Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  Elin watched him wind a strand of hair round and round his wrist, as if calling the familiar gesture into play to replace the cast, hide any weakness. He upset her when he talked like this.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said and she realised she was shaking her head, unsure if she was disturbed by his cynicism or the creeping admission that he had a point. ‘Why not enjoy the escapism of believing it for a while? Surround yourself with like-minded people. Warm. Family. Spiritual, even. Don’t get me wrong, El. That sense of community. It’s good. But let’s not delude ourselves – that’s what it’s about. It’s not actually going to change anything. Occasionally a road’s delayed, a factory cleans up its act for a while, plans for test drilling get frustrated. But nothing much changes in the wider picture.’

  ‘We’ve shown that we can win. Every victory means something. Sooner or later—’

  ‘Little victories, yes. They’re what make it all worthwhile. But vast swathes of forest continue to be destroyed – every day! Fossil fuels continue to churn up the atmosphere and deposit layers of crap in the oceans while floating continents of plastics wash at the shores. The tipping point gets closer every day and you’ve still got the Northcotes of this world pretending it isn’t happening, because it suits their consumerist growth economy. Little victories help us to cope with all that, but they don’t change enough!’

  His hand paused in its circling, tense, as though he were about to yank his own hair out.

  ‘Bloody hell, Bede. Whatever happened to the Engineer?’

  He laughed harshly. ‘I rest my case. Calsthorpe Wood died, remember? Its heart lies buried under tarmac, and the rest can’t breathe for noise and fumes. Tell me how we saved that.’

  ‘Surely you can’t be saying we should just give in and do nothing.’

  ‘Nothing? Nothing? Call me selfish, people do, but I’d say we’ve got our own “little victory”: Alderleat. I thought you agreed.’

  ‘Yes, but—’

  ‘And…and if that’s not enough, if it really is too bloody selfish, at least we’re getting people fixed up with renewable energy through Sunny Days. With Steve.’ Something about the way his eyes fixed on hers made her feel uneasy. After a moment, something seemed to give and he looked away. ‘But if every now and then you need that sense of family you feel you don’t get from me – that elusive dream – I understand. There’s nothing to stop you going with Fran.’

  ‘But—’

  ‘I’m fine. Safe to leave on my own. Capable of looking after myself.’

  ‘Without anyone fussing over you.’

  He was testing her, especially with his digs about family. She had no energy for the game. What had happened to the intimacy that had resurfaced recently? Was that what it had been, intimacy? Or simply a chance for him to prove that the weakness of the last few weeks was receding: ‘Not only am I no longer dependent, but I can comfort and protect you, too.’ They’d made love with all the passion of their early days. Or had she imagined it, wanted to believe?

  ‘I’ve had an idea, Elin.’ Cold, detached. It wasn’t going to be an idea she liked. ‘Why don’t you ring Steve, ask him whether he’s lost his passion…for activism?’

  ‘What?’ She felt trapped by the emphasis of his words. ‘What’s Steve got to do with anything?’

  ‘You want someone to go with you. I’m not up for it; I’m just saying he’s someone who might be.’ He leaned forward, eyes boring into her. ‘Is there something else he’s been up for recently, Elin?’

  ‘Keeping the projects going while you’ve been unwell. Visiting you to see how you are.’

  ‘Visiting you when I’m not so alert and wakeful?’

  ‘No, Bede.’

  ‘So why did you blush like a teenager when I mentioned him? Why did I come home that night he first appeared back on the scene to find you both looking so furtive? Why does Silvan of all people seem to think something’s going on? Show me some respect, Elin.’

  She’d always feared this moment, deep down, but now it was here, it caught her off guard. She struggled for a reply. ‘I have no idea what Silvan’s been saying. He’s got no grounds whatsoever for thinking anything.’

  He folded his arms. ‘Now if that were me, the first thing I’d do would be to deny it. Not to bang on about what Silvan thinks. Is that because you can’t deny it?’

  ‘Bede.’

  She reached out to touch him, to release his tightly folded arms. He edged away.

  ‘Go on, deny it.’

  ‘I…’ Beneath the anger and provocation she saw hurt. ‘There’s nothing going on between me and Steve.’

  ‘Nicely worded. Now tell me there never has been.’

  However much she wanted to, she couldn’t lie to him. ‘I’m sorry, Bede. I can’t deny once. It was more than a year ago. It only happened once.’

  She couldn’t look at him.

  ‘“It happened.” Like you had nothing to do with it.’

  ‘You’d vanished up north. I was feeling so alone and lost. He was just there. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. All it did was make me feel guilty as hell and prove how much I love you at a time when, I’ll confess, I was finding you incredibly difficult to live with. So you could almost say it was a good thing.’

  He gave a snort of derision. ‘You could, maybe. Happen I couldn’t. I don’t see how my wife shagging my friend behind my back could ever be a “good thing”. And since you chose not to come clean, to lie to me with silence, how can I ever believe it was only once? You’ve fancied him ever since Calsthorpe.’

  ‘You’re kidding, aren’t you? There’s no—’

  ‘I always thought there was nothing in it because…well…us. But now…’ He shook his head. ‘Anyway, why have you been so eager to get me out of the house? Why are you suddenly so weird about Silvan? Guilty conscience, perhaps?’

  ‘Oh come on, Bede! I can’t believe you said that.’

  ‘Maybe because – oh, forget it.’ He put his palms to his eyes and bowed his head. ‘You’d better go to Fran’s. Give us both time to think.’

  ‘You can forget bloody Silvan, all right?’ He stared at the floor in silence. ‘Won’t you even look at me? Try and talk?’

  She reached out again.

  ‘Get off me!’ He shoved her away roughly. ‘Just go.’

  She stood and slowly made for the stairs, fighting tears as she said his name one more time. He refused to look at her.

  ‘I’m going to pack.’

  She waited for him to call her back. She tiptoed around the bedroom, opening cupboards and drawers quietly so she wouldn’t miss the sound of his voice, hesitating every time a floorboard creaked even though she knew she’d hear him above it. When the whirr of the wheelchair was followed by the familiar clicks and quiet thud of the door opening and shutting, she picked up the phone to call Fran. She put it down before she’d finished dialling. Not yet; there was still a chance…she hadn’t left yet.

  Leaning on the old timbers of the footbridge, loving the age combined with the knowledge they’d been restored by his own hands and those of the two people he loved, Bede gazed down into the mill stream and unfocused his eyes to make a braid of the water; a long, sparkling braid that tumbled over a beloved shoulder.

  Tell your big sister I’ll be down to see her as soon as I can. I’ve missed her.

  His silent words were taken up and borne down to the river.

  Talking to the water again?

  He kept his eyes focused-unfocused on the rippling beauty of the leat.

  Doesn’t come back at you with feelings of its own, does it?

  Bede tried to tune in to the voice of the leat, the bubbling chatter against the background hushing torrent, a language of familiar sounds but a meaning he had not quite learnt to penetrate.

  You should try talking to the one who matters.

  If he turned his head, he’d see. If he reached out, he’d feel. He heard a click and above the green algal smell of the sluice gate, caught a hint of Joe’s cigarett
e smoke.

  I’m not surprised, you know. When did you last tell her you love her?

  All the time.

  Actually tell her?

  Shrug. Last night.

  Last night? You held her. That was nice. You fucked her.

  We made love.

  If you never let her know how much she means to you, you fucked.

  He refused to turn and look. She knows. We made love. Fucking’s what she does with other people.

  Once, she said. Can’t you let it go?

  What about the others? I should have seen it before now.

  You sure about that?

  I’m not sure about anything.

  Talk to her. Go with her tomorrow. Sort it out.

  He stared at the strong timbers, at the shiny greased twin ratchets, at his own hands resting on the rail. Stared at the braided current, the white noise of the overflow filling his head until the light began to fade and the air smelled mossy green, watery clear, and all trace of cigarette smoke was gone.

  Only then did he dare glance at the space to the side of his elbow.

  Wishful thinking. It’s all wishful thinking.

  As Elin carried her bag out to the car, the movement of the dog nosing around the edge of the yard caught her eye. She looked across and saw Bede leaning on the rail of the little footbridge over the leat, the wheelchair abandoned before the step up to it. The sight of him tugged at her heart and she called out to him, despite herself. He didn’t move. A slight breeze played at his hair, and the evening light caught the spray from the stream in a translucent haze to the side of him.

  She called once more, then got into the car, slammed the driver’s door and started up. The thought of leaving now filled her with unease. She revved the engine noisily.

  Still, he didn’t turn.

  When Bede got back to the house, it was in darkness. Before he could think about whether to call up the stairs, he saw Elin’s note on the kitchen table. He hated the stream, its seductive voice with layers of meaning just out of reach, for siren-calling him with shades of Joe, long and loud enough to drown the sound of the car. Letting her go, taking the moment for talking with her.

  Everywhere’s under threat

  ‘Great! So what did you say to persuade Misery Guts to take up his bed and walk?’

  ‘I didn’t. I left him to lie in it.’

  ‘Whoa. That was said with feeling. I can see a late night ahead while you tell Aunty Fran all about it.’

  ‘It’s doing me good already just to be away. I’ll see you later.’

  Elin cut the call and stared through the windscreen at the passing headlights. Every so often the car rocked as a lorry whooshed past the layby. She felt similarly shaken. She wasn’t proud of herself. Maybe she should have found the right moment to come clean to him before – but when was the right time for a conversation like that? Maybe she should have refused to be drawn. But she couldn’t lie to him. However hurt he was, the depth of his rejection shocked her. She’d come back to him, chosen him, stuck by him, however difficult he’d been. Didn’t she have her limits, too? His stubborn refusal to come with her rankled. She hated his negativity, although a nagging voice told her his views were nothing new, they weren’t so far from her own, and she was only seeing it as negativity because of the stress they’d been under. She suppressed the urge to phone home. He’d said time apart would give them both time to think. He was right about that, at least.

  Blinking away tears, she sat for a moment, gathering herself, before picking up the phone again.

  ‘What have you said to him, Steve?’

  ‘I haven’t said a thing. Are you OK? You know you’d be welcome here if you’re stuck. I can’t believe he chucked you out.’

  ‘Don’t over-dramatise. I was thinking of going to Fran’s for a few days anyway. Do you really think I’d come to yours after all this?’

  ‘What do you take me for? It’d be perfectly innocent.’

  ‘Try telling Bede that.’

  ‘I’m not up for trying to tell Bede anything.’

  She smiled grimly to herself. ‘Even so. Aren’t you supposed to be meeting up to discuss business in the next few days – now he’s more mobile? Please can you use it as an excuse to try and talk to him?’

  As Elin and Fran walked over to join the crowd of protesters, she imagined the fields beyond Holtwood similarly fenced off and turned into a cold, ugly industrial site. The reality of this scene caused a surge of anger to well up inside her. The local protesters had been joined by a number of seasoned campaigners from various walks of life, and she recognised with a wave of nostalgia the grizzled beard and shaven head of Grey, the homely figure of Tig by his side.

  ‘You were right about old faces,’ she said to Fran. ‘A real blast from the past.’

  Warmth flowed through her as their friends’ faces lit up in recognition.

  ‘See?’ Fran said quietly as they approached. ‘The break from routine’s doing you good already.’

  ‘Break from routine and over a hundred miles’ distance.’

  ‘Things still looking that bad in the cold light of day?’

  Were they? It had done her good to unburden herself, talking to Fran until the small hours of the morning, like old times. Yet, ironically, the more her friend comforted, soothed, supported her point of view, the more she leapt instinctively to Bede’s defence. She still had no idea what to think.

  Putting it behind her, she lost herself to the moment, relishing the warm hugs and whoops of joy at the reunion. Had it really been fourteen years since the demise of Calsthorpe Wood? The mood turned more sombre as they talked about Joe. It was the first time she’d seen them since his death and they seemed genuinely sorry that he’d left the community under such a cloud. Grey’s eyes twinkled as he asked after Bede; another cloud that seemed to have lifted during the years of absence. Elin wished once again that he’d come. She told them about the accident, loyally omitting to mention his opinion of protests such as this one.

  A murmur rippled through the crowd as the first vehicles approached the site. They raised their banners and their voices as though their passion really could halt the inevitable progress of the contractors. She could have been back at Calsthorpe. History repeating itself as they faced an endless cycle of wanton destruction. Interspersed with the encouraging hoots of support from passing cars, she heard several cries of ‘Get a job!’ Apart from their pathetic inability to come up with a more rational argument, what made them think she didn’t have one?

  As she yelled out her anger and frustration, fuelled by all the emotion of the recent months, Elin silently thanked Bede for inspiring her, if not in the way she would have wanted. By the time the high-vis jackets of the police and security guards closed in, she realised her face was wet with tears. Brushing them away with the back of her hand, Elin flashed a smile from Fran to Tig, fervently hoping no one would mistake it for cowardice.

  Bruised and shaken from being roughly manhandled out of the way, they watched from a distance as the gates to the site closed and an unease descended like the calm before a storm. Elin’s cheeks were still glowing in defiance. She looked up to see a reporter, followed by a cameraman and the furry squirrel of an outside broadcast mike.

  ‘Emotions are clearly running high.’ Huddled in a down jacket against the stiff breeze, the young woman turned to her. ‘Do you mind if I have a word?’

  Elin glanced at Fran, who exchanged looks with the others and edged her forward. ‘A new face,’ she whispered. ‘Add some weight. Show the world it’s not a case of nimbyism.’

  Smiling with a courage she didn’t feel, Elin steeled herself and nodded to the reporter.

  ‘I understand you’ve come a long way to lend your support to the people here.’

  ‘From Shropshire. The Welsh border. No distance is too far to try and put a stop to this madness.’

  ‘I’m sure they’re glad of the solidarity. Is your area under threat from fracking, too?’

 
‘I’m afraid so. They haven’t been given the go-ahead yet, and we’ll do our best to make sure they don’t. It’s highly unlikely that the geology’s right, if…if nothing else.’ She paused, the emotion of the day and the last few weeks catching up with her, as her friends nearby voiced noisy encouragement. ‘But in truth,’ she continued, ‘everywhere’s under threat.’

  ‘Under threat. But the consortium assures us the risks are minimal and everything’s carefully controlled. That your group’s talk of pollution and earth tremors is scaremongering. What do you say to that?’

  Elin shook her head, finding it uncharacteristically hard to stay calm. ‘Of course those with vested interests would say that. I’m an environmental science graduate and I can tell you those risks are very real, but that’s by no means all. It’s such short-termism! Here they are, prospecting for a new source of fossil fuels at a time when we desperately need to be cutting out their use – for the sake of the climate, the world and us all!’

  Fran beamed at her from behind the small film crew. Elin fought the irrational tears as she went on to praise the efforts of the local protesters over the months and years.