Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Dory held it out, fastidiously, so as not to get any mess on his clothes. A short, stunned silence followed, and then–

‘Bloody hell , Mum, would you feast your eyes on that …?’ Garry Spivey exclaimed, but his words were completely obliterated by a hysterical screech from his mother, who came running around the car (the heels of her slippers pounding out a rousing flamenco on the concrete), her arms outstretched, wailing like the chief mourner at a funeral.

‘It’s my Molly! Oh my God! I don’t believe it! It’s my beautiful Molly! My gorgeous, beautiful Molly-Dolly!’

She grabbed the dog from Dory’s grap and pressed her, violently, against her expansive bosom. ‘Don’t just stand there gawpin’, Gaz,’ she squawked, ‘run an’ fetch Nan , double-quick!’

Garry didn’t need asking twice, he dashed into the house. ‘Oh my dear, sweet Lord!’ Mrs Spivey crooned. ‘I don’t believe it! Nanna’s little baby come home at last. How’s my little Molly, eh? How’s my little angel been doin’ all the while?’

As she spoke, Mrs Spivey rained a million passionate kisses down on to the spaniel’s domed crown. The spaniel yawned, nervously.

Dory (visibly alarmed by this unstoppered swell of feminine emotion), reached into the car to remove the large, cardboard box of Michelle’s possessions.

‘Oh my God!’ Mrs Spivey screamed. ‘He’s got your little cart , Molly!

Just look at that!’

Mrs Spivey showed the dog its cart.

Beede noticed — with some alarm — that Michelle was actually urinating again. A steady stream of warm, yellow liquid ran down Mrs Spivey’s plastic apron, cascaded off her veloured knees and finished up in the fluff of her slippers.

‘Uh…I think she might be…’ Beede started.

‘I know,’ Mrs Spivey cooed, ‘but I don’t give a hoot , do I, my dear-love? She’s home, ain’t she? My little baby-cuddles is home , an’ that’s all I care about.’

Garry re-emerged from the house, pushing what Beede initially took to be a severely disabled child, but what was actually (he realised, on closer inspection) an extremely tiny, frail and elderly woman propped up in a wheelchair. He carefully manoeuvred her across the courtyard, around the car and drew her to a firm halt in front of his mother.

The woman — Nanna Spivey — was so old that she had hardly any teeth or skin or hair. She looked like a fractious newt or a newly born kitten. The veins in her temples and on her hands were the same shade of blue as willow-pattern china. ‘Look , Nanna, look! See what I’ve got here!’ Mrs Spivey exclaimed, holding out the spaniel.

Nanna Spivey didn’t look. In fact she barely seemed to apprehend that she was actually being spoken to. She stared at the ground, her chin hanging down on to her chest, her head wobbling around as if she had no functioning muscles in her neck or throat.

‘ Wot’s gowin’ awwn? ’ she finally croaked.

‘Nanna,’ Garry gently intervened. ‘Up here, look …’

He lifted Nanna’s chin and supported it with his fingers.

Nanna gazed up towards the dog, blankly.

‘Wot’s gowin’ awwn? ’ she repeated.

‘It’s little Molly , you silly mare!’ Mrs Spivey exclaimed. ‘It’s your lovely Molly come back home again!’

Nanna Spivey gazed at the dog, vaguely, no sign of recognition in her dun-coloured eyes.

Garry smiled over at Isidore. ‘She’s 102 years old,’ he said, ‘so she works on a slightly different time-scale to the rest of us.’

He turned to his mother. ‘Why not put Molly on Nanna’s lap?’ he suggested.

Mrs Spivey leaned forward and gently placed the dripping spaniel on to Nanna Spivey’s wasted thighs. Nanna Spivey leapt back, as if alarmed, then looked down at the dog, blinking and confused.

‘I’m afraid she might be a little wet …’ Isidore began explaining. ‘Shhhh! ’ Mrs Spivey raised a preremptory hand. ‘She’s fine. Let’s just wait and see what Nanna does , shall we?’

They all stared at Nanna. Nanna stared down at the dog.

The dog sat patiently on Nanna’s lap, staring, dazedly, into the middle distance.

Then suddenly, without warning, the old woman gasped. Her arms stiffened. She looked up towards her granddaughter, blinking.

‘That’s your lovely Molly , Nanna, come home again, see?’ Mrs Spivey whispered softly. ‘That’s your little baby Molly come back home.’

The old woman’s mouth slowly fell open and a tiny, high-pitched whine emerged from her throat.

Garry crouched down in front of her.

‘D’you want me to take her back again, Nan?’ he asked softly. ‘Is she a bit too much weight for those poor, old legs of yours?’

Several huge tears began rolling down the old woman’s cheeks. Her nose was running freely. She shivered, uncontrollably, while the dog (possibly for the first time in Dory’s experience of her) appeared perfectly calm and at its ease.

Garry reached out to take the dog, but Nanna’s arms jerked protectively around it.

‘My beautiful Molly!’ she rasped, ‘come home to her Nanna! It’s my beautiful Molly come home!’

Mrs Spivey quickly turned away, overcome with emotion. Garry gently stroked the top of the old woman’s hand.

‘That’s right, Nanna. It’s your Molly. She’s home. This kind gentleman brought her back for ya. Would you like to thank him, Nanna? Say thank you? D’you think that might be a nice idea?’

Nanna peered over towards the registration plates on Garry’s van. ‘Thank you.’ Her voice was barely audible, just a hoarse whisper. ‘You brought me my Molly back, Gawd bless ya.’

‘It’s a pleasure,’ Isidore murmured, gazing over towards the registration plates himself, ‘an absolute pleasure.’

Mrs Spivey turned back around again (having finally regained some control over the powerful ebb and flow of her emotions). She dabbed at her eyes with her sleeve. ‘You’ve made an old woman very happy,’ she sniffed.

‘An’ Nanna’s pretty, bloody chuffed, too, eh, Mum?’ Garry quipped.

Mrs Spivey leaned forward and delivered Garry a playful slap (he hollered, good-naturedly) then stationed herself, resignedly, behind Nanna’s chair. ‘I suppose I’d better take the old love back indoors again before she catches her death out here.’

Isidore nodded (obviously relieved at the thought of Nanna’s departure). ‘Bye then, Nanna,’ he said.

‘ Wot’s gowin’ awwn? ’ Nanna demanded, gazing down at the dog. ‘Molly’s done a little widdle, Nanna,’ Mrs Spivey murmured gently, beginning to manoeuvre Nanna away from the group, ‘but we’ll soon clear it up, eh?’

As she steered Nanna back towards the house she delivered Beede a covert wink over her fuchsia-pink shoulder. Beede smiled, sympathetically (naturally presuming that some kind of tiny midge — or random speck of dirt — had flown into the poor woman’s eye).

‘You should come inside yourselves,’ Garry exclaimed, obviously keen for the celebrations to continue, ‘an’ we can discuss the reward over a nice, hot cuppa…’

Isidore glanced — rather fearfully — in the general direction of the retreating pair. ‘We should probably head off,’ he said, ‘and I don’t want any reward. I’m just happy that Michelle…’ he faltered, ‘I mean Moll…’

He frowned ‘…Moll…’ He shook his head, confused.

As if sensing a potential problem, Beede rapidly hobbled around the car to join the two of them. ‘I see you’ve got an impressive collection of solar panels on your roof, there, Garry,’ he observed (providing Dory with a brief reprieve in which to try and gather his thoughts together).