The Flood. Rachel Bennett

       5

      When the police arrived, Daniela was sat on the wall at the bottom of the front garden, her knees pulled up so her booted feet were clear of the water. She was shivering and red-eyed, not just from the cold.

      She heard the police before she saw them. They’d commandeered a tractor – the best way of traversing the flooded roadways – from a local farmer. The steady chug-chug-chug was audible long before the vehicle popped into view.

      Daniela didn’t recognise the thickset woman driving the tractor. Her wind-burned cheeks and earth-coloured clothes suggested she was either the farmer or the farmer’s wife. It stood to reason she wouldn’t trust the local bobbies to drive the vehicle themselves. Stephanie stood on the footplate, stony-faced, hanging on with both hands.

      The tractor stopped in the flooded turning circle, and Stephanie jumped down with a splash. Daniela took one look at her sister’s face then dropped her gaze. She didn’t know what she’d hoped for. Sympathy? Forgiveness? Some human emotion, at least. But Stephanie could’ve been arriving at a train station for all the sentiment she showed. She started up the path with barely a glance at Daniela.

      ‘You’ll have to go around the back,’ Daniela called after her. ‘Front door’s blocked. I’ve opened the kitchen door.’

      Daniela didn’t follow Stephanie. The idea of going inside again made her stomach churn. Instead, she remained on the wall, lit another cigarette, and watched the tractor perform a six-point turn. The farmer tipped her cap and set off back along the road. Daniela waited.

      Within a few minutes, sloshing footsteps indicated Stephanie’s return. Daniela studied her cigarette, which had burned down to the filter. She cringed at having to face her sister.

      ‘Dani, what happened?’ Stephanie asked. There was a raw edge to her voice that Daniela had never heard before.

      Daniela rubbed her eyes with her knuckles. ‘I told you on the phone,’ she said. ‘I found her like that.’

      ‘What were you doing here?’

      ‘I wanted to see the old house.’

      ‘What for?’

      Daniela discarded her cigarette into the water, where it bobbed about with the dead leaves and twigs. ‘It’s still my home,’ she said. ‘It belongs to me, at least a little.’

      ‘So, you broke in.’ Not really a question.

      ‘I couldn’t get in the front, and the back door was locked. I climbed through the upstairs window. Look at the state of the place, for God’s sake. Of course, I went inside.’

      Stephanie let the silence stretch. Daniela felt the police-stare burning the back of her neck, but didn’t look up. She was wise to that trick.

      ‘Where did you go when you got inside?’ Stephanie asked.

      ‘Through the junk room, down the stairs, into the hall. That’s when I saw Auryn.’

      ‘And then?’

      ‘I called you.’

      ‘Did you move her?’

      ‘No. I … I tried to sit her up. Before I realised.’

      ‘But did you move her? Is she still where you found her?’

      ‘I—’ Daniela couldn’t shift the memory of Auryn’s dead weight under her hands. ‘What the hell should I’ve done? She’s dead, isn’t she?’ Daniela rubbed her eyes again. Her hands were cold. ‘I knew I had to call someone.’

      ‘So, you called me.’

      ‘You’re the police. I figured it’d be quickest. I mean, if I’d called the control room I would’ve got put through to Hackett, and God knows how long it’d take them to get here with the bridge closed. Have you called anyone?’

      Stephanie grunted, which could’ve meant anything. Daniela noted she wasn’t writing this down like she was supposed to. She wondered whether Stephanie was doing any of the things she should’ve. Shock was hitting her hard as well; Daniela could tell. There was a stricken look on Stephanie’s face. She had all the police training to deal with awful, stressful situations, but this had blindsided her.

      ‘I’ve called a doctor,’ Stephanie said. ‘They’ll be here soon.’

      ‘Is that Abrams?’ Doctor Abrams was the local GP and, by Daniela’s estimation, had to be a hundred years old.

      ‘Abrams is in Hackett. There’s a doctor in town who’s coming to examine the body.’

      Daniela studied her hands again. The body. Already Auryn had ceased to be a person.

      ‘Did you go anywhere else in the house?’ Stephanie asked.

      ‘No. Wait, I went into the kitchen on the way out. To unlock the back door. Rather than climbing out through the window, y’know.’

      ‘You didn’t go back upstairs?’

      ‘No. Didn’t want to track too much mud into the house.’ Daniela forced a smile. ‘What would Dad have said, eh?’

      Stephanie didn’t answer.

      Daniela took out her cigarettes. She didn’t want another yet, but she needed something to do with her hands. Talking with police officers made her uncomfortable. Talking with her sister, doubly so. Daniela focused on the packet and tried not to think about the hidey-hole in the bedroom.

      ‘You said Auryn had left,’ Daniela said. ‘She left a few days ago, you said. So, why was she here?’

      Stephanie didn’t answer that either.

      ‘Hello?’ someone called. ‘Stephanie?’

      Daniela looked up. A man had appeared at the top of the road. He was wrapped in a grey duffel coat and shapeless woollen hat, plus obligatory wellies. His young face was stamped with grief. Daniela froze.

      ‘I got here as fast as I could,’ the man said as he approached the gate. ‘My bloody car got stuck. I figured since it’s a four-by-four it should’ve been fine, but apparently not. Tilly’s going to drag it out with her tractor.’

      His words spilled out in a rush, as if he had to keep his lips moving or his voice would seize. He went to Stephanie and touched her arm. With anyone else he might’ve gone in for a hug, but he knew Stephanie better than that.

      ‘Is it true?’ he asked. ‘What happened?’

      Stephanie pulled away. ‘You’d better come inside,’ she said.

      The man rubbed his face with both hands. He had to take a stabilising breath before he