Groundwater sits just below the earth’s surface, filling underground fractures and seeping up through the soil. It serves as the central symbol of Thomas McMullan’s new novel, which digs into emotional fault lines and lays bare tensions simmering behind the facade of polite conversation.

Groundwater is set in the heady, damp heat of an August bank holiday weekend. Liz and John have recently bought a remote lakeside house with money inherited from John’s elderly childhood neighbour. McMullan wryly portrays the couple as former radicals embarrassed by their bourgeois life. They long for a fresh start. Following a series of encounters with relatives and neighbours, however, buried resentments bubble to the surface.

First there is the visit of Liz’s smug sister Monica and her philosophy professor husband, Harrie, noted for his ill health, crackly knees and hot temper. With their boisterous young children, Finn and Ciara, they seem to flaunt their fertility, which deepens the gulf that exists between John and Liz, who are struggling to conceive. 

At a nearby campsite, they befriend some students entangled in a ménage à trois, with whom they engage in interminable arguments about landlords and politics. Finally, there is the forest warden, Jim Sweet, who exacerbates the