Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Let’s go to the bathroom, Laura,’ Pat stood up.

‘I don’t need to go to the bathroom,’ Laura snapped, ‘I’m not a child . Just sit down .’

Pat sat down, shocked.

‘You’re just tired,’ Charlie told her, ‘and a little confused .’

‘I am not confused. I know perfectly well what’s going on here.’

Emily re-entered the room, carrying a bowlful of soup. She whisked away Beede’s empty setting and placed it down, reverently, before him.

‘Nothing’s going on , Laura,’ Cheryl muttered.

‘If you must know, Cheryl,’ Laura snarled, ‘hell’d freeze over before I’d look to you for support.’

Cheryl seemed taken aback.

‘Is your soup warm enough?’ Pat asked Beede. ‘Because it didn’t seem to take her very long…’

Laura also glanced over at Beede, as if perceiving him , at least, to be a dispassionate observer.

‘Have you noticed him taking pot shots?’ she asked.

‘Uh…’ Beede picked up his spoon. ‘This looks delicious ,’ he said, dipping it into the soup and then consuming a large mouthful.

The soup was ice cold. He tried not to grimace as he swallowed.

‘Is that good?’ Pat asked.

‘Wonderful,’ he patted his lips with his napkin.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Absolutely.’

He took another spoonful.

‘It’s cold,’ Cheryl said, peering down into his bowl, ‘isn’t it?’

‘Not at all.’

‘Am I not only irritating but INAUDIBLE now?’ Laura yelled.

Beede leaned back, slightly alarmed, as Cheryl touched the side of his bowl.

‘Ice cold,’ she pronounced.

‘Is it?’ Pat asked.

‘ Ice bloody cold.’

‘Are you sure?’ Tom asked.

‘ You feel it.’

Cheryl picked up Beede’s bowl and passed it over to her brother.

‘Perhaps he has,’ Beede quietly conceded ‘…been a little…a little sharp at points. But I don’t think…’

Charlie glanced up from his soup, shocked.

‘Sharp? Me? Absolutely not.’

‘That is cold,’ Tom pronounced, sticking his spoon in and trying some. ‘Jesus Christ . It’s disgusting.’

‘ See?! ’ Laura spat.

‘But obviously I don’t…That’s just…that’s…’ Beede stuttered. ‘You may be the new Chairman of the Road Crossing Initiative, Beede,’ Charlie told him, perfectly cordially, ‘but you are not — Thank God — the Chairman of my marriage.’

‘No. Of course. And I wouldn’t…’

Laura picked up her spoon and began eating, voraciously. Charlie glanced over at her. ‘This soup is good, Laura,’ he said, ‘isn’t it?’

‘ Fuck. Right. Off ,’ she sang.

‘She shouldn’t get away with that,’ Cheryl told Pat. ‘I mean how much are you paying her?’

‘ I’m paying her,’ Tom said, ‘and that soup is ice cold.’

Pat stood up. ‘Should I call her in and tell her to heat it up?’

‘Good heavens, no,’ Beede tried to grab his bowl back, ‘just finish your meals. I’m enjoying the soup. The soup’s fine …’

‘It’s the principle , old boy,’ Tom told him.

‘But I just…I don’t …’

‘I mean how long does it take to slam a bowl of soup into the microwave ?’ Cheryl asked.

‘ Emily? ’

Pat left the room, holding the offending bowl aloft.

‘Imagine,’ Tom said, fishing a prawn out of his own soup and devouring it, ‘if we were in the Sahara Desert, Beede — a family of nomads — and Emily was our cook, and you arrived — at the last minute — and we were suddenly obliged to cater…’

The sound of raised voices emerged from the kitchen area.

‘Oh dear,’ Beede said.

Charlie finished his soup and threw down his spoon, with a clatter.

‘Right,’ he said, pushing back his chair, ‘fag break.’

He glanced around the table. ‘Fag break, anybody?’

‘Good idea,’ Tom stood up.

‘Cheryl?’

‘Gasping,’ she said.

‘Laura?’

‘Is it still raining?’ Laura asked.

‘Jesus Christ , woman,’ Charlie bellowed, ‘where’s your spirit of adventure?’

‘Beede?’

Laura looked over at him. ‘Smoke?’

‘No, I…’

‘Sixty-seconds,’ Tom promised him, as they all trooped out.

Beede sat alone in the dining-room. He gazed, somewhat distractedly, at the partially eaten portions of soup, the cutlery, the settings, the rolls. He took a sip of his wine and then a sip of his water. He stretched out his legs and was surprised to feel his feet making contact with something soft and tactile–

A cushion?

A handbag?

He leaned over, flipped up the cloth and peered under the table. There he saw a cat — a Siamese cat. It gazed up at him, unblinking.

‘Well hello ,’ he said, the top half of his torso disappearing from the cat’s eye-line for a moment, then quickly reappearing, his hand pinching something, seductively, between its thumb and its forefinger, ‘Fancy a bit of lovely, fresh seafood, do we?’

It was almost dinnertime. As he picked a careful route along the ward (avoiding the hordes of stony-faced kitchen staff who were furiously shunting a series of heavily laden metal trolleys around) Gaffar was piqued to discover that Kelly already had a visitor–

Eh?!

A girl. A voluptuous girl; tall but very pale, with a mess of wiry, black hair. On drawing closer (approaching from the rear) he saw that her hair wasn’t naturally dark. Her roots (more than an inch past showing) were actually a fine, copper brown.

She was visiting Kelly but they weren’t conversing. The girl was staring off blankly into space while Kelly struggled to adjust the ringtone on her new phone.

‘Bloody hell , mate,’ she murmured, glancing up, distractedly, at his tentative approach, ‘ain’t you got no home to go to?’ Before Gaffar could muster up a response she held out the phone, proudly. ‘ Hey! See what Geraldine brought me…’

Geraldine turned to appraise him.

‘Yah!’

Gaffar leapt back, with a holler. Geraldine’s mouth had been neatly sewn up with a piece of black string.

Kelly gave no appearance of having noticed his reaction — or if she had, then she’d plainly resolved to just let it pass. ‘Gerry…’ she graciously undertook the formal introductions, ‘this here is Gaffar , Kane’s little Turkish whore. Gaffar, meet my gorgeous cousin, Miss Geraldine Broad.’

‘Not Turk, Kurd ,’ Gaffar modified Kelly’s introduction slightly, offering Geraldine a friendly hand. Geraldine inspected his hand, then inspected her own hand, then lifted up her own hand, limply, then seemed to forget what she’d lifted it for.

Gaffar moved forward, grasped her hand, and shook it, warmly.

‘Is she problem with this mouth?’ he asked Kelly, as he shook.

‘A problem? With her gob? Nah . The only real problem Gerry has is that she’s thick as shit. That’s why she sewed the damn thing up.’

Geraldine scowled at her.

‘ Yaag! ’ Gaffar looked appalled. ‘Is she poss for speak like this?’

‘Yeah. ‘Course. It’s only cosmetic . Fashion, yeah? If she’s got somethin’ important to say — which she never has, as it happens — then she can always pull the stitches out…’

’But it’s nothing less than criminal!’ ‘Gaffar exclaimed. ’Whatever possessed such a beautiful girl to do something so hideous to her face?’