Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘It’s nothing,’ he tried to brush her concern aside, ‘just a little stiffness in the mouse…’

He frowned.

Mouse?

His mind turned to Kelly’s card.

Forgiven

‘I mean mussell,’ he said, ‘muscle,’ he quickly corrected himself. But that was all it took, because suddenly, butting its way, determinedly, into the gap (the chink — nudging itself in between those tiny hurdles of meaning) came the stag; that huge, powerful, old stag with its sturdy gait, its broken horns, its unflinching look.

Then (hard upon) he felt a corresponding tremor running through his arm, as if a mouse were under his skin, inside his vessels, scurrying through him, hunting for something.

‘No.’

He opened his eyes–

Were my eyes closed?

Did I just speak?

She was kneeling down in front of him. ‘No,’ she repeated firmly, ‘I’m definitely coming home with you. If you insist on taking the bike then I’ll follow. I’ll cook you some breakfast. It’s the very least I can do.’

Beede started to object again, but he wasn’t really concentrating. He was thinking about the mouse. The scurrying mouse.

‘Just humour me, Danny,’ she pleaded, grabbing his hand. He could smell her hair as she leaned towards him. Her hair smelled of roses. He smiled. Then he winced. His nostrils quivered. Blood and roses, he thought.

‘A present? For me ?’

Gaffar proffered her the bag, with a grin.

She took it and opened it. Inside were a pair of white, knee-high, fun-fur boots. Yeti boots.

‘Is for to match,’ Gaffar explained, ‘on foot.’

‘ Aw! To wear wiv’ the old plaster-cast? To balance me out, like?’ Kelly kicked off her slipper, delighted. ‘What a sweetheart . Bang it on, will ya?’

Gaffar carefully slipped the boot on to her foot.

‘Wow.’

She held out her leg and inspected it, grinning. ‘That’s dapper,’ she chuckled, tousling his hair. ‘Thanks, kid.’

‘You is dress, huh?’ Gaffar observed, straightening up again, indicating towards her clothes.

‘Yeah. I’m just waitin’ to get signed out. The doctor’s due in an hour…’ she frowned. ‘So where’d you get that bruise?’ she wondered. ‘It’s a fuckin’ corker .’

‘Bruce?’

Gaffar looked mystified.

‘That bruise , Dumbo. On your forehead.’

‘Ah. ’

Gaffar put a hand to his forehead.

‘You was in Readin’, yeah?’

‘Reading? Sure.’

‘You sit wiv’ my brother then, or what?’

‘Uh…’

Gaffar frowned.

‘Wassup?’

‘I get this tex ,’ Gaffar promptly changed the subject, ‘to say you is forgive Gaffar, eh?’

‘ Forgive you?’ Kelly echoed. ‘Sure…’ Then she frowned, suspicious. ‘What for , exactly?’

Gaffar closed his eyes and tensed up his shoulders, as if steadying himself for some kind of violent attack. ‘Okay… Okay . So this stupid hospital is close ,’ he confessed.

‘Closed? ’

He opened one eye. ‘Sure. This morgue…’

‘The morgue was closed ?’

He nodded.

‘Fine.’

Kelly shrugged. ‘I mean I know you’re full of shit —I ain’t a fool or nothin’—but fine.’

Gaffar was taken aback by her reaction. He was almost disappointed.

‘ Fine? ’

Kelly nodded. ‘You was on a hidin’ to nothin’ there, mate — a wild-goose chase—‘cuz Paul was here all along, see?’

‘Goose?’

‘No. Paul . My brother , yeah? He was here. God brought him here. He snapped on my bra strap. It took me a little while to realise, yeah? Paul was wiv’ God. An’ God was right here…’ she swallowed, blinking, suddenly full of emotion, ‘on this ward.’

?!

’Did they mess with your medication again?’ Gaffar murmured, staring at her, quizzically.

‘Thanks for the boots,’ she repeated, ‘they’re lush. And now I need you to help me up. There’s somethin’ I gotta do.’

‘Huh?’

‘I need a piss. An’ then I wanna go an’ find the Rev. They moved the Rev…’

She pointed to the ceiling, by way of explanation. Gaffar inspected the ceiling. There seemed to be a large hole in it.

‘For piss ?’ he reiterated.

‘Yeah. I need a piss. You can come an’ hold the doors open. The nurses are all busy. Help me up.’

She held out her hands. He assisted her, gently, to her feet, then passed her her crutches.

‘An’ you can grab that while you’re at it,’ she suggested, pointing to the large, brown envelope containing Beede’s photocopied document which was poking out of her half-packed sports bag. Gaffar snatched up the envelope, bent it in two and shoved it into his back pocket.

‘So what did you do all night?’ she asked him.

‘Pard?’

‘Went to some shonky gamblin’ den, eh? Got bladdered? Played dice? Crowned it all wiv’ a big punch-up?’

Gaffar scowled, patently unnerved by the accuracy of this synopsis. ‘You speak for Simo?’ he asked, quickly glancing over his shoulder, paranoid.

‘Simo?’

‘Drive? From minicab?’

‘So how much did ya bag?’ Kelly demanded.

‘Eh?’

‘Wonga, mate. Greens. Boodle. Mazuma. Because I definitely want half of it.’

‘Half? ’

‘No kiddin’,’ she persisted. ‘Either you give me what’s due or I ring up your pal Kane an’ tell him how you sold us all down the fuckin’ swanny last night, kicked up ya size nines an’ went gamblin’ instead.’ ‘Half? ’ Gaffar reiterated.

Kelly deftly slipped her hand inside his coat pocket and withdrew his wallet. She opened it up.

‘Fuck me. You’re well -pelfed!’

She removed a portion of the notes, then handed him the wallet back. Gaffar snatched it from her, glowering.

‘ Oi! Don’t get all narked ,’ she chastised him. ‘This is for a good cause, yeah? This is for God’s work, ya get me? I’m on his pay-roll, now.’

She crossed herself (the wrong way around) then stuffed the notes into her skirt.

‘Right. Let’s head off. I’m fuckin’ bustin’ for a slash.’

She indicated the way. Then she stopped.

‘ Balls. I forgot my Bible. It’s on the bed. Just grab me my Bible, will ya?’ ‘Bible?’

Gaffar leaned down and grabbed the Bible. He held it in his hand and inspected it, frowning.

‘You need this Bible for to go piss ?’

‘Yeah,’ she confirmed. ‘When I was into East 17, yeah? The band, yeah? I wouldn’t even fuckin’ fart —‘scuse my French — without my picture of Brian in my pocket. I had it all reinforced wiv’ sticky-back plastic — to protect it, yeah? So I could wipe the lippy off his gob whenever I smooched it,’ she shrugged, resigned. ‘That’s just how I am, I guess.’

He proffered her the Bible. She took it from him, kissed it, then passed it back. He gazed at her, incredulous.

‘I’m gung-ho, Gaff,’ she chuckled, hopping along, unsteadily, in her fluffy, new boot, ‘I’m a nutter , a ditz, a turd, a ding-bat…’ she shrugged. ‘But that’s corking , mate, it’s peachy — it’s “all wool an’ a yard wide” as my old nan used to say — because here’s the important bit…’ she turned to face him, her eyes shining with pride, and enunciated very slowly — very cleanly —to ensure he understood ‘…that’s exactly how God loves me, see ?’