Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘What on earth are you playing at?’ Beede demanded, not taken in for a second by Kane’s pathetic little act.

‘Uh…’ Kane pulled himself into a sitting position. ‘Sorry,’ he blinked, ‘I must’ve just nodded off. I was waiting for an Estate Agent…’

He inspected his watch.

‘She’s actually very late…’

He picked up his phone, with a scowl, to check his messages.

‘An Estate Agent?’ Beede scoffed. ‘Why?’

‘Why?’ Kane glanced up. ‘Because I wanted to take a quick look around…’

He pointed towards the house.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Beede snapped. ‘You already have a perfectly good home.’

‘As an investment,’ Kane persisted, staring back down at his phone, ‘to rent out.’

‘You’re parked in,’ Beede informed him. ‘Am I?’

Kane glanced over his shoulder.

‘Yes. And that’s Dory’s car.’

‘Is it?’

‘ Yes . Yes, Kane. It is.’

Beede’s tone was bordering on the vitriolic.

Kane reached for his cigarettes.

‘Hang on a minute…’ Beede’s sharp eyes had alighted upon Isidore’s diary. ‘What’s this?’

He scooped up the black jotter from the back seat, then winced at the intense pain this quick movement afforded him.

Kane lit his cigarette, irritated.

‘Is your shoulder still bad?’ he asked.

‘No.’

Beede threw the envelope down (his one hand was so weak now that he found it almost impossible to manage both objects in conjunction).

Kane gave the envelope — then his father — a searching look before reaching into his coat pocket. ‘You’re obviously still in pain,’ he observed, ‘and I can give you something to relieve it…’ he felt around for his stash, ‘but you should definitely see a doctor at some point…’

‘It’s fine,’ Beede snapped, ‘ I’m fine. I don’t need your pills…’ then he paused, churlishly. ‘No. No . What I mean to say, Kane, is that I don’t want your pills.’

Kane withdrew his hand. ‘Don’t mince your words, eh?’ he smiled, obviously hurt, but trying to make light of it.

‘I won’t,’ Beede growled. ‘There’s already been far too much of that.’

‘Really?’ Kane looked intrigued. ‘From whom?’

‘From me, of course.’

‘From you ?’

Kane almost laughed out loud.

‘Yes .’

Beede was indignant.

‘ Wow… ’

Kane slowly shook his head, amused, as he inhaled on his cigarette.

‘You still haven’t answered my question,’ Beede continued (infuriated — as always — by his son’s trademark combination of charm and cynicism).

‘Didn’t I?’ Kane shrugged, vaguely.

‘No.’

Kane inspected his phone again.

‘Would you put that infernal thing down, ’ Beede snarled, ‘and just try and be straight with me for once?’ He brandished the diary like a Methodist minister preaching fire and brimstone from his roadside pulpit.

Kane refused to put his phone down. It was actually turned off, but he continued to stare at it. ‘The diary was in the Rover, on the dash,’ he murmured sullenly, ‘and he’d parked me in, so I just…’

‘You stole it?’

‘I borrowed it.’

‘ Why? ’ Beede demanded. ‘And no more of that ridiculous clap-trap about…’

‘Okay then,’ Kane butted in, turning to face Beede, full-on, ‘I’ll tell you why, shall I? I’ll tell you exactly why. I’m here because I followed him, and I stole his diary because — to put it plainly — I think he’s a lunatic and I was intrigued to know what he’d been writing in it.’

‘What did you discover?’ Beede asked.

‘That he’s crazy. That he’s losing his mind. That he’s totally paranoid…’

‘Really?’ Beede smiled, superciliously. ‘And who are you to make that kind of assessment?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Who are you to stand in judgement on a man like Dory? A decent, respectable, hard-working…’

‘He’s crazy ,’ Kane interrupted, his temper rising. ‘I almost ran him down, earlier. He was just standing in the road, like a zombie…’

‘When?’ Beede demanded. ‘How?’

‘About half an hour ago. I was negotiating a sharp bend…’

‘Where?’

‘Just north of here…’

‘Why?’

Kane frowned.

‘I mean what exactly were you up to?’

‘ Up to?’

‘Yes.’

‘I was making a delivery,’ Kane answered haughtily, ‘to a client, if you must know.’

‘To Elen?’

‘What?’

Kane stared at Beede, bewildered. ‘Why on earth would I be making a delivery to her?’

‘Why wouldn’t you be?’

‘Because she isn’t one of my clients, for one thing, and for another, she was actually with you all morning.’

Beede slowly processed the infallible logic of this statement. ‘Of course,’ he said, tightly, ‘so you were making a delivery. Fine. Then what?’

‘I was negotiating a sharp bend, I heard a horn sounding, I covered my brake, and the next thing I knew, I was swerving to avoid a man— him , Dory — standing in the middle of the road.’

‘What was he doing?’ Beede wondered.

‘Nothing. Just standing there, staring down at the tarmac. I swerved to avoid him — like I said — then I swerved to avoid a Metro which’d just done the same thing. I lightly clipped the back of it. There was a woman driver…’

‘But Isidore was unhurt?’

‘He was extremely lucky…’

‘And he was just standing there, you say? Looking down at the road?’

‘Yes. And crying. I think he was crying. He was obviously deeply upset about something…’

‘About what?’

Kane threw up his hands. ‘How the hell should I know?’

‘You didn’t speak to him?’

‘No. There wasn’t time. The Metro was obstructing the road and she couldn’t get it re-started, so I…’

‘Was she hurt?’

‘No — not so far as I’m aware. And by the time I looked around again, he’d vanished.’

‘I see.’

Beede looked perplexed.

‘Although a few minutes later,’ Kane continued, ‘he swept past in his Rover, like nothing had happened. He didn’t even glance over.’

‘So then you followed him?’

‘Yes. No . I didn’t plan to — not to begin with — but his driving was so bad — so erratic — that I just thought it might be safer…’

‘Purely in the spirit of altruism , eh?’ Beede scoffed.

‘Yes. Why not?’ Kane enquired, piqued.

Beede didn’t respond. He stared down at the black jotter. ‘Well you had no right to steal his diary,’ he said.

‘In a perfect world,’ Kane conceded, ‘you’d probably have a point, but he’s out of control. He’s a danger to himself and to the people around him…’ he paused. ‘I mean what about poor Elen? All those awful bruises on her forearms?’

‘Poor Elen ?!’ Beede parroted, scornfully, then he glanced down, surreptitiously, at his badly grazed knuckles. ‘Did she say Dory was responsible for those?’

‘No. Not in so many words…’ Kane shrugged. ‘But then she’s probably just protecting him — in the same way that you are…’

‘I’m not protecting him at all,’ Beede insisted, ‘and contrary to what you might think, I’m perfectly well-acquainted with how strange — even dangerous — some of Dory’s behaviour can be. But I’ve known him for a long time now, and while he may have a few problems — some serious, long-term health issues — underneath all the mess — all the confusion — he’s still a decent, gentle, highly intelligent…’