‘I don’t know what she wanted to go tearing off in this weather for, anyway.’ Esther’s anxiety took the form of irritation. She turned and looked sharply at Ella. ‘Do you know, Missy?’
Ella shook her head. She felt close to tears, yet she was determined not to cry in front of her grandmother. But her fear was growing with every passing minute that her mother did not return.
‘Oh, do stop running out to the gate,’ Esther snapped at her husband. ‘It won’t mek her come any quicker.’
He tried to smile. ‘I know, love, but I can’t seem to settle until I know she’s safely back.’
Ella saw her grandmother reach out and touch her husband’s arm by way of silent apology for her sharpness. Understanding, he patted her hand. Ella bit her lip and then felt his gaze upon her. She looked into his eyes, her own equally as troubled.
‘I know what we’ll do to take our minds off the weather,’ he said brightly, but it was a forced brightness and they all knew it. He came towards the warmth of the range. ‘Get the draughts board out, Esther. I’ll beat Ella at draughts till her mam gets back.’
Esther snorted with a sudden spurt of wry laughter. ‘Oh, very appropriate on a night like this.’ But she went upstairs and found the checkered board and the pieces.
Ella sat on the peg rug in front of the range and set up the board ready for play.
Suddenly she looked up at her grandfather as he sat in the Windsor chair. ‘Grandpa, what’s that noise?’
Ella’s sharp hearing had caught a different sound above the noise of the wind.
‘What noise, love? I don’t hear anything.’
‘Listen . . .’ Esther stood still near the table. For a breathless moment they all strained to hear, then Esther sprang towards the window and dragged back the curtain, peering out into the wild night.
‘Oh no!’ Her hand still clutching the curtain, her eyes wide with panic, she turned to look at Jonathan. ‘It’s the sea!’ she gasped.
‘What?’ Jonathan was up and out of his chair, hurrying towards the back door. Esther turned and followed him. Ella scrambled to her feet and went to the window. As her grandmother had done, she pulled back the curtain and peered out into the night. In the dim light cast by the oil lamp and filtering through the window, Ella could see a brown swirl of water raging around the farmhouse. She dropped the curtain and ran to the back door. Channelled between the farm buildings, a wave of water came roaring towards the house.
‘Shut the door,’ Esther screamed and, as the torrent came towards them, Jonathan slammed the back door and leant against it. They heard the water slap against it. Ella saw her grandparents stare at each other in helpless horror, and then silently they watched as the water began to seep in under the door, first in tiny rivulets and then spreading relentlessly towards their feet.
Esther clutched Jonathan’s arm. ‘A boat. We need a boat. Where can we get a boat?’
‘Esther, take the child and go upstairs.’
‘But we have to get out – we have to get away.’
‘Esther, you’ll be safe upstairs, but the folks at the Point – I have to go . . .’
‘No.’ She clung to him trying to prevent him going. ‘You’ll be drowned!’
Gently, Jonathan tried to release himself from her grasp. ‘Esther. The water will be much deeper the other side of the Hump and they’re only in cottages. This side, we’ll be all right. It’ll spread out over the fields, but Beth and the others . . .’
‘Not her. Not Beth Eland!’ There was a wealth of bitterness in Esther’s tone. ‘I won’t lose you an’ all because of her. I won’t have it happen again. Not again.’ Holding on to his coat, she was babbling now, incoherently. Ella listened with growing terror.
Jonathan prised Esther’s fingers loose and planted a swift kiss on her forehead, promising, ‘I’ll be careful, love.’ Then he opened the back door. The water flooded into the house swirling icily around their feet, threatening to bowl them over with its force.
‘Don’t go, Jonathan. Please . . .’
His hand on the door, he turned back. ‘Go upstairs, Esther. Just – for once – do as I say.’
He went out and though he tried to pull the door shut after him, against the flowing water, it was now impossible. The wind shrieked into the house and, above its noise, Ella cried, ‘Gran, Gran, what about Mum?’
Through the gloom, Esther stared at her and then she closed her eyes and threw back her head. ‘Oh, Katie, me little Katie,’ she wailed and at the grief-stricken tone in the older woman’s voice, the girl shook with dread.
Esther opened her arms wide and Ella, hesitating only a moment, splashed through the murky water towards her.
Terrified, grandmother and granddaughter clung together whilst the sea flowed relentlessly into the house.
‘Come on, we’d better do as he said and get oursens upstairs.’ Her grandmother gently released Ella’s arms from about her waist but they still clung to each other as they paddled back into the kitchen where Esther took down a candle in a pink holder from the shelf and lit it.
Ella was shivering both with cold and fear. ‘Gran, it’s up to my ankles already.’
‘I know, lass. It’s getting deeper every minute.’
The girl’s voice rose with hysteria. ‘Will it get right up to the roof? Rob said there’s waves as big as a house sometimes . . .’ In her mind was a picture of that vast expanse of grey water whipped by the gales into a seething, vengeful torrent that would flow endlessly across the marsh, over the sand dunes, into their farmhouse and on and on across the fields. There was nothing to stop it.
‘No, no, course it won’t. Ya heard what ya grandpa said?’
Esther, after her brief moment of terror, seemed once more in control of her fear, but the girl’s voice still trembled. ‘I didn’t understand what he meant.’
‘The water won’t come very deep into our house.’
Ella shuddered again, feeling the icy water creeping up and up her legs. ‘Are you sure?’
‘Course I am. Stands to reason. The land’s flat out there, ain’t it?’ Esther waved her hand towards the kitchen window facing out across the fields. ‘When it settles, it’ll find its own level. It’s only – only the other side the Hump, y’know, the bank in the road, where it’ll get deeper – a lot deeper . . .’ Her fear for Jonathan was back and she stopped mid-sentence.
‘But how far will the water go across the fields?’ Ella’s voice was high-pitched with dread.
Esther shook her head. ‘I don’t know, lass. If only the wind would stop . . .’
As if hearing her words, the wind dropped for a moment and they heard clearly the waves slapping against the old walls of the farmhouse. Then the gale roared once more, blowing in through the open back door and rippling the black water all around them.
‘If only ya grandpa hadn’t gone out in it,’ Esther muttered. ‘But that’s him all over.’ She gave a huge sigh and seemed to pull herself together. ‘Eh, what am I standing here for? What am I thinking of? Go upstairs, Ella, and take ya wet shoes and socks off.’
‘What about you? Aren’t you coming up?’ The upstairs, far from seeming a sanctuary, looking black and cold and lonely.
‘I’m going to try and save some o’ me things. Do as I tell you and then you can come back down here and carry some bits up. But don’t get in the water again.’
Ella felt her way upstairs and into the big bedroom where her mother slept.
She was sobbing silently to herself, crying inside. ‘Oh, Mum, please come back. Come home – now!’
While Esther waded about in the water downstairs, Ella, with shaking fingers and trying to gulp back her tears, lit the candle on top of the big chest standing in one corner of the large bedroom and went into the small, narrow bedroom where she slept, leading off the larger room. The gale was even louder here, howling only just outside the sloping ceiling. Snatching a clean pair of socks she went back into the big room and shut the door. Her teeth began to chatte
r as she pulled off her drenched shoes and socks and, picking up a towel from the rail on the wash-stand, rubbed her legs and pulled on the dry pair. Then she found her slippers and went to the window. Could she see the road to Rookery Farm from here? Were there car headlights? But the world outside her window was like a black void. Not a light twinkled anywhere. She shuddered again, gripping the curtain tightly, overwhelmed by a fierce longing to be back in the city with the glow of the street lamps just outside her window, the sound of traffic on the main road at the top of the street, doors banging and the sound of voices. But now there was only the sound of the roaring wind and the rushing water below and that awful, interminable blackness.
‘Mum, oh, Mum, where are you?’ she whispered aloud and felt sick with fear. What if she never came back? What if . . . ?
She turned from the window, went out of the room and down the stairs again to where the water was already up to the first step.
Standing there in the darkness, the tempest raging outside, Ella tried to swallow her fear. ‘Gran,’ she called croakily and then louder, ‘Gran?’
For a dreadful moment she could hear nothing except the storm. ‘Gran,’ she shouted, panic rising in her voice, ‘where are you?’
‘Here,’ came her grandmother’s voice from the kitchen or pantry, Ella could not be sure which. ‘Stay there . . .’
Ella stood on the stairs, straining to hear her grandmother splashing about in the water, muttering crossly at the invasion of her home. With something to do, Esther seemed calmer. Now she was angry: at the sea, at Jonathan for going out, maybe, even at Ella for being an extra responsibility. The girl watched the flickering light from the oil lamp as her grandmother took it from room to room, deciding what she could carry upstairs, trying to salvage as many of her belongings as she could. Ella wished she could go to her gran; she needed to be with someone, she didn’t like being left alone in the dark and the cold watching the water rising, rising . . .
But for once, the girl did as her grandmother had told her and stayed where she was. The water was lapping over the first stair and encroaching upon the second by the time Esther appeared again carrying a heavy, low-seated chair from the front parlour, its legs already wet. She lugged it, step by step, up the stairs. ‘Out the way, Missy,’ she ordered as Ella stepped backwards up the stairs with each step that Esther took. Next she salvaged an odd assortment of items; an embroidered fire-screen, a footstool, the huge family Bible . . .
‘Oh, heck! What am I doing?’ Esther swept the hair back from her forehead with the back of her hand. ‘I aren’t thinking straight. Food. We ought to take some food up. Stand there and you can carry it up as I bring it to the stairs. Don’t get in the water again, Missy. There’s enough of us getting soaking wet already.’ As she moved away into the darkness, Ella heard her mutter, ‘I wish he’d come back.’
So do I, Ella thought fervently. And Mum.
Esther was back, thrusting dishes and tins into her hands. ‘Look sharp, Missy. Mek ya’sen useful. Tek these up and put ’em in one of the rooms. Anywhere, it dun’t matter.’
After several journeys to and from the pantry, Esther came to the stairs carrying a small lamp. ‘I’ve left the big one burning on the kitchen table for yar grandpa to see by when he comes back. I’d got this little one in the pantry. It’ll do us for upstairs.’
She pulled herself up out of the water and paused a moment, leaning against the wall, obviously feeling suddenly exhausted by her efforts. ‘I’d best get me stockings off, an’ me skirt. By heck, that water’s perishing. I dun’t reckon me feet’ll ever feel warm again. I’ve brought me rubber boots from the scullery if I need to go paddling again, but they’re wet inside now. They were already floating afore I thought about ’em.’ She gave a click of annoyance and began to climb the stairs.
Ella took one last look at the black water in the hall. Floating on the surface, swollen and ruined, was the cardboard draughts board.
She turned away and, keeping close to her, followed her grandmother. She held the lamp whilst Esther, panting and shaking with cold, pulled off her stockings, dried her legs and pulled on a clean pair. Suddenly, above the noise of the gale, they heard a loud banging from below and for a moment they stared at each other in the flickering lamplight.
‘Is that ya grandpa?’ Esther said. ‘Oh, I hope to goodness it is.’
Heedless of the fact that she had just put on dry clothes, Esther rushed down the stairs. ‘I’m coming, I’m coming.’
Left to carry the lamp, this time Ella followed her down and, tucking her skirt up into her knickers, stepped once more into the water; now it was up to her knees. The intense cold was a shock, but she waded through the scum-covered water sending waves rippling out to splash against the walls. As she passed through the living room, everything looked so odd, half-submerged in the water, rugs floating just beneath the surface, wrapping themselves against her legs like some creature from the deep.
‘Gran,’ she called, her voice quavering. ‘Wait for me . . .’
Now she could hear voices, a commotion near the back door, and reaching the doorway from the kitchen into the scullery, she saw three figures struggling together in the darkness.
‘Here, lean on me, Beth. That’s it,’ came her grandmother’s voice.
‘Esther – oh, Esther,’ Rob’s grandma cried, her bulk swaying against Esther, her fat arms clawing for support. ‘I thought I was going to drown. He saved me. Jonathan saved me life.’
‘Ya safe now, Beth. Come along.’
Quickly, Ella turned back and put the lamp in the centre of the kitchen table, pushing her grandpa’s wooden chair, floating in the water, out of her way. She splashed back into the scullery and, skirting round her grandmother still struggling to bring Beth into the kitchen and towards the stairs, Ella reached her grandpa who was leaning against the door frame, his eyes closed, his breathing laboured and rasping. He was drenched, wet through from head to foot.
Ella tugged at his sleeve. ‘Grandpa, where’s Mum? Have you heard where Mum is?’
He coughed painfully, bent almost double, unable to take another step, shivering uncontrollably. He shook his head and his voice was hoarse. ‘No. Nothing.’
He put his arm around the girl’s shoulders, the water from his clothes soaking quickly through her wool jumper and chilling her shoulders, but she put her small arms around him and tried to help him into the house. Staggering like drunks, the young girl scarcely able to keep her balance under his weight, they reached the foot of the stairs, but Jonathan was unable to find the energy to climb. From above, Ella could hear her grandmother’s voice. ‘Get out o’ them wet things, Beth. Wrap ya’sen in blankets.’
‘Gran!’ the girl called up. ‘Gran, come and help me with Grandpa.’
In a moment her grandmother was rushing down the stairs and taking hold of him, easing his weight from Ella on to herself.
He rested his head against her shoulder. ‘Oh, Esther, I – I got bowled over once by the waves. I – I thought I’d had it. I thought of you – knew what it would mean to you if – if . . .’ He left the sentence unfinished but Ella saw him raise his head and look searchingly straight into Esther’s eyes. ‘I wouldn’t hurt you for the world, my love,’ he said softly. A spasm of coughing seized him, but he struggled between coughs to say, ‘But I had to go. I couldn’t leave folks there in trouble. Please, try to understand.’
Esther stared at him for a moment and then slowly she nodded. ‘Yes, I know, Jonathan,’ she said quietly. She sighed deeply and a small, wry smile twitched the corner of her mouth. ‘You and your blasted conscience . . .’ She left the sentence unfinished and said instead, ‘Come on, let’s get you upstairs. Ya’ll catch ya death.’ Though she gently chided him, the anger was gone from her tone; she was too thankful to have him back with her.
Somehow between them they got him upstairs and into his own room. For the next half-hour Esther went between the two, helping first her husband then Beth, asking questions all the
time.
‘What about the Maines and the Harris boys?’
‘They’ve – they’ve gone to Rookery Farm. But poor Beth couldn’t make it any further. They’ll tell Danny she’s safe here. He’ll be frantic.’
‘How far’s the water gone? Mebbe Rookery Farm’s got it as well.’
‘I should think it has,’ Jonathan said grimly, as his breathing became a little easier. ‘God knows how far it’s gone.’
Hovering outside the bedroom doors on the tiny landing, Ella’s question came again. ‘Mum? What about Mum?’ But no one knew how to answer her.
‘Get into bed with you, Jonathan,’ she heard her grandmother say briskly. ‘I’ll fetch the bricks up from the range oven. Lucky I’d put ’em in already to warm the child’s bed. But she’ll not mind.’
‘Oh, don’t let Ella be cold. She’ll feel it more . . .’ even from outside the door, Ella heard his teeth chatter suddenly, ‘. . . than us.’
She raised her voice and shouted to him. ‘No, I won’t, Grandpa, you have the bricks. Shall I get them, Gran?’
‘No, no, you stay where you are.’ The bedroom door opened. ‘Ya can come in now and sit with yar grandpa whilst I fetch ’em.’
Esther crossed into the other room to say, ‘You all right, Beth? I’ll bring a brick up. Get into the bed and keep warm.’ Then as her grandmother went down the stairs into the black water, Ella once more stripped off her soaking footwear and crept under the quilt on her grandparents’ bed pressing herself against her grandpa through the covers, trying to warm him.
Jonathan was lying back against the pillows, his eyes closed, his breathing a rasping noise. A few moments later her grandmother returned with the two bricks wrapped in pieces of blanket and pushed them beneath the covers, one at his feet, and the other half-way up the bed.
‘I’ve got another couple for Beth. The water’s not got up to the fire in the range yet. I can boil the kettle and make us all a hot drink. I’ll put a tot of whisky in ’em to warm us.’
The Fleethaven Trilogy Page 85