by Clare Lydon
There was sincerity in her face, which Scarlet appreciated.
“What about your weekend plans?” Scarlet asked.
At that, Joy let out an enormous sigh. “Well, the office of mayor is only held for a year, so you have to be prepared to be pretty full-on for those 12 months,” she said. “Weekends I normally have some engagements to attend, be it an opening, a mayoral visit, or an appearance somewhere.”
“So you’re not in charge of the response to the flood, I assume, seeing as you’re sitting here?”
Joy shook her head. “The police, council leader, and emergency planners take care of all that — I’m the civic head, the public figure for the town. I oversee the council, but I’m not on any political side, although I can speak up on certain issues if I think it’s right. My job is to turn up at events, unveil new wings of libraries, open school fairs. I thought it would be time-consuming, but you’ve no idea until you do it — the hours can really add up. My life hasn’t been my own for the past nine months, and with a full-time life coaching business to run, too, it doesn’t leave much time to spare. That’s the only reason it’s worked, because I run my own business and can be flexible.” She smiled. “But I’m not complaining. And I will be putting in extra time this week to help out with stuff where I can.”
“I’m drinking with a local celebrity,” Scarlet said, taking another sip of her drink.
“You are,” Joy laughed. “But give it three months and I’ll be back to being a regular councillor again. When I explained the role to my gran, she told me it sounded like I was the town’s bodyguard for a year, and she wasn’t far off.” Joy smiled. “It’s been great, wearing the robes and doing all of the stuff, but I’ll be glad to hand it all back, too. I don’t get to sit on this couch half as much as I’d like.”
“It’s very kind of you to take us in tonight, too. I doubt the rest of the council are doing the same.”
Joy waved her comment away, shaking her head. “I’m happy to help. I’ve got the room, so if people are homeless, it’s stupid not to. I’m going to put an appeal out to the rest of the community to take people in, too. There are enough spare rooms around here for that to happen, nobody needs to be sleeping on the floor of the community hall. Times like this, everybody needs to pull together.”
“Let’s hope they come through for you.”
If Scarlet had seen that appeal, she wouldn’t have offered her spare room, which was shameful. If Joy had ignored it, she’d still be in the community hall. Would many people open up their homes? She doubted it. In Scarlet’s world, people looked out for themselves and nobody else.
The mayor smiled at Scarlet, Joy’s eyes caressing her. “They will. People are generally very giving. Everybody was checking on the old folks’ home earlier, which I was thankful for. My gran lives there. Luckily, they’re unaffected. I would hate to think of her and her friends coping with a flood. That really would be an all-out emergency.”
“I hadn’t thought of that,” Scarlet replied. “At least everyone on my street could evacuate easily enough.” She paused. “Has your gran lived there long?”
“Five years. It’s a great place — I go and see her every week. Old folks’ homes get a bad press, but that one is just great — fab facilities and staff. And I’m so glad they’re up high because they’ve just built an amazing social hall there, too. It’d be a crying shame if that was ruined.”
Scarlet nodded, running her finger around the rim of her whisky glass. Scarlet used to own crystal tumblers, too, but she’d lost them in the divorce, like most things. She really should have fought harder, but it turned out Liv was better at arguing than Scarlet, and in the end, she’d just walked away. She’d treated herself to two more tumblers this year, but had only ever had the need for one. Soon, they’d be floating down a nearby street.
“It’s just you here, I take it?” Scarlet had no idea if Joy had a partner, but she guessed not. Otherwise, he’d probably be here, drinking whisky with them.
Joy stopped momentarily, before she nodded. “Yes, just me. Now Steve’s gone, just me.”
***
Why had that come out of her mouth? Three sips of whisky and Joy was blurting out Steve’s name. She wasn’t even married to him anymore, for goodness sake, and here she was, mentioning him like he was still a major part of her life.
Scarlet’s face didn’t change much. “Who’s Steve?”
Joy just assumed everyone knew. “My ex-husband,” she said, her voice coming out clearer than she imagined. She sounded strong, in control. She raised an eyebrow at Scarlet. “You look surprised. I thought the subject of my love life was all over town. The local paper seems to slip it into every article they can — ‘newly single mayor, Joy Hudson’.” She put the last bit in air quotes and rolled her eyes.
Scarlet shrugged. “I don’t get out much,” she replied. “All I knew was you were divorced; I didn’t know his name.”
Scarlet didn’t know the half of it, Joy thought. Like the real reason Joy had left her husband after ten years of marriage. The real reason she’d taken on the mayoral role; to fill up her life, to stop her fretting about how to be who she truly was. But Joy had a feeling that if Scarlet did know, she wouldn’t be judgmental. No, Joy was pretty sure of that.
In the past year or so, Joy had still only shared the real reason she’d broken up her marriage with her ex and her gran. She knew it was stupid, but Joy was reticent to share it with the rest of the world. Did it really affect them and was it their business? No, it was not. Joy would share it when she was good and ready, and she didn’t see that happening any time soon.
“So yes, just me here, and I quite like it. I’d never lived on my own before I left Steve, and nobody tells you how liberating it is. They just go on about being lonely and depressed, but honestly, I’ve never felt freer. I can do what I want, leave things where I want, and be who I want. I should have done it years ago, instead of rushing into a marriage.” Joy paused, assessing Scarlet. She swirled the whisky round her glass, and took a sip, the acrid smell hitting her nostrils before the liquid itself, making her recoil. “How about you? I assume you’re not married?”
Scarlet sat up, clearing her throat. “Do I have that look about me?”
Joy laughed gently. “I just mean, you’re here on your own, so I assume you don’t have a partner waiting in the wings.”
“You assume right; I’m divorced, too. I’m 40 in a couple of months, single, and now homeless.” Scarlet let out a strangled laugh. “Not much of a catch, am I?”
Joy regarded Scarlet — she recognised a lost soul when she saw one. She’d been that her entire life, never quite cottoning on to the fact she was looking in the wrong place. It was only in the past year since she’d got her own home that she’d truly come into her own, claiming her life back while being her real self. Well, nearly all of her real self. As near as she dared at the moment. As soon as Joy’s mayoral duties were over, she planned to come out to her family, friends, and the wider world, but for now, it could wait.
“I wouldn’t say that,” Joy replied. “You’ve got your health and you’ve got a glass of whisky in your hand, so the world isn’t such a terrible place, now is it?” Joy jumped up. “Top up?”
Scarlet nodded. “Yes, please.”
Joy went to take her glass from her. When she did, their fingers touched for a second and a frisson ran up Joy’s hand and arm. The contact made her stop in her tracks and jolt a little.
Scarlet, looking past Joy, didn’t seem to notice.
Joy cleared her throat and walked over to the drinks cabinet, biting her lip as she eased off the cork on the single malt — a Christmas present from Steve — and poured two fingers into each glass. The warmth inside her now wasn’t just coming from drink, but she was trying to ignore that fact. She smiled nervously at Scarlet as she handed her glass back, then sat back down on her sofa, happy for the space between them. Just because she was sat in the same room as an attractive woman didn’t mean she
had to come undone, now did it? Because Scarlet was an attractive woman, and Joy couldn’t deny it: she was long and lean, with dark hair, polished like an onyx stone. Joy was intrigued — she wanted to get to know her visitor better.
When she glanced over at Scarlet, her visitor had a panicked look in her eye.
“I wonder how my flat’s doing?” Scarlet’s features were set to grim.
Joy shook her head. She’d hate to be in Scarlet’s shoes, and she wanted to do as much as she could for her guest.
“I’ve no idea how you must be feeling,” she said. “It’s just awful. For you, for the whole town.” She paused. “But like I said, I’m sure it’ll bring everyone together, bring out the community spirit.”
Scarlet harrumphed. “I’m not really one for community spirit — I haven’t seen much evidence of it. The world isn’t full of peace and love where I live.”
“I think you’ll be surprised.”
Scarlet shrugged again and sipped her whisky. “We’ll see.” She paused, readjusting her body on her sofa. “Do you know if the flood’s happened yet?” Scarlet shook her head. “And how odd is that sentence to say? It’s so weird, like it’s an organised disaster.”
Joy put down her whisky. “It kind of is. Let me go and get my phone — there was a hashtag to follow on Twitter.”
Joy came back a few moments later, jabbing her phone with her thumb. She clicked on a video, and the unmistakable sound of rushing water and shouting filled the air.
Joy’s face dropped. She hesitated, took a sharp intake of breath, then gasped. “Shit.” Joy couldn’t fathom what she was seeing. She desperately wanted to protect Scarlet from it, but that was impossible. She couldn’t protect her from it, no matter how hard she tried.
Scarlet put her drink on the floor and sprang up to stand beside Joy. “What is it?”
Joy glanced up and winced, before handing the phone to Scarlet.
When she saw the footage, Scarlet’s face drained of colour, like the life was slowly seeping out of her.
Joy had just watched the video clip playing under the #dulshawflood newsfeed; she could hear the rushing water again, as if it was gushing right out of her phone. Looking at Scarlet watching it now felt like an intrusion, almost too personal — like Joy should look away.
“Oh my god,” Scarlet said. But she didn’t tear her eyes away from the phone. “My entire flat’s under water.” She paused. “Everything I own is gone.” Beat. “Every single thing.”
Joy didn’t know what to say. The flood was real now; 100 per cent real, and she had one of the victims in her lounge. All the platitudes of earlier had left her mind, because seeing it happen and knowing it was right on your doorstep were two completely different things. Joy’s stomach was churning watching Scarlet’s reaction, and she couldn’t bear it.
Perhaps Scarlet was right and the world was a terrible place.
If everything Joy owned was currently under water, she knew she might feel that way.
***
Scarlet put a hand out, not quite sure of her bearings after what she’d just seen. She wasn’t sure how it was possible her whole life had simply been washed away, but it had. Her hand eventually hit the sofa and she collapsed onto it, her body giving way, knowing there was nothing left to fight for. When she put her hand to her cheek, it was wet.
She was crying, and Scarlet never cried. She hadn’t cried when Liv had left her; rather, she’d clicked into auto-pilot, shuffling from day to day, existing rather than living. Friends had visited, encouraged her to let it all out, but she’d been firm. She’d made a pact with herself that Liv wasn’t going to destroy her, and that’s what had happened. Liv hadn’t won.
Scarlet hadn’t cried when her dad died, either. He’d been ill for a while, even though he was taken far too soon, aged only 50. Her brothers had cried; her mum had been distraught. Scarlet had been the rock, the glue that held the family together. She hadn’t cried. And she certainly hadn’t cried when the glued-together family became unstuck years later after her mum died. What was the point? Would it get her anywhere, would it help her predicament?
So she’d held firm. Solid. Everyone always described Scarlet in those terms. Scarlet was a rock. She was dependable, would never dissolve in a crisis; Scarlet was a project manager, a problem-solver, unflappable.
Yet these were her tears, falling down her demi-curved cheeks, bringing hot, salty grief into her mouth. Because Scarlet had felt grief before — through death, through the loss of her relationship — she was well aware of the feeling. She knew what it felt like to drag a slug-covered wheelie bin into the street, alone, week after week; what it felt like to stand in front of the M&S meal-for-one stand and want to break down and sob. She knew what it felt like to look in the mirror and not even recognise your own reflection.
And this was grief. She’d just lost her entire life, washed away in the blink of an eye. Her whole body stuttered as that thought crashed over her brain, making every wire in her body short-circuit.
She had nowhere to go. She couldn’t style this one out or bluff her way through, pretending to be tough. She was homeless and lifeless.
Yes, lifeless.
Scarlet didn’t think she’d ever come up with a term quite so apt. Having become a self-styled hermit, her life took place within the four walls of her flat. And now, that option had been ripped from her hands. She wasn’t sure why she’d felt so breezy, so casual about it all when she’d walked out. Perhaps, somewhere deep down, it had all seemed unreal, like they were bluffing.
Why would they open the flood defences? Surely that was the antithesis of what they were there for? But they had, and the water had arrived. Thick and sludge-like, swamping her life, making her look away.
Scarlet stuck out her tongue to catch the tears that were falling freely now. She was vaguely aware of some movement out of the corner of her eye, and then some tissues were being thrust under her nose. She took one gratefully and blew.
She cast her gaze downwards; she was still holding the phone, and the clip was playing, over and over again. She couldn’t tear her eyes away. The moment when the river rushed down her street had been captured perfectly by someone up high. One minute, it was a normal street in the morning twilight, groggy and just wiping the sleep from its eyes. And then, all of a sudden, the harsh stampede of muddy brown water, rushing, slapping, slithering like a monster in a horror film. Within seconds, there was two or three feet of water cascading through her neighbourhood, whooping and screaming for all she knew, breezing into homes unwanted, like a cavalier force.
Her basement flat never stood a chance.
Scarlet couldn’t watch anymore — she had to look away. She put the phone down on the sofa and buried her head in her hands. Her body was convulsing now, and her tears had turned to sobs. Pain was seeping out of every orifice she possessed, owning her completely. And somehow, even though she was sitting on a stranger’s couch in an unfamiliar home, Scarlet didn’t care.
She didn’t have a reputation to uphold here: Joy hardly knew her. Joy didn’t know this wasn’t the normal Scarlet. And given the situation, Joy wasn’t going to judge her. Scarlet was able to act and do as she pleased, and right now, she had no control at all over what that might be.
Right now, those actions were wet and wild.
***
Joy moved the offending phone, sat beside Scarlet, and took her in her arms. Yes, it had seemed like it would be a crass move a few minutes ago, but now, there was no other option — this situation screamed for barriers to be broken down. Scarlet had just watched her entire home being flooded, watched everything she worked hard for being washed away. Joy couldn’t imagine how she was feeling. But she could see the physicality of it, the great, heaving sobs coming from her guest’s body. To ignore that, to walk away, would have been plain mean.
Joy wasn’t sure how Scarlet would respond. However, she gave in right away, collapsing into Joy’s arms with more, uncontrollable sobbing. Joy got the feeli
ng this wasn’t normal behaviour for Scarlet, but she didn’t blame her. These were hardly typical circumstances.
Joy was studiously ignoring how her body lit up with Scarlet in her arms.
After a few minutes and at least five more tissues, Scarlet stopped sobbing and was breathing normally. Her dark hair crowded her face, like it was trying to soothe her, reassure her.
Joy gave her another clean tissue.
Scarlet took it and blew her nose. “It’s amazing how much snot there is, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Joy replied, giving Scarlet a sympathetic smile. “I’m really sorry about your flat.” Adrenaline was pumping round Joy’s body from everything that had happened, so she could only imagine what Scarlet was feeling. Out of her depth. Confused. Scared. Alone. But Joy wanted to make her feel like she wasn’t alone. Because she wasn’t; Joy was there for her and the community was there for her, no matter if Scarlet believed it or not.
Joy passed Scarlet her whisky, the amber liquid glinting in the light. Their fingers touched, and there it was again, hot and bright. Boom! A frisson right up Joy’s arm. Joy steadied herself on the sofa, taking great, gulping breaths of air.
Scarlet was still beautifully unaware. And why wouldn’t she be? She had bigger issues to consider.
Instead, Scarlet gulped whisky. One gulp, two gulps, three. The whole glass, all two fingers, down in one. She winced as it went down, before flopping back on the sofa, defeated.
“You want another?” Joy asked, indicating her empty glass. Scarlet’s hands were smooth and delicate, at odds with her persona.
Scarlet shook her head. “Maybe in a minute.” She exhaled heavily. “I just feel so fucking helpless, you know?” She paused, her eyes scanning the room. “I’m normally the one who solves things, clears up messes.” She stopped. “Actually, more than that, I stop them happening in the first place. How did it even get to this stage? That’s what I don’t understand. Why were the basement flats dug out and sold when there was a chance this could happen?”