Darkmans (79 page)

‘Did you feel that?’

She gazed up at him, concerned, her scalpel held gracefully aloft.

‘No.
No.
It’s fine. I’m just…’ he scowled, ‘a little ticklish, I guess.’ ‘Ah…’ she nodded and returned to her work. He remained hypnotised by her injuries. The nostril, especially. He wondered what it would feel like if he touched it with his tongue –

Would it taste of iron?

Salt?

Would it sting?

‘Okay,’ she leaned back, decisively, ready to make her assessment. ‘So we can freeze it out, or we can burn it out. The choice is entirely yours.’

Kane dragged his eyes away from her nostril –

Go on
 –

Ask…

‘How did you…
uh…’
he swallowed, nervously, ‘treat Beede’s?’ he wondered.

Coward

He could’ve sworn he saw Elen wince – just slightly – at the mention of Beede’s name – but then she looked up at him with a frank smile.

‘We tried both techniques,’ she explained, ‘but your father’s wart was very persistent. It didn’t respond particularly well to either method.’

‘Oh,’ Kane frowned, discouraged.

‘His was an exceptional case, though,’ she insisted.

Go on
 –

Just…

‘So how did…
uh…’
Kane forged on, doggedly. ‘How did you…uh…get rid of it in the end?’

Gutless

‘In the end?’ Elen hesitated. ‘In the end we just charmed it away.’

‘You charmed it?’ Kane was surprised.

‘Yes.’

She inspected his foot again. ‘You have lovely feet,’ she said, ‘thin feet, very graceful, just like your mother’s. Although hers were typical dancer’s feet…incredibly muscular. Extremely…’ she frowned, searching for an appropriate word ‘…extremely
characterful.
Covered in old corns and bunions – a total mess – do you remember?’

Kane stared at her, blankly –

The word…

He grimaced –

What was that word he’d used?

That strange word?

Con-con-con…?

‘Kane?’ she repeated. ‘Your mother’s feet – do you remember?’

‘She looks for a weakness
…’

‘Kane?’

‘…
She senses this feeling of hurt within you, this…this
…’

Kane blinked. ‘Well perhaps you could charm mine away,’ he volunteered.

Elen gave this suggestion a moment’s consideration and then, ‘Okay,’ she shrugged, ‘I suppose we could always give it a whirl…’

She placed down his foot, stood up, dropped her scalpel into the
bottle of sterilising fluid, pulled aside her apron and her overall then shoved her hand into her trouser pocket. She felt around for a while before withdrawing a ten pence piece. She inspected it, thoughtfully, then closed her eyes and squeezed the coin, tightly, inside her fist.

Kane peered up at her –

She’s so beautiful

I could just lean over – right now – and…and…

He puckered his lips –

…
hitta

He started –

Hit-ta

‘Hold out your hand,’ she said, opening her eyes. Kane didn’t respond at first. He was still in a daze –

Hit-her
…

Hit her

– because he suddenly had a clear memory of
exactly
that – of hitting her –

No!

Of hitting Elen –

No!

– and of taking a
deliberate
pleasure in it. They were in a wet room. A
white
room. They were alone together…

And he knew – he was certain – that this was what she expected – what she
wanted
– that there was a long history between them, a well-established protocol.

But she was messing around with it – with him – and he didn’t
like it. ‘Don’t take my son,’ she was pleading, ‘I’ll do anything you ask –
anything –
if you’ll just leave the boy alone.’

‘But you
always
do anything I ask,’ he reasoned, implacably.

‘Kane? Your hand,’ Elen repeated.

Kane blinked. ‘Oh…’

He held out his hand and she pressed the coin into his palm, folding his fingers around it like an aunt giving a child some money for their birthday.

‘There,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve bought the wart from you,’ she smiled ‘and now it will disappear.’

Kane gazed down at his hand, bewildered –

Con…con…con…

– then he slowly opened his hand and he inspected the coin.

‘Is that it?’ he asked, flatly.

‘Why?’ she grinned, pulling back. ‘D’you think it’s worth more? D’you think I’ve undervalued it?’

Kane didn’t answer. He continued to inspect the coin –

Con…con…congruity?

‘The traditional amount is a penny,’ she was explaining. Kane stared up into her bruised face –

That two things are in sync?

In parallel?

He drew a deep breath, ‘So how…?’

His foot spasmed –

Jeesus!

– ‘So how much did you pay Beede for his?’ he winced.

‘Beede?’ Elen seemed surprised by this question, as if the idea of buying a wart from Beede was quite preposterous. ‘Good
God,
no,’ she chuckled, walking back over to the sink, ‘I didn’t
buy
Beede’s wart. You couldn’t
buy
a wart from Beede…’

Con…con…congruity?

Con…con…congruent?

Kane’s brain began buzzing –

Con…con…congruere –

It hiccoughed –

Ruere…

He blinked –

To fall?

Ruere…to ru- to ru- to…to ruin?

Kane frowned. He turned. ‘But I don’t understand…’ he muttered.

‘Don’t understand what?’ she asked, pumping some soap on to her palm from the dispenser.

‘I don’t understand what the difference is…’

To fall

To ruin

‘…I mean between
us –
between me and Beede…’

Elen reached out her hand to turn on the tap and in that same instant Kane was flung, unceremoniously, back into that cold, white room – that wet room – and she was clawing, terrified, at his neck, his cheek, and he was swiping her away from him, laughing, because it was, it was –

Funny!

Her fear –

Hilarious!

Delicious!

– then suddenly he was in another place – a darker place – but it was still the same memory, the same transaction, the same
idea –
and he was tying her to a bench. And she was screaming. She was furious. And he was applying a gentle blade to her. There was a doctor. There was a servant. They were bleeding her together. They were letting blood. They were definitely in cah…
ah
…
ahh
…
ahhh!
…
Caaa-HOOTS!

Kane sneezed himself back into the red, leather chair again. He stared down at the coin, his nose prickling, his eyes tearing-up, shocked.

‘Bless you,’ she said. And then: ‘I suppose I just thought it might be a little too straightforward for him,’ she murmured, ‘a little obvious – a little
crude,
even…’

What?!

‘But not for me?’

Kane glanced up, livid.

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Elen back-pedalled, ‘it’s more of a
generational
thing,’ she tore off her apron, ‘Beede’s very old-fashioned.’ Kane gazed down at the coin again –

Coin
 –

Cuneus
 –

Kunte
 –

Cunt

– he shuddered.

‘And the problem with his foot was much more severe,’ Elen tried her best to mollify him as she screwed the apron into a tight ball and dropped it into the bin, ‘much more serious.’

‘Is it because of my line of work?’ Kane demanded, paranoid. ‘Is it because I’m a dealer?’

Elen didn’t answer him. A small strand of her hair had become caught around one of the buttons on her overall and she was struggling to disentangle it.

‘Does that just make you automatically assume,’ Kane continued, furious, ‘that I’m the kind of person who thinks pretty much
anything
can be bought and sold?’

Elen freed her hair then unbuttoned her overall, pulled it off and folded it up. It was almost as if she hadn’t heard him.

Kane turned the coin over in his hand. He felt cheap – dirty – paid off. ‘You think I’m fickle…’ he murmured, ‘feckless,
superficial
– just like
he
does…’

Still, no response.

He twisted around in his chair. ‘Elen?’

Her name felt odd on his tongue as he spoke it – like a dirty thought; like a swearword.

Elen was placing her carefully folded overall into one of the open cardboard boxes behind the chair. She straightened up. ‘You can put your boot back on again now,’ she told him, turning to inspect her reflection in the small mirror above the sink, ‘the treatment’s over.’

Kane leaned forward and grabbed his boot –

Boat

‘So how did you finally get rid of it?’ he murmured, shoving his foot back into it –

Boat

– then feeling himself pitch, unexpectedly, to the right –

Wooah

‘Pardon?’

Kane pressed his lips together for a moment, feeling unstable, slightly nauseous, clinging on to the chair’s arm for support.

‘Beede’s w-wart,’ he stuttered.

‘I used a rather more traditional technique,’ Elen explained, apparently oblivious, ‘involving an Ash tree and a pin. You push the pin into the tree, then into the wart, then back into the tree again…’

‘And that’s it?’

Kane struggled to focus.

‘Pretty much. I mean you say a few words…’

‘What do you say?’ he gasped.

‘Uh…You say…’ she frowned, arranging her hair over the bruised side of her face, ‘you say, “Ashen tree, Ashen tree, please take these warts from me…”’

‘Ash,’ Kane murmured, drawing a deep breath and then grabbing for his laces and pulling them stiff. He glanced up as he pulled and saw a huge sail tightening behind him. The wind that blew into it – a hot wind, a dry wind – filled the sail with a deafening clamour, a thunderous babble –

Asche,
it howled,
aska, arere, ardere, ardour, arson…

– he saw words clashing and merging and collapsing and rotating. He saw chaos – an infinity of teeth, tongues, mouths, breath. He saw a storm of confusion. And he was holding the line hard, and the words kept on filling it, and the vessel kept on ploughing – relentlessly – through the water…

Then the shoe-lace snapped, under pressure –

What?!

Kane gazed down at the lace, dazedly.

‘Do you need some help with that?’ Elen was kneeling down in front of him, smiling. But she wasn’t smiling
at
him, she was smiling beyond him. She was smiling over his shoulder, at someone behind him. He leaned back, terrified, then gazed up at the light fitment –

The fly

Where is it?

– searching for the fly.
‘But what if HE is the fly?’
a quiet voice whispered.

Eh?

He quickly looked down again, aghast.

Elen had taken a hold of his laces and was retying his boot. ‘You’re not fickle at all,’ she was murmuring. ‘You’re kind and sweet and brave and incredibly loyal.’

She tied a tight double-bow then reached out her hand and caressed his chin with it. He saw compassion in her eyes, empathy,
sympathy

– and he felt himself sinking into it, helplessly – deliriously – into the tenderness of her touch, into her kindness, into her
pity,
but just as he was falling into it, collapsing into it – there was a hard, sharp knock –

‘Elen?’

What?

Kane was jolted back to consciousness –

Where?

– and he was surrounded by smoke. He jerked forward, automatically, starting to choke, longing to cough, but he felt a pair of strong hands on his shoulders, at his throat –

I can’t…

‘It’s all so very
sudden,
Elen,’ a voice was murmuring, a male voice, plainly distraught. ‘What brought on this decision? I thought you liked it here. I thought you were
happy
at the practice…’

Just let me…

Oh God…

Must…

‘Yes. I do. I
am
…’

(Elen’s voice, answering.)

‘…I suppose it was just something I’d been mulling over for a while…’

Her voice faded a little –

Can’t…

Just have to…

‘Good
gracious
!’ the voice responded (also quieter now). ‘What on earth have you done to your nose?’

Must get…

Must just…

‘Oh God,’ Elen sounded embarrassed, ‘does it look terrible? I didn’t have time to…It’s all been so…’

‘Is it broken do you think?’

Kane struggled for all he was worth – writhing, gasping, kicking – until the the hands finally slipped, somewhat regretfully, from his shoulders.

‘I was down on my knees in the kitchen, cleaning up a small puddle which the spaniel had left behind the door…’

Kane fell forward, panting, his hands clutching at his throat. He blinked repeatedly. The smoke gradually thinned out.

‘…and then Fleet came barrelling in…’

Kane peered around him, bewildered. The door to the treatment room was almost shut, but through a smallish chink he could see a man – an oldish, benevolent-seeming individual – standing in the hallway. He was wearing a white coat. He was tenderly inspecting Elen’s face.

‘…The edge of the frame caught my eye, then my nose hit the handle. It was ridiculous. And poor Fleet was so distraught – inconsolable. He’s just at that age where they throw themselves into everything with such enthusiasm, such
violence…’

Kane lurched to his feet.

‘I must go,’ he murmured, half to himself. He lunged for his coat but his focus was shot and he grabbed hold of the Sainsbury’s bag instead. He stared down at it, bemused. Elen must’ve heard him get up. She peered around the door. ‘Are you heading off?’ she asked, and then, ‘Oh good – so you found the bag…?’

‘Yeah…’ Kane nodded, watching, in amazement, as her words marched on past him like a tiny army of leaf-cutter ants, ‘Yeah. My…uh…My
bat
…uh…my
beit
…
bite
…’