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Back The Night of the Flood
Chapters (51)
  1. Cover
  2. Title Page
  3. Copyright
  4. Dedication
  5. Contents
  6. 1954
  7. PART 1
  8. 1.
  9. 2.
  10. 3.
  11. 4.
  12. 5.
  13. 6.
  14. 7.
  15. 8.
  16. 9.
  17. PART 2
  18. 1.
  19. 2.
  20. 3.
  21. 4.
  22. 5.
  23. 6.
  24. 7.
  25. 8.
  26. 9.
  27. 10.
  28. PART 3
  29. 1.
  30. 2.
  31. 3.
  32. 4.
  33. 5.
  34. 6.
  35. 7.
  36. PART 4
  37. 1.
  38. 2.
  39. 3.
  40. 4.
  41. 5.
  42. 6.
  43. 7.
  44. 8.
  45. 9.
  46. 10.
  47. 11.
  48. 1954
  49. Acknowledgements
  50. About the author
  51. An Invitation from the Publisher

It was said defiantly but he knew Jack would be lost out here on the flooded marsh with its creeks and banks and he knew it far better than the cocky American did. So in the end they agreed he would row first, and Jack would navigate.

They set off for Beach Road. Arthur attached the bike light with his belt and used its pale, weak beam to guide them. He rowed while Jack knelt behind him at the stern, with a torch nabbed from the shop, holding it aloft like the captain of a ship on a raid. Thank God he could row. The water was black and the thought of going out in it was terrifying.

*

Wind rattled the window pane. Verity twitched, shivered, woke up. A light flicked on and off. For a moment she forgot why she was sitting in the window seat of her bedroom in the middle of the night. Her room was dark. In her hand, she was holding a silver flask, Peter’s hip flask. On the seat in front of her, a crumpled napkin was flecked with crumbs. It came back to her: the flood, the struggle back to the farm, splashing vomit into the floodwater flowing down Leafy Lane. The nausea had gone but she was empty, hollowed out. Looking out of the window, the light flashed again, a distant starburst from the direction of the sea, then gone. Come back, she urged, but it didn’t. Staring out into the night, she could see nothing reassuring. Cut off from the town, what would happen if they were engulfed? It felt as if the house was floating in the sea.

Father? Then she remembered he was safe, asleep down the corridor. She ran along the landing and looked in at him. Through the uncurtained window, moonlight fell on her father’s ghostly shape, mouth gaped open, rasping. She breathed out, slowly.

But Peter was out there. It must have been his light she’d seen. In her bedroom, she looked at her bedside clock. Ten to midnight. Oh God, Peter had been out there so long. What time had they got back to the house? She didn’t know. Hours. It must be hours. She thought of Peter wading through the water, leading a stranded cow to safety. It would be bellowing and thrashing. And the horses! With a lurch of anguish she remembered Gyps and then Peter’s horse, Heather.