Nicola Barker - Darkmans

The boy dropped his hand. ‘ Really? ’

‘Sure. Why not?’

Kane showed him a tantalisingly bare expanse of flesh on his arm.

The boy strode to the table and grabbed the jar. He expertly twisted all the protruding strands of twine around his index finger, then slowly unscrewed the lid. He lifted the fleas into the air, like they were a group of invisible girls attatched to the invisible ribbons of an invisible maypole.

‘Give me your arm,’ he instructed.

Kane held out his arm. The boy tried to settle the fleas upon it. Kane winced as they landed, jumped and then re-landed.

‘It might take a while,’ the boy said.

‘That’s just fine,’ Kane smiled, turning his face away, repelled, as they started to suckle.

Beede drove straight in to work — after a long, cold night of fruitless searching — feeling numb, physically drained and demoralised. The first thing he discovered, on arrival, apart from an irate member of staff camping outside his office who — for no reason they could fathom — was suddenly being charged Emergency Rate tax (Beede promptly made up the difference in his wages, without scruple, from petty cash) was a note from Kelly. It was scribbled on to the back of a Get Well Soon card ( Dear Jeremy, Get well soon, Son! Lots of love, Dad ) which featured (Beede frowned at it, horrified) a badly taken photograph of a woman’s breast with an amateurish-looking mouse’s face (and whiskers) drawn on to the soft, pale flesh around the nipple (a very large, pink nipple, which was apparently meant to signify the mouse’s snout) in some kind of — he looked closer–

Good Gracious…

— felt-tip or make-up pencil. It was obscene. It was ugly. It was awful.

He clutched at his shoulder, grimacing, then opened a desk drawer and searched for some Aspirin. He couldn’t find any. He slammed the drawer shut (irritated) then jarred his shoulder again in the act of doing so–

Ouch!

He turned the card over, with a scowl. On the rear of it Kelly had written–

Oi! Join the 21st century, Grandad! Get yorself a mobile!

And then, directly underneath, in capital letters:

I FORGIVE YOU, MATE!

XXKelly

Then under that:

PS. I think we both know what for — but Im so over it now you would not even believe!!

Then under that:

PPS — I found GOD!!!! Or he found me, more-like! (Swank Swank!) Then under that: PPPS. Paul died (yestrdy. aft.), but don’t wrry. Im really OK about it.

Then under that:….….….…… PPS. Going to Africa to become a Saint! [followed by a little drawing of Africa — which looked nothing like Africa — with a small halo above it] WAH!!!!!!!!

Beede sighed, gently pinched the bridge of his nose, threw the note into the wastepaper basket and picked up his phone. He dialled Elen’s number. It rang several times before it was finally answered.

‘Hello?’

Beede almost did a double-take.

‘Dory? ’

‘Yes?’

‘Good God …’

‘Hello? Beede? Is that you?’

‘Yes. Yes it’s me. So when did…?’ He quickly stopped himself. ‘I mean how are you?’

‘Fine. I’ve only just got in, actually. I was out working. Out all night working…[ hand placed over the receiver]…No , Fleet. Put it down. That’s for your toast. You know you don’t just eat it off the spoon…[ pause ] Hello?’

‘Dory? Hi. Is this a bad time? It’s early…’ Beede glanced at his watch. ‘I wasn’t really thinking straight…’

‘Uh…’ Dory paused. ‘I’m afraid Fleet’s still finishing off his breakfast. Elen’s already left to see a client. I’m in charge of the school run and he’s being rather…[ hand over receiver again ]…Absolutely not . You do not feed the dog from the table. Go and wash your hands. That’s completely unacceptable…[ Pause ] Beede?’

‘Hello?’

‘Can we meet up later, perhaps? You could come over here if you like. Are you at work?’

‘Yes. I mean…’ Beede was scowling, confused. ‘So you’ve acquired a dog?’

‘Pardon?’

‘You have a dog ?’

‘A dog? Uh…’ Dory grunted, tetchily. ‘Yes. I’m afraid we do. A spaniel. A wretched little thing, actually. Her back legs are all… Fleet! [ loud wailing in the background ]…I warned you about that, didn’t I? It’s your own, stupid fault. Now take off your socks and go and wash your feet. I said take off …Don’t spread it all over the floor! [ Pause ] Beede?’

‘Yes?’

‘I’m sorry. The dog’s made a mess on the tiles and Fleet’s just walked straight through it. I’m going to have to…’

Beede was gazing out (hollow-eyed) through his small window into the laundry as Dory spoke, idly scraping his thumb over the day’s growth on his cheek–

Desperately need a…

— then suddenly–

Huh?

— he stiffened to attention–

Elen!

He saw Elen standing there. He saw Elen in the laundry. He saw Elen, conversing with a member of staff and then turning, with a smile, and walking towards him.

‘Beede? Hello? About ten, then? Ten-thirty?’

‘Yes,’ he almost barked, feeling his heart starting to race, his skin redden. ‘Absolutely. That’s ideal. I’ll see you then.’

He slammed down the receiver and stood up, adjusting his shirt collar, brushing a self-conscious hand through his hair. Elen knocked.

‘Come in.’

The door opened.

‘Danny!’ she gasped. ‘What a relief! Thank God you’re here. I just had a hunch…’ she’d grabbed a hold of his arm and squeezed it, gratefully, struggling to catch her breath. ‘Did you get all my messages?’

‘Messages?’ He glanced over towards his answering machine. The red light was flashing.

‘No matter,’ she ran on. ‘He’s home. Stumbled in about an hour ago, dressed in this filthy, old tracksuit. Flip-flops. No explanation. This awful bruise on his forehead…’

‘I know. I just rang…’ Beede admitted, shutting the door behind her, and using this manoeuvre as a means to dislodge her grip on his arm.

‘He answered?’

She seemed alarmed by this prospect. They were still standing in close proximity. She was wearing a soft, loose, black, roll-neck jumper and slim-fitting black jeans tucked into a pair of plain, knee-high leather boots. Her hair hung over her shoulders in two loose plaits.

He indicated, stiffly, towards the spare chair. ‘Yes. But it was fine. He was busy with Fleet…’

He wished she would just move away. He was overwhelmed by her proximity. He closed his eyes, momentarily.

‘Are you all right?’

He opened his eyes again. She was staring up at him, frowning.

‘Fine. Just a little tired. I seem to have pulled a muscle in my…’ She put out a quick hand and felt his forehead. ‘You’re warm. Much too warm. And you’ve got a tiny, little blood blister on your lip. Did you stay out all night?’

‘Uh…’

He tried to take a step away from her but simply backed into his chair. He sat down, heavily.

‘I’m fine,’ he said.

‘You’re not actually intending to work today?’

She glanced over at the rota on the pin-board above his desk, but she couldn’t make any sense of it.

‘No,’ Beede shook his head, ‘I left in rather a rush last night so I just popped in to…’

‘Let me drive you home.’

‘No. I’m fine. I’ve got the bike.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous. You’re obviously in pain. Your cheeks are all flushed.’