Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  They’d gone ahead with buying out the Alderleat lease and hadn’t regretted a thing over the years, but how long could the man’s grudge last? Of course Bede had reported the conversation after Joe’s death, but even he could see that an unsubstantiated memory was hardly evidence. And surely the fracking proposals weren’t personal.

  Shaking his head, he turned back to the task in hand. Satisfied everything was working, he moved to the fireplace, ready to put the back boiler and the whole creaky system to the test. A match to the crumpled newspapers brought the flames to life and he relished watching the DailyMail burn. He fed the fire, feeling dirty as he did so, but it needed coal to run properly. As the initial roar settled to a steady crackle, he allowed his gaze to be drawn by the glow, and thought again that he really must have a word with her about renewing it.

  Don’t you start. She’s got enough on with Philip telling her what to do.

  He started, looked around. I’m only trying to help.

  She’ll ask when she’s ready. No need to cause trouble between her and that son of hers.

  Bede glanced accusingly at the fire, then quickly swept up. He went back through to the boiler room and checked the tank – at least he’d made sure that it was well lagged – and the pump, observing it all with the satisfaction of a job well done, tinkering with a few adjustments. He heard a key in the lock of the adjacent porch, followed by Philip’s voice. ‘Hello? Someone there?’

  As Bede removed his glasses and wiped his hands on his overalls, he reminded himself he had nothing to feel guilty about.

  ‘Well, well. This is a surprise.’ Philip declined to shake his grimy hand. ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Your mother phoned us. Asked me to look at the boiler. She’s in the conservatory with Elin.’

  So go and have it out with her. Leave me to finish off in peace.

  ‘I’ve got someone booked in to see to this, the day after tomorrow.’

  ‘No need now.’

  Philip glared at him as though Bede’s actions were not so much to help his mother as to criticise him. He brought out a leather wallet from his pocket. ‘How much do we owe you?’

  Bede frowned, genuinely taken aback. ‘Owe me?’

  ‘For the repairs.’

  ‘Nothing.’

  Philip radiated irritation. The man could even take declining payment as an insult. He strode off towards the conservatory. As Bede heard Marjorie greet her son calmly, he was once again struck by how different they were, and wondered what on earth her late husband must have been like.

  11th June 1999

  Today was a good day. I’ve taken a few days’ holiday and I’m here in my trusty tent in the mountains for a bit of fishing, bit of time alone in the wild to recharge. First proper time I’ve spent outdoors since I lost the allotment – all the paperwork for that went home and Suzanne just cancelled the lease out from under me. Well, no point in dwelling on the bad, though I do miss the soil on my hands. Look on the bright side – I met a couple of interesting people earlier.

  After an early start, there I was, drinking a coffee from the snack van, when suddenly there’s this blare of horns and a movement in my mirror, a hatchback veering off onto the verge. I’m out like a shot, to a last doppler of a horn fading off down the outside lane. Blow-out by the look of it. She did well to get off the road – from the skid marks it looked like she was in the outside lane – but she’s sitting there looking shaken, watching me jog up. Shaken but in control. Not bad for a woman in her fifties, sixties maybe. The remnant of tyre was a hazard to traffic so I dived out between cars to retrieve it, and I’m almost as shaken as she is by the time I offer to help change the wheel – though she looks like she’d have been more than capable on her own.

  By the time we’d done and I’d bought us a nice calming cuppa and the comfort food of bacon butties, I’d heard all about Marjorie Northcote’s beautiful-sounding place in a little village by the River Severn – or maybe it’s just her accent makes me think it’s something special. Not too cut-glass but quite posh all the same. She’s got plans to settle down and sort out her crumbling old house after a few years spent travelling. Said she wanted to do something useful after her husband died and she’s been driving across the continent and beyond for charities, delivering aid parcels and the like. Got to admire her.

  When she turned to me and said ‘Tell me, what does a knight in shining armour do when there are no damsels in distress to rescue?’ I confess I felt a bit inadequate. I mean, a hardware shop. I’m proud of how I’ve built the business up, and I’ve got some decent skills, but it sounds a bit…unknightly, doesn’t it? And there I am spending my weekends on the allotment (well I used to, at least), or going off into the mountains on my own, when she’s out there devoting her life to helping people.

  Once we were both sure she was OK, she continued on her way to visit her friend, leaving me with an outpouring of eternal gratitude and an invitation to visit. The river Severn. Shropshire. I know nothing about it bar the Welsh borderlands, and aren’t there supposed to be blue remembered hills or something?

  After waving her off, I was just leaving the layby when I saw a group of hitchers, bloke and two women (lucky sod). A bit scruffy but you don’t expect hitchers to be wearing black tie, do you? My half-hour with Marjorie had given me a taste for chatting, I like my own company but after recent weeks you really can have too much of a good thing, so I decided I could squeeze them in, rucksacks & all.

  I told them where I was heading and the taller girl with long, wavy red hair just kind of nods and they head for the car. The fella, looked a bit stoned, introduced himself as Tim and shoved his rucksack in the boot before hunkering down on the back seat, too gone-out, knackered or maybe just plain shy to say more. The gypsy-haired girl grins at me all full of fun, like, and simply says ‘Fran’ as she clambers into the back with the rest of their stuff between them, leaving her mate, really drop-dead gorgeous she is, scowling at me. I think you’d call her a willowy blonde, at least that’s what I ended up calling her in my head, Willow (had to stop myself saying it out loud) because there was no move to speak to the likes of me. She finally got in the front, as gracefully as she could while looking down her nose at me. She slammed the door shut as if expecting it not to latch properly and immediately wound the window down.

  ‘Smells of dead pig in here.’ Dead quiet she said it, craning round to her mates in the back, as though I’m not meant to hear.

  ‘You mean my bacon butty?’ I’m smiling to myself as the embarrassment flits across her face. ‘Listen, love, I can find you a piece of cardboard. Just write VEGAN on it and you’ll get a lift to suit you in no time, I’m sure.’

  I noticed the lass called Fran stifling a laugh.

  ‘Anyway, sooner you belt up, sooner we’ll be there and you can get the offensive molecules out your nostrils.’

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  I tapped her seat belt clasp. She rolled her eyes but obeyed, clicking it like it was a gun aimed at an abattoir guy. I saw the ghost of a smile. She was something when she wasn’t hiding it behind a veil of self-righteousness. Told myself I’d no chance – they look like students which would make her not much over half my age. Made me feel old all of a sudden, that did, though I really related to them. She didn’t look the sort to fancy a bit of rough, but you never know your luck.

  It seems they’re on their way to some peace camp in a forest in Northumberland. Fran starts telling me, arms waving, how the three of them are second years at Nottingham Uni and regularly go off for a few days to join this guy Graham Scott – Grey – who’s got this land, Calsthorpe Wood, that was in his family, and he’s got a crowd in there to occupy it because the ancient, once-they’re-gone-they’re-gone-forever trees are threatened by a road scheme. Yeah, that’s right, another one. What’s the point, I said, it’ll soon become another standing traffic jam, we should be looking to proper public transport. Fran catches my eye in the rearview mirror like she’s found a s
oulmate.

  Anyway, they’ve got a right little community going on there, building shacks out of ‘found materials’ from mother nature’s bounty and living off the land. They’re fighting this road through the courts and planning procedures, but if push comes to shove they’re dug in ready to protest. Quite sad when you think of what they’re doing and it could all be crushed. But much as I sympathise 100% with what they’re doing – I actually found myself admiring those tree-dwelling fellas, Swampy and co, on the news a few years ago – it was all getting a bit heavy and I could feel my week on my ownsome in the mountains beckoning.

  Except that, when I drop them off, Willow – who turns out to be called Sophie – actually invites me to come & see Calsthorpe Wood for myself on my way home.

  Seeing as it’s you, love, I might well cut my fishing trip short.

  Nice work

  On the way home from Marjorie’s, Elin dropped Bede off at the pub to collect Brian’s car. He arrived shortly afterwards and soon had it up on the ramp beneath the open shelter for a quick assessment before lunch. She let Kip out and before long was immersed in her work in the greenhouse. The gentle hissing of the watering system formed the backdrop to a discussion on the radio she’d lost track of. She started as she became aware that she wasn’t alone, turned and was surprised to see Tamsin standing in the doorway.

  ‘Hello,’ Elin said with a smile. ‘Sorry, you made me jump – I was miles away there. Come on in.’

  Tamsin moved to lean on the nearest raised bed.

  ‘Just thought I’d drop by. I’m on my way to the village to post a parcel for Mum. She was about to get the car out again but I said I’d go for her. On my bike.’

  She looked at Elin as if seeking approval.

  ‘I saw her in the village earlier. I gather you didn’t manage to sneak in last week.’

  ‘Oh my God. What did she say?’

  ‘What you’d expect. Don’t worry, I’m not going to lecture you. But it’s not a good idea—’

  ‘I know.’ The girl’s face flushed. ‘I’ve had a whole week of it. She’s grounded me, you know. This weekend, too. I’m sick of it. Just had to get out.’

  Elin smiled in sympathy then turned back to her plants. ‘Can’t be easy.’

  Tamsin picked a leaf of parsley, started chewing, then pulled a face. ‘Made a right prat of myself, didn’t I?’

  Elin made a non-committal comment about having a good time.

  ‘Don’t tell Mum I’m here, yeah? She’d throw a fit. But I just wanted to… Can’t remember what I said but… He pissed me off big-time, showing me up in front of my mates. Self-righteous hippy.’ Elin looked up from her seed tray, eyebrows raised. ‘Like, everyone has a drink in there, there’s never any trouble. I was like, would he prefer it if I got out the weed instead?’ She glanced around the greenhouse as if searching for evidence. ‘Well, anyway, you didn’t have to stop, did you? On the way home. I was, y’know, a bit out of order. So, um, thanks. You know? Tell him thanks.’

  ‘Will do.’ Elin was tempted to send her to thank him herself. ‘A word of advice, though. If you want to get served again – soft drinks of course – you’d be best off not mentioning the H-word.’ Tamsin frowned. ‘Hippy.’

  She grinned. ‘Thought you’d take it as a compliment.’

  ‘Apart from hating labels in general, Bede thinks a hippy’s little more than a dreamer who sits around getting stoned and romanticising, while he’s mister down-to earth, out there actually getting things done.’

  ‘So what’s with the wonky fashion sense and the long hair?’

  Elin couldn’t help laughing. ‘Don’t you mean absence of fashion sense? Goes with the “labels” thing – fashion’s actually the true F-bomb, you know. And brand’s the B-word. Unnecessary consumption, excess use of resources – don’t get him going. Not that I disagree; so many perfectly decent clothes are just chucked out, and there’s plenty of opportunity to get brilliant ones second-hand.’

  ‘I like trawling the charity shops myself. Never thought of it as recycling, just bargain-hunting.’ Tamsin held up a hand. ‘So don’t tell me – he doesn’t want to clog up landfill sites with hair clippings.’

  ‘Nice one. It’s more…freedom of expression? You’ll have to ask him yourself. Personally, I just think it suits him, however impractical it is.’ She smiled and ran her hand through her short hair as if to emphasise her point. ‘I don’t mean to be rude; you can stay as long as you like, but I need to get on.’

  ‘Sure. What’re you doing?’

  Elin showed her how she was transplanting seedlings. She was surprised when Tamsin pitched in to help, getting soil beneath her carefully manicured fingernails. She was soon absorbed and Elin left her to it, turning to prepare some boxes for the next delivery to Foxover Storehouse. A guest on Woman’s Hour was talking enthusiastically about her permaculture smallholding. Elin smiled to herself as she thought of Bede agreeing wholeheartedly with the philosophy, lifestyle and community but bemoaning the coining of ‘yet another label’. Once her boxes were neatly stacked, she went over to help Tamsin.

  ‘So… I see you’ve met Silvan.’

  ‘Silvan?’ The girl’s head was bent to the plants but Elin could see her cheeks were slightly flushed. ‘Oh, the new gamekeeper, you mean. Thinks he’s God’s gift.’

  ‘Know what you mean. Though he’s not a bad guitarist. We were in on my birthday and—’

  ‘Yeah, didn’t we all know it by the time he’d finished. Plays in some band back in Birmingham. No Surrender. Doesn’t sound like my kind of thing, to be honest.’ Tamsin straightened. ‘Here, I think that’s it. Is that OK?’

  Elin looked over what she’d done; nodded. Tamsin glanced at her watch.

  ‘Shit! I’d better be off. Shouldn’t be here, you know. Listen, before I go, another reason I came – Mum’s always on at me to get a job. D’you need any help round here?’

  ‘Loads. But I’m not sure how much we could pay you. I’ll have a chat with Bede if you like and—’

  As though summoned, he appeared in the greenhouse doorway.

  ‘Have you been in the workshop at all today? I— Oh, hi, Tamsin.’

  She smiled uncertainly.

  ‘Me?’ Elin said. ‘No. What’s up?’

  ‘It’s just…I think I’m going crazy. I went to get my toolbox – you know, to look at Brian’s car and…can’t help feeling that stuff’s been moved.’

  ‘Post-visitor trauma.’ Elin winked at Tamsin. ‘We had some friends over last week – you probably saw them – and he’s spent the last few days putting things back “where they ought to be”.’

  Tamsin rolled her eyes. ‘I wouldn’t have you down as, like, an OCD kind of guy.’

  Bede shrugged. ‘Guilty as charged. I like things in their proper place.’

  ‘So what have you lost?’ Elin said.

  ‘Nothing. I just feel…’

  Elin shook her head. ‘You feel like you’re getting more absent-minded every day and wanted an excuse to see who our visitor is.’

  ‘Don’t give away all my secrets at once.’ He picked up a piece of twine and began to knot it absently. ‘Sorry, Tamsin, that wasn’t very welcoming, was it? Good to see you. Don’t tell me Elin’s got you at work already.’

  ‘I was just asking her, actually… You know…Saturday job or whatever.’

  ‘I’m sure we can sort something out.’ He glanced at Elin.

  ‘That’d be awesome. Let me know. Look, I’m sorry, but I’ve got to go now.’ As Tamsin headed for the door, Elin gestured pointedly towards Bede. ‘I only came to…like…thank you. For the lift the other night.’

  He nodded with a hint of amusement. ‘You’re welcome.’

  ‘Well, see you later.’

  Bede watched her pick up her bike and pedal off.

  ‘Was it something I said?’

  ‘It’s not all about you, you know.’ Elin smiled and went over to him. ‘Though you wouldn’t believe it to hear Marjorie talk.’


  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

  She smiled. ‘Your number one fan. I’m surprised your ears weren’t burning enough to heat the water in that boiler.’

  ‘Tell me more.’

  ‘Over lunch.’ She headed for the door. ‘Not that there’s much to tell. You, on the other hand, can give me the story of what Philip said to make you so eager to leave.’

  ‘It wasn’t so much what he said. More a case of walking away before I said something I’d regret.’

  She knew he wasn’t joking.

  As she cycled to the village, Tamsin felt pleased with herself. Not only had she got the excruciating embarrassment of last Friday night out of the way relatively painlessly, but she had the prospect of a job. Nice work, she told herself – far more interesting than the shop counters or delivery rounds most of her friends had, and certainly better than skivvying in the B&B for her mum, who as often as not forgot to give her the pocket money she’d earned. She got the impression Bede didn’t really want her around. Not that he’d said anything; there was just something about him. But she was confident Elin could persuade him. She’d never really understood what her mum had against their neighbours – her prejudice reason enough for Tamsin to like them from afar – but would never have imagined herself getting involved.