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It looked nice. A little patch of grass that hadn’t been rained on steadily for the last two weeks. There were a couple of old deckchairs and a large metal barrel for a makeshift table.
‘Thanks.’ Mimi reached for the bag with the sandwiches and flask and opened the car door. In a gesture of old-world courtesy, the man held out his hand for her to take as she got out.
His bright blue eyes twinkled as he saw the size of her lunch bag. The cutting of sandwiches this morning had been more of a therapeutic effort than anything, and she had no idea how she and Rafe were going to eat them all.
‘You need to sit down and eat a good lunch. Keeps you going.’ The man was probably sixty if he was a day, but all the same he tucked her hand in the crook of his arm, in case she needed to lean on him on the way over to the tarpaulin.
It was a small act of kindness, magnified by the emptiness in her heart. ‘You’ve got yourselves all set up here.’
‘We’ve been digging along this stretch for days, all the men of the village in shifts. There’s another gang down the road.’
‘And no flooding so far?’
‘Touch wood.’ The man tapped his forehead.
‘What about the other side?’ The fields on the other side of the river were already deep in water.
‘Can’t do anything about the farm; Chris knows that. We’ve done what we can to help him. My wife’s up at the farmhouse at the moment, helping lay sandbags.’ The man took off his cap and scratched his balding head. ‘The water’s got to go somewhere.’
‘She’s not overdoing it, I hope.’
The man chuckled. ‘If you happen to be passing, you might just stop and tell her that; she doesn’t listen to me. Now, you just sit down here.’
He brushed the dingy canvas of the most stable-looking deckchair and motioned her into it. Then he produced an impossibly clean white handkerchief from inside his jacket and spread it on top of the barrel.
‘Thank you. This is nice.’ The view over the river would look almost idyllic if she hadn’t known that the bright reflections in the distance were the result of flooded villages and fields.
‘Pleasure. Always a pleasure to see one of your people.’ He nodded towards Mimi’s bright ambulance service jacket. ‘You’re doing a fine job.’
‘Thank you.’ Tears were beginning to mist Mimi’s eyes. She could just about handle the brittle good humour between herself and Rafe, the thought that after today she probably wouldn’t see him again, but right now kindness was the only thing that could threaten to break her.
Rafe was still with the other men, clearly discussing earthworks, five heads turning one way and another in synchronisation as the men surveyed the digging. Mimi put her Thermos down on the handkerchief, hearing a dull clang as she did so.
‘What’s in the barrel?’
‘That’s from the brewery, miss.’ The man tapped the side of his nose in a gesture of friendly conspiracy. ‘Came floating down the river. We called them, but they’ve got enough to worry about at the moment.’
‘The Old Brewery’s flooded?’ That didn’t come as much of a surprise; it was right by the river.
‘Three days ago. They’re clearing out the mess now but I say it’s too soon. There was more rain last night and the river’s too high just now.’
‘I’ll bet you’ve seen a few floods...’ This area was on a flood plain and the rivers broke their banks regularly every few years.
‘This is the worst. Never seen nothing like this.’ The man surveyed the expanse of water before them. ‘Want a sip of beer with your lunch?’
‘You’re drinking it?’ Mimi looked at the barrel more closely and saw a large shiny patch of metal where it had been cleaned and a tap inserted. ‘It’s been in the water.’
‘You’re telling a Somerset man how to drink his beer?’
‘Well, no...’ That would be sacrilege. And, anyway, Mimi knew that she’d be wasting her breath.
‘Just be careful, though; that water’s filthy. If I find you’ve made yourself ill I’ll rat on you to the doctors and they’ll be giving you every precautionary test that the hospital can throw at you.’ If she had no jurisdiction in the question of beer-drinking, she could at least exert some authority on the matter of infection control.
The man chuckled. ‘We gave the barrel a good wash before we tapped it. Made sure of that.’
Maybe she should get Rafe to enquire more closely on the matter. Or confiscate the barrel, or get the men to pour the beer away in the river. She glanced towards him. He was standing with his hands in his pockets, deep in conversation, obviously now a temporary member of the gang. He’d probably just clap the men on the back, congratulate them on their ingenuity and accept a pint from the barrel.
Mimi puffed out a breath and reached for her pack of sandwiches. For the next ten minutes she was off duty.
