Nicola Barker - Behindlings

Jo wasn’t entirely satisfied with his answer, but before she could puzzle it out, he’d suddenly turned the tables on her.

‘Tell me,’ he asked (taking a careful sip of his coffee, his glasses partially steaming up), ‘what kind of person d’you think you are?’

Jo was unimpressed by this question. It was plainly pure verbiage. Bored she fired it straight back at him.

‘What kind of person do you think I am, Hooch?’

‘I think,’ Hooch leaned back against the opposite wall, unmoved by her hostility, ‘I think you’re a fundamentally decent girl. And responsible. You obviously commit to things. You’re cunning. You don’t give up easily…’

He paused, took another sip of his coffee, pointedly ignoring her look of astonishment. ‘I definitely think you’re the kind of person,’ he continued, ‘who doesn’t like the idea of somebody else taking the rap for her.’

‘Why would you think that?’ Jo’s lips suddenly twisted, ‘since — according to you — I famously did once let somebody else take the rap for me?’

‘I think that,’ he replied calmly, ‘because of what happened in the bar yesterday.’

‘Pardon?’ Jo was having none of it. ‘My excruciatingly embarrassing display, if I recall your words correctly.’

She automatically placed her free hand onto the arm of her coat — underneath which the four stinging cuts lay — as if somehow hoping to defend her wounds from his cruel accusations of insincerity.

Hooch watched this movement. It was thoroughly instinctive. It reminded him of the way Wesley moved. The way he touched his cheek sometimes, or brought his good hand across his belly to caress his fingerless stump.

‘I’m pretty certain that the Turpin girl won’t thank you for sticking your oar in around here again,’ he said, moving on swiftly, ‘whatever your motivations are. Because the more fuss you cause — the more attention you draw to yourself — the more likely you are to stir up all those old…’ he paused, ruminatively, ‘those old complications.

‘And let’s face it,’ he continued, ‘that kind of scandal never really dies away in this kind of place, does it? The graffiti’s still there, still fresh, after all this time, which means that somebody in this town is still heartily committed to the whole affair.’

‘I have a right to try and make things better,’ Jo muttered — almost sulkily. ‘Wesley had no business interfering in matters he didn’t understand.’

‘But that’s Wesley, ’ Hooch sneered, ‘that’s his knack. ’

Jo looked down at her coffee cup for a while, dug her neat thumb-nail into the paper. She looked up again. ‘So Doc already knows the answer to the Loiter, then? And Shoes? And the rest of them?’

Hooch wouldn’t be drawn on this. ‘The Blind Man,’ he said, tipping the dregs of his coffee onto the floor, pushing the toe of his boot into this brown pool he’d created, ‘now there’s a real live wire for you. Almost a local. Ex-copper. Then there’s the journalist boy. Your letter’d certainly provide a juicy little exclusive for a man like him, eh?’

Jo shook her head firmly, ‘My father happens to run the biggest local Salvage Centre on the Charfleets. He offers regular financial support to all local good causes, including the local paper. He funded that nasty, talentless little geek’s entire tennis career. Bo has nothing to gain from making fools of my family.’

Hooch shrugged, ‘But there’s always someone, somewhere, who’ll gain something from making a monkey out of you, Bean. And now Wesley’s involved the stakes are that much higher…’

‘I don’t care about myself,’ Jo said, ‘but I do care about Katherine…’

‘And Katherine still cares for her father,’ Hooch interrupted, ‘or she wouldn’t be happy to continue taking the brunt of all this stuff on his behalf, would she?’

Jo was forced to concede his point. She did it ungracefully, though, with a scowl and a half-shrug. But this was good enough for Hooch. He crumpled up the coffee carton and tossed it towards one of the bins at the far end of the passageway.

‘What you need to understand, Bean,’ he said gently, ‘is that I’m not personally threatened by you in any way. I don’t care about what you’ve done or what you intend to do. I don’t even care about whoever — or whichever interest — you happen to represent…’

‘Then what’s the problem?’

‘Doc.’

Jo blinked.

‘Sorry?’

‘It’s my concerns over Doc — for Doc — that oblige me to warn you off. The way I see it, so long as you’re hanging around here you’re posing a threat to him. To his general wellbeing. To the structure of the group. To the Behindlings. The Behindlings are his life… ’

Jo was already shaking her head. But Hooch kept on talking. ‘I don’t feel the need to offer any explanation to you, Bean. I won’t justify what I’m saying or simplify it. I merely want Doc left in peace. He’s in a vulnerable position. People tend to predate on him. They take advantage — sometimes without even realising…’

Jo looked uncomfortable, briefly. Hooch noticed. ‘He lost his boy, ’ he continued, ‘he lost some of his anonymity. And he’s a little bit excitable — susceptible, even. He’s confused. People have been saying that he’s all washed-up. That he’s losing it. The truth is that he’s exhausted. He just needs to Follow, to be quiet, to muddle along at his own pace…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jo suddenly wasn’t having any of it, ‘that’s just rubbish. I’ve seen you around Doc, Hooch. I’ve seen the way you constantly undermine him, the way you criticise him behind his back, the way you clearly resent his status among the others…’

‘You’re interfering with things — with situations — that you don’t understand,’ Hooch spoke slowly and calmly, ‘and these are bad situations. Painful situations. Doc and I have a complicated relationship — I’ll make no bones about it — but it’s a relationship which someone from outside of the group couldn’t possibly be expected to understand. And I don’t want you to understand it. What I do want you to register — and it’s very simple — is that you need to get out of here. To go. Today. Immediately. Because if you don’t, you’re going to end up hurting him — unintentionally, maybe, but hurting him nonetheless — the same way you hurt Katherine, Katherine’s family, all the rest of them.’

Jo stared at him, blankly.

‘I’ll leave first,’ Hooch murmured, touching the brim of his hat in a show of unexpected civility, then turning and moving off — rapidly — back down the alleyway, ‘just give it a few minutes before you come on out after me…’ he paused, peeked over his shoulder, winked at her, ‘for the sake of propriety, eh?’

His instincts led him anti-clockwise, and the wind — on this occasion — conveniently caught the back of him, prodded him forward, actively encouraged him. So he took a sharp right and just kept on going –

No reason

No need to justify anything

— until he hit the sea wall and scaled it without thinking.

Still dark. All too soon it was snowing.

He glanced behind him.

He’d been walking for almost forty minutes and this was the first time he’d looked back –

Not a soul

He shuddered, closed his eyes, put his hand to his cheek, rubbed at it gently for a while and then progressed (an almost imperceptible crossover) into slapping at it, ruminatively — the way you’d slap the arse of a newly delivered baby — as if the cheek had grown numb and he was fighting to bring back some feeling into it.