Reservoir 13 by Jon McGregor

Author:Jon McGregor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: HarperCollins Publishers
Published: 2017-02-11T16:00:00+00:00

In May the days broke open with light. Breakfast was eaten under the spell of clear sunlight, and tea prepared to the sound of children playing outside. In the horse chestnut tree by the cricket ground the woodpigeons were fighting, rearing up at each other with rattling wings. It wasn’t always clear what kept them from falling out of the tree. The noise of it could be heard as far down the road as the church. Early before school Jones was out at the allotments earthing up potatoes. Clive was on his plot putting out the courgettes from his greenhouse, but Jones didn’t see him and soon headed home, his tools over his shoulder. Later Clive saw Miriam Pearson carrying trays of plants to her plot from a car. She’d bought them in the garden centre, he took it. They’d need a whole lot of water before they even got into the ground would be his suggestion but he wouldn’t give it unwarranted. Her path edges were looking neat. At the parish council Janice Green read a letter from the bus company which threatened to remove the service unless there was an improvement in the car-parking situation. There was general objection to the letter’s tone but it was conceded that they had a point. A discussion about enforcement and pinch points ensued, and when everyone seemed to have finished William Pearson said that really what they were talking about at the end of the day was Martin Fowler constantly parking like a cunt. A number of those present actually turned their faces away. Judith was asked not to minute that last remark, and William was asked to leave, at which time it became clear that the coffee he’d been pouring from a flask all evening had been mainly whisky. Once the door was finally closed behind him it was noted that he did have a point about Martin’s parking habits, and it was suggested that words would be had. In the conifers above Reservoir no. 5, a buzzard sat warmly on her eggs while the wind pulled through the trees. There was rain in the evenings of the sort it was pleasant to be in for a while, taking the dust from the air. Ashleigh Wright friended her father on Facebook. He had found her and sent a message and she was excited to be in touch. She knew not to tell him where they were living, but there was enough in her posts for him to work it out. He dropped the name of the village into conversation and she had a bad feeling she couldn’t tell anyone about. Richard and Cathy took Mr Wilson’s dog in her car up to Reservoir no. 13 for a change of scenery. It was high ground, and the wind cut straight off the edge of the moor, pushing the water in dark furrows towards the top of the dam. They walked along the track around the shore, leaning into the wind and

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