by Sadie Jones
Every few days Elizabeth kept Lewis at home and they took a picnic into the woods and down to the river. He liked being around her and they would read and swim. Sometimes she would fall asleep in the afternoon and, after watching her for a little, he would climb trees or swim on his own, but never too far away in case she woke and didn’t know where he was.
There was a buzzing of flies and bees and a whirring of crickets in the ferns and grass, and Lewis carried the blanket and towels for swimming. It was the woollen blanket from the car and it was itchy and crumbs got stuck in it. Elizabeth carried the basket with bread and a bottle of wine and some pork pies, which weren’t proper pork pies at all, but mostly salt and lard. They had strawberries from the garden for afterwards which were very sweet so it didn’t matter about no cream or sugar. The woods were dim around them and seemed to be sweating; the leaves were dark and still. There was the sound of a distant plane and Elizabeth thought immediately of the war and how much she hated the sound.
‘Mind out for the nettles,’ she said.
It was the time of year when the nettles are coarse and big and dark and don’t sting you too badly, but they had grown out over the path so Elizabeth and Lewis had to go in single file. One brushed Lewis’s leg, but it just itched a bit so he didn’t say anything.
‘Do you want to go further along, where it’s deeper?’ she asked him.
‘Yes, let’s go by where there’s that boat,’ he said.
It was nice of her to ask because it was quite a walk and they knew they’d be hot and sick of carrying the things when they got there, but it was the best part of the river to go to because of it being wide and deep there and more like an adventure.
‘I hate this weather,’ said Elizabeth and Lewis was surprised; it was summer and you could be out and he didn’t know what she meant.
The clearing by the wide part of the river was sandy with short grass in patches. The cow parsley and all the prettier things were over, but Lewis liked the longer grass now it had seeded itself. It was like pictures he’d seen of Africa and he thought if he’d been younger he would have played that there were lions. Sometimes he played that there were lions anyway, or at least imagined they were there, watching.
Elizabeth spread out the blanket and they flopped onto it. She was wearing a blue and white patterned dress; the blue was dark, and it had square shoulders and short sleeves and a straightish wrapover skirt. She had used to wear it for going out with smart shoes, but now she wore it just any time because it was old, but it still looked nice. They looked at the pork pies, which had gone shiny and soaked through the paper they were wrapped in, and she opened the bottle of wine. She had brought mugs for their drinks, because of not breaking glasses, and they laughed about her pouring her wine into one.
‘Taste?’ she offered and he sipped the wine and made a face.
The only nice thing about it was its connection with her. He ate the pork pies and she just drank, thinking perhaps they’d look better after more wine. Her dress was sticking to her, she could feel the sweat trickling down inside it, but she didn’t want to swim yet – she knew once she did she would be cold and she put it off.
‘I’m going to swim. Are you coming in?’
‘You go ahead, I’ll watch.’
Lewis went behind a tree to change, which Elizabeth thought very funny and teased him about. He ran out quickly and did a running jump into the water with curled-up legs. The river hadn’t noticed it was summer, and had been for ages, and he swam up and down shouting until he got warmer and then floated and swam around the bend and back.
He inspected the wreck, which was a wooden boat about seven feet under the water, and tried to pull the rudder off.
‘I can’t get it,’ he said, coming up. He went down again and tried again and surfaced, breathing hard.
‘Come and have strawberries before I finish them. You’ll freeze,’ called Elizabeth and went back to her book. She’d nearly finished the wine and the pork pies didn’t look any better. He came out and rubbed himself dry on the towel and then sat down by her.
‘Cold?’
‘Not too bad.’
‘Did you get it?’
‘What?’
‘The rudder.’
‘No, I said I didn’t. It’s all dug into the bottom.’
She poured the last of the wine. He lay back and stared up at the white sky. She drank and then stood and walked towards the river and spread out her arms.
‘Oh, I do love it here.’ He didn’t look up, he was used to her loving things. ‘We must make Daddy come here. He never has. He never does. Why are you laughing?’
‘Daddy swimming.’
‘Your father is an excellent swimmer. Ooh—’ she stumbled and steadied herself with one hand on the ground. ‘I can stand on one leg,’ she said.
‘Mummy, everyone can stand on one leg.’
‘But look, I do it beautifully.’
He looked.
‘Right then!’ she said.
‘Right then?’
‘This dashed rudder. I’m going to get it.’
‘You can’t get it. You’re only a girl.’
‘I say I can get it and I’ll wager fifty pounds.’
‘Two hundred and fifty says you can’t.’
‘I bloody bloody can, Lewis Aldridge.’
She was excited and laughing, and pulled off her dress. She had her slip under it and walked straight into the water. She screamed a bit, but didn’t really feel the cold at all, it just seemed so lovely and strange to have the water creep up her body. She held her arms out and walked deeper and deeper, and forgot to swim until she had to and then the swimming felt very light and easy. She remembered the rudder and turned around in the water, fluttering her hands from side to side. She saw a dragonfly.
‘Where’s this wreck then?’
‘You know where it is. There. There.’
He stood up and pointed and she swam over to the place and tried to look down through the water, but put her face in it by mistake.
‘You won’t get it,’ he said and laughed at her with her wet hair.
‘You just watch me,’ she said and dived.
He saw the see-through cream silk of her back and the bottom of her slip and her white feet flick up into the air and then ripples. He could see her white shape under the water, but he couldn’t see what she was doing. He thought that it felt like he was alone when she was under the water even though she was so near. He looked around at the wood and the white sky. The wood was very quiet; it felt very quiet. He saw the dragonfly. Then she was up and shaking hair out of her eyes.
‘You’re right. It’s silted up,’ she said and she was quite determined.
She went down again. Lewis waited, smiling, but his smile going. He was hot. He felt something on his arm and he looked down. It was a splash of water. The brown skin was browner where the water was. It was rain. He looked up. The sky was still pale and very thick and you couldn’t tell how high it was. He looked back to the water for his mother. An internal clock told him she should come back up now. She hadn’t, but he could see the water moving. He wondered how long had gone by since he had thought it was time she should come up. He wondered if he had thought that she should come up at the time she should come up, or just after. He wondered if maybe he had been thinking about the rain longer than he thought. He walked forward into the water a little way. He thought perhaps the time wasn’t as long as it felt. Or perhaps it was longer. Two more fat raindrops fell on his arm and he heard thunder.
‘Mummy,’ he said and didn’t know he was going to say it.
He could still see her white shape and her legs moving, but only very vaguely; the water was brown and shining, and deeper in it was churned up and he couldn’t see anything very clearly. He walked in further. He thought, she’s not coming up, and knew he had to get her. He started towards the place and seemed to be going very slowly. He forgot to swim at first because he was just thinking about getting to her and then
he swam the short distance very quickly. He thought she was about to come up and she’d laugh at him – but that was the last thought he had before fear came over him.
He couldn’t feel his body and his breath was very quick, but he didn’t know that it was. He dived down, without thinking and without taking a proper breath, and he couldn’t see anything because of the bubbles and had to come up again. He took a big breath this time, but his heart was going so fast it didn’t last like it normally did and he had no idea what to do, so he just swam down and stared through the water and he saw her. Her head was sideways and she opened her mouth and he thought she was trying to say something, but he didn’t know why she would do that. He couldn’t see properly because of the bottom being churned up. He had sand in his eyes. He looked again and it looked like she was lying there on her side like a mermaid relaxing and he couldn’t understand what he was seeing. His breath ran out and he surfaced. He should have waited, but he took another breath and went down again.
The water was dirtier and he couldn’t see and he just pulled at her, he didn’t know where, at her slip or her arm, and made no impression at all. Then he knew what it was, and why she was lying sideways like a mermaid – her leg was stuck under the boat. He started to shove against the boat, but that was hopeless and he’d run out of breath again. He came up and his head felt very light and strange. He had a moment of clarity and of strength and purpose. He thought, I have to get down there and hold her around the middle and push my legs against the boat. He dived down straight for her this time, not looking, but going for her so that his head hit the side of the boat. He didn’t feel his head hit the boat and he got both arms around her. He pulled and she moved, and he felt a jolt of joy and pushed off from the bottom, but then she moved suddenly too, writhing very violently; she grabbed onto him and they both stayed down. The water felt heavy on top of them and she wasn’t really free and they were struggling together and he didn’t know what they were struggling for, except that he didn’t have any breath at all and there was a bad pain in his chest. He started to choke. Her fingers were gripping him and he was held down by her. He was swallowing water and felt terror and pushed off from the bottom again, wrenching her hands away, and got free and when he surfaced he could only get his face out of the water, he couldn’t seem to come out of the water properly. Why doesn’t she come, he thought, why doesn’t she come up? He tried to get up in the water and get his breath, and he was so angry with her, and then he went down again, half on purpose and half because he couldn’t help it. Her hair was floating over her face and in the way of them, and the sand and mud were all around them. He tried to pull her again, but she was much heavier somehow and even though she didn’t grab him, he couldn’t do anything with her; he got her hand and tried to swim, but he was tired and had no strength. He tried to swim pulling her hand – as if he were tugging along the road, to show her something – but he kept letting go. He came up again. He felt weak and he couldn’t seem to think what to do. His mind felt weak and his body wouldn’t connect with it and he heard a sound coming out of himself, but couldn’t feel himself making it.
He tried to go down again, but found he couldn’t. He tried to peer down through the water, but his breath and panic made it move too much to see anything, and anyway it was muddy and he didn’t know where she was now. He felt himself cramp up; he felt his legs, or his breath, or whatever it was that made him a swimmer stop working and he knew that he was going to drown. He knew that he wasn’t going be able to get out of the water. Then he thought, in a normal way: this hasn’t taken very long, I can run and get help. It was as if all of it, however long it had taken, had never happened. He’d heard of lots of people nearly drowning, lots of people didn’t breathe for ages and then they were saved.
He was very near the side of the river, not the bank with the picnic, but the other one, and he made for it. He almost didn’t get to it and, when he did, he fell. After trying to get up a few times and being angry with his body, he started to run to the trees, trying to remember what house was nearest, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember any of the houses, or any of the villages, or where the path went; there was just the wood and no picture of anything past it. He started back to the water, but it seemed hopeless and he was so frightened, so he ran back towards the trees again. He imagined someone walking in the woods just near him with their dog and he thought they’d be bound to help him. He shouted, ‘Help!’ – thinking the person with the dog would hear, and then he remembered there wasn’t a person with a dog and his mother was under the water and he didn’t have time to find the person with the dog, and he ran back to the river and stopped.
The water was still again and he could see her; he could see her paleness and then a dark shadow where her head was, but not her face. He saw that she was under the water, but not if she was moving. She seemed to be moving, but the water was moving. He was going to go back in. He pictured very clearly going into the water and diving down to save her and what she would feel like when he got hold of her, but then he was on the ground. His mind made a lot of pictures, pictures of him in the water, of his pulling her out, of the person with the dog coming and seeing him, but he was just lying on the ground next to the river. His mother was under the water. She was about ten feet away from him and lying still under the water.
The drops of rain were sluggish at first, then colder. He stayed where he was. He thought he’d go back in and get her out when he could move. He didn’t know when that would be. The rain was harder for a while, but never like a real rain and then it stopped, and the whiteness came back and the wood was just the same.
Lewis lay by the water. His eyes were half open and he had stopped shivering. He had been sick and had moved away from it and closer to the water. It was darker now, but he kept his eyes on the other bank where he could still see the basket on the blanket and the towels and his mother’s book. He could see the empty wine bottle on its side and his shoes on the ground nearby. The time went by him and he had no sense of it, but he kept his eyes on the bank opposite with the picnic things on it.
In the morning there was a mist and the sun coming up made it very bright and pearl-coloured. Gilbert and the policeman came out of the woods into the bright light and saw Lewis, and the remains of the picnic on the ground on the other side of the river. He didn’t answer any of their questions, or seem to see them. Gilbert picked him up to carry him home and Lewis’s head was pressed against his father’s chest. Gilbert was talking about what could have happened, saying all the terrible possibilities, and the policeman was walking next to him and answering him and then Gilbert stopped. He put Lewis down, onto the ground, and went to the bank. He looked down into the water and then went down on his knees, still looking. Wilson ran over to him and the two men stared down into the water and Lewis, lying on the ground, didn’t move.
Chapter Four
Elizabeth’s elder sister, Kate, travelled up from Dorset on the Monday before the funeral. On the train she thought about what should be done with Lewis, if he should live with her and her husband and boys. She had to change trains and the journey was long and she brought sandwiches with her, which she shared with a little girl who was travelling alone and whose mother had asked Kate to keep an eye on. She and the little girl played beg-o’-my-neighbour, resting the cards on the seat between, and Kate felt absolutely calm and cool about travelling to see Gilbert and Lewis, with her sister dead. She placed the cards carefully on the sloping seat and planned the funeral and imagined taking Lewis back on the train with her.
Gilbert met her at Waterford station. The house felt strange and cold and Kate tried to be efficient, while Lewis and Gilbert were almost silent and kept apart from one another, and from her.
On Tuesday morning the coroner, doctor, two policemen and a stenographer came to the house to talk to Lewis about his mother dying. The rest of the inquest was to be in Guildford the next day. Kate led Lewis into the drawing room and sat him in the straight-backed chair
brought in from the hall.
‘Now, Lewis, how are you feeling?’ This was Dr Straechen.
‘Fine, thank you.’
Gilbert sat on the arm of the flowered armchair next to Lewis, and looked down at his hands on his knees.
‘Let me introduce you to all of these scary people,’ said the doctor and Lewis looked around the faces.
‘Of course you know me – and I’ve known you since you were born, haven’t I? That gentleman there is called Mr Liley, he’s what we call a coroner, which is a sort of official who finds out about things, often sad things, like deaths. You know Constable Wilson don’t you? And Detective-Sergeant White. Your daddy’s going to sit by you and all you have to do is answer the questions we put to you, calmly and sensibly, and tell the absolute truth. Do you understand?’
Lewis nodded.
‘I’m afraid you need to say “yes” or “no” because that lady there is called a stenographer and she’s going to take down everything we all say on that clever machine, so that Mr Liley can look at it all later, and she can’t put down nods and head shakes. All right?’
‘Yes.’
‘Let’s start with an easy one. What’s your name?’
‘Lewis Robert Aldridge.’
Kate, watching him, glimpsed the boy he had been in the way that he said it.
‘How old are you, Lewis?’
‘Ten.’
‘Good. Well done. Now, do you remember what happened on Thursday? Do you remember what happened on that very bad day?’
‘Yes.’
‘You went for a picnic with your mother, didn’t you?’
‘Yes.’