Jon McGregor: This Isn't the Sort of Thing That Happens to Someone Like You

Did you find anything? George asked.

No, the man said, nothing. And he got in his car and drove away.

This is the way it happens, in the end. This is the way he describes it, when he tells her:

He was driving, he said. There were bright lights, and men in white overalls standing in the water . There were police officers along the embankment and a white tent on the verge. There were police vans in the road. A policeman was directing the traffic through from either direction. The men in white overalls were doing something with poles and tape . He could hardly breathe , he said. There was something like a rushing sound in his ears .

The policeman waved at him to stop, and walked over to the car, and asked George to wind the window down. He reminded George that they were at school together, and George didn’t know what to say . A funny do this, isn’t it, the policeman said. George thought the policeman was probably waiting for him to ask what had happened but he didn’t say anything. The policeman told him anyway: they’d found a body in the water. The farmer had seen it. They were assuming it had been buried for years, and that the flood water must have disturbed the soil and brought it out. There wasn’t much left of it now. The policeman said he couldn’t imagine they’d find out who it was, and then he asked after the family and said he should let George get on. George said that his wife and his father were both fine and drove slowly into the fog.

Later, he drove into the yard and the dogs came barking out to meet him. He sat in the car for a moment, too weak to open the door. Joanna could see him from the kitchen window. She stood and watched. She wondered what was wrong. The lights of the house were clear and warm, spilling into the foggy night. He got out of the car and walked to the house, pushing the dogs away, and she came to meet him in the hallway. He looked at her and said that they needed to talk. She said it would have to wait until she’d finished some more work, and he said there was always something else to do, some other reason to wait and to not talk. He said they couldn’t go on like this, it had gone on for too long, they were young when it happened, they were older now, time had passed, they needed to bring things out into the open and deal with the consequences and stop trying to hide what it was doing to them both. She looked at him. It was the most she had heard him say for a long time. It didn’t fit. All right, she said. Fine. Bring the dogs.

He served the meal she had prepared for his father and took it through to him.

They found a body in the field down the road, his father said.

George nodded, and said that he’d heard.

Can’t think it was anyone from round here, his father said.

No, George said. I shouldn’t think so.

Lincoln

She came in and she was looking for this coat. It was her father’s, she said. He’d left it on a bus last week. She spent a long time describing it. Herringbone was a word she used. Also she said it was a kind of faded moss-green. Or more like a faded sage-green, but like a faded dark sage-green, with a brown hue. She asked me if I knew the colour she meant. I said I thought I was getting the idea. She had her hands resting on the counter, and she was trying to look round behind me, the way people do, like they think I’m hiding something. She said the buttons were tortoiseshell and one of them was missing. She said the lining was a very dark navy-blue and it was torn from one of the arms right down to the hem. She asked me if I thought hem was the right word to use about a man’s coat. I said I wouldn’t know about that. He’d left it on a bus the previous week, she told me again, on the Wednesday. It did have a belt but that might be missing, she said. I turned the pad of Mis/Prop/B forms across the counter towards her and asked her to fill in her name and address and telephone number. I said I could do the rest. I said I didn’t think we had anything right here in the office but I could make enquiries. She was looking at the form like she couldn’t read it. She said it was definitely Wednesday. She said she thought the coat was from Burton’s. I asked her if she knew which bus the item had been mislaid upon. She said she didn’t. She said it would have been some time in the morning. She said her father had told her he’d gone to meet his friend for lunch, when she’d spoken to him, when she’d spoken to him on the phone, last Wednesday. The way she was talking, I felt like asking her if she needed to sit down. I asked if her father had a bus pass and she nodded and I told her in that case he was unlikely to have been on the bus before nine thirty. She looked surprised. I said so we’re narrowing it down now aren’t we, love? I tried a smile. She didn’t smile. I asked if there were any valuables in the pockets. She said she wasn’t sure. She picked up the pen. She said there’ll be pens in the top pocket, in the breast pocket. She started to fill in her name and address. Kathryn something. With a Y. It was a nice name. It suited her. She had very dark black hair. I told her if she could put all her contact details on the form I’d be able to make enquiries and someone would be in touch. I told her she’d given a very good description and I was sure if the coat had been handed in we’d be able to locate it for her father. There was another customer waiting by then. There’s never normally another customer. I said someone would be in contact as soon as possible, if it had been handed in. I told her unfortunately in this day and age etc. She asked me had she mentioned it being a long coat. I told her I thought I’d assumed that. It came down to here on him, she said, pointing to her knees, but he was a lot taller than me so it would look longer than that on me. I started to say something but I didn’t say anything. We had quite a queue by then. We never normally have a queue. I said I hoped we’d be able to locate the item for her. I told her someone would be in touch. She told me the collar was brown. She was trying to remember the name of the material. She said what’s it called, it’s like inside-out leather, you have to brush it, it’s soft to the touch, it smells like leather but it’s soft to the touch when you stroke it, it leaves marks if you stroke it the wrong way. I asked her did she mean suede and she said yes, that was it, suede. I wrote on the form that the coat had a brown suede collar. I asked her was there anything else I could help her with today.

Welton

He was the first boy in his class to get pubic hair. He’d vaguely assumed that this might be something the other boys would be envious of. Perhaps even awestruck by. Something which would make them see him in a new light. But it turned out to be just one more thing they could use in their campaign of vilification against him.

Vilification was a word he’d come across recently. It was a word he’d found easy to understand.

Virile was another word. It was something to do with sex. He knew pubic hairs were the first step on the way to getting sex, so he thought this might mean he was virile and the other boys would be impressed or maybe even intimidated or at the very least would reconsider their apparently venal opinions of him.

He’d had the pubic hairs for over a year now. He was used to them, and had almost forgotten that they might be an issue. The subject had never come up. But this was the last year of primary school, and they were starting weekly swimming lessons, and at the swimming pool there was a communal changing room. One of the boys saw, and pointed it out to the other boys, and soon enough all of them were looking and asking him questions about it.