Rachel Bennett - The Flood

Are any for us?

In her formal speaking voice, Franklyn said, ‘We’re here to say goodbye. You’re gone, and I guess we miss you. So long.’

She flung the last handful of paper into the air. The wind caught it and sprinkled it like confetti around them.

Daniela threw the postcards out into the water, one at a time, skimming them like stones. Each settled onto the surface and was carried away. The water blurred the writing fast, before the cards were out of sight.

Behind her, Auryn stepped onto the platform. She never made a move until she was completely sure of herself. She walked across the boards until she reached her sisters. Franklyn moved aside to make room.

‘Go ahead,’ Franklyn said. She put a reassuring hand on Auryn’s shoulder.

But Auryn didn’t need any encouragement. With quick, jerky movements, she chucked the jade beads into the water. They disappeared with a plop. Her other arm shot out and the ceramic kittens followed the beads into the depths, without a single hesitation. They hadn’t even disappeared before she was stripping off her coat and flinging it into the river. Next, she pulled off her left shoe. It was only then Daniela realised Auryn was crying.

‘Hey,’ Franklyn said, ‘Auryn—’

‘Everything goes,’ Auryn said. ‘Everything she gave us.’ She stumbled taking off her other shoe.

‘Stop.’ Franklyn caught her arm. Auryn jerked out of her reach and collided with Daniela.

There wasn’t room on the platform for pushing and shoving. Daniela’s foot slipped off the edge of the boards. She grabbed Auryn to save herself from falling. The platform groaned ominously beneath them.

‘Be careful!’ Daniela said.

She clung on to Auryn. For a moment they stayed like that, Auryn leaning into her, still crying, both of them listening to the noise of the river beneath them. Daniela felt her own eyes prickle with tears, and she turned her face away so Franklyn wouldn’t see.

‘Come on,’ Daniela said. She kept a hand on Auryn’s shoulder as she led her back along the platform onto solid ground. Franklyn stayed where she was.

Daniela wouldn’t have admitted how glad she was to get back onto the bank. The thrum of the river beneath the platform had unnerved her. It would’ve been so easy for someone to slip and fall and be swept away. She told herself that was the reason why her eyes were stinging with suppressed tears. She steered Auryn towards the upturned boat where she figured they could sit down.

Before they got there, Stephanie appeared from out of the woods. She had a scowl stamped on her face. Daniela thought for a second they would get yelled at, for being out on the rickety platform, or for messing around so close to the river. But Stephanie immediately saw Auryn’s distress.

‘What happened?’ Stephanie asked.

Auryn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was trembling slightly and her bare arms were covered with goose bumps. ‘We’re saying goodbye,’ she mumbled, so quietly Daniela almost didn’t hear.

Daniela sneaked a glance at Franklyn, who was still out on the platform. She’d picked up the box containing their mother’s possessions and, without ceremony, upended it. The remaining items vanished into the river.

Then Franklyn looked up at Stephanie. ‘Hey, glad you could make it,’ she called. She put her hands in her pockets and wandered back towards her sisters. ‘Come to pay your respects?’

‘Dad and Henry had an argument,’ Stephanie said, ignoring the question. ‘I heard them shouting. Something about a letter? When I got downstairs, Henry had driven off in a temper.’

Franklyn paused at the near end of the platform, looking down into the water. A tiny smile touched her lips. ‘Fancy that,’ she said.

‘What did you do, Frankie?’

‘Me? Nothing at all.’ But there was satisfaction in her voice. ‘All I wanted from today was to get rid of stuff we don’t want anymore. Feels good to know we can get on with our lives now, doesn’t it?’

It took Daniela three hours to wade into Stonecrop, and, by then, her temper was as bleak as the weather. She’d almost turned back when she’d reached the bridge on the Hackett road and found it already awash. Below the bridge, the River Bade was still rising, surging up to the metal arches, muddy brown, swollen, tangled with branches that shot past at worrying speed. Gathering her nerve, Daniela had edged across the bridge. The force of the water made the metal handrail thrum beneath her fingers. Off to her left, a few hundred yards downstream, she could see what was left of the old fishing platform she and her sisters used to play on as kids. Only the necks of its stubby supports remained sticking out of the mud. The ancient, upside-down rowboat was still there, a moss-coloured hillock pulled up away from the bank.

Once past the bridge, the going didn’t improve. In places, the road was flooded so deep she had to clamber along the muddy verges, clinging to branches in the hedgerow. Her jacket wasn’t nearly as waterproof as she’d been led to believe, and the chill dampness that’d started at her collar and sleeves had seeped through to her skin. Water had overflowed her boots. Her socks squelched with every step. And she still had another two miles of flooded roads to slog through before she reached her home village.

Daniela was sure there must’ve been dry, sunny days during her childhood, but in her memory, Stonecrop was always wet, always overcast, always unwelcoming. And now it was partially underwater too.

Late winter rains had swelled the rivers on either since of the village to twice their usual sizes, burst their banks, and turned Stonecrop into a giant boating lake. At least now the rain had subsided to a sullen drizzle.

Daniela paused at the top of the high street – the only street, really – to light a cigarette. It took her three attempts to spark her lighter.

Television footage of flooded towns always looked surreal. Water lapping at sandbagged doors. Residents in wellies. Cars submerged to their wheel-arches. Hanging baskets dangling serenely from lamp-posts like botanical lifeboats. It was so unreal to Daniela, to return to a place she knew so well, and find it like this. A kind of jarring nostalgia.

Her eyes sought out the details that’d changed. A plastic sign had replaced the metal one above the Corner Shoppe; the estate agent’s had been torn down to leave a gaping hole, and the antiques emporium that her dad had once co-owned was abandoned, its windows filmed with dust. Out of three businesses in the village, only one had survived.

But beneath the surface, the heart of the village was unaltered. Stonecrop maintained that quaint, chocolate-box appearance, like it was illustrating a magazine article about house prices in the rural midlands. The ruddy brickwork exteriors had seen few renovations. It was as if a lid had come down on Stonecrop when Daniela left, sealing everything in stasis. She wondered what she’d hoped to find. An untouched childhood memory? The entire village razed in an unreported hurricane?

Most of the community had been evacuated, but a few stubborn residents remained. Halfway along the street, where a natural dip caused a deep pool, a group of people were shoring up a garden wall. Two men in fishermen’s waders judiciously applied sandbags. A middle-aged woman – Margaret McKearney, Daniela recognised with a jolt, who owned the Shoppe and was apparently impervious to ageing – stood with her skirts hiked up to show off her flowery wellies, while she distributed cups of tea from a thermos.

And at the far edge of the pool, supervising the work while eating a chocolate digestive, was Sergeant Stephanie Cain.