Thursday

by David Ridgway

  A muffled voice called, “Come in,” and Andy entered the room. Sebastian was seated behind his desk. The room was lit by four strategically placed candles. Seated in a chair on the near side of the desk was Fred the handyman.

  “Hello, Andy. I certainly wasn’t expecting to see you.”

  “No, sir. I’ve got a bit of a problem. It’s absolute madness out there.” He pointed dramatically to the door.

  “Calm down. Take a deep breath and tell me why you’re here,” Sebastian interrupted.

  “Thank you, Gov.” Andy did as he was told.

  "The river has burst its banks on both sides. I haven’t been on the south side since I dropped you off earlier, but I have driven back into the city with a fare. The traffic was awful because there’s no street lights and all the traffic lights are out.

  "Anyway, on my way back, I was driving from Blackfriars down the Victoria Embankment. Stupid really, because of the water still on the road. Two of the boats that are moored in the river have been washed onto the road. I’ve no idea where HMS Wellington is, but it’s not at its mooring.

  "There were four people sitting on the banking above the pavement at the side of the road. They had been on one of the pleasure boats. It was washed out of the river onto the road. I’ve picked them up. Obviously, I should have taken them to a hospital, but with the blackout, it’s really difficult to know what to do for the best. So I decided to bring them here because I thought you might have some room for them?

  “Because of the mess on the road from the pleasure steamer near Temple station, I had to work my way up to the Strand where another group waved me down. They had an unconscious woman and a man with a broken leg. I’ve got them with me as well.” Andy’s report slowed to a halt as he looked at Sebastian.

  Sebastian sat back in his chair and considered carefully what he had been told. He didn’t particularly relish having his own sanctuary invaded by a load of strangers, over whom he would have no control. But, on the other hand, he could hardly turn them away. He was also canny enough to realise that he might even be able to gain a suitable degree of decent publicity, which might further enhance his growing reputation and also help to keep him out of the direct focus of the Authorities.

  “Well, if they are outside in your cab, you’d better bring them in.” Andy thanked Sebastian and left the office.

  “Fred,” Sebastian addressed his handyman. “You’ll have to get Betty organised and we must see whether one of the girls might work the reception desk? We must also lock the door leading down to the cellar. I don’t want anyone wandering down there. We’ll need to know how many bedrooms we can use, as quickly as possible. I’ll ask Chantelle to see if she’ll help. I expect she will.”

  They both left the office and went up the stairs, Fred to his apartment and Sebastian to the second floor to knock on Chantelle’s door. She answered the door very quickly. She was dressed in a blouse and skirt with a dressing gown to keep warm.

  She smiled at Sebastian when she realised who was at the door. “Hello, Mr F B. What are you doing knocking at my door?”

  “Good evening, Chantelle,” Sebastian replied somewhat formally. “I wonder if you can give me a hand.”

  Very quickly, Seb explained the situation and, just as quickly, Chantelle understood. Even as he was explaining, she turned into her apartment and slipped on her shoes. She took off her dressing gown and replaced it with a warm cardigan. Quickly checking her hair and makeup in the mirror by her door, she followed Seb to the stairs.

  As they emerged onto the ground floor, they saw Andy, with one of the pleasure boat’s crew, struggling up the steps with the unconscious lady. They approached the reception desk and Chantelle passed over a registration card and a pen.

  “Is that really necessary?” Andy asked.

  “Yes, Andy, it is. Not necessarily for our records, but more to assist the emergency services when they arrive.” Seb turned to the girl and said, “Chantelle, as well as listing the names, addresses and other contact points, you must make a specific note of the allocated rooms and the potential injuries. Ah! Here’s Fred.”

  Sebastian took Fred away from the desk and they discussd quietly the availability of the rooms. He quickly made a note on a piece of paper and passed it to Chantelle. Fred also reported that Betty was already making sure that the rooms were open and available. He also advised Sebastian that he would nip down to the cellar and secure the door.

  “Right, Andy!” Sebastian returned to the desk, as the other bedraggled passengers from Andy’s cab made their way through the front door, half carrying and half dragging the man with the broken thigh.

  “We’ve got no power, so the lift doesn’t work,” he announced. “I’m afraid the injured are all going to have to be carried up to the second floor. If you want to make use of the lounge rooms, behind the reception area, that’s fine. I’ll leave you to sort that out yourselves. I expect that you’ll want to get the lady into a bed as quickly as possible.”

  “Thanks, Gov,” Andy replied. “This guy here will organise all that.” He indicated the man who had flegged him down on the Embankment. “I’ve got to get back to pick up those other people that I left on the Strand.”

  He turned, left the hotel and got back into his cab. As he turned it round, several street lights suddenly flickered and lit up. Driving towards the Cromwell Road, he glanced in his mirror at the hotel and saw that its lights were working. His journey back to Knightsbridge and Hyde Park Corner was without incident. The traffic was virtually non-existent and, very soon, on the Mall he saw the rest of the group walking slowly towards Buckingham Palace.

  Huddersfield was in a real mess. With the ambient temperature rising rapidly, the snow was quickly turning to slush. Where it was lying on the roads and pavements, the car tracks and the footprints first compacted the snow to ice. Following the temperature rise, a film of water covered that ice and this made the roads lethal. On the major arterial roads, there were a number of accidents and these, in turn, caused major blockages.

  On the positive side, however, power was now restored.

  In the hills surrounding Marsden, the snow was rapidly melting. As the ground was already sodden with the continuous autumn rain, the meltwater simply flowed over the surface and collected in the small streams. These quickly built up into raging torrents, emptying into the three reservoirs situated to the south of Marsden. The most southerly, Wessenden Reservoir, was already full and Wessenden Brook was hardly able to cope with the outflow, especially when it was joined by the increased torrential meltwater in Blake Clough. This joint inflow created a significant increase in the level of the water in Blakeley Reservoir. A wave, some three feet high, passed down the length of the reservoir.

  The amount of meltwater flowing off the hillsides into the Wessenden valley was now converging on Butterley Reservoir, which had recently been subject to the upgraded concrete slipway. Following all the autumnal rain, it was already full. As with Blakeley Reservoir, a wave some three feet in height, now swept down Butterley Reservoir to the clay dam wall and the new slipway. This sudden increased weight of water was too much for the slipway to carry. Water is a massively destructive force and will always seek an outlet in its attempt to flow downwards. A slow trickle appeared between the new concrete slipway and the dam itself. The increased pressure of water forced its way into that small crack, which widened and deepened, until there was a stream of water jetting through the dam wall itself.

  The snow was lying several feet deep all over the whole of Marsden Moor and the meltwater continued to flow into the Wessenden valley, maintaining an intolerable pressure on the dam wall. Without warning, a complete section of the wall gave way and the water immediately flowed out through the new gap, eroding the dam wall even more, before sweeping into the valley below. The breach widened and the wall of water swept down the valley between Mount Road and Binn Road, sluicing away the sheds of the old derelict textile mill, carrying that debris across the roundabout at the end of
Carr Road. With no respite, the water flowed over the Marsden Football Club and the derelict land behind the old fire station.

  After crossing the main Manchester Road, the wall of water swept down Peel Street and across Brougham Road, before finding the river Colne itself. Many houses in the town centre were flooded and some even received structural damage, before the floodwater found its way into the river. The flood water now followed the course of the river Colne in the valley bottom eastwards from Marsden to Huddersfield. Trees and natural vegetation were ripped away and the river banks were badly eroded.

  The flow of water, however, was basically contained by the main road, the A62 on the south side and the Huddersfield Narrow Canal and the Manchester to Leeds railway line to the north. As the valley naturally widened at Sparth Reservoir, the intensity of the flood lessened somewhat as the water spread right across the valley. Here it even inundated the Huddersfield Narrow Canal.

  The flood waters divided and flowed to the north and south of the derelict Cellars Clough Mill and again at Holme Mills, before reforming as the valley narrowed once again. As the river reached Slaithwaite, the valley narrowed considerably, forcing the flood water to deepen and flow even faster. It thundered into the western part of the village, dividing once again as it reached and flooded the ground floor of Upper Mill and the houses lining the banks of the canal. Forcing its way across Britannia Road, causing considerable damage to the road bridge as it passed, the wall of water inundated the timber yard, before washing away the council’s entire winter salt reserves. Timber, washed free from the timber yard, was now floating down the river in the flood water, breaking through the fence surrounding the chemical works, before destroying large storage tanks, adding a toxic mix of chemicals to the water.

  Once again, the valley widened as the flooded river swept past Titanic Mill in Linthwaite, before narrowing significantly, as it reached Milnsbridge. Although the overall intensity of the flood was slackening, the water was now badly contaminated. Trees, timber and other debris flowed past the Aldi supermarket in Milnsbridge, where the flood undermined the supports to the road bridge, before sweeping on towards Longroyd Bridge and Huddersfield.

  Back at Butterley Dam, the wall, although badly damaged, still held back the greater part of the water in the reservoir. The breach was thirty feet across and some twelve feet deep. The intensity of the outflow quickly slackened as the water level in reservoir lowered, but the meltwater from the hills surrounding Marsden, however, would sustain local flooding throughout the length on the Colne Valley from Marsden all the way to the outskirts of Huddersfield for several days. Once the initial intensity of the flood had swept through the township, the local Marsdeners were able to mop out their cellars and to divert the rest of the water away from the town centre.

  Fortunately for Christine and Robert Sykes, they were already driving away from Marsden before the dam was breached. Their successful intervention was ensuring that their contacts were busily knocking up their neighbours and, by word of mouth, the urgency of the situation was brought to most householders living under the dam wall and in the immediate path of possible danger. The surgery was open and all the old folk in Wessen Court were now safely upstairs.

  Their job done, Robert turned the car round and drove back down the valley towards Slaithwaite. Christine reminded Robert that they should go into the village and try to warn people on Howgate Road and in the centre of the village. Once again, they were willingly helped by local people who promised to pass the word to their neighbours.

  After knocking on a couple of doors on Bridge Street, Robert got back into the car. He could hear a muffled roar as the wave of destruction entered Slaithwaite at the western end of the village. They could hear the noise getting closer as he started the car and drove over the canal bridge up towards New Street. As he glanced to his left, he saw the wave of flood water coming towards him. He gunned the engine and drove up Cross Street past the Town Hall. As he reached Carr Lane, the floodwater started to lap at his rear wheels, but as quickly as it had come, the water began to recede.

  “Bloody hell!” he exclaimed. “That was right close.”

  “We’ll have to go home,” Christine replied. “There’s nothing more we can do now.”

  “We’re on the wrong side of the river.” Robert turned left to Slaithwaite centre. “I’m not too sure that the Britannia Road Bridge will be safe. I’ll have a look, but I expect we’re going to have a bugger of a journey home.”

  Chief Superintendent Bleasdale sat at his desk in Scotland Yard. After returning from his visit to Mr Chao, he wrote up his report. He still believed that, despite assurances to the contrary, Mr Chao was well aware of the people involved in smuggling illegal immigrants into the country. He fully appreciated that Mr Chao, himself, would not be directly involved. After all, Kevin knew Mr Chao’s history and his abhorrence of people smuggling and slavery. Even so, Kevin did believe that Mr Chao was most unlikely to turn down an opportunity to turn a profit.

  Over the previous thirty years or so, their relationship had blossomed. In his early days in the Metropolitan Police, Constable Bleasdale made it plain to Mr Chao that, if he kept his business legitimate, he would receive little interference from the police. Indeed, for a reasonable and regular consideration, PC Bleasdale himself would ensure a degree of protection for Mr Chao and that he would be treated somewhat differently from the rest of the Soho underworld. Consequently, Mr Chao was able to build his empire in real estate with little attention from the authorities. In addition to his quarterly consideration, whenever the opportunity arose Mr Chao was also expected to feed Kevin with accurate and appropriate information.

  To their mutual satisfaction, this arrangement continued to flourish through the years. It was somewhat ironic that Chief Superintendent Kevin Bleasdale’s career prospects were so much improved that he was now the senior officer leading the police inquiry into illegal immigration, asylum seekers and modern human slavery.

  Nevertheless, as Kevin Bleasdale gained promotion through the ranks, he found it increasingly difficult to maintain both the necessary professional contact with Mr Chao, as well as collecting in person his quarterly pay off. This dilemma began to weigh heavily on his mind. With his career blossoming, the secret payments were becoming somewhat difficult to collect. Kevin fully realised that, should he be found out, his whole career would be over and that he and his family would be thrown to the wolves.

  It was rather fortunate, therefore, that he was able to resolve his disquiet when a newly employed, young Woman Police Officer was seconded to his department in Scotland Yard. A minor indiscretion on her part had been brought to his attention. She was short, with dark red hair and sparkling blue eyes. Her uniform set off her slight figure to perfection and Kevin had been captivated from the moment he first saw her.

  Her indiscretion involved the non-reporting of a personal parking ticket but, in order to resolve it, Kevin inappropriately pulled rank, took her into his office and threatened her with dismissal. Although WPC Elizabeth Drury was young, she was also very canny. She immediately realised that such a trivial incident was being blown out of proportion and that made her believe that there must be some other underlying reason for his behaviour. There was! Like a thunderclap on a warm, sunny summer’s day, the penny dropped for Kevin when he realized that WPC Liz Drury was the answer to his problems.

  Thereafter, every three months or so, WPC Drury would travel by bus and in plain clothes to Soho, where she exchanged one locked metal briefcase for another heavier one with the receptionist in Mr Chao’s office. On her return to Scotland Yard, she would deposit the case in the boot of Chief Superintendent Bleasdale’s car. She was instructed to use public transport for this mission, so that no trace of the journey would be logged.

  Naturally, she didn’t know the contents of the briefcase and was sensible enough never to enquire about them. On the first occasion, however, her natural curiosity overcame her inherent caution but when she tried to open i
t, she found that the case was locked. After completing that first mission, she was carefully questioned by the then Inspector Bleasdale whether she had looked inside the briefcase. She brazenly lied, saying that it was none of her business and that she was quite content simply to do as she was bidden. During that exchange, Kevin Bleasdale watched her very closely and concluded that she had indeed tried to open the case but, finding it locked, she was able to remain calm and relaxed and, consequently, was able to lie convincingly. For her part, she resolved never again to try to open the case. That evening they went to dinner, followed by a show and afterwards Kevin stayed over in her small apartment in Fulham. That was the start of a relationship which, although it never developed into anything deeper, was continued to their mutual satisfaction and convenience.

  On that Thursday, neither Chief Superintendent Bleasdale nor his catspaw WPC Drury could have known that her bus would have been side swiped by a tourist boat and then swamped by a freak wave, the result of two intense, colliding sea surges way out in the North Sea. It was, perhaps, somewhat fortunate that WPC Drury recovered consciousness before David and Jackie started to move the passengers up the steps to Lancaster Place and then towards the Strand. Not knowing the whereabouts of his junior officer, Kevin Bleasdale busied himself, finalising action plans for the protection and rescue of the public that would be rolled out as soon as conditions around Scotland Yard were sufficiently improved. He would have been really amazed to know that his junior officer and part time lover had been saved from drowning by his own daughter and her boyfriend.

  He was sitting at his desk when, all of a sudden, the lights flickered and came on as power was restored. He walked to the window and looked down at the road below. He could now see that the iron gates and fencing at each end of Richmond Terrace were severely damaged. All the cars, parked so neatly earlier that afternoon, were now piled up in a small mountain of buckled metal and broken glass against the gates near the junction with Whitehall. He strode to the door of his office, opened it and turned left into the corridor. At the far end, he entered an open office where the teams were busily re-booting their computers and other communication equipment.