Mackenzie, 'it is a bloody eyesore. Christ, I shouldn't think it's been seen to since the fucking cemetery was opened.'
Steve wasn't satisfied. 'But it's out of sight of the rest of the place, you can't even see it from the driveway.'
Mackenzie turned on him irritably, 'What the bloody hell does it matter why they want it cleared? Perhaps they're expecting lots of people to peg out and they want somewhere to put them. How the bleeding hell should I know why they want it cleared?'
'All right, keep your shirt on. I was just curious.'
Mackenzie grunted. 'Why bother about it? As long
'I've got to be getting back,' she said, reluctantly.
'I'll walk you,' he said, standing up.
***
The town was busier as they walked back to the library. People were looking in shop windows and talking on street corners. A number spoke to the young couple as they walked, as both were well known within the town.
When they reached the steps of the building, Lambert put his arms around his wife's waist and kissed her.
'What will you do this afternoon?' she asked.
'Never mind me,' he said, smiling. 'You get back to your cataloguing.'
He turned to leave but she caught his arm and pulled him to her, her lips seeking his. He felt her moist tongue flick over the hard edges of his teeth before plunging further into the warm wetness of his mouth. He responded almost ferociously, pressing her close to him, anxious to feel her body against his own. Finally she pulled back. He ran an index finger across her soft cheek and smiled.
'See you later,' he said.
As he turned, she called after him and he stopped, listening.
'Tom,' she said, 'I love you.'
He smiled, 'I know.' And he walked off.
***
Steve Pike poured himself another cup of tomato soup from the thermos and watched the steam rising from the thick red liquid. He took a sip, wincing at the plastic taste, but he persevered, taking a draw on his fag to deaden the flavour.
'Want some?' he asked, pushing the cup towards Mackenzie.
The other man shook his head, and after stuffing the remains of a sandwich into his mouth, pulled a small metal flask from the pocket of his parka.
He took a hefty swing and smacked his lips, 'Stuff your soup,' he said, 'I'll stick to this.'
From where he sat, ignoring the dampness which was seeping through the seat of his trousers, Mackenzie could see the church clock. Its metal hands were at three-twenty. He glanced down at his own watch once more. Despite winding, it still wasn't working. Bloody Russian crap. Next time he'd get a Timex.
Squatting on the dark earth, Steve looked around. They were well across the clearing, almost halfway. The high grass and weeds had been cut down behind them; tomorrow they would cut down the remaining vegetation and, after that, dig it all into the soil.
'We'll go as far as that tree stump today,' said Mackenzie, pointing to a gnarled knob of wood which jutted out of the climbing grass like a beacon. It stood about two feet high but was nearly that width across the neatly cut base. Someone, many years ago, had chopped it down and, what was more, they had done it with amazing precision. The severed trunk was as smooth as formica on its darkened diameter. It reminded Steve of a table, as if it had grown in that shape for some purpose.
'That's going to take some shifting,' said Mackenzie, taking another pull from his hip flask, 'I bet the bloody roots go down for yards.' Steve looked around the clearing: the darkened area of earth strewn with chopped down grass, and that which lay beyond, rampant with clotted outcrops of weed. Not a wild flower in sight.
'I wonder why they wanted it cleared?' he said.
'Well,' said Mackenzie, 'it is a bloody eyesore. Christ, I shouldn't think it's been seen to since the fucking cemetery was opened.'
Steve wasn't satisfied. 'But it's out of sight of the rest of the place, you can't even see it from the driveway.'
Mackenzie turned on him irritably, 'What the bloody hell does it matter why they want it cleared? Perhaps they're expecting lots of people to peg out and they want somewhere to put them. How the bleeding hell should I know why they want it cleared?'
'All right, keep your shirt on. I was just curious.'
Mackenzie grunted. 'Why bother about it? As long
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