Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Will he be able to afford to stay in the area?’

She nodded. ‘He’s moving to a tiny shack on the other side of the Gut which he inherited from my grandad. You can see it from the back window if you crane your neck…’

Elen walked over to the window to take a look but the reeds were too high to see anything beyond.

‘I mean it’s just a shed , really. Nothing to write home about. But he’s hoping to get planning permission and to do a bit of work on it…’

‘What about you?’ Elen asked, turning.

‘Me?’

‘Where will you go?’

‘I’ll move into Camber, probably.’

‘At the end of the day,’ Dory observed, portentously, ‘we’re all just custodians, eh ?’

The girl smiled at him, vaguely. ‘So was your aunt German, too?’ she wondered.

‘No. Not German. My father was Irish. She was his oldest brother’s wife. Widowed in the war. Her name was Mary Erwitt. A lovely woman. Big-boned. Red-haired. Wonderful cook. Kept herself to herself, really, so far as I can remember. God-fearing. A devout Catholic…’

‘That’s amazing …,’ Gaynor interrupted, excitedly, ‘because when we first moved here the place hadn’t been decorated for what seemed like years ; the wallpaper was really ancient, and all of the paintwork…And in almost every room — even the toilet — there was a small nail banged into the plaster with the bleached-out shape of a crucifix around it. So we knew someone really religious had lived here once. Mum’s Catholic too, but lapsed. Those funny, little crosses used to completely freak her out. She was always on at Dad to repaint the place, but he took ages to get around to it. We had all kinds of weird junk hung up on the nails to try and cover the marks — just for her peace of mind, really — old calendars, bits of material, teddies, sombreros …’

‘Is your daddy very fat?’ Fleet suddenly butted in.

‘Fleet!’ Elen chastised him.

The girl burst out laughing. ‘No. Not when he was a boy, but he’s certainly fairly hefty now…’ she winked. ‘Enjoys the odd swift pint if you know what I mean…’

She described a huge, imaginary belly, with her arms. Fleet stared at her, anxiously.

‘They called him Chubby because of his cheeks ,’ she explained. ‘He had chubby, red cheeks as a child. They used to pinch them to make them redder. Like this…’

She leaned forward and pinched Fleet’s cheeks. Elen smiled. Fleet stood stock still, visibly enraged.

‘Would you like to take a quick look at the living-room?’ she asked Dory, straightening up.

‘Ouch,’ Fleet murmured, under his breath, as they followed her through, ‘that hurt .’

They entered the tiny living-room. There was barely enough space in there for the four of them, the tv and the sofa.

‘This must’ve been quite a squeeze for the ten of you,’ Elen said, looking around her, aghast.

‘Crazy,’ the girl grinned, ‘but crazy- good .’

Almost one entire wall was mounted with fishing trophies.

‘Your father likes to fish, I see…’ Dory murmured, leaning in closer.

‘Most of those are mine, actually,’ she confessed.

‘You’re a fisherwoman ?’ he marvelled, gazing at her, somewhat incredulously. ‘Who’d ‘ve thought it?’

‘Dory!’ Elen quickly upbraided him, but Gaynor didn’t appear to take offence.

‘Don’t worry,’ she smiled, ‘everyone’s always surprised when they first find out.’

‘You must be very good at it,’ Elen murmured, shooting Dory a dark look.

‘So did you live here long?’ Gaynor wondered as Dory walked over to the old fireplace and ran his hand — in a familiar manner — down the side of the thick, stone-clad chimney.

‘Long? Here? No. I’d say about a year. But I visited often in the summer. My parents moved around a lot. She was my favourite aunt…’

‘It’s a cosy house,’ the girl shrugged, ‘I’ve always liked it…’

She paused. ‘But there’s loads of work still needs doing — some dry rot in the attic…problems with the roof. Whoever ends up buying it’ll probably just knock it down and build something new. That’s generally how things tend to go around here…’

‘Ah- ha !’ Dory finally found what he’d been hunting for.

‘What?’

She moved forward, intrigued.

‘A letter, a tiny initial I once carved into the stone…’

He pointed. She drew in close. There, carved into the stone, a scruffy letter ‘D’.

‘How strange…’ she murmured, frowning, ‘I always thought…’ ‘Good heavens,’ Elen exclaimed, glancing down at her watch. ‘It’s almost two, Dory. We must go. We’re late already…’

‘You always thought what?’ Dory asked.

‘I have a brother, Dylan. I always thought he …’

Pause

‘In fact I’m sure …’ the girl persisted.

‘No. Not that one,’ Dory corrected her, completely unfazed, ‘further back…see?’

She leaned in still closer. There she saw a second letter; smaller, older, beautifully etched.

‘My full name,’ he smiled, ‘is Isidore.’

‘Wow,’ she seemed visibly shaken, ‘I can honestly say that I’ve never laid eyes on that before…‘

‘But it’s not an i , Papa,’ Fleet said, pulling in close himself and peering up, ‘it’s a j.’

The girl inspected the letter again, frowning. As she did so, Dory turned to Elen and raised one strong, blond brow, very slowly and deliberately. Elen didn’t react. Dory returned his attention to the boy. ‘That’s just the Germanic style, Fleet,’ he calmly assured him.

‘ Dory …’ Elen persisted, grabbing Fleet’s hand and guiding him away, ‘the time …remember?’

‘Of course you’re right,’ he sighed, ‘we should go. But it’s been lovely reacquainting myself with the old place, Gaynor. And showing the boy around, obviously…’

He tousled Fleet’s hair as they all trooped down the hall to the front door. Here, they said their quick farewells and Dory mooched off, dreamily, down the pathway, placing his spare hand, wistfully, on to the broken mechanism of the rusty gate as he passed through. But Elen didn’t follow him — not straight away.

She turned back, briefly.

‘It was incredibly sweet of you,’ she said softly, ‘to take the time to show us all around. And I know it’s meant the world to Dory…’ she paused, cautiously, ‘but please, please promise me,’ she continued, ‘that in the future you’ll try and be extra wary when strangers call…’

‘Of course,’ the girl nodded, slightly taken aback by Elen’s sober tone. As she nodded a small, plastic daisy fell from her hat. Fleet bent down and grabbed it.

‘I’d hate you to think that you’ve done anything wrong here,’ Elen persisted, ‘and I don’t mean to alarm you, but if I were your mother…’ she shrugged, ‘or your dad for that matter…’ Words failed her. She shuddered. Her eyes filled with tears. Then she darted out her hand and squeezed the girl’s arm.

‘Of course ,’ the girl repeated, staring down at Elen’s fingers, confusedly, ‘I completely understand…’

‘Good.’

Elen smiled, then turned and headed swiftly down the path, sweeping a recalcitrant Fleet firmly along behind her.

‘Bye- bye , Gaynor,’ he sang, over his shoulder, before neatly pivoting around as they passed through the broken gate, grinning, victoriously, and cheekily waving the little, plastic daisy at her.