Jon McGregor - Reservoir 13

The long days of July were hot and the heat rose from the heather in waves. In the mornings the air outside the Jacksons’ lambing shed was dashed with swallows. James Broad finished his second year of university, and didn’t come back to the village at all. His mother had prepared the small guest room in her new flat for him, but from his Facebook page she learnt he was travelling in Thailand with someone called Saoirse. The girl looks pretty enough, his mother told Susanna. But I don’t even know how to pronounce her name. There was a day of action at the protest camp. Some of the villagers went up there to join in, but most people just listened to the noise of drumming drift down the hill. The first excavations started a week later. Su Cooper found a post-office book for a savings account of Austin’s that she knew nothing about. There was close to five thousand pounds. When she challenged him about it he said it was meant to be a surprise. Bloody well is a surprise you’ve got five grand I didn’t know about, she said. What else is there, a second mobile phone? What are you, Austin, some kind of a drug dealer? Or are you having an affair? She giggled when she said this, at the outlandishness of it, but she was furious enough not to regret the hurt on his face. He told her he’d been saving up for a big family holiday, that he’d been planning to surprise her. He wanted to take them all to China, he said. China? she asked. He thought the boys would appreciate learning about their roots, he told her. Their roots? Their roots , Austin? Their roots are in bloody Chorlton, man. What are you talking about, roots? I thought it would be important for them, he said. She shook her head. You haven’t even got a passport, she reminded him. What do you know about travelling? Do you know how big China is? Where would we go? I thought we could talk to your parents, he said. I thought they’d have ideas. I wondered if they might want to come with us, show us around? Su covered her mouth in shock, her eyes widening. She leant back in her chair and looked up at the ceiling. Really, Austin? But my parents fled China, remember? They actually fled . Do you know what that word means? Do you have any idea? Things have changed now though, he said. It’s not the same place they left. She looked at him, shaking her head again. She loved him but he could be such a prat sometimes. We’re not going to China, she said. This conversation is finished. You can keep the money for something else. You can spend it on your mistress if you like. She smiled at him in exasperation. She held on to the savings book and put it with the rest of their papers. Martin Fowler was seen talking to that pair in the caravan in Fletcher’s orchard, and sometimes even sitting at their fire, drinking cans of lager and looking out of place while they muttered jokes he didn’t understand. Ruth sometimes asked after him, and was told he was doing okay. Cathy Harris and Richard had lunch together in town, and she told him that she’d signed up to an online dating agency. He kept his voice casual and asked how that was going. She said there’d been a few misfires but that she was seeing someone regularly now. He could feel her watching his face for a reaction. I wanted you to know, she said. He shrugged, and said that was nice, and then he asked the man’s name. Anthony, she said. He works in Manchester. Is it serious? he asked. I’m not sure yet. But it’s nice. I’m having a good time. It felt strange not telling you, that’s all. He said he appreciated that. He talked about the next project he would be working on, and when she wondered whether they might have any dessert he said he should really be going.

In August the weather kept up. For a week there were mists rolling down from the hills, burning off as the sun rose sufficiently high. In the heat people broke down the fence around the flooded quarry and swam, despite everything that was known. Notices were put up but people were still seen swinging from the rope and leaping into the shockingly cold, deep water, screaming as they fell, cheered on by others spread out on the baking rocks around the water’s edge. The river crept beneath the packhorse bridge and seeped into the gravelled shore. In the woods and along the shaded riverbank the ragged robin was still in flower. The cricket team went over to Cardwell, and the match was lost again. There was talk the second man in Fletcher’s orchard was an associate of Woods. The talk was unfounded but he looked the type. He had a rough strength that was nothing to do with the gym, and a ropy tension in his arms. His eyes were always moving and he spoke in a type of low mutter. There was something of the prison yard about him. Man’s name was Ray, according to Martin, who’d stopped by on his way down to the river one morning and ended up making some suggestions about the pruning. The other one went by Flint. Martin said they weren’t friendly as such but they made for passing company. Ray had a good supply of cheap tobacco, and Flint knew a thing or two about knives. When he found out Martin had once run the butcher’s he asked if those were Martin’s knives up behind the counter. Martin said they’d been his father’s. Flint said they looked like they were worth a bob or two. Sheffield, Martin said. Back when they knew what they were doing in Sheffield. You’d have to go to Japan to find work like that now. Japs know about blades, Ray muttered. Truth. He spat into the fire and went off to the caravan. He never took much part in the conversations. Martin wondered if he might be a bit remedial, although he knew it wasn’t called that any more. He noticed that Flint sometimes kept an eye on him while they were talking, the way you’d keep an eye on a dog that was liable to upset the furniture. When he went into the caravan he always put the radio on and a distraction came over Flint while he talked. There was something between them that Martin couldn’t rightly describe. Not a gay thing but some hold they had over each other. At least he didn’t think it was a gay thing but who really knew these days. Martin felt like he was intruding, some evenings. Took his leave without sitting down and carried on along the lane to the packhorse bridge.

The widower was known as a man with secrets, so there was no real surprise when he turned out not to be a widower at all. His children came and spent the end of the summer with him, dropped off by a woman who was understood to be his ex-wife. It wasn’t clear how the misunderstanding had started but some people felt cheated. The children were three teenagers or almost-teenagers, who seemed to spend most of their time at the playground or along by the river. In the first week they were seen setting off from the visitor centre with their father leading the way, returning an hour later in the sort of glowering silence that follows a difference of views. They weren’t known to go walking again. The missing girl’s father had been causing more concern. Since his charity walk he’d returned to the area repeatedly, always on foot, and been found on private land and in farm buildings and in restricted areas around the reservoirs. Eventually he was arrested and questioned at length, and although there were rumours he was being reconsidered as a suspect he was again released without charge. The first fieldfares were seen, gathered on a single hawthorn and chattering into the wind. It was a good year for hazelnuts. There were few in the village now who went to the trouble, but for those who did there was good gathering. There were thick stands of hazel growing along the high ground between the flooded quarry and the beech wood, and it was possible to pick bagloads at a time. Winnie took her share, of course, and lately Ruth had been coming along to take a few baskets for selling in the shop. Very popular they were, she told Winnie. People will pay a good price. It was Mr Wilson’s turn to put together the Harvest Festival display at the church. He told Reverend Hughes that he was planning to raise awareness of unexploded ordnance for a charity he supported by making an arrangement of model landmines and mortars and calling it ‘Bitter Harvest’. She told him she understood how strongly he felt about the issue, and she shared his concerns, but perhaps a poster next to the bookstall at the back of the church would be more appropriate? There was a break-in at the old butcher’s shop and the knives were taken from the wall. Later they came into Martin’s possession and he asked no questions. The smallest one was missing and he thought that was reasonable. Boards were put up over the shop doorway. The rosehips were out, and Su Cooper took the twins along the river path to collect a bagful. Winnie had told her how to make the syrup, and promised it would keep the boys free from colds through the winter. It was only once they were heading home that all three of them noticed how badly they’d scratched their arms. You look like you’ve been fighting with a sack of cats, Austin said to her later, holding Su’s arm up to the light in bed. He kissed each scratch, and she winced and drew him closer. In the night she went downstairs and checked on the faint red syrup slipping through the muslin she’d hung over the preserving pan. It didn’t smell as pretty as it looked. She wondered if the boys would even take it.