Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  ‘They should be in the workshop. I’ll go and have a look in a mo.’

  Silvan stood abruptly. ‘Don’t let me keep you. I’ll be off.’ He looked between her and Steve in a way she didn’t like. ‘Leave you to it.’

  ‘Sorry, I’ll be better company another time. I’m knackered tonight.’ Elin handed him the wine bottle. ‘Save this for later. Perhaps we can crack it open to celebrate the end of Tamsin’s exams, hey?’

  ‘Yeah, perhaps.’ He stowed it in his bag, raised a hand in farewell to Steve and turned back to her. ‘Pass on my best wishes to the man.’

  He gave her another penetrating look and left.

  28th May, 2001

  Our Bede’s got himself a bit of a fan club. Whenever he turns up at Calsthorpe, Tig’s eldest, Jack, attaches himself to him. I’d have thought he’d be flattered, but he gets irritated, although he puts a tolerant face on it. He knows what it’s like to be the one left out, appreciates what it did for him going down that garage after school and at weekends.

  So he’s there today, mending Steve’s clapped-out old van. I could see him dragging out his patience to give this boy what he’d needed himself. The difference is, young Jack wouldn’t know which way up to hold a hammer. He keeps passing Bede the wrong stuff, losing his tools and slowing him down because he doesn’t want the kid to hurt himself. And I had to smile because our Bede was at the end of his tether about to send him away once and for all, then Elin walks up and he’s suddenly all sweetness and light with the kid and even hands him a screwdriver.

  I must give him a pep talk. Or maybe have a quiet word with her. She’s obviously interested in him but if he clams up every time she goes near, she’ll give up sooner or later. The fact that he’s never gone out with a girl (at his age!) was one of the least surprising things he’s told me.

  Missed my chance for now, though. Had to open my big gob again about the eco-sabotage, didn’t I? They’ve started calling him Engineer and he wears it like a badge of honour. I tried again to tell him to back off a bit. He wasn’t so much angry like before, as this deep, sad disappointment.

  ‘I’d have thought you’d have been into it, Joe.’

  You could argue with outright anger, but this? I gave up, left early and decided to visit Marjorie before coming home. I’ve been a few times since we met. She’s got this calm, common-sense way of seeing right through a situation. She’s also dropped a hint or two about problems with her son Philip in the past – too loyal to say anything outright, but there’s a tension there.

  Anyway she sympathised about Bede, though I think she wished I hadn’t told her about the lawbreaking aspect. Definitely not her scene. Means she’s on my side of the argument, though. Didn’t come away with any solutions, but at least I’m reassured I was right to confront him.

  But that wasn’t the big news. I still feel a bit overwhelmed, don’t know what I’m going to say to her. She’s got this cottage, just out of the village, part of the estate when her family still had an estate, and the old girl who lived there died recently. Marjorie’s son and daughter are trying to get her to sell it, but she tells me she doesn’t want to. Although I haven’t told her the details about me and Suzie, she knows I’m not exactly living in paradise. So – can you believe your bloody luck, Joe Sherwell? – she actually asked did I want to take a tenancy for next to nothing in return for living there and doing the place up?

  She took me to see it. Alderleat, it’s called. Bloody hell. What estate agents call ‘ripe for renovation’. ‘Has potential’. Well, it does – on one level I love it, but live there?? I’m wondering how her old dear lasted that long – occupied one room while the rest fell apart around her. I’d say it’s doable with a hefty dose of hard work, but of course I’d need some way of making a living. I stopped at the village shop and bought the local paper. There’s a builder’s merchant a few miles away looking to take someone on. Menial compared to running my own shop, but I’ve been thinking a lot recently and I’m going to have to sell the business to give Suzie the clean break she’s demanding. It slays me to think of selling up after all I put into that shop, but it seems the house isn’t enough for her and she’s still insisting I stay away from the kids completely. It breaks my heart to lose them, but I’m hardly in a position to argue, am I? Push her too hard and she might start kicking off about the other business.

  Maybe I need a clean break, too. Sell the shop, move to Foxover.

  Midnight

  I was just on my way to bed when the bell went. Our Bede. Said he had to call by, hated the idea of falling out with me. He’s not going to change his mind about the sabotage but he’ll be extra careful and he’s sorry for the way we argued, the things he said. Fair do’s.

  To be honest I didn’t fancy stewing over a row, so instant forgiveness was the order of the day. And besides – I know I probably shouldn’t have said anything to him yet about Marjorie’s offer, but who else have I got to talk to? (Needless to say I told him nothing about Suzie and selling the business, that’s a decision I’ll have to make on my own.) He thinks I should go for it. That derelict wreck. Alderleat. He’ll come when he can and help me.

  Like old times

  ‘Go on, Elin. It’ll be like old times.’ Fran sounded as though the decision had already been made. ‘Do you both the world of good.’

  ‘Me, yes. Both, not so sure.’

  Elin stared out of the kitchen window, her friend’s voice down the phone competing with the jagged sound of music that drifted through from the living room on a fragrant cloud of cannabis smoke. She’d declined the offer of joining them for a listen to No Surrender’s new demo CD, saying she had too much to do. Her pointed look had gone over Bede’s head.

  ‘He just hasn’t been persuaded properly,’ Fran continued. ‘Honestly, Elin, I still get asked regularly how the Engineer’s doing. He’s got an ego like any man’s; surely that counts for something. And he needs some practice in case your Northcote gets his wicked way.’

  ‘Please don’t tempt fate. I still can’t bear to think it might come to that.’

  ‘So join us up here and set a precedent. Put the old misery on to me – I’ll tell him what’s what.’

  The music was spiky and relentless. Elin recognised the song. She was grudgingly impressed, but after what must have been the third repeat, it was beginning to wear a bit thin. She heard the click of backgammon pieces and a burst of stoned laughter.

  ‘Leave it with me, Fran.’

  She sighed as she ended the call. They really should go to support the anti-fracking protest. But her energy was at an all-time low and she dreaded Bede refusing point-blank. Now was certainly not the right moment to broach the subject. Silvan’s visits had grown ever more frequent – he claimed Philip gave him flexible hours since he worked early mornings, evenings and weekends, but she still suspected a fair amount of skiving. Bede seemed to take more notice of him expounding with the authority of a doctor about the benefits of rest and convalescence than he ever did of Elin’s suggestions that doing those jobs he could would not only keep him active but maintain his self-respect. She dreaded a return to the post-Joe depression.

  ‘Who was that?’ Bede called through.

  She put her head round the living-room door, again declining their invitation to join them and play the winner. ‘Fran.’

  ‘She OK? Any news?’

  She could be imagining the look he exchanged with Silvan, but it rankled nevertheless. ‘I’ll tell you about it later. I’ll also let you know when Steve calls.’

  ‘Steve?’

  ‘About those plans. The ones he came to pick up days ago, remember?’

  ‘Don’t hassle me, love.’ His eyes met Silvan’s again. This time she definitely didn’t imagine it. ‘You know I’ve nearly finished them.’

  ‘“Nearly” won’t get the job done. You can’t let him down. We need Sunny Days.’

  ‘Thanks for the sympathy. I told you I’ve had the mother of all headaches today.’

&n
bsp; He still suffered momentary blackouts and the migraines that accompanied them. But the mother of all headaches? The Silvan-like phrase dampened her sympathy. She walked over to the music centre and turned it down.

  ‘Glad you’re enjoying it,’ Silvan said.

  ‘I’m not criticising. Actually, I’m looking forward to a proper listen. But it’s hardly quiet, soothing, headache-curing stuff, is it?’

  As she left the room, she could imagine him mouthing nag, nag, nag at her husband. Maybe she was maligning him, but she’d sensed something she couldn’t put her finger on ever since that uneasy conversation the evening after he’d rescued Bede from the rain-sodden roadside. She told herself, for Bede’s sake, that she was being paranoid. She didn’t want to spoil a friendship. Bede needed to be outdoors, always had, and his confinement was grinding him down, making him snappy. The longer it went on, the more she responded in kind. He looked forward to Silvan’s visits, especially as he’d refused to go back to the pub since that first time. She only wished she had more time to spend with him herself.

  She put on her boots and went out to dig some new potatoes for the shop. Every time she pressed the fork into the ground a tiny bit of tension flowed away through the tines like electricity going to earth. Or like the fluids pumped into the ground to extract the shale gas. Those wouldn’t go away, like discharging electricity or relieving her own stress, but would seep into the groundwater and spread, a distorting mirror of the river on the surface, carrying their pollution with them to blight the land. The hovering threat had dimmed a little in her mind as they coped with the aftermath of Bede’s accident – if it had been an accident; the police still hadn’t identified the joyriders – but Fran’s phone call brought it back to the fore. On the whole, she concurred with Bede that since the depressing end to the Calsthorpe Wood protest all those years ago, their best contribution was by deeds rather than words, at Alderleat. But as Northcote’s fracking proposals grew ever more real, and it became increasingly clear that governments and world leaders would continue to ignore the climate crisis, she felt she needed to do something, that there was something they could do. The shared purpose might help her and Bede turn another corner. And didn’t they have a duty to support Fran’s friends? Give and take, solidarity.

  At last she heard the front door. Silvan called a cheery goodbye. Elin waved, then watched Bede make his way to the workshop. The wheelchair seemed to be moving in a straight line but she stuck the fork in the ground and went to check. For once, he didn’t seem to mind.

  ‘Only one spliff and lots of tea.’ He grinned. ‘I’ll be fine.’

  He seemed clear-headed enough and even thought to ask what Fran had said. Elin sat down and told him as he spread the contents of a folder on the desk before him.

  ‘I thought we’d already said we wouldn’t be going? You know perfectly well what I think.’ He waved away her protest. ‘Of course I support their cause. I just prefer to stay home and concentrate on all the useful things we’re doing here. Literal “direct action”.’

  ‘Isn’t that a good reason for going now? When you’re less able to do stuff around the place.’

  He looked up from his papers. ‘You’re trying to cram in the physical work of both of us – admirably, I might add – and I’m certainly not going on my own.’

  ‘I’m glad you noticed.’ She immediately regretted the sharpness of her tone.

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean? Am I not grateful enough? I didn’t ask for this, Elin.’

  ‘I know, and I sympathise with the shit you’re going through. But there’s plenty you could be doing.’ A pencil dropped to the floor. As he bent to pick it up, she noticed the state of his hair and just managed to prevent herself from commenting about neglecting personal hygiene as well as work. ‘Anyway. Fran. It’d only be for a couple of days.’

  ‘Long enough. Another thing, Elin. They can ask after the Engineer all they like but I’m physically incapable of doing anything even if I had the slightest inclination to get involved. Which I haven’t. Not any more. They just introduce new laws and injunctions when it suits them. You think I want torun the risk of prosecution and imprisonment? Especially when they run no risk at all of anything, bar a paltry delay, for barefaced, unbridled ecocide.’

  ‘Sometimes getting arrested is what’s needed – to raise awareness of what’s happening, show we mean it.’

  ‘Sorry, but I’ve had enough of confinement recently, believe me.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake! We’ve got to try, and keep hoping we’ll win in the end.’

  ‘Oh, I intend to keep trying. Lobbying the planners – most of the council are on side now – and politicians, unearthing more scientific evidence to throw common sense at them. Working out yet more ways to show it’s not economically viable; the only language they understand. Seriously, what’s the use of standing at the side of the road with a placard?’

  ‘It lets them know people aren’t just going to take it.’

  ‘So they see it and know it, and carry on anyway.’

  ‘Are you going to stand by and let Northcote move in without a fight?’

  ‘Of course not. I am fighting. In ways that don’t involve wasting fuel driving all the way up north.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘This is bigger than a single car journey. No one’s saying we can’t go on the bus.’ He didn’t return her smile. ‘Listen, Bede, they’ll be supporting us when – if – the time comes. The least you could do is turn up. Grey and one or two of the others will be there. It’d be like old times. Fran says they’d love to see you.’

  He glared at her. ‘Probably so that I – or my wheelchair – can be all over Facebook and in the press. Maybe they want to “raise awareness” by pretending I’ve been beaten up by some evil capitalist.’ The corners of his mouth twitched. ‘Oh, sorry, I have been. But that’s between me and him. I’m not going to Lancashire, with you, Fran or anyone else. End of.’

  ‘Right.’ She took a deep breath. ‘I’ll go and ring her back.’

  She strode to the door.

  ‘Elin.’

  She paused, turned.

  ‘You’ve got a point, love. You know. Around the house and all that. Sorry. I’m a total hermit now till I get these figures finished, promise. If Silvan calls round again I’ll tell him I’m busy. You know what, I might even start doing some research for converting a car. Things have moved on in the world of EVs since…you know, since…’

  Since he and Joe first considered the idea. She smiled. It wasn’t the result she’d hoped for, but she appreciated the peace offering.

  The following day, Elin was on duty at the shop. It was quiet for the moment but it had been a hectic morning. She straightened displays and tidied shelves as she waited for Louise to get back from an early lunch. The phone ringing was a welcome distraction from her growing impatience.

  ‘Hello Elin, Brian here.’ He sounded unusually hesitant. ‘Thought I ought to let you know, there’s a woman been in the Horseshoes, kind of asking for you. Well, she was wanting to know about Joe, where he used to live. I knew you were at the shop today and I thought it was better to send her your way – I’m not sure how Bede’s fixed at the moment.’

  Elin smiled to herself. ‘Probably the right call.’

  ‘She seemed a bit of a strange one. Kind of spiky. Just thought I’d warn you.’

  No sooner had she put the phone down when the bell over the door rang out and a confident-looking middle-aged woman with a neat blonde bob and smart raincoat walked in and made straight for the counter. Elin forced a smile, surprised at how defensive the newcomer’s bearing made her feel.

  ‘Elin Sherwell?’

  She nodded.

  ‘I wonder if you can help me. I’m trying to trace Joseph Sherwell. I believe he was living in this village when he died.’

  Her northern accent echoed Bede’s and Joe’s.

  ‘He was. Maybe I can help you – I’m his niece.’

  ‘So the pub landlord said.
’ The woman frowned. ‘I didn’t know Joe had a niece.’

  ‘In-law. I’m married to Bede.’

  ‘Who?’

  Elin folded her arms. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t think you introduced yourself.’

  ‘Oh, forgive me. It’s all a bit…strange. Suzanne Sherwell.’ She held out a hand and Elin shook it. ‘Joe’s wife. Though I suppose I should say widow – I’m still getting used to the idea.’

  Elin let go of her hand as if an electric current had shot through it. ‘Joe was married?’

  Suzanne Sherwell smiled to herself. ‘So that was his game. Pretend we never existed.’

  She glanced round as the shop bell rang out and Louise walked in. Elin waved to her, then turned back to her visitor.

  ‘I’m free now. Lunch break.’ She indicated the staff room at the back. ‘We can talk through there undisturbed.’

  The woman sniffed. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide.’

  As if Elin had. She bristled as she led the way through to the small rest room.

  ‘Coffee?’ she asked as she offered the woman a seat at the table.