There was a spontaneous smattering of applause and cheers from both sides of the river. People looked at each other as the clapping built in volume, with expressions a mixture of uncertainty, defiance and tentative joy.
Sylvia was assisted inside the pub and out of the sun’s glare and the ambulance arrived a few minutes later, but the twin crowds lingered.
After a swift assessment of the situation, Alice disappeared into the Boatman and reappeared with a microphone.
‘Right, then, Ferrington,’ she called, clambering up onto a picnic bench. ‘I think this is it. Enough. Sylvia Jackson has lived in this village her whole life, she raised her kids here. Taught most of yours, as did her grandparents, her mum and dad, and now her daughter Kerry. None of them took sides. None of them said a bad word about any of you, New or Old. Everything they did has been for the good of this village and our children. And now she nearly died, because one, she ordered a slice of cake without checking whether it contained almonds, and two, the only person who could help her was stuck twenty metres away because the bridge that should have got her here lies in ruins.
‘If it wasn’t for Luke Winters’ quick thinking, Sylvia would have been yet one more needless life lost, on the back of decades of pig-headedness.’
A ripple of indignation rumbled through both sides. Some shook their heads angrily.
‘It’s true!’ Alice waved her free arm in frustration. ‘I’m not talking about what happened back then. I know I can’t speak on the hardship that you older ones went through. I only need to look in my nan’s eyes to know I can’t ever understand. But for each one of you who share in that suffering, surely you should be the first to stand up and say enough! A good woman nearly died in my garden today. Who here thinks that Sylvia’s life would have been worth it?’
Alice let the microphone drop to her side, her chest heaving as the adrenaline started to take hold. The only sound was ducks quacking as they zipped through the water between us, indifferent to the momentous developments unfolding either side of them.
There was a stirring in the crowd by the far side of the river as it parted to allow someone to pass. An older woman wearing a buttoned-up beige raincoat shuffled to the water’s edge. Stooped over, her face depicting a wrinkled map of tribulation, she took a moment to survey the crowd.
‘That’s Caris Smith,’ Daniel whispered in my ear. ‘Her husband drowned after the New Siders knocked him into the river when he barred their way during the strike. She had five small children, and one of them died of an overdose at nineteen.’
Caris Smith waited a moment longer. The tension grew, forming a tangible bridge of its own.
‘You all know what I been through. Who I lost.’ Despite her frail stature, the words breached the gap with piercing clarity. ‘I got every reason to hate. To demand that bridge stays as destroyed as my life has been, that you ain’t got no right to set one foot over here. But it won’t bring my William back. It won’t save my son. But it might save our village if we decide to stop this, now! Ferrington is withering away all around us and we don’t even see it any more, how weak and rotten it’s got. But this stranger – her – she saw it. She was brave enough to say it.
‘For goodness’ sake. For all our sakes. For the sake of William and Richie and wee Janey Thomson. The Wright twins, Trevor Brown and everyone else who can’t be here to say it – we need to sayenough.It’s time to start again. To let go of this damn feud. To build a bloody bridge. Here.’ She pulled a small brown purse from her coat pocket, opening it up with trembling hands and taking out a note, which she held aloft. ‘Here’s my contribution to the new bridge fund.’
Gavin from the Old Boat House ducked forwards and held out a beer tankard for her to drop it into.
Caris Smith gave one slow, determined nod of her head, stiffly turned around and began hobbling back into the crowd.
Alice was the first to start clapping. Becky, who had appeared on the other side at some point, was second, swiftly followed by Luke.
By the time the cheers had subsided, Alice had come up with a plan.
‘Right. The first meeting of the Rebuilding Committee will be next Sunday evening at seven. At the Damson Farm barn, so none of you can gripe about sides before we’ve even got started. Ziva Solomon and me’ll be co-chairs. There’ll be a zero-tolerance policy for anyone who turns up with any goal in mind that isn’t saving this village.’
‘Will you start a Facebook group?’ someone called out.
‘No, I bloody won’t!’ Alice shouted back. ‘I’ve got a pub to run, I ain’t got time to waste policing the cesspit of social media.’
‘Free drinks on the house to celebrate?’ someone else cried.
‘Free drinks all round!’ Alice grinned. ‘Once the bridge is officially open and you can walk across to the Old Boat House to fetch them!’
28
On Monday, Luke arrived to start renovating the bathrooms while Becky and I worked on research and costings for various garden designs in the living room. It wasn’t the most productive of days, given that one half of Team Damson was in charge of a baby who’d just learnt how to pull herself up using the furniture, and the other half spent most of it staring into space, jumping out of her seat every time a particularly loud thud came through the ceiling.
Tuesday we spent trawling through local garden centres, Hope safely in her pushchair, and Wednesday Daniel took the afternoon off while Becky and I redrafted the plans to fit with the various sale items that we couldn’t resist buying, despite not being on the list.
Becky managed a whole two-minute conversation with Luke without spilling the tea she’d brought him or tripping over anything. Unfortunately, that resulted in even more swoony staring at the ceiling, and even less work done. I almost went upstairs and asked him out on her behalf, but I suspected that would make her worse.
Thursday, Becky messaged to say that something had come up and she wouldn’t be in that day. I didn’t ask what, but it had to be a big something if it meant missing her daily dose of Luke. That made me feel slightly less peeved that she wouldn’t be there today of all days. I hadn’t said anything, but it was my birthday. My thirtieth. And while I hadn’t wanted to make a big deal out of it, I had planned us a nice lunch to celebrate, and had even invited Alice to join us.
She sent me another message a minute later:
Alice said to tell you she can’t come either.
What? How did Becky even know Alice was invited? The thought that they’d been having cosy conversations without me somehow made my disappointment even worse.
