Flood Read Online Free Page B

of hot chamomile tea. On a shelf over the table stood a row of photographs, of Lily’s mother, Amanda’s kids, and one big portrait of Lily herself, her official USAF image, a younger self smart in a crisp uniform. Lily was touched to see it there.
    Lily tried to take in the fact that everything about her life had changed while she had been absent from it—that her mother had died a whole two years before, that her sister had moved from her old flat in Hammersmith into what had been the family home. Maybe she had been detached for too long. She just felt numb.
    And she could tell that Gary, who she’d only brought home on a whim, felt awkward to have walked in on a family tragedy.
    Gary knew all about Lily’s family from their endless conversations in Barcelona. Lily’s mum had been a GI bride, of sorts, who had met and married a USAF airman stationed in Suffolk. He had given her two daughters before being killed in a friendly-fire incident while working on logistical support during the first Gulf war. Lily had never lived in the States, but she had dual citizenship. With her dad dead when she was fourteen, Lily’s mother had been her anchor.
    Amanda said, “I didn’t want to tell you on the phone, when you called ahead earlier about visiting.” She was edgy.
    Lily said, “I appreciate that.”
    At thirty-five Amanda was five years younger than Lily. She was, in fact, about the age Lily had been when she was taken. Always taller and thinner than Lily, she had her black hair pulled back into a knot behind her head, and she wore a black dress that looked practical, if maybe a size too small for her. Though there was no evidence of smoking in the house, Lily thought she saw traces of the old habit about Amanda, a cigarette-shaped hole in the way she held the fingers of her right hand. “What gets me is why the government didn’t tell you. You’ve been out of Spain for five days already.”
    “I think they’re treating us as possible trauma cases.” That was because of Piers Michaelmas, who had been so obviously damaged by his captivity. “They’ve been feeding us news bit by bit. Selectively.”
    Looking around, Gary said, “Looks like you’ve had a trauma here of your own.”
    “Well, we got flooded out in the spring. It’s all been so bloody complicated, you wouldn’t believe it. The insurance, you know. You have to wait an age for a loss adjuster to come out, and in the meantime you’re not supposed to touch anything. Not even clear the mud out. It stank, Lily, you wouldn’t believe it, street muck and sewage all over the floor. Carpets ruined, of course. No electric or water or gas, buckled floorboards, the water stink seeping out of the plaster for weeks afterward—it was just a nightmare. We were lucky we didn’t get any of the toxic fungi growing out of the walls. Old Mrs. Lucas got some of that—do you remember her? And even when the adjuster has been, you only get a payout if you commit to climate-proofing. Mind you I do admit I much prefer floor tiles to carpet, don’t you? So much easier to keep clean. Of course we were lucky, you know, Lily. Some of the properties around here were condemned altogether.”
    Gary said,“I guess these old barns weren’t built to withstand a flooding. What happened? River burst its banks?”
    “No. A flash flood . . .”
    A sudden deluge had followed days of steady rain that had left Victorian-age drains and sewers choked. With nowhere to go, sheets of water ran over the ground, seeking a way down to the river, pouring through streets and into houses and schools.
    “The kids got home just before the level started rising in the street; we were lucky about that. It poured in under the door. We went upstairs and just huddled. We saw a car get washed away, washed down the street, can you believe it? Then it started pouring up from the sink and even out of the toilet, black mud that stank of sewage. That freaked out the kids, I can tell you. It’s just as