Clovenhoof (40 page)

Her mother looked mildly startled, but was soon distracted by Molly’s hairdresser admiring her hat.

Nerys put her hand on Clovenhoof’s arm.

“Jeremy, I need to get out of here. Now.”

“Okay,” said Clovenhoof. “Who’s that woman you were with? She looks a bit like you, is she your sister?”

“Urgh! Come on.”

At the house, Nerys stopped abruptly in the downstairs hallway.

“What’s up?” said Clovenhoof.

“I really don’t want to go into my flat just now,” she said.

“You’ve got washing up to do?” said Clovenhoof.

“It’s just so sad.”

“Ah.”

“Besides, my mom might find me.”

“That was your mum? She doesn’t look old enough.”

“Jeremy. Shut up about my mom looking young.”

“I’m just saying.”

“Let’s go to your flat. I hope you’ve got some drink.”

“Depends how fussy you are,” said Clovenhoof, following her upstairs. “I’ve got lots of Lambrini.”

“Fussy? God, no. I mean it’s not as if I’m an alcoholic or anything,” she stopped and looked at him, “I’m not an alcoholic am I?”

“Well, if you’re an alcoholic, then I definitely would be too. And I’m pretty sure I’m not.”

“You’re right,” Nerys said, “we can stop any time we want.”

“Except now.”

“Hell yeah.”

Clovenhoof unlocked the door to his flat. It still had the fresh air of a show apartment, apart from a dark red stain on the beige carpet.

“What’s that?” said Nerys, touching the crusty stain with the tip of her shoe.

“Meatball,” said Clovenhoof. “They roll.”

Nerys flicked through the paperwork on the table while Clovenhoof fetched the glasses.

“What’s this thing on the table?”

“Another meatball stain,” he called. “They roll a long way. And bounce.”

“I mean next to it.”

“Oh, it’s my file. My life’s story.”

“It’s what?”

Clovenhoof came back through and they both drained a large glass of Lambrini. Clovenhoof smacked his lips and Nerys grimaced slightly. She held out her glass for a refill.

“My therapist gave it to me,” he said, pouring. “Well, I sort of stole it. It seems that I’m so involved in my delusion that I forgot who I am. This file has my medical history. And also stuff about my family. My family that I have absolutely no memory of.”

“Lucky you,” murmured Nerys as she picked up a photo.

Ben walked between the tables in the recreation room, like a head gardener passing through his prize rose beds. He had a small but permanent smile on his face and his chest, small though it was, was puffed out in pride. He was overseeing the HMP Birmingham C Wing war-gaming tournament.

“No, you can’t use guns,” he told a Yardie gangster from Derby.

“Why not, man?”

“Because they hadn’t been invented at the time, Jacob. Think about using landscape features, and sympathetic neighbours, remember you’ve got a weighting for each of those, if you look on the sheet I drew up for you.”

Trey Daniels had made sure that they had plenty of plastic figures, proper dice and enthusiastic supporters. Ben was in demand for his experience and technical knowledge, and had gained a new level of respect as Trey’s friend.

“Go Nero! Come on my son!” came the yell from a nearby table where a car thief was pitting his troops against those of a petty drug dealer.

As Ben walked over to take a look, a warden came up to him.

“You’ve got a visitor, Kitchen.”

“I wasn’t expecting one.”

“But she’s here now.”

“It’s not my mum again, is it?”

“Visitor, Kitchen. This way.”

Ben, dragged away from his garden of budding flowers, was led reluctantly through to the visiting room, which was already filled with prisoners, their wives, girlfriends, extended family and generally shifting-looking friends.

Ben plonked himself down in the seat.

“This is a surprise,” he said.

Nerys leant over and planted a sincere kiss on his cheek.

“Are you all right?” he said.

She smiled for only an instant and ignored his question.

“How are
you
?” she said. “We’ve all been so worried about you.”

“Have you? I assumed you all hated me,” said Ben.

“No, of course we don’t. Jeremy’s been tending your shop.”

“Oh, God.”

“No, he seems to be making a decent go at it.”

“Really?”

“Well, the shop hasn’t burned down or anything so that must be a good sign.”

“I suppose.”

“How’s the food? And more importantly, have you been able to put up with the, ah, you know.”

“The food’s fine. But I’m not sure I know what you mean. Put up with what?”

“You know...”

“No.”

“Oh, do I have to spell it out?” said Nerys. “Being used as a sex toy by huge men.”

“That hasn’t happened.”

“Oh,” said Nerys, trying not to sound disappointed.

“So, um, how are things with
you
, Nerys?”

“Oh, fine, fine,” she said. She wasn’t going to mention Molly, not now. “Your flat’s still got all of the tape around the door. Mrs Astrakhan keeps going on about it all. Apparently it’s affecting her nerves.”

“Tell her I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her.”

“I’m not sure getting personal messages from you would make her any happier.”

“No. Sorry. How’s Clovenhoof? I feel bad about him too. He tried so hard to help me with, um, you know.”

Nerys nodded.

“He’s a very confused man at the moment.”

“Confused or confusing?”

“Both. He’s been trying to understand his background. He got a file from his therapist, supposed to be his background and history. The thing is,” Nerys looked into the corner, searching for the words, “the thing is, it seems kind of fake to me.”

“What would make you say that?” asked Ben.

“I see lots of CVs at work. Sometimes I have to check the details on them as well. I know how they look and feel. No end of times you’ll find that the dates people put are a little bit wrong. Not by much, but a bit out, because they can’t quite remember. What
never
happens is that people put accurate dates for everything, like the actual day of the week that something happened. That would only happen if someone was recording every single thing as it happened and they wrote down the date.”

“Some people have excellent memories,” said Ben.

“Really? Can you remember the date of every exam you ever sat?”

Ben shook his head.

“No, you write down the year you did them,” said Nerys. “Jeremy’s file has a date against every single thing. Medical appointments I could understand, but there’s dates against family holidays from his childhood, and when his parents moved house.
Actual
dates.”

“Yeah, but why would someone fake a thing like that?” asked Ben.

“Absolutely no idea,” said Nerys.

“He’s not Satan you know.”

“No, of course he’s not,” said Nerys. “That’s crazy. I’m going to do a bit of digging though. He’s supposed to have some family living locally.”

Ben nodded. He almost jumped out of his skin when she placed a gentle hand over his.

“Nerys?” he said, alarmed.

“I just have to say,” she said.

“What?”

“I never liked Herbert Dewsbury. He was a dreadful man. Rude, intolerant, always trying to tell people what to do.”

She paused for a moment, wondering where she’d heard some of those words recently. Oh. Yes. Dave had used them about her. She sighed.

“Doesn’t mean he deserved to die though,” said Ben.

“No,” she agreed.

Ben gently extricated his hand.

“There’s something worthwhile, something good inside the most unlovable of people,” he said.

“If you say so.”

Back on C Wing, a small man with the rat face gave Ben a wink from the corner.

“Psst, got that stuff you wanted.”

Ben went over and a jiffy bag was thrust quickly at him. He passed a thin roll of notes to the man and walked casually away.

Back in his cell, he opened the bag, and carefully unwrapped the tissue from six Roman legionnaires. He clutched them to his chest with a small sigh of pleasure.

“What if I don’t want to go for a drive?” Clovenhoof complained.

“Just come with me,” said Nerys. “There’ll be alcohol.”

“I’m appalled that you think I can be persuaded by alcohol, particularly early in the morning! Do you really think I’m that shallow?”

“Yes Jeremy, I do. Now come on.”

Clovenhoof shrugged and climbed into the passenger seat. Nerys drove for ten minutes and pulled up outside a semi-detached house. It was an affluent-looking street in Ward End and the house had a well-stocked rose garden in front of it.

“This was the house you lived in when you were a kid,” Nerys said. “Does it look at all familiar?”

“No, not at all,” said Clovenhoof, winding down the window to look out.

“Look!” she insisted. “Look at that window in the shape of a little circle. Are you sure you don’t remember it? If I’d lived in that house when I was a kid I’d have spent the whole time with my face at that cute little window. What about the roses?”

“What about them?”

“Do you want to get out and smell them?”

“Do I what?”

“Smells are very good for triggering memories.”

Clovenhoof gave her a withering look.

“If you think I’m going to go and sniff those roses you’re out of your mind. I’ve never been here before. Ever.”

Two old ladies stopped by the roses and inhaled deeply.

“Roses are nice,” said Nerys, to herself more than anything. She put the car into gear and pulled away.

She drove them to a pub with a beer garden out front.

“This place looks nice, we can sit outside in the sun.”

“As long as they have Lambrini.”

They sat at a picnic table and Clovenhoof tried to keep the wasps from his Lambrini by batting them towards other people. Very soon, they had the beer garden almost to themselves. Nerys was deep in thought and sipped her drink, barely noticing.

“You’re not wearing your Bermuda shorts,” said Nerys. “Nice hot day like this.”

“I’m going for the ‘normal’ look,” said Clovenhoof.

“Brown corduroy trousers?”

“They’re normal, aren’t they?”

“Beyond normal and out the other side, Jeremy.” She sipped her drink. “Things have been so strange lately. Ever since all the fuss about that idiot, Herbert Dewsbury, everything’s gone wrong,” she said.

Clovenhoof put down his drink heavily.

“Herbert Dewsbury?”

“Yes, the corpse, the ex-tenant. You haven’t forgotten him too?”

“
Herbert
Dewsbury?”

“Yes!”

“
Herbert
? Was that his name?”

“Yes,” she said. “Why?”

“I knew him.”

“You did? And you’ve only just remembered?”

His brow furrowed.

“I didn’t know his first name. Herbert. Scheming, weasely Herbert.”

“That’s him.”

“The question I can’t answer is what on earth that means.”

“Oh look, now that’s strange,” said Nerys. “Those two old ladies were at your parents’ old house. That must be five miles away, and here they are again.”

She indicated the pair of women in thick coats over by the roadside. Clovenhoof stared at the two biddies who were intensely studying the bus stop timetable.

“I’ve seen them before,” he said quietly.

“Maybe you’ve got stalkers,” Nerys said and giggled into her glass. “No more drink for me. I’m driving.”

Clovenhoof shook his head.

“I assumed they were...”

“What?”

“Part of my illness. But you can see them too?”

“Course I can. I’m not the one with – what was it? - dissociative pseudomania.”

“I’m starting to get an idea of what they might really be.”

“Not stalkers?” said Nerys.

“
The duplicitous twins.
The tarot reader said there would be a pair of women who were not what they seem. I think I know exactly what they are.”

He stood up.

“Jeremy?”

“Hey, you,” he called to one of the women. “You know your coat’s a cotton and wool mix, don’t you?”

The two women exchanged a glance and then the one that Clovenhoof had shouted at took off her coat and flung it to the floor as though it had burned her.

Clovenhoof grinned at Nerys. “Gotta love that crazy Leviticus;
neither shall a garment mingled of linen and woollen come upon thee.”

He sprinted forwards, kicking off his shoes, vaulted the beer garden fence and punched the coatless woman in the face. The old woman flew backwards, hitting her head hard on the floor.

“What have you done?” yelled Nerys and then gasped as the old dear sprang to her feet in a single fluid movement that was straight out of a Jackie Chan movie.

“Angels!” growled Clovenhoof. “Twatting cockless bastards! I knew it!”

“Oh, my goodness,” warbled the other biddy. “It’s one of them young hooligans, Doris. Probably on drugs or-”

Clovenhoof silenced her with a fist to the chops. He followed it up with another punch and a swift hoof kick to the stomach. Yes! He had hooves! Of course he did!

“You must have been loving all this,” he bellowed as he continued to beat her. “You made me think I was
human
!”

He drove the last word home with a vicious sidekick to the woman, sending her reeling into the road. The old dear turned around, dazed, and saw that she had dropped her collapsible brolly. She bent to pick it up and was immediately struck by a passing articulated lorry.

Nerys screamed loudly, but this was instantly reduced to a low mewling sound as she realised that all that remained in the road was a coat, woollen stockings, a pair of stout shoes and a sprinkling of golden light, like tinsel.

Nerys sat at the picnic table, hugging herself and moaning softly. A hundred yards down the road, an ashen-faced haulier stood outside the open door of his cab, his whole body trembling. He was staring at the clothes lying limply in the middle of road and shaking his head numbly.

Clovenhoof dragged the remaining old woman by the collar of her cardigan over to the picnic table. Nerys whimpered as the woman was pushed down onto the seat.