Nicola Barker - Darkmans

Elen turned to Fleet.

‘Michelle has to stay in the car,’ she chided him softly. ‘It looks like rain. She’ll get all wet and catch a horrible cold. You wouldn’t like that now, would you?’

‘I’ll hold her under my jumper,’ Fleet said.

‘No,’ Elen struggled to keep her temper in check, ‘no you won’t. She’s going to stay in the car and that’s that. She’s happy in the car. She likes being in there. She’s guarding the car. That’s her job. Look …’ Elen indicated towards the window where Michelle’s nose was currently pressed, her poignant eyes mercifully obscured by a small patch of condensation on the pane.

‘Why doesn’t Phlégein stay in the car?’ Fleet whispered, conspiratorially. ‘I don’t like him, Mama. He’s horrible. Why does Papa always let Phlégein come along? It’s not fair .’

Elen drew a deep breath. ‘We spoke about this before,’ she said, ‘remember? Mummy doesn’t like it when you talk about Phlégein . It makes Daddy cross. Mummy doesn’t want you to talk about it any more.’ ‘But why doesn’t Phlégein stay behind too?’ Fleet persisted.

Elen tried a different tack. ‘Would you like it if Phlégein stayed in the car with Michelle?’ she asked, her voice taking on a slightly ominous tone. ‘Just the two of them? All alone?’

The boy’s eyes widened.

‘Let’s not speak of this any more,’ she said, hating herself.

Isidore slammed the boot shut.

‘I can only find two mackintoshes,’ he said. ‘Yours and Fleet’s.’

‘Are you certain?’ Elen stood up. ‘I’m sure I packed yours with mine…’

‘Positive,’ Isidore insisted, throwing her mac over to her.

‘Should I take a quick look?’ she asked, catching it and shaking it out, just to make sure the two weren’t caught up together.

‘Fine,’ Isidore snapped, ‘if you think I’m incapable of hunting down a stray mac…’

‘No,’ Elen murmured. ‘Of course. You’re right…I’m just being… uh …’

She began to yank on the mac over her plain, black, knitted top.

‘I don’t like it here,’ Fleet muttered, turning into the wind and hugging himself against the cold. ‘It’s ugly and messy and all…all squashed .’

Isidore unrolled Fleet’s mac then reached out and grabbed hold of one of his arms.

‘I can put it on myself !’ Fleet screamed, snatching his arm back. ‘Stop that! Now! ’

Elen spoke sharply, pulling her hair free from the neck of her mac and trying to wrestle it into a ponytail.

They both glanced up at her, as if uncertain which of the two of them she was actually chastising.

‘Fleet,’ she added, as an afterthought, ‘don’t be such a baby or we won’t go and see the boat after all.’

‘I don’t care about the boat,’ the boy griped, ‘I never cared about it.’

‘You like boats,’ Isidore growled.

‘I don’t care ,’ Fleet repeated.

Elen took the boy’s coat from her husband and set about pulling it on. The boy sullenly complied to her brisk manhandling. Isidore scowled. He drew a deep breath and zipped his winter fleece right up to the throat. He locked the car and set the alarm–

Beep-beep

Fleet’s entire body jarred at this unexpected sound. But then, almost immediately: ‘Beep-beep,’ he echoed, blankly.

‘Well, I want to see the lifeboats,’ Elen said, straightening up, ‘and so does Daddy.’

The boy said nothing. He kicked out his foot and propelled a small pebble from the tarmac into the verge. The pebble made contact with the rattling brown skeleton of a dead plant.

‘That’s a Sea Holly,’ Elen said, pointing, ‘can you see the spiky seed-pods like tiny pineapples on top? And that’s a Valerian…’ she pointed further along. ‘It used to grow wild in our old back garden — with the pretty cones of red flowers — remember? And that’s a Sea Kale…’ she pointed still further on. ‘Or what’s left of it. You can eat the leaves if you steam them. They taste like cabbage…’ she paused. ‘If we look hard we might find some interesting shells on the beach. Maybe even a fossil…’

‘Do you have the train time-table with you, Elen?’ Isidore interrupted her.

‘The train time-table?’

‘Yes. I handed it to you just as we were leaving.’

‘Did you? Oh…Right…’ Elen said, frowning.

‘I gave it to you just as we were leaving the house. In the hallway. I was carrying the dog. I’d dug it out specially from the box of papers in the study…’

Elen slowly felt around inside the pockets of her mac.

‘Well it’s not going to be in the pockets of your mac,’ Isidore snapped, ‘you’ve only just this second put that on.’

‘I don’t have any other pockets, Dory,’ Elen murmured.

‘Where’s your bag?’

‘I left it at home. I didn’t think I’d be needing it.’

‘So you shoved it into your bag and then left your bag behind, is that it?’

She shrugged.

‘Great.’

Isidore stalked off down the road, heading in the general direction of a large, solitary white shed positioned on a small ridge between the sea and the shingle.

Elen snatched a hold of Fleet’s hand and trotted along behind him.

‘I thought we were just visiting the lifeboat this time…’ she shouted.

‘I wasn’t certain if the lifeboat station would be open, so I dug out the train time-table, just in case,’ he yelled back. ‘Fleet’s never had the opportunity to ride on a miniature steam train before…’

‘But it is open,’ she gesticulated, helplessly, with her free hand, ‘I mean it looks open, so we won’t…’

‘That’s hardly the point.’

Isidore strode on.

‘Ow!’

The boy suddenly ducked his head.

‘ Now what?’ Elen glanced down, irritably.

‘ Phlégein hit me,’ the boy grizzled, shoving the lower section of his face into the thick knit of his scarf, for protection.

‘Look at me,’ she instructed, still struggling to match her husband’s pace. ‘ Where did he hit you?’

‘There…’

The boy indicated towards the side of his head, but still looked down — as if afraid to look up — his shoulders hunched.

‘I can’t see anything,’ she puffed. ‘Walk properly, Fleet. Don’t be silly. Lift your head up.’

‘He did hit me. I felt it…’

The boy tripped on a pot-hole and almost lost his balance. He kept a tight hold on his mother’s hand, exaggerating the trip and forcing her to take the best part of his body-weight. She winced, biting her lip, then righted him, with a grunt.

‘Well I can’t see anything,’ she panted. ‘Show me properly…’ ‘No.’

Impasse

‘Well if I can’t see it,’ Elen reasoned, her nostrils flaring, ‘I can’t kiss it better, can I?’

‘I don’t care .

I don’t want you to kiss it. I want to go home . I’m tired . I hate it here.’

‘Fine.’

She stuck out her chin. She pushed back her shoulders. She continued walking. The boy kept his head down. She looked around her, defiantly. The sea hissed and crackled interminably, like a stylus stuck inside the final groove of an old LP.

The road they were walking (there was no pavement, just the wide expanse of pebble beach beyond) slithered through the plain landscape like a contorted mamba searching for a private nook in which to shed its skin. But there were no gulleys for it to crouch in. The sky, like the sea, was grey and unrelenting. The wind howled.