Nicola Barker - Darkmans

‘Did you put that bell on the cat?’

Kane had ventured downstairs, at dawn (okay, seven-thirty- ish ); dazed, befuddled, and somewhat–

Uh…

Yuk

— sticky , to grab a bottle of milk from the front step, only to be unexpectedly ambushed by his father.

‘Sorry?’ Kane frowned, startled, slightly caught on the hop (he felt stained— tattooed , almost — by the sleep he’d just had. He felt it indelibly inked upon him. He felt…

Urgh

— he felt filthy ).

‘The cat?’

‘Yes,’ Beede nodded, ‘I have a cat. A Siamese cat. I’m borrowing him. I mean I’m looking after him.’

Kane just stared at him, perplexed. ‘What’s that smell?’ he said, finally.

‘Smell?’

‘Yes. Like…like smoke. Wood smoke.’

‘Woodsmoke?’

‘Yes.’

Beede sniffed, then shrugged. ‘I’m not getting it.’

‘Oh.’

Kane bit his lip, distractedly. Then he focussed in on Beede again. Beede seemed pale — strained — almost stricken . It wasn’t a good look.

‘I’m sorry,’ Kane murmured (struggling to suppress a sympathetic pang), ’you were saying?’

‘There’s a bell on the cat. A new bell. Hanging on a collar around his neck. I was simply wondering…’

‘No.’ Kane shook his head.

‘Are you sure?’

‘Positive,’ Kane insisted, yawning. ‘Why the hell would I be putting a bell on a cat?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Talking of necks…Is something… uh …’

Kane indicated, tentatively, towards the offending area on his father. Beede moved a cagey hand to his shoulder.

‘Have you pulled something? You look…’

Old

‘ No . It’s fine…’ Beede wrestled with himself. ‘ Yes . I don’t know. I think I may’ve sat up too abruptly in the night, and just…just jinked something…’

‘Ouch.’

Beede shrugged, then winced.

‘Perhaps it was Gaffar,’ Kane volunteered.

‘Pardon?’

‘The bell.’

‘The bell? You think?’ Beede gazed up at him, keenly.

‘Actually, no. Gaffar despises cats. Although…’

‘What?’

‘Maybe that’s why. Maybe he put the bell on to try and keep some kind of check on it.’

‘Is that possible?’

‘No,’ Kane snorted, ‘it isn’t.’

Beede scowled (Why was it always such a dance with Kane?

Why was nothing ever…?).

Kane sniffed at the air again. ‘Woodsmoke,’ he murmured, ‘ definitely .’

He moved over towards the door. ‘I’m just getting my milk,’ he said. ‘D’you want yours?’

‘Yes,’ Beede nodded, ‘thanks.’

Kane went out, grabbed the milk, then came back in again, shivering. He handed Beede his bottle. Beede took it, then he winced.

‘Have you taken anything?’ Kane asked.

‘Pardon?’

Beede pretended not to follow. Kane frowned. ‘For your back .

It’s obviously…’ ‘It’s probably just a cold,’ Beede fobbed him off, ‘in the muscle. In the shoulder.’

‘Are you planning to go to work?’

‘Of course,’ Beede snapped. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

They stared at each other.

‘I’ll ask Gaffar about the bell,’ Kane murmured, feeling around in his pocket with his spare hand for his cigarettes, unable to locate them. He turned towards the stairs. He gazed up at the stairs. He grimaced. Then he turned back around again.

‘I have something for it,’ he said. ‘I mean I can give you something for it, something that’ll help…’

‘It’s not a problem,’ Beede said gruffly. ‘If I’m desperate I can always take a couple of Anadin.’

‘It’s all perfectly kosher,’ Kane persisted. ‘I know about backs, remember? It’s kind of my speciality because of… uh …’

Mum

Beede’s eyes widened. ‘Of course,’ he butted in, keen not to venture a single step further down this particularly treacherous emotional bridleway, ‘I appreciate the offer.’

Kane shrugged.

The unmentionable hung between them like a dank canal (overrun by weed and scattered with litter — the used condoms, the bent tricycle, the old pram).

‘Well I’d better…’

Kane shrugged again, hurt (he’d tried to reach out, and he’d palpably failed, so that, he supposed, was that).

‘Yes. Thanks .’

Beede inspected his milk bottle. Kane headed upstairs. He was at least five steps up when he could’ve sworn he heard something. A muttering. He paused. He peered over his shoulder. Beede had not moved. He was gazing down at the floor.

‘Did you just say something, Beede?’

‘Pardon?’

‘Did you just say something?’

‘No. Yes . I simply…’ he glanced up, ‘I just asked after your foot.’

Kane stared at him–

What?

‘Your foot ,’ Beede reiterated, tightly. ‘Is it feeling any better?’

‘My foot…?’ Kane glanced down at his foot, flushing. ‘It’s fine.’ ‘Apparently verrucas can be hereditary,’ Beede informed him.

‘Yes. Yes . Apparently so.’

(Had she told him that, too? Elen? )

Beede was scowling again. He was passing the milk bottle from hand to hand.

‘Is there something on your mind?’ Kane asked (quite boldly, he felt, under the circumstances).

‘I can always give you the number of another chiropodist,’ Beede said, ‘a good chiropodist, if seeing Elen doesn’t quite pan out…’

‘Why? Don’t you think Elen’s a good chiropodist?’

‘I didn’t say that,’ he snapped.

‘But didn’t she heal your foot?’

‘Yes,’ Beede conceded grouchily, ‘in a manner of speaking.’

‘Well either she healed your foot or she didn’t heal it…’

‘The foot’s better — much better. But verrucas can be very persistent.’

‘Neurotic,’ Kane shot back, ‘sustained by a kind of inner turmoil.’

‘Ah,’ Beede smiled, grimly, ‘so you had the little lecture, did you?’

Little lecture?

‘Yes,’ Kane said.

‘Good.’

Beede’s voice was bitter. His colour was high.

‘I actually remembered her,’ Kane said, struggling to justify his position to his father (although he wasn’t entirely sure why ), ‘from before…From Mum.’

‘Ah.’

(Again, that deep canal, that unnavigable bridleway.)

‘And what’s stranger still,’ Kane continued, ‘she actually remembered me .’

‘I see…’ Beede cleared his throat. ‘Well I’m sure you’re very memorable , Kane. It’s just a complicated situation, that’s all…’

‘It’s only a wart, Dad,’ Kane scoffed.

Dad?

Beede flinched.

Dad?

‘It’s only a wart,’ Kane repeated, blankly.

‘So did she ask you for anything?’ Beede wondered. ‘When you saw her?’

‘ Ask me for anything?’ Kane didn’t follow. ‘Like what?’

‘I don’t know…Drugs?’

‘Drugs?’

‘Yes. I just wondered if the conversation might’ve got around to…’

‘Drugs?!’

‘Yes.’ Beede was defiant. ‘Isn’t that what people generally ask you for?’

Kane was appalled. ‘What on earth are you talking about? She’s a foot doctor. I have a verruca…’

‘You went to her house , Kane.’

‘So?’

‘Do you make a habit of visiting the homes of all your healthcare professionals?’