The Death of the Elver Man

by Jennie Finch

  Resuming her stroll she reached the banks of the stream and peered through the reed beds, searching for movement in the funnel shaped nets set at intervals under the water. A lean time indeed – nothing stirred and she sighed to herself as she pictured her potato and soup supper. A splash of brighter green caught her eye, nestling behind the lower willows, and she clambered over the fence to investigate. A patch of new nettles waved with the wind and she smiled as she bent to gather the crisp, sharp-scented leaves. She did not flinch away for her hands were roughened by a lifetime of hard work and it took more than a nettle sting to interrupt Ada’s foraging. When nettles were this young they were tender right through and if picked carefully they’d come back over and over again through the summer. She still had some useable onions in the shed and enough potatoes to thicken it without leaving herself short. Nettle soup would do fine for a starter. As she stood up she caught a flicker of movement in the field across from the stream.

  Standing so still that she faded into the shadows, she waited until she saw the grass sway and the tips of two grey ears poked up. Damn and damnation, she thought. Hell with the nettle soup when there’s a chance of a sweet little coney and there’s me with the wrong dog by my side. Mouse was hopeless as a hunter but Mickey – he was fast, could run down a hare if need be, but he was asleep over by the gate and there was no way of waking him without disturbing the rabbits. She turned her head slowly and looked towards the cottage, but it was too far to the back door. By the time she’d got in, loaded the shotgun and got out again they’d be gone for sure. She looked back over the field, marking in her memory the location of those tempting little ears. It was a waste anyway, using a shotgun shell on a little’un, she thought, as she trudged back up the path with her nettles and a couple of onions. She’d go out early and look for the tracks in the dew, rig up a snare maybe. No point in scaring the whole lot of them off and, besides, she didn’t want to draw attention to the fact she had a gun in the house. Oh, where was Kevin when she needed him so much? Her head dropped again as she fell to worrying about her son.

  Big Bill pulled up outside the Johns’ house and sat for a moment, relishing the quiet, the unfamiliar feeling that comes from being unobserved. It had been over a year since his arrest, just two days since his release and he was still in the ‘I’m never going back’ phase. Life, he thought, as he opened the car door and stepped out into the soft spring day, life was too sweet to waste any more of it behind bars. He glanced down at his feet, rubbing the toes of his shoes on his trouser leg and pulling his jacket straight before stepping up to the front door. It opened at the first knock and for an instant he didn’t recognize the woman in front of him. Big Bill had always had a secret crush on Iris, the stately and beautiful woman who had been swept off her feet by Derek just as Bill was summoning up the courage to ask her out. He’d shrugged it off, said the best man won, but although he’d had a string of women over the years he’d never married. The sight of this pathetic, bowed figure awakened all his pity and roused a deep, burning anger.

  ‘Hello Bill,’ muttered Iris, her voice as flat as her empty green eyes.

  She turned away without waiting for a reply, shuffling in to the front room where a fire roared in the grate. Bill closed the door, wiped his feet on the mat and followed her. The room was almost intolerably hot, stuffy with stale air. Iris sat down in a chair as close to the grate as she could get and gathered a knitted shawl around her shoulders.

  ‘Sorry,’ she said, still in that eerie monotone. ‘I can’t seem to get warm. All winter, I’ve been … just been …’ She trailed off, staring into the flames. Bill felt the sweat break out all over his body and he dropped his jacket on to the couch farthest from the source of heat.

  ‘How about I get us a cup of tea?’ he said.

  Iris nodded, her gaze fixed on the fire, making no move to assist him. Bill hesitated for a moment and then went through the door into the kitchen. The place was a tip. The sink was piled high with dirty plates and cutlery, water with a layer of grease covering the items at the bottom. The worktop was covered in crumbs, suspicious looking splashes and vegetable peelings and used knives lay around, abandoned with their blades uppermost. The bin was full, he noticed, and there was a buzzing sound from within. He knew better than to open it inside the house in case an opportunist fly has got in and laid their eggs. It smelt bad enough for maggots, if not worse. Billy was truly appalled, not just by the evidence of neglect but by the contrast to the Iris he had known for so long. She had prided herself on the state of the house. Everything was washed and put away as soon as it was finished with, floors were swept every day and even the cushions on the big, plush couch stood to attention. This sort of mess would have been inconceivable before Biff’s death.

  Gritting his teeth he plunged his hand into the cold, scummy water and pulled the sink plug. As it drained away he filled the kettle, setting it to boil, and then searched for something to wipe his hands with. The only tea towel on the rail was stiff with dirt and he picked it up gingerly and placed it on the buzzing refuse bin before rummaging through the drawers in search of something a little more wholesome. Finally, armed with hot water and a clean cloth he tackled the sink, stacking the washed pots and crocks on the draining board he had wiped clean. There was no sound from the lounge and he peeked round the door: Iris was still sitting in exactly the same position, frozen in her despair before the fire. He took a deep breath and opened the back door, heaving the bin through and placing it next to the dustbin. Standing well back he flipped the lid open and was rewarded by a stream of flies that poured out and flew off into the wild to wreak more havoc. Trying not to breathe through his nose, Bill jiggled the plastic liner up and heaved the whole stinking mess into the dustbin. There was an outside tap set into the wall and he rinsed the bin out before setting it to drain by the door. After scrubbing his hands under the tap he made a pot of tea and set it out on a tray. Carrying it into the front room, he placed it on the low table next to Iris’s chair. He poured them some tea, adding milk and sugar and stirring it round before he held out the cup. For the first time Iris looked at him directly.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  Big Bill felt a rush of emotion, tears threatening to overwhelm him as he saw the depth of her anguish reflected in her eyes.

  ‘So,’ he said, coughing to disguise his reaction, ‘when is Derek out then?’

  Iris turned her attention back to the fire, sipping at her hot tea. ‘Oh, he’s back. He should be home tonight, I hope. He’s out a lot at the moment.’

  Bill couldn’t believe a husband would leave his wife in this state. If it were him, he’d be by her side, looking after her, trying to cheer her up, keeping the place tidy – but, of course it wasn’t him. It was Derek and even he, the loyal and trusted lieutenant, dare not criticize Derek.

  ‘Well, maybe I could pop back this evening then. Catch him then.’

  Iris put down her cup and rose unsteadily to her feet, reaching out to the mantelpiece to pull an envelope from behind the clock.

  ‘Here,’ she said, holding it out to him, ‘he left you this.’

  Despite the heat thrown out from the fire, Bill felt himself shiver as he took the envelope. Derek had known he’d come here. Of course he did – he’d expect him to pay his respects. But did he know how he felt about Iris? Bill made his apologies, suddenly desperate to get out of the choking misery of the house.

  His heart was pounding as he drove away along the main road, the letter seeming to burn through his pocket. Once outside the village he pulled over and ripped the envelope open. There was a single sheet of paper inside with a brief note scribbled in pencil: ‘Meet me by the second place we fished as boys, tomorrow morning at 8.30. D.J.’ Bill’s hand was shaking as he shoved the letter back into the envelope. How the hell had Derek known he was going to see Iris today?

  Alex had planned her day very carefully, moving appointments and creating space to ensure she had a clear day, but her hopes we
re dashed as she walked through the front door on Monday. Passing Gordon, who was rummaging in the boot of his car, packing items into black bin bags, she hurried to the foot of the stairs.

  ‘Ah, Alex, good, here you go,’ said Alison, who had been lurking at the front desk. Alex took the proffered folders and realized with a sinking heart that it was the court pack.

  ‘No – no, I’m down for Friday,’ she said, trying to push it back over the counter.

  Alison shoved it back at her. ‘Oh, Garry was looking for a volunteer this morning as Margaret’s called in sick. I checked your diary and you’re free all day’.

  Alex stopped and looked at her, taking in the greasy hair, the pink nose and the ingratiating smile that trembled on those thin, pale lips. At that moment she wanted to jump over the counter, grab her assistant by her scrawny little neck and bash her head repeatedly on the counter, preferably until she died. There was a faint buzzing in her ears but apart from that all was silent in the room. She took a step towards the desk but Alison suddenly turned and fled, slamming the door behind her. Ignoring the raised voices from the main office, Alex reached out and picked up the court papers, her hands shaking as she opened the dreaded buff folder. She realized she was holding her breath and gave a gasp as the door opened and Lauren appeared over the lip of the counter.

  ‘Are you alright then?’ she asked.

  Alex took another deep breath and nodded.

  ‘Yeah. Yeah, I guess. It’s just …’ she gestured to the full day’s work in the folder. She’d be in court at least until 4.30, maybe later. That was the end of her chance to see Kevin’s solicitor. She had done her best but failed dismally and this defeat really hurt. Lauren leaned on the counter and laced her stubby fingers together.

  ‘So, what was you was planning to do with the day you’ve so carefully left free, I’m wondering.’

  Alex glanced over her shoulder but the room was still empty. She leaned forward and said softly, ‘I was hoping to meet Smythe. I’ve not got a lot but maybe I can get Kevin out on bail, staying at the hostel or something. He’s having a really hard time inside and he’s got to move back out of the hospital tomorrow. I’m so worried about him.’

  Lauren nodded. ‘I was thinking it was probably something to do with Kevin. Well, you’ve got a full day in court to get ready so maybe you should go and do that. If you happened to drop a note off to me on the way back out, perhaps saying what you’m hoping to say to Smythe that might be a good thing. Then you can go and be today’s hero, earn a bit of good will and all without worrying about anything else.’

  Alex closed the folder and sighed. ‘Lauren – I’m so sorry about how I behaved, you know …’

  Lauren waved her hand at her dismissively. ‘I know that,’ she said. ‘I’m small, I’m not stupid. You was worried about the job and people’s getting at you all the time, ‘course you’re going to be a bit – well not short, maybe grumpy.’ She grinned and Alex found herself smiling in response.

  ‘Seriously though, I really do need to see Smythe.’

  Lauren looked at her and shook her head. ‘Now that’s your problem, right there. You don’t need to see him so long as someone sees him. And maybe that someone could be a long-standing acquaintance with a favour or two to call in.’

  Alex hefted the court pack and moved towards the door. ‘Thank you,’ she said softly.

  ‘Welcome. You can’t do it all on your own, you know,’ said Lauren. ‘Job’s too big; it’ll break your heart.’

  Alex turned back, meaning to ask her why Gordon was emptying his car and scrubbing it yet again, but Lauren was gone, the office door closing behind her. As she reached the stairs she spotted Garry on the first landing, anxiety creasing his face.

  ‘Ah, yes, Alex – have you seen Alison this morning?’

  Alex waved the folder at him as she climbed the stairs.

  ‘All under control Garry,’ she said, trying to sound cheerful.

  A look of surprise flitted over her senior’s face. ‘Oh, right, well – jolly good. Thanks – that’s a great help.’

  Alex nodded politely as she walked past and up the second flight of stairs. She was really smiling despite the prospect of a grindingly boring day in court. Garry had sounded almost disappointed at her willingness to be a ‘team player’. That, along with her friendship with Lauren, made it all worthwhile.

  Derek woke early the next morning, just as the light from the rising sun crept over the sill and round the curtains into his front room. It was quiet in the house, with Iris upstairs sleeping deeply and no sons to disturb the silence. He’d managed to get Iris to take a pill last night, as much for his own sake as hers and she probably wouldn’t stir much before midday. That gave him plenty of time, he thought, time to get to the cottage and prepare before he met Big Bill. He stretched out on the couch where he’d spent the night. Better not to risk waking his wife so early, he thought. She’d only ask awkward questions and he needed to be sharp today. Softly he padded into the kitchen, noting with approval the tidy draining board and empty sink. Well, maybe she was pulling herself together a bit after all this time. It was very hard on him, all this grieving. He was a man of action and he was working through the loss of his son in his own way. He had plans, important plans months in the making, and he needed to focus on what was important, especially on a day like today.

  The sun was over the Levels and beginning to burn off the morning mist as Derek tramped along the Sedgemoor Drove. It was going to be a warm day, the sort of May day that might result in a storm from the look of the sky in the distance. Skirting the old earthworks he kept well clear of the disused airfield, deserted at this time of day but a magnet for kids on motorbikes at the weekends. He carried a small army pack on his back, the rough webbing chafing his shoulder as he marched towards the footbridge over Kings Sedgemoor Drain. His breath was coming in ragged gasps and he was sweating heavily by the time he crossed the canal and headed into the water meadows on the other side. He was out of condition, he thought, unfit, a bit overweight – he’d let himself get soft in prison. Gritting his teeth he ploughed on, jumping the smaller cuts in the land where the water trickled down to ever-wider drains until joining the larger canals on the journey out to sea. In the distance he spotted his destination, a bird hide of reeds and witheys overlooking Shapwich Right Rhyne. He walked more slowly, casting his eyes about him, but there was no-one else around. Gratefully he slumped down into the hide to catch his breath. He was going to have to do something about this, he decided. He’d always been strong, able to walk for hours without stopping. It didn’t occur to him he was getting old.

  He heard Big Bill before he saw him, his habitually cheerful whistling reaching his ears as it disturbed the waterfowl around the hide. Derek gritted his teeth but a part of him welcomed the annoyance. He was very fond of Bill: he had been a trusted and loyal companion since they were boys running wild through the Levels. He’d been tall even as a junior, he recalled, his size a boon for climbing trees and getting a boost over a farm hedge. Big Bill had served him well and he would be difficult to replace. He reached into the rucksack and drew out his old fishing knife in its leather case. He clipped it to his belt at the back out of sight and stood up to wave.

  ‘Wotcha, Derek,’ called Bill as he ambled across the muddy track, a broad grin splitting his face.

  ‘Shut up you girt fool! Bloody hell, might as well send up a flare, the racket you’m kicking up.’

  Bill flopped down next to him in the hide, not at all put out by Derek’s temper.

  ‘Sorry Boss. Just – it’s good to be out again, walking around in the sun. Good to see you too.’

  Derek looked him over before moving to stand by the entrance.

  ‘See you went to visit my Iris,’ he said casually. Bill blinked up at him, screwing his eyes half closed to cut out the first rays of sun as they sliced through the loosely woven walls.

  ‘Yeah, well I wanted to give her my condolences on account of Biff - and see when
you was out of course.’

  Derek nodded, half silhouetted against the light. ‘Yeah, she’s taking this real hard. Not herself at all she ain’t. So, I was wondering if you had any thoughts about it all then, seeing as you was banged up with the bastard that grassed up my two lads?’

  Bill felt himself go cold all over. Somehow he’d walked into a trap but he had no idea why or how. His mouth was dry as he struggled to respond.

  ‘I don’t get you, Boss. Don’t know nothing about that – hell, I’ve been locked up most of the past year.’ He tried to peer through the glare, judging his chance of getting past Derek and out of the door. It didn’t look good, but he was stronger than his old friend and he’d kept himself in shape whilst in Dartmoor. If he could get out of here he might be able to talk some sense into Derek later, when he was more himself.

  ‘You have been, right enough. Strange though, first thing you do when you get out, you come sniffing round my wife. Got anything to say about that then?’

  All his confidence, all his good humour and high spirits were knocked clear out of him as he looked up at the man hovering over him. Big Bill was in a whole world of trouble and he hadn’t a clue how it had happened.