by Emma Davies
Merry’s eyes filled with tears, thoughts of the last few days rushing back to her. She raised a hand to her mouth in shock at the thought of what could so easily have been her devastation. Her heart went out to the man she’d never known, but was beginning to understand a little better.
‘Perhaps we should leave this for another day,’ said Cora, gently. ‘It must be a hard thing for you to hear so soon after Robyn’s illness.’
But Merry shook her head. ‘No, I want to know. Robyn is fine now, but it makes me realise how lucky we are. . . and how much I want to bring Christopher and his family back to life, if only through his art. I can’t understand why his family don’t seem to want to remember him; that he should be forgotten is the very worst thing.’
Cora fixed Merry with a grateful smile. ‘I think he would feel honoured to have someone do all this for him.’
Merry hoped so. She stole a glance at her watch, wondering how things were going in the village. It seemed ridiculous that in her head she should be asking for Christopher’s help to keep them safe, but that’s exactly what she was doing.
Freya looked at the sea of worried faces around her and wondered what else she could say to allay their fears. Apart from one younger couple, the occupants of all six houses that stood beside the village pond were elderly, and as she sat now in the lounge of the Apple Cart she knew that the next half hour or so would be crucial in determining their future for the next few months.
The publican’s wife brought over another tray of drinks for them all, motioning Freya to one side with her head.
‘Bill has just gone over to help shift the last of their furniture,’ she whispered, ‘but he reckons they’ll be cutting it fine. Your young man and his brother are getting a winch thingy set up, but goodness knows how they’ll get the tree out; it’s stuck fast right underneath the bridge he said, and the water’s fair near to the top now.’
Freya tried to recall the strong warmth of Sam’s arms around her as she had wished them luck, just ten minutes ago, but already it seemed like an age had passed. She had tried to apologise for their argument, but Sam silenced her with a fierce kiss and a violent shake of his head. None of that mattered now he said, but it did to her. She had watched as he hurried back to Tom and Stephen, the rain-laden wind battering her face and felt the hollow feeling in the pit of her stomach get bigger and bigger.
‘It’s not just the furniture though is it,’ she replied, turning her attention back to the kind face in front of her. ‘It’s what damage the water will do to their homes. That lady in the green coat has lived there for over forty years she told me. Can you imagine how many memories are in that house? It doesn’t bear thinking about.’
‘No, that it doesn’t,’ came the reply. ‘Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that, and Daisy and all the others get to sleep soundly in their beds tonight.’ She touched Freya’s sleeve. ‘Come and sit back down by the fire and have something to drink. We’ve a bit of a wait ahead of us yet.’
Freya had wanted to stay outside with the others but both Tom and Sam were forceful in their insistence that she stay away. She knew there was nothing she could do to help, and although standing by helplessly looking on would be almost unbearable, at least she would feel that she was supporting them somehow. The fact that they wanted her out of the way was chivalrous, but she also recognised that it meant she would not be around to see what they were really getting up to, and how dangerous it was. And that scared her more than anything.
She made her way back to the table and sat down with a bright smile. The small Yorkshire terrier that belonged to the couple in the third house down jumped onto her lap and Freya gratefully curled her fingers into its warm fur.
Chapter 17
Stephen was adamant that he should be the one to go. It made more sense he argued. There was no way Tom was going, not with a wife and child, and Sam… Stephen didn’t need to say her name for Sam to know who he was referring to. Stephen had no dependents, and it was also his idea.
‘You know guys, none of us actually has to go,’ said Tom. ‘We’ve done the best we can for the folk whose houses will be in the firing line. What we should do is call the fire brigade and let them deal with it. I never intended that either one of you should volunteer to get the tree out.’
‘No, but you and I both know that these people don’t have that kind of time. I reckon we’ve got twenty minutes tops. The only tricky part is getting the tree strop over the branches, after that the winch will have no trouble.’ Sam fixed his brother with a steely stare. ‘And I’m going Stephen. One, because like it or not I’m much fitter than you, and two, because the equipment is yours and you know how it works, you know the speed the winch goes and how to play the line out.’
The three men looked backwards and forwards between each other, weighing up their options.
‘So are we going to do this thing or not?’ asked Sam abruptly. ‘Only time is ticking on.’ He saw the small acknowledgments of the other two. ‘Jesus, Freya is going to kill me,’ he said.
Stephen fished the Landy’s keys out of his pocket. ‘She may not have to,’ he muttered, walking off towards the truck.
Tom put his hand on Sam’s arm. ‘No playing the hero, right. If it isn’t going to work, we back off, agreed?’ He waited until he saw the answer in Sam’s eyes.
Moments later Stephen had backed the Landrover a little way down the road, angling the vehicle so that the winch cable would run in a straight line to the tree he was using as a winch block. He worked quickly and methodically, his instructions to Tom and Sam brief, but articulate. Once the cable had been set up around the winch block it would run out to the fallen tree at a forty five degree angle to the first cable. It was the only safe way to ensure that the cable wound without becoming kinked and damaged. Stephen had only seen a steel cable under tension break once in his life and it was not something he wished to repeat.
Down by the river bank, Sam shivered. He’d been wet through for what seemed like hours, barely noticing the cold, but now the thought of what was ahead loomed large, and he felt the wind keenly. He tried to shut out the roar in his ears as the noise made it hard to focus, but there was nowhere for it to go, and he gritted his teeth, taking deep calming breaths.
A shout further up the bank alerted him to the fact that Tom, his first anchor point, was ready. Shortly after, he felt Stephen guide the harness around his shoulders, and he took hold of the strap that would connect with the cable, testing the weight in his hands. There was only one branch of the tree that he would have any chance of passing the strap over, and his throw would need to be accurate if this was to work at all. He would be leaning as far out over the water as he could, but if he slipped… He focused his vision away from the churning surface of the water, and concentrated on the branch. The boiling mass of debris bouncing around the tree need only be of concern to him if he fell in, and if that happened his only hope for survival would be if Stephen and Tom managed to haul him out quickly.
He looked back at Stephen to check that he was ready to begin, and slowly made his way further down the bank. His feet sank too quickly into the soft mud at the water’s edge, and he panicked for a moment fearing he would slide even further. Then he realised that it was not traction he needed, but a place where his feet could anchor, where the squelchy surface would suck at his feet and render them immobile. He shifted position slightly, squaring himself to the task, and allowed his weight to sink his feet further into the mud. Behind him he could feel Stephen digging in.
‘Let’s do this now Sam… I’ve got your back.’
Stephen’s words floated past him for a moment before being lost to the wind, and he took a deep breath. Whatever had happened between them, Stephen was his brother, and would always have his back, he knew that.
He balanced the weighted end of the strap in his hand, narrowing his vision until he saw only the branch in front of him. He leaned forwards, feeling the pull as both Stephen and Tom took his weight, and he
stretched out, his body following the trajectory of his throw. A singular moment, a deep breath, and he threw, not daring to breathe until he saw the perfect arc of the strap as it dropped. It landed in a tangle of branches, but Sam had watched it clear the main branch and that’s all that counted. He could see the metal shackle hanging clear, and his head sagged in relief. Now all he needed to do was pull the two ends together.
He heard Stephen’s triumphant shout behind him, and knew that he would be trying to pass him the long pole, but his body was angled so far forward that reaching any distance behind him was impossible. He couldn’t see either, and any movement of his head to either side simply blew a torrent of rain into his eyes. He made sure that the shackle on his end of the strap was fastened to his harness and threw his weight backwards; the last thing he needed now was to drop the bloody thing. His feet came free from the mud with a loud squelch and he sprawled on his back, chest heaving amongst the undergrowth.
His hands came into contact with cold metal as Stephen slithered down beside him, placing the pole where he could reach it.
‘You’re doing great Sam, are you okay?’
‘If I can get up again, yes,’ he replied through gritted teeth, trying to find a place where he could dig his heels in and stand once more. He felt his brother’s body against his back as Stephen tried to provide some leverage, and he pushed off blindly, hearing Stephen’s grunt as he pushed down on his shoulder. Immediately his feet tried to slide away from him as they found his original footholds, now made bigger by his exit and he sank quickly. Water filled his boots as he realised how much farther down he had slid, or was it that the water level had risen even in that short space of time? He stared out over the river, trying to focus on the tree branch and the strap he had thrown. He could still see the shackle but it was now only inches above the water’s surface. If he didn’t loop it quickly it would be underwater and there would be no way he could see it. He shouted back at Stephen, praying that he was ready to take his weight once more. He had no choice but to go for it now.
He fed the long metal pole through his hands, feeding the hooked end out into the wind, trying to counterbalance the movement and sway, which became worse the further out he reached. The muscles in his shoulders and arms began to burn with the effort of keeping the pole aloft and his arms shook in response. He was now only inches from the dangling strap. He stopped for a moment, letting the pole drop slightly, trying to ease the ferocious ache that was building uncontrollably, and centred his weight over his legs, taking some of the strain through his body. He took a couple of deep breaths and raised the pole again, grunting with the effort. The shackle swayed tantalisingly close, but just as Sam thought he had it, the wind danced it away once more. The pain began to radiate down his back and he knew he couldn’t maintain this for much longer.
His vision began to blur, either from the rain or exhaustion he couldn’t tell, but as the wind gusted once more he thrust the pole forwards with everything he had left. The hook passed clean through the hole of the shackle, the downward movement of the pole now totally beyond Sam’s control. All he could do was hang on as the pole swung violently, pulling him forwards. The last thing he saw before he hit the water was the hook still engaged with the strap.
The cold was absolute, dark and violent as he sank beneath the river, and he knew that the instinctive breath he had taken would not be enough; he hadn’t the strength to hold it. An icy burning began to fill his body before the sudden sharp jolt of his harness bit against the rope that secured him to Stephen. For a moment he was motionless, but as he felt the pull on his harness, he kicked out with the remaining strength he had. A sharp pain tore across one cheek, but his hands remained gripped to his precious cargo as he felt himself being pulled free of the water. He sucked in a huge breath, coughing, face down in the mud, as his brother hauled him over the tangle of roots at the water’s edge, and he came to rest toppled against him. Stephens’s grip was solid across his shoulders as if he would never let him go.
They lay there panting for a few seconds, hearing Tom’s shouts above them, as he finally let go of the rope that had been holding them both and crashed down the bank to join them.
‘I’m okay,’ spluttered Sam. ‘I’m okay….’ And he held up a hand for them to let him speak. ‘Now for God’s sake get the bloody winch clipped onto this,’ he spluttered, rolling onto his side with a groan so that they could see the pole still pinned under one side of his body, the webbing of the tree strop still miraculously attached to it, and coiled around one of Sam’s legs.
Stephen scrambled up the bank, throwing himself onto the winch cable and pulling it down to clip through the shackle underneath Sam. Only then was Sam finally able to move, suddenly finding a sea of hands above him which reached down to help. He staggered up the bank, still clutching onto Tom; wet, cold, exhausted and muddy, and rather surprised to find his heart still beating.
‘I need you all clear of the winch block,’ shouted Stephen. ‘To the left of it!’
The noise back up on the bridge was almost as loud as that down by the river, as the shouts from the gathered villagers mingled with the noise from the winch and the wind which still hurled rain across the road. Sam had had no idea there was anybody else here, and he was still trying to work out what exactly was going on when a warm body hit his and Freya’s arms pulled him close. He allowed himself to be led clear of the winch cable, where he sat at the side of the road cradled in her lap. Her hair was fragrant against his cheek.
He felt rather than heard the cheer which went up as the tree freed itself from under the bridge and the water surged beneath it, the sudden freedom carrying the swell safely down to the part of the river where the flood plain would gently absorb it. The water level upstream would drop almost instantaneously. The houses were safe. Someone threw a blanket around them both, and Sam wearily closed his eyes.
Chapter 18
Merry leaped up the minute she heard the car pull up outside. Cora had gone to give Rupert his tea and the last half hour waiting on her own had been almost unbearable. Dusk was falling now and the light from inside made it hard to see, but be it friend or foe she threw the door open anyway.
‘God in heaven, what on earth has happened to you?’
Freya led the way, her hair still plastered to the side of her face, and one half of her wearing a coating of mud where Sam had leant up against her. Sam himself trailed behind, finding it hard to walk with no shoes and a pair of trousers that he was struggling to keep up. The woolly fleece that the publican had lent him alongside the trousers was equally roomy, and he looked like a schoolboy in his brother’s hand-me-down clothes.
‘We’re the advance party,’ said Freya, with a grimace. ‘Only because Sam is more in need of hot water than anyone else. A roaring fire and several brandies may have warmed him up a bit, but he could do with a bath, Merry, if that’s all right. He’s filthy and rather whiffy.’
Sam rolled his eyes, although even he could smell the river mud that clung to every part of him.
‘What happened?’ Merry asked, crossing automatically to flick the switch on the kettle. ‘You look like you fell in.’ And then her hand flew to her mouth as she realised that that’s exactly what had happened and the seriousness of it all.
Freya filled her in while Sam leaned wearily against the door post.
‘Tom and Stephen will be along in a bit. They’re just helping to move one or two bits of furniture back downstairs for folk, although I have to say it’s coming down a lot quicker than it went up.’
Merry put down the mug of tea that she had just made and went and stood in front of Sam. She looked straight into his face for a moment, before plonking a huge kiss on his forehead and pulling him into a hug. ‘We got up to damn stupid things when we were kids, Sam Henderson, but in all that time you have never, ever, done anything so bloody stupid as this. I could murder you.’
He smiled weakly. ‘Join the queue,’ he muttered, throwing a rueful glance at Frey
a, who glared at him.
‘May I go and run a bath, Merry, before the others get back? They’ll both be cold and wet as well.’
‘And hungry too no doubt,’ tutted Merry, releasing her hold on Sam. ‘Shall I make some bacon sandwiches do you think? Or toast and jam, dripping in butter, how about that?’ She saw Sam’s eyes light up at the thought of it. ‘Go on, go up, and I’ll bring it along in a few minutes.’
Freya added a good dollop of Merry’s scented bubble bath to the steaming water, and watched as it swirled around.
‘This will make you smell like a girl, which is no more than you deserve,’ she said, leaning over to test the water with her hand.
Sam had already removed all his clothes and stood on the bath mat stark naked. Little bits of dried mud had fallen from his underwear, and lay like ash beside him. He trembled slightly, whether from cold or emotion, Freya couldn’t tell.
‘I mean, it’s not as if you’re a total hero for saving the day is it? Or that eleven people, three cats and one dog all have a home to go to now because of you.’ She tested the temperature of the water again. ‘Go on, you can hop in now,’ she added, hands on hips.
She watched as Sam gave a lopsided smile, still not sure how much metaphorical hot water he was in.
‘It wasn’t just me,’ he offered, through lowered lashes.
‘No, I know it wasn’t… you’re all as bad as each other.’
He gingerly put one leg over the side of the bath, and then the other, lowering himself rather jerkily until he was sitting, practically submerged. Only then did she see the strain begin to leave his body, his muscles stop fighting and begin to relax. Her bottom lip began to tremble.
She waited until he had settled himself, facing her, before gently stretching out to touch the gash on his cheek. He winced slightly as her fingers made contact.