The Farm Beneath the Water

by Helen Peters

“Ah, yes,” he said, opening his laptop. “Give us a minute. You carry on, don’t mind me.”

  Hannah turned back to the actors, hoping she didn’t look as flustered as she felt. “Right. From the top.”

  Everyone turned to face the back wall again.

  “On the count of three,” said Hannah. “One, two…”

  A huge projection flashed up on the back wall of the stage. Everyone burst out laughing. Lottie leaped from the stage and hurtled to the back of the hall.

  “You idiot! Turn that off right now!”

  A home video of an infant-school nativity play was playing on the screen. A round-faced, gap-toothed Lottie, dressed as Mary, dangled the baby Jesus upside down by one leg while lisping “Away in a Manger”.

  “Oops, sorry,” said Jack, grinning. “I must have accidentally opened the wrong file.” He stopped the film.

  “You idiot,” spat Lottie. “Where did you get that?”

  Right behind Lottie, the hall doors opened and Miss Summers appeared. “Is everything all right in here?”

  With a huge effort, Hannah smiled brightly. “Yes, fine, thank you. We’re just rehearsing the Prologue.”

  “Oh, lovely. I’ll sit and watch for a minute, if I may.”

  Miss Summers settled herself on a chair at the side of the hall. With a warning look at Jack, Hannah turned back to the stage. “OK, I’ll count you in.”

  Bang on cue, the actors spun round to face the audience and began the Prologue in perfect unison. Hannah felt a surge of gratitude towards them. At least the cast could be trusted.

  The doors beside the stage opened and Miranda sauntered in.

  “Where have you been?” muttered Hannah, as she approached. “You’re twenty minutes late.”

  Miranda widened her eyes. “Am I? Aren’t you rehearsing the Chorus parts first?”

  “But you’re in the Chorus. Everybody is.”

  Miranda puckered up her mouth. “Hmm. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. I think, as Juliet, I need to make a proper entrance.”

  “Oh, do you?”

  “Yes, I do. I’ve discussed it with my parents and they think so, too.”

  The Prologue finished. Miss Summers clapped as she walked towards the stage. “Well done, everyone, that’s going to be a really effective start to the play. And the fight scenes are shaping up beautifully. I was very impressed with what I saw yesterday.”

  “Thank you,” said Hannah. “We’re going to do Juliet’s potion scene now. In Room 2, because Kipling need the stage.”

  “I’ll leave you to it,” said Miss Summers. “I’m going to see how Conan Doyle are getting on. Well done again, all of you. I’m really looking forward to your production.”

  “Thank you so much, everyone,” said Hannah. “That was great.”

  As the cast left the stage, Miranda cocked her head to one side and gave Hannah a sympathetic look.

  “It must be so hard for you, Hannah, doing this.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, you know, trying to organise a big cast and direct experienced actors like me. I mean, I know you’ve done a play in your little shed, but never a real production with an actual audience, have you?”

  “Oh, that’s not quite fair,” said Jack, strolling to the front of the hall, his laptop under one arm. “I heard there were three pigs and a cow at their last show. I mean, granted, the pigs did get bored and leave in the interval, and the cow demanded its money back, but still…”

  Hannah laughed. Miranda looked disconcerted for a moment. Then she said, “Oh, by the way, Hannah, I’ve got some really exciting news!”

  “What?” asked Hannah, hoisting her school bag on to her shoulder and tucking her purple ring binder under her other arm.

  “So,” said Miranda, as they walked into Room 2, “my mum’s friend runs a costume hire company and she’s offered to lend us all the costumes for Romeo and Juliet! Isn’t that amazing?”

  Hannah felt herself tensing up all over.

  “Lottie’s doing our costumes, you know that.”

  “Oh, don’t worry. My parents will pay for the hire. You won’t have to fund it from that pathetic fifty pounds the school gave you.”

  The classroom door opened and Jade and Martha walked in. Oh, great, thought Hannah. It would have to be them, wouldn’t it?

  “Sorry, you two,” she said. “I know this is your form room, but it’s booked for our rehearsal this lunchtime.”

  “All right, keep your knickers on,” said Martha. “I just need to get my hockey kit from my locker. If that’s OK with you?”

  Hannah sighed. “Fine. Right, Miranda, let’s do the potion scene. From when the nurse leaves and you’re alone on stage.”

  “Now, where’s my locker key, I wonder?” said Martha.

  With infinite slowness, she settled herself on a chair, put her bag on the table and, at the pace of an ancient snail, inched open the zip.

  “The point is,” said Miranda, “we can get proper professional costumes. Like Kipling will have. You know Zara’s mum’s designing theirs, and she’s a professional designer.”

  “The point is,” said Hannah, “that we’ve got Lottie making our costumes, and she’s amazing and she’s in our house. I don’t care what Kipling are doing. Anyway, Miss Summers said we’d get credit for doing things ourselves, remember, so it might actually help us win.”

  “No, it’s not in that pocket,” said Martha. “Where did I put it, then? Maybe in this pocket? Hmm, let’s see.”

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit selfish of you to expect Charlotte to make all the costumes herself?” said Miranda. “Think of the trouble you’d save her if you hired them.”

  “It might be hard for you to understand, Miranda, but Lottie actually wants to make the costumes. She’s done all the designs and they’re amazing.”

  Miranda sniffed. “Anyone can draw a costume. The point is, can she actually make what she’s drawn, or are we all going to be laughing stocks? I mean, we saw what you turned up in for your audition.”

  Hannah felt her cheeks heating up. “That was a beautiful costume. It wasn’t Lottie’s fault it got covered in oil and piglet wee.”

  Miranda curled her upper lip. “Priya said Charlotte goes to jumble sales to get the fabric for her costumes. If you really think we’re going to win with jumble sale clothes…” She shuddered.

  “Our costumes are going to be awesome,” said Martha. “The designs are so cool. Did you know Zara’s mum’s an actual designer?”

  “Are you still here?” snapped Hannah. “You could have sewn yourself a hockey kit by now.”

  “Hi.” Lottie was standing in the doorway, a long white floaty dress draped over one arm. “I thought you might like to have the costume for this scene, Miranda. To help you get into character.”

  Miranda recoiled. “Is that the dress Hannah wore for her audition? The one that disgusting pig…” She wrinkled up her nose as if she couldn’t even say the words.

  “Yep,” said Lottie. “The very same. I haven’t even washed it. Have a sniff. Mmm.”

  She thrust the costume at Miranda’s nose. Miranda shrieked and jumped backwards.

  “Oh, don’t be so ridiculous,” said Lottie. “I’ve made this especially for you.”

  Miranda gave her a suspicious look. She took the nightdress between her fingertips and held it up at arm’s length. She wrinkled her nose.

  “It’s very shapeless, isn’t it? But I suppose a shapeless dress is easier to make.”

  “I can make clothes any shape I like,” snapped Lottie. “This is a nightdress, that’s why it’s this shape.”

  Miranda rubbed the fabric between her thumb and forefinger. She made a disgusted face. “I can’t wear this. It’s synthetic. It’s probably a fire risk.”

  “Nobody will be able to tell what fabric it’s made from when you’re up on stage,” said Hannah.

  “Anyway, I’m allergic to synthetic fibres.”

  “No, you’re not.”

 
“And white’s not a good colour on me. I have to be very careful what I wear, with my hair and complexion, you see. White washes me out.”

  “The whiter the better, then,” muttered Lottie.

  “What did you say?”

  “I said, wear the costume someone’s made for you and be grateful.”

  “Oh, I didn’t mean to be ungrateful. It’s very kind of you, of course. But I don’t want you to have to go to any more trouble for me.”

  “It wouldn’t be any trouble,” said Lottie, “if you didn’t make it trouble.”

  “Anyway, my mum’s friend has a costume that’s perfect for Juliet. Well, five, actually. One for each of Juliet’s scenes. So it’s really nice of you to go to all that trouble, Charlotte, but I won’t be needing you to make my costumes.”

  Lottie’s eyes were very dark. “You can’t just wear whatever you want, Miranda. It’s a play, not a fancy dress party.”

  Miranda smiled a patronising smile. “I can see how you’d worry about professional costumes showing up your work, Charlotte, but think how much it will help you. If you don’t have to spend time on my costume, you’ll have more time to work on everyone else’s.”

  “I’m not worried about the time. Or about anything showing up my work. I’m worried about these costumes you’re bringing in having a completely different look from the rest of the costumes.”

  “We’re so lucky, aren’t we, Jade,” said Martha, “having a proper designer doing all our costumes.”

  “And a proper choreographer,” said Jade.

  “What?” said Miranda.

  “Jade! That’s a secret!” hissed Martha.

  Jade clapped a hand to her mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”

  “What do you mean, a proper choreographer?” asked Miranda.

  “Oh, nothing,” said Martha. “It’s just a friend of Zara’s mum’s who’s helping a bit with the spirits’ movements. Come on, Jade.” She stuffed her kit into her bag and dragged Jade out of the door.

  Miranda rounded on Hannah.

  “You see? They’re having all this professional help and we’re getting nothing! They’re going to win and it will all be your fault. Well, I’m not wearing her costumes, even if everyone else is. I’ve got proper costumes and I’m going to wear them.”

  “You—” began Lottie. But Hannah put a hand on her arm.

  “Fine. Bring in your costumes and let Lottie see them. Then we’ll decide.”

  Lottie gaped at Hannah, her eyes flashing with fury.

  Miranda smiled at Lottie. “You’ll love them. They’re fabulous.”

  Just humour her, Hannah mouthed to Lottie.

  Miranda’s eyes lit on a sheet of paper in Hannah’s open ring binder. “So you’re writing letters to the newspapers about this reservoir, are you?”

  Hannah slammed the ring binder shut. “That’s none of your business.”

  “You know it’s a complete waste of time, trying to fight the reservoir plans, don’t you? My dad says it’s a done deal. They pretend to consult the public and listen to objections, but really it’s all decided already. My dad says these big companies do exactly what they want. They just bribe the government if they have to.”

  “Oh, that’s a great attitude,” said Lottie. “So we should all just sit around letting terrible things happen and not even try to stop them?”

  “Just get on with your life, that’s what I’m saying, instead of wasting time on pointless protests.”

  “But this is my life,” said Hannah. “It’s my farm that’s going to be flooded, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly.”

  “What do you mean by that?”

  “Well, this is all just selfish, really, isn’t it? You wouldn’t care about the reservoir if it was on someone else’s farm.”

  Hannah could think of no answer to this. She was sure in her heart that it would be wrong to flood Clayhill, even if it wasn’t her farm, but she knew she wouldn’t be able to convey what she wanted to say to Miranda.

  Miranda gave her a triumphant glance. “Anyway,” she said, “I thought we were supposed to be having a rehearsal. Are we going to do this scene, or not?”

  As she walked into the farmyard with Lottie on Friday afternoon, Hannah saw their land agent’s shiny black BMW parked in front of the tractor shed. She felt a sudden, sickening jolt in her stomach. A visit from the land agent was never a good thing.

  “Why’s he here? The rent’s all paid until December. I checked with Dad.”

  Lottie pointed towards the pigsties. “Listen.”

  At first, all Hannah could hear were the grunts and snuffles of contented pigs. Gradually, though, she started to make out the sound of men’s voices.

  “Maybe it’s about the reservoir,” said Lottie.

  Hannah took a deep breath and clenched her fists. “Come on. Let’s find out.”

  Between the yard and the pigsties was a straw-strewn path, bordered by the pig shed on the right and a thick blackthorn hedge on the left. Dad stood at the end of the path, his back to the girls, beside a wheelbarrow heaped with ripe-smelling dung. Two men were with him, also facing away from the girls. On Dad’s left stood the landlord’s agent. Hannah recognised his slicked-back dark hair and his stocky figure in the black suit he always wore. A taller man in a grey suit stood to Dad’s right.

  “In here,” whispered Hannah, ducking through a gap in the blackthorn hedge.

  Lottie looked horrified. “No way!” she whispered. “My clothes will get torn to pieces.”

  “There’s a really wide tunnel inside,” whispered Hannah. “I’ll hold these branches.”

  Very cautiously, Lottie squeezed in through the gap Hannah had made. They crouched in the hollow hedge.

  The agent held out a fat brown envelope to Dad. Dad made no move to take it.

  “We sent the compensation package a fortnight ago,” said the agent, in his grating voice, “but since we’ve had no reply, I thought I’d bring you a copy, in case you hadn’t received it.”

  “Oh, I received it all right.”

  “Well then, you’ll have seen that we’re making you a very generous offer. You’d be a fool to turn it down.”

  “A generous offer?” Dad gave a bitter laugh. “It’s all about money with you, isn’t it? I’m not interested in your compensation package. I care about this farm and I’ll see it destroyed over my dead body.”

  “Well, let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, eh?” said the agent.

  Hannah gasped. Lottie was open-mouthed with outrage.

  The other man shifted so the girls could see his face. Hannah drew in her breath.

  “It’s him!” she whispered. “The Aqua man! Nick Constable.”

  “As you know, Mr Roberts,” said Nick Constable in his oily voice, “this is Aqua’s preferred site. And the fact is that the wildlife findings at Clayhill have been much lower than at the other potential sites we’ve surveyed.”

  “Oh, have they?” said Dad. “That’s very convenient for you, isn’t it? And can you show me these wildlife surveys?”

  “I’m afraid not,” said Nick Constable, in a voice even smoother than before. “The raw data is still being analysed and the results are not publicly available yet.”

  “No, of course they’re not.”

  Hannah, squatting on the balls of her feet, leaned a bit too far forward and grabbed at a branch to keep her balance. The branch snapped and Hannah tumbled forwards. A shower of broken twigs and dead leaves fell all around her.

  “Have you got rats?” asked the agent, frowning at the hedge. “I hope you’re taking appropriate measures to keep the rodents down.”

  “There’s only two rodents I can see right now,” said Dad, “and I’ll be taking appropriate measures to get rid of them, don’t you worry.”

  Lottie almost let out a snort of laughter. She clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “The important thing,” said Nick Constable, his voice positively creamy with concern, “is to come to a genuinely positive
solution for everyone concerned.”

  “You mean a positive solution for you.”

  Nick Constable gave Dad a patronising smile that made Hannah want to throttle him.

  “I can see how difficult this is for you, Mr Roberts. I understand that you’re attached to this place.”

  Dad snorted. Nick Constable moved smoothly on. “So we’re trying to make sure that you and your family are properly looked after. The compensation package we’re offering is above and beyond what we’re legally obliged to do. I’m sure you’d like to have something to pass on to your children, wouldn’t you?”

  In an unsteady tone, which didn’t sound at all like Dad’s usual voice, he replied, “I’d like to pass this farm on to them.”

  The agent gave a short bark of a laugh. “I’m sure you would, but we’re dealing with reality here. You know perfectly well what the situation is.”

  “What situation’s that?” asked Dad, and his voice was harsh now.

  The agent made an impatient noise. “Because of your late rent payments, Mr Roberts, you’re now on a short-term farm business tenancy, as you know. That’s not something you can pass on to your children. So there’s no guaranteed future for your family here, whatever you might like to think.”

  Hannah felt cold inside. She hadn’t known that. She stared at Lottie. Lottie reached for her hand and squeezed it.

  Nick Constable spoke again, in a tone that was clearly trying to be gentle and understanding. “The thing is, Mr Roberts, people need water. That has to be our priority. And there’s a limited number of places we can put a reservoir. I mean, you wouldn’t want us to destroy a whole village, would you?”

  “Of course I wouldn’t. That’s not the—”

  “So I’m sure you can see, if you can manage to put your own feelings aside, that this place is ideal.”

  “I’ve told you once and I’ll tell you again,” said Dad, “this farm will be flooded over my dead body.”

  Nick Constable’s voice was like clotted cream.

  “Mr Roberts,” he said, “we have to face facts. This area desperately needs another reservoir. More houses are being built every year and people use a lot more water than they used to. They want power showers, sprinklers, jet washers, all those things. And as your water company, we have a statutory duty to provide that water. We’re responsible for more than six hundred thousand households, not just your family. Those are the hard facts. As a reservoir location, this place has everything going for it. It will happen. Clayhill will be flooded. And what we now need to focus on is securing the best possible outcome for you and your family.”