Jon McGregor - Reservoir 13

As the dusk deepened over the badger sett at the far end of the woods, a rag-eared boar called out a sow, pacing around the entrances until she emerged with a soft circling whine and was taken. The woods were thick with the stink of wild garlic and the leaves gleamed darkly along the paths. Jackson’s boys went out to the fields and checked over the sheep. Most of the lambs were on grass now and growing fast. The mothers had lost condition and some were marked out for extra feed. The morning was warm and there was a heady tang of nutrition coming up from the land. The lambs were electric with life and jolting around each other. There was a rare chance to sit on the trailer for a smoke while they watched them. At the weekend Cooper took the twins out for an early walk to give Su a chance to catch up on sleep. She’d been working a lot recently, and coming to bed late. He filled their backpacks with snacks and drinks, and they headed out through the garden into the woods. They were excited, running on ahead and swiping at the nettles with sticks. He let them choose the way when they came to junctions in the path, but managed to steer them towards the visitor centre and the track leading up to Reservoir no. 3. It was further than the pair of them had managed before. At one point they passed the locked access hatch to a cave entrance, and were bursting with questions. He explained about the lead mines, and about the natural caves, and told them that yes, there were people who went down there to explore. They asked if it was safe and he said not for them it wasn’t, laughing and walking on as though that would be the end of their interest. They were flagging by the time they crested the hill, so he decided to stop there. They sat on a flat rock and ate their snacks, and Sam asked if it was true that there were houses under the water. Lee called him an idiot for even thinking this, and Cooper explained that there had once been villages down there, that all the reservoirs had been made by flooding the valleys. They looked at him, waiting to see if he was joking. The world didn’t always sound right when it was first explained. There were a few in the village still who could remember the river spilling its banks behind the newly built dams, a slow seeping over that didn’t seem capable of filling the valley in the way the engineers had promised, each day a little higher, the outlines of the demolished villages being lapped over by the waves and the dam making more and more sense until by the time the Duke came to ceremonially open the sluice the water was pouring over the top of the wall. Business at Susanna Wright’s shop wasn’t keeping pace with the projections she’d shown her small-business adviser. She stayed open late and picked up sales from people in the village who needed last-minute birthday cards or gifts, but the walkers who came through mostly had no interest in the candles and crafts she was selling. Ashleigh sometimes worked with her after school but it took some effort to look busy. Geoff Simmons walked past most days with his whippet but he never came in. At the Spring Dance Irene found herself being asked by Gordon Jackson. She couldn’t remember all the steps but found herself falling into them easily enough. She hoped no one was looking. She could feel the thickness of his body beneath his shirt, and found no reason not to think about that. He was holding her as though he might lift her into the air. Twice she felt his legs against her, and the stiffness of his thigh muscles was the memory she carried with her afterwards. He said something she didn’t catch and smiled down at her and for a moment she felt as though he didn’t know anyone else was in the room. This was a talent, she understood. Ted had never looked at her in that way. She had long suspected that Gordon had a reputation and now she understood why that might be. The dance finished and she went to sit down. Gordon was startled by the unwanted possibilities he’d felt stirring in himself. He wouldn’t pursue them but he was worried they’d even arisen. Some people would call it a problem, he knew. He looked around for Susanna Wright.

In May the reservoirs were low and the river slowly carried a scrim of weed to the weirs. The sun was higher in the sky. The days filled out and the long nights of winter were distant. Les Thompson walked his fields and waited for the first heading of the grass. The stems were starting to stiffen and at the base the leaves were dying back. The cut was days away. In the conifer plantation the goldcrest nests were thickly packed with eggs the size of babies’ thumbs. There were sheep bones by the side of the tracks on the moor, picked clean and beginning to brittle. The sound of a lorry missing the cement-works entrance was heard, climbing the hill to the village and the engine rising suddenly in pitch before cutting out entirely as the driver dropped another gear. In the beech wood the fox cubs were weaned. By their den entrances they fell about each other or sat waiting for their mothers to return. There was trouble at the Jacksons’ when Simon told his mother he’d be going to Australia with Mike. A second man was seen in the orchard with Sally’s brother, and although he was known to be staying in the caravan it wasn’t clear that he was welcome. He didn’t appear to be doing any work. Richard Clark called round to see Cathy. They’d agreed to go for a walk, but when he knocked on the door one of her sons answered and said she was out. Richard waited for more information but none was offered. He asked if she’d be back soon and the boy said did he want to wait. Hardly a boy in fact; a young man now, already done with university and filling the house with his lumbering uncertainties. Thanks, Nathan, he said, guessing at the name; I will, if that’s okay. Nathan shrugged and left the door open. Richard went through to the kitchen and checked his phone. Probably he shouldn’t text her. She’d be driving back from somewhere. Held up in traffic, or by a conversation at the market, or wherever she’d gone. He looked at the photos and notes stuck on the fridge. REMEMBER JOBSKILLS INTERVIEW WEDS, in Cathy’s handwriting. And a photo of Patrick amongst the ones of the boys at university, and of people who were presumably cousins and grandparents. So much that he didn’t know. So much that he’d missed. Nathan came into the room and slapped out a kind of drum roll on the worktop and asked if he wanted tea. Thanks, Richard said; yes please. Nathan put the kettle on and reached over a mug. I was at school with your father, Richard said, tapping the picture on the fridge. Nathan either knew this already or wasn’t interested. The three of us were very close friends, he went on; your mother and Patrick and I. We did everything together. Nathan had his back turned, fishing the teabag from the mug. Milk’s in the fridge yeah? he said, edging out through the door. From somewhere in the house, Richard heard a television turning on. He waited long enough to drink the tea and then let himself out. When he texted Cathy later to ask if there’d been a mix-up she said she was sorry but she’d had to go to Manchester and had forgotten to let him know.

At the bus stop Andrew waited with his mother. There was something happening way up on the hill. There were vehicles moving on the access road. The first phase of a construction project. He could search the planning records online when he got to the day centre. Now that he’d seen the activity he would find it hard to get through the day without finding out. For now he just watched, and his mother watched him. She had no idea what was going on in his head most of the time. He was old enough not to need walking to the bus stop, but she preferred seeing him off. If she let him just walk away from the house she wasn’t going to stop worrying. But if she saw him going up the steps and sitting in the seat behind the driver she could switch off for a few hours. Which was half the purpose of the day centre. Respite. His quietness was a relief now. It had been a noisy morning. He wasn’t what anyone would call dressed appropriately. But he was dressed. She felt his hand pulling at hers, and holding it. He tipped his head down towards her, still looking up at the hill. He mumbled something that sounded like Mummy, and laughed. He said it again. Who knew what he was thinking. The bus came round the corner and he dropped her hand like a hot coal. She watched him climb the steps and when the bus drove away she didn’t know where to go. She didn’t feel ready to go to the post office as she’d planned. She didn’t quite know what had happened. She went and sat in the churchyard, in sight of Ted’s grave but not too near. He wouldn’t have had a clue, of course. That man. What had she expected, really. She’d been young but she should have known better. She sat for a few minutes, moving on before anyone could see her and think they should ask. She could do without the asking. In the village hall the well dressers were pressing strips of bark into the wet clay where the design had been pricked out, and it was late in the afternoon before this first stage was complete. In their nest in the conifers the first buzzard chicks were hatching. There were hot days and one afternoon the Cooper boys ran back and forth from their house, filling water pistols and balloons and tracking water through the hallway until no one in the Close was safe from a soaking. Some people took it in good heart. At midsummer the protest camp held a full-moon party, and some of the younger villagers went and joined in. The drumming was heard for most of the night. There was talk of nudity, although this was never confirmed. The missing girl’s father did a long walk for charity, from his London home to the top of the moors above the village. There was a lot of publicity about it in the papers, and a website published updates of how far he’d got. He mostly followed canals on his route north, as he said that was the best way of not getting lost. He also made lengthy remarks about following the psychic energy of the water right back to the reservoirs, but most of the papers chose not to publish those. He came north at a surprising pace, and when he arrived there was a crowd of reporters waiting to meet him in the village. He said he was proud to have raised so much money for the missing-persons’ charity. He asked for some privacy to go up to the hill and the photos in the newspapers were mostly of him walking away on his own. The evening before Mike and Simon left for Australia, the Jackson boys all went into town for a few drinks. Claire was with them for a rare night out. They’d left Tom and Molly with Maisie. At the start of the evening Claire was talking quickly and making a point of pacing the brothers for drinks, and then at some point she was no longer there. She’d been in the pool room when Simon had last seen her, and Mike thought she’d gone out in the yard for a smoke, and when they made Will phone her to see where she’d gone there was no answer. She’ll have gone home and be asleep already, he told them. It’s what she does. Simon started to argue but Gordon gave him a look to leave it, and while he was at the bar he phoned Susanna and asked her to check. None of them thought it worth asking why this seemed like something that had happened any number of times before.