Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Perhaps you should call Elen?’ he volunteered, proffering Beede his phone. ‘And tell her what’s been going on?’

‘Yes,’ Beede answered, vaguely, ‘maybe later.’

‘Later? You don’t think she needs to know now?’

Beede frowned.

‘You don’t think she needs to know now ?’ Kane repeated (an edge of hysteria re-entering his voice).

‘It’s very complicated,’ Beede murmured. ‘It’s a complicated situation…’

‘Yeah,’ Kane snapped, frustrated, ‘so you persist in saying…’

‘It just has to be…’ Beede scowled, ‘it just has to be handled …’

‘Handled?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then perhaps I should tell her,’ Kane suggested, ‘if you feel like you’re too embroiled in the whole thing? Do you happen to know her work number, off-hand?’

Beede didn’t answer. He stared down the road, deep in thought, then he turned back to his son again, impetuously. ‘I’ve never made a habit of ordering you around, have I?’ he asked.

Kane frowned, disconcerted. ‘Uh…’ he thought for a minute, ‘No. I guess not. I mean not in so many words …’

‘I’ve never nagged at you, tried to manipulate you, bullied you into decisions that you didn’t feel comfortable with…In fact I pride myself on it. I’ve always encouraged you to make your own choices, your own mistakes…’

‘Sure — and then oozed disapproval,’ Kane smirked, ‘or — better still— disappointment , from a sensible distance.’

Beede looked hurt. ‘I’m sorry you see it that way.’

‘I don’t,’ Kane jumped in, ‘I was just…’ he shrugged.

‘Well here’s the nub of the matter,’ Beede quickly moved on, ‘I’ve never made a habit of asking you for anything — not directly, not outright — but if there was one thing, one special favour — father to son — that I needed to ask from you, one request, one heartfelt appeal…’

‘What?’ Kane demanded.

‘Stay away from her.’

‘Who?’

‘You know who.’

‘ Why? ’ Kane was outraged.

‘For no other reason than that I’ve asked you to,’ Beede said. ‘Because I care about you. And because I care about Dory.’

Kane was quiet for a while, and then, ‘What if I can’t?’ he said.

‘I know you can,’ Beede countered. ‘You can do anything you set your mind to. You’re young. You’re strong.’

‘Then what if I just don’t want to?’

Beede closed his eyes. ‘She’s inhabiting you,’ he muttered, ‘she’s invading you. It’s all very subtle, very artful. You may not even fully realise — you may think it’s all happening on your initiative — but trust me, it isn’t. This is her talent, Kane, it’s what she does …’

‘ Inhabiting me?’ Kane scoffed.

‘Yes.’

‘Did she inhabit you ?’ he asked, suddenly jealous.

‘Yes…’ Beede shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. Perhaps…’

‘But isn’t that just love ?’ Kane demanded. ‘Aren’t you just in love with her?’

‘No. No …’ Beede seemed horrified. ‘Absolutely not.’

‘But isn’t that what love’s all about ?’ Kane persisted. ‘Isn’t it always an invasion of sorts? Isn’t that why people like to say that their hearts have been conquered or…or taken prisoner, or overwhelmed?’

‘No.’ Beede shook his head. ‘This is different. This isn’t love. It’s just a strange kind of…of congruity . She looks for a weakness…’

Kane flinched. Beede couldn’t help but notice. ‘That was a poor choice of word…’ he paused for a second, flustered. ‘Let me put it this way: in your particular case, for example, she knows that you have an amazing capacity to care, this deep reservoir…’

‘Do I?’ Kane butted in, surprised.

‘Yes. Yes . Because of your mother. She senses this feeling of hurt within you, this…this vulnerability…’

‘No,’ Kane shook his head, ‘you’re wrong. I didn’t have an infinite capacity. Quite the opposite, in fact. I actually had a very limited capacity…’

‘Okay,’ Beede shrugged. ‘Then perhaps — at some level — she’s feeding on that knowledge, on the guilt you may well feel as a consequence of it…’

Kane stared at his father, suspiciously. ‘You can’t have it all ways,’ he said, and then, a few seconds later, ‘You seem different ,’ he murmured cruelly, ‘ smaller , less…less…’ he wanted to say square, but suddenly, for some inexplicable reason, he was struggling to separate his words from each other, ‘less-es- esquare ,’ he finally stuttered, and then, ‘es-es-es quire… ’ he tried to correct himself. Beede stared back at him, frowning.

‘I feel smaller,’ he said, ‘I don’t really know why…’ he gazed down at his knuckles. ‘It’s like everything suddenly closed in on me — caved in on me. I started thinking about the past,’ he sighed, his face full of regret, ‘and then, pretty soon, it was all I could think of…’

Kane said nothing.

Beede smiled, tiredly. ‘There must be something you could prescribe me for that,’ he joked. ‘A pill of some kind?’

Kane scowled.

‘Here…’ Beede threw down the diary, ‘put this back where you found it.’

Then he turned, without another word, and headed off towards the house.

Kane glanced down at the seat and noticed the envelope.

‘You forgot this…’ he murmured, picking it up, but Beede was already dodging his way through the scaffolding, grappling with the side-gate and disappearing from sight.

Dory was sitting, cross-legged, on the carpet, staring into the bulb of an old-fashioned standard lamp.

‘Isn’t this just wonderful ?’ he murmured. ‘The way it goes on and then off, on and then off?’

He reached out his finger and touched the bright bulb with it.

‘Ow! ’

The bulb was burning hot.

‘How are you feeling?’ Beede wondered (speaking quietly, softly, keen not to alarm him).

‘Good,’ Dory said, smiling, still gazing into the lamp, ‘better than ever, in fact.’

‘I’m sorry about the scaffolding,’ Beede said, ‘I came in through the back…’

Dory didn’t seem to hear him.

‘I noticed that you have a dog,’ Beede said, indicating over his shoulder, ‘a dog in a box.’

‘Pardon?’

Dory frowned.

‘A little dog . A little spaniel. Sitting inside a box — a large, cardboard box — in the kitchen.’

‘Oh. Yes.’ Dory nodded, indifferent. ‘Michelle.’

‘She was crying.’

No response

‘She seems a little…uh… distressed .’

‘Who?’

Dory glanced up. He almost did a double-take. ‘Beede!’ he sprang to his feet, bounded forward and grasped him, warmly, by the hand.

Beede frowned, confused. ‘Who did you think I was?’

Dory shook his hand, vigorously.

‘I don’t know,’ he grinned, shrugging, ‘just a voice, a small voice in my head.’

‘You’re hearing voices, now?’ Beede asked, concerned.

‘Good God , no!’ Dory guffawed. ‘I just thought you were a voice…‘ he paused, ‘ the voice…’ he paused again, ‘ a voice…’

‘Oh.’

Beede frowned.

Dory dropped Beede’s hand and turned to face the table, then he took a small step back and tensed himself.

‘What are you doing?’ Beede asked.

‘I’m going to jump it,’ Dory said.

‘Jump the table?’