Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Numero Uno: the Toyota’s ignition is playin’ me up…’

Elen grabbed the kettle and yanked off its lid. ‘So how did you get here today, then?’

‘The work van.’

‘Ah.’

‘I won’t drive the Toyota in this kind of weather.’

‘Right.’

Elen turned on the tap and filled the kettle.

‘Ruins the paintwork.’

‘I see.’

She turned the tap off again.

‘Numero Two-o,’ Harvey continued, ‘my youngest girl is refusin’ to come to Florida this year, and my wife’s having a crack-up. Gerry is seventeen. Linda just don’t wanna leave her…’ ‘So you’re going away?’ Elen spoke with some care as she pushed the kettle’s plug into the socket. ‘On holiday?’

‘Yup. We always go mid-Feb. Winter sun an’ all that…’

‘Oh. Well that’s very… uh …’

She couldn’t think of the right word, initially (‘soon’ was her first thought). ‘…Inconsiderate,’ she said, eventually.

Harvey glanced up, sharply.

‘I mean of her .’

Harvey stopped scowling. ‘Yeah. Well that’s kids for ya.’ He shrugged, resignedly. ‘Only then , see, when I’ve finally convinced Linda that it’s all good — that Gerry can stay with my sister for the three weeks…’

Three weeks?!

Elen’s eyes widened.

‘…She then decides that my sister’s kid should come along instead. But Kelly — the silly cow — just went and broke her bloody leg. Plaster has to come off in the second week. So muggins here is expected to sort it all out, and pay for the privilege of gettin’ it done private in the US.’

Elen did her best to look sympathetic as she grabbed a mug from the cupboard.

‘I mean she’s in plaster, Helen,’ Harvey fretted. ‘It’s not like I’ve got nothin’ against the kid, but it’ll be boilin’, fuckin’ hot out there. She won’t be able to get around without her crutches, go on any of the rides, take a dip…’ he paused, squinting slightly over Elen’s shoulder. ‘That cupboard door’s not set right…’

He sprang to his feet, whipping a screw-driver from his buddy. ‘Shift over.’

In thirty seconds the door had been removed and then quickly realigned. He stood back, appraised his work, then winced, tutted, and got stuck into the next one along.

Elen watched, agog, as all sixteen doors were neatly and expertly re-hung.

When he’d completed this marathon (not, coincidentally, a job which featured in any shape or form on his lengthy ‘to-do’ list — or even on Elen’s blackboard, for that matter) Harvey sat back down at the table, genially reappraised his work, took a rejuvenating swig of his tea, and swallowed, noisily.

‘So it’s cards on the table time,’ he announced, experimenting by placing his weight first on one elbow, then the other. The table shifted. He frowned and peered underneath the table-top. ‘Why’s this thing wobblin’?’

He grabbed some pliers from his belt and tightened a bolt on one of the legs, then re-emerged, slightly puffed. He tapped the table again. It didn’t wobble this time. He grunted his satisfaction. ‘Thank you,’ Elen murmured.

‘The bottom line is this…’ he said, acknowledging her gratitude with a curt nod, ‘crazy as it may sound, I’ve taken quite a shine to you…’ he picked up his tea and gulped down a second, large mouthful. ‘You strike me as a good sort, somehow, even if your tea is bloody dreadful.’

Elen sprang to her feet. ‘Has it gone cold? Would you like another?’ Harvey didn’t deign to respond, just continued to talk as she darted around the kitchen.

‘An’ that’s why I’m going to tell you somethin’…’

He leaned forward, picked up a packet of biscuits (which Elen had yet to open — dark chocolate Bahlsens) and gave them a suspicious rattle. ‘These kosher or what?’

‘Uh…’ Elen turned. ‘Yes. I mean I don’t know. They’re German.’

Harvey threw the biscuits down again, grimacing. ‘The plain truth is that I’m actually what you might call “a bit of a rebel” at heart. A “loose cannon”, so to speak. Linda says I’m a “free spirit”, which sounds a bit twatty, actually…’

He sniffed.

Elen opened the biscuit packet, slid four on to a plate and placed them down in front of him.

‘Either way, the bottom line is this: I don’t respond well to pressure. It’s not that I can’t, as such, but that I won’t. It’s a matter of principle, see? I simply ain’t bothered. If someone keeps bangin’ on at me to do somethin’—naggin’ at me, pesterin’—then I just turn an’ I walk — without a second thought — in the opposite direction. Because buildin’ ain’t simply a job for me, Helen, it’s a passion, and I won’t let anything or any one get in the way of that.’

Elen tried to respond appropriately to this curious declaration. ‘Well I suppose most people — when they’re placed under a certain amount of…of duress …’

‘Oh no.’ Harvey was emphatic. ‘I am not “most people”, Helen, trust me. I am fucking obstinate . I make an art form out of it. I dig in my heels like a bloody donkey . Linda says they broke the soddin’ mould when they made me…’

He stood up. ‘I have four phones, see?’

Harvey indicated towards the three of his four phones which were currently visible, hanging on his buddy. Elen nodded.

‘An’ at the moment, your other half is on the blue phone. On the Nokia .’

Harvey tapped the Nokia with a warning thumb. Elen stared at the Nokia. Suddenly the Nokia had a somewhat ominous aspect. She gazed up at him, anxiously. ‘So is that…is that bad , then?’ ‘No.

Not bad exactly…’ Harvey pulled an expression of infinite sadness.

‘Just…’

He sighed.

‘Right,’ Elen pushed back her hair, impatiently. ‘Oh dear…’

She glanced down and noticed that she hadn’t yet removed the bag from his tea. She looked around for a teaspoon.

‘Now the Siemens S55…’ Harvey continued, ‘well, she’s an absolute corker …’

‘Really?’

Elen stopped searching. She simply removed the bag with her fingers–

Ouch!

Hot!

— and tossed it on to the counter-top.

‘Oh yes. Absolutely. This little lady has 8080 pixels…’ Harvey took out his Siemens S55 and showed it to Elen, reverently. Elen stared at the phone, in silence. She noticed how — if she held her breath for a moment — she could hear the repetitive drip of the water as it hit the pans upstairs.

‘An’ this is my Sony,’ Harvey took out his Sony, grinning, ‘I know what you’re thinking,’ he chuckled, ‘you’re thinking, “Things have certainly come on a-way since then, Harve,” and you’d be right. But that’s me all over — a great, big softy…’

He was beaming at the phone. ‘She’s an old girl, but she’s a goldie…’

Then he abruptly stopped smiling and slipped it away again. ‘An’ last, but by no means least…’

Harvey put a devoted hand to his heart (also, coincidentally, the location of his neatly buttoned shirt pocket) ‘…is the Motorola C350…’

He removed it and inspected it, almost tearfully. ‘But only my mistress and my lawyer have the digits for this baby…’

Elen gently placed Harvey’s mug down on to the table. She grabbed the milk bottle, her serious brown eyes not shifting — even an inch — from his face.

‘But then you’re on the Nokia,’ Harvey sighed, carefully slipping the Motorola away again, ‘and I ain’t saying — God forbid — that it isn’t a good phone…’