Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Cedar Wood–

Cedar?

Wood?

— was a brand, spanking new development. Blank. Generic. Everything detached, or semi-detached. No personality. No atmosphere. No newsagents (for that matter), or chippies or pubs. No trees–

No woods — or cedars — that’s for damn sure…

— just bushes. No birds…

He turned off the stereo, wound down the window and stuck his head out to make certain–

Nope

Just this awful, all-pervasive quiet. This muffledness.

He was shocked — quite frankly — by the feel of the place. He felt something within him revolt against it (the sense of quiet conformity. The dullness. The heart-sinking blankness ). He was almost…

What?

Disappointed.

Oh come on…

As he sat and watched, a tall, thin, young man in scruffy work apparel suddenly appeared from around the side of the house. He was carrying a dog — a pathetic-looking spaniel — under one arm and holding what appeared to be an empty jam-jar in his free hand.

‘ Bollocks… ’ Kane murmured. He moved to duck down in his seat, but that same instant the young man glanced over.

‘Aw shit ,’ Lester said, taking a quick step back.

Kane drew a deep breath, stuck his fag into the corner of his mouth, yanked the keys from the ignition, shoved open the door and clambered out.

‘I ain’t got it,’ Lester began snivelling, ‘an’ you got no fuckin’ right botherin’ me at work, man.’

‘You? Work?! ’ Kane scoffed.

‘Leave me alone , man,’ Lester seemed terrified.

Kane sighed, bored. This was just too bad. A fly in the ointment. But certain, well, responsibilities were inherent to the trade. He pulled his jacket slightly tighter around him, stiffening his body against the cold, then slammed the door shut (activating the alarm and the locks–

Click—

Beep-beep )

‘ Don’t hurt me, man ,’ Lester all-but squealed.

‘Got no choice, my friend,’ Kane regretfully informed him, ‘because if I don’t, you’ll paint me a pussy all over town, and then where the heck would business be at?’

Lester turned and bolted down the side of the house. Kane strolled casually after him, finally catching up with him in the small, paved rear garden where he was crouching — somewhat poignantly — behind a sheet on the washing line. Kane stooped under some socks. ‘Put down the dog,’ he instructed him.

‘Uh- uh .’

Lester shot up against the brick of the back wall, shaking his head.

‘Put down the fucking dog,’ Kane reiterated, then he drew forward slightly, with a frown. ‘What’s in the jam-jar?’

‘Nothin’.’

‘Nothing?’

He moved in for an even closer look, blinking, for a second, through the smoke from his cigarette.

‘Yeah.’

‘You’ve got a jam-jar of nothing? Why?’

‘I’m collectin’ it.’

‘You’re collecting nothing ?’

Lester nodded.

‘Are you fucking insane ?’

Kane snatched the jar from him and squinted in through the glass. Couldn’t see anything. Saw nothing, in fact. Then he straightened up and punched Lester in the face.

Crack.

Lester’s mouth flew open on impact. His skull smacked into the brickwork. The dog yelped as his grip inadvertently tightened around her. But his nose took the brunt of it.

‘Okay, then,’ Kane grinned, ‘so here’s to nothing…’ He toasted him with the jar and then handed it back.

Lester snatched the jar, his eyes smarting, the bone in the centre of his nose glowing whitely, as though it’d just been lightly dusted with phosphorescent powder. Then — on a count of three — warm, dark blood began to gush from his nostrils. Kane pulled a tea-towel from the washing line, yanked back Lester’s head with a handful of his hair–

‘ Owwww! ’

— and blotted his face with it.

‘This all seems strangely familiar…’ he mused, idly. ‘Didn’t I break your nose sometime before? Or was it your arm on that occasion?’

‘Cracked my fuckin’ ribs, ’ Lester hissed through the fabric.

‘Ah…’ Kane sighed, ‘well there’s surely some kind of lesson in this, my old friend…’ he counselled, sagely.

‘Hello? Hello? ’

Uh-oh

Kane froze, mid-axiom.

A man’s voice. Germanic.

‘ Lester? ’

Kane turned. Then he took a quick step back–

Wha?!

His eyes widened. Directly behind him (about 2 feet away, at most), perched neatly on the washing line: a starling. A thin and greasy, yellow-beaked starling, cocking its head at him.

Kane stared at the bird. The bird stared back at Kane. Kane removed his cigarette from his mouth and flipped it down on to the paving. ‘ Shoo! ’ he said.

As he spoke he heard the spaniel growling. A deep growl. A menacing growl. Then his eyes lifted — he didn’t know why…instinct, perhaps — to an upstairs window at the back of the house. There he saw the boy (the strange boy. The imp) standing at the window and gazing out at him, impassively. Kane waved at the boy, but the boy didn’t respond. Instead, he slowly — very deliberately — lifted up his hands and covered his face with them (but not in panic or alarm — so much as…almost as if in…

In warning? )

That same instant–

Oh balls

— he saw the mother, dressed in black, standing directly behind him. She looked…What was that look? Apprehension? Fear?

‘ Lester? Is that you?’

Again, the German…

Kane’s eyes returned — fleetingly — to the bird. The bird shat down the sheet. Then it squawked. Then it flew at him.

‘ Shit!’

Kane dropped his chin and covered his face, instinctively. The bird hit him, with some force. He felt its beak slice into his knuckles.

He tried to swipe it away, but there was nothing.

‘What are you doing?’

Lester was staring at him, warily, over the tea-towel.

‘The bird…’ Kane looked around him, his hands still up, still slightly panicked. ‘Didn’t you see it? The bird on the line? The starling. It shat down the…’

He pointed at the sheet. The sheet was clean.

‘It flew at me. Didn’t you see it?’

‘Hello…?’

The German had walked across the paved garden and was now standing on the other side of the sheet. He was talking down at their feet. ‘Is everything all right back there?’

‘Lester’s banged his nose,’ Kane observed brightly, drawing aside the sheet, like a theatrical stage-hand, to reveal a tragic Lester in all his newly bloodied glory.

‘Good God . What happened?’

The German drew closer. Lester gesticulated, pointlessly.

‘He’s trying to stem the flow,’ Kane said, still holding the sheet in his hand and failing to locate any bird dirt on it.

‘It looks bad, Lester,’ the German seemed shocked, ‘it’s swelling right up. Do you need a doctor?’

Lester shook his head, waved his arm and gurgled.

‘Let me at least take Michelle from you…’

He reached out for the dog. The dog snarled.

‘She don’t like you,’ Lester spluttered, through the towel.

The dog looked up at the German, her round eyes bulging, fearfully.

‘I should drive you home,’ the German murmured, withdrawing his arm again. ‘You can’t possibly do any work in that condition.’

He turned to Kane. ‘Are you one of Harvey’s people?’

Kane opened his mouth to respond, but before he could answer, Elen had come flying through the back door, down the steps and out on to the patio. She was clutching a pack of frozen peas. ‘For the swelling,’ she panted, ‘here…’ She removed the tea-towel. ‘Hold back your head, Lester. Let me take a proper look…’