Jon McGregor - Reservoir 13

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 pronounced. 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.

By May the reservoirs were as low as they’d been in forty years, the ruins of the old village buildings dry above the waterline and people walking down to picnic where the churchyard had once been. There were hosepipe bans over four counties; the hills were drying out. Will and Claire Jackson separated again, and Claire went to live with her mother while she looked for a flat. Tom stayed in the village with Will. Martin stood for election as chair of the parish council, on a vague platform of being what he referred to as a new broom. It was the first time anyone could remember the chairship being contested. It was noted that there was a difference between being a new broom and never having attended a meeting of the council, and Brian Fletcher was voted back in. In the village hall the well dressers were into their third day of pressing in the petals and mosses, and tempers were running short. Some of the newer dressers were lacking for technique, and Irene had to be clear when sections weren’t up to scratch. She even had to explain that the petals were meant to overlap in the manner of roof slates, so that any rainwater could run off. It boggled the mind how someone could live in a well-dressing village and not know that. At the badger sett in the beech wood after dark the first cubs of the year came out. They stayed close to the adults, watching their mothers find food. There was a cacophony of smells. They marked a path back and forth between the adults and the sett entrance, scratching and shuffling and keeping the way clear. The Jacksons moved their sheep up on to the moors. The lower fields needed time to recover. The sheep made a ruckus as they bunched together up the lane but they soon settled down. A police officer was seen going down to Fletcher’s orchard, and as he stepped through the gate he saw a man urinating against the drystone wall. This was Flint, who turned and nodded, wiping his hands on his trousers. The police officer said he was making enquiries about a theft. Flint shrugged, and the police officer asked about his place of residence, his line of work, his recent whereabouts. He explained that these were routine questions. Flint gave him routine answers. There were noises from inside the caravan. The door opened, and Ray came out. He nodded at the police officer, and at Flint, and went to urinate against the drystone wall. The police officer asked were there any objections to his having a look around. Flint shrugged again, and the police officer poked around in the nettles under the caravan, and into the gap between the caravan and the wall. Ray and Flint looked at each other. The police officer stepped into the caravan and started opening the cupboards and drawers. Ray adjusted his trousers, and Flint held out a hand to steady him back. The police officer stepped down from the caravan and thanked them for their time. Flint said he thought they were entitled to see a search warrant for that type of thing, and the police officer said he just wanted to exhaust all the avenues of possibility. Ray said he could exhaust some more avenues of possibility for him if he liked, but he waited while the police officer was halfway up the lane before he said it.