Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Beede was staring at him, like he’d lost his reason.

‘Gaffar. That little chat …’ Kane stuttered.

‘There’s no rush,’ Beede said coldly, ‘I said later would be fine.’

Kane shrugged. ‘Good. Great . Then I’ll head off.’

He removed his phone from his pocket and glanced down at it.

‘Winifred,’ he exclaimed, glancing up. But the door was already shut.

The elusive Reverend Jacobs was eventually located — after a helpful tip-off from a garrulous cleaner — cowering under a desk in the tiny Nurses’ Station on an extremely busy Geriatric ward.

‘If Sister finds you here, ducks,’ Kelly warned him, jabbing fondly at his neat rump with one of her crutches, ‘she’ll use ya knackers for door-jams.’

‘ Kelly! ’ the Reverend exclaimed, abruptly lifting his head (and inadvertently smacking it into the desk’s small drawer). ‘How delightful to see you!’

’If he can see you from down there,’ Gaffar observed (with typically implacable logistical acuity), ‘then he’s got eyes in his arse.’

The Reverend slowly backed his way out (trying his utmost to retain what little remained of his dignity). ‘I was actually searching for a pencil ,’ he said.

‘Here…‘ Kelly grabbed one from the desk-top.

‘I mean I dropped one…,’ he continued, vaguely. ‘Oh… Thanks . Fantastic. Now I can finish off that pesky cross word…’

‘This is Gaffar,’ Kelly said, as Gaffar politely assisted him to his feet, ‘I told you all about him, remember?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Charmed to meet you…‘

The Reverend dusted off his knees, tightened his dressing-gown belt and then offered Gaffar his hand.

‘How do you do ?’ he enquired, eyeing Gaffar’s bruises somewhat trepidatiously.

‘He don’t always talk like he got a fist up ‘is jacksie,’ Kelly nudged Gaffar, confidingly, ‘just most of the time, like.’

Gaffar sniggered. The Reverend shot her a dark look.

‘So guess what?’ she demanded.

‘What?’

‘The doc says they’re finally gonna send me packin’…’

‘ Wonderful news!’ the Reverend clasped his hands together, thrilled.

‘…Which means I can hang down here wiv’ you all day,’ Kelly prattled on blithely, ‘readin’ the Scriptures an’ shit.’

‘Oh…’ The Reverend’s joy rapidly dissipated. ‘ Marvellous .’

Kelly’s phone started ringing (the tone having been recently altered to How Great Thou Art). She took it out and inspected it.

‘Mum,’ she growled, flashing the screen briefly in Gaffar’s direction. ‘I ain’t answerin’. Linda should be there by eleven, an’ I got bigger fish to fry…’

The Reverend stared at her, disapprovingly.

‘God’s Will an’ all that,’ Kelly shrugged, slipping the phone into her pocket.

The Reverend turned. ‘I think you’ll soon discover,’ he told her tartly, leading them both back out on to the ward again, ‘that not everything you think and feel can simply be attributed to God.’

‘Why not?’ Kelly demanded, hopping along behind him.

‘Because it can’t . If everything you ever thought and felt could be attributed to God then you would be God…’ he shot her a scathing look, ‘and I can hardly imagine The Almighty teaming moon boots and a mini-skirt.’

‘ Huh? ’

Kelly inspected her outfit, offended.

The Reverend flounced over to his bed and flopped down on to it.

‘So…’ Kelly gazed around her, inquisitively ‘…they’ve gone an’ stuck you on a ward wiv’ a load of pissy, old farts, eh?’

Comic pause

‘Well at least someone in this shithole’s finally got you pegged right!’ She elbowed Gaffar in the ribs, snorting. Gaffar winced.

‘I don’t believe God would’ve said that , for example,’ the Reverend snapped.

Gaffar pulled out a chair and helped Kelly to sit down on it.

‘So what would God say?’ Kelly demanded. ‘Just tell me an’ I’ll say it.’ ‘God would say that he loves all of his subjects equally — young and old — although he’s especially devoted to the sick and the needy…’

‘ That’s a crock for starters,’ Kelly interrupted.

‘How so?’

Kelly shrugged. ‘Well he either loves everyone the same or he don’t.’

‘When God created man,’ the Reverend’s voice took on a preaching tone, ‘he granted us a free will…’

Gaffar picked up a bottle of cologne from the Reverend’s bedside table and inspected the label. The lid promptly fell off and rolled under the bed. He bent down to retrieve it.

‘…so in all the decisions we make,’ the Reverend continued, irritably, ‘in all the things we say and do — God gives us the choice to lean either way: towards good or towards evil…’

Gaffar reached blindly under the bed, groped around for a while and then carefully withdrew a stainless-steel chamber pot (unused).

‘As Christians we use Jesus Christ as our template,’ the Reverend glowered at him, ‘our guide …Shove that back under there, will you?’ Gaffar happily obliged him.

‘We familiarise ourselves with his teachings. We struggle against our baser instincts. We do our best to emulate him…’

Gaffar finally located the lid–

‘Yah!’

— and held it up, victorious.

The Reverend snatched it from him. ‘And in that way we hope — very slowly, very gradually —to become better people…’

Kelly gazed at him as he spoke with a look of blank incomprehension. He sighed, resignedly. ‘I suppose this must all sound rather pedestrian …’ he waved the lid at her, dismissively, ‘to a girl like you.’

‘You told me you was a sensitive ,’ Kelly maintained stolidly, ‘so maybe I am too.’

‘Charismatic,’ he corrected her, replacing the lid on to the cologne bottle, ‘I said I was Charismatic with sensitive leanings …’ he sniffed his fingers, fastidiously, then dabbed them on a blanket, ‘although I rather regret that now…’

Kelly looked shocked. ‘But you had all your visions , Rev.’

‘I was bored ,’ he snapped, ‘and just tossing a few ideas around.’

While he spoke, Gaffar idly acquainted himself with some of the Reverend’s other grooming products. He inspected a jar of moisturiser. ‘Careful —that’s expensive,’ the Reverend snapped.

Gaffar placed it back down again and picked up an electric razor. He flipped a switch to turn it on, but ended up releasing a small hatch of beard shavings down the front of his jumper instead.

‘Urgh! ’

The Reverend lay down flat against his pillows and crossed his hands over his chest. ‘Like the doctors said,’ he continued (barely repressing a smirk at Gaffar’s expense), ‘my “visions” were probably a side-product of something else…’

‘ Shame on you,’ Kelly murmured. ‘After everything what’s happened.’ The Reverend shrugged. Gaffar dusted himself off, grimacing. Kelly sat quietly for a while, eyeing the Reverend, balefully. ‘So where’s your Calvins?’ she eventually asked.

‘Eh? My Calvins ?’ The Reverend looked briefly disconcerted. ‘ Uh …’ He glanced sideways, shiftily. ‘They got broken — last night — in all the chaos.’

‘Oh yeah? Where’s your screen, then?’ Kelly gesticulated, impatiently. ‘An’ why ain’t it closed?’