Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Gaffar snapped his fingers.

‘So he was talking to Laura ?’

‘Sure.’

‘Outside Tesco’s ?’

‘Sure.’

‘Wow.’

Kane dwelt on this for a moment, still rubbing at his shoulder. ‘So lemme get this straight: they’re in the middle of this private conversation, yeah? This intimate conversation — close to the trolleys, out front, when you — Gaffar — just suddenly, quite randomly, roll up and surprise them?’

‘Sure.’

‘How very odd…’

Gaffar shrugged, indifferent.

‘But you were discreet?’ Kane asked. ‘With Laura, I mean?’

‘Sure,’ Gaffar nodded, blithely. ‘I go. I say hello.’

Gaffar re-enacted a jovial wave.

Kane winced (this wasn’t the response he’d been angling for). ‘And what did Laura do? Did she acknowledge you? Did she seem pissed off at all?’

‘ Piss?! ’ Gaffar grinned. ‘She is shit her pant ! This Laura she is saying, “I never see this Gaffar! I don’t know of this Gaffar!” Then she is run away.’

Gaffar impersonated a panicked Laura running off.

‘She was embarrassed?’

‘Exact.’

‘Okay…’ Kane nodded, thoughtfully. ‘So just as an idle point of interest, Gaffar, do you happen to recall that long discussion we had — a couple of days ago — about client confidentiality?’

Gaffar gazed at him, blankly.

‘Client confidentiality,’ Kane reiterated. ‘That chat we had. About how I tend to think it best — as a rule— never to acknowledge any of our clients in public…I mean except with their express say-so, obviously?’ ‘ Ah …Yes. Sure.’ Gaffar nodded.

‘You remember that?’

‘Sure,’ Gaffar repeated, amiably.

‘Right… Good .’

Kane stared at the tv a while, frowning.

‘So once Laura had run off,’ he soon doggedly recommenced his former line of enquiry, ‘you casually stole the document from Beede’s bag?’

‘No. No …’ Gaffar seemed to find this notion quite ridiculous. ‘First we have tea.’

‘Tea with Beede?’

‘Sure. We talk.’

Kane’s brows rose slightly.

‘You talked ? What did you talk about?’

‘Uh…chit-chat: shop, tree, pretty manager, bell …’

‘Bell?’

Kane’s ears pricked up.

‘Sure. Bell on cat.’

‘Oh God , yes…’ Kane chuckled. ‘That friggin’ bell …’

Gaffar continued to eat his meal.

‘So what did you say?’ Kane wondered.

‘Eh?’

Gaffar glanced up, mid-mouthful.

‘About the cat. Did you admit to hanging the bell on it?’

Gaffar gazed at him for a few seconds, wordlessly, as if quite astonished.

‘What’s wrong?’

Kane took another bite of pitta.

‘Wrong?…’ Gaffar slowly swallowed his mouthful. ‘You thing I hung bell?’ He pointed to his chest. ‘Gaffar? You thing Gaffar hung bell?’

‘Uh…’ Kane frowned (seeming to have nothing vested in this issue, either way), ‘I dunno…’

‘Okay…’ Gaffar gently placed his plate down on to the coffee table. ‘So… Okay … Let me finally get this thing straightened out, once and for all , eh?’

He spoke slowly and deliberately. ‘I. Me . Gaffar. Not. Hang. Bell. Cat.’ He drew a deep breath. ‘Understan? Gaffar…’ he pointed to his chest, ‘is not hang bell cat.’

‘Right.’ Kane nodded. ‘Fine. Whatever.’

Gaffar gripped firmly on to his knees with both hands. ‘ …Because it’s starting to weigh me down a little — the whole cat thing, the whole bell thing…First your father insinuates it, and then you do. Yeah? And I’m not entirely sure if the confusion that’s developing between us here is based on some fundamental linguistic or cultural difference, or if I’m actually just living in a complete fucking nuthouse —but the fundamental facts of the matter — as I see them — are that I’ve been keeping myself pretty busy , yeah? Cooking meals, cleaning the flat, dressing my wound, carrying firewood, picking up dog shit, giving massages to bad-tempered, bloated, 25-stone harpies, visiting the hospital, buying salad , making out with a silent, huge-breasted, voyeuristic Goff as you blithely masturbate in your leather tv recliner… ’

‘Goth,’ Kane corrected him.

’…stealing papers from people’s bags,’ Gaffar continued, undaunted, ’riding a badly engineered Italian scooter all over this godforsaken town while your stinking English weather pisses endlessly down… Pretty damn busy , yeah?’

‘Absolutely,’ Kane said, nodding.

’On that basis, I’m sure you can imagine,’ Gaffar continued, ‘ that it comes as something of a surprise to me — perhaps even a shock, at some level — that you and your father seem so determined to believe that I, Gaffar, in the midst of all this frenzied — if fundamentally pointless — activity, somehow have the time — or the inclination — to hang a stupid bell on an ugly fucking cat .’

He stared at Kane, somewhat short of breath, his dark eyes bulging. ‘Okay?’

‘Sure,’ Kane shrugged.

‘Okay? ’

Silence

Gaffar picked up his plate and recommenced with his meal.

‘Feeling better?’ Kane enquired amiably, after a brief duration.

‘Fuckin’ lid ,’ Gaffar muttered, ‘fuckin’ rug , fuckin’ drug , fuckin’ salad , fuckin cat …’

He screwed up his napkin and threw it down at the coffee table, in disgust.

They both watched tv a while.

‘So you didn’t, then?’ Kane suddenly enquired.

‘Pard?’ Gaffar turned and stared at Kane, blankly.

‘You didn’t?’

Gaffar continued to stare.

‘Hang the bell, I mean. You didn’t hang the bell on the cat?’

Gaffar remained utterly motionless.

‘Ding! Ding!’

Kane mimed the ringing of a tiny bell.

‘Miaow!’

He impersonated a cat.

Silence

Gaffar slowly closed his eyes. He remained dangerously quiet for three — five — seven seconds and then–

‘ Ha! ’ he suddenly bellowed, his eyes flying open again, darting forward and slapping Kane (perhaps a fraction too firmly), on his thigh. ‘You’s funny guy, eh ?’

Kane shrugged, modestly.

‘No,’ Gaffar insisted loudly (as if addressing a crowded public meeting), ‘is true . You’s very , very funny guy.’

Kane smiled.

‘ Funny , huh? In Turkey we has this word for funny guy like you,’ he paused, dramatically, ‘ tiny cock! Eh? Baby cock! A man with a dick so small, so infinitesimal, it’s the approximate size of a newborn child’s. Tiny cock…mini cock. Peanut cock… ’

‘Aw, shucks , man,’ Kane interrupted him. ‘ Enough already — you’re embarrassing me here…’

On the tv, the fallen climber screamed out in agony as he began clumsily binding up his badly fractured leg. Kane patted his full stomach as he watched this painful process, then he burped, slid his empty plate on to the coffee table, leaned forward and peered down at his feet. He wiggled his toes and then gingerly stood up.