Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  ‘You were magnificent,’ Tig whispered as the camera stopped rolling and the sound guy lowered the mike.

  The young reporter asked if she’d wait a few moments. ‘I just want to interview a representative of the consortium.’ She waved her hand at a car that had been slowly edging its way through the gathered protesters. ‘Then I’d like to give you the last word.’

  Elin looked across. The tinted window slid down and she locked eyes with the man who was scowling at her from the safety of the passenger seat.

  ‘You,’ Philip Northcote said as Elin marched over to the car. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’

  ‘I could ask you the very same thing.’

  He waved angrily at someone behind her, and she realised the small film crew were following her, the reporter explaining to viewers that they were about to speak to a member of the drilling consortium. She asked if Elin knew Mr Northcote. Ignoring both the question and the anger Philip radiated, Elin leaned on the car, halting its creeping progress.

  ‘Do you honestly not realise what you’re doing?’ Again she struggled to keep her voice steady. She waved at the ugly drilling rig towering into the sky, the sturdy fences and concrete service roads, then held up the placard she and Fran had been carrying, showing before and after photos of this scene and a tranquil field. ‘Isn’t it enough for you?’ She turned to the camera. ‘This man is not only looking to make a fast buck by desecrating the earth here, but he wants to do it again, and again. Just to make absolutely certain the effects are felt by us all.’

  The car window was sliding up, but she reached out and gripped the top of the pane, cringing as she forced him to stop.

  ‘Don’t get hysterical,’ he muttered as if to a child. ‘Let go and stop making a fool of yourself.’

  ‘He’s also providing land in the village where he lives for another monstrosity like this! Of course, he can move away if it turns out badly. I dare say he can pay whatever it takes to survive the effects of climate crisis and ecocide. But not forever. What sort of world will it be?’ Elin leaned towards the crack in the window. ‘Even animals don’t shit in their own burrows!’

  She hardly felt the burly security guard drag her away from the car, didn’t hear what the reporter was saying, immersing herself instead in the supportive huddle of her friends. She felt light-headed as they stood in the growing drizzle, fully aware that Northcote would shake off her words just as the windscreen wipers cleared the rain.

  This is no fun

  Tamsin tried Silvan’s phone again. Straight to voicemail. She left a brief message. Here she was, her exams over, supposed to be making the most of these last few days before she went on holiday with her dad and kid brother, and he’d done a vanishing act on her. Perhaps he was next door, though he usually texted her when he was going to Alderleat so they could ‘accidentally’ meet there, save her the inevitable argument with her mum. If he wasn’t there, maybe Elin or Bede would know where he was. A visit was overdue in any case; she liked helping Bede out in the workshop, the way he didn’t patronise her, and she always felt better after talking to Elin.

  As she crossed the yard, Kip came bounding up to her. She fussed him, looked around, popped her head into the greenhouse, tried the workshop door and found it locked. It was unusual for the dog to be running around unsupervised. Before she could grab his collar, he ran off into the bushes between the yard and the field beyond.

  At the house, no one answered her knock. She tried the door; it opened. Her hopeful ‘Hello?’ faltered. It looked different. Smelled different – stale food and drink hanging in the air. Among a scattering of the papers that usually sat in a neat pile on the edge of the kitchen table, a dirty plate had been left with a smeared glass placed precisely in the centre. A few more and a stack of encrusted pans lay more haphazardly next to the sink. The vase of flowers Elin always had on the table were wilted and discoloured. Weird. Whatever was going on in their lives, the place always seemed tidy – something Tamsin liked to mention whenever her mum started one of her tirades about the dirty hippies next door.

  ‘It’s me-ee. Anyone home?’

  She went through to check whether Bede was resting in the living room. Her eyes widened. One of the sofa cushions was on the floor, the other pulled aside. A pile of papers cascaded from an armchair to the floor. Two halves of a mug lay on the floor by a coffee table like a cracked egg, a stain spreading from it across the rug and trickling out onto the quarry tiles. After peering round the room, she called their names and picked her way across to the dining room where Bede’s makeshift bed was. It was neatly made.

  Back in the kitchen, she felt the eyes of the picture on the wall following her. Nice eyes – she’d liked Joe the couple of times she’d met him – but the sense of being watched was disconcerting. She realised it was because she hadn’t seen the picture before. Hadn’t their wedding photo been there? It had stuck in her mind because it was unlike any wedding photo she’d ever seen – not a suit or lacy veil in sight – but Elin had told her that was when it had been taken.

  As she passed the utility room on her way out, her heart skipped a beat. His adapted wheelchair stood empty at the far end. Hadn’t Elin mentioned an appointment at the hospital sometime around now? It looked like they’d simply rushed out without having time to clear up after whatever had caused the mess in the living room, or bother with the pots. Which didn’t explain the flowers, but she knew Elin was stressed at the moment.

  The car wasn’t on the yard and she was about to leave when she became aware of hammering from the place where they’d been working on the holiday caravan before Bede’s accident.

  Silvan must have spoken to them after all. Tamsin was pleased to think of him up there now, sorting it for them, and it was awesome to imagine he’d soon be living next door.

  She hurried across the footbridge over the leat and made her way up the path in the direction of the sounds, pausing briefly to fuss Kip as he bustled to meet her. A metallic clacking and a curse drifted towards her. As she crested the rise in the land, Bede seemed as surprised to see her as she was him. She stopped, frowning.

  ‘Hello, Tamsin.’ He turned awkwardly on the crutches. ‘Something wrong?’

  ‘I just didn’t expect… You surprised me, you know, being on your feet.’

  ‘One of them.’

  ‘It’s an improvement. Check out your wrist! Great stuff, well done.’

  ‘I’ve achieved greater things in my time.’ He smiled as if to compensate. ‘Actually, you’ve come at the right moment. This is no fun. Cop hold of that for me, will you?’

  She picked up a plank, positioned it and fixed it where he instructed as he leaned on it to hold it in place. She hammered a stubborn nail at the wrong angle and it bent in two. Bede guided her patiently and she started to get the feel of it. As their work brought them close, she noticed he smelled of stale sweat, and his hair, though tied back for working, was obviously lank and unwashed. It was as out of character as the state of the house.

  They worked on a couple more boards and despite the lack of conversation she began to feel the return of the camaraderie that had grown between them over the last few weeks.

  ‘I thought Silvan was coming to help you,’ she said as she picked up another board.

  ‘Did you?’

  ‘Didn’t he have a word? You know…’

  Silence.

  ‘About helping you. With this.’

  ‘Ah. Yes, he mentioned it.’

  She waited.

  ‘And?’ Shit, he was in a mood today.

  ‘As you can see, I’m managing.’

  ‘So he’s not, like…?’

  ‘No. And he won’t be moving in. I suppose that means you don’t want to carry on. Feel free to go.’

  Tamsin felt a stab of hurt on two counts – that this wasn’t going to be Silvan’s place and, contrarily, that Bede could think it was the only reason she was here. ‘Don’t talk stupid.’

  He flashed her a look then shu
ffled back to examine what they’d done so far.

  ‘Is Elin at the shop today?’ Maybe she’d get more sense out of her when she got home.

  ‘No.’

  Tamsin suppressed a sigh. ‘Where is she?’

  ‘Did you meet Fran? Her old friend. I should say our friend, but I’ve never felt she likes me much.’ Tamsin thought the name sounded familiar. ‘She’s gone to stay with her for a few days. Would you fetch us a cup of tea?’

  Back at the house, while the kettle boiled and the tea brewed, Tamsin took the withered flowers to the compost, washed up, straightened the cushions and wiped up the spillage in the living room. She could hear her mother complaining that she never did anything like that at home without being asked, usually several times. Alderleat simply didn’t look right in a mess. The fact that Elin was away seemed to explain that – he could hardly be expected to keep on top of things with his leg in plaster. Tamsin was slightly hurt that neither of them had asked her to lend a hand in Elin’s absence, or at least pop round to see if he needed anything.

  She poured the tea and took it out, quite proud that the mugs were still at least three-quarters full by the time she got up the path. They sat side by side on the pile of timbers to drink it.

  Bede glanced down at his plastered leg, propped at an awkward angle in front of him. ‘It’s good to be out and about again. Good to know there’s stuff I can do. Um, with your help.’

  Tamsin felt a glow of satisfaction. He studied the tea in his mug, then looked up at her. ‘Did we ever thank you for those skylights from your dad?’

  ‘You should’ve seen Mum’s face when I came home with them. I’m sure Dad only let me have them because helping you would be a way of pissing her off. Anyway, they’re looking good. Glad to have helped with a bit of upcycling.’

  ‘That’s the spirit. Most of what we’ve done has been on a shoestring, you know, but even if I was rolling in it I wouldn’t do things any differently. Saves waste.’ He drained his tea, then put his mug down carefully. ‘Drink up now, girl. No slacking.’

  He shuffled laboriously to his feet, refusing her offer of help firmly but with a hint of gratitude. By the end of the afternoon they looked from each other to a finished wall with satisfaction.

  ‘Nice work, thanks. Do you fancy coming back tomorrow?’

  It felt like the friendliest thing he’d said to her all day. ‘Sure.’

  He was already on his way back to the house.

  ‘Oh.’ Back in the kitchen, he turned to look at her, eyes narrowed in reproach. ‘You shouldn’t have. Tidied up. I only said come and make tea.’

  ‘What’s your bloody problem today?’ Tamsin finally snapped. ‘I wasn’t snooping around.’

  ‘No. I never said you were. I…I’d never have sent you if I’d remembered the state the place was in, that’s all.’

  It seemed as close to an apology as she was likely to get. She was surprised to find she was more ready to sympathise than take offence.

  ‘Before you go,’ he said suddenly, ‘could you have a quick shufty round for my glasses, please? I’m stuck without them. You know the ones. Probably in the case. Or maybe not.’ He waved at the scattered papers, then began to straighten them into a pile. ‘They’re usually here. On the windowsill. Always here – I never lose them. It’s all been weird since that bang on the head.’

  She hunted around the kitchen and the living room, straightening a few more scattered objects as she went. He called to her to look upstairs, too. She hesitated; it felt uncomfortable, especially given the weirdness of his mood.

  ‘Yes, I managed to get upstairs and sleep there last night. Progress, hey?’

  Her curiosity was tinged with unease as she crossed the landing and quickly glanced around the bedroom. It was in a similar state of disarray. She picked two pillows up off the floor, edgy, half expecting to hear the clacking of his crutches behind her. The black-rimmed glasses were nowhere to be found.

  By the time she came back into the kitchen he’d lined up several bottles of beer, with a glass poured and half drunk. Sounds of him rummaging in the freezer reached her from the utility room. He called through: ‘Could you feed Kip for me?’

  As she set the dog’s food down, she noticed the crate of empties was brimming. Bede limped through, awkwardly gripping a frost-rimed box under his arm.

  ‘Veg stew defrosting,’ he announced as he emptied it into a bowl, put it in the microwave and set the timer. Back at the kitchen table, he untied his hair and took a hearty swig from the glass. ‘Sorry to send you on a wild goose chase. About the specs. Feel like I’m losing it.’

  ‘’Course you’re not.’ She hoped she sounded more convincing than she felt. ‘Anything else I can do?’

  ‘No, thanks.’ His eyes were intense, weighing her up. ‘Actually, yes. If you don’t mind. Sit down.’

  She drew up a chair as he leafed through the pile of papers he’d just tidied.

  ‘Here.’ He picked up an envelope – she glimpsed Return to Sender scrawled across it – and drew out an old eighteenth birthday card. ‘I found this. In one of his books. Ex-girlfriend gave it to him; the only poetry he ever read as far as I know. I had this sudden impulse to look up a quote he liked – once I’d found my glasses, that is. This fell out.’ He opened it. Holding it up at arm’s length, he peered at it, narrow-eyed. ‘No good. Can you read it out to me?’

  She studied the blocky handwriting for a moment. ‘To Niall,’she read. ‘Then the bog-standard printed birthday card stuff. From your loving Dadand two kisses.’

  He was sitting with his face in his hands.

  ‘What does the rest say?’

  There was a note on the inside flap.‘I hope this finds you well. It’s been a long time, but I remembered your 18th, at least. I know I’ve not kept in touch but I had my reasons. What…’She broke off. ‘It’s hard to make out, sorry. Like he was upset or angry when he wrote it. Whatever she’s…told you…’ She narrowed her eyes then continued, faltering, ‘Whatever she’s told you I’d like to…explain for myself then it’s up to you whether to forgive me. Please give me a chance. Love, Dad. Then a note of your address and phone number.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Bede muttered. ‘I couldn’t make out most of it.’

  ‘Who is it?’

  He looked up. ‘Could you do me one more favour?’ He opened a drawer in the side of the table and from among the usual kitchen-drawer clutter took out a tattered scrap of paper, which he held out to her, glancing at the photo on the wall.

  Bede, Elin,

  I’ve just popped out for a walk. Won’t be gone long. Exciting times!!

  Hope things weren’t too bad in the village,

  Joe x

  ‘This was the last thing he ever said – wrote – to us,’ he said. ‘So. Is it the same handwriting as the card?’

  She nodded and he tucked the note away again in the back of the drawer.

  ‘Just checking. It’s obvious – I should know, shouldn’t I? But…bloody glasses. Two pairs of eyes. Thanks.’ He glanced at her. ‘If you could have a quick scout around the yard on your way out? In case I dropped them.’

  She wondered if the glasses were an excuse. If he just wanted to talk about it.

  ‘So “Dad” is your uncle Joe? This Niall’s your cousin? I didn’t know—’

  ‘Neither did I, Tamsin, neither did I.’

  ‘How come?’

  ‘Never told me.’

  ‘But he was your family. I thought you were close.’

  ‘Listen, I was fifteen when he first got in touch with me. He and my mum hadn’t spoken to each other for years and he lived on his own in a flat above his hardware shop. I never thought twice about it and if I had, I’d never have asked. Shy as a sparrow I was, back then.’

  ‘So you don’t know what Joe meant about being forgiven, either?’

  He gave her a withering look, which she ignored and started reading through the card again. Bede took it from her and shoved it to the bottom of the pile
of papers.

  ‘No idea. Doesn’t matter.’

  He picked up his beer and drained it, then reached for another bottle. Tamsin looked at the collection on the table.

  ‘You’re not going to sink all those tonight?’

  ‘And if I do? There’s whisky around somewhere, too.’ He laughed mirthlessly. ‘I won’t embarrass you by asking you to fetch it for me. See you tomorrow. About eleven?’

  ‘Sure.’ She made one final attempt. ‘Bede…?’

  He was concentrating on pouring the beer into a glass. Eventually he looked up.

  ‘Have you told Elin about this? Are you going to phone her?’

  ‘Could do.’

  ‘You sure you’re OK?’

  His smile went some way to dispersing the cloud that had settled over the room.

  ‘Perfectly sure. Don’t worry about me. Thanks, Tamsin.’ The microwave pinged as though to announce her departure. ‘I’ll even be eating well, so you don’t have to worry on that score, either.’

  After closing the door, she hesitated on the threshold before walking away down the yard towards the lane. Part of her felt sorry for him; he was clearly in a bit of a state. The larger part felt relief to be away. She enjoyed his company, but even when in a better mood than this one, he was easier to deal with when Elin was around. Tamsin hoped she hadn’t left because of a row.