Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Kane turned — still eager for distraction — towards Elen’s small, grey, metal desk. He carefully appraised it. The surface-area was chaotic. There were piles of papers — order forms, patient files, receipts — three pairs of scissors, two boxes of disposable gloves, a tray of sharp-looking silver implements–

Yik

— a large, open, plastic, screw-top jar of sterilising fluid, a book–

?

— its cover partly concealed by a terrifying black and white photograph of a young boy who had fallen prey to a severe case of ‘Hammer’ toe.

‘Absolutely…’ Elen was still smiling as she spoke. A very long pause followed, hemmed in by another soft laugh.

Kane squinted at the book’s spine: The Lily of Darfur , he read, then–

Urgh

But of course…

— he almost snorted, out loud.

‘Okay. Sure. I definitely will. And thank you.’

Pause.

‘No. I really mean that. I wouldn’t just…’

Pause.

‘I know. ‘

Pause. ‘I know. Thank you.’

Kane leaned back in the chair again. He slowly shook his head. He flexed his foot. Behind him he heard the splash of running water–

Tap?

He half-turned, surprised that the phone conversation had come to an end. Elen was drying her hands, fastidiously, on a paper towel.

‘Right,’ she said, tossing the towel into a flip-top bin which was neatly stationed beneath the sink, ‘let’s have a proper look at this foot of yours, shall we?’

Kane leaned forward, anxiously. ‘I didn’t actually…’ he started off. Then he stopped, appalled.

Elen was pulling up a tiny stool and perching on it, grabbing a hold of his foot and lifting it, confidently, on to her lap. Her hair was casually tied back now, away from her face, revealing the early stages of a black eye (a bloodshot white, a puffed-up eye-lid), and a nostril (on that same side) which was also inflamed, bruised and daubed (deep inside) with tiny remnants of dried blood.

‘Ah- ha …’ she chuckled, immediately honing in on the problem area. ‘Well here’s the culprit…’

She glanced up. ‘It’s tucked in underneath the arch, which is fairly unusual for a wart — you generally find them forming on the pressure points…’

She carefully inspected the rest of the foot. ‘No secondary growths,’ she murmured, ‘which is great…’

As she spoke she pulled on each of his toes (keenly inspecting the gaps in between them). He tensed up. He remembered his mother playing a similar game with him as a boy–

This little piggy went to market

This little piggy stayed at home

This little piggy had—

‘Warts are such fascinating things,’ she was saying. ‘And really quite mysterious. Their aetiology can often be extremely baffling. Some vascular growths are caused by trauma, others are simply viral — although even then they’re pretty amazing: their incubation periods can extend anywhere up to twenty months — that’s the best part of two years …’

She reached out and grabbed a tiny scalpel from a tray on her desk, then readjusted Kane’s heel on her lap–

Don’t think about her lap

— drew in close–

Don’t think about her mouth

— and scratched away at Kane’s foot with it. He felt nothing, right up until the point when he felt something–

Ouch!

His knee stiffened.

‘Did you feel that?’

She gazed up at him, concerned, her scalpel held gracefully aloft.

‘No. No . It’s fine. I’m just…’ he scowled, ‘a little ticklish, I guess.’ ‘Ah…’ she nodded and returned to her work. He remained hypnotised by her injuries. The nostril, especially. He wondered what it would feel like if he touched it with his tongue–

Would it taste of iron?

Salt?

Would it sting?

‘Okay,’ she leaned back, decisively, ready to make her assessment. ‘So we can freeze it out, or we can burn it out. The choice is entirely yours.’

Kane dragged his eyes away from her nostril–

Go on—

Ask…

‘How did you… uh …’ he swallowed, nervously, ‘treat Beede’s?’ he wondered.

Coward

He could’ve sworn he saw Elen wince — just slightly — at the mention of Beede’s name — but then she looked up at him with a frank smile.

‘We tried both techniques,’ she explained, ‘but your father’s wart was very persistent. It didn’t respond particularly well to either method.’ ‘Oh,’ Kane frowned, discouraged.

‘His was an exceptional case, though,’ she insisted.

Go on—

Just…

‘So how did …uh… ’ Kane forged on, doggedly. ‘How did you…uh…get rid of it in the end?’

Gutless

‘In the end?’ Elen hesitated. ‘In the end we just charmed it away.’

‘You charmed it?’ Kane was surprised.

‘Yes.’

She inspected his foot again. ‘You have lovely feet,’ she said, ‘thin feet, very graceful, just like your mother’s. Although hers were typical dancer’s feet…incredibly muscular. Extremely…’ she frowned, searching for an appropriate word ‘…extremely characterful . Covered in old corns and bunions — a total mess — do you remember?’

Kane stared at her, blankly–

The word…

He grimaced–

What was that word he’d used?

That strange word?

Con-con-con…?

‘Kane?’ she repeated. ‘Your mother’s feet — do you remember?’

‘She looks for a weakness…’

‘Kane?’

‘…She senses this feeling of hurt within you, this…this…’

Kane blinked. ‘Well perhaps you could charm mine away,’ he volunteered.

Elen gave this suggestion a moment’s consideration and then, ‘Okay,’ she shrugged, ‘I suppose we could always give it a whirl…’

She placed down his foot, stood up, dropped her scalpel into the bottle of sterilising fluid, pulled aside her apron and her overall then shoved her hand into her trouser pocket. She felt around for a while before withdrawing a ten pence piece. She inspected it, thoughtfully, then closed her eyes and squeezed the coin, tightly, inside her fist.

Kane peered up at her–

She’s so beautiful

I could just lean over — right now — and…and…

He puckered his lips–

…hitta

He started–

Hit-ta

‘Hold out your hand,’ she said, opening her eyes. Kane didn’t respond at first. He was still in a daze–

Hit-her…

Hit her

— because he suddenly had a clear memory of exactly that — of hitting her–

No!

Of hitting Elen–

No!

— and of taking a deliberate pleasure in it. They were in a wet room. A white room. They were alone together…

And he knew — he was certain — that this was what she expected — what she wanted —that there was a long history between them, a well-established protocol.

But she was messing around with it — with him — and he didn’t like it. ‘Don’t take my son,’ she was pleading, ‘I’ll do anything you ask— anything —if you’ll just leave the boy alone.’

‘But you always do anything I ask,’ he reasoned, implacably.

‘Kane? Your hand,’ Elen repeated.

Kane blinked. ‘Oh…’

He held out his hand and she pressed the coin into his palm, folding his fingers around it like an aunt giving a child some money for their birthday.

‘There,’ she said softly, ‘I’ve bought the wart from you,’ she smiled ‘and now it will disappear.’