Jon McGregor: Reservoir 13

In November the rain came day after day and at first people joked about it but by the third week it became uncanny. The moors were saturated and the water rushed off them and was everywhere. The smell of damp earth began to rise from between floorboards and everything was tinged with a dank green light. Les Thompson led his herd across the mud-thick yard from the shed. The sodden air was soon steaming with the press of bodies. From the riverbank up by the fishing pools a heron hoisted into the air, hauling up its heavy wings and letting its feet trail out as it flew along the river. Rohan Wright had been away travelling but he was back again, living at his mother’s. She wanted to know what his plans were and he wouldn’t be drawn. He spent a lot of time on a laptop, working on his music. Sometimes he saw Lynsey, serving at her parents’ farm-supplies place or behind the bar in the Gladstone, and they talked about the others. Sophie was doing another internship in London, arranged through a friend of her father’s, and had been trying to get Lynsey to go down and visit. She’s moving with a different type of crowd now, Lynsey said. The money they spend on a night out, I couldn’t be keeping up with that. In an attempt to meet the county council’s target for budget cutting, the parish council agreed to the street lighting being turned off between midnight and five, not without much discussion, during which Miriam Pearson was advised that the expression black hole of Calcutta was no longer acceptable. There was an admission charge at the bonfire party for the first time, and nobody seemed to much mind. The predictions of cheapskates lining up along the boundary wall to watch the fireworks were unfounded, and if anything the numbers were up on previous years. Cathy knocked on Mr Wilson’s door and asked whether she wouldn’t be able to take Nelson for a walk again some time soon. Mr Wilson said he didn’t know about that. He stood in the doorway and he didn’t invite her in, and Nelson ran circles in the hall. She told him she’d already said she was sorry but she would never have offered that kind of money. He said it was the principle. He said the money was sorely needed and he was sure she could spare it in the long run. She said he had no idea what kind of money she could or couldn’t spare and he had no business making assumptions. She said she hadn’t thought she was writing a blank cheque. He said it wasn’t the money it was the principle and that when he’d been growing up people knew how to keep to their word. She said, David, I can’t bear for us to fall out over this. He closed the door, and she went back to her house and sat in the kitchen, and a few minutes later she heard his door slam and saw him struggle up the lane with Nelson. She wrote a cheque for £105, made it payable to a different charity altogether, and put it in an envelope through his door. She knew she was being petty, but she couldn’t think she was being more petty than he was.

On a warm day in early December the small tortoiseshells in Sally Fletcher’s shed came out of hibernation and were seen feeding on the privet hedge, their wings dulled and ragged and soaking up the watery sun. At the river the keeper thinned out the alder along the banks by the meadow below the school. In his studio Geoff Simmons mixed a glaze and stirred in grass seeds and leaf fragments he had gathered. He stood at the worktable and dipped the newly fired pots in and out of the glaze. There was a rhythm to it that soothed. He held the pots lightly and then brushed the glaze across the dry spots his finger and thumb had left. If there was a way of leaving no marks at all he would take it. James Broad was working in Manchester, but was seen in the village from time to time. He came for the climbing, bringing university friends with bags of ropes and harnesses and plenty of money to spend in the Gladstone, and he always seemed to know when Lynsey would be behind the bar. He was developing a reputation for his climbing. He was known for studying a route with great patience, but then climbing it at such speed that he seemed to be carried up the face by momentum alone. He climbs like a man in furious pursuit, was the way one magazine put it. The less approving said he didn’t have the strength to hold one position for any time. His pace of attack meant he took risks which won as much disapproval as admiration, but he hadn’t fallen yet. He brought his new girlfriend home just before Christmas and introduced her to his mother, which she hadn’t been expecting. She might not be as pretty as that other one, his mother told Cathy, later. But I can at least pronounce her name. She seems nice enough. And she’s black of course, but I haven’t a problem with that. James took her up to the moor and told her what had happened with the missing girl. She listened, and told him it wasn’t his fault. He nodded, and told her people always said that. In the evening they met Rohan at the Gladstone. Lynsey was serving at the bar. On Christmas Eve he drove his girlfriend back to Northampton. His mother told Cathy she didn’t really mind. There was carol singing in the church and the sound of it drifted towards the square.

Richard’s mother had left her papers in no kind of order at all. It took Richard months to even sort through the basics of reading the will, closing her bank accounts, and unsubscribing from the numerous magazines and charity newsletters that kept coming through the door. He was finding himself with longer downtimes between contracts now, and hadn’t yet told his sisters that he was no longer renting the flat in Balham that had been his base when he was in the country. He knew that they wanted to sell the house and share the money — Rachel had said they badly needed the money, which he found hard to believe — but he’d told them they should get the house in better shape before they thought about putting it on the market. He talked this over with Cathy one afternoon, and was disappointed to find that he couldn’t read her reaction in the slightest. There was a moment when she could have said she’d like it if he was in the village more often or even for good, but she was distracted by something on her phone and said nothing. He realised later that this had also been a moment when he could have asked her if that was a thing she’d like, but he was on the descent into Geneva by then, fastening his seatbelt and returning his seat to the upright position. On New Year’s Eve Cathy knocked on Mr Wilson’s door and asked whether Nelson wanted a walk. They had tea and cake and then she took Nelson quickly up the lane to the church, down past the orchard to the packhorse bridge and along the river. When she came to Hunter’s wood she stooped to unleash him, resting her hand on the wall where the topstone was worn to a watery shine.

At midnight when the year turned there were fireworks going up from the towns beyond the valley but no one in the village even lifted their heads to look. The fires from the two previous New Years had made people nervous. The village hall was empty and people were standing out by their barns and buildings, half a dozen police officers patrolling and the fire brigade on notice. By half past the hour the tension had eased. A few people set off their own fireworks and a belated ‘Auld Lang Syne’ was sung. From the old quarry there was an explosion and the empty storage buildings went up. The fire brigade were there quickly but couldn’t go near for fear of what materials might be on site. The buildings burnt through, and in the morning a thin trail of smoke was still rising. There was talk about whether the fires might have been set by the missing girl’s father, but apparently he had an alibi. The police had checked. You wouldn’t want to be the chap who goes and asks the man a thing like that, Martin pointed out. Irene was having work done on the house, now that Andrew was finally settled in his new accommodation. It was a lot of work, and she stayed with Winnie for the duration. There were doorframes to replace, and wiring to repair. Mostly it was a lot of painting wanted doing. Whole place wants freshening, she told Winnie. And she was having the kitchen brought up to spec for the tourist board. She had a plan to bring guests in for bed and breakfast. Because what else am I going to do in that big house all by myself? she asked Winnie. I’ll be bored off my feet. Bit of company will do me good.