Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘That’s my passion,’ Garry smiled, somewhat ruefully. ‘I make those myself.’

‘Really?’ Beede was intrigued.

‘Yeah. I did a course on environmental engineerin’ with the OU before Dad passed. I really got into it. When I’m not on the job I spend every wakin’ moment locked up in my workshop tinkerin’ away on some crazy project or other…’

‘And do you manage to integrate what you learned into your day-to-day building practice at all?’ Beede wondered.

‘Chance’d be a fine thing,’ Garry chuckled.

‘Not too many forward-thinkers on the environmental ticket in the Ashford area, eh?’ Beede mused.

‘Ten, twenty years down the line an’ it’ll probably all be different,’ Garry reasoned. ‘But these things take a while to percolate…’ he sighed, ‘I only hope it ain’t too late by then.’

Beede nodded, soberly.

After a brief pause, Garry turned back to Isidore again. ‘So I’ve been dyin’ to ask ya,’ he confided, ‘how’d you actually find her?’

‘Pardon?’

Isidore’s attention was momentarily distracted by the distant wail of a fire engine siren.

‘Molly,’ Garry persisted. ‘How’d you…?’

‘ Oh . Uh…She just turned up,’ Isidore explained, ‘at my home…’ ‘What?’ Garry seemed baffled. ‘Under her own steam?’

‘Good God , no…’ Isidore scoffed at the very idea.

‘Because she initially went missin’ from my van,’ Garry expanded.

‘Someone prised open the window…’

‘Well it’s a rather complicated story,’ Isidore confessed, ‘but the long and the short of it is that I’ve had a certain Harvey Broad doing some renovation work on my home…’

‘Oh yeah?’ Garry frowned. ‘So how’s that pannin’ out?’

‘I sacked him this morning.’

‘Ah.’

Garry didn’t seem especially shocked by this news.

‘Anyhow, I think his son — Lester — must’ve brought the dog around to begin with, and then my young son — Fleet — grew very attached to the poor creature…’

‘Hang on,’ Garry interrupted. ‘So you’re sayin’ you think Lester might’ve stole the dog?’

‘Or Harvey, and then entrusted it to Lester to look after…’

‘Harvey bloody Broad ,’ Garry growled, ‘I should’ve bloomin’ known .’

‘I saw the poster this morning,’ Isidore continued, ‘and then the coin suddenly dropped.’

He paused.

‘Although I suppose there’s no actual proof …’

‘Harvey bloody Broad ,’ Garry repeated, obviously furious. ‘When my mum finds out she’ll do her bloomin’ nut… ’

‘If it’s any consolation,’ Isidore added, ‘shortly after I sacked him this morning, the scaffolding on the front of the house collapsed and almost wrote off his Toyota…’

‘You know what the worst part is?’ Garry demanded (not mollified in the slightest by the Toyota anecdote).

Isidore shook his head.

‘The worst part is that he’s a good builder. When he puts in the effort, he’s a solid builder. He actually started off in an apprenticeship wiv’ my dad. In fact when I was a kid I just loved the fella. He was like the older brother I never had,’ Garry shrugged. ‘But then the rot gradually set in. He just got bored of tryin’ , somehow. It reached the point that he’d rather spend twice the amount of effort avoidin’ a job…’

‘You’re not telling me anything that I’m not already painfully aware of,’ Dory grimaced.

‘I don’t suppose,’ Beede suddenly interjected, half-turning towards Isidore, ‘now Harvey’s out of the picture, Garry’s got his dog back and you’re in desperate need of a new contractor…’

Garry and Isidore stared at each other, slightly startled (like two women wearing identical dresses at a cocktail party).

‘Truth is,’ Garry volunteered, ‘I’ve been cuttin’ back on my work commitments in recent months in the hope of doin’ some travellin’ abroad…’

‘That’s absolutely fine ,’ Dory insisted, keen not to press the matter. ‘Don’t give it a second thought…’

‘…But now that I’ve got the time set aside,’ Garry continued, wryly, ‘I don’t really have the first clue where I wanna go or what the hell I plan to do wiv’ myself when I actually get there,’ he grinned. ‘Pathetic, ain’t it? So if you’re keen on the idea, then I’d be more than happy to take a look at the job…’

‘What’s that word the Arabs use to describe situations like this?’ Beede interjected (delighted by his own involvement in this happy scenario). ‘ Kismet ?’

Garry inspected his watch. ‘I’ll just grab a sandwich, change my jacket…’ he gently fingered the lining of his leather coat, ‘an’ then head straight on over. Give you a quick quote. Can’t say better than that now, can I?’

Beede turned to the German, smiling, but was surprised to notice that Dory didn’t seem quite as enthralled by these developments as he might’ve expected. He appeared jittery and distracted.

‘Just scribble down your address for me…’ Garry pulled a pencil from behind his ear.

‘Sure …’ Dory suddenly snapped to attention. ‘Let me…’

He felt around inside his jacket pocket for a scrap of paper, eventually locating a scrunched-up piece of packaging, unfolding it and turning it over to write on the back.

Beede’s smile evaporated.

Garry passed Dory the pencil.

‘ Bell ,’ Beede murmured quietly, almost to himself.

‘Come again?’ Garry interjected.

‘Bell,’ Beede repeated, ‘it’s a fascinating noun with virtually no relatives in the European languages…’

He watched closely as Dory carefully printed out his address.

‘…Although apparently there was an ancient verb in Old English,’ he continued, raising a hand to his shoulder and massaging it, clumsily, ‘related to the baying call made by a hound or…or a stag…’ Beede paused, his face contorting, ‘of which…of which “bellow”,’ he finally concluded, hoarsely, ‘is a direct descendant.’

‘Well I never!’ Garry exclaimed (without the slightest idea as to what Beede was banging on about).

Dory completed the address and handed it over. Then he turned to Beede with a cheerful smile. ‘So, ready to head off, now?’ he wondered.

Kane took out his kays–

KEYS, Goddammit!

(He shook his head–

STOP this now!

ENOUGH!! )

— inserted them into the lock, then paused for a second and stared down, frowning, at his outstretched hands–

Surgeon’s hands?

He snorted, derisively–

Nah…

— although they were certainly attractive hands (tapering hands, rather graceful). They were strong hands–

No bones about it—

But surgeon’s hands?!

Is she crazy?

He removed the book Elen had given him from his coat pocket and carefully inspected it. It looked like a fascinating book — gory, visceral, thoughtful, challenging — a worthwhile book–

Worthwhile?!

Kane shook his head, grimacing, then quickly re-read the synopsis on the inside cover, his eye halting, irresistibly, on the words ‘medical vagabond’. He turned to Elen’s dedication and gazed at it, blankly, then sighed, slapped the book shut and roughly shoved it back into his coat pocket. He unlocked the door and pushed it open.

‘ Gaffar? ’ he yelled, stepping into the hallway. ‘You home yet?’ There was a letter lying on the mat. He picked it up. There was no name or address on it–