Nicola Barker - Darkmans

BOO!

A man leapt out at him; sharply etched, brightly lit, fully dimensional against the heavy black curtain of his eyelids; a lean man with a shaved head, a tattered, yellow coat, an inquisitive stare. Beede gazed back at him, quite amazed.

Who are you? he heard a voice whisper. It was his voice. The man didn’t answer, but he smiled.

‘Oh God ,’ Beede said. He knew that smile. He peered over his shoulder, panicked, hearing Elen suddenly calling–

‘Hello? Hello?! John? Is that you ?’

— her voice a strange, somewhat disquieting combination of apprehension and longing.

‘What happened?’ Laura demanded. ‘Was there an accident or something?’

She seemed a little hysterical.

‘I’ve been waiting outside in the car…’ Kane brushed past her, dismissively, ‘just twiddling my thumbs until your other visitor left.’

He strolled through a grand, split-level entrance-hall towards a full-size, oriental-style mirror, caught his reflection in it and drew to an abrupt halt. He stared at himself, confused.

‘Oh bugger… ’ she was still peering outside, nervously. ‘Did you walk across the lawn , Kane? I see footprints on the lawn. Never step on a lawn when it’s frosty. Didn’t you know that? The grass blades snap and the lawn turns brown. Tom’s really fussy about his lawn. It was only put down last summer…’

She turned, slamming the door shut. ‘Did you wipe your feet?’ They both stared down at his boots. He hadn’t wiped them.

‘I need to wash my face,’ he said, glancing back into the mirror again, bemused. His skin was blackened with charcoal and his cheeks were streaked with tears.

‘Was there a fire?’ she asked, trotting along subserviently behind him as he opened a selection of doors in search of a cloakroom. ‘Are your hands clean?’

He looked down at his hands. His hands were spotless.

‘Tom’s incredibly houseproud…’ she wittered on. ‘It’s kind of a show -home, really. Tom — my brother-in-law — built it himself. He’s a contractor. He used to be involved in all these big, commercial projects — factories, stations, that kind of thing, but lately he’s expanded into housing. Cedar Wood was his first major development, and this is his first attempt at the luxury end of the market. He built all the properties on this road…’

Kane finally hit pay-dirt. He walked into a magnificently fitted cloakroom, located the sink and tried to turn on the tap. He couldn’t get it to work.

‘The fittings are all Italian,’ Laura said, bustling over and operating it herself, ‘they take a little bit of getting used to.’

Kane leaned over and began rinsing his face. Once he was done, he blindly reached out for a towel.

‘Not the towel!’ Laura all-but squealed, ‘They’re 100 per cent Egyption cotton. Just use some of this…’

She quickly unravelled a handful of toilet-roll. Kane took it from her and gingerly dabbed at his face with it. It flaked on to his stubble. He grimaced. Laura immediately moved in to help.

‘It’s good quality paper,’ she assured him, plucking away at his jaw. ‘Quilted. It really shouldn’t break up so easily…’

‘This house is crazy,’ Kane observed, peering around him, perplexed. ‘Kind of too-much, almost.’

‘Everything’s top of the range,’ Laura insisted. ‘I think it’s a dream home — just beautiful, just perfect —but poor Pat really hates it and she actually has to live here…’

‘Pat?’

‘My sister-in-law. She says she’s almost afraid to fart in case she dents or scratches something…’

Kane inspected himself in the mirror above the sink. ‘That’s better,’ he said.

‘Would you like some tea?’ Laura asked, unable to resist the urge to straighten his collar.

Kane frowned. ‘I’m actually in quite a rush today, Laura…’

Her face crumpled. He sighed, ‘Okay. Sure . Why not? But just a very quick cup…’

She beamed, delighted, and led him back out into the hallway.

‘So why are you hanging around here?’ he asked.

‘No reason,’ Laura shrugged, ‘I just popped over to feed the cat. Normally they have a professional in to do it — a security guard who also keeps an eye on the other empty properties — but he didn’t turn up last night. It’s Tom and Pat’s Wedding Anniversary — they’ve gone to Miami for a week. Tom actually has quite a few business interests there…’

‘How romantic,’ Kane interjected, dryly.

‘Yes…’ Laura paused for a moment next to a badly framed photograph on a small table in the hallway.

‘Look — that’s Pat, there…’ she pointed. ‘She’s my best friend as well as my sister-in-law. This was taken in Durham last year when their oldest boy — Max — graduated from university…’

‘Lovely.’

Kane barely even glanced down.

‘ I took it,’ Laura said proudly, ‘but then Pat framed it.’

Kane homed in on the photograph again. It consisted of three people sitting companionably around a table in an upmarket restaurant: a middle-aged woman, a young man and an older man who was cheerfully toasting the photographer with a glass of champagne.

‘Who’s that?’ Kane asked, pointing to the older male. ‘He seems kind of familiar …’

He picked up the picture and scrutinised it more closely (knocking a small, slightly incongruous china donkey in the process).

‘That’s Tom. Tom Higson —from Power and Higson Ltd, the contractors?’ Laura darted out a quick hand to rescue the donkey. ‘He’s quite a well-known businessman in the Ashford area.’

Kane stared at the man for a little longer.

‘And he’s called Tom, you say?’

‘Yes. And that’s Pat. And that’s Maxwell…’

She took the photograph back from him and carefully arranged it on the table again.

‘There …’

So he built this house himself?’

Kane peered around him, ruminatively.

‘Yes…’ she paused. ‘I mean…’ she paused for a second time, somewhat apprehensively, ‘I mean I helped with some of the fittings — I chose the hardwood floors and the sink and the cabinets in the kitchen…Pat’s not really interested in that kind of thing. Tom’s spent a fair bit of time in Saudi. He got a few of his main design ideas from the hotels there…’

‘There’s certainly quite a palatial feel to the place,’ Kane remarked as they walked through to a huge, well-equipped kitchen where the first thing his eye alighted upon was an ugly, pine mug-tree placed — somewhat conspicuously — in the middle of one of the work-surfaces.

‘Well that’s a classy touch,’ he grinned, running his hand over the counter-top.

‘It’s made from a special kind of marble,’ Laura volunteered (getting her wires crossed), ‘Greek marble…although I can’t remember the actual name of it…’

She went to grab the kettle. Kane removed two mugs from the tree. One was chipped, the other bore the legend: The World’s Best Fisherman .

‘The devil’s in the detail, eh?’ he joked, carrying them over to the table.

Laura turned as he placed the two mugs down. ‘Let’s not use those ,’ she protested, ‘there’s a whole new service…’

She opened a cupboard to reveal a smart, white tea set. ‘Tom bought it for Pat’s birthday. It’s from Selfridges. I helped him to choose it.’

‘But I like these,’ Kane insisted.

Laura snatched up the chipped mug and stared at it, frowning. ‘They’re Pat’s favourites. It’s not that she doesn’t have any taste, as such, it’s just that all the things they had before — in the semi — from when the boys were small, and from her parents’ old home, somehow look so out of place here. Tom was all for throwing everything away and starting afresh but Pat wouldn’t have it. She says she won’t live her life like it’s an article in some stuck-up design magazine…’