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I spotted him at once, by his height and his hair, and the electric yearning in my skin. I had lain in bed this morning, pondering the sweetness of knowing him, but there were other things I wanted too. His mouth on my mouth, the taste of his freckles beneath my tongue, those big hands of his gently overwhelming me, all the exciting ways his body could seek the accommodation of mine.
I allowed myself a small, private shiver, remembering Marius’s portrait. Perhaps I had been there all along: the man he had forgotten how to see.
Adam was handing out protective gloves and talking to a small group of residents.
“Good news is,” he was saying, “this is as bad as it’s going to get. The sky’s apparently out of rain and the water levels are stable, so it’s all about control and cleanup from here on out.”
A ragged little cheer went up from the group.
“Remember, flood water is nasty—so wellies and gloves at all times and windows open to keep things ventilated. And here’s a couple of tips for dealing with your insurer: I think most of you have stone floors, but if you do have damaged carpets, cut a square out and stick it in a bag for later. And mark the wall to show the water level. That’ll help the plasterers.” At that moment, his mobile rang, cutting shrilly through the rasp of the ventilators and the pumps. “Good, that’s the agency. I’ll have some more news for you in a bit.”
It was almost a relief as Adam turned away. It gave me a moment to compose myself and also to reflect that he probably had more on his mind right now than his love life. On the other hand, if I ran away back home, I could very easily never see him again. Not without staging another flood or knocking on every door in Deddington.
While I was standing there, fiddling with the ends of my scarf and watching the beacon of Adam’s hair fade into the distance, a woman I thought I recognised from the other night’s impromptu sandbag party gave me a little wave.
I started and—because it was the most obvious topic of conversation—asked awkwardly if her house was all right.
She shrugged. “Oh, you know, nothing we weren’t expecting. Water in, water out. You get used to it. How about you?”
She was younger than I was, pretty. Canadian, I thought, and smiling at me. In the middle of a flood, smiling at me.
“Um, um, I’m down the street s-so I’m b-b-basically f-fine. Sorry.”
“Dude, it’s not your fault you’re fine. You don’t have to feel guilty about it.”
I tried to undo the knot I had inadvertently made in my scarf. “Habit.”
“See, this is why I married an Englishman. Apologies and unnecessary guilt make me feel right at home.”
I blushed.
“I’m Marie, by the way. And that’s my husband, Mark.” She pointed at a man who was shoving a roll of wet carpet out of one of the houses.
“Ed…Edwin. I’m at number f-fifteen. Sorry about the f-f-flood.”
“I get to wake up every morning next to the man I love, in the house we bought together, and when I open my curtains I get to see the river. Sometimes, I even get to see the sun shining on it.”
“In England? Are you s-sure?”
“I think…there was a day…in like…2008?”
“Ah, yes.” I sighed longingly. “I remember it well.”
“So, flood or not, completely worth it, is what I’m saying.”
I left her with her husband on the doorstep of their home, and wandered, waiting for Adam and gathering my courage.
It was the oddest day, still and cold, and—in the aftermathof so many sullen storms—almost painfully bright. The sky was a sheet of rumpled grey, but the low-hanging sun made everything gleam. The ripples of my footsteps in the flood shivered like shoals of silver fish in that pale and sharp-edged light.57
There wasn’t much to see by the river. Just water, and more water, some signage to tell me I shouldn’t be here, and a row of partially submerged barriers.
“Footpath’s closed,” called out a familiar voice. “And the ground is very slippery. Probably best to stay… Oh, Edwin.”
Adam, mobile still in hand, was looking drawn and tired, which made his hair seem more than usually garish, as though nature had mistakenly crowned this washed-out man in too much red and gold. But all I could think was that he was beautiful and that I wanted him to want me again.
“You have been s-sleeping, haven’t you?” I asked.
“A bit. There’s this flood happening I’m kind of worried about.”
