The Flood Page 2

  Franklyn put a foot on the platform to test it. She leaned her weight and bounced twice. Since the boards didn’t immediately crack, she decided it was safe.

  A wooden rowing boat had been turned turtle on the grass some distance from the river, where even the yearly flooding wouldn’t dislodge it. Daniela sat down on its hull rather than go anywhere near the fishing platform.

  ‘Where do we make the fire?’ Daniela asked.

  ‘What fire?’ Franklyn asked.

  ‘For the … y’know.’ The word funeral still felt melodramatic. ‘To get rid of this stuff.’

  ‘Too wet for a bonfire,’ Franklyn said. She took a few more paces along the platform, testing its strength with her weight. ‘Anyway, not everything will burn. Better to do it this way.’ She made an expansive gesture at the water with her free hand. ‘The river carries everything away.’

  Even though it’d been raining pretty consistently all summer, the river wasn’t nearly as high as it sometimes reached. During the winter, it often burst its banks. At least once a year the bridge to Hackett would be closed because it wasn’t safe to cross when the water was at its highest. Daniela and her sisters had a healthy regard for the river, drummed into them by their mother.

  Not that it was obvious from the way Franklyn was acting. She reached the end of the platform and leaned out over the water. She peered down as if she could see anything at all in the muddy depths.

  ‘Be careful,’ Auryn called. She’d stayed well back from the water, about equidistance between the river and the shadowy trees. She looked uncomfortable. Her hands were scrunched in the pockets of her blue waterproof coat. Drizzle beaded her blonde hair.

  ‘It’s fine,’ Franklyn said. ‘Come on out here.’

  Auryn shook her head. Daniela didn’t particularly want to stand on the rickety platform either, but she wanted to prove she was braver than her younger sister. After all, Franklyn wasn’t scared.

  As she stepped onto the boards, the platform groaned, and Daniela froze. But it was just the swollen boards acknowledging her presence. Like Franklyn said, the structure was solid. Daniela swallowed the nagging voice that said otherwise.

  She glanced at Franklyn, hoping for encouragement or acknowledgement, but Franklyn had already turned back to the water. She’d set down the box. In her hand was a slim bundle of letters, secured with an elastic band. As Daniela watched, Franklyn took the elastic band off, slipped it around her wrist, and started flicking through the envelopes. She selected one and tore it into quarters, then eighths. Then she flung the handful of paper across the water. The white flakes settled onto the surface, turned dark, and were swept away.

  ‘Where’d those letters come from?’ Daniela asked. She was certain they hadn’t been in the garage among their mother’s other possessions.

  ‘Found them.’

  ‘Found them where?’

  Franklyn didn’t answer. She tore up another envelope and scattered the pieces.

  Who are they addressed to? Daniela didn’t ask aloud, because she was afraid of the answer. Instead she watched Franklyn methodically tear up each one and consign it to the river.

  Daniela took the postcards from the box. Suddenly she wasn’t sure she was angry enough to start ripping things. ‘This is a weird kind of funeral,’ she said.

  ‘It’s a weird kind of situation. You want to say a few words? Will that help?’

  ‘You should do it.’

  Franklyn blew out her cheeks. ‘All right. Let me think.’

  While she thought, she finished ripping up the envelopes. Daniela glimpsed the writing on the front. Definitely her mother’s. Who were they for?

  Are any for us?

  In her formal speaking voice, Franklyn said, ‘We’re here to say goodbye. You’re gone, and I guess we miss you. So long.’

  She flung the last handful of paper into the air. The wind caught it and sprinkled it like confetti around them.

  Daniela threw the postcards out into the water, one at a time, skimming them like stones. Each settled onto the surface and was carried away. The water blurred the writing fast, before the cards were out of sight.

  Behind her, Auryn stepped onto the platform. She never made a move until she was completely sure of herself. She walked across the boards until she reached her sisters. Franklyn moved aside to make room.

  ‘Go ahead,’ Franklyn said. She put a reassuring hand on Auryn’s shoulder.

  But Auryn didn’t need any encouragement. With quick, jerky movements, she chucked the jade beads into the water. They disappeared with a plop. Her other arm shot out and the ceramic kittens followed the beads into the depths, without a single hesitation. They hadn’t even disappeared before she was stripping off her coat and flinging it into the river. Next, she pulled off her left shoe. It was only then Daniela realised Auryn was crying.

  ‘Hey,’ Franklyn said, ‘Auryn—’

  ‘Everything goes,’ Auryn said. ‘Everything she gave us.’ She stumbled taking off her other shoe.

  ‘Stop.’ Franklyn caught her arm. Auryn jerked out of her reach and collided with Daniela.

  There wasn’t room on the platform for pushing and shoving. Daniela’s foot slipped off the edge of the boards. She grabbed Auryn to save herself from falling. The platform groaned ominously beneath them.

  ‘Be careful!’ Daniela said.

  She clung on to Auryn. For a moment they stayed like that, Auryn leaning into her, still crying, both of them listening to the noise of the river beneath them. Daniela felt her own eyes prickle with tears, and she turned her face away so Franklyn wouldn’t see.

  ‘Come on,’ Daniela said. She kept a hand on Auryn’s shoulder as she led her back along the platform onto solid ground. Franklyn stayed where she was.

  Daniela wouldn’t have admitted how glad she was to get back onto the bank. The thrum of the river beneath the platform had unnerved her. It would’ve been so easy for someone to slip and fall and be swept away. She told herself that was the reason why her eyes were stinging with suppressed tears. She steered Auryn towards the upturned boat where she figured they could sit down.

  Before they got there, Stephanie appeared from out of the woods. She had a scowl stamped on her face. Daniela thought for a second they would get yelled at, for being out on the rickety platform, or for messing around so close to the river. But Stephanie immediately saw Auryn’s distress.

  ‘What happened?’ Stephanie asked.

  Auryn wiped her eyes with the back of her hand. She was trembling slightly and her bare arms were covered with goose bumps. ‘We’re saying goodbye,’ she mumbled, so quietly Daniela almost didn’t hear.

  Daniela sneaked a glance at Franklyn, who was still out on the platform. She’d picked up the box containing their mother’s possessions and, without ceremony, upended it. The remaining items vanished into the river.

  Then Franklyn looked up at Stephanie. ‘Hey, glad you could make it,’ she called. She put her hands in her pockets and wandered back towards her sisters. ‘Come to pay your respects?’

  ‘Dad and Henry had an argument,’ Stephanie said, ignoring the question. ‘I heard them shouting. Something about a letter? When I got downstairs, Henry had driven off in a temper.’

  Franklyn paused at the near end of the platform, looking down into the water. A tiny smile touched her lips. ‘Fancy that,’ she said.

  ‘What did you do, Frankie?’

  ‘Me? Nothing at all.’ But there was satisfaction in her voice. ‘All I wanted from today was to get rid of stuff we don’t want anymore. Feels good to know we can get on with our lives now, doesn’t it?’

  2

  February 2017

  14 Years Later

  It took Daniela three hours to wade into Stonecrop, and, by then, her temper was as bleak as the weather. She’d almost turned back when she’d reached the bridge on the Hackett road and found it already awash. Below the bridge, the River Bade was still rising, surging up to the metal arches, muddy brown, swollen, tangled
with branches that shot past at worrying speed. Gathering her nerve, Daniela had edged across the bridge. The force of the water made the metal handrail thrum beneath her fingers. Off to her left, a few hundred yards downstream, she could see what was left of the old fishing platform she and her sisters used to play on as kids. Only the necks of its stubby supports remained sticking out of the mud. The ancient, upside-down rowboat was still there, a moss-coloured hillock pulled up away from the bank.

  Once past the bridge, the going didn’t improve. In places, the road was flooded so deep she had to clamber along the muddy verges, clinging to branches in the hedgerow. Her jacket wasn’t nearly as waterproof as she’d been led to believe, and the chill dampness that’d started at her collar and sleeves had seeped through to her skin. Water had overflowed her boots. Her socks squelched with every step. And she still had another two miles of flooded roads to slog through before she reached her home village.

  Daniela was sure there must’ve been dry, sunny days during her childhood, but in her memory, Stonecrop was always wet, always overcast, always unwelcoming. And now it was partially underwater too.

  Late winter rains had swelled the rivers on either since of the village to twice their usual sizes, burst their banks, and turned Stonecrop into a giant boating lake. At least now the rain had subsided to a sullen drizzle.

  Daniela paused at the top of the high street – the only street, really – to light a cigarette. It took her three attempts to spark her lighter.

  Television footage of flooded towns always looked surreal. Water lapping at sandbagged doors. Residents in wellies. Cars submerged to their wheel-arches. Hanging baskets dangling serenely from lamp-posts like botanical lifeboats. It was so unreal to Daniela, to return to a place she knew so well, and find it like this. A kind of jarring nostalgia.

  Her eyes sought out the details that’d changed. A plastic sign had replaced the metal one above the Corner Shoppe; the estate agent’s had been torn down to leave a gaping hole, and the antiques emporium that her dad had once co-owned was abandoned, its windows filmed with dust. Out of three businesses in the village, only one had survived.

  But beneath the surface, the heart of the village was unaltered. Stonecrop maintained that quaint, chocolate-box appearance, like it was illustrating a magazine article about house prices in the rural midlands. The ruddy brickwork exteriors had seen few renovations. It was as if a lid had come down on Stonecrop when Daniela left, sealing everything in stasis. She wondered what she’d hoped to find. An untouched childhood memory? The entire village razed in an unreported hurricane?

  Most of the community had been evacuated, but a few stubborn residents remained. Halfway along the street, where a natural dip caused a deep pool, a group of people were shoring up a garden wall. Two men in fishermen’s waders judiciously applied sandbags. A middle-aged woman – Margaret McKearney, Daniela recognised with a jolt, who owned the Shoppe and was apparently impervious to ageing – stood with her skirts hiked up to show off her flowery wellies, while she distributed cups of tea from a thermos.

  And at the far edge of the pool, supervising the work while eating a chocolate digestive, was Sergeant Stephanie Cain.

  She too had changed little in the seven years since Daniela had left. Maybe a touch heavier around the middle and below the eyes, a bit older and more tired, with the weight of the extra years on her shoulders. She’d always been big and broad, like their father. The police vest made her look dumpy. Daniela’s eyes flicked to the kit on the vest – handcuffs, incapacitant spray, torch, extendable baton. Prepared for everything.

  Stephanie Cain was comfy in her role of village police officer, up to her shins in floodwater, with her police-issue waders and her chocolate biscuit. She’d found her place. Daniela felt a pang of jealousy.

  Steeling herself, she waded towards the group.

  Stephanie spotted her. Daniela watched the play of emotions across the officer’s face: polite alertness until she recognised Daniela, then surprise, disbelief … ah, and anger. That came an instant before the sergeant’s expression closed up like a door slamming.

  At least now Daniela didn’t have to wonder if Stephanie was still upset.

  Daniela stopped and waited. She didn’t want to interact with anyone other than her sister.

  Stephanie took a circuitous route around the flooded dip in the road. Daniela discarded the butt of her cigarette into the water, and the sergeant’s eyes flicked to it. Her annoyance gave Daniela a petty satisfaction. In a perverse way, Daniela was looking forward to this fight.

  Stephanie halted ten feet away. Like she didn’t trust herself to get too close.

  ‘This road’s closed,’ Stephanie said.

  Despite everything, Daniela laughed. ‘Is that how you’ll greet me? You’ve got a million things you’d rather say.’

  ‘Why are you here?’

  ‘See, that’s what I’d expect. Want to maybe say I’ve got some nerve coming back home?’

  Sergeant Cain’s mouth drew into a thin, angry line. The tips of her ears reddened.

  ‘Come on,’ Daniela said, still smiling. ‘Let’s sit down and talk, yeah?’

  ‘I’m busy.’

  ‘Too busy for family? That’s a shocking state of affairs, Steph.’

  Stephanie swore under her breath. She glanced at the other villagers, who’d noticed Daniela’s arrival and were peering over. The two men were whispering. Margaret looked like she’d seen a ghost.

  ‘All right,’ Stephanie said. ‘We can talk. Quickly. I’ve got work to do.’

  ‘The water can supervise itself for ten minutes, Steph.’ Daniela cast a long look around the flooded village, then smiled at her big sister. ‘So, how about the pub? Is it still open, or have the ducks taken over?’

  The Crossed Swords stood at the junction between the high street and Winterbridge Farm Road. The land there was slightly higher, leaving the pub currently marooned on a tiny island some hundred yards wide. But it hadn’t escaped unscathed. The basement was flooded, and water lapped the back door. A defensive barrier of sandbags blocked the entrance to the car park. The building looked like a castle with an unruly moat.

  Daniela stepped over the sandbags ungainly in her wellies and damp jeans. A welcome light burned in the windows of the Crossed Swords. Daniela was more than ready to be inside in the warm.

  ‘Does Chris Roberts still own this place?’ Daniela asked.

  ‘Yes.’

  That was all the conversation Daniela had coaxed out of Stephanie so far. To be fair, Daniela hadn’t said much either. Everything she had to say needed careful wording. Otherwise she could ruin everything. Again.

  Above the door, trailing wisteria partially obscured the sign depicting two painted swords on a black background. Fat green leaves dripped water onto the flagstones. Pockets of flood debris dirtied the corners of the doorway.

  It felt strange to walk on dry ground after so long wading. Daniela felt lighter, less tired. The door opened with a wash of warm air. Daniela wondered whether to take her boots off, but, judging by the carpet, the other patrons hadn’t bothered.

  A few things had changed since Daniela’s last visit. A partition wall had been knocked through from the main lounge into the gentleman’s bar at the back. Plasma screens hung in pride of place. But the décor, a combination of muted browns and vibrant oranges, looked so much like home that a lump formed in Daniela’s throat.

  A familiar face was behind the bar as well. ‘Morning, Sergeant,’ Chris Roberts called. ‘Not here on business, are you?’

  The landlord was a slight man with a receding hairline and square glasses. He looked like he’d wandered behind the bar by accident. But his constant bemusement meant no one could ever dislike him. At present, he was seated near the cash register with a newspaper spread out on the bar.

  His head tilted as he peered around Stephanie, blinking to focus. When he recognised Daniela, he put a hand to his chest in over-dramatic surprise.

  ‘Daniela?’ h
e asked. ‘Young Daniela Cain? Now, is that really you?’

  Daniela waved in acknowledgement. ‘Hey, Chris. How’s business?’

  ‘All washed up.’ Chris cackled. ‘You’d think everyone would want to drown their sorrows, but most of them have scarpered. All my precious customers.’ He shook his head sadly. ‘So, what can I get you, youngster? Bottled lager only, I’m afraid. The pumps are off. The bitter’s on a hand-pump though, if you fancy.’

  Daniela deferred to Stephanie, but the officer had already sat down by the window, where she resolutely faced forwards. She took off her hat, placed it on the table top, then clasped her hands. Her black hair was pulled back into an austere bun.

  ‘Pint of bitter for me,’ Daniela said to Chris. ‘Better make it a coffee for the big lady.’

  Chris nodded as he rose from his chair. ‘You’d think normal rules about drinking at work could be suspended, given the flooding. But she’s a stickler.’

  Daniela searched her pockets and came up with enough change to cover two drinks, just. She’d brought only limited funds and had to be careful. She eyed the price list while Chris fiddled with the coffee maker at the back of the bar. That was another thing that’d changed.

  She glanced at the lights above the bar. ‘I see the power’s still on.’

  ‘More or less,’ Chris said. ‘They told us we only needed to shut the electricity off if the building flooded out. Since that’s not happened, I figured we’ll leave it on for now. Plus, we’ve got the emergency generator out back if things get desperate. I reckon we can stay open so long as the toilets still flush. That’s the important thing, right? So, are you staying, or is this a flying visit?’

  ‘I’m not sure.’ Daniela avoided looking at her sister. ‘It kinda depends. Might be a day, or a couple of days.’

  ‘Well, if you need somewhere to bunk, we’ve got rooms. Can even give you mates’ rates, since we’re not technically open for staying guests.’ Chris lowered his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. ‘Just don’t tell the rozzers, yeah?’