know if you could do the whole thing,’ said Rafe. ‘I’ve lived near here all my life. The bridge …’ He indicated it further downstream over the Black River; ‘Its arches are too close together or something. I don’t quite understand.’
‘Basic thermodynamics,’ said Sven loftily, but declined to explain further.
‘Wouldn’t it be brilliant, though?’ said Arthur, still caught in a reverie.
‘We could have tents and stalls … and people could skate …’
‘An ice carnival!’ said Gwyneth. ‘A big festival! All through the winter! That’s what I’d call bloody culture!’
Arthur stared at her.
‘Yeah, guys, I don’t want to stick a spanner in anything, but this river doesn’t necessarily ice,’ said Rafe again.
Arthur looked round. ‘There’s fake ice, isn’t there?’
Sven looked at him. ‘To ice over a whole river?’
‘I don’t know – is it impossible?’
Sven looked like he was working something out in his head.
Meanwhile, Gwyneth moved towards Arthur, and touched him lightly on the elbow. He opened his arm slightly, and let her small hand slip inside the crook.
‘Nothing’s impossible, surely?’ she said, softly.
Lynne was watching Gwyneth. ‘Did you say you thought you saw a hand, my dear?’
Gwyneth turned. ‘Yes, it must have just been the dark playing tricks.’
Lynne patted her on the arm. ‘Watch out for things in rivers.’
‘Er, yes, okay,’ said Gwyneth, moving her arm away from the mad old lady.
Meanwhile, Arthur had closed his eyes. Surely nothing was impossible now, out here in this freezing night, all alone together? He turned to Sven.
‘Well?’ he said again, with a more commanding tone of voice this time. ‘Is it impossible?’
‘I’d need to work it out with Marcus. This amount of nitrogen, over a moving current – I mean, maybe it could cost, like, millions of pounds.’
‘But it’s possible ,’ said Arthur, eyes shining.
Sven shrugged. ‘I guess.’
Arthur smiled and turned round. ‘Did you hear that, Lynne? I think things are taking a turn for …’
‘Where did the old lady go?’ said Rafe.
Chapter Five
‘’Ere’s what we’re doing, right?’
It was another grey day in Slough. Sometimes Fay imagined that the rest of the world was bathed in sunlight, with just a canopy over this conurbation west of London where concrete came to die.
She’d been surprised that this job had happened at all. It had seemed so sudden. But she got a grim enjoyment from working long hours – it saved time spent at her mother’s chopping up Arthur’s CD collection. She didn’t think he’d even noticed she’d taken it. It was as if, in his life, she’d been a mere passing cloud, come and gone in an afternoon. But as she looked at her thickening figure – too many G and Ts with her mother – in the full-length mirror of her bedroom, and grimaced close up at the tiny lines on her forehead, she still thought of him as a thief. A thief who was going to get what was coming to him.
Ross, though horrible, was at least efficient. As soon as they’d got the documentation from the European commission (‘who know nothing,’ he had pointed out. ‘They should just have “England – Country of Culture” forever and shut the fuck up about it’) he’d handed it to his idiotic and bouncer-like number two, Dave Gorman, who ran it through a computer programme so they could see what everyone else had done.
‘Flower festival?’ he’d grunted. ‘Crap. International craft exhibition? What unbelievable crap is that? Beer hall? Well, that’s not too bad, I suppose. Apart from being crap!’
He paced around the office. ‘See, the thing is, Fay love, nobody – including your beloved Arfur Pafetic (he thought this was hilarious) – has got a bloody clue, right? I mean, what people actually want .’
He stared at her meaningfully, and she wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question or not. ‘Ah mean, what do you want?’
‘I don’t
‘Basic thermodynamics,’ said Sven loftily, but declined to explain further.
‘Wouldn’t it be brilliant, though?’ said Arthur, still caught in a reverie.
‘We could have tents and stalls … and people could skate …’
‘An ice carnival!’ said Gwyneth. ‘A big festival! All through the winter! That’s what I’d call bloody culture!’
Arthur stared at her.
‘Yeah, guys, I don’t want to stick a spanner in anything, but this river doesn’t necessarily ice,’ said Rafe again.
Arthur looked round. ‘There’s fake ice, isn’t there?’
Sven looked at him. ‘To ice over a whole river?’
‘I don’t know – is it impossible?’
Sven looked like he was working something out in his head.
Meanwhile, Gwyneth moved towards Arthur, and touched him lightly on the elbow. He opened his arm slightly, and let her small hand slip inside the crook.
‘Nothing’s impossible, surely?’ she said, softly.
Lynne was watching Gwyneth. ‘Did you say you thought you saw a hand, my dear?’
Gwyneth turned. ‘Yes, it must have just been the dark playing tricks.’
Lynne patted her on the arm. ‘Watch out for things in rivers.’
‘Er, yes, okay,’ said Gwyneth, moving her arm away from the mad old lady.
Meanwhile, Arthur had closed his eyes. Surely nothing was impossible now, out here in this freezing night, all alone together? He turned to Sven.
‘Well?’ he said again, with a more commanding tone of voice this time. ‘Is it impossible?’
‘I’d need to work it out with Marcus. This amount of nitrogen, over a moving current – I mean, maybe it could cost, like, millions of pounds.’
‘But it’s possible ,’ said Arthur, eyes shining.
Sven shrugged. ‘I guess.’
Arthur smiled and turned round. ‘Did you hear that, Lynne? I think things are taking a turn for …’
‘Where did the old lady go?’ said Rafe.
Chapter Five
‘’Ere’s what we’re doing, right?’
It was another grey day in Slough. Sometimes Fay imagined that the rest of the world was bathed in sunlight, with just a canopy over this conurbation west of London where concrete came to die.
She’d been surprised that this job had happened at all. It had seemed so sudden. But she got a grim enjoyment from working long hours – it saved time spent at her mother’s chopping up Arthur’s CD collection. She didn’t think he’d even noticed she’d taken it. It was as if, in his life, she’d been a mere passing cloud, come and gone in an afternoon. But as she looked at her thickening figure – too many G and Ts with her mother – in the full-length mirror of her bedroom, and grimaced close up at the tiny lines on her forehead, she still thought of him as a thief. A thief who was going to get what was coming to him.
Ross, though horrible, was at least efficient. As soon as they’d got the documentation from the European commission (‘who know nothing,’ he had pointed out. ‘They should just have “England – Country of Culture” forever and shut the fuck up about it’) he’d handed it to his idiotic and bouncer-like number two, Dave Gorman, who ran it through a computer programme so they could see what everyone else had done.
‘Flower festival?’ he’d grunted. ‘Crap. International craft exhibition? What unbelievable crap is that? Beer hall? Well, that’s not too bad, I suppose. Apart from being crap!’
He paced around the office. ‘See, the thing is, Fay love, nobody – including your beloved Arfur Pafetic (he thought this was hilarious) – has got a bloody clue, right? I mean, what people actually want .’
He stared at her meaningfully, and she wasn’t sure if it was a rhetorical question or not. ‘Ah mean, what do you want?’
‘I don’t
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