The Reservoir Tapes

Copyright

4th Estate

An imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers

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London SE1 9GF

www.4thEstate.co.uk

This eBook first published in Great Britain by 4th Estate in 2017

Copyright © 2017 Jon McGregor

Cover photographs © Shutterstock.com

Jon McGregor asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

This collection is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.

Source ISBN: 9780008235635

Ebook Edition © December 2017 ISBN: 9780008235642

Version: 2018-06-26

Contents

Cover

Title Page

Copyright

1: Charlotte

2: Vicky

3: Deepak

4: Graham

5: Liam

6: Claire

7: Clive

8: Martin

9: Stephanie

10: Donna

11: Ian

12: Irene

13: Ginny

14: Jess

15: Joe

Acknowledgements

Also by Jon McGregor

About the Author

About the Publisher

1: Charlotte

Could you

I’d like to hear about that day, before anything happened.

Just, from the beginning.

You’d been staying in the village for how long?

And you’d come back because the previous visit had gone so well, last summer?

And you knew the Hunter family. You got on with them.

So it was an easy decision, to come back for a winter break.

Was it warm enough, in the cottage? I mean, the weather had been wet.

It’s quite small, isn’t it, the cottage. Lovely. But small.

Sorry, barn conversion.

Had you been on any excursions? Had you gone for any walks?

So you were maybe starting to feel a bit cooped up.

Tell me about that morning.

Did you all have breakfast together? Who was up first?

This might sound trivial, but what would Becky have had, if she was eating breakfast alone?

I know

But these details. They help to build a picture.

If you could

Okay. And then did you come downstairs before she finished her breakfast?

And was that when the idea of going for a walk was discussed?

It would be fair to say that Becky’s response wasn’t positive, would it?

Is it okay if I call her Becky?

She wasn’t enthusiastic about the walk. And the weather wasn’t great, at that point.

So you let the matter rest for the time being. To avoid a conflict.

And then the two of you had your breakfast together, you and your husband? Something more elaborate, because you were on holiday, because you wanted to treat yourselves?

But this wasn’t a special occasion. Other than being a holiday morning. You weren’t celebrating anything.

No.

You made a start on your breakfast, you made some coffee – maybe you read the paper? You were having the newspapers delivered while you were staying in the cottage, is that right?

Barn conversion.

Which newspaper?

And Becky – she’ll have gone back up to her bedroom? Or put the television on?

Could you

could we

if we could just talk a little bit about Becky. If you could describe her for me. In your own words. What she was like when she was younger. How she’s changed from being a child to being a young teenager. What her – gifts are, if you like. Any challenges there have been. Anything she has found difficult. Anything that comes to mind.

I know

I know this is difficult

this must be very hard for

of course.

So, just to pick up again.

This was the third day of your stay in the village; the idea of a walk had been raised but the weather was looking unsuitable. Becky had got up early, and had breakfast before you. What did she do during the rest of the morning? Had she brought any homework with her?

She was friendly with the Hunters’ daughter, I understand. Did she spend any time with her that morning?

Do you know if she was friendly with any of the other young people in the village?

And you knew about that at the time?

Had you met any of those young people when you were staying here last summer? Had you seen them when they came up to the Hunters’ property?

There was one boy in particular who Becky became quite close to, wasn’t there: James?

I know she’s only thirteen, yes.

I wasn’t implying

But he wasn’t someone you were aware of.

Not at the time.

So, that morning, Becky went across to the Hunters’ house, and you assumed she was spending some time with their daughter, Sophie.

And she’s someone who makes friends easily, would you say? Back at home, is she sociable, does she have a range of friends?

Are there any you’ve been uncomfortable about her associating with? Have her friendship groups changed recently?

Does she spend much time on the internet?

Do you monitor that, at all?

So she was with Sophie, and by late morning she still hadn’t come back. But you had no cause for concern, you had no reason to think they’d gone far. The weather was still wet at that point, wasn’t it?

And the original idea for the walk had been to get out before lunchtime, but with the weather you’d put that on hold.

And late in the morning you went across to fetch Becky, from the Hunters’ house. Did you speak to either of Sophie’s parents?

Both of them? So Sophie and Becky were there by themselves?

Just Becky, by herself?

Did you think the Hunters would have minded that?

Sophie and her parents had been gone all morning, as far as you knew. Becky hadn’t seen them leaving?

Were you surprised by this, were you concerned?

How long have you known the Hunters?

Would you describe them as friends?

If we could

to keep to

So you had lunch, the three of you, together. And there was some discussion about how Becky had spent the morning, was there?

How would you characterise her response?

So there was some tension.

Of course.

Well, that’s teenagers.

And is Becky someone comfortable with her own company, would you say? Back at home, would she often spend time by herself in that way, that you know of?

So were you concerned that her behaviour that morning was out of character, that there might be something else behind it?

But you didn’t discuss that with her. You put it down to being on holiday, being in a different environment; just, usual teenage restlessness. You got lunch ready.

And for lunch you had?

By this point the weather was improving; the rain had stopped, the sky was clearing, and the idea of a walk was suggested again. A decision was made.

I know.

A decision was made, and immediately after lunch you began to gather a few things together, look at a map, make a plan. Can I ask what you took with you?

So you weren’t planning on it being a long walk. You didn’t think it worth taking extra waterproofs as a precaution, snacks, a flask?

No, of course, and

No.

Can I ask how well you know the area? Are you experienced walkers, would you say?

But this was a route you’d walked in the summer, when you were here before? You’d followed that same path, from the visitor centre, up the hill towards the rock formations on the ridge?

Black Bull Rocks, right.

And had Becky been with you on those occasions? Would you say it was a route she was familiar with?

But on this occasion she was reluctant.

Perhaps we

I’m curious

Did you do a lot of walking when she was younger? Would you say the reluctance on this occasion was more around the tensions between you, rather than the walk itself?

Would you describe Becky as fit and healthy? Does she do any sports?

So the walk shouldn’t have been a problem for her.

I do realise this must be

of course

and

If we could just go through the sequence of events.

The three of you got into the car, your car, soon after lunch. So this would have been

2 p.m. Okay. And the weather was clear. You’d asked Becky to wear something more suitable on her feet, but she’d refused and you didn’t want to start another argument.

That’s understandable.

You drove a short distance to the visitor centre and parked in the car park there. That would have taken, what, five minutes, ten?

Was the visitor centre open? Did you see anyone there?

Were there any other cars in the car park?

So you parked near the main building, and went through the gate by the display board, following the track which leads diagonally up the hill towards Black Bull Rocks.

I realise you’ve already

I just would

it does help

Did you have a map?

Because it was a route you knew. And you can see Black Bull Rocks almost from the car park in any case, can’t you? So it was a simple walk. It was going to be a short walk.

Did you know how long you were expecting it to take?

Did you know what time it was going to get dark?

Had you looked at a weather forecast?

Did you have a phone with you?

Had you planned

No, of course

no

I do realise

It is

it’s actually rather misleading, isn’t it, the walk up to Black Bull Rocks? The path isn’t as direct as it looks from the bottom of the hill. There are several narrow gorges or valleys on the way. The path drops down steeply and climbs up out of each of these.

They call them cloughs, locally, don’t they?

And the streams through each of these are running high at this time of year, so it’s not always a simple matter getting across them. The ground can be quite boggy down there?

And with the shoes Becky was wearing.

Did she struggle at all?

Struggle.

I mean, if she was having difficulty getting across the streams, keeping her feet dry. Did she express any discomfort or irritation, any reluctance? Did she ever want to stop, or go back?

And did you wait for her, at that point?

Did she catch up?

But you at least kept her in sight?

What were your feelings by then, if you don’t mind me asking?

That’s understandable. Of course.

My daughter was that age not so long ago, I know how

Of course.

Was there any discussion between the two of you about cutting the walk short? Given the conditions, and Becky’s behaviour?

Was there any disagreement between the two of you, would you say?

And by this point you’re how far up the track, how close to Black Bull Rocks?

And had there been any change in the weather?

So you had no reason to be concerned?

How were you finding the conditions? You were wearing more suitable footwear, presumably? You had kept dry up until then?

And had you seen anyone else, had you passed anyone on the track, had you seen anyone in the distance?

Now

this will, I understand

I’m sorry

Can you be clear about when you first realised Becky was out of sight?

And you assumed

she was coming up the steps out of the clough? You were not long out of it yourselves?

How far behind would you say she was when you saw her last?

I realise

of course

you have, I know

But we agreed, didn’t we, that this would be

a chance

a chance for you to put your side of the story.

Obviously I know you’ll have been through all this with the police, many times, I do appreciate

I do

But people have questions. Not just locally. People are

It would be helpful to clarify

It would be helpful to hear it from you. People would appreciate that.

Is this?

Can we?

No, absolutely. None of this will

You can decide, afterwards, you can reconsider.

I just want to help you tell your side of the story.

Absolutely.

So. If we can

You realised she was out of sight. You waited. She didn’t appear. You had already talked about cutting the walk short anyway so

one of you wanted to

You waited, and she didn’t appear. You went back to the top of the path leading up out of the clough, the valley, and you couldn’t see her there.

And you called for her, presumably?

You looked to see where she was, if she might be hiding?

At what point did you start to actually become concerned?

And the weather was turning?

How long would you say you were looking before you decided to fetch help?

And your phone

So you had to come back

You came down

And you

This is

I know

I’m sorry

Could you

are you able to say what happened next?

2: Vicky

The first Vicky knew about it was when the girl’s parents came bursting into the pub.

The two of them were both talking at once and it took a minute to work out what they were saying. They couldn’t find her, was the gist of it.

Their anoraks were covered in mud, so it wasn’t much of a leap to guess they meant someone was missing on the hills. Tony had Mountain Rescue on the phone while they were still getting their breath back. Vicky could feel herself tensing up, the way she did, now, at any mention of emergency services.

She’s thirteen, they said. Her name’s Becky. We only lost sight of her for a moment and then she vanished. We’ve looked everywhere.

Tony told them Mountain Rescue were asking for locations, and they didn’t seem to have a clue. They’d been trying to get to Black Bull Rocks, they told him.

Vicky was sitting near the bar, with Graham. Black Bull Rocks was at the far eastern end of the ridge, above the visitor centre where Vicky and Graham worked. Graham caught her eye. In this weather? they were both thinking. At this time of year?

Some of the people who came here had no idea what they were doing on the hills. Vicky dealt with a fair number of them at the visitor centre: people who didn’t know how to read a map, or think to check the weather forecast. People who assumed there would be a mobile-phone signal when they got lost. At least if they called in to the centre there was a chance to set them straight. It was the ones who marched straight past they had to worry about. And she did worry, often.

Tony held the phone away from his ear and said Mountain Rescue were asking for a description, and the parents looked stumped for a minute.

She’s about this tall, the father said, holding his hand just beneath his chin. Dark-blonde hair, down to her shoulders. No glasses. She looks older than thirteen. She’s wearing a white hooded top and a navy-blue body-warmer. Black jeans and canvas shoes.

Canvas shoes.

The mother wasn’t saying anything much. She looked lost. She looked like someone who had just stood next to a loud noise and was waiting for her hearing to come back.

Tony got finished on the phone and said things would get sorted quickly now, and not to worry. Someone from Mountain Rescue would be in and wanting to take them out in the Land Rover, he said. He told them there was a back room available, so they could sit in peace. He nodded at one of the other staff to sort some drinks, asking them what they wanted.

Her name’s Becky, the mother suddenly said. Becky Shaw. Rebecca, really.

Don’t worry, Tony said, as he started leading them off. They’re good lads, Mountain Rescue. They know what they’re doing. They’ll find her.

Vicky thought he might regret saying that. She had a bad feeling already. She got these feelings. It really wasn’t Tony’s place to go offering that kind of a promise.

*

Of course, people started talking then, once Tony had the parents in the back room. The family had been staying up at the Hunters’ new barn conversions, Irene said. She remembered the girl from back in the summer. Irene did the cleaning for most of the holiday lets in the village, and she tended to pick things up as she went. She said the family were from somewhere down south, and she wasn’t sure what the parents did but they seemed like the professional type. Both of them working, so the girl must have been used to going off on her own. She spent a lot of time with Sophie, the Hunters’ daughter. Same age, give or take.

Martin Fowler chipped in and said he remembered the two of them hanging around the village as well. Used to see them with the Broad lad, he said, and Sean Hooper’s son, and what’s his name, Deepak. She was a livewire, someone else said. There was talk of them messing around at the reservoirs. They’d been seen swimming at the quarry.

This type of conversation went on for a while.

One thing Vicky had learnt when she moved up here was that people liked to talk. Information got around quickly, and if people didn’t have actual facts they seemed very capable of filling in the gaps. She’d more than once had to deny being pregnant, after being seen with orange juice in the pub. Saying she didn’t drink wasn’t enough of an answer. Eventually she’d just announced that she was a recovering alcoholic every time someone tried to buy her a pint. That usually put a stop to the questions.

Assumptions were made about her and Graham as well. We’re just colleagues, actually, she often had to say. We’ve known each other a while, we’re good friends, but that’s all. People sometimes had an infuriating way of nodding patiently when she said this, but she’d learnt to let it go.

*

She’d known Graham for a long time. They’d been at college together, when they were younger. They’d studied conservation management, but when the course finished he was the one who moved up to Derbyshire and found actual conservation work. She moved down to London instead, where she worked in bars, went to a lot of parties, and got into a bit of trouble. They kept in touch, on and off. He told her about the work he was doing for the National Park, and encouraged her to visit. She told him stories about what she was up to in London. She’d thought they were funny stories, at the time, but his responses often involved asking if she was really okay.

She never knew how he’d found her in the hospital. She just knew that each time she woke up, and remembered what had happened all over again, he was there. He told her he’d thought something like this was going to happen, and she told him there was no need to be a smart-arse about it.

It hurt when she laughed, for a long time.

People asked, later, what it had felt like to be in a car crash, and she had to say that she had no idea. It wasn’t frightening. She didn’t feel any pain. She was lifted out through the window of her car. She was wet all over, and very cold. There were flashing blue lights. She could remember getting into a fight at a party, but nothing after that. There were a lot of fights, in those days. She wasn’t a good person to be around. People round here wouldn’t believe it, if they knew.

By the time she got out of the hospital, Graham had persuaded her to leave London and move up here. He told her she needed to clear her head, to get back to doing something she loved and get some fresh air in her lungs. He didn’t really take no for an answer. She was surprised by his directness, and she went along with it because she didn’t know what else to do. He was the only one who’d come to see her in the hospital.

*

Usually, when the Mountain Rescue team got up on the hills, they found who they were looking for. They were all local, and they knew the place like their own back yards. They had a good sense of which way people would head when they got lost and in a panic. They knew where people would try and hide when the weather closed in, and where the likely falling places were.

But this was starting to turn out differently.

Vicky and Graham had been asked to open up the visitor centre, for use as an operations base, and over the course of the evening it kept getting busier. The police arrived, and a second Mountain Rescue team were called in. When Vicky brought fresh pots of coffee into the room where they’d spread out the maps she heard someone talk about expanding the search zone, which she guessed meant they had very little idea where the girl might be. It was going to be a long night. There were flashing blue lights outside, and helicopters overhead.

At one point Vicky saw the girl’s parents again, being escorted into the map room by a police officer. They weren’t in there for long, and were soon escorted out again and into a waiting car. A ripple of silence followed them through the building, as though people were afraid to say the wrong thing in their presence. She’d seen something like this before. The way people kept their distance, as if grief was contagious.

She wanted to go out to the car and tell them they weren’t alone. But they were, of course.

She realised that grief was probably the wrong word to use about what was happening just yet. But it had been hours already and the weather was only getting worse.

Irene arrived later in the evening, carrying bags of shopping into the tiny kitchen at the back of the visitor centre. Right then, she said, unpacking the bags. It’s Vicky, isn’t it? I’ve got enough here for six dozen bacon cobs. I’ll slice, you spread.

She looked over at Graham, standing behind Irene. He shrugged, making a face to say that there was no point arguing. They’d got the hang of doing this, communicating with glances and nods, over the heads of colleagues and members of the public. They’d reached a kind of understanding. He passed her the butter, and reached up for the frying pans.

*

By morning there were police vans parked all along the verges down the lane. The road had been closed, and there were torchlights flashing through the beech wood across the way. There were dogs barking.

Graham and Vicky were outside, taking a break, sheltering from the rain under the entrance-way roof. The blue lights and the police radios were making her think of the night of the accident again. Graham asked if she was okay. She looked at him. She wanted a cigarette. She wanted a drink.

I’m fine, she said. Tired.

That would seem reasonable under the circumstances, he said.