by Jon McGregor
Martin told Tony he wouldn’t send Ruth a Valentine’s card. He knew it was over between them, he said, although he didn’t fully understand what had actually gone wrong. She’d said nothing about the card the previous year. He knew that trying to fix things between them only gave her a chance to feel sorry for him. He definitely wouldn’t send her a card. On the fourteenth he bought a card and posted it to her house, and on the back of the envelope he said he hoped she didn’t mind it being late. The quarry was busy again for a time. They were working a new face, and blasting frequently. The trees along the road were all heavily dusted, and no one had hung washing outside for weeks. There was a want of rain to clear the air. If Andrew was home when the siren went Irene had to be sure to be with him. There was an anxiety it brought out in him that seemed more in keeping with the way the birds flew away or the sheep lunged over to the far side of the field. As a boy he’d just covered his ears and screamed. Now it was more of the headshaking and yelping to himself, but if she stood near him that seemed to be enough. She wondered if his head held the sound in the same place as it held his father. She wasn’t sure what he remembered of his father. But it was never simple. What he knew and didn’t know. People explained things to her, about what they said was his capacity, and often they turned out to be wrong. When the siren went at the quarry she wanted to hold him but he wouldn’t be held. She could only stand nearby. He’d been strong enough to throw her off for years. Some days the siren sounded five or six times. From the eaves of the church the first bats were seen leaving at dusk, hungry from a long winter’s sleep and listening for food.
On the moors the gamekeepers from the estate were burning off squares of heather. It was hot, vigilant work. They’d waited for a day when the heather was dry but the peat still damp, and for a low wind blowing downhill, and then they’d marked out their squares and were walking behind a line of fire, damping it down with flat rubber shovels, pushing the flame down the hill until it reached the break they’d already cut. The smell of the smoke carried down to the village. Cooper opened the windows in the flat above the converted stables and let it blow in. The place was empty. Su had taken the twins to her parents in Manchester. There’d been a lot of talk and when it finally happened she’d made the decision sound mutual. There were practical reasons. It would be temporary. She was exhausted and she needed the rest. Her parents would enjoy spending time with the boys. She had to commit to projects at the BBC before the door closed on her career for good, and this way her mother could have the boys while she worked. Austin was too busy with the village magazine, she knew that, he couldn’t deny that. There wasn’t room for him to stay with her parents as well. They could both do with some space. It would only be temporary. He wanted to believe her but he wasn’t stupid. He stood in the empty flat. She had the boys’ clothes, their nappies, their toys. It was difficult for him to take on board. The flat seemed much bigger. This didn’t have to be about them, she’d said. She wasn’t leaving him, she wanted to see him soon. She just needed a rest. She needed someone to look after her for a while. They would find a way through this. His first wife had said these same things, and she’d never come back. He wasn’t going to let that happen all over again. He knew how much was at stake. He slept very little and in the morning he was outside the estate agent’s office in town before nine o’clock, waiting for them to open.
After a week of rains there were warm still days and the plots at the allotment went wild. The nettles and cow parsley came up in swathes, the bindweed trumpeting through the hedges, and the regulars on the committee took note. In his greenhouse Clive potted courgettes and French beans, and watched Susanna Wright go at her plot with a pair of garden shears. Ashleigh was running round with a stick, scything the heads off the nettles and making more headway than her mother. Susanna stopped often to stretch her back, pulling her hair away from her face and tying it up. She had a very straight back, when she stretched like that. On one such occasion she caught sight of him and waved enthusiastically. He nodded. The greenhouse was hot in the long afternoon sun, and he gave the pots a good misting. Later she came over to say hello and talk about how much weeding she had to do. She was looking for sympathy, it seemed. Last time I was here there was nothing to worry about, she said. And look at it now, it’s like a jungle. She was laughing, apparently with surprise. Clive nodded. Weeds will do that, he said. It’ll not take long. It was two weeks since her last visit and what did she expect. She’d spent that whole afternoon painting a bench. So. Cooper was spending more time in the Gladstone, while Su and the twins were in Manchester. He’d been trying to downplay the situation, saying it was understandable that she wanted to be with her mother at a difficult time, saying there was no doubt they’d be back soon enough, but it was generally understood that the man was in bits. He finally conceded to Tony at the bar one evening that he was finding things tough. There was a constant churning in his stomach, he said, a dread that things might stay like this. Martin asked if he’d tried Rennie’s for the churning, and Tony told him to knock it off. I don’t even know what it is, Cooper said. Adrenalin? I can’t relax. I can’t think of anything else. Have you tried yoga? Martin said, and Tony gave him a final-warning look. That’s very good, Cooper said. Thank you. But really though. This is new to me. I never felt like this with my first wife. When she said she was leaving. I don’t remember feeling like this. I know I just need to give her time, okay, people say that, give her time. But what if the time’s not enough? What if she doesn’t come back? What if she’s already met someone else? Martin signalled to Tony to pour a whisky, and passed it along to Cooper. Get this down you, lad, he said. You think that’s going to help, Cooper asked; honestly? Not really, Martin said. But it’ll shut you up for a bit. There was some laughter, and Cooper tipped the whisky into his mouth, sitting in silence for a few minutes, rubbing at his churning stomach. In the evenings there were showers that came and went, flashing across the valley with the promise of bright sun always behind. There was the sound of a freight train, edging around the bend through the silver birch trees, the empty wagons clattering over the bridge.
The girl had been looked for at the flooded quarry. The fence had been checked for damage or signs of being climbed. The divers had roped up and slipped into the dark. She had been looked for in the caves along the river, and in those cramped spaces only cans and bottles and wadded tissues had been found. On the high embankment the river keeper cleared out a drainage ditch. Where it ran under the road someone had gone to the trouble of bagging up their rubbish before dumping it in. There was the usual mess of brambles to cut back. The rain was heavy and the work was wet, but the sound of the water passing through the pipes under the road was a welcome one. Come summer and the river would be in fine condition. The keeper wasn’t a man for whistling while he worked but his mood was good. In the evening Susanna got the hall ready for yoga. It had taken a while but by now the classes were more popular than some had assumed they might be. She kept saying it was open to everyone, but whenever a man showed up he found himself the only one there and soon decided not to come back. Most of the women were regulars, and after a few months some of them were disappointed by how few poses they could hold. Susanna tried to tell them yoga wasn’t about goals. There are no badges or certificates here, she said; it’s all about finding your own point of stretch. Her voice always softened when she spoke like this, when she moved among them making small adjustments to their arms, their shoulders, their legs. Her touch was gentle and firm. To be adjusted by Susanna meant being the centre of her attention for a moment, and some of the women suspected the others of holding an incorrect posture on purpose. In the woodland by the river there were yellow pimpernels spreading along the banks, their glossy green leaves drinking in the shade and their small yellow flowers like spots of light. At the heronry there were new chicks high in the nests and a flap of parents fetching food back to the gaping mouths. Cooper had spent a lot of time in Manchester with Su while she stayed at her parent
s’, and after two months of driving backwards and forwards he persuaded her to come home with the boys. From the way Su talked about it later it didn’t sound as though he’d persuaded her so much as that he simply hadn’t given up. Sometimes reliability can be very attractive, she told Cathy. And my mum was doing my nut in to be honest. They found a buyer for their flat almost immediately, but had trouble finding a place they could afford. In the end they went for an ex-council house on the Close, which had none of the character of the stables but did have an extra bedroom and a garden with a swing and a washing line and a gate opening into the woods. They borrowed money from her family to make up the difference, and Cooper moved the magazine office into a side room at the church. By the river the bright young leaves of the willows flashed with light.
James Broad finally told Rohan what had happened with Becky Shaw. They were up at Reservoir no. 9 in Sophie’s car, hotboxing. James had driven and Sophie was already pale and shimmering in the back seat, and although she seemed half asleep she kept joining in with what he was saying. The car was milky with smoke. Lynsey was asleep beside her, but she kept waking up and talking about going to university. Rohan hadn’t asked about Becky but James had decided it was time to tell. They’d all met her the summer before she disappeared, he said. Her family had come up for a fortnight and they’d started hanging out together. Not doing much. Kid stuff. Building dens. Swimming in the river. Going into the caves. She’d always wanted to do a bit more, push things further. She wasn’t much older than they were but she’d seemed a lot more mature. She was so pretty, Sophie said, lighting the pipe again. Wasn’t she pretty, James? James glanced at her in the rear-view mirror. Her eyes were closed and she was smiling. He looked at Rohan, and nodded. They’d all fancied her, he said, even if they hadn’t admitted it at the time. There was something exciting about her, he said. She talked us into climbing the fence round the quarry, and she was the first one to jump off the rope-swing. She was hardcore. And she was smart, Sophie added, from the back seat. Lynsey sat up straight again. We should all go to the same uni, she said. Shouldn’t we? We could live in the same halls and everything. James passed her the pipe, and they listened to the click and draw as she smoked it, the long pause before she sighed out the smoke. James and Sophie were both picturing Becky launching out from the rope-swing, this girl who none of them really knew, the light catching on her long bare legs as she fell through the air and something new stirred in them all. I was the only one who kept in touch with her, James said, after she went back to London. Emails, postcards, nothing much. I didn’t have a phone and there was no Facebook in those days. But we kept in touch. We – fuck it. We liked each other, okay? We liked each other. He turned round and took the pipe from Lynsey, who was falling asleep again. He thumbed it full of skunk from the bag on the dashboard. Becky was the one who talked her parents into coming here again for New Year, is what she reckoned. He toked hard on the pipe, and coughed as he let the smoke go. So there’s that for a start. Rohan took the pipe. And then when she was here we all met up and hung out for a bit, except it was cold and there wasn’t really anywhere to hang out. It was nice seeing her though. We had a little bit of a connection or something. And she’d grown up a lot since the summer. He’s talking about her being physically mature, Sophie said, sleepily. Don’t be coy, James. You mean she had tits, yeah? Me and Lynsey were well jealous, weren’t we, Lyns? Lynsey opened her eyes and looked at Sophie. Edinburgh, she said. We’ll all go to Edinburgh. I’ll do English, you guys do whatever. It’s cheap up there. Sophie stroked her arm and said yes, we’ll definitely all go to Edinburgh, we’ll all go together, if we get in, we’ll be a gang up there. Lynsey closed her eyes. I didn’t just mean that, James said. But it was part of it, Sophie murmured. The car was quiet for a moment. When they talked about Becky now it was hard to actually picture her face. The photo on the news had never looked right, but it had replaced the image of her they’d held. She was being lost all over again. Outside the car the evening was still and the light was softening over the reservoir. Anyway, James said, we were all heading home one time and she held me back and we like kissed or whatever and then we arranged to meet up just the two of us, the next afternoon. Rohan looked at him. Sophie asked if she’d been a good kisser. James said he couldn’t remember. That wasn’t really the point. You mean no, then, Sophie said. Rohan asked what had happened, when they met, whether anything had happened. Sophie sat forward and put her hand on James’s shoulder. She never turned up, James said. That was it. That was when she went missing. She must have been on her way over to meet me. Something must have happened. I was waiting for her at the old water-board buildings by Reservoir no. 7, and she never turned up. There was a silence in the car and then the long sigh of smoke streaming out of Rohan’s lungs. The car was fogging and the windows were wet with condensation. Outside the wind was picking up and the rain was moving in. Sophie was turning her hand in front of her face, looking puzzled. I think we should go now, she whispered. Rohan lowered the window and the smoke poured out into the night and was gone.
Ashleigh Wright was seen up at her mother’s allotment, hoeing along the rows the way Clive had shown her a few weeks earlier. When she was done she earthed up the potatoes, pulled slugs off the courgettes, and planted out some potted winter vegetables Clive had said were going spare. Afterwards she headed down to the cricket ground, nodding briefly at Clive on the way. Clive acknowledged, and went back to his watering. He hadn’t wanted to meddle. But the girl had looked as though she’d listen. In the long margins around the cricket field a golden skipper worked her way down a stem of dead grass until she found an opening in which to lay her eggs. The young blackbirds had put on their adult feathers. Most days after school now Tom Jackson spent a couple of hours with his grandparents. Occasionally Maisie could persuade him to sit at the kitchen table and do some schoolwork, but most times he would chase after whatever she was doing, offering to help but just getting in the way, talking about school or television or the long games he’d been playing with his friends. He always included Jackson in these conversations, running in and out of the front room if Jackson was back in his bed. There’d been a time Jackson would have affected impatience with visits like these, but she was sure they were the highlight of his day. Hers too, if she was honest. Tom was one of the few people who could understand Jackson’s halting, slurred speech, and just about the only person who could talk to him without making allowances. The speech had improved a lot over the last few years but he was reluctant to say much. His frustration at the way he sounded was obvious. But with Tom he seemed prepared to rabbit on, and she’d even heard him say things that sounded awfully close to bugger, or bollocks, which had Tom in fits of giggles. It even made Maisie smile, when she knew Tom wasn’t looking. The thought of Jackson’s reaction if he’d heard the boys say anything similar when they were young. So much discipline in the house, in those days. There’d had to be. Five of them in ten years, and the house not all that big. Five of them to be fed and cleaned and dressed and herded around. Five sets of clothes to be mended and patched and handed down. Ten muddy boots to be kept out of the house. Always so much noise. Jackson not thinking that what went on in the house was his business, unless one of the boys overstepped some mark or other. And her keeping them out of his line of fire and holding them together when they fell foul. Her back ached with the memory of it. She hoped Claire would have the sense to think one more was enough. She wondered whether it might be a girl. She wondered when they might tell anyone.
The last days of August were heavy with heat and the hedgerows turned brittle beneath it. The reservoir levels fell quickly and there was talk the flooded villages might be seen again. The cricket pitch was hard and cracked and made for some sharp bowling spells when Cardwell came over for the annual match. There were children from the campsite playing Pooh sticks on the footbridge by the tea rooms, and there was a fright when their parents couldn’t be found. In the final innings of the cricket James Broad was p
laced out at long off. He was talking to Lynsey Smith, who was sitting just past the boundary rope with the last of a lunchtime’s bottle of wine. Cardwell were settled in for a defensive spell and James had little to do beyond look like he was paying attention. I didn’t think you were all that interested in cricket, he told Lynsey at one point, talking over his shoulder with his eyes on the bowling. I don’t think I am, she said, and though he kept still a rush of alertness came through him as if he were diving for a catch. The game was lost, and in the evening the pair of them were seen leaving the pavilion early and walking through the square. Cooper ran a piece in the Valley Echo about the protest camp at the Stone Sisters. It had been there for a year now, and seemed well established. Word was they had their own compost toilet. It wasn’t clear what they did up there all day, although drumming was sometimes heard. There were rumours of tunnels. The heather was thick with butterflies – skippers and fritillaries and coppers – and Sally Fletcher spent most of the afternoon making a count for the National Park. In the beech wood the foxes ran through the night. The cubs were now as big as the adults and were striking out on their own. They would soon be seen as competition. There was play but it took on a fierce edge and there were fights that ended in blood. The edges of the territory were understood. In the evenings now the noise of people talking outside the Gladstone was louder on account of the smoking ban, and no matter how many notices Tony put up he still had complaints from the parish council. Some people had no idea how their voices carried. There was a new woman working at the bar and Gordon had been talking to her. Her name was Philippa and she was only around for the summer. She was volunteering at the visitor centre to get some conservation experience. She was staying with a friend in the city and driving out each day. There was a tattoo of a kingfisher on her shoulder, the size of Gordon’s thumb. On her lower back there was a finely drawn bluebell, placed in such a way that the bulb and root system could only be seen once her pants were down. He liked to look at it and she liked him to look at it and for a time this was enough. Each night when she drove back to the city Philippa assumed she would tell her friend about this man she’d met, and each time something stopped her. She wondered why she kept these things from people. Her friend didn’t even know about the bluebell tattoo, nor about the man she’d been with when she had it done.