Reservoir 13

by Jon McGregor

  In November it rained for so long that the cricket field turned into a bog and the bonfire display was called off. The fieldfares retreated from the fields beside the church and fed beneath the hawthorn hedges. At midday Jones left the school and fetched two pies from the shop. At home his sister was waiting for him behind the front door and she told him the police had been round. They took the computer, she said. She was doing that thing with her hands, as though rubbing some dirt away. I was halfway through doing an online survey and they wouldn’t let me finish, she said. He asked if she’d made the tea and she said of course. She asked why they’d taken the computer and he told her they would just check it was all working okay. He told her it would be returned soon. Nothing to worry about, he said. But will they read my Facebook? I don’t want them reading my Facebook. Stephanie was so cross with those comments I made on her hiking pictures. Do you think she reported me? Do you think I’m in trouble? He told her he didn’t think she was in trouble. He told her not to worry. He said he might have to go away for a few days. He took the newspaper through to the toilet and when he came back she’d warmed the pies and laid out their lunches on trays. They carried them through to the lounge and sat in front of the television. There were pictures of bush fires in Australia. What will they do with the computer? she asked. They’ll just check it, love. He ate his lunch and carried his tray through to the kitchen, and when he was done he said he was heading back to the school. He asked if she’d be all right. She nodded. He asked if she had anyone coming round and she looked up at him suddenly, and asked why would she have. She was frightened. No reason, he said, I just wondered. What do you think happened to that missing girl? Christ, Susan, who knows? What? Anything could have happened. It was years ago. Poor kid. They’re not going to find her now. Why are you asking about her? This has got nothing to do with the missing girl. What’s got nothing to do with the girl? she asked. What is this? Susan, it’s nothing. There was nothing. He put his boots back on and as he opened the door she called his name. She had that voice again. He asked what she wanted. She said she was scared. He told her it was okay. He told her he’d be home in time for tea. He heard her crying as he closed the door. There were days he could pull the place down with his bare hands. But what would she do. He was to play the cards he’d been dealt. Promises had been made. He walked quickly along the main street to the school, and when he got there two detectives in plain clothes asked if they could search the boilerhouse. He nodded, and rolled a cigarette. They took his laptop computer away. Late the next day Cathy Harris went to the Clarks’ with an early Christmas card for Richard, before he went away for work again. She wanted him to know what affection remained. He was pleased to see her and he couldn’t bear to see her, and as she hovered on the doorstep his mother called her in. The three of them stood in the kitchen and his mother said what a delight it was to see Cathy again. It had been too long, she said; Cathy should come over for dinner. Richard filled the kettle and fetched down the tea mugs. He didn’t know what he could do to make things the way he wanted them to be. He didn’t know why he was even thinking about this when he was seeing someone else. Cathy was going to spend Christmas in Manchester, with Anthony. He didn’t understand why she wanted him to know. His mother had a small television on the kitchen counter, and on the local news there was a report of a man in court on child-pornography charges. The reporter mentioned the missing girl, and from the corner of his eye Richard saw Cathy put a hand on his mother’s arm. A police officer was shown saying the case was unconnected to the missing girl. There was a shot of a man being led into the court building, and the sweater pulled over his head wasn’t enough to keep them from seeing that the man was Jones.

  The Jackson boys helped out at the school while Jones was away. This was the term people were using: away. There was a discomfort in discussing the matter. Arrangements were made to look in on Jones’s sister, and she was soon found another place to stay. She had questions that no one wanted to answer. At the school some of the children asked if they could make cards to send Mr Jones, wishing him well and hoping he would come back soon. In the staffroom this was discussed at length and it was hard to know what to do. By lunchtime the word paedo was heard in the playground and any idea of making cards was dropped. In the afternoon there were difficult conversations. It’s a word that means someone who hurts children, or thinks about hurting children, or touches children in a way they don’t like. We don’t know if Mr Jones has hurt anyone. The police are trying to find out. If any of you are worried about anything that’s happened you can come and talk to me by yourself. It’s okay to ask questions. Sometimes we just don’t have the answers. On the television in the evening there were pictures of starving children, and men with guns and knives, and women hiding their faces, and later the same shots of Jones going into court were shown. The woodpigeons got under the netting on Clive’s allotment and stripped out his Brussels sprouts and kale. The bats were folded snugly into hibernation, their breathing slow, hanging together in leathery clusters from the eaves of the church. Cathy knocked on Mr Wilson’s door and asked whether Nelson wanted a walk. They had tea and cake and then she took Nelson quickly up the lane to the church, down past the orchard to the packhorse bridge and along the river. Always the same route, and Nelson didn’t need to be told the way. At Hunter’s wood she squeezed through the gapstone stile and followed the river up through the narrowing gorge, the path climbing away from the water, even Nelson beginning to slow as he lumbered up the steps to the visitor centre. She stopped to catch her breath for a moment, then turned down the road towards the beech wood and the allotments and the village. The Millennium Millstones had been pushed off their plinths again, and when Sean Hooper came up to repair them he said the structure was basically unsound. The strength it must have been taking, it was hard to know why anyone would go to the trouble. There was carol singing in the square, but the weather was wet and not many people showed up.

  Brian Fletcher had someone in to advise on the orchard restoration, and coloured strings were tied where the pruning was to be done. Sally’s brother and the second man, Ray, were busy for a week with stepladders and pruning saws, and the two of them were seen looking proud of their work. The cut branches were heaped up and burnt, and in the evenings their voices carried down the valley with the wet spitting smoke. People knew this was Sally’s brother now, but they didn’t know the other man. They didn’t know what the arrangements were. It seemed unorthodox, but that was par for the course with the Fletchers. Their marriage was little understood. There was some speculation but most felt it was no concern of theirs. The twenty-year age gap was one thing, but it was clear they knew how to get on. Brian’s family had lived in the area for years and there was some connection with the original Culshaws. But Sally was from somewhere else entirely, and his family didn’t approve. He went ahead and they cut him out altogether. The wedding had been a quiet affair. Neither of them enjoyed the fuss. It was known their introduction had been arranged online but this was never acknowledged. There was heavy snow and it settled. Irene and Winnie went to the sales in the city, as they’d done every year they’d known each other. It took a bus and a train to get there and the crowds never got easier to face. But it was worth it for the prices to be found. Martin happened by Cooper’s office while he was working on the new issue, and they fell into conversation about computers. Martin was thinking of selling his, he said, but he wanted to be sure the memory was properly wiped. Passwords, bank details, all that. You’ll get a more or less clean drive if you reformat it, Cooper told him. But the only way to be sure is to physically destroy it. A hammer works well. A hammer? Martin asked. Won’t that affect the resale value? It will tend to, Martin, yes. There is that.

  9.

  At midnight when the year turned Rohan found Lynsey on the dance floor at the village hall and kissed her while ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was sung. Rohan said later that they’d both been as surprised as each other, but in truth he’d been hoping that someth
ing would happen again for a while. Lynsey went home by herself soon afterwards, but in the morning she was seen leaving Rohan’s house. There’d been no snowfall since the previous week but neither had there been a real thaw. The streets were cobbled with frozen slush. Someone falling at the top of the lane by the church could have slid right down to the packhorse bridge. The Cooper twins spent an afternoon proving this, until Lee turned his ankle and had to be carried home. At the school when term started there was a sickness bug that went round. Jackson’s boys were kept busy with the sawdust and bleach. By the end of the week the staff had gone down with it too and the school had to be closed for a time. There was talk of the kitchen being at fault but nothing was ever proved. The pantomime was Snow White, and in the absence of seven small enough actors in the area the parts of the dwarfs had been taken by the tallest and broadest men the production committee could find. It was meant to be funny but not everyone got the joke. Irene in particular could be heard trying to whisper objections. She wasn’t good at whispering. Andrew took his role of Bashful very seriously, and delivered his lines clearly. When he knelt beside Ashleigh, who was playing Snow White, and promised to watch over her, the laughter quite abruptly subsided. There was a hesitation which was either a dramatic pause or Andrew forgetting his line and then Irene whispered that she still didn’t see why they couldn’t have just used children and the spell was broken. Late in the month Martin drove out to the disused quarry and took a sledgehammer to his desktop computer, kicking the pieces beneath the chassis of a burnt-out car.

  Sally drove her brother to his hospital appointment. This was the first chance she’d had to talk to him since Ray had turned up. He told her he’d felt some of the old ways coming back. She told him she’d been worried, that Ray wasn’t good for him and couldn’t he understand that? We’ve seen some times together, sister, he said, with the enigmatic tone he’d been attempting for a few years now. She asked what he meant, and he told her they had an understanding. They were stuck behind a cement lorry and running late. She was tense on the pedals and she kept checking the mirror. She asked what kind of a hold Ray had over him. She called him Phil and he corrected her to Flint. She told him he was only ever in trouble when Ray was around. He doesn’t look out for you, she said. He doesn’t care about you. Undertakings have been made, he said. She pulled across the road to see if there was space to overtake. There wasn’t. She told him Ray was going to get them both in trouble again, that he was mixed up in all sorts. Flint looked at her steadily. When freedom is outlawed only the outlaws will be free, he said. She told him to grow up. She called him Phil and again he corrected her to Flint. She said that had never been his name before. The road straightened, but a delivery van swept past from behind her just as she started pulling out. She swerved back and swore, and Flint smiled patiently. She asked whether he’d got the name from Ray; whether Ray also told him what to eat, what to drink, when to go to bed and get up in the morning. Undertakings have been given, Flint said again. She told him to stop saying that. She told him their mother had never trusted Ray, that she’d had good reason not to let him into the house when they were younger. He stiffened, and told her not to talk about their mother. She was a good judge of people, Sally told him. Stop it, he said. The traffic slowed as they approached the town, and then stopped altogether. Brian’s not happy with the situation, she said. Are you kicking me out again? he muttered. He understands you need somewhere to be safe, she said, turning to him. But not in the house, he said. Don’t let the freak in the house. It’s not that, she said, almost managing to keep the impatience out of her voice; he’s just not happy with Ray. He doesn’t trust him. People have had words. There are suspicions. Flint wanted to know what sort of words, what sort of suspicions, and she said only that people had reason to worry. People don’t know anything, he said. Loose lips sink ships. She asked him to calm down and listen, and told him that Ray couldn’t stay any longer. I can’t make him leave, Flint said. He can’t stay, she told him. He won’t listen to me, he said. She told him they needed to do something. Brian had had enough. He asked what kind of hold Brian had over her, and she told him not to be clever. It doesn’t suit you, she said.

  By March the wild pheasants were fat from their winter feeding and ready for spring. At the top of the beech wood a male pheasant walked amongst a group of females and lifted his plumage expectantly. In the late-afternoon light the burning heather flickered against the hill. The protesters got in to the new quarry site and stopped operations for the day. They were arrested, and charged with aggravated trespass. Some of the older people in the village were more sympathetic towards them after that. We’ve a history of trespass around here, Mr Wilson told one of them at the post office. You just let us know if there’s anything you need. Su Cooper had a group of friends over from Manchester for dinner. This was happening more often now she was full-time at the BBC again. They were work friends mostly, but also people in Manchester she’d known growing up. Sometimes she stayed after work to have a drink or a meal with them, and sometimes they came down to the village. They were friendly enough but Austin didn’t have much to say. One of them was talking about a mutual friend who had lost funding for a documentary project she’d been working on for ten years. He cleared the plates and said he was just popping upstairs to finish something off for the Echo. From the way the laughter carried on he didn’t think they seemed to mind. Later when they left Su was bursting with talk, bouncing on her toes as they loaded the dishwasher together and retelling some of the stories he’d missed. He liked seeing her like this but he didn’t feel a part of it. Under the ash trees the first new ferns unfurled from the cold black soil. Rohan was home to see his mother for the weekend and he wouldn’t tell her what was wrong. Whenever he texted Lynsey she always took longer than he hoped to reply. He tried a couple of times to arrange a visit but in the end he realised he had to stop. He was surprised by how much more it hurt the second time around. From their caravan in the orchard Ray and Flint took a walk past the Stone Sisters and on through the far valley to Cardwell. It was a long walk but it was worth it. They came to a bungalow Ray had clocked previously and knocked on the door, and when the old lady answered Flint told her they’d been walking all day and were a little lost and could they possibly trouble her for a glass of water. She took them into the kitchen. She moved slowly and Flint told her to take her time. She poured them each a drink and then her eyes went to a biscuit tin on a shelf. It was like she was telling them it was okay. There were no biscuits in the tin but there was money. When it was done they saw themselves out.

  Cathy knocked on Mr Wilson’s door and asked whether Nelson needed a walk, and he said he hoped she wouldn’t mind him coming along. You’ve no need to be asking permission, Mr Wilson, she said. He stepped out with his shoes on already and his coat folded over his arm. Is it warm? he asked. Not as warm as it looks, she said. He put on his coat, turning as his arm got caught in the sleeve so she could help him without anyone acknowledging. They were slow up the lane and they crossed over to get out of the shade. She walked with her arm part-offered and once or twice he took it. Nelson got stuck nosing around in the long grass where the lane joined the road, and Cathy asked what had brought him out of the house. He didn’t answer immediately, and Cathy realised just how out of breath he was. He told her it was the anniversary of Jean’s death and he was taking flowers. He asked whether she minded them stopping off at the churchyard. She asked if he realised he wasn’t carrying any flowers. He made a show of looking at his exasperated hands and then smiled. One of the consolations of a death in springtime, he told her, lifting a pair of kitchen scissors partway from his pocket for her to see. Nelson pulled hard on the lead and she had to walk on ahead, and by the time she was able to turn and wait he was carrying a thick bunch of fresh daffodils. She couldn’t see where he’d got them from, and thought it best not to ask. He led the way through the churchyard to Jean’s grave. He was walking quicker now, and the catch of his hip was more pronounce
d. And then he was talking to her, to Jean, which was something she’d never been able to do at Patrick’s grave. He stooped to lay the flowers down. He had to push against the headstone to lever himself upright, and this time when she offered her arm he took it. She looked away from him, up at the clouds blowing over the hills behind Jackson’s farm, and the tears came. They didn’t come often. Mr Wilson gave her a neatly folded handkerchief, and they sat on the bench by the churchyard gate. When she was finished, she said she’d wash the handkerchief before she gave it back. He didn’t argue. They sat for a moment while her breathing steadied, and then she asked if it ever got easier. He didn’t answer straight away. He told her that not long after they’d married, Jean had insisted he stop smoking. Cathy wasn’t sure this was an answer. This was in the 1960s, he said. Nobody was giving up smoking in those days. I enjoyed my cigarettes, as it happened. But she was very insistent. She could be an insistent lady, you’ll probably remember. And she told me it was making me stink, making the house stink, all that. And she said she’d read about it making you sick; cancer and whatnot. I don’t think she ever said it was her or the cigs, but I wasn’t about to take any chances. Anyroad, I did it. Knocked it on the head. No nicotine patches or none of that. Sometimes I’d just go down the pub and breathe in deep to make up for it. But that was that. She was grateful, but I don’t think she understood what it meant. And then she asked me, near the end, when she was very ill, if I’d ever missed my cigarettes. She got to thinking about all sorts, near the end. Not often, Jean, I told her. Only after meals. Cathy turned and Mr Wilson was laughing, silently. Only after meals, he said, again, the laugh turning into a hacking cough. She looked at him. It’s a bloody metaphor, Cathy, he said. She nodded. I got that, Mr Wilson. She patted his knee. Very good. Nelson stretched at the lead, and Cathy asked if they should walk on. You go ahead, Mr Wilson said. I’ll stop here. Take you all day to get around with this hip holding you back. She asked if he’d be all right getting home and he said he’d be fine. I’ll just rest up here a bit longer, he said. He watched as she strode down the lane past the orchard, and he waited until she was out of sight before taking out a pouch of tobacco and rolling himself a cigarette.