Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘The wall?’

‘When I fell off the wall an’ bust my leg…’

‘You did what ?’

‘An’ then I met Gaffar. An’ I was allergic to painkillers. An’ Gaffar stole the envelope. An’ I read the papers, an’ I met the Reverend. An’ the Reverend had this vision that Paul would say “Bollocks”. Then he did. An’ now we’re goin’ to Africa. And my grandad was a monk . He dieted for Christ too. An’ it’s all because I fell off that wall. Because of you …’

‘You’re just babbling now,’ the Reverend soberly interjected. He leaned in closer to Kelly’s phone. ‘She’s just babbling,’ he informed Winifred.

‘Who’s that?’ Winnie demanded.

‘It’s the Rev. Ignore him. He’s only in a bad mood ’cos I brought down the roof…’

‘You did what?’

Winnie sounded bewildered.

‘Like I told that stupid nurse, it was a total, fuckin’ accident …’ ‘Kelly…’ The Reverend nudged her.

‘So will you go?’ Kelly demanded, ignoring him. ‘Will you look?’ ‘To the library?’

‘Yeah.’

‘Well I’m sure I’ll probably be heading into town at some point…’ ‘ BRILLIANT! ’

Kelly paused, inhaled, at which juncture the Reverend snatched the phone from her. ‘It was just a metaphor ,’ he said, ‘God speaks in metaphors, as I tried my best to explain to her. And forget Africa. She’s getting way ahead of herself on that count…’ he paused. ‘And there was no impropriety. Doesn’t matter what they say. My curtains were only closed because I have a certain sensitivity …’ he inhaled, sharply, ‘in fact the doctor’s just heading over, so if it’s all right with you, I’ll draw a neat, little veil around this peculiar interlude and bid you a very…uh…’

He took the phone from his ear and stared at it for a moment, trying to figure out how to end the call, then something else occurred to him and he returned it to his ear. ‘Are you still there?’

‘Yeah,’ Winnie answered, suddenly quite exhausted.

‘Just to set the record completely straight,’ the Reverend continued, ‘I’m actually a High Anglican. It was a High Anglican vision. Nothing remotely radical, or weird, or New Age or — God forbid…’ (he quickly crossed himself), ‘Evangelical…’

He removed the phone from his ear again, finally located the right button, and cut Winnie off with it.

‘I really don’t mean to be a liturgical bore ,’ he informed Kelly, passing her the phone, ‘but we need to discuss the concept of The Fall — as a matter of some urgency…’

‘Jus’ gimme a kiss , you big ape,’ Kelly exclaimed, throwing out her arms, beaming. And then, as she proceeded to envelop the Reverend in a robust hug: ‘D’ya hear that, Doc?’ she demanded, over the Reverend’s twitching shoulder. ‘We Broads got class , yeah? We got breedin’ . We got pedigree !’ she cackled. ‘Just like the fuckin’ dog -meat! Like chum ! Like all those natty little mutts at Crufts . We’re up there, mate. We arrived ! We pulled it off ! Ding- dong !’ she hollered, her gleeful voice echoing down the corridor. ‘Ding-bloomin’- dong !’

He gently covered her with a blanket, walked over to the light switch (it had a dimmer mechanism on it), glanced around the room for a final time and turned it off. He strolled into the kitchen to ensure the back door was locked. It wasn’t. So he turned the key and shot the bolt.

On his way out he noticed a small pool of liquid on the tiles. He grimaced, crouching down to inspect it–

Dog piss

— then quickly grabbed some paper towel and cleaned it up. Once this was done–

Yuk

— he went to try and locate the dog.

‘Michelle?’

He peered along the hallway–

Nope.

So where…?

He observed a door, slightly ajar, just off to his left — a room he hadn’t been into before…

‘Michelle?’

He paused, his head slightly cocked, listening intently. Was that a sound? A whimper ? He pushed the door wider and felt blindly along the wall for the light. He found the switch. He pressed it. The light came on. He winced. It was a bright light — just a bare bulb (the shade having been removed at some point). He looked around for the dog. He spotted her. She was cowering under the table. He pushed the door wider, took a tentative step towards her and then–

Good God

He froze.

It was actually a dining-room — by no means a huge room — mostly taken up by a table and six chairs (several of which had been placed against the walls — to better improve access to the table, he supposed). And on top of the table? Crowning it? Over-running it? Eclipsing it?

Holy Moly!

A crazy, chaotic, matchstick town: a cathedral…a palace…a bridge…a water mill…

Wow

Kane slowly moved forward, so hesitantly at first that it was almost as if he thought the matchsticks might all collapse (that they might not actually be glued). Then he stood and he stared, quite agog.

After a minute or so he gradually began prowling around the table, intently apprehending each individual model from every angle, finally drawing to a halt (right back where he’d started) on the southern side of the large cathedral.

This was surely the pinnacle — the pièce de résistance ? A wildly ambitious, terrifyingly meticulous, insanely ornate and yet perfectly magnificent structure (as yet unfinished). It was also… well …oddly… uh …(he scratched his head, bemused)…strangely… uh …–

Familiar, somehow…

He blinked. He drew in still closer, concentrating so intently on the finer details that he was barely even breathing now. He nervously reached out a tentative finger…

‘Don’t!’

A voice spoke.

He turned, withdrawing his hand, surprised. It was the boy–

Huh?

He glanced down at himself. He suddenly realised that he had fallen to his knees. He was kneeling.

‘I know this place,’ he exclaimed, ‘I had this incredible dream …’ ‘John saw it while he was in France,’ the boy automatically responded, rather like a tour guide. ‘He thought it was beautiful. He often thinks about it.’

‘No…you don’t understand,’ Kane repeated, barely even registering what the boy was saying, ‘I had a dream , but it was exactly …’ ‘I know,’ the boy brushed him aside, contemptuously. ‘We all dream about it.’

Kane frowned, confused, as the child drew abreast of him. He was still on his knees.

‘How d’you mean?’

‘Did the bird do that?’ the boy wondered, inspecting Kane’s knuckles dispassionately.

‘Do what?’

Kane half-turned.

‘ That ,’ the boy pointed, ‘on your hands.’

‘Huh?’

Kane inspected his palms.

‘No, silly , on the back …’

The boy turned his hands over–

Ouch!

Kane winced at his touch. The skin on his fingers felt swollen; stretched, incredibly sensitive. He gazed down at them, horrified, expecting second-degree burns, at least, but there was nothing visibly wrong with them. He blinked–

Nothing.

Perfectly fine.

Perfectly smooth.

‘There’s nothing wrong with my hands,’ he said, clearly spooked.

‘Oh.’

The boy shrugged.

Kane paused, frowning. ‘So you actually saw the bird?’