Canvey Island: A Novel - Couverture souple

It is 1953 in Canvey Island and a storm surge is flooding the streets. Len and Aunt Violet are out dancing on the mainland, he in polished shoes with slicked hair, she in fur stole and long gloves. Back at home, Len's wife Lily and their small son Martin have lost their innocent evening together as they fight to stay above the rising waters, waist-deep in a raging black torrent. When Lily's foot is lodged beneath debris, she begs Martin to leave her to get help. This sight of his mother, ghostly in her drenched nightdress, is his last glimpse of her alive.

In the years following the flood, Lily's death is an unbearable rupture in Martin's life that lets in a host of unwelcome developments, not least that of his father's growing closeness to his flashy Aunt Violet. When Martin goes off to Cambridge to study water engineering, he breaks all ties to Canvey Island and settles down with the bohemian, feminist Claire, a rebellious vicar's daughter. But when Claire takes her activism too far by taking their daughter to a peace camp rally, Martin drifts back to Canvey Island and into the arms of his teenage love. Returning to his hometown, Martin finds himself drawn into his old world, its secrets and lies, its wounds and passions, its sacrifices and hopes. Profoundly moving and elegantly written, Canvey Island tells the story of changing times in post-war Britain through one family's tragedy and loss.

Len

I know the fear of death is always with us but sometimes it can disappear for days. You don’t think about it when your wife is coming to bed and she takes off her nightgown and you’re excited by her nakedness even if you have been married for a long time. You don’t think about it when your child gives you a smile that you know is meant only for you or when the sea is dead calm and you’re out fishing with no one to trouble you. You don’t think about death, of course you don’t, it never crosses your mind, but then back it comes, far too soon, telling you not to be so cocky, don’t think this is going to last, mate, this is all the happiness you’re going to get and you should be grateful I didn’t come before.

I should have known. I’m a fisherman. All my life I could read the sky.

I’d already decided that it would have been nasty to fish on, what with the tide rising on the full moon and a long fetch expected; but it was hard to imagine what followed. In any case everyone was in a state because of the dance. Lily was anxious and wanted to look after our boy; her sister was fossicking through her clothes wondering which dress to wear; and I was convinced we were going to be late for the bus. By the time the storm reached us we didn’t have a prayer.