Jon McGregor - Reservoir 13

The estate was granted a court order against the last quarry protester and she was evicted. Two police officers gave her a lift to the train station with a rucksack full of what she could carry. She asked for everything else to be put into storage and was told this wasn’t possible. There was some distress. The police officers didn’t think she had much sense of where she would go. Men from the estate took a trailer up to the site and carted everything off for the tip. The reservoirs were quickly filled when the rains returned, the hills soon saturated and the spillways gushing into the river again. Along the footpath and in the corners of fields the first flushes of nettles came up. Winnie was amongst the few left who still cut the tops for soups and sauces. She gathered them with a creeping embarrassment now in case anyone saw. The National Park people put on a fire-safety exhibition at the village hall, most of which was about arson. Following recent events, they said. Refreshing people’s minds about securing premises and keeping flammable materials under lock and key. Brian Fletcher took it personally and asked what more he was supposed to have done. There were cutbacks at the BBC, and Su Cooper was offered voluntary redundancy. She spent three long evenings talking it over with Austin. If she stayed there might be redundancies anyway, with far less than they were offering now. If she left now she would always regret it; all the work she’d put in to get this far, all the time she’d missed when she’d been home with the boys. If she stayed some of her best colleagues would be gone anyway, and the workload would be heavier, the whole atmosphere changed. If she left what would she do? They could see it as a sabbatical, take the boys travelling. The boys were too young for that, they couldn’t be taken out of school. She could get more involved in village life, do some volunteering, find a hobby. Hobby? she said. A fucking hobby ? There were no easy ways of talking around this. There was no obvious solution. Fucking hobbies, she said, again, and decided to keep the job. The clocks went forward and the evenings opened out. The buds on the branches brightened. Gordon Jackson took a delivery over to Ruth’s shop in Harefield and made sure to arrive after closing. Once he’d unloaded and she’d signed the invoice they both washed their hands and went upstairs. There was a sofa and they undressed and she pulled him down to her. There was never much talking. This didn’t happen every time. He only knew when she told him to wash his hands. Months now this had been happening but not often and he was always surprised. She was older than him but she was strong. There were sometimes bruises. Afterwards when he tried to talk she didn’t want to. He wouldn’t mind but there were things he wanted to know. He wanted to know what this was. Perhaps it was nothing. That would be hard to accept. She lay back against the end of the sofa and rested her feet in his lap. He thought she was falling asleep but she toed at his stomach in a way that made him get started all over again. It was dark by the time he left and he wondered if he’d be too late for tea. From the top of the moor the lights of the cars on the motorway could be seen, soundless and urgent while the village slept.

In April Su Cooper’s parents came to stay, and when they walked through the door the boys were all over them. Had they brought sweets, had they brought cookies? Su’s father laughed at their directness and bent down to lift up first Han Lee and then Lu Sam. Austin was already outside, collecting bags from the car. Su watched her father, and saw how he struggled with the weight of each boy. Her mother waited, then leant forward to embrace the two boys as they stood. Soon I won’t need to bend down at all! she said, as she had done for the last few years. Su embraced them both, and ushered them through to the front room just as Austin appeared in the doorway with all the bags. Where am I putting these? he asked, and was told to take them straight upstairs. There were wild pheasant nests scraped into the long grass at the edge of the beech wood, and when the eggs started appearing they were taken in number by foxes and badgers and crows. The Hunters were having a new drystone wall built at the entrance to their drive, and Liam Hooper had already been working on it for a month. Sean Hooper went over most days to check on the progress, and when he noticed how often Olivia Hunter was coming down the drive with cups of tea and plates of biscuits, or just hanging around asking questions, he made a point of reminding Liam of her age. Liam looked surprised and muttered something about it at least being legal. Sean couldn’t help laughing but he told Liam to steer clear. It’d be more trouble than it’s worth, he said. At the Women’s Institute sale Winnie asked Irene if she was well. She said it with an upward tilt, as though of course why would she not be well, but Irene stiffened at the asking. I can’t complain, she said. I’m getting along. And how are you? Winnie said she was fine. She said Irene’s cakes and jams had been missed; it had been a while since she’d brought any to the sale. The colour rose in Irene’s face and for a moment she didn’t reply. I can’t be expected, she said. I can’t always be expected. Winnie put a hand to her friend’s arm. No one’s expecting, she said. But if I can help. Irene shook her head and moved back a little, so that Winnie’s hand was left in the air. Thank you, she said. I’ll manage. I appreciate your thoughtfulness. But, really. A pair of buzzards circled each other high over the moorland by Reservoir no. 5, locking claws and swinging towards the ground in a tumble of outstretched wings. The conservationists had been putting about a plan to control the vegetation in the flood meadows by grazing longhorn cattle, and the Jacksons were asked if they wanted the contract to manage it. The boys were in favour. It would mean putting up a new barn, and getting a bigger trailer to move the stock around, but there’d been a strong suggestion that if they took this on there would be more contracts to follow. Jackson said no. When they tried to explain the importance of diversification he made a big show of how hard he found it to speak and finally spat out the word sheep. We — do — sheep, he said. There was no use discussing it. There was a half moon over the cricket ground and the pale light fell through the leaves of the horse chestnut tree.

In May there was snow on the higher ground, even as the walkers who came through the village started wearing shorts. The new-growth bracken spread across the hills above the reservoirs, pale green and thickening, and plans were drawn up for more spraying and cutting back. At the school the lights in the staffroom were seen on all night, and the next day the word was that Ofsted were coming in. When it was over Mrs Simpson looked as though she’d gone through a month of lambing and Miss Dale had to take a week off sick. Money was found to repair the village hall, and activities moved to the church while the work was carried out. There were objections to yoga taking place in the nave, on account of what Clive said were its possibly occultic origins. There was a discussion. Jane Hughes talked to the church council about how they might best handle her departure, and the interregnum which would follow. The diocese is committed to rural parishes, she assured them, but you will need to be ready for a long period without anyone in post. They were nodding but she knew they weren’t taking it on board. She talked about the need to put together rotas of readers and communion servers, the need to book visiting preachers, the options for drawing on retired clergy who lived in the area. She went home and told her husband that these people weren’t going to be ready, that maybe she was doing the wrong thing. He told her they would just have to grow up a bit, that they’d struggle for a while but she couldn’t always be responsible. She said saying grow up was a bit harsh and he threw up his hands. At the river the keeper dropped the sample bottles into the water from the bridge by the weir. Always the same spot and the same time of day. There were bubbles on the surface as the bottles filled and then he brought the cage up and put the bottles away. He watched a pair of dragonflies come together near the bank. The missing girl had been seen in the visitor centre, listening to one of the audio guides, her eyes closed in concentration and her legs swinging from the bench. She had been wearing the canvas shoes, apparently.