Weathering

by Lucy Wood

  The drumming grew louder. She got out of bed and opened the curtains. There was rain running in torrents down the dark window. She put on a jumper and went downstairs. It was very early. The rain thumped against the house. She clicked on the light. Nothing. The fridge was silent. She tried the light again, but the kitchen stayed dark. She was standing in something very cold and wet, which soaked into her socks. Could hardly see anything. She crouched down and touched the floor, felt slushy snow and hunks of ice. She followed it over to the corner of the kitchen.

  ‘There you are,’ her mother said. She was sitting in the armchair, hands gripping the sides. Her voice sounded further away and melting snow was dripping off her and pooling on the floor.

  Ada knelt down next to her. ‘The rain woke me up,’ she said.

  ‘Milder air sweeping in and colliding with laden clouds,’ her mother said. ‘I think there’s going to be a lot of rain.’ She seemed to sway slightly on the chair.

  ‘It’ll stop soon,’ Ada said. A cold feeling starting to work up from her feet. She tucked her legs under her and shivered. An hour passed, then another. The kitchen started to get lighter. The light grey and smeary through the rain. Which beat and hammered without cease. As it got lighter, she could see that the chair her mother was sitting in was drenched. Icy water was pouring off Pearl’s clothes, her hair was flat and tangled, the edges of her trousers and sleeves suddenly threadbare and crumbling.

  And outside, the rain took bites out of the snow. The smooth white world was grey and moth-eaten, melting into slushy puddles like icy soup. The rain uncovering what the snow had hidden: there was the holly bush, revealed suddenly like a skeleton. There was the moor, blearily shrugging off its thick blanket. A torrent of rain poured in a sheet off the roof and over the front steps. The snow on the windows dissolved and ran down like soapy water. Clumps of grey and yellow slouched at the foot of the walls and the sides of the road. A messy thaw. Underneath, everything bedraggled and shivering.

  Something knocked against the house. Snow falling down off the roof. Her mother seemed to slump forward and then she got up and staggered across the kitchen. Melting snow sloshing over the tops of her boots. Ada got up quickly and followed her. Her mother made her way slowly down the hall towards her study. As she was going down the steps, another heap of snow slid off the roof and she fell against the door, caught herself just as Ada rushed forward, and disappeared down into the room.

  Then Pepper was calling from upstairs. ‘What’s that noise?’ she said. ‘What’s happening?’ She sounded half asleep and frightened. Ada went up. ‘I can hear something loud,’ Pepper said.

  ‘It’s raining,’ Ada told her. She pulled back the curtains so Pepper could see.

  Pepper got up and pressed her face against the window. ‘The river is very loud,’ she said.

  Downstairs, amongst the sounds of the rain, Ada could hear thumps and bangs coming from the study. She told Pepper to get dressed and brush her teeth. But to be careful, none of the lights were working. Then she ran downstairs and looked in the study. The cardboard she’d taped over the broken window was hanging off and soaked with rain. There was no one in the room. But there were boxes piled on the desk that hadn’t been there before. Ada lifted the flaps. The cardboard was wet. There were cameras and books and photos packed neatly inside. She looked around the room. No clutter on the floor or under the desk. The desk was empty. The small bookcase by the door was empty. The lowest shelves on the walls were empty.

  There was a noise behind her and Pepper came in. ‘You’ve packed the cameras away,’ she said. She looked warily in the box. Ran her fingers lightly over a camera and rubbed at a dirty mark on the lens. ‘Why did you pack them?’

  Ada looked once more around the half-empty room. ‘They’re yours now,’ she said.

  Pepper looked at her out of the corner of her eye. ‘Mine?’ she said.

  Ada nodded.

  ‘To keep?’ Pepper closed the box up as if looking at them was too much to bear. Then she crossed the room and came back with a pen. She frowned and started writing. A tense jitter in the muscle on her top lip. She gripped her writing hand with her left hand to support it. Moved the pen very slowly. The letters came out big and wobbly, but clear.

  ‘You wrote your name,’ Ada said.

  The rain was so loud it was like someone knocking on the door and then Ada realised it was someone knocking. She rushed over, hoping it would be Tristan – there’d been no way of contacting him since the snow and a week seemed like a long time. Suddenly it seemed like a really long time. She touched the backs of her hands against her cheeks. No idea what she would say to him, but she flung the door open, imagining his wet hair and the way he would lean against the door frame.

  Slushy snow pooled on the front step. It was Ray, hunched under the splitting porch, his coat drenched and the hood pulled low over his eyes. ‘Your phone’s down,’ he said.

  Muddy snow spattered off the roof. ‘Everything’s completely gone,’ Ada told him. Had to speak loudly over the torrent.

  ‘I thought I’d just come over,’ Ray shouted.

  ‘OK,’ Ada said. Realised she was blocking the door. But still she stalled. ‘I can’t believe how quickly this came on,’ she said. Gesturing to the rain.

  ‘Yes,’ Ray shouted. He hunched down in his coat as more water spilled onto him from the porch. ‘I haven’t been able to get out till now.’

  Rain soaked through Ada’s socks. ‘I guess you want to come in then,’ she said finally.

  ‘That would be good,’ Ray said. Ducked another fat splash.

  They went into the kitchen. Ada took his coat and put it in the sink, where blue water streamed out of it and down the plughole. His pale jumper was covered in blue dye. His trousers were stuck to his legs and wet snow clung to his shoes. He raked at his hair. ‘Listen,’ he said. ‘I told you I’d been thinking about the house, didn’t I?’

  Ada picked up his coat and wrung it out, so that more water and dye oozed. ‘You shouldn’t put this back on when it’s like this,’ she said.

  Ray looked at it. ‘The first time that gets properly wet and this happens. I paid quite a bit of money for it as well.’ He plucked at his jumper. ‘Look at this,’ he said. ‘What am I meant to do with this?’

  ‘You’ll have to soak it,’ Ada told him. ‘Rub a bar of soap on it, soap gets out anything. Just a plain bar of soap.’

  ‘Just plain soap?’ Ray said. ‘I can do that.’ He wandered around the kitchen, pulled out a chair, sat down then got back up again. ‘It’s cold in here,’ he said.

  Ada lit the gas with a match and put a pan of water on to boil. ‘Everything’s gone out,’ she said again. The gas and the rain roared.

  ‘It’s some place,’ Ray said. ‘Power going out all the time, the river getting high like that.’ He went over to the window and looked out. ‘No electricity a lot of the time, no phone, the heating powered by the fire. It’s no way to live, is it? Driving everywhere, the roads terrible as they are and nobody within a mile. Cost of petrol. This cold valley. I don’t blame you at all for wanting to get out. Been thinking of moving into town myself. I know the benefits: can walk everywhere, pick up food when you like. You fancy a pear and you can just go and get a pear.’ He stopped and looked at her.

  ‘A pear?’ Ada said. She watched the water in the pan as it started to boil, silver bubbles erupting at the bottom and rising. Reminded her of the intricate beads her mother had once fixed onto a bracelet.

  ‘Yeah, a pear,’ he said. ‘Or an orange, whatever you like. But as I was saying before, I’m interested in the place. You’ve got a good location – I think people will like that. Had to have a think about it for a while, but I’ve come to my conclusions. I think I can take it off your hands.’ He rubbed his throat with his thumb.

  Ada watched the bubbles rolling on the water.

  ‘So I’m willing to make you an offer.’ He named a figure that was significantly less than she’d asked for at the beginnin
g. Said it like he was doing her a favour. ‘It needs a lot of work,’ he said. ‘But I can do that. You wouldn’t have to worry about it any more. I guess it’s got potential in a lot of ways.’ He was speaking a lot faster now. He slurped at the coffee she gave him and added three spoons of sugar.

  Ada looked out at the pouring rain. The snow going crumbly and grey as old pastry. Things underneath battered but emerging.

  Ray said: ‘Alright, alright, I’ll give you what you asked for.’ He stood behind a chair and tipped it backwards and forwards. ‘You’re right. I was being cheap before but you’re right.’ He wiped at his forehead. ‘I shouldn’t have even said that.’

  Ada shook her head.

  Ray named a figure that was over the original price. ‘Hell, woman,’ he said. ‘You haven’t even got electricity. Look at this place.’ He tapped on the counter, on the sink.

  ‘I changed my mind,’ she told him.

  Ray put down his half-finished coffee and touched his coat in the sink. ‘You changed your mind,’ he said. His sleeves dribbled dye down his hands. He put the coat on and it clung to his arms and wrinkled. ‘I suppose no one can stop you doing that.’

  ‘Soap,’ Ada told him. ‘Remember? To get the dye out. Rub it with plain soap.’

  He stopped in the doorway and looked out towards the road. Water was pouring down. ‘Snow-melt,’ he said. ‘From up there.’ Pointing at the moor. ‘And all this rain.’ He shook his head. ‘Listen. There’s going to be a lot of water coming down here soon. It was running down the road when I was driving. Watch out OK? I think you’ve got it coming.’ He said it kindly. He pulled at his shrunken coat, put the hood up, then turned and ran to his car, splashing up snow and water.

  Ada stood for a moment in the doorway. A lot of water coming. She ran out to the barn, found two sandbags and slung them against the front steps. Glimpsed the river running very high and fast. It was dark brown and choppy. As she watched, water spilled over the top of the bank and sank into the rain-soaked grass.

  The rain chewed snow down to wet crust. The roof streamed like washing. Trees dripped. The moor shucked off snow and was soon back down to bare husk.

  And the water had to go somewhere. It ran down the moor in rivulets that joined up and became a torrent. Over saturated bogs, through knotted grass, into fields and lanes. It gushed down the roads, overflowed ditches and drains. Bubbled out of grilles. The snow melted off trees in the wood, and the melt-water poured with the rain into the river. The river swelled and thundered through the valley. It doubled its width until it had flowed over the banks towards the house. It soaked through the grass and met the water pouring down from the road above it.

  ‘Why’s there water coming into the house?’ Pepper said. She lifted her foot up and looked at it. Then crouched down on the kitchen floor and poked at a seeping puddle. Ada looked. Water was rising up through the floor and spreading, darkening the tiles as she watched. ‘I put out sandbags,’ she said. ‘I put out sandbags.’ She went over to the window and looked out. No grass. The house on a shallow lake. Trees standing in the middle like waders sifting through an estuary.

  She ran out and down the hallway. Saw water pushing in under the front door, more rising through the skirting and floorboards. The lino in the kitchen was lifting and peeling, a tile floating off already. The water pushed up and spread and in minutes was a centimetre deep. Brown, gritty water, bits of crap from the fields and the road brought with it.

  ‘Captain,’ Pepper shouted. ‘Captain, where are you?’ She splashed into the hall, calling. ‘Captain will drown,’ she said.

  ‘He’s probably upstairs already,’ Ada told her. ‘Go and look.’

  Pepper ran upstairs and then back down again shouting that he wasn’t there. Ada went through the house looking. How had it happened so quickly? She stood on the top step of the study and looked down. The room was filled with a foot of dirty water. It lapped against the bottom step. Captain was on the armchair in the corner, asleep but twitching, his hackles rising as if his dream-self knew what was coming. The water just touching the bottom of the seat. ‘He’s down here,’ she called.

  Pepper rushed in and stopped next to Ada. ‘The cameras,’ she yelled.

  ‘They’re OK on the desk for now,’ Ada said. ‘Get the cat upstairs.’

  Pepper ran and got a blanket, waded through the water and shoved it over Captain, hauled him upstairs as he struggled and hissed inside. ‘I’m trying to save you,’ Pepper shouted at him.

  Ada stepped into the cold water and lugged a box off the desk, carried it through the hall and put it halfway up the stairs. Went back to get another. The rest of the books were safe on the top shelves. She touched them as she went past, a page tearing in the damp and sticking to her hand.

  She heard Pepper come back down and suddenly wail, ‘Where is it? Where’s it gone?’ She came down into the study and plunged her hands in the water. ‘My button,’ she said. She sifted through the water and then went out of the room, still looking.

  ‘Stay upstairs with the cat,’ Ada called. ‘Don’t let him come down.’ Then she ran down the hallway, stopped, shouted ‘Gas’, and went through the kitchen to turn everything off. She went to the front door, opened it, and started to brush the water out. There was a huge puddle on the front step that kept washing in. Rain drove into her face. She turned and saw her mother leaning against the wall, shaking her head as if trying to clear her thoughts. Water pouring down her hair and her back.

  ‘Sandbags,’ Ada said. ‘Are there any more?’

  Her mother shook her head. ‘Just let it come,’ she said. ‘There’s no stopping it.’ Her voice drummed like the rain and water streamed down her face and dripped off her hands. Ada stopped brushing and leaned the broom slowly against the door.

  Her mother staggered and held onto the wall.

  ‘I don’t know what to do,’ Ada said. A cold feeling pumping in her chest. The water gushed like a tap. Pushing in and out of the house like something breathing.

  Her mother’s eyes were swimming with murky water. She let go of the wall and stood for a moment, swaying, then she stumbled down the hall and towards her study. Stood in the deep water at the bottom of the steps.

  Ada followed her. Her mother’s skin seemed to ripple and stretch, grit lodged under her fingernails. She was trailing her fingers through the water. ‘The window broke,’ she said. ‘And the snowball dripped through my fingers.’ She swayed, then stepped back to get her balance. ‘Fob watches,’ she said. ‘The lovely way the oil smelled. I never thought it would become my favourite smell. Or matches. And the bread when it was baking. But the bread burned and I threw it in the bin.’

  Ada watched her closely. There was so much water dripping, it was hard to keep her in focus. ‘I ate it,’ she said. ‘I took it out and I ate it. It was perfect in the middle.’ She’d cut the burned crust off and the middle was soft and full of air.

  ‘You ate it,’ her mother said. Her knees gave way and she stumbled, almost fell right into the water. Her arms plunged in. ‘It’s dragging at me again,’ she said.

  Ada moved forward but her own legs buckled and went numb. She crumpled onto the top step. ‘Try and hold on here,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a strong one,’ her mother said. ‘There’s no question about that.’ She closed her eyes, then opened them. ‘It’s crashing into things. Boulders, trees, taking everything with it. A branch is getting hauled right under.’ She slipped again. Water rushed over her skin, turning it murky and thin. Ada could almost see the window through it.

  ‘Tell me what birds you see,’ Ada said. Her legs were so cold.

  ‘You don’t want to hear about that.’

  ‘I do,’ Ada said. ‘I do.’

  ‘Well,’ her mother said. ‘There’s a pied wagtail on the highest rock, keeping its distance from the water. And a heron in the flooded field. By God it looks happy, extended fishing grounds. What is one person’s disaster is another’s opportunity.’ She closed her eyes aga
in. ‘And a kingfisher just speeding downriver, trying to find a branch to land on. Like a bright bolt. Yes, and a wren watching it all from a tree, and a crow just over there.’ Her foot drifted backwards with the water. ‘The crow’s waiting, just waiting to see what happens. Biding his time, the canny devil.’ Her voice flooded with water now, the water pouring off her clothes and lapping against the walls. The current pulling at her. The water surging and rain pouring. Mixing everything up, loosening grips, churning leaves and dragging back silt and grit and stones, dragging everything back down to the river.

  Ada stayed sitting on the step for a long time, watching the water. Listening to it like a voice that faded and surged and faded again.

  Chapter 35

  Everything was pouring again, everything was on the move. The snow restless as it melted – breaking up and spreading and letting go of itself.

  Pearl felt very thin and stretched. Once again the sound of the river was deep and unremitting; she could taste ditches and fields and wet carpets. She looked down at herself and saw only water – brown and gritty and strangely still. But there was a great dragging pressure – an unrelenting pull, as if a plug had been unstoppered somewhere.

  She was taut and cold and aching. She lapped against walls. She split the desk’s wooden legs. She toppled a lamp. A wire fizzed. A coat slumped like a drowned body. A notebook fell off a shelf and its sodden spine tore. The pages floated – all her observations, all her lists; hours and days and years. A record of her attentiveness. Now dissolving in the water, the ink thinning like skin.

  The river roared. She was hauled downwards and out – through plaster and brick and cobwebs, through mouse tunnels and the gap under the door. Suddenly merging with rain and huge puddles. Gravel from the road, a shoe like a bloated fish. Sweeping past swampy grass, past clumps of sludgy snow and drooling ice; the water rushing back down to the river, more water spilling over the bank and pushing up towards the house. Pearl caught in the middle of it – the river pushing and pulling like the pumping of silty blood.