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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

Arthur thought how bitter these words would sound to anyone who had really lost a loved one in the flood, or their livelihood: their fields, their livestock. He wished the man would go away and leave him alone. He had been wrong to say he had lost someone. He should be more careful. It occurred to him that he should go at once to the farm to see Verity and Peter to find out what they knew. He could no longer avoid it. He stood up and made to fetch his bike.

‘I seen you,’ said the man, ‘the night of the flood.’

‘What?’

‘You was with another fella. Uniform he had on, carrying a boat you was, the two of you. Past that torpedo what come up on the quay.’ He gestured towards the Terra Nova, all 160 tons of it, still perched improbably on the quayside, and carried on nodding to himself, chewing his pipe.

Arthur’s insides collapsed and he felt unsteady and gripped onto his bike for support. His mouth was thick with saliva. He swallowed painfully. ‘Did you? I don’t remember.’ Then with a flush of relief, he thought – but it was all right! He’d taken the boat past the torpedo when they went to help the prefabs. He was sure of it. And so what if the man had seen him with Jack? Anything could have happened after that. He smiled with giddy relief. ‘Oh yes!’ he said, far too loudly. ‘We took it out to help people.’

The man nodded again. Arthur had begun to think that was his response to anything. ‘Right you are,’ he said.

Arthur began to gabble. He must get home, help his mother, things to do. The man just nodded and as Arthur got on his bike he again felt like laughing. But the laughter died on his face and caught him with his lips curled up in a sneer. His sanity was slipping away in the mist.

He turned to look back and the man had gone.

Instead of riding home, he rode along the Holkham Road, out of Wells and up Leafy Lane to the farm. But Mrs Timms said Peter was busy with the clean-up and that Verity was recovering from a fever.

‘I’ll tell her you called,’ she said, the door already closing on him.

*

That night, the flood returned to Arthur. Black and white. Black night, a black sea and a white moon. Arthur is in the boat. Jack is saying something. Jack’s mouth is moving. The words hurt his ears. A tornado of rage and humiliation whirls through his head. He has to stop the words. His head hurts. His heart hurts.