Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘ I can keep an eye on the boy,’ he insisted. ‘And I give you something to make you relax,’ he expanded, ‘which’ll definitely help…’ ‘If I relax I’ll just shatter,’ she smiled, slightly self-consciously (as if perfectly aware of how dramatic this sounded), ‘like some beat-up, old windscreen.’

‘Damned if you do…’ he told her, watching on possessively as she gently tipped her head against the arm of the sofa, her long, dark lashes slowly fluttering to a close. After a while her breathing deepened.

He leaned over towards her, then, instinctively reaching out his hand to brush the damp tangle of hair from her forehead, her cheek, her throat, but not actually making contact — not daring to make contact — just holding his fingers aloft, mere inches from her skin, like a scrupulous pianist too enthralled by the thought of a tune to presume to play a note.

‘You forgive me?’

‘Yeah…’ Kelly slapped her Bible shut and grinned into her mobile’s mouthpiece, almost beatifically, ‘yeah, I do , as it so happens…’

She was sitting — legs akimbo — in a badly broken wheelchair, on a busy hospital corridor, alongside a lightly slumbering Reverend, patiently awaiting their latest x-ray results.

‘But why ?’ Winifred demanded, her words slightly slurred. ‘I mean for what ?’

‘Because I’ve found God an’ I wanted to make my peace,’ Kelly informed her, cheerfully. ‘I sent the same text to everyone in my address book… Uh ,’ she frowned, concerned, ‘an’ if you don’t mind my sayin’, you sound just a tad pissed , love.’

‘So let me get this straight: you suddenly got this overwhelming urge at…uh…’

Pause

‘…five past eleven — pretty much on the dot — to forgive everyone you ever met ?’

‘Yup,’ Kelly nodded. ‘That’s about the sum of it.’

‘But why ?’

‘I already said,’ Kelly shrugged, unperturbed, ‘because it was the Godly thing to do…’

‘The Godly thing?’ Winnie snorted.

‘Yeah. You know, clean slate an’ all that…’ she paused, thoughtfully, ‘or maybe you don’t , come to think of it…’

‘So which God are we talking about here?’ Winnie enquired (as if Gods were just something you might select at the cheese counter).

‘ Which God?’ Kelly was incredulous. ‘Don’t be stupid! The God. The God who found me. My God.’

‘Urgh…’ Winnie hiccoughed. ‘I’m suddenly feeling ever so slightly sick …’

‘An’ because of Paul,’ Kelly calmly continued, ‘I’m forgivin’ you for Paul . Paul died. He’s dead.’

Pause

‘Yes,’ Winnie spoke extra slowly, as if engaging with an imbecile, ‘I know that. You already told me that, remember?’

‘No I didn’t, as it happens,’ Kelly maintained, swapping her phone to the other ear (and inadvertently nudging the Reverend awake as she did so). ‘Well I did , but I didn’t, because he weren’t actually dead at that point.’

‘Pardon?’

‘I fibbed.’

‘You did what?’

‘I fibbed. I porky-pied.’

‘You lied ?’ Winnie struggled to digest the full implications of this news. ‘But that’s just…I don’t understand. Why on earth might a person do that?’

‘Oi!’ Kelly harrumphed. ‘Climb down off your high horse. It was you as got him snortin’ glue , remember?’

The Reverend delivered her a warning glare. She delivered him one straight back.

‘Well strictly speaking…’ Winnie slurred, ‘I mean to be completely fair, we kind of got started together …’

‘ Balls! ’ Kelly exclaimed. The Reverend nudged her, sharply. She drew a deep breath and stared up at the ceiling. ‘But who cares— whatever . It’s ove r with, yeah? A done-deal— kaput . I forgive you. So let’s just leave it at that, shall we?’

‘How’d he pass?’ Winnie demanded, patently still suspicious, ‘and when , exactly?’

‘Late this afternoon. He was in a coma. He sat up, he said, “Bollocks”, an’ then he died. Just like that.’

As she spoke Kelly’s raised eyes moistened.

‘He said what ?’ Winnie chortled.

‘Bollocks.’

Kelly wasn’t chortling.

‘He sat up and said bollocks? He was in a coma? Then he sat up and he…?’

‘Yeah,’ Kelly growled.

‘Are you serious?’

‘Never more so.’

‘Honestly?’

Kelly drew a deep breath. She clamped her lips together (this forgiveness business plainly wasn’t all it was cracked up to be).

‘Yeah, honestly ,’ she finally ground out.

‘So how long was he in this coma for?’

Winnie’s tone was now marginally — but only very marginally — more sober.

‘Two years.’

‘Two years ?!’

‘Christ,’ Kelly expostulated. ‘You growin’ spuds or what?’

The Reverend clucked. Kelly shot him a black look.

Silence

‘So you’ve forgiven me, huh?’

‘Yup.’

Kelly rested a gentle hand on her Bible.

‘But what if I don’t want your forgiveness?’ Winnie wondered.

‘Come again?’

‘What if I don’t want it? What if I’m not interested …’

Kelly rapidly lifted her hand.

‘Then you can fuck right off,’ she spat, ‘because you’re forgiven, and there ain’t bugger-all you can do about it.’

The Reverend slapped her arm.

‘Ow!’

‘Well I’ll need to forgive you too, then,’ Winnie graciously insisted.

‘Huh?’

‘For lying to me in the first place.’

Kelly gave this some thought. ‘Fair enough,’ she conceded, ‘though as grudges go, it’s hardly in the same ball -park…’

‘Well that’s a matter of opinion.’

‘No it ain’t. It’s a fact.’

‘Yes it is.’

‘No it ain’t.’

‘So where’d you get my number?’

‘Huh?’

Kelly was briefly thrown off her stride.

‘Was it Kane? Did he give it you?’

‘ That skank? No. I got it from the envelope.’

‘The envelope? Which envelope?’

‘The one I delivered for ya. As a favour . An’ while we’re at it…’

Kelly continued, ‘that old story…’

‘Which one?’

‘The one in the envelope.’

‘You mean the stuff from the British Library?’

‘Yeah.’

‘What about it?’

‘The man who wrote it, the doctor…’

‘What about him?’

‘Nothin’…’ Kelly cleared her throat, guardedly, ‘I was just interested , is all.’

Pause

‘Why?’

‘Huh?’

‘Why? Why were you interested?’

‘Why the hell shouldn’t I be?’ she snapped.

‘Uh…’ Winnie gave this question some consideration. ‘No reason, I suppose. He was a fascinating character…’

‘Yeah?’

‘Yeah.’ She paused, speculatively. ‘So you obviously took a quick peep inside the envelope…?’

‘Yup.’

‘Well that was wrong — a total breach of etiquette, of faith …’ Kelly scowled.

‘But I forgive you.’

Kelly continued scowling. ‘I’ll tell you somethin’ for nothin’, Miss Clever-Bum,’ she volunteered.

‘What?’

‘For all your fancy education, you ain’t much of a speller. ’