This Isn't the Sort of Thing That Happens to Someone Like You

‘You’re lucky,’ he said, nodding down towards her car. ‘I mean, you know. You’re lucky we stopped. You could have been killed.’ She didn’t know what to say to this. She nodded, and folded her arms against the cold. The older man arched his back, rubbing at his neck with both hands.

‘They’ll be here soon,’ he said, and she nodded again, looking around.

Behind them, the ground sloped away towards a small woodland of what she thought might be hawthorn or rowan trees or something like that. The ones with the red berries. There were ragged strips of bin-liners and carrier-bags hanging from the branches, flapping in the wind. Past the trees, there was a warehouse, and an access road, and she noticed that the streetlights along the access road were coming on already. Beyond the access road, a few miles further away, there were some houses which she wasn’t sure if they were some estate on the outskirts of Hull or some other town altogether. Hull was further than that, she was pretty sure. It was the other side of the estuary, and they were still south of the river. Almost certainly.

The older man started down the slope, towards the trees. ‘I’m just going to, you know,’ he said. ‘While we’re waiting.’ She turned away, looking back at the road. She was getting colder now. She looked at her car, and at the blue van. They were both rocking gently in the slipstream of the passing traffic, their hazard lights blinking in sequence. She wondered if she felt like crying yet. She didn’t think so. It still didn’t seem like the right moment.

She would talk to Marcus at the weekend, she decided. He’d understand, when it came down to it. Once he gave her a chance to explain. She’d say something like although they’d been good together at times and she was still very fond of him she just couldn’t see where things were going for them. She didn’t like the way he made her feel about herself, sometimes. She needed some time to find out who she was and what she needed from a relationship. Something like that.

She’d tried it out with Jenny. Jenny had said it sounded about right. Jenny had said she thought Marcus was reasonable and would probably take it on board, although obviously he’d still be disappointed. That was how she talked sometimes, like she was a personal guidance counsellor or something, or an older and wiser cousin. Whereas in fact she was only like a year older, and had spent that year mostly in Thailand and Australia, which was her version of travelling the world and which she thought made her the total source of wisdom when in fact it made her the total source of knowing about youth hostels and full-moon parties and not even having heard of Philip fucking Larkin. And she was wrong about Marcus. It was way more likely he would shout at her when she told him. Or break something. It wouldn’t be the first time. Everyone thought he was so reasonable. But she wasn’t going to back down this time. She was certain of it, suddenly. Something like this, it made you think about things, about your priorities. She could say that to him, in fact. She could explain what had happened and that it had made her rethink a few things. Maybe she should call him now in fact, and tell him what had happened. So he’d already have the context when she talked about wanting to finish things. Maybe that would be sensible. She should do that. She wanted to do that, she realised. She wanted to hear his voice, and to know that he knew she was okay. Which meant what. She wanted him to know where she was. Her phone was still in her bag, in the car. She started to move down the embankment. The younger man grabbed her arm.

‘You should stay up here,’ he said. ‘It’s safer.’ She looked at him, and at his hand on her arm. ‘They’ll be here in a minute,’ he said.

‘I just need to get my phone,’ she said. ‘I need to call someone. I’ll be careful, thanks.’ She tried to step away, but he held her back. ‘Excuse me?’ she said.

‘You’re probably in shock,’ he said. ‘You should be careful. Maybe you should sit down.’

‘I’m okay, actually, thanks? I don’t want to sit down?’ She spoke clearly, looking him in the eye, raising her voice above the wind and the traffic. Plus raising her voice against maybe he was a bit deaf, as well as the learning-challenged thing. She wanted him to let go of her arm. She tried to pull away again, but his grip was too tight. She looked at him, like: what are you doing? He shook his head. He said something else, but she couldn’t hear him. She didn’t know if the wind had picked up or what was going on. He looked confused, as if he couldn’t remember what he was supposed to be saying.

She glanced down the other side of the embankment, and saw the older man at the edge of the woodland. He was standing with his back to the trees, looking up at the two of them, his hands held tensely by his sides. What was he. He seemed to be trying to say something to the younger man. He seemed to be waiting for something. She tried to pull away. But what.

What Happened to Mr Davison

Cadwell

First of all I want to start by saying we all of us just really have every sympathy as regards what happened to Mr Davidson. Obviously the conclusion was not one which I or any of us were seeking. That goes without saying. I mean, I honestly don’t think that what happened was within the range of foreseeable consequences. Not that we sat down and undertook a full risk assessment before embarking on that particular course of action. Of course not. It was more of a spontaneous, spur-of-the-moment type of scenario. But I think even given how little forward analysis was involved it would be safe to say that the outcome was not one any of us envisaged. I mean, clearly not. That’s just not the kind of people we are, any of us. I think that’s just really understood. I think I’m safe in saying that that’s been accepted, by some of the people who’ve been impacted upon, in terms of the subsequent turn of events. Including Mr Davidson himself. As far as we’ve been able to gather. I mean, you know, some of the people he has around him have been understandably cautious, in terms of what I suppose you could call access. That’s been my understanding at least, to date: that an approach of that manner would not be favourably received at this time, given the ongoing circumstances. I’m speaking in terms of with reference to third parties, in this context. Given our feeling that a direct approach would be likely to have been deemed insensitive, in light of the wider context, and the history and suchlike.

Davison. Yes. Of course.

Right.

I’m not sure there’s actually any need to rehearse the facts of the day in question. I think everyone’s very familiar with the sequence of what went on. Suffice it to say that the context was rather a pressured one. Myself and the other three gentlemen in question have discussed this at length, and we all agree that any of the precursors to our actions would in and of themselves have been sufficient as to be considered intolerable; but it was the combination of those precursors which led to the rather hastily agreed-upon course of action which was then taken.

Yes, I would concede that it was hastily agreed-upon.

No, I wouldn’t support that notion. That doesn’t necessarily follow.

I can’t recall which one of us specifically initiated the proposal. We’ve spoken about this as well, and we are all in agreement that the proposal arose as a more or less spontaneous initiative between us. We take collective responsi

bility on that point. Which is to say, on the limited point of how and by whom the proposal was initiated; that was a collective responsibility, I’m saying. I’m not talking about the wider question of responsibility for the eventual outcome. Not at all. That’s very much a matter for debate. I think we can all agree on that. And of course that’s a debate I would welcome, when the time comes. No one would welcome that more than me. But my feeling is that this wouldn’t be the appropriate context for that discussion, not today. My understanding was that this was simply an opportunity to clarify the narrative, as it were.

Thank you. Yes. I will.

Yes, quite so. The background. So. Mr Davidson and myself have been near-neighbours for a number of years, understanding of course that neighbour is a relative term in that neck of the woods. His house is visible from our house, and his land abuts on to ours. I wouldn’t say that we’ve become close friends over that duration; he’s a busy man, understandably, and although I spend as much time in that property as is possible I wouldn’t class myself as a full-time resident, by any means. So our opportunities for interaction have been naturally limited. But there hadn’t been any animosity between ourselves. Not historically speaking.

I wouldn’t say surprised as such, no. One expects a certain amount of countryside activity in the countryside, clearly. Possibly the range and duration and volume of those activities did somewhat exceed our expectations, yes. But we understood that our grounds for complaint were fairly restricted. Mr Davidson was a farming man, after all, and that much was perfectly clear at the time we purchased the property, and indeed Mr Davidson was absolutely entitled to reiterate this fact from time to time, as he felt it necessary to so do.

Davison. I stand corrected.

Quite, absolutely.

Well, it’s just that I would dispute whether motorcycle scramble racing can be considered to be a farming activity. Harvesting is one thing, even allowing for the fact that at times it went on until two or three o’clock in the morning. Constructing a new intensive poultry-production unit is also one thing; notwithstanding one’s own personal views on the merits of such a farming method, it is still classifiably a farming activity. But motorcycle scramble racing is just quite another thing altogether, I’m sure we can agree. I mean, look, I understand the need for economic diversification as much as the next man, especially in this day and age. I really do. I just wonder whether there’s such a thing as being too diverse.

Oh, I’d hardly know where to begin. It wasn’t just the noise, although that was of a peculiarly piercing and high-pitched quality which I have to tell you was just about consistently unbearable. But noise is one thing. No, it was more the fumes, and the dust, and the type of people it brought to the area. I mean, the dust was unbelievable. The situation was extremely unpleasant, at best.

Intolerable was a word I used earlier, you’re quite right. I stand by that.

Oh, now hang on. By saying type of people I simply meant to refer to the behaviour in terms of road-use, parking on verges and blocking driveways and bringing in large vehicles which the road there simply isn’t designed to be capable of coping with. I didn’t mean to cast aspersions. Far from it. This whole thing had nothing whatsoever to do with that. It wasn’t the late-night music we objected to, nor the type of language we sometimes heard being used in the designated camping area which happened to be in the field adjacent to our garden. No. This was simply a question of the dust, and the fumes, and the overall intrusion into and disturbance of our lives.