Darkmans (6 page)

Notorious.

Isn’t that what Ashford people –

Gossips

Wankers

– liked to call the Broads? Wasn’t that the word they preferred?

Kelly sniffed.

Did it have to be a negative?

Notorious?

As in train robber?

As in sex offender?

She pinched some pearlescent pink lipstick from the corners of her mouth.

I mean, wasn’t Mother Theresa notorious? A notorious
saint?
(Remember that thing Kane told her – about Mother Theresa not being a saint at all. About how Catholics always wanted to keep the poor people poor by making them have lots of kiddies. ‘Contraception murders love.’ That’s what he said she’d said –

Her mantra

Didn’t sound very saintly, huh?

– but he was laughing as he’d said it. Maybe he was just taking the fucking mick. Like always. The fucker.)

Hang on…who was that…that
Russian
geezer they’d called a prophet who actually had sex with just about everybody? And Boney M wrote a song called Ra-Ra-Rasputin all about his various pranks and everything?

Wasn’t he notorious (didn’t they mention it somewhere in the lyric?)? And when they shot him dead, didn’t he keep on getting up again? Like Freddie Kruger? Didn’t he just keep on rising? Like Jesus or something?

Don’t remember Mother Theresa pullin’ any stunts like that –

An’ if she did the papers would’ve been full of it, ’cuz Kane says The Pope owns the media –

Or is that the Mafia?

Uh…

Hold on a sec…

Did everybody notorious always end up getting wasted?

Couldn’t you be something plain and simple like a notorious doctor (if you hadn’t killed a patient? What about the bloke who created the first test-tube baby? Did he qualify?)? A notorious priest (if you hadn’t messed with a choirboy)? Could you be a notorious…a notorious
sweetheart?
Yes?

No. It didn’t sound right. A notorious
flirt
, maybe.

Kelly frowned and tucked in her skirt so the wind wouldn’t lift it and show off her thighs. It was a little short –

Should’a thought of that

– and the fabric was rather flimsy (for something supposedly military

– although she’d never yet seen anyone wearing a mini-skirt in a situation of mortal combat. Except for Lara Croft –

Tank Girl

That pretty cow in
Alias…

– and she always did okay).

Kelly was sitting on a wall outside the Elwick Road Villas. It was a high wall facing a main road in Ashford’s town centre. Her brother, Jason, had taught her how to climb it (before they’d put him away. Joyriding. His thirteenth formal offence –

Aw…

Unlucky for some, eh?
).

Jason always knew the best route and the shortest cut (it was a fancy wall, built from some kind of rock –

Limestone?

Granite?

– there were bits where you could find a hand-hold and a foot-hold. Where you could pull yourself up).

Kelly took another bite of her celery. A car honked its horn at her. She didn’t look towards it, merely raised her middle finger –

You twat

– and pulled her hood down lower.

Yeah. Notorious
slut
 –

Stop thinkin’ about it

Jason was her middle brother. Jason Broad. Twenty-one last Thursday. Inside for three years solid. Served eight months already. Father of four (two different mothers). At school Billy Sloane –
Sloaney –
had called him queer; Jase broke his arm in three different places (the canteen, the corridor, the playing fields) and no one – but
no one
– could ever seriously question his masculinity after that.

Had a heart of gold. He really did. Always took care of her (once shat on the bonnet of the car of a teacher she hated –

Jap car
 –

Hyundai
 –

Mr Whitechapel
 –

Fuckin’ Northerner
).

Jason was loyal –

Bottom line

– and you couldn’t put a price on loyalty (as her dad always used to say –

Before he ran off to Oldham with the daughter of that pig who ran the chippie…

To get the police involved!

She was sixteen next birthday – and a slag – everybody knew it

The whole family had been barred from the shop, after –

Dad’s legacy
 –

I mean we were hurtin’ too, weren’t we?

No decent chippie within a 2-mile radius…

– until Jason finally put the wind up them, and they moved to Derby.

The new people were definitely much better – better batter, her mum said; crispier. And they were cheaper –

Didn’t have no teenage kids –

Not that it really mattered any more, now Dad was out of the picture).

Nope. You couldn’t put a price on loyalty. Kelly cleared her throat (the celery was rather stringy) –

I’ll say as much to Beede when the bugger finally gets here…

‘Excuse me.’

Kelly frowned.

‘
Excuse
me.’

She glanced up. A young woman was standing to her left, next to the entrance gate. She looked vaguely familiar.

‘What?’

‘Are these your dogs?’

The woman indicated, haughtily, towards two large lurchers which were collapsed on the pavement directly in front of her. Kelly gazed at the two dogs, blankly.

‘Nope,’ she eventually volunteered, ‘strictly speakin’ they’re my dad’s.’

She smirked as she spoke (perhaps a little provocatively). The woman didn’t smile back. She was youngish –

ish

– and quite pretty. Black, with scruffy, nappy, mid-length hair (pushed back from her face by an alice-band, no earrings, no make-up). Square glasses. Arty frames. Dressed like a virgin –

Or Tracy fuckin’ Chapman

Corduroy jacket, grey polo-neck…

Jeans by fuckin’ Pepe or something

Kelly coolly surveyed her body –

Hmmn…

Junk in her trunk

But no spare tyre

The woman scowled. ‘Well could you get them to move for me?’ ‘Why?’ Kelly shot back. ‘You too good to step over ‘em?’

The woman placed her hands on to her hips (
Yup.
She was class – smart but bolshy – and Kelly could respect that). ‘Of course not,’ she snapped, ‘I just don’t want to
stand
on them.’

‘They gets stood on all the time at home, mate,’ Kelly dead panned, ‘so don’t you worry yourself, okay?’

She turned her head and gazed up the road. Counted to three. Over the sound of the traffic she could hear one of the dogs growling. Yeah. Right on cue. That was Bud.

‘Excuse me.’

Kelly didn’t turn back straight away.

‘
Excuse
me.’

She turned and mugged surprise. ‘Man, you still there?’

‘One of your dogs just growled at me.’

‘
No!
’ Kelly gasped, throwing up her hands in mock-alarm (then plunging them straight back down again as she wobbled on the wall).

‘Did he
really?
’

‘Yeah. He did. And I’m in no mood for getting bitten, so would you ask them to sodding
move
, please?’

On ‘move’ Kelly threw her celery over her shoulder (finally engaging fully), pushed her hood back and pointed emphatically. ‘You know what kind of an animal that is?’

The woman folded her arms, boredly. ‘Of course I do.’

‘Well tell me.’

‘It’s a lurcher.’

Kelly nodded. ‘That’s it. A Long Dog. A workin’ dog. My dad used to go coursin’ with ‘em down on the Marshes…’

The woman looked disapproving (but only mildly). Kelly shrugged. ‘Not any more, though. We got five of ‘em at home altogether. My dad’s up in Oldham. My poor mum has to look after ‘em. Costs her a small fuckin’ fortune, it does.’

The woman surveyed the animals, coldly. ‘Well it’s pretty hard to see what she’s spending her money on.’

Kelly straightened her back –

Hoity!

– ‘It’s just old age as makes their ribs stand up like that,’ she explained patiently. ‘Soon as they eat anythin’ they shit it right out again. Only thing different is it ain’t in a can.’

As if on cue, one of the lurchers stood up, stretched stiffly, tottered (Kelly’s rival snorted, under her breath), farted (she winced), put its nose to the pavement, located a scent, and staggered off in pursuit of it. The woman immediately took her chance; leaned boldly across the second animal and shoved the gate – the second dog didn’t object – but the gate was locked.

‘
Bollocks.
’

Kelly’s eyebrows rose –

Get her

‘So what the hell,’ she asked smugly, ‘d’you think I’m sittin’ up here for?’

The woman didn’t answer. She pressed the intercom.

Kelly sighed, piously. ‘Intercom’s broke. They’re fixin’ it. That’s why the gates are locked.’

She pressed it again, anyway.

‘If you wanna get in you’ll need a key.’

Without warning, the woman kicked out her right foot and booted the wall with it. ‘I’m meant to be
visiting
somebody,’ she snarled. Then she winced as her toe registered the full impact of the attack.

‘Feel better now?’ Kelly asked, plainly delighted by this flagrant loss of composure.

The woman half-smiled to herself (embarrassed – but she was cute when she smiled). ‘No. I don’t, actually.’

The smile gradually expanded into an apologetic smirk.

‘Ring ‘em,’ Kelly offered constructively.

‘Can’t. Haven’t got my phone on me.’

Kelly removed her own phone from her pocket.

‘What’s the number?’

‘Don’t know off-hand.’

‘Oh.’

Kelly put her phone away again.

The woman glanced up, remembering her manners. ‘But thanks, anyway,’ she murmured.

Kelly graciously tipped her head, then peered over towards the Villas. There were eight of them; grand; free-standing; Victorian. For the most part converted into flats – or ‘apartments’ as the twatty local Estate Agents liked to have it.

‘You come to see that black geezer in apartment six?’ she asked.

‘Why?’ the woman rejoined staunchly. ‘Do people always visit residents the same colour as they are?’

Kelly pursed her lips. The woman removed the strap of a heavy-looking, leather satchel (the kind Kelly associated with teachers and social workers –

Yeah. That’d be right
)

– from her shoulder and drew another step closer. ‘You’re one of the Broad girls, aren’t you?’ she said, her eyes slitting slightly as she gazed up at her.

Kelly slitted her own eyes right back. ‘So what?’

‘I was at school with your brother.’

Kelly didn’t seem surprised by this information (like nits and the weather, the Broads got everywhere).

‘Who?’ she asked. ‘Jase?’

‘No. Paul.’

Kelly looked blank.

‘Paul,’ the woman reiterated slowly (which Kelly strongly resented), ‘the devil worshipper.’

Kelly tossed her head. ‘
Satanist,
’ she pronounced scornfully, ‘and it was only a
joke
, anyways.’

The woman nodded. ‘I knew that.’

Kelly jutted her chin out, just the same. She looked uncomfortable. The woman observed her disquiet.

‘So how’s he been doing lately?’ she asked.

Kelly gave her a hard look, then, ‘Fine,’ she said.

‘Is he still handing out shoes at the bowling?’

‘Nope.’

‘Oh. Moved on to better things, eh?’

Kelly tried – and failed – to detect any traces of irony in her voice. She glared at her, but said nothing.

‘Well give him my best, if you see him,’ the woman continued staunchly, almost (but not entirely) running out of conversational impetus. ‘My name’s Winifred. I was his partner in biology. We dissected a cow’s eye together once – had a right laugh – before I transferred to Highworth in the fourth year.’

‘
High
worth,’ Kelly rejoined bitchily, ‘well ain’t
that
lovely?’

Silence

Kelly inspected her nails (bitten down to the quick) then neatly laced her fingers together. ‘I don’t see him that much,’ she said primly, ‘he moved to Readin’.’

‘Reading?’

Far from being mollified by this information, Winifred’s appetite for news seemed freshly enlivened by it. ‘
Really?
’

Kelly scowled. ‘Yeah.’

‘
Reading
, huh?’ She mulled this over for a moment. ‘Well
good
on him. Because let’s face it,’ she raised her brows, censoriously, ‘no one was
ever
gonna to give him a proper break around here, eh?’ She hesitated for a second (then promptly threw caution to the wind). ‘Least of all your psychotic, bloody
sister…
’

Kelly shrugged (she just didn’t want to go there). Winifred took another step closer.

‘So can you actually scramble down the other side of that thing?’

‘What thing?’

‘The wall.’

‘Oh…’

Kelly glanced boredly behind her. ‘Dunno. Maybe.’

‘I know it’s a bit cheeky,’ the woman wheedled (flashing that charming smile again), ‘but would you mind taking someone a message for me?’

Kelly’s eye-lids lowered, ominously. ‘Man, do I look like your personal fuckin’ courier or what?’

Winifred’s smile did not falter. It continued blazing. She was shameless, Kelly surmised –

All credit to her for that

– so she lifted up her legs and grumpily slung them over. ‘Which block?’

‘First Villa, flat three.’

‘Right.’

She was already twisting around to scramble down when something suddenly dawned on her. She paused, mid-manoeuvre, gripping hard with her hands to stop herself from falling. ‘But that’s
Kane’s
place,’ she grunted, a hint of accusation in her voice.

‘Yes.’ Winifred made no apology for it.

Kelly pulled herself up again, kicking a leg back over (sitting astride the wall now, a hand pushed down on to her skirt to preserve her modesty). ‘So what’s your business with him?’