Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Don’t go where the huskies go!

Don’t you eat that yellow snow!

He was still able, nevertheless (and quite miraculously, under the circumstances) to detect something strange (something anomalous, external, extraneous ) beyond this marvellously impenetrable, aural wall–

A horn?

Kane scowled–

Eh?!

— instinctively covering the brake with his foot and reaching out, blindly, to turn down the music, when–

Fuck!

— he almost hit a man — one-handed. He wrenched at the steering wheel, gasping, to avoid the collision, then wrenched at the wheel again to avoid hitting an old Metro which’d just that second braked and swerved for precisely the same reason–

Bollocks!

He clipped the Metro’s back light as he flew past it, hearing a horn repeatedly sounding in time to the music–

My horn…?

(He inspected his hands)

Yup

— pulling over just as soon as was feasible–

Speeding…

Was I?

— hurling the Merc up on to a grassy verge–

Ouch!

Undercarriage didn’t like that much…

— as a third car shot by which had somehow succeeded in avoiding a collision–

Jammy swine!

— and so drove on, without stopping.

Kane glanced into his rearview mirror to check on the progress of the car he’d just clipped. It was currently stationary; stalled, at an angle. A woman sat the wheel. His eyes quickly shifted beyond her to confirm something which (instinctively, at gut-level) he already knew–

Isidore?

Is it…?

He sprang from the Merc and ran over to the Metro. Just as he was drawing near, though, the car’s engine turned, unexpectedly, and it shot forward (without warning — still in gear, presumably), almost ploughing straight into him–

Jesus!

He leapt out of harm’s way as the driver (with an audible squeal) steered herself, clumsily, back into the kerb.

Isidore, meanwhile — about 10 yards behind them — seemed supremely oblivious to the chaos he was generating. He hadn’t even looked up. He was inspecting the road, bending over, scowling, scratching his head, clearly deeply preoccupied by something.

Kane winced, horrified, as a fourth car swung past, sounding its horn, only narrowly avoiding Dory, being obliged to swerve for a second time to avoid the Metro, and then–

Balls!

— for a third time to avoid him. Kane made eye contact with the driver and casually waved him on–

No problem, my friend—

It’s all under control…

The driver cussed him, furiously–

Charming!

Kane jogged over to the Metro, slapped his hand on to the roof, bent down and peered in, benignly, through the passenger window—‘You all right in there?’

The car had stalled again. The blonde woman was twisting her keys in the ignition and pumping on the accelerator. She barely even glanced up.

‘I’m fine,’ she yelled. ‘The starter motor’s just dodgy. What about him …’

She indicated behind her, finally making proper eye contact. A frisson passed between them, then the engine abruptly sparked and roared into life.

‘There’s a short, dirt track,’ Kane pointed, ‘on the left — you should pull off…’

She stuck the car into reverse (squinting over her shoulder, spinning the steering wheel, slamming down on the accelerator) and then — zip — nix— zilch . It cut out.

‘ Shit! ’

A fifth car roared past them, its horn sounding.

Kane ran to the front of the car and immediately began pushing it.

‘ Handbrake ,’ he yelled.

She took off the handbrake and the car slowly lurched uphill. As soon as it was pointing in the proper direction he jumped aside and the car commenced rolling, unaided, down the slope, although it couldn’t build up enough momentum to take the turn in one go, but simply ground to a halt about half-way along, its back-end still jutting out — perilously — on to the tarmac.

Kane quickly jogged down after it, shoving hard from the rear this time, heaving and pushing until it was fully contained within the short, dirt drive, its nose pressed up snugly against a neat, wooden gate. Just the other side of this gate stood a horse and a sheep, companionably observing the unfolding drama with expressions of cheerful resignation.

Kane was panting, exhausted. Two more vehicles roared by — a jeep; a white, Ford van — but neither sounded its horn.

He turned–

Eh?

— and gazed up along the road again. Isidore was gone. He’d vanished. He scratched his head, puzzled.

‘Where’d he go?’ the woman demanded, clambering from the old Metro and peering around her, spooked.

‘I don’t know…’

Kane suddenly remembered the estate car, abandoned, at the start of the slip road. He put two and two together, ‘Remember that Rover?’ he pointed. ‘Just after the turn-off with its door slung open?’

‘What a total, bloody nutter ,’ the girl exclaimed, and then, ‘ WAH! ’ she yelled, jumping violently up and down in a novel (and somewhat startling) attempt to unburden herself of the stress she felt.

Kane stared at her, impassively.

‘I met you at the cafe,’ he said (once she’d finally stopped bouncing), ‘a few days ago…’

‘Yeah,’ she nodded, her mass of blonde curls in a state of chronic disarray now.

‘Kane,’ he said, offering her his hand.

‘Maude,’ she said, taking it and squeezing it. Her palms were hot but her fingertips were icy.

‘So what d’you think he was looking for?’ Kane wondered, glancing up along the road again.

‘Who?’

‘On the tarmac. He was looking for something…’

‘I dunno,’ she shrugged, helplessly, ‘I mean I didn’t see anything…’

He frowned. ‘I clipped your back light, didn’t I?’

He went to take a proper look.

‘It’s my mother’s car,’ she said, grimacing, ‘I’m not actually insured to drive it.’

‘There’s not too much to worry about,’ he said, determined to put a brave face on it, ‘just a broken light and a tiny dent in the boot…’

‘How’s yours?’

She indicated, nervously, towards The Blonde.

‘I dunno. Probably just a scratch on the bumper. She’s tough — built like a tank.’

The girl nodded, biting her lip.

‘Sure you’re all right?’ Kane asked, reaching into his pocket for his cigarettes.

‘He was crying…’ she murmured. ‘And did you notice that awful bruise …?’

‘Smoke?’

He offered her the packet. She shook her head, then lifted her hands and began savagely pinning back her stray curls.

‘D’you think he’ll be okay?’ she asked.

Kane propped a Marlboro into the corner of his mouth and then slowly began sauntering along the grass verge. The girl followed, still pinning.

‘Will I be liable for the damage to your car?’ she asked.

‘Nope…’ he found his lighter and lit the cigarette. ‘I hit you, so it’s my responsibility…’

‘It’s just that if we get the police involved, or the insurance…’

‘God forbid,’ he inhaled deeply. ‘That’s the last thing I need. Just get me a quote and I’ll happily cover it.’

‘Good. Great. Fantastic.’

She seemed considerably cheered by this.

He reached the approximate point on the tarmac where Dory had been standing and stared over at it, intently–

Nothing

‘Don’t step off the kerb,’ she warned him, grabbing on to his arm as he instinctively moved forward.