The Ghost Fields Read Online Free Page B

remember what you do about scalds.
    â€˜Yes.’ Sally pours the tea and, after a few minutes’ searching, puts a biscuit tin on the table. ‘That’s why I don’t understand how he could have been found in that plane in the field.’
    â€˜We don’t understand it either,’ says Nelson slowly. The buried plane had been fairly easy to trace. The single-seater Curtiss P-36 Mohawk D for Dog had gone down in a thunderstorm in September 1944. The pilot had ejected and was found dead in an adjacent field. The plane had crashed intoa disused quarry and was immediately buried by a landslide caused by the heavy rain. In the light of the fact that the pilot had been found, no attempt was made to recover the plane. Flying Officer Frederick Blackstock, on the other hand, was not meant to be anywhere near D for Dog. He was part of the ten-man crew of a B17 which had been shot down over the English Channel a week earlier.
    â€˜That’s partly why we’re here,’ says Nelson, watching as Clough selects two biscuits conveniently stuck together. ‘If your husband would agree to a DNA test, we could establish beyond any doubt that this Frederick Blackstock was a family member.’
    â€˜I’m sure he’ll agree,’ says Sally. She rolls her eyes upwards. ‘I wish I could tell George, Old George, I mean.’
    Her manner is now starting to seem slightly spooky. Why is she looking upwards? To indicate that Old George is watching them from heaven?
    â€˜When did George, Old George, die?’
    She laughs again. The laugh, too, is starting to grate. ‘Oh, he’s not dead, Detective Nelson. He’s upstairs having his mid-morning nap.’

2
    Ruth arrives at the school early but is surprised to see that she’s not the only one. There’s already a knot of mothers standing by the entrance to the infant school. What’s more, they all seem to know each other, laughing and exchanging baker’s bags full of after-school treats. Pre-school children are much in evidence, in prams and pushchairs and swinging on the school gates in defiance of signs telling them not to.
    Come on, Ruth tells herself, you’ve got to try to be sociable. These are the people who’ll invite Kate to parties and play dates. In time they might become your closest friends. She approaches the group, smiling ingratiatingly. Casually, unselfconsciously, the mothers turn their backs so that all she can see are ponytails and denim jackets. ‘They’re not as nice as the little custardy ones in Asda,’ someone is saying. Ruth edges away, towards the gates. She is ashamed to note that, for the second time that day, she is nearly crying.
    But then the door opens and Mrs Mannion stands smiling at the top of the steps. Little figures in blue sweatshirts can be seen jostling in the background. The teacher is carefulto see that each child is delivered to the right parent but Ruth is surprised at how casual some of the mothers are. They head off for the gates pushing buggies and chatting to their friends with their five-year-olds trotting behind them. Don’t they know how momentous this day is? thinks Ruth. But then some of the mothers have done this two or three times before. This is Ruth’s only chance to get it right.
    Kate is the fifth child to be handed over. She skips down the steps. ‘Mum, we did music and I played the tangerine.’ Mrs Mannion meets Ruth’s eyes over Kate’s (now very untidy) head. ‘She had a great day. Really settled in well.’
    â€˜Thank you,’ says Ruth, more grateful for the tone, which is both warm and professional, than the actual words.
    â€˜Come on, Kate. Let’s go home. I’ve bought crumpets.’
    Kate gives a little jump of delight. Crumpets are one of her favourite things.
    â€˜What did you have for lunch?’ asks Ruth as they cut through the stream of parents now heading for the junior