But I have to spend some time photographing the glade and the swimming hole to share it with my family and Annie, to give them an insight into what they can expect when they get here. I make a video of the area and send it so they hear the sounds of the raindrops on the leaves. I tell them I wish they could know how it smells here, so fresh.
The journey back to the mill is slower. The boat is lower in the water and I don’t want to make any waves. Slow and steady. ‘One more run and that should do you for now,’ Laurent says, as we paddle back up the lake, the rain heavier than before and starting to soak through my clothes. I put my paddle into the water and pull back hard, remembering what Laurent said: allthe time we’re paddling, we’re stable. It’s when we stop, we’re not.
He steers the boat to the side, under a tree.
‘The rain’s heavier. Let’s wait here a bit,’ he says, and points for me to get out. He follows and holds the rope as we stand under the boughs of the trees and wait. The sky is getting darker and more threatening. The wind whips up and the trees sway. Suddenly there is an almighty clap of thunder, and lightning illuminates the sky. And then the heavens really open. Huge raindrops, like I’ve never seen before. I stand looking at the lake as the rain hammers down on it. And it keeps coming, raining harder and harder.
‘The lake is filling,’ Laurent shouts, over the noise of nature. ‘It doesn’t look like it’s going to stop. We need to head back, before the mill starts to—’ He pauses.
‘Starts to what?’
He seems hesitant.
‘Laurent, before the mill starts to what?’ I shout back.
‘Nobody mentioned it to you?’
‘Mentioned what?’ I’m getting jittery. ‘What are you talking about?’
‘The mill, when it rains and the water level rises.’
The rain is pouring down his face, and his shirt is soaked.
‘What about the mill?’ I shout over the downpour, and I can feel the cold rain sticking my top to me, making me shiver. I wrap my arms around myself for warmth.
He throws up his hands. ‘This is why people shouldn’t be allowed to buy mills without knowing about them!’ he says, against the noise of the rain on the overhanging boughs and leaves.
And I suddenly understand what he’s talking about.
Chapter 25
Laurent pushes off from the bank and the rain is pelting into my face, as if it’s punishing me.
I plunge the paddle into the water, deeper this time, and drag it back as we battle on, eyes screwed up. I dig deep and pull on the paddle, and so does Laurent. The canoe moves through the water, though not as quickly as I’d like. We have to get back to the mill, or everything I’ve worked for so far, all the effort I’ve put into painting and clearing and sourcing furniture, will be for nothing. It’s like we’re fighting against the clock when every pull on the paddle counts.
What am I doing in a small boat, on a lake, collecting firewood in the hope that a watermill can be repaired so I can make flour for bread? I could be at home, watching reruns ofAll Creatures Great and Smalland doing a jigsaw instead of battling across a filling lake to save my belongings and my investment from flooding. I knew I didn’t like being in boats!
But something in me keeps the tears at bay. At least, I think they are – I can’t tell with raindrops sliding down my face. I can feel the pull on my shoulders and the ache in my wrists as we keep paddling towards the mill, and then I see it. The water has burst the banks of the lake and is flooding the lawn, which means it must be tumbling down the front steps into the mill. Everything I have is in there. Everything will be ruined.
I put my head down and keep paddling, as Laurent told me to do.
Suddenly there’s a bump and we’re at the bank. I don’t wait to be told what I need to do next. I just do it.
‘Juliet, wait!’ I hear Laurent say, but I can’t. I have to get to the mill, try to stop the water coming in.
I launch myself from the canoe onto the wet, soggy bank. I cling to the sodden grass, my nails embedded in the soil, like my life depends on it. My fingers plunge into the earth and grip, allowing me to pull myself to my feet. And still the rain comes, pouring down.
I run around the lake to the lawn in front of the mill where, as I suspected, the water is pouring over the grass and under the green door into the main room. I open the doors to see water seeping across the floor, pushing its way deeper and further into the building. I run outside to Laurent, who is in the middle of the lake, the canoe upended with him at the rear, trying to get his weight forward to stop the thing sinking.
‘Shit!’ I say. ‘Laurent!’
I see my paddle floating towards the other side of the lake. I feel utterly useless. I wave my arms at him, although I have no idea why. ‘It’s flooding! The mill is flooding!’
He leans forward with all his strength and grabs the middle section where I had been sitting, then climbs up the canoe, putting his weight into the centre. Slowly the bow lowers and he stands up straight. But as he does, his paddles slides overboard. He reaches for it, grappling and stretching, but it quickly drifts from his grasp. He’s stranded in the middle of the lake, and shouts something at me.
‘What?’ I yell back. ‘It’s coming in!’
He stands up tall and puts his hands either side of his mouth.
