Civvy Street

by Fiona Field

  ‘What are we going to do?’ asked Katie.

  ‘First, you’re going to help me move everything we possibly can upstairs. I’ve left messages with Daddy to see if it’s feasible for us to get out of the village. I don’t know how bad it is around about. If it is possible to leave, I’m going to ring Maddy and see if we can stay with her; if it isn’t we’ll have to camp upstairs until either the floods go down or someone comes and rescues us.’

  Both girls looked genuinely frightened. ‘And what if they don’t?’ whispered Ella.

  ‘They will,’ said Susie. ‘We’ll be safe if we stay put and we’ll only try and leave if I can be absolutely sure we can get out. The last time that stream almost flooded it was only this bit of the village that was affected because of the spring up the hill from us. If you remember the rest of the village was fine, it was just this estate that almost went under. This time though, the flooding isn’t the result of a freak cloudburst, so I don’t know.’ She shook her head.

  ‘So, you mean, everywhere could be flooded,’ said Katie.

  Susie gave her daughters a hug – the previous evening’s shenanigans forgotten now something more serious had taken her attention. She felt helpless and useless in the face of such a potential disaster but there was nothing she could do to influence events. She could, however, with the help of the twins, try and save some of their possessions if the water did make it into their house.

  ‘I don’t know. We’ve got to hope it isn’t. And in the meantime we’ve got to try and save what we can here, not that we will get flooded but better safe than sorry.’ She smiled at her daughters with false confidence, trying to allay any fears they might have. ‘So get dressed and I’ll make you both a cuppa and then we must get busy.’

  Ten minutes later she and Ella were busy hauling books, the computer, and anything they could physically lift up the stairs. Susie put Katie in charge of stacking things in the spare room.

  ‘Got to try and get as much as we can in here,’ she instructed her daughter, ‘so be as neat as possible and put the heavy stuff on the floor and pile the lighter stuff on top.’

  Normally Susie might have expected Katie to make some sort of snarky comment back at her about grandmothers and eggs or some such, but on this occasion she just nodded meekly.

  For the first half-hour Susie peered out of the sitting room window every few minutes to judge if the water level was getting higher. She couldn’t tell if it was – or not significantly anyway, but equally it wasn’t receding either. And it was still raining so Susie wondered if the ground could absorb any more water at all, or if any falling higher up was going to run straight off the Downs and exacerbate things. However, if any good was coming out of this horrid situation it was that the girls were being absolute stars; both of them really grafting without any sort of complaint at all. And then she was too busy to keep monitoring the water and concentrated on lugging everything portable upstairs. By the time they’d finished several hours had passed and they were exhausted. The three of them knelt on the sofa – one of the things they couldn’t manoeuvre up the stairs, even though they’d tried – and leaned on the back of it to peer out of the window.

  ‘I’m sure it’s higher,’ said Katie.

  ‘I think so too,’ said Ella.

  Susie thought it was a lot higher – several feet nearer the house – but she didn’t voice her thoughts; she didn’t want to worry the girls unduly. In fact, she reckoned the water only had to rise by another few inches and it might come over the doorstep – or worse, up the drains. ‘Maybe just a smidge,’ she lied. ‘Now, I think we could all do with some breakfast.’ As she got off the sofa the lights went out.

  The three looked at each other.

  ‘That’s breakfast stuffed, then,’ said Susie.

  Susie heard her phone trill. Eagerly, she grabbed it. Mike, at last.

  ‘Hi, Mike,’ she said. ‘I need advice.’

  ‘About? I’m really busy here, Suse, can’t it wait?’

  ‘No. I think the house may be about to get flooded and the power’s just gone off. The girls and I have managed to move what we can upstairs but if the water comes in I really don’t want to be trapped here. I need to know if the road from here to Warminster is passable. If it is, I want to take the girls to Maddy’s.’

  There was a pause as Mike took in what his wife had told him. ‘The roads between you and Maddy’s are OK as far as I know, as long as you avoid the Bavant valley. How bad is the stream with you?’

  ‘Almost up to the doorstep.’

  ‘You’d be better staying put.’

  ‘I’ll only go if I’m sure we can make it. But I don’t fancy camping upstairs with no heating or hot food. And for how long?’

  ‘No, I see your point. Look, I’ve got to go but don’t do anything rash. Promise me. Don’t take any risks. It isn’t worth it to avoid being cold and hungry for a day or so if the worst comes to the worst.’

  ‘No, I understand. I promise to be sensible. Love you.’

  ‘Love you too.’

  As Susie severed the connection she wondered why they’d both felt the need to say those last words. She gave herself a shake – they were not ‘last words’. She was being a drama queen even thinking like that.

  ‘What do you reckon, girls? Is it time to ask Maddy if she’ll have us?’ The pair nodded, gravely. ‘Then, grab what you need for a couple of nights, plus your uniforms, school stuff... I’ll give her a bell. Oh, and pack your kit in backpacks. We can’t carry suitcases to the car, not in these conditions.’

  ‘Mum,’ said Katie. ‘I know things aren’t good but can El and I have our phones back? Please?’

  Suddenly, in the scheme of things, the girls’ recent behaviour seemed pretty minor in comparison. ‘I suppose,’ said Susie. ‘But don’t think that the matter of you and Ella smoking won’t be addressed when things get back to normal.’ If things got back to normal...

  The girls scampered upstairs to pack as Susie rang Maddy. She explained the situation.

  ‘And now the power’s gone.’

  ‘Susie, that’s awful. Of course, you can come round. Do you want to bring anything from your freezer?’

  Susie gave a hollow laugh. ‘Maddy, I’d love to but I think it’s going to be tricky enough getting me, the girls and the clothes we stand up in, across that wretched stream to the car without lugging frozen food too. No, kind offer, Mads, but it’ll just have to be a part of the insurance claim if the worst comes to the worst.’

  ‘OK. But promise me you’ll go carefully and I’ll see you in a while.’

  As soon as Susie ended the call she went to grab a few essentials for herself and get the girls phones out of their hiding place. She looked at their iPads and considered relenting about those too. Maybe, given how much of a terrific help the girls had been she ought to. No, she decided: phones, yes; iPads, no. Five minutes later the three of them were huddling in the rain on the doorstep wondering how best they could get to the car without endangering themselves.

  Katie glanced up the road. ‘I wonder if Ali’s family is OK,’ she said.

  ‘I’m sure they are,’ said Susie briskly. ‘Besides, I’ve got enough worries of my own without wondering how other people are coping. Now, come on.’

  Chapter 42

  As Susie was working out how to get to her car without getting anything other than her feet wet, Seb was knee-deep by the bridge at Lower Bavant, not far from the pub where his wife and Luke had had lunch the previous day, only now the pub was a foot underwater and the road that led to it was all but impassable; the situation was likely to be made worse because of a large tree branch which had been swept downstream and which had fetched up in the middle of the old three-arch bridge that crossed the river at this point. Seb could feel the tug of the water as it swirled past his legs and every step had to be taken with extreme care. One slip and he could easily be swept away, but he put that thought from his mind as he leaned forward, one hand hanging on to the stonework
of the bridge while, with his free hand, he tried to grab the wedged branch. The last thing the Bavant needed was a blockage and for the water to back up more than it was. Sludge-coloured water, which had the consistency of soup, raged under the shoulder-high arches and swirled violently past the old stone supports. With every minute more vegetation, more rubbish, carried by the flood, caught in the branch: plastic fertiliser sacks, carrier bags, cardboard, a milk crate were all festooned in the twigs like some hellish Christmas decorations but together they made the water jam the branch even more firmly under the bridge.

  Seb became aware of another sound although it was almost drowned out by the eardrum-battering roar of the river. He reckoned his hearing had been subjected to quieter jet engines than this racket. However, he was concentrating hard on reaching the branch and he couldn’t afford distractions. He didn’t dare go further into the river; the force of the water was already almost enough to sweep him off his feet – another inch or two deeper and he was pretty certain the flow would be too strong for him to keep his balance. Clutching the parapet even tighter he leaned further, as far as he could without overbalancing, stretching, but still his fingers, cold and numb, couldn’t grasp the branch properly. He managed to touch a twig and gripped it but as he yanked on it, it broke. Bugger.

  Then he felt the sleeve of his jacket being tugged. He turned and looked. More by lip reading than through his hearing he saw a soldier standing just above him on the bridge saying, ‘Sir, sir.’ The soldier said something else but Seb couldn’t hear. He shook his head and grabbing the parapet with his other hand he clung to the old stones as he made his way carefully to the bank and clambered up the slight incline till he was on the road. It was then that he recognised the soldier. Perkins. Lee Perkins, the one who’d been married to Jenna, the hairdresser. Seb didn’t know he’d been posted back in – not that he ought to have done as Perkins, to his certain knowledge, hadn’t come back to rejoin B Company... Not that now was the moment to be thinking of such trivial stuff.

  ‘What is it, Perkins?’ he yelled at the top of his voice.

  Perkins bent his head to be close to Seb’s. ‘Sir, you should be roped on. I’ve got one in my vehicle.’

  Perkins was right, of course. Seb knew he’d been taking a risk. He nodded. ‘All right. Can you fetch it?’

  Perkins jogged off and Seb stamped his feet in a vain effort to restore circulation. The rain was still drizzling down; not heavy but relentless and penetrating. Seb had been in some pretty inhospitable places in the world and had soldiered under some miserable conditions but, he thought, this was taking the piss. He saw a vehicle approaching – Perkins with his Land Rover and the rope, no doubt. The Land Rover puttered to a halt next to him, the tyres sending mini bow waves slooshing through the puddles and the driver’s window wound down.

  ‘Sir, you all right, sir?’

  That wasn’t Perkins’s voice. Seb bent down and peered in. ‘Hello.’ It took him a second to recognise the face, then he twigged. ‘It’s Armstrong, isn’t it? Sergeant Armstrong?’

  ‘Yes, that’s me, sir. From the LAD.’

  Shit, the bloke Jenna Perkins had been shagging when he’d called around with the bad news about her husband. The ex-husband who was about to reappear with the rope. ‘What can I do for you, Armstrong?’

  ‘Actually, I was wondering if you were OK – stuck out here on your own.’

  ‘I’m fine. Waiting for some support.’

  ‘That’s OK. As long as you’re all right.’

  Another vehicle drew up alongside Armstrong’s Land Rover. This time it was Perkins.

  ‘Off you go, then, Armstrong, mustn’t keep you.’ But it was too late. Perkins was already out of his Rover and heading round the front of the bonnet, a hefty length of rope coiled over his shoulder.

  ‘No, mate, you stay,’ Perkins said. He put his hand on the wing mirror to emphasise his words. He turned to Seb. ‘We could use a hand.’ He let the rope slip off his shoulder. ‘To be honest, boss, I don’t think you’ll be able to haul that branch out by yourself; not given the weight of water holding it against the bridge.’

  Seb knew Perkins was probably right but, equally, Armstrong probably wasn’t the person he would have chosen to assist them – not given the shared history – but what alternative was there? ‘Good point,’ he said.

  Lee bent down and peered into the vehicle. ‘Sarge, could you give us a hand? That’s if you’re not wanted elsewhere.’

  ‘Sure. I’ll just park up.’

  Jeez, thought Seb, this was all he needed. Not that, as far as he was aware, the two guys knew each other but if they realised their connection it could make things very tricky indeed. Still, the potentially tricky relationship between Armstrong and Perkins wasn’t the priority right now. Right now they needed to clear the branch from the river.

  Seb studied the river, the bridge and the mass of vegetation that was damming the flow. It was obvious that the branch had the potential to do two things: firstly it was going to make the water back up and cause this section of the Bavant to flood; and secondly the additional weight of water had the potential to damage the bridge, or even destroy it. And even as Seb watched, more flotsam and jetsam came thundering downstream only to get caught in the branch, thus exacerbating the situation. With every minute that passed, clearing this obstacle was getting more and more tricky.

  Seb formulated a plan. There was plenty of rope so he would be tied to the Land Rover with one length and Perkins or Armstrong could belay him out to the tree where he would tie a second length to the thickest section, whereupon the Land Rover could drag the branch free of the bridge. Simples.

  Or, at least, it seemed so in theory.

  He explained his plan to his two subordinates.

  ‘With all due respect, sir,’ said Armstrong, ‘you’re the biggest and strongest and if anyone should belay someone else it should be you.’

  Armstrong’s comment made sense, of course it did, but Seb was uneasy about putting his juniors in a potentially dodgy situation. The river was a maelstrom and he couldn’t ask them to do something he wouldn’t do himself.

  ‘Don’t be a prat, sir,’ said Armstrong as Seb paused before answering. ‘You know what I’m saying makes sense.’

  ‘And it isn’t as if you haven’t already had a go,’ added Perkins.

  Seb nodded. ‘OK. So which of you is going to take the plunge?’

  ‘Me,’ said Perkins. ‘I’m the lightest.’

  Again Seb nodded. He took the rope off Perkins and extracted his pocket knife from his webbing. Deftly he measured out a couple of metres of rope and cut a length off before he tied it around his own waist and then fixed the other end to the Rover’s tow bar. He repeated the exercise but this time cutting off a good twenty-metre length of rope. He tied one end to the back of the nearest Land Rover and, wrapping the rope around his right arm, across his back, over his left shoulder and round his left arm, he then passed the free end to Perkins to tie around his waist. The last, remaining, length of rope, he also passed to Perkins.

  ‘When you get to the branch, tie this as firmly as you can and then I’ll haul you back to dry land. Once we’ve got you safe we’ll use the Rover to pull the whole thing out of the water. Well, that’s the plan.’

  ‘And what about me, guv?’ asked Armstrong.

  ‘You just get ready to help me out if I need a hand. And drive the Rover when we need it.’ Seb looked at his tiny team. ‘All set?’

  Perkins nodded and began to head slowly towards the river bank while Seb paid out the rope. Perkins got to the edge of the water, turned and gave Seb a thumbs up and then stepped into the torrent. In two paces he was up to his knees and Seb could tell the soldier was having to battle to keep his footing. Having been in the river himself, Seb was only too aware of the bone-numbing chill of the water and the force of the current. He didn’t envy Perkins a jot.

  Suddenly Perkins disappeared and Seb was yanked off his feet. He landed with a sickening thum
p on his coccyx, the rope around his waist so tight he could barely breathe, and he was twisted round so his head was facing the river, in completely the wrong position to regain purchase with his feet.

  ‘Armstrong,’ he shouted in near panic. He tried to get to his knees but the weight of Perkins being dragged by the current was too much for him.

  ‘Armstrong!’

  He felt another pair of hands on the belay rope, taking some of the strain and the weight. Seb managed to get his feet under him and kneel up. He leaned back to get further leverage. The rope was burning the palms of his hands and was wrapped so tight about them he worried his knuckles might get crushed. And as for the pressure around his upper arms where the rope was wound around him... it was excruciating. But that was nothing to what Perkins must be experiencing, being battered and half-drowned in the seething Bavant river.

  Seb redoubled his efforts as did Armstrong. Even over the thundering of the nearby water, Seb could hear the sergeant grunting with exertion as he heaved on the rope, his feet scrabbling on the muddy bank to keep his balance. Suddenly they could see a white disc in the water – Perkins’ head, just above the raging river. They could see him gasping for air and then some of the strain came off the rope. He must have regained his footing.

  Then he slipped again and disappeared. Seb heaved on the rope to do his level best to drag Perkins out of the water as Armstrong ran to the bank. He watched in horror as Armstrong waded into the maelstrom, then, when he was ankle deep, the sergeant wrapped his arm around the rope and waded out further. Now Seb had the weight of two bodies hanging on the belay line and no way could he try and pull the men out of the water. All he could do was stop them from being carried further downstream – or stop Perkins. If Armstrong lost his grip...

  Seb watched, horror-struck, as Armstrong fought his way into the river, following the line, reaching for Perkins with his free hand. Where was the lad? thought Seb, desperation mounting with each passing second. How long had the corporal been under the water? Thirty seconds? A minute? No, it had to be longer. How long did it take to drown? He pushed that thought aside. He was not going to contemplate that possibility. He turned his concentration back to watching Armstrong, now bending down in the water, reaching forward... had he found Perkins? Had he got him? Yes!