‘I fucking tried to tell you, man, but you weren’t answering your phone,’ Alex said, trying to sound nonchalant, but Nate knew him well enough to hear the hurt in his voice. He resolved to be a better friend, i.e., answer the phone and perhaps instigate a conversation with Alex once in a while.
‘That’s excellent, Alex. I’m looking forward to it.’
The Pictish Stylus was the last time they’d properly worked together, collaborating on the paper, and it had been fun. Alex had been insightful and eager, bringing more to the table every time they met. Sure, he’d been assistant liaison on a couple of digs, but never head liaison.
‘Oh, and you’ll never guess what.’
‘What?’ Alex drawled.
‘Do you remember Laurel Fletcher from uni? A couple of years below?’ When Alex was silent, he prompted, ‘She came to the Wall with us?’
‘Brown hair, nice arse?’
Nate frowned. She did have a nice arse, but Alex didn’t need to say it.
‘It’s her farm,’ Nate said.
Alex hesitated just that little bit too long. ‘What, where the dig is?’
Nate laughed at his friend. ‘You can’t lie for shit, Alex. You knew it was!’
‘Yeah, alright, I knew,’ Alex conceded. ‘She still got a nice arse? Or has it sagged with age?’
‘Don’t be a dick, Alex. We’ve just got through the layer of Victorian debris,’ he said, launching into a detailed report of the site. He was so relieved to have found the crap that the Victorians had left – coinage, buttons, stoneware, kitchenalia – all finds in their own right, documented, noted and set aside so someone else could deal with them. Because the interesting stuff, the stuff that Geophysics had promised, was below.
Alex cut him off after a few minutes. ‘You know, I’ve got your weekly reports, I don’t need a verbatim transcript from you at 7:30pm on a Friday night. Why aren’t you in the pub?’
‘Because, Alex, I don’t have a social life, unless I want to hang out with twenty-somethings and unlike you, I can’t cope with that shit.’
Nate started the long walk home, vaguely wondering how far his signal would reach.
‘Why don’t you take her out, Laurel?’ Alex probed.
Nate smiled down the phone at his best friend.
‘Yeah, no, she’s a bit prickly. You remember her, she had that crush on you, right?’
Alex slurped his drink. ‘Yeah, I remember her, but barely.’
That was fair, Nate barely remembered her either.
‘Anyway, when you coming to visit?’
‘Couple of weeks. I’ll stay with you? We can make a night of it.’
It had been a while, but usually Alex stayed on-site with Nate and they would have an epic night out in the local area. It usually included many, many shots, traffic cones and a lot of very loud, very bad singing. Nate couldn’t cope with the hangxiety and horrendous hangovers anymore. Perhaps just a couple of drinks and in bed at a time that would enable him to be a functioning human the next day.
‘Yeah, I don’t know if you can this time, Al,’ Nate said, wincing.
‘What?’ Alex choked on his drink. ‘What do you mean, you don’t know?’
‘I’m staying in this bunkhouse. There are no beds spare and no sofa, there’s literally no room. There’s a pub with rooms, though?’ Nate said, hopefully. It would be nice to have a bit of respite from the students.
‘You’re staying in a bunkhouse? Nate Daley? In a bunkhouse?’ Alex guffawed, and Nate rolled his eyes, jumping onto the grass verge as a four-by-four swerved past him.
‘Yeah, alright. Have a look at the pub. There’s a restaurant, I think. Let’s have dinner. We’re not twenty anymore,’ Nate said, hoping Alex felt the same way. Fat chance of that.
‘A bit of stomach lining wouldn’t go amiss. I’ll email you when I’m coming,’ he said. ‘Alex, signing off.’
