Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  ‘No, thanks; I don’t intend to keep you long.’ Suzanne Sherwell sat down, hardly waiting for Elin to join her before launching in. ‘So, according to Joe, I didn’t exist. That explains why you didn’t bother to tell me he’d died. I’m surprised your ears haven’t been burning. Took me almost two years and a chance encounter with one of his old mates to find out. Mind you, the bastard had been gone a lot longer than that, so I suppose it doesn’t make much difference.’

  There was no hint of sorrow or loss in her voice. Surely it made some difference to know he was dead, however acrimonious the divorce had been? Acrimonious enough for him to have buried it; hidden it from her and Bede.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘If we’d known, of course we’d have tried to trace you.’

  ‘There was no mention of us among his things?’

  ‘Us?’

  ‘Me and the kids.’

  Elin breathed in sharply. ‘No.’

  ‘No will?’

  That explained her sudden appearance. ‘There was a will, yes.’ She felt the woman’s eyes boring into her, failing to get past her armour of indignation. ‘I was surprised how well-organised his affairs were. He left everything to Bede. They were like father and son.’

  ‘Which is more than he was to Emma and Niall, his own two children.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear it.’

  ‘Don’t give me that; you don’t know them from Adam.’ She raised her eyebrows. ‘Who is this Bede, then?’

  Elin frowned, beginning to wonder if the woman was who she claimed to be. ‘Lydia’s son. You knew Lydia? Joe’s sister?’

  Suzanne looked as smug as a card player about to reveal a winning hand in a game Elin hadn’t realised she was playing. ‘That would make him a Markham. Not Sherwell.’

  Elin held a trump card. ‘Lydia married Robert Markham when Bede was seven. They made him take the name for a while, but he reverted to Sherwell when he left home.’

  ‘Oh.’ Suzanne’s eyes widened. She stared vacantly past Elin. ‘So that… I’d assumed she got rid of it,’ she murmured.

  ‘Obviously not,’ Elin snapped. ‘I’m married to it.’

  Suzanne appeared to realise what she’d said.

  ‘I’m sorry, I… Thinking aloud. I didn’t mean any offence. What…what’s your husband told you about his father?’

  ‘Nothing. That his mother refused to talk about him.’

  Suzanne relaxed visibly. ‘Understandable.’

  ‘So you know?’

  ‘As much as Joe told me.’

  ‘He wouldn’t tell us anything.’

  ‘No, if Lydia had decided not to, he probably agreed it was for the best. As do I.’

  She bent her head and rummaged in her bag. Elin watched, silently thanking Brian for sending this woman here, not to Alderleat.

  ‘You’ve said too much now,’ she said, her voice catching. ‘You’ve got to tell me what you know.’

  ‘Got to?’

  ‘It’s hardly going to make any difference now Joe’s dead. As is Lydia.’

  ‘But it makes a difference to me, doesn’t it? At the time I was happy to take the house plus a once-and-for-all settlement when he sold the business. It was worth it to see the back of him. Clean break. But that meant he never paid maintenance for the kids. If you get what I mean.’

  ‘I don’t know about that,’ Elin said, still trying to grasp the situation. ‘But there’s a legal will. The house was in all three of our names and Joe left his share to us.’

  ‘I don’t want a share of some godforsaken place in the middle of nowhere! With other people living in it!’

  ‘He had hardly any savings when he died, either – what he had, he ploughed into…into the smallholding.’ She hesitated to reveal the name, even though the woman had got this far and would clearly have no trouble finding it out for herself. She straightened in her seat. ‘If you think you have a claim, which I doubt, you should get legal advice. Have you?’

  ‘I’ve only just found out about Joe. But I certainly will if it comes to it. I thought it might be better to have an amicable chat first. With you and your husband. Can we arrange a meeting?’

  ‘Not yet. Bede took Joe’s death badly, and at the moment he’s convalescing after a serious accident. I really don’t want to burden him with something like this right now. Could you give me a while to tell him in my own way?’ She also wanted to see a solicitor before discussing anything.

  They sat in silence, regarding one another steadily. After an age, Suzanne cocked her head to one side. ‘You seem like an honest girl to me. I’ve managed this far. But you make sure you talk to your husband before long. I really don’t want to have to…’

  Her voice trailed off as she opened the notebook she’d removed from her handbag. She jotted down her e-mail address and phone number, tore out the page and placed it on the table between them. To Elin’s relief, she stood without asking for anything in return. There was no need; the shop details were no secret.

  As Elin escorted her out and watched her leave, she wondered if there could possibly be a right time to tell Bede about this encounter.

  ‘I’ve brought you some tea.’

  Bede looked up, removed his glasses, smiled. The girl looked as pale as he imagined he did, an apparition of herself.

  ‘Thanks, Tamsin. How are the exams going?’

  ‘Nearly done. They’ve gone OK, s’pose.’ She perched on a thick, gnarled beam; he liked the way she’d begun to make herself at home in the workshop. ‘You’ve been a great help, thanks.’

  ‘Us? You mean keeping an eye on the invalid as an excuse to get out of the house?’

  He heard the sarcasm in his own voice as Tamsin reddened.

  ‘It wasn’t… Elin’s just wanted to make sure someone’s on hand. And I did want somewhere quiet to revise, away from them all.’

  That was mean, Sherwell, he thought. Mean and unnecessary. It had been Elin’s idea, not Tamsin’s, and who could blame Elin for wanting to save him from a repetition of the roadside stranding episode? He appreciated her help, care and concern, he really did; it wasn’t her fault that he couldn’t come to terms with himself as someone who needed those things.

  ‘But what I really meant,’ Tamsin continued before he could apologise, ‘was all that stuff you explained. Especially the maths and physics. Felt like it made sense, anyway. We’ll see when I get the results.’

  ‘Glad I did some good.’ He picked up the mug. ‘Good cuppa.’

  ‘Thanks. So, Mr Private Tutor, I thought you were self-taught. How come you know all this GCSE stuff?’

  ‘I never said self-taught. I chose to leave school at sixteen for an apprenticeship. Having done quite well at my exams – especially considering I didn’t have an ungrateful bastard next door to watch over so I could get away from the hassle at home.’

  She smiled. Apology accepted. ‘Though you didn’t have Northcote in the house to contend with.’

  ‘Oh, he’s a pussycat in comparison. I could write you a book, except English wasn’t one of my better subjects. Listen, are you busy? Don’t let me keep you.’

  ‘I’ve got one more exam, end of next week. I’m OK for now, need a break. Elin said to ask if you wanted a hand, actually.’

  ‘Perfect. A hand’s exactly what I do want.’

  He glanced down at the stained, grubby cast and she laughed.

  ‘I need to distract myself from sheer frustration. I’ve been doing the calculations and plans for a Sunny Days project and I’ve been on the internet looking at electric motors and batteries for cars, but it’s hardly like being outside. I’m also dying to get back to the caravan – you know Brian came over last week to help Elin get the roof on to protect it from all this rain? I really appreciate it, but I can’t be doing with watching from the sidelines – makes me feel useless. So, from the sublime to the ridiculous, I’m trying to make a portable clamping device so I can be a bit more helpful around the house. You know, for chopping veg or, well, anything y
ou need two hands for.’

  He showed her the drawings he’d made.

  ‘Looks awesome,’ she said. ‘You want to patent it.’

  ‘Haven’t made it yet. Don’t jump the gun.’ He twisted a lock of hair round his finger. ‘So Bede’s Law of Vicious Circles dictates that I’m going to need at least two hands to make it. You know you were asking how the machine tools in here work? I need to shape this block of wood first.’ He looked up at the system of bands and gears leading from the water wheel, then at the lathe. ‘It’s controlled by that lever, see. Have a go, you’ll soon get the feel.’

  His original intention had been for an extra pair of hands, someone to follow simple instructions, but he was surprised at her initiative, and by how practical and eager to learn she turned out to be. And by the satisfaction he felt from doing something positive.

  Elin was right; he’d let things slip. And he realised he’d started taking her and all they had together for granted again.

  Restoring some kind of normality

  ‘Cheer up. Anyone would think we’d lost.’

  Carole turned to Elin as the last group of customers left the shop.

  ‘Sorry. But it just seems to have brought it home to me that it’s not over yet.’

  Having drawn the short straw, Carole had held the fort at Foxover Storehouse while the rest of the collective had joined the small crowd at the planning hearing in Shrewsbury. They’d spent most of the day sitting as calmly as they could at the back of the meeting room at the council offices. Bede had refused to carry a placard in the demonstration outside, though Elin had dug out her old Calsthorpe T-shirt in honour of the occasion. Bede had never had one, saying his body art was enough. He’d told her with a smile that he intended to keep his shirt firmly on this time, since there was no point alienating the local worthies. After the argument over Fran’s invitation, she was relieved that they could joke about it, and even grateful that he’d turned up at all. Though when he’d challenged Northcote in the corridor – ‘See? I’m still here. Didn’t work, did it?’ – Elin almost wished he’d stayed at home. She was relieved that Philip was too preoccupied to rise to it.

  It had been a small victory, but Northcote had announced on the spot that the drilling consortium, Prospect G, would refer it to the Secretary of State.

  ‘I’ve got no illusions about the thinking at higher levels,’ Elin said, ‘and it’s going to mean even more research and endless bloody arguing.’

  ‘Nothing like looking on the bright side,’ Carole replied as she turned the sign on the door to Closed and locked it. ‘You’ve been cooped up with that cheerful husband of yours for too long.’

  ‘Sorry. Don’t get me wrong; I’m glad we’ve got this far. So’s Bede, actually. He’s even cooking us a celebratory dinner.’

  ‘You’d better get back to him. I can finish off here. Thanks for bringing the first-hand report. I appreciate it.’

  When Elin arrived home, the delicious cooking smells snuggled round her like a fluffy bath towel. Hearing a rattle of washing up, she was momentarily surprised to see someone standing at the sink. As she registered the No Surrender T-shirt and spiky black hair, she realised how much she’d missed Bede’s tall figure, his loping gait, and wondered if this was a faint echo of what it must be like to lose someone yet keep on seeing them at unexpected moments. She snapped out of her reverie as Silvan turned with a smile.

  ‘Hi, Elin. Chef’s just gone out to set the table. You’re dining al fresco tonight.’

  ‘Sounds lovely. What’s cooking?’

  ‘Lasagne.’ He put a pan to drain and wiped his hands on a towel. ‘Don’t worry, I’m not stopping.’ He looked at her steadily. Once again, she thought of that awkward evening, it must be weeks ago. ‘I just called to get the news about today’s hearing, and got dragged into helping out with the dishes. He’s amazing – I love that veg vice thingy he’s rigged up for chopping one-handed – but washing up’s obviously a bit awkward and he wanted it all to be done by the time you got back.’

  Elin wasn’t in the mood for small talk. ‘I suppose he’s told you how it went.’

  ‘Yeah, great news.’

  ‘Is it? It’ll probably turn out to be nothing but a delay, though it was heartwarming to see so many Foxover people there,’ she said, her tone letting him know exactly what she thought.

  ‘I wish I could’ve been with you. But there’d be no point in me losing Philip’s trust or my job yet, would there? I couldn’t risk being seen with the protesters, and God forbid he should think I was there to support him.’

  She nodded, saved from further comment by the familiar electric whirr that announced Bede’s approach.

  ‘Don’t tell me Silvan’s claimed all the credit for my culinary efforts.’

  ‘Not at all.’ Elin smiled and stooped to kiss him. ‘You’ve been busy,’ she said, eager to talk about something other than the day’s events. ‘Smells delicious. Have I time for a quick shower?’

  ‘See you out in the garden when you’re ready,’ he said. ‘I thought we’d take the rare opportunity of a sunny evening to eat outside.’

  When she returned, she felt a flash of irritation on hearing Silvan’s voice. Hadn’t he gone yet? In the kitchen, Bede was awkwardly ladling a portion of the lasagne into a pot, which he covered and handed over.

  ‘Cheers, mate.’ Silvan looked at Elin. ‘I was just waiting for you to get back so I could say my fond farewells. I’ll leave you to it.’

  Elin shook her head after him as he left.

  ‘Are we turning into a soup kitchen?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘He was more or less inviting himself to stay and eat with us. It was the kindest way I could think of to ease him out of the door. I know you don’t like him much.’

  ‘I wouldn’t go that far.’

  ‘He’s been really good company recently, while you’ve been busy doing the work of two of us. He’s kept me sane sometimes, to be honest.’

  She decided it was safest not to comment further. Not when he was making such an effort. The table in the sheltered garden looked inviting, with salad, bread and wine glasses. He’d even brought napkins, a rarity if not a first. The setting was idyllic. The murmuring of the stream harmonised with the deeper trickle of water through the cracks in the leat’s sluice gate – a perfect soundtrack to the view in the warmth of the setting sun.

  As they ate, she thought beyond the hearing and all it represented, even daring to wonder if Bede turning out meant her worries about his growing insularity were unfounded. He’d hardly gone anywhere for a long time. They’d been for a couple of walks together, but his heart hadn’t been in it and he hadn’t ventured beyond Alderleat on his own since Silvan had found him in the rain. She’d given up even suggesting they went to the Horseshoes in the evenings. He had his next check-up appointment in a couple of days and they anticipated he’d be relieved of the cast on his arm. She hoped that would be the start of restoring some kind of normality, and maybe she’d even find the right moment to break the news of Suzanne Sherwell to him.

  His eyes sparked as he talked about the planning victory, reflecting the fiery golden highlights the sun lent to his hair. She realised she’d been missing his vitality and determination as much as the sight of him on his feet.

  She laid her fork to rest on her empty plate and, remembering Carole’s admonition, tried to summon up her own enthusiasm. She felt weary, as though coping with the last few weeks had sapped her ability to enjoy the moment.

  Bede squeezed her hand and she looked at him, felt the flicker of a smile she didn’t have the energy to hold on to.

  ‘Come here,’ he said.

  She drew up her chair to his side. Despite the physical awkwardness, she’d never felt so comforted by the steady calm of his embrace. She clung to him, buried her face in his chest and let go the flood of tears she’d been damming up for days, weeks, months. He rocked her gently; she felt his warm breath in her hair. She loved him for not speaking, for simply h
olding her and allowing her what she so rarely allowed herself: to let go.

  She cried herself dry, then drew away and looked into his eyes. He wiped her cheeks, one at a time, with one of the unaccustomed napkins. She took it and finished the job, without taking her eyes off him. He ran his hand through her hair as he kissed her.

  ‘You needed that,’ he said softly.

  ‘I need you,’ she said, getting up and leading the way inside.

  On the way home from the hospital, Bede flexed his left arm, opening and closing his fingers and revelling in the freedom of movement. It looked pale and sickly, felt weak, but that would pass. His ankle would take longer; he’d known that, but it was a smaller, lighter cast and he felt freedom within his grasp.

  Elin glanced briefly at him before turning her eyes back to the road. ‘I’m hiding those crutches upstairs.’

  She had a point. Despite the advice not to put weight on his wrist too soon, he probably would be tempted to use them and risk putting himself back to square one.

  ‘Do you want to stop off somewhere on the way back?’ she asked.

  ‘Not really. Let’s get home.’