Darkmans (63 page)

Fleet put his hand to his mouth and sniggered. ‘The wives was very cross with John, but there was nothing they could say.’

Kane watched the boy, closely, as he told the story.

‘That’s a very funny story,’ he said, once the tale was finished, ‘John must be extremely clever to fool all those women like that.’

‘He is,’ the boy nodded.

‘Does your
daddy
like that story?’ he continued, in exactly the same light tone. ‘Does
he
think John’s funny, too?’

The boy looked surprised by this question, then confused.

‘No,’ he answered, looking down. ‘I don’t know.’

‘And your mummy?’

The boy glanced over his shoulder, nervously. ‘Mummy doesn’t like me to talk about it,’ he said.

‘Oh,’ Kane nodded. ‘So Mummy isn’t too
keen
on John, then?’

The boy took a step back. He shook his head, conflicted. ‘She
does
like him,’ he said. He lifted his hand to his mouth and began stroking his finger along his upper lip ‘…but sometimes…’

The stroking grew more frantic.

‘Right…’ Kane glanced around him, wanting to mollify the boy. ‘So how will we go about feeding these fleas?’ he asked.

The boy continued to stroke his upper lip. He glanced up at Kane, but he didn’t speak.

‘I suppose we could always use
my
arm,’ Kane volunteered, taking off his jacket and rolling up his sweatshirt sleeve.

The boy dropped his hand.
‘Really?’

‘Sure. Why not?’

Kane showed him a tantalisingly bare expanse of flesh on his arm.

The boy strode to the table and grabbed the jar. He expertly twisted all the protruding strands of twine around his index finger, then slowly unscrewed the lid. He lifted the fleas into the air, like they were a group of invisible girls attatched to the invisible ribbons of an invisible maypole.

‘Give me your arm,’ he instructed.

Kane held out his arm. The boy tried to settle the fleas upon it. Kane winced as they landed, jumped and then re-landed.

‘It might take a while,’ the boy said.

‘That’s just fine,’ Kane smiled, turning his face away, repelled, as they started to suckle.

Beede drove straight in to work – after a long, cold night of fruitless searching – feeling numb, physically drained and demoralised. The first thing he discovered, on arrival, apart from an irate member of staff camping outside his office who – for no reason they could fathom – was suddenly being charged Emergency Rate tax (Beede promptly made up the difference in his wages, without scruple, from petty cash) was a note from Kelly. It was scribbled on to the back of a Get Well Soon card (
Dear Jeremy, Get well soon, Son! Lots of love, Dad
) which featured (Beede frowned at it, horrified) a badly taken photograph of a woman’s breast with an amateurish-looking mouse’s face (and whiskers) drawn on to the soft, pale flesh around the nipple (a very large,
pink
nipple, which was apparently meant to signify the mouse’s snout) in some kind of – he looked closer –

Good Gracious…

– felt-tip or make-up pencil. It was obscene. It was ugly. It was awful.

He clutched at his shoulder, grimacing, then opened a desk drawer and searched for some Aspirin. He couldn’t find any. He slammed the drawer shut (irritated) then jarred his shoulder again in the act of doing so –

Ouch!

He turned the card over, with a scowl. On the rear of it Kelly had written –

Oi! Join the 21st century, Grandad! Get yorself a mobile!

And then, directly underneath, in capital letters:

I FORGIVE YOU, MATE!

XXKelly

Then under that:

PS. I think we
both
know what for
–
but Im so over it now you would not even
believe!!

Then under that:

PPS – I found GOD!!!! Or he found me, more-like! (Swank Swank!)

Then under that:

PPPS. Paul died (yestrdy. aft.), but don’t wrry. Im really OK about it.

Then under that:…
PPS. Going to Africa to become a Saint!
[followed by a little drawing of Africa – which looked nothing like Africa – with a small halo above it]
WAH!!!!!!!!

Beede sighed, gently pinched the bridge of his nose, threw the note into the wastepaper basket and picked up his phone. He dialled Elen’s number. It rang several times before it was finally answered.

‘Hello?’

Beede almost did a double-take.

‘Dory?’

‘Yes?’

‘Good
God
…’

‘Hello? Beede? Is that you?’

‘Yes. Yes it’s me. So when did…?’ He quickly stopped himself. ‘I mean how
are
you?’

‘Fine. I’ve only just got in, actually. I was out working. Out all night working…[
hand placed over the receiver]…No,
Fleet. Put it down. That’s for your toast. You
know
you don’t just eat it off the spoon…[
pause
] Hello?’

‘Dory? Hi. Is this a bad time? It’s early…’ Beede glanced at his watch. ‘I wasn’t really thinking straight…’

‘Uh…’ Dory paused. ‘I’m afraid Fleet’s still finishing off his breakfast. Elen’s already left to see a client. I’m in charge of the school run and he’s being rather…[
hand over receiver again
]…Absolutely
not.
You do
not
feed the dog from the table. Go and wash your hands. That’s
completely
unacceptable…[
Pause
] Beede?’

‘Hello?’

‘Can we meet up later, perhaps? You could come over here if you like. Are you at work?’

‘Yes. I mean…’ Beede was scowling, confused. ‘So you’ve acquired a dog?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You have a
dog
?’

‘A dog? Uh…’ Dory grunted, tetchily. ‘Yes. I’m afraid we do. A spaniel. A wretched little thing, actually. Her back legs are all…
Fleet!
[
loud wailing in the background
]…I
warned
you about that, didn’t I? It’s your own, stupid fault. Now take off your socks and go and wash your feet. I said
take off…
Don’t spread it all over the floor! [
Pause
] Beede?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry. The dog’s made a mess on the tiles and Fleet’s just walked straight through it. I’m going to have to…’

Beede was gazing out (hollow-eyed) through his small window into the laundry as Dory spoke, idly scraping his thumb over the day’s growth on his cheek –

Desperately need a…

– then suddenly –

Huh?

– he stiffened to attention –

Elen!

He saw Elen standing there. He saw Elen in the laundry. He saw Elen, conversing with a member of staff and then turning, with a smile, and walking towards him.

‘Beede? Hello? About ten, then? Ten-thirty?’

‘Yes,’ he almost barked, feeling his heart starting to race, his skin redden. ‘Absolutely. That’s ideal. I’ll see you then.’

He slammed down the receiver and stood up, adjusting his shirt collar, brushing a self-conscious hand through his hair. Elen knocked.

‘Come in.’

The door opened.

‘Danny!’ she gasped. ‘What a relief! Thank God you’re here. I just
had a hunch…’ she’d grabbed a hold of his arm and squeezed it, gratefully, struggling to catch her breath. ‘Did you get all my messages?’

‘Messages?’ He glanced over towards his answering machine. The red light was flashing.

‘No matter,’ she ran on. ‘He’s home. Stumbled in about an hour ago, dressed in this filthy, old tracksuit. Flip-flops. No explanation. This awful
bruise
on his forehead…’

‘I know. I just rang…’ Beede admitted, shutting the door behind her, and using this manoeuvre as a means to dislodge her grip on his arm.

‘He answered?’

She seemed alarmed by this prospect. They were still standing in close proximity. She was wearing a soft, loose, black, roll-neck jumper and slim-fitting black jeans tucked into a pair of plain, knee-high leather boots. Her hair hung over her shoulders in two loose plaits.

He indicated, stiffly, towards the spare chair. ‘Yes. But it was fine. He was busy with Fleet…’

He wished she would just move away. He was overwhelmed by her proximity. He closed his eyes, momentarily.

‘Are you all right?’

He opened his eyes again. She was staring up at him, frowning.

‘Fine. Just a little tired. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my…’

She put out a quick hand and felt his forehead. ‘You’re warm. Much too warm. And you’ve got a tiny, little blood blister on your lip. Did you stay out all night?’

‘Uh…’

He tried to take a step away from her but simply backed into his chair. He sat down, heavily.

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘You’re not actually intending to
work
today?’

She glanced over at the rota on the pin-board above his desk, but she couldn’t make any sense of it.

‘No,’ Beede shook his head, ‘I left in rather a rush last night so I just popped in to…’

‘Let me drive you home.’

‘No. I’m fine. I’ve got the bike.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re obviously in pain. Your cheeks are all flushed.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he tried to brush her concern aside, ‘just a little stiffness in the mouse…’

He frowned.

Mouse?

His mind turned to Kelly’s card.

Forgiven

‘I mean mussell,’ he said, ‘muscle,’ he quickly corrected himself. But that was all it took, because suddenly, butting its way, determinedly, into the gap (the chink – nudging itself in between those tiny hurdles of meaning) came the stag; that huge, powerful, old stag with its sturdy gait, its broken horns, its unflinching look.

Then (hard upon) he felt a corresponding tremor running through his arm, as if a mouse were under his skin, inside his vessels, scurrying through him, hunting for something.

‘No.’

He opened his eyes –

Were my eyes closed?

Did I just speak?

She was kneeling down in front of him. ‘No,’ she repeated firmly, ‘I’m definitely coming home with you. If you insist on taking the bike then I’ll follow. I’ll cook you some breakfast. It’s the very least I can do.’

Beede started to object again, but he wasn’t really concentrating. He was thinking about the mouse. The scurrying mouse.

‘Just
humour
me, Danny,’ she pleaded, grabbing his hand. He could smell her hair as she leaned towards him. Her hair smelled of roses. He smiled. Then he winced. His nostrils quivered.
Blood
and roses, he thought.

‘A present? For
me
?’

Gaffar proffered her the bag, with a grin.

She took it and opened it. Inside were a pair of white, knee-high, fun-fur boots. Yeti boots.

‘Is for to match,’ Gaffar explained, ‘on foot.’

‘Aw!
To wear wiv’ the old plaster-cast? To balance me out, like?’ Kelly kicked off her slipper, delighted. ‘What a
sweetheart.
Bang it on, will ya?’

Gaffar carefully slipped the boot on to her foot.

‘Wow.’

She held out her leg and inspected it, grinning. ‘That’s dapper,’ she chuckled, tousling his hair. ‘Thanks, kid.’

‘You is
dress,
huh?’ Gaffar observed, straightening up again, indicating towards her clothes.

‘Yeah. I’m just waitin’ to get signed out. The doctor’s due in an hour…’ she frowned. ‘So where’d you get that bruise?’ she wondered. ‘It’s a fuckin’
corker.’

‘Bruce?’

Gaffar looked mystified.

‘That
bruise,
Dumbo. On your forehead.’

‘Ah.’

Gaffar put a hand to his forehead.

‘You was in Readin’, yeah?’

‘Reading? Sure.’

‘You sit wiv’ my brother then, or what?’

‘Uh…’

Gaffar frowned.

‘Wassup?’

‘I get this
tex
,’ Gaffar promptly changed the subject, ‘to say you is
forgive
Gaffar, eh?’

‘Forgive
you?’ Kelly echoed. ‘Sure…’ Then she frowned, suspicious. ‘What
for,
exactly?’

Gaffar closed his eyes and tensed up his shoulders, as if steadying himself for some kind of violent attack. ‘Okay…
Okay.
So this stupid hospital is
close,’
he confessed.

‘Closed?’

He opened one eye. ‘Sure. This morgue…’

‘The morgue was
closed
?’

He nodded.

‘Fine.’

Kelly shrugged. ‘I mean I know you’re full of
shit
– I ain’t a
fool
or nothin’ – but fine.’

Gaffar was taken aback by her reaction. He was almost disappointed.

‘Fine?’

Kelly nodded. ‘You was on a hidin’ to nothin’ there, mate – a wild-goose chase – ‘cuz Paul was
here
all along, see?’

‘Goose?’

‘No.
Paul.
My
brother,
yeah? He was here. God brought him here. He snapped on my bra strap. It took me a little while to realise, yeah? Paul was wiv’ God. An’ God was right here…’ she swallowed, blinking, suddenly full of emotion, ‘on
this
ward.’

?!

‘Did they mess with your medication again?’
Gaffar murmured, staring at her, quizzically.

‘Thanks for the boots,’ she repeated, ‘they’re lush. And now I need you to help me up. There’s somethin’ I gotta do.’

‘Huh?’

‘I need a piss. An’ then I wanna go an’ find the Rev. They moved the Rev…’

She pointed to the ceiling, by way of explanation. Gaffar inspected the ceiling. There seemed to be a large hole in it.

‘For
piss
?’ he reiterated.

‘Yeah. I need a piss. You can come an’ hold the doors open. The nurses are all busy. Help me up.’

She held out her hands. He assisted her, gently, to her feet, then passed her her crutches.

‘An’ you can grab that while you’re at it,’ she suggested, pointing to the large, brown envelope containing Beede’s photocopied document which was poking out of her half-packed sports bag. Gaffar snatched up the envelope, bent it in two and shoved it into his back pocket.

‘So what
did
you do all night?’ she asked him.

‘Pard?’

‘Went to some shonky gamblin’ den, eh? Got bladdered? Played dice? Crowned it all wiv’ a big punch-up?’

Gaffar scowled, patently unnerved by the accuracy of this synopsis.

‘You speak for Simo?’ he asked, quickly glancing over his shoulder, paranoid.

‘Simo?’

‘Drive? From mini-cab?’

‘So how much did ya bag?’ Kelly demanded.

‘Eh?’

‘Wonga, mate. Greens. Boodle. Mazuma. Because I definitely want half of it.’

‘Half?’

‘No kiddin’,’ she persisted. ‘Either you give me what’s due or I ring up your pal Kane an’ tell him how you sold us all down the fuckin’
swanny
last night, kicked up ya size nines an’ went gamblin’ instead.’
‘Half?’
Gaffar reiterated.

Kelly deftly slipped her hand inside his coat pocket and withdrew his wallet. She opened it up.

‘Fuck me. You’re
well
-pelfed!’

She removed a portion of the notes, then handed him the wallet back. Gaffar snatched it from her, glowering.

‘
Oi!
Don’t get all
narked,’
she chastised him. ‘This is for a good cause, yeah? This is for
God’s
work, ya
get
me? I’m on his pay-roll, now.’

She crossed herself (the wrong way around) then stuffed the notes into her skirt.

‘Right. Let’s head off. I’m fuckin’
bustin’
for a slash.’

She indicated the way. Then she stopped.

‘Balls.
I forgot my Bible. It’s on the bed. Just grab me my Bible, will ya?’

‘Bible?’

Gaffar leaned down and grabbed the Bible. He held it in his hand and inspected it, frowning.

‘You need this Bible for to go
piss
?’

‘Yeah,’ she confirmed. ‘When I was into East 17, yeah? The band, yeah? I wouldn’t even fuckin’
fart
– ‘scuse my French – without my picture of Brian in my pocket. I had it all reinforced wiv’ sticky-back plastic – to protect it, yeah? So I could wipe the lippy off his gob whenever I smooched it,’ she shrugged, resigned. ‘That’s just how I am, I guess.’

He proffered her the Bible. She took it from him, kissed it, then passed it back. He gazed at her, incredulous.