Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Yeah. Pretty much…’ Garry drew back to appraise his work. ‘So you broke your leg, then?’

‘Yeah,’ she rolled her eyes, ‘fell off a damn wall .’

‘Typical! ’ he grinned. ‘Even as a toddler you was always into everythin’. Fearless, you were. We always used to say you was part-girl, part-chimp.’ ‘Fuck off!’

Kelly lunged at him, and almost toppled from the scooter. Gaffar tensed his legs, with a grunt, to keep it upright.

‘ Oi !’ Garry grabbed on to her arm to save her from falling. ‘You take care, there…’

He frowned. ‘Bloody hell. You’re freezin’ , girl…’

He placed the Bible and his posters down on to the pavement, pulled off his coat and hung it over her shoulders. ‘There you go…’

‘Thanks, Gaz,’ Kelly sniffed. ‘You’re a cobber.’

She pulled the coat even tighter around her. It was an old, brown leather bomber jacket. It smelled of flaking paint and fresh putty. The lining was in tatters.

‘Pretty attached to this old thing, are ya?’ she grinned, poking her fingers through the decaying fabric.

He shrugged, resignedly. ‘I never was much of fashion plate, Kell.’

‘Aw!’ She stuck out her bottom lip, poignantly, then (afraid of seeming too much of a pushover) she winked at him, saucily. ‘Although I’m sure you do all right, eh?’

A slightly uncomfortable silence followed.

‘So…’ Kelly cleared her throat, ‘you wouldn’t happen to know where Mill Bank Road is, would ya?’

‘Mill Bank? Yeah. Sure…’ Garry turned and pointed. ‘It ain’t far. Just straight down here, left on to Wotton Road, straight on again, left on to Kingsnorth, then right when the road divides. That’s Mill Bank.’

‘D’ya get that, Gaff?’

Kelly cuffed Gaffar’s shoulder.

‘Sure…’ Gaffar nodded.

‘Then let’s split.’

Kelly shook off Garry’s coat and returned it to him.

‘Nice to catch up, yeah?’

‘Yeah…’

Garry frowned, obviously perturbed, as Gaffar revved up the engine. ‘You be sure an’ look after yourself,’ he counselled, ‘all right?’

Kelly nodded as Gaffar accelerated, at speed. Then, ‘ HEY! ’ she yelled, her face partially obscured by a cloud of exhaust smoke.

‘What? ’ Garry yelled back.

‘Why not treat yerself to a NEW COAT !’ she caterwauled.

Two, three, four seconds of blind, almost unfathomable terror–

WHAT?!

But…but HOW?

— before those trusty, old instincts kicked back into play again–

Austerity childhood

Military training

— and Beede promptly disengaged himself from his wayward emotions, rolled up his sleeves and got down to work–

Ours is not to reason why,

Ours is but…

The first thing he did was to check for any remaining signs of life in the cat–

Eyes, gums, nose, throat…

Nope.

Chest…?

There were none. The cat was dead. His face (when he turned him over) had set into a strange sneer (where his lip had ridden up against the carpet), and this curious expression–

What’s that?

Eh?

Lodged under the tongue…?

A feather?!

— didn’t alter once the pressure was off. The whiskers, he noticed, were already starting to stiffen.

He wrapped the animal up in newspaper (like an old-fashioned serving of fish and chips) then placed him, gently, into a biodegradable bin-bag. As he tied a neat knot in the neck, Beede noticed that his knuckles were badly grazed–

Bruised…

How’d I…?

— he shook his head and tried to think of something else. The something else he thought of was a kind of…of metaphysical debate about whether it was actually better to try and think of something else…

Isn’t that what the Yogis do?

Think of something else?

Gently turn away?

When they meditate…?

He frowned–

How about Peta?

His frown deepened–

What would she say?

Would she be secretly impressed?

Would she think I was exhibiting…

He snorted, sarcastically–

…‘admirable restraint’?

He flared his nostrils–

Or…or…

He grimaced–

Or just plain cowardice, more like it?

He completed the knot and placed the bag firmly aside (quietly opting to do the same with the debate).

Next, he located the bucket for the mop. It was hidden under the upturned sofa — which he set straight, shoving it back to its former position (although there was no careful measuring this time, just a rough approximation).

His progress was painfully slow. The pain in his shoulder was quite intolerable (the arm on that side was virtually numb now and his grip was growing increasingly weak in the hand).

Once the sofa was rearranged he returned to the kitchen and set about mopping up the wet floor. He gradually noticed that the source of all the water–

What is the source?

— was located elsewhere — in the bathroom — so he opened the door–

Woah!

— and tentatively ventured inside–

Jesus wept!

The floor was awash, and there were more feathers in here— black feathers (although no sign of an actual carcass to speak of–

Hmmn.

Strange. )

— but the main feature in this room to draw his eye–

Oh dear…

— was the blood. There was blood on the tiles. Blood in the sink. Blood dripping down the walls inside the shower cubicle…Blood smeared, splattered and daubed…not…not huge amounts (by any means)…not…

Uh

Dangerous…

Beede swallowed, nervously, feeling a tiny chink forming in the brick wall of his composure. But then instead of surrendering to it–

Nope.

Don’t.

You won’t.

— he corralled his anxiety into the task of cleaning up. This was his business , after all. His trade. He was an expert at it. He grabbed hold of a J-cloth and began washing everything down–

Wipe, rinse, wring

Wipe, rinse, wring

Establish a steady rhythm…

That’s the spirit!

— then he paused, frowning–

Eh?

— staring intently at something–

What’s…?

There was a handprint, on the mirror, above the sink. He inspected it for a second and then glanced down at his own hand. He lifted his own hand up–

Ouch

Hard to…

Heavy

— and held it, gingerly, adjacent to the print–

Smaller

The print was considerably smaller. Almost like a…a woman’s hand. His own hand began to shake. His lower lip started to wobble–

What have I…?

Then his head spun around–

Huh?!

— drawn by a sharp, repetitive ringing sound–

The phone?

He dropped the cloth, vacated the bathroom, padded rapidly through the kitchen and back into the living-room…

Still ringing

He gazed around him, confused–

Where?

— then walked over to the wall where the phone socket was located and saw that a wire was still feeding into it–

But of course it is, you damn fool!

Beede crouched down and carefully began uncovering the wire…

Papers

Bills

Broken plant pot Soil