Riverflow

by Alison Layland

They sat close for a while. He began to relax, then sat up, his face clouded again.

  ‘This isn’t working. Burning his things, his memory, him. I need to know.’

  She reached out and hugged him to her. ‘You’ve just said it yourself – it’s all in the past.’

  ‘But I know nothing about the past! My own father or the man who took his place. I feel like I don’t even know who I really am.’

  Elin took a deep breath. ‘If it means that much to you, I think I know who you can ask.’

  He drew away. ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I had a visit a couple of weeks ago.’ She looked at him uneasily. ‘From Joe’s wife.’

  He stared at her, wide-eyed. ‘What?’

  ‘She’d only just found out he’d died. After a year and a half! I explained we didn’t know about her. She said—’

  ‘I don’t care what the fuck she said, Elin. When were you thinking of telling me?’

  ‘You were ill. The time wasn’t right. I didn’t think—’

  ‘Didn’t think? What else are you not saying? Just when I was beginning to come to terms with…with you being unfaithful. Your deceit. Whatever the bloody woman said, whatever she wants, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to trust you again!’

  He stood, towering over her.

  ‘I was all right on my own, managing perfectly well thank you, until he came along, showed me what a father could be, gave me something to believe in, all this. Even you – he was the one who brought us together. And just as I find out that the man I knew had been living some kind of lie, you turn round and reveal you’ve been hiding stuff from me – again! There’s no one I can rely on, is there?’

  He turned awkwardly and made his way towards the stairs.

  ‘I’m back in our room now. You can have the spare bed. You’ll forgive me if I don’t sleep in his room myself, won’t you?’

  1st April, 2002

  I saw it first on the news. An earth-mover at Calsthorpe Wood went out of control yesterday morning and nearly mowed down a number of protesters. One guy was badly hurt (I didn’t know him, haven’t seen any of them, only our Bede, since the Sophie incident), and it could have been a lot worse. They went crazy, so did the police. Turned into a riot. Battle stations. One way to get media attention, but not the kind of publicity they were wanting. There were a number of arrests and it’ll be the end of that campaign – no one’s going to get near the site from now on, security will be ramped up that much. I spent yesterday evening dreading a phone call from the police about our Bede, but it never came, thank goodness. He turned up this afternoon here at Alderleat. I doubt he’ll be going back.

  He swears he had nothing to do with it, he didn’t go near that machine and anyway, he immobilises them, he’d never do anything that’d put anyone – on our side or theirs – in serious physical danger. As I’d expect, Grey and co are closing ranks against the authorities and Bede’s fairly certain no one’s going to name names – the Engineer or anyone else – but he’s still up against a great big wall of hostility. Only Elin (they’re very much an item now) seems to be sticking by him. I remembered those scenes back at the Calsthorpe community and asked him was it young Jack. He denied it of course, but he’s a crap liar and it was damn obvious – I wasn’t sure if he was protecting the kid or scared of Grey and Tig’s anger if they thought he’d got their boy into trouble. Then again, he was so angry and hurt I was beginning to wonder what I could believe.

  He said how it was killing him being blamed by his friends for something he didn’t do. He almost wished he had done it – if it was his fault, at least he’d feel their outrage was justified. I told him no! You’ve done it, it’s worse. You’re still blamed, they’re still mad at you but on top of that you’ve got the guilt to deal with. Believe me, I fucking know.

  He looks at me, questioning, wanting me to say more and I almost did – the black, oozing guilt that eats away at your heart. Part of me feels I should have told him. I don’t deserve his friendship any more than I deserved Suzie and the kids. Give him the truth, drive him away and let him go.

  No way.

  Time to move on

  The next few days passed in a hostile silence broken only by an occasional exchange of words.

  He spoke to her to point out that she’d hung her coat up on the wrong peg, that she hadn’t put her shoes straight in the utility room, that she’d stacked the crockery wrongly in the cupboard. Ridiculous trifles, like an anchor to cling to as the bigger things got out of control.

  He spoke to her to ask what Suzanne Sherwell had said, and to get her phone number, though as far as Elin knew, he’d not yet made any attempt to get in touch.

  In his more forthcoming moods, he spoke to her of an all-pervading wrongness, about his stifling inability to go far, and the lack of freedom that weighed so heavily that he could hardly think straight.

  Although Bede spent most of the time at the caravan or in the workshop making fixtures for it, or simply reading and scribbling notes, in the end Elin grew weary of the bleak black silences and the dark words. A group of conservation volunteers came to stay at Foxover Fields nature reserve. Her colleague was ill and she agreed to cover, staying in the warden’s flat above the bunk barn – a first, since they lived so close and she usually cycled there on a daily basis. The group came for a few days then went, though Elin stayed on at the flat and spent more daytime hours in the shop than the rota called for.

  She went home to Alderleat one lunch time to do her laundry, hoping she could have a reasonable conversation with Bede, lift the atmosphere and get back home. He was sitting at the desk staring at pages of notes and figures.

  ‘Your leg,’ she said in surprise. ‘It’s out of plaster.’

  ‘Yeah.’ He stayed with his back to her. ‘Still using the crutches for now. Can’t put too much weight on it too soon.’

  ‘But your appointment’s tomorrow. I was going to—’

  ‘They phoned the other day. Cancellation.’

  A wave of hurt washed through her. ‘Why didn’t you call me?’

  He finally turned, his expression giving her nothing. ‘Silvan was here when the call came. He offered to take me, said it’d save me having to hassle you. Sorry, didn’t think it would bother you.’

  He knew perfectly well how much the rejection would hurt her. As he turned back to the desk, she noticed the figures he was working on.

  ‘Is that Sunny Days stuff?’

  ‘Mm hm. Won’t be for much longer.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Couple of things I’d committed myself to. But once this is done, that’s it. Time to move on.’

  He picked up a ballpoint and started to write. Elin took the pen from his hands, snatched up the paper and turned it face down.

  ‘Careful!’ he snapped. ‘You could’ve knocked my mug over.’

  ‘I don’t care! How long are you going to keep this up? I understand you’ve been upset, but can we please talk sensibly? Starting with you telling me what “time to move on” is supposed to mean.’

  With a sigh, he swung the desk chair round to face her.

  ‘I’m sure you can understand I don’t want to work with Steve. As for the rest—’

  ‘What rest?’ The familiar shelves and books behind him seemed alien as a sense of dread descended.

  ‘Nothing stays the same. You know that as well as I do. Like the riverflow. There are peaceful times, but even then there’s the scratch, scratch, scratch of erosion. Imperceptible but…there. Until it’s time for big change, for renewal, and the floods come, taking away, yes, but bringing the promise of fertility and new beginnings in their wake. Just look outside. All this rain. Things are different. I feel like something’s going to give soon.’

  ‘What do you mean?’ Her voice was little more than a whisper.

  He ran his hands through his hair, left them there. ‘Since you’ve been away, I’ve been thinking. A lot. You. Me. We need… Oh, El, let’s talk properly some time.
Not… Give me a bit more time, hey?’

  He turned back to the desk and started shuffling the papers.

  ‘How much bloody time do you need?’ She grabbed his shoulder and turned him back towards her. ‘If you’re trying to tell me it’s over, at least say it to my face!’

  His eyes widened. ‘Of course not!’ He reached out to touch her. She caught his hand, lowered it and let go. ‘I’m sorry, El. That…that’s so far off the mark.’ He looked away. ‘Or is it wishful thinking? You’re the one who’s avoiding home. Do you want me to say it so you don’t have to?’

  She refused to allow guilt in. ‘Avoiding home? Do you or do you not want time and space? Come on. At least tell me where this mark is that I’m missing so widely.’

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t… Time and space, yes. I mean now, to get it right, but…more than that. For us. Maybe even getting away. Listen, I’ve been thinking about ways of…of rectifying things. Myself, my…our life. Can’t change anyone else. Even if we succeed in putting a stop to Northcote’s bloody Prospect G, it’s a drop in the ocean.’ He waved his hand over the papers. ‘See this? I may be irrational but I feel wrong switching on the computer right now. I can almost feel wasted energy and resources slipping away beneath my fingers. And all those connections creeping out into the vast, invisible network. That’s what it’s for, isn’t it, to keep us connected, but…but with what? With a world I don’t feel the slightest connection to. While all the time we’re losing touch with what really matters.’ He looked up at her and she saw the sleepless nights in his face. ‘I feel like I’ve only just embarked on a journey; still haven’t a clue where I’m going. The way we’ve been living our lives it’s as though we’re at the destination and intend to stay there till happy-ever-after. Well intentioned, but still wrong. I need to shed the mechanics of what I do. Things have got to give. I want… I…we…need to get away. We can. There’s earth beyond Alderleat, trees beyond Holtwood, water beyond the leat and the Severn.’

  ‘You mean, turn our backs on it all? Abandon all we’ve achieved?’

  ‘See? Time and space. It’s coming out wrong. Just for a while, maybe. And anyway I see it as building on what we’ve achieved. Taking it a step further. Give ourselves chance to really connect with the real world, with the trees, the earth, water, animals, birds. Everything that matters. Away from all the fucking hassle. I want so much for you to see where I’m coming from and share it with me…’ He took a deep breath. ‘Maybe not only the two of us. Maybe… Yes, I’ve been thinking about that as well…’

  A momentary ray of hope lighted on her. She fought it. ‘It doesn’t work like that. You can’t expect a child to come along and miraculously sort your head out.’

  ‘But you… Together, we—’

  ‘Yes, together, Bede. I haven’t noticed much togetherness recently, have you? I don’t know how much longer I can do this.’

  Suppressing the urge to spill the dregs deliberately over his papers, she picked up his mug, turned abruptly and took it through to the kitchen. She turned in the doorway, willing him to make a move towards her. Was it disappointment, resentment…hope…she saw in his expression? He seemed to be struggling to find words. She had no energy to try and find them for him.

  ‘You’re right,’ she said. ‘I shouldn’t rush you. You know where I am when you’re ready.’

  She put the washing on, gathered her things and left. When she returned later that afternoon to finish the laundry, she heard sounds of activity from the workshop, but it was locked and he didn’t answer when she knocked. She didn’t wait long.

  Silvan called into the shop the following day; it was the first time she’d seen him since she’d come back from Fran’s. The shop was quiet and she was alone. He brought a basket of assorted vegetables and salad to the counter.

  ‘Long time no see.’ He glanced at the basket. ‘Tamsin’s home some time tomorrow. I’m practising my cooking skills ready to treat her.’

  Elin was reminded how much she’d look forward to seeing the girl after her holiday, though she wondered what on earth she’d say to her. She rang up Silvan’s purchases, managing to keep her voice steady as she got the small talk out of the way. He told her how sorry he was about Kip, and she hoped he’d leave as soon as he was done. After paying, he leaned on the counter.

  ‘You look stressed.’

  She’d intended to say nothing, but he was provoking her. ‘What did you say to Bede?’

  ‘When?’ He seemed taken aback by her tone of voice.

  ‘Last week. Before I went away. When he pissed you off by saying you couldn’t come and live at Alderleat. I seem to remember you telling me he was acting strangely.’

  ‘Oh, that. I’ve apologised to him, Elin. I was a bit out of order.’ He glanced around the empty shop. ‘I’ve been meaning to ask you, to be honest. Something’s wrong, isn’t it? He called and asked me if I’d take him for his appointment. I’d have thought you’d have wanted to be there.’

  Bede asked? He’d told her Silvan offered. ‘Did he talk about anything in particular while you were with him?’

  ‘Nothing much.’ He spread his hands. ‘At one point he was rambling about having a declutter. Out with the old, in with the new. Sounded deeper than he was letting on but I didn’t push it.’ Didn’t push it? More like Bede wouldn’t tell him; either way, Elin was surprised at her relief and how protective she felt towards her husband. ‘Oh, I can’t tell a lie,’ he went on. ‘He asked me not to say anything, but… He says you’ve walked out on him?’

  ‘Walked out on him? I’ve been busy here and at the reserve.’ No way was she going to say any more to Silvan.

  ‘I know things haven’t been easy since his accident. I’m sorry if anything I’ve said made things worse. I can imagine what you’re going through.’

  ‘That’s unlikely.’

  ‘But you shouldn’t take his behaviour to heart. He hasn’t been right recently, you know it yourself. I mean…all that with your dog.’ He looked at her, eyes full of concerned apology. ‘He needs help, not blame. That’s why I tried to hold my tongue when we found Kip. But Tammy told me the way he’d been and I saw him the afternoon before it happened. I’m sorry, Elin.’

  She stood thinking about Bede’s state of mind, wishing she’d swallowed her pride and either broached the subject of a counsellor or talked to someone herself, and wondering whether there was a grain of truth in what Silvan was implying about the dog. Bede had hinted as much himself. The bell over the door rang out, echoing her jangling nerves. A small group of people came in and she managed to get Silvan to leave as she composed herself for her customers.

  After she closed the shop, the remaining hours of the day stretched emptily ahead of her and she went back home – to Alderleat – for her guitar, some CDs, and basket weaving gear. She got out of the car and stood for a moment, steeling herself. Heavy clouds covered half the sky, threatening from a distance. A small, white clump hung down, wispy drifts like udders reaching towards the ground. As if it would start raining milk – something else gone wrong. The workshop was silent and her heart sank as she wondered if he’d barricaded himself in again. The very thought made her want to march in and tackle him, to stay until they’d got things straight, once and for all. Part of her, the weary part, just wanted to go in and collect her stuff.

  To her surprise, the kitchen door was unlocked. As soon as she walked in she sensed there was no one there, but she called him all the same. She gathered her things and took them out to the car. Glancing up at the bridge over the leat, the field, and the caravan beyond, she had the same sense of emptiness. She had no idea how far he could walk by now – the realisation saddened her – but she knew how caged he’d been feeling for weeks. She’d seen Frank Barnham the day before. ‘Your Bede out and about again? I saw him on the Holtwood path earlier. I was sorry to hear about your dog, by the way.’

  She went back inside for her guitar. She’d been so absorbed she hadn’t noticed: there was a blank sp
ace on the wall where their wedding photo, then Joe’s portrait, had been. In the living room, she saw that the pile of Joe’s things by the fire had gone, and wondered emptily if their photo had joined them in the flames. Then she saw it, laid on the little table by Bede’s usual place. Face up, as though he’d been looking at it. A lump came to her throat. The tears spilled; she sat down on the sofa and gave in. It happened almost every night, but it felt different, more biting, in her own home. They’d come through so much – why now? What had happened to them? If only they could talk properly. She sat listening for the sound of footsteps, the door opening and closing. Sounds that never came.

  After a while, she told herself to be strong and got up. If he was able to go out for walks, his mood might change. She left him a note.

  Didn’t want you to think there’s been an intruder and start worrying.

  I just came to pick up my guitar and a few bits.

  She thought long and hard before signing it,

  Love, Elin x

  Let him be the first to deny love.

  His fingers tightened around the smooth wood. He’d seen the thumb stick at Halbury show one year and Elin had bought it for him because it felt as though he and the wood belonged together. One day he wanted to learn how to shape and adapt a stick so perfectly. He loved the way it nestled against his hand, like an extension of his arm, but he’d never thought he’d truly need it. Not for a few decades yet.