Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Obviously,’ Dory echoed, peeling off the lid from his carton of tea. The car rapidly filled with the rich scent of chocolate.

‘ Damn .’

Dory stared into the cup. ‘They’ve given me the wrong order. They’ve given me chocolate…’

Beede said nothing, just glanced at him, sideways (in his extensive experience of Dory — of life , in general — he’d discovered that what you might call ‘true’ mistakes were surprisingly few and far between).

‘Is your coffee as it should be?’ Dory asked.

‘Absolutely,’ he lied.

‘ Damn! ’ Dory repeated, staring into his cup. He took a sip and grimaced.

‘It didn’t pan out well…’ he slung the lid on to the dashboard, reverting — with a scowl — to their former subject, ‘unfortunately I’d left my phone in the car, remember?’

Beede shook his head, not quite following. His eyes wandered to Dory’s lid on the dash, then beyond it, to the air vents at the base of the windscreen. A small, black writing pad — a jotter — had been temporarily placed there (or had accidentally slipped down into that position), and its pages were gently rustling in the warm breeze from the fan.

‘My phone ?’ Dory repeated.

Still, Beede didn’t catch on.

‘Well the story , if you recollect,’ Dory explained (his special emphasis on ‘story’ making his mixed feelings on the subject perfectly clear), ‘was that a gang of kids had stolen my car, but I’d been phoned by someone to tell me where they’d dumped it…’

‘Oh. Okay. But your phone…’

‘Exactly. Still in the car. Sitting bang in the middle of the front seat , to be precise.’

Beede’s shoulders tensed up. ‘You think they noticed?’

‘Well they’re policemen , Beede,’ Dory scoffed. ‘It’s just basic observation…’

‘You could’ve had two phones,’ Beede interjected. ‘Some people do, apparently.’

Isidore stared at him, cryptically. ‘In the same way that — just for the sake of argument , say — there could’ve been two horses?’

‘Pardon?’

Beede was now totally all at sea.

‘Forget it…’ Dory shrugged. ‘The bottom line was that they seemed to find the whole situation rather…uh… perplexing . No. Improbable …And then there were the other issues — the other questions —like whether I’d actually left my keys in the car — which I had — I mean, they were just dangling there, in the ignition…’

‘That’s not…’ Beede cleared his throat, uneasily, ‘that’s not sounding like a great scenario, certainly.’

‘I mean I work in security, and the police — as you already know — have this natural…’

He scowled, unable — temporarily — to latch on to the right word.

‘Antipathy?’ Beede cautiously filled in.

‘Precisely.’

Beede slowly pushed his glasses back up his nose again.

‘And as if that wasn’t quite enough to contend with,’ Dory continued (growing more querulous with every passing second), ‘they then wanted to know who it was exactly that had phoned to inform me…’

‘Well surely that’s the easy part…’ Beede shrugged, ‘ I did. Me .’ ‘Pardon?’

Dory frowned at him.

‘Wasn’t that the whole point of the thing? Of the alibi? I phoned you. I recognised your car as I was passing. Then I went off to catch the horse and you eventually joined me…’

‘Oh,’ Dory said, dully, ‘I see. Is that what we agreed?’

‘Yes…’ Beede paused, ‘at least…’

‘And is that what you told them?’

‘Absolutely.’

‘ Great .’

Dory took a huge swig of his chocolate, and then swallowed, blinking furiously.

‘So what was your story, then?’ Beede wondered.

‘I told them that a work colleague had rung. I didn’t mention you. I wasn’t specific.’

‘Well I am a work colleague…’ Beede frowned ‘…In fact — now I come to think of it — I believe they may’ve actually asked if we worked together at some point…’

‘And you said…?’

‘I said “of course”—I mean we do …’

Dory nodded, frowning. ‘Anyhow,’ he took a third, slightly smaller, sip of his chocolate, ‘they said if they needed to talk again then they’d get back in touch over the next couple of days…’ he grimaced, ‘but as yet I’ve heard nothing, so I’m just quietly hoping…’

‘That it’ll simply go away?’

‘Exactly.’

‘Touch wood.’

Beede lifted his fist and glanced around him. The dashboard was inlaid with a wood veneer. He rapped at it, smartly.

‘That’s plastic,’ Dory muttered, curling his hands around his carton. He cleared his throat, then he cleared it again. ‘God. I can really feel this chocolate taking a hold — you know? The caffeine — the sugar . I’ve grown so unaccustomed to it.’

‘That’s probably just stress,’ Beede debunked.

‘Probably,’ Dory conceded, but then he deftly placed the lid back on to his cup and slipped it — with a small shudder — back into his side-pocket.

Silence

‘I received a letter from Pat Monkeith today,’ Beede tentatively introduced a new subject, ‘informing me that I’d been nominated — and by you of all people — as Chairman for the new committee…’

Dory wasn’t biting: ‘I’m…I don’t know…’ he suddenly slumped down in his seat, shaking his handsome head, miserably, ‘even after all these long years of trying to make good — of plastering over the cracks — of white washing and bull shitting — I still remain, quite simply, the world’s most terrible…most…most clumsy , most lack -witted, most ineffectual liar…’

Beede snorted. Or — more to the point — he found himself snorting (a loud, cynical, disbelieving kind of snort). Then he blinked, shocked.

Dory stared at him, hurt. ‘But I am .’

‘Well hopefully…’ Beede struggled to cover up his clumsy faux-pas ‘…hopefully some kind of major fraud or…or murder will’ve taken place over the last couple of days which’ll completely snow them under and quietly enable you to just slip off their radar…’

He was joking. But not entirely.

‘A gang rape,’ Dory shrugged, ‘or an indecent assault. That’d be dandy , huh?’

He delivered Beede a reproachful glare. Beede’s eyes returned — inexorably — to the flapping journal.

Silence

‘I’m sorry,’ Dory muttered, finally, ‘I don’t mean to harp on about it…I’m just…it’s just…I hate living like this, Beede. Lying. Taking risks. It’s exhausting. I’m simply not…not equipped …’

‘I know,’ Beede patted Dory’s arm, reassuringly, ‘who on earth would be?’

‘I find it physically draining.’

Beede nodded, vehemently.

‘And I feel this overwhelming…this…this huge burden of guilt. This awful weight …’ he pointed to the centre of his diaphragm ‘…right here. Crushing down on me…’

‘That’s just stupid,’ Beede interjected tersely, ‘and illogical.’

‘Pardon?’

‘It’s pointless to feel guilty about something you have no control over.’

‘Sure. Sure . I know what you’re saying — I mean I understand your logic , perfectly…’ Dory shook his head, ‘but it’s all just too easy , Beede. Don’t you see? Because at some level I am responsible — I must be. And I simply can’t allow myself to keep…’