The Twin Towers The November 2020 story

by Richard Tearle 



The Twin Towers, Reculver

What the Hell am I doing here?
Eleanor – Ellie to friends – lay back on the camp bed and stared at the canvas covering above her. Bloody Roger! Rotten Roger. Bloody Rotten Bloody Roger. He's the bloody reason I'm here.
Oh, he'd really screwed her. Royally. How naively she'd fallen for his dubious charms, hung on his every word, succumbed to his advances. He was in his third year, she in her first at Uni. He wanted to graduate in archaeological studies, whilst she was studying languages. They shouldn't have met. Their paths were never going to cross in University life. But they did one spring evening. In the pub, of course. Ellie was with her friends, the two girls she shared a room with in the city. He was alone but struck up a conversation with her when she was at the bar, buying her round.
'Hello, there,' he opened the batting with a confident but ineffective glance to leg. Ellie fielded it easily with a disinterested nod of acknowledgement.
'I'm Roger.' Roger opened his wallet, displaying more than a few portraits of the Queen. 'May I get those for you?'
A good stroke that didn't quite reach the boundary. 'That's very kind of you … Roger. But I can handle these. Excuse me.'
End of the over. Ellie took the drinks back to the table.
'Getting chatted up?' Lizzie giggled.'
'He's not bad looking,' prompted Cath.
'Oh shut up!' Ellie protested.
The jukebox in the corner was playing a current hit.
I'm her two penny prince and I give her Hot Love ah ha ha
Cath sang the lyrics directly at Ellie who blushed. Waved her embarrassment aside with a dismissive flick of her hand.
'Will you two stop it! All he said was Hello, for God's sake!'
'As in 'Hello, you're a pretty little thing. Would you like to see my etchings?' Lizzie's laugh was loud and coincided with a brief lull in the general buzz within the pub. Ellie lowered her head, covering her eyes with her hand.
'Everybody's staring,' she complained.
'Let them stare,' Cath raised her voice. 'Ellie's pulled!' she announced to anyone within earshot.'
Ellie gritted her teeth, 'Shut. Up.'
'He's coming over,' Liz said in a matter of fact way as if conversationally mentioning that it was raining outside. Then: 'I need the loo. Cath? You coming?'
Swiftly they left Ellie to her fate.
By the time they returned, Roger had planted himself next to Ellie – rather too close, she thought – and explained that 'Daddy was something in The City' and that he had his own rooms in the Halls of Residence.
'We ought to go,' Lizzie said tactfully to Cath. 'That  revision you wanted to do? Remember?'
'Yes. Yes of course.' Cath stood up. 'You enjoy yourself, Ellie. And don't worry if you're … late.'
Ellie wasn't late. In fact, she didn't go back at all that night.
It was her first time and she hadn't enjoyed it.
Let it go, Ellie.


As the term drew to it's close, Roger informed her that he had signed up to take part in an archaeological dig during the summer holidays. Would she like to tag along with him? Being totally besotted with him and having her own reasons for not returning home, she agreed without hesitation.
'Where is it?' she asked, not really caring.
'Place called Reculver.'
'Where's that?'
Roger looked up from the book he was reading. 'Kent Coast near – er – Herne Bay'
Ellie shook her head. 'I'm a Sheffield lass. Never been further south than The Smoke. What's there anyway? What are we digging for?'
Roger shrugged. 'Anything'.
'Well, that's a help!'
'Sorry.' An apology from Roger. A rare occurrence. Something she was already beginning to learn. He put the book down. 'There's been a lot of digs there over the years,' he explained. 'The Romans landed there in AD43, built a fortress on the cliff top. When they left a couple of hundred years later, the Anglo Saxons built their own fort as part of a chain called the Saxon Shore. Later still, it became a church. It's remains are still standing and the towers are a landmark for shipping. So, you see, dear Ellie, there is a lot that might still be waiting for some one to dig up! And, they say it's haunted.'
'Oh, I don't believe in that nonsense!' Ellie declared.
'Still ...' Roger gave her a  look and a soft smile.

Victoria Station

    The plan had been to meet at Victoria Station, Platform Five as Roger had to have a couple of days at the end of term to visit his parents in South London. Ellie wasn't invited.
So there she was, leaning out of the carriage window. Smoking. Fuming. She didn't even laugh at her own joke. Staring back to the crowded concourse, praying that Roger would emerge from the throng of commuters, panting and breathless as he jumped into the rear of the train to make his way forward.
Except he didn't and, without warning – apart from the guard's whistle which she either ignored or didn't hear – the train jerked into motion, throwing her momentarily off balance and eased its way out of the station.
It took twenty minutes to reach Bromley South and by that time she had made up her mind. She would stay on and go to Reculver. He may have been delayed for reasons unknown. Turn up tomorrow or the day after.
An hour later, at Faversham, she listened to the station announcer. Leaned out of the window to count the carriages. She had to be in the front four to travel to Herne Bay otherwise she'd be heading off to Dover. She breathed a sigh of relief that she was in the right portion.
Twenty more minutes and she alighted at Herne Bay and joined the queue for taxis.
Arrived at the dig, reported in and was shown to a tent that would be home for the next few weeks. The tent was a double, but it was empty.
After a week, it finally dawned on Ellie that Roger wasn't coming. Not at all. With a shock Ellie realised she's been dumped.
Bastard!
She kept herself to herself. Got on with the tasks she was assigned. Didn't go into Herne Bay or Margate when others organised a 'fun trip'. Frustratingly, she failed to be part of any group that had called for the experts to determine whether they had found anything of possible interest or value. The human detritus they uncovered was all too recent.
It was not that Ellie was bored. As painstaking and monotonous as was the task of gently scraping away layers of earth and rubble, it had a degree of excitement: would something suddenly appear? And it allowed her to focus on something other than her anger at Roger and her self flagellation for falling so easily and deeply for him. That was what hurt most. She realised quite early that it wasn't her heart that had been broken but her ego that had been shattered.
The night was hot – excessively so – and the air inside the tent stuffy and oppressive. Checking her watch by torchlight, Ellie was surprised to see that it told her it was nearly two o'clock in the morning. She hadn't slept and did not expect to for a while yet. One of those awful times when one knows that sleep was impossible.
She rose from the camp bed, donned T-shirt, shorts and sandals and unzipped the flap of the tent. Outside the air was cooler but still sticky. She lit a cigarette. Too stuffy to smoke inside the tent. Besides it was discouraged.
Somewhere, she fancied that she heard a baby cry. Odd. She'd not seen a baby in the camp all the time she's been there..
Idly, she climbed to the cliff top. She saw the silhouettes of two tankers that were anchored off the Goodwin Sands, waiting for a change of tide. The lemon yellow reflection of the full moon shimmered on the calm sea. Not for long, she thought, just look at those clouds!
She felt the breeze pick up. Lightning forked on the far horizon. The first few drops of rain.
It didn't bother her. The air needed clearing, the temperature need to fall and the ground needed the rain.
Ellie threw the cigarette end over the cliff, turned and headed back towards the twin towers that dominated the landscape. As she understood it, they were the last remains of the 6th Century Abbey built in honour of St Augustine.
Maybe it was a trick of the light. Maybe she was more tired than she thought. A man in a cloak  picked his way uncertainly through the rubble of the ruins.
The baby cried again.
'Are you lost?' Ellie called out. The figure stopped.
'Lost? Yes, I believe I am.'
'Where are you camped? Where is your tent?'
'I – I don't know.'
Ellie took a deep breath. The rain lashed down. Stinging. Lightning, both forked and sheet, illuminated The Channel. Thunder threatened to split the heavens open in its ferocity.
'Come with me,' she ordered, and the cloaked man followed her.


Just how it happened – or why – she could never explain. She could barely remember how it had started. They made love on the narrow camp bed. More than once in that long, hot summer night. He was tender with his touch, caring in his technique. Never rough, like Roger could be when he was aroused.
No, this was far more enjoyable than it had ever been with him.
Sleep came to her.
When she awoke, he was gone.
Ellie stretched, hoping she might spy him during the day, She dressed, fresh T-shirt, same shorts.
After a quick breakfast, she took her place in the group. The air was fresher. A bright sun dried the puddles. She saw no sign of the hooded man.
'Bit of excitement last night.' One of the over-chatty girls in her group said.
'Oh yes?' Ellie wasn't really interested in gossip.
The girl would not be deterred. 'Ghosts!' she said. 'One of the druids that haunt the towers. Apparently they often come out when there's a thunder storm. How exciting! Wish I'd been awake to see it.'
'Druids? Oh, come on,' Ellie scoffed.
'No, no! Seriously. Did you not know about the ghosts? Babies crying, a sentry looking out to sea and Druids wandering about in the rain. As if they were lost.'

(images from Wikipedia)


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