Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Sorry…’ Kane still wasn’t quite satisfied. ‘They worked on the tunnel? The Channel Tunnel?’

‘Yes.’

Laura walked over to the fridge. It was a huge, American-style fridge. ‘Look at the size of this thing!’

She opened the door. ‘Isn’t it ridiculous?’

She took out some milk, checked the date and then smelled it.

‘So Tom helped to build the tunnel?’

‘Yes. It was one of his first big contracts — although he was mainly involved in the demolition side of things back then…’

‘And Isidore?’

Laura glanced over at him, sharply. ‘Who?’

‘The German?’

‘You mean Dora? ’ she shrugged. ‘He was probably just a part-time labourer — a student, I think. He came from that place we’re joined with… doubled with…That German place…’

‘Bad Munstereifel,’ Kane winced as his foot cramped up again, ‘we’re twinned with them.’

‘Twinned? Is that what they like to call it?’

Laura tipped some milk into each of the two mugs and then picked up the teapot. ‘I can never actually remember whether it’s a sign of bad breeding to put the milk in first,’ she smiled, starting to pour.

‘So that was how they met, huh?’ Kane mused.

‘Yes. But then obviously after all those buildings burned down…’

Laura filled Kane’s mug and handed it over. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

‘Sorry?’

‘A biscuit?’

‘The buildings ? Which buildings?’

‘Tom’s warehouses. Three different fires. Five, six years ago. It was tragic. An awful blow.’

Kane stared at her, in shock. ‘He burned down your brother’s warehouses?’

‘No, stupid !’ Laura chortled. ‘He was a fireman . He put them all out . He was quite the hero, in fact…’

‘Wow.’

Kane watched her — his mind racing — as she began searching through the cupboards for biscuits.

‘Biscuits… biscuits …’ she murmured, slamming one door after another.

‘How about the jar?’ Kane suggested.

‘What?’

She turned.

‘There’s a jar, right there, next to the tea jar. It says biscuits on the front of it.’

Laura peered over at the jar.

‘Biscuits,’ she read, clumsily, as if she’d never actually seen the word written down before. ‘Gracious me,’ she exclaimed, ‘you’d think I’d know that by now. I’ve eaten biscuits in this kitchen with Pat often enough…’

She reached for the jar.

‘ Bis cuits,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Isn’t that a funny, old word?’

‘Twice cooked,’ Kane responded, almost without thinking, ‘from the Latin root bis —twice, and coctus —cooked. It reached English via the Old French: biscut .’

‘There’s Jaffa Cakes,’ Laura said (completely ignoring Kane’s interjection), ‘or a few broken Hob-Nobs at the bottom of a packet.’

‘I’m fine,’ Kane murmured, scratching his head, confused.

Laura threw the broken Hob-Nobs on to a plate, pinched up some of the crumbs between her fingers and keenly devoured them.

‘What I still don’t quite understand,’ Kane said, ‘is why you’re so dead set against the whole road crossing thing. I mean if there’s an actual need …’

‘It’s Charlie,’ Laura almost choked on her mouthful. ‘He just hates the idea.’

‘Why?’

‘He just…’ she coughed for a while, her eyes frantically scanning the room, ‘he just does . He just…he just wants to leave all the bad stuff behind us. He just wants to move on.’

She quickly turned away from him, grabbed the teapot again and began filling her own mug.

‘And you?’

‘Yes. Yes . Of course I do.’

Her hand shook as she poured.

‘It’s just that we’ve never actually talked about it,’ Kane mused.

‘About what?’

‘About your son’s death. In all our conversations you’ve never really brought it up. Not even in passing…’

Laura’s hand began shaking even more violently. The tea spilled. She put the teapot down. ‘Just look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘What an awful mess!’

She walked over to the sink.

‘I was the same myself, if it’s any consolation,’ Kane confessed.

‘How d’you mean?’

Laura glanced over her shoulder at him, her colour still high.

‘When my mother died. Everybody kept pestering me to talk about my feelings, but I really didn’t want to. I couldn’t. The truth was that I didn’t really have any. I was numb. And I guess what I couldn’t admit to at the time — even to myself — was that I felt this amazing sense of relief —the pain had been so bad towards the end…’ Kane frowned. ‘And then there was all this other stuff…’ he frowned, ‘ private stuff… complicated stuff…stuff I just couldn’t go into because it would’ve been a betrayal of her, of the relationship we’d had, of her confidence…I dunno. I just clammed up. It was easier that way…’

‘Exactly,’ Laura said, almost too enthusiastically. ‘So there you go.’ She held a dishcloth under the hot tap and then wrung it out.

‘But I suppose I’d had a certain amount of time — in advance — to prepare myself…’

As Kane spoke Laura held the cloth under the tap for a second time, then wrung it out again, her movements growing increasingly jerky and uncontrolled. The tap was now running extremely hot. A small cloud of steam began to rise from the sink. Laura held the cloth under for a third time, then she dropped it, gasped in pain, shoved her fingers under her armpit, lowered her chin on to her chest and emitted a huge, choked-up sob.

‘Laura?’

Kane strode over to the sink and turned off the tap. ‘Are you all right?’

Laura shook her head.

‘What’s wrong?’

He put a hand on to her shoulder but she shrugged it off, and when she next spoke her voice was uncharacteristically low and hoarse. ‘I just didn’t love him enough, Kane,’ she whispered.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Kane reprimanded her, gently squeezing her arm this time. ‘Of course you did.’

‘No.’ She shook her head, refusing to make eye contact. ‘I was a bad mother, and that’s all there is to it. I should’ve looked after him better— cared for him better — instead of always thinking about myself.’

‘That’s just not true,’ Kane maintained, aware (at some level) of having bitten off more than he could chew here. ‘I’m sure you were a great mother…’

‘ Really? ’ she gazed up at him, her eyes flashing. ‘You think so, do you?’

‘Yes,’ Kane nodded.

‘Well then this might interest you,’ she hissed. ‘Guess where Ryan’s “ great mother” was when he was lying in hospital, fighting for his life?’

Kane shook his head.

‘She was having extra-marital sex in a hotel room in Canterbury.’

‘I see.’

Kane nodded, stiffly.

‘Ryan wasn’t killed instantly,’ Laura continued, determined to get it all off her chest now. ‘He fell in and out of consciousness for five hours. He was in hospital for five hours, struggling for every breath. But I wasn’t there. Nobody could contact me. Nobody knew where I was. My phone was turned off. So Pat sat with him. Pat held his hand. Pat talked to the surgeons. Pat was at his side when he died.’

Kane stared at her. He wasn’t sure what to say.

‘It wasn’t the driver’s fault,’ she insisted. ‘It was Ryan’s fault. He missed the bus home. He was playing football with his friends. He ended up walking. It was a new road. One of the new A roads. When he crossed he was looking in the wrong direction. It was a stupid mistake. He wasn’t careful enough. He just stepped out…’