Riverflow

by Alison Layland

  ‘Hello, gorgeous.’

  She jumped as she saw Silvan by the gate to the Alderleat yard.

  ‘Hi! What are you doing here?’

  ‘Stalking you.’ He widened his eyes, grabbed her and kissed her. She relaxed into his arms, all her annoyance at his recent distance immediately melted away. ‘Fancy going out tonight? We could walk along the river to Halbury. The food’s great at the Queen’s Arms. My treat.’

  ‘I’d love to. Give me a moment; I’ll nip and change, and think of an excuse to keep Mum happy. I’ve been out all afternoon without telling her.’

  He brushed her cheek. ‘I’ll wait for as long as it takes.’

  Her mother was preoccupied with paying guests and let her go with little more than a tap of her watch: half past eleven at the latest. Tamsin flung on a sundress and jacket, spent a few minutes in front of the mirror and dashed back out.

  They walked arm-in-arm down the lane.

  ‘Been out, you say?’ Silvan asked. ‘Anywhere exciting?’

  ‘Helping out at Alderleat.’

  ‘Uh-huh. How are they?’

  ‘Elin’s away. Bede was…OK. You know. Except—’

  Silvan stopped and turned to her, his hands on her arms. ‘He’s too old for you, sweetness,’ he said, eyes wide. ‘Not your type. Too highly strung.’

  He broke into a grin and she could feel herself blushing, even as she laughed and swiped his hands away. ‘You know you’re the only one for me.’ Her heart flipped as he kissed her. ‘So what have you been doing to piss them off? He says you’re not having the caravan.’

  Silvan shrugged. ‘Haven’t a clue. I mean, you could say it’s because of them I was threatened with the sack in the first place. Northcote getting wind of the fact that I’m coming round to their point of view. Well, they can stick their stupid anti-fracking campaign from now on.’

  ‘Don’t be like that. It’s not just Elin and Bede – the whole village is against it.’ She frowned. ‘But I’d have thought they’d have helped you out.’

  ‘You’re not the only one. I think it’s come from Elin. Doesn’t want me around. Listen, Tammy, can you keep a secret?’

  ‘Cross my heart.’

  ‘She’s been coming on to me.’

  ‘Get off.’

  ‘Seriously. And when I made it clear I wasn’t interested she didn’t like it. So my theory is that she’s blanking me, a) so he doesn’t suspect anything and b) because I get the impression things aren’t all sweetness and light in the Sherwell household and she’s taking it out on me. People need scapegoats. And he’s going along with it ’cause he doesn’t want to upset her.’

  Tamsin stopped. ‘I don’t believe it. They’re not like that.’

  He tugged her hand and led her over the stile, down the footpath towards the river. ‘Go on then, you’re their best mate. What do you think?’

  ‘I think they just want it as a holiday cottage. They need the money. He told me.’

  ‘Those two do not need money. Have you seen all they’ve got there?’

  She felt inexplicably defensive. ‘They’ve put a lot of work into it. On a shoestring.’

  He laughed. ‘Bollocks. It’s all inherited; didn’t you know?’

  ‘From Bede’s uncle? That’s only part of it. They’re still, like, paying it off. I’ve heard them talking about it.’

  ‘Really? What have they told you? I heard that uncle – Joe, wasn’t it? – drowned in the flood a couple of years back. Maybe they’re hiding something.’ He pulled a theatrical face. ‘Died in mysterious circumstances.’

  ‘You’re not suggesting they did away with him for his house and money!’

  He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘You. Are. Joking. No, it’s not even funny.’

  She quickened her pace and walked ahead.

  ‘You’ve got to admit, Tammy, they’re driven. Him in particular. Fucking obsessed. Maybe Joe wanted to call time on all that eco stuff. Imagine the lengths a man on a mission would go to. You’ve said yourself Bede’s unpredictable. And what about her? Do you think she liked sharing a home with her husband’s uncle?’

  They were at the river’s edge. She stopped and gazed into the fast-flowing water. Silvan stood beside her and put his arm round her.

  ‘I’m not having it,’ she said. ‘I dunno how you can even think it. Only this afternoon he was getting all emotional about Joe. Weirded me out a bit to be honest.’

  ‘Yeah? What was that about?’

  Tamsin pictured Bede’s haunted eyes and felt slightly guilty about betraying him as she said, ‘He found this birthday card. Seems Joe had a son Bede didn’t know about Can you believe it?’

  Silvan laughed dismissively. ‘What’s to believe? Sons send dads birthday cards all the time.’

  ‘No, this was from Joe. Returned unopened. Sad, isn’t it?’

  ‘S’pose. None of our business. What do I care?’

  ‘Oh, you’ve got no heart.’ She nudged him playfully, relieved he wasn’t going to push her to say more, and changed the subject. ‘Anyway, hope you don’t mind, but I said I’d go back and help again tomorrow. It doesn’t bother you, does it?’

  He took her hand, drew her to him and kissed her lightly.

  ‘Why would it? Just watch him, Tammy. There’s something about that man I don’t trust.’ He began walking. ‘Let’s get a move on. I’m starving. And we’re celebrating.’ He grinned at her. ‘I’ve been saving the good news. You can do what you like at Alder-bloody-leat and I won’t give a toss. You know I said they could stuff their campaign? I’ve sweet-talked Northcote into keeping me on while he’s got bigger things on his mind. You can go off and enjoy your family holiday safe in the knowledge I’ll be here waiting for you when you get home.’

  10th December, 2001

  So I guess I’m not going back. Don’t know which makes me sadder, losing Sophie or leaving the community, the family I thought I was becoming part of. Suppose that’ll break up any day now, though. The road scheme’s going to win, they always do.

  ‘Joseph,’ she says. She has this thing about always calling people by their full names. Graham, Francine, Stephen. (I’ll never forget when Bede apologised, first weekend he was there, for only having one syllable. Didn’t get them off to a good start.) ‘I was picking your jacket up off the floor.’

  She gives me this look. It wasn’t the usual stuff about me being a bit tidier. No, she was holding up my wallet that had slipped out of the pocket, waving my photo of Suzie and the kids in my face. Taken a few weeks before I left, it was; our Emma’s 8 and Niall only 5. My heart sank.

  ‘So?’ she says. ‘Who are they?’

  I’m staring at her, mind blank. Can’t think of a convincing story, but don’t want to lie. I mumbled something about my ex-wife and kids.

  ‘Ex?’ she says. ‘So why are you carrying it around?’

  I found it the other day when I was packing up to move to Alderleat, just put it in my wallet without thinking. Don’t know why, it only breaks my heart. I told Sophie we’d been apart for three years – three years already! Hard to believe – and there was no way I’d have some sordid affair behind her or Suzie’s back.

  This hard look comes into her eyes. ‘Why didn’t you tell me? Why did you split up?’

  ‘It never came up so I didn’t see no reason to tell you. Why we split? We argued.’

  ‘What about?’

  ‘Stuff.’ My mind racing. She’s suddenly on at me, insisting she wants to know. I just kept saying it was over and showed her my empty ring finger. You can probably just still see the trace if you know you’re looking – old and faded enough to be in the past not just removed for the weekend.

  ‘So if it’s over what’s the harm in telling me?’

  Jesus, there are times I wonder why I didn’t chuck her out the car when she was giving it out about my bacon sarnie.

  ‘If it’s over why do you need to know?’

  She reminded me about Kelly. The woman’s neurotic, b
ut even so, she didn’t deserve that. She turned up a couple of weeks ago in floods of tears. Her boyfriend of several years started behaving weirdly then just upped and disappeared without trace. They suspect he was some kind of infiltrator, a government spy, can you believe? As if anyone would want to spy on a group of environment protesters. But Grey and people he knows seem to think it’s for real.

  ‘So come on, Joseph,’ Sophie says. ‘Out with it. Tell me why you left your wife. Otherwise how do I know you did? That you’re not one of them?’

  I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. I’ve done my bloody best to make up for what happened back then, to be a decent fella, and whatever I do people still think the worst of me. Not just people. Sophie, who’s supposed to love me. I could feel the rage bubbling under.

  ‘Say that again.’

  And she stares me out, tears in her eyes, and asks me again. Tell me why. I’m not proud of myself and God help me if anyone reads this. I lost it with her. Totally lost it. Grabbed her and shook her and yelled how can you think that of me you heartless bitch, doesn’t what we had mean anything? It’s in the fucking past, just leave it, what the hell does it matter?! She opened her mouth to argue and I slapped her. Then I froze. Felt sick.

  She looks at me and says, well I got my answer, didn’t I?

  Turns away.

  That’s it. The photo’s gone, burned, ashes trampled into the ground, same as this page probably will be once I’ve got it out my system.

  There’s no way I’m telling our Bede. I’d been wondering whether he ought to know about Suzie and the kids, but this settles it. I’m sorry but I just couldn’t stand to risk losing someone else. I feel bad about keeping stuff from him, but he should be glad he’s come to mean that much to me.

  Something unforgivable

  Bede woke with a sense of purpose. A headache nagged in the background, though it was no worse than usual and probably not as bad as he deserved. As he slugged down the painkillers, the thought of the beer bottles and unwashed plate downstairs filled him with momentary shame. Tough; it could wait. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and disgusted himself even more. That, he should do something about. The ungainly hassle of trying to keep the cast dry and the extra time it took were frustrating, but he felt better after a shower. A quick coffee and bowl of muesli brought him almost back to humanity, while adding to the kitchen chaos. Before deliberately turning his back on it, he checked the house phone and his mobile. No message from Elin. It made him feel slightly better about not calling her.

  Outside, he paused to cut some flowers. The small bouquet looked a bit ragged, nothing like the one Elin would have conjured up, but he was satisfied. He stowed the flowers, with the crutches, behind the seat of the tractor. The fresh air cleared away the final cobwebs as he set off. He hadn’t been sure if he’d be able to drive, but he found it surprisingly easy – clambering in had been the hardest part. It may have been medically and legally forbidden, but he wasn’t going far so what the heck. He wouldn’t be a danger to anyone. As he turned out onto the road, he braced himself for the fears to return. It felt fine. It might be different when he encountered another vehicle, but this had to be done.

  He became aware of a presence behind him and realised Kip had jumped in. Damn; he’d meant to leave him at home. He tried to remember whether he’d fed him that morning. Had he really become so self-absorbed that he’d neglect his dog? It was too late to turn back now; Marjorie liked to see Kip in any case.

  A light rain spotted the windscreen of the cab with increasing intensity, blowing in the open side. He turned the wipers on, wondering whether Tamsin would turn up in this weather, and whether in fact he wanted her to. Eleven, they’d agreed. He might be late back, and she was unlikely to wait long. Feeling detached, he weighed up the advantages of solitude compared with companionship and help. Let her stay or go; he had no intention of cutting this visit short.

  On the straight between Holtwood and the bridge, he glanced dispassionately at the roadside where they said they’d found him. Grass verge and hedge; it meant nothing. He held back at the bridge to let a car cross. Safe in the cab of the tractor, it was easy to deflect the sensation of the car veering towards him.

  As he crossed the humped back of the bridge, he glanced down, aware of the energy of the river sliding beneath. His breath caught momentarily. Glad to find he was still capable of feeling after all, he indicated at the track to Bridge Farm.

  Partway down, he met Northcote’s Bentley coming the other way. He swore, stopped and waited for him to reverse; they were about three-quarters of the way to the house, and there was nowhere for Bede to pull in and let him pass. Philip flashed and blared the horn, gesticulating impatiently. Though he knew he was never going to win, Bede allowed the stand-off to continue for a few moments. As Philip opened the door, he threw the tractor in reverse and turned awkwardly in his seat, trying not to smile to himself as he rolled back towards the lane entrance, then pulled over. Philip drew level, blocking his way, and swished the window down.

  ‘What are you doing here?’

  ‘Morning, Philip. I’m paying a visit to my friend.’

  ‘My mother’s unwell. Certainly not in a position to receive visitors. I’m coming back this afternoon; I’ll pass on your regards, shall I?’

  ‘She doesn’t have to go to any trouble to “receive” me. I’m sure she’d appreciate a visit.’

  ‘For goodness’ sake, Sherwell, can’t you leave her alone?’

  ‘It’s Marjorie I want to see, not you. If you could just let me past.’

  More impatient than Bede, Kip jumped down from the cab and started nosing around the top of the lane.

  ‘Keep your bloody dog under control!’

  Bede called, annoyed that he had to snap his order out twice before Kip obeyed and jumped back onto the tractor.

  ‘And I suggest you keep your wife under control as well.’

  If he’d dragged him from the tractor and punched him it couldn’t have winded him more effectively.

  ‘What…what the hell is that supposed to mean?’

  ‘You know perfectly well. But more importantly, I hear you’re still slandering me. Still insinuating I had something to do with your unfortunate accident. It doesn’t say much for your case that you need to stoop to such allegations. But feelings are running high and people might even believe you. So I’ve told your wife and I’m telling you – if the pair of you don’t put a stop to your evil accusations, I’ll have to do something serious about it.’

  Without a further word, Philip revved and sped off, pulling out dangerously fast onto the road. Bede made his way down to the farmhouse, replaying the conversation, trying to decipher whether Philip’s comment about his wife referred to anything other than the ‘insinuations’. And what about those? He didn’t recall saying anything recently; maybe he should have a word with Elin. In good time; he had other things on his mind right now.

  He knocked, paused then let himself in. Marjorie was pottering with her plants in the conservatory. She waved away his concerns about the chest infection she seemed unable to shake off. ‘He shouldn’t have said anything. I have my bad days and this isn’t one of them.’

  So much for not being well enough to see him.

  ‘On the other hand, I’m glad to see you out and about,’ she said. ‘Don’t worry about Kip. Bring him through.’

  Indicating a chair, she helped with the crutches, fetched him a footstool despite his protests and made a fuss of the flowers that had got slightly crushed when he’d wedged them under his arm. He thanked her in turn for the get-well card and the bottle of single malt that he felt guilty about goading Tamsin with last night.

  Marjorie disappeared to the kitchen to make tea, leaving Bede wondering how well she actually was and should he really bother her with the conversation he intended to have. When she returned with a tray of tea things, the flowers looking a little more respectable in a vase, her sprightliness dispelled his doubts.


  ‘Elin sends her love.’ A harmless white lie – she would have if she’d known he was coming. They reminisced for a few moments about the time when Marjorie had met Fran, neither of them mentioning the recent planning decision. Bede suspected Marjorie would be on their side if asked, but understood if she wanted to remain neutral. She poured the tea and sat in her usual chair. He praised the plants in the conservatory, reluctant to appear too hasty or self-centred.

  ‘Just look at the gorgeous orange tree Joe bought me,’ she said. ‘The birthday before he died, remember? It’s doing so well. I think of him whenever it flowers; that wonderful scent.’

  He forced a smile. Thanking her silently for the opening, he steeled himself to speak.

  ‘Marjorie…I’ve just found out… Did you know Joe had a son?’

  She regarded him steadily and put her teacup down. ‘So he didn’t tell you.’

  ‘No.’ Bede felt hollow. She knew. He stared unfocused out to the garden, trying to suppress his anger and feeling of betrayal. Hadn’t he wanted answers? Not with this horrid sense of backs turned, whispering, exclusion. But what had he been expecting – that he and Marjorie would join forces to unravel some great mystery together? ‘No, he didn’t.’