Nicola Barker - Behindlings

‘What’s happening?’

The girl’s voice again, but this time slightly tremulous, ‘Is he still going to help us?’

‘Of course he is,’ Arthur snapped, in his most adult manner.

‘Where’s the rope?’

‘It fell in the water.’

Silence

‘What’s he doing now?’

‘He’s… he’s just… uh… ’

Arthur watched Wesley retreating into the distance. Not at a run. Not at a trot. But at a pace best described as a casual meander.

He turned his head, ‘How’s the deer?’

Sasha peered under her arm. ‘He seems quite cheerful,’ she said.

Arthur grimaced. ‘That’s good, ’ he said, ‘but what’s holding him up?’

‘Oh.’ Sasha glanced back again, ‘He’s resting his rump against an open drawer. I suppose if that goes then we’re all… uh…’

Scuppered

‘ Hurry, ’ Arthur yelled.

When he opened his mouth wide his teeth hurt.

Wesley waved his hand. He disappeared from view.

The back of the boat was bobbing. Arthur could feel this new motion. He didn’t know how long it had been there. He felt an acute sense of disorientation.

‘Maybe he won’t come back,’ the girl pondered, slightly breathlessly.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, ’ Arthur blurted.

‘All things considered,’ she adjusted her grip on his foot, grunted, ‘I do think Brion’s been quite a star.’

‘Let’s all give Brion a great big hand, shall we?’ Arthur murmured.

‘Good idea.’

He felt her hold loosen and twisted around, panicked. The boat groaned, like Moby Dick, harpooned.

She sniggered. Her grip tightened again.

‘Stop fucking around,’ he said, secretly admiring her capacity not to take the prospect of imminent death seriously.

‘I’ll clap with my feet, shall I?’

He heard her feet flapping. He tensed himself for any unexpected repercussions.

Nothing

‘I applaud you, Brion,’ she said.

Brion wuffled appreciatively.

Arthur relaxed slightly and bit his lip.

Would Wesley come back again?

Does he know who I am?

Am I here because of him?

‘Survival in a crisis is eighty percent attitude,’ Sasha cordially informed Brion, from under her armpit.

‘Where did you read that?’ Arthur asked, tetchily.

‘My grandad was in the SAS. He knows everything about everything.’

Arthur rolled his eyes.

‘He taught me how to fight a crocodile,’ Sasha maintained, smugly.

Arthur said nothing.

‘You hit them on the nose,’ she said, ‘then jab their eyes out with your fingers… Foo! ’ (She thoughtfully provided her own batch of sound effects.)

‘I’m sure you’ll have the entire reptilian population of Canvey quaking in its scales at that,’ Arthur growled.

‘If a big dog comes at you,’ she continued, ‘then grab both of its front legs, pull them out sideways — eeeee-yo! — and snap its back.’

Arthur snorted, unimpressed.

‘I know how to deal with a Mountain Lion,’ she wheedled.

‘How?’ Arthur asked.

‘Flash.’

Arthur struggled to register this.

‘Open your coat,’ she expanded, ‘to make yourself look bigger.’

‘What if you’re not wearing a coat?’ Arthur tried his best to deflate her. ‘What if it’s the height of summer?’

‘Then talk in a VERY LOW VOICE, ’ she boomed.

Arthur didn’t comment.

‘I know how to jump from a high cliff down into a river,’ she continued, ‘and I also know how to identify a terrorist bomb in the post.’

‘How?’ he asked.

‘If a package has a handwritten address label, but comes from a credible commercial source, then that’s suspicious. And if it’s unevenly balanced — when you handle it — or tied up in string, those are sure-fire give-aways,’ she said.

‘Why string?’ he asked.

‘Because nobody wraps packages in string any more. Only bombers.’

‘I do.’

‘Terrorists use string because they’re very old-fashioned, at heart,’ she continued, ignoring his objections.

‘I wrap packages up in string,’ Arthur repeated.

‘That’s sweet,’ she said, adjusting her grip, ‘but next time use Sellotape.’

‘No string,’ Arthur grumbled, ‘that’s ridiculous.’

‘Another sure-fire give-away,’ she continued, ‘is too much postage.’

The boat jolted, sideways. Arthur clung onto the door.

A high wave?

A collapsing stanchion?

There was a tearing sound.

‘Because that means,’ Sasha piped up again, ‘that the terrorist didn’t want to risk taking it to the…’

‘How about the river?’ Arthur interrupted her, swallowing. His mouth felt dry –

Thirsty

All the damn liquid’s gone into my bladder

‘Well if you’re in a sinking car, ’ she said (plainly being extra-specific about the kind of vehicle to try and safeguard his feelings), ‘then you need to open the windows so that when the water eventually flows inside, it’ll maintain its balance.’

‘Why not open the door?’ Arthur tested her. His voice was shaking. His knees were hurting –

Fearfully

‘Water pressure would be too great,’ she explained.

He nodded.

‘Anyway, you might tip the whole thing over. If your engine’s in the front you’ll sink at a steep angle. Ten foot of water or over and you’ll end up on the roof, more than likely.’

‘What if you’re not in a car?’ Arthur enquired, swallowing hard, trying to locate Wesley again, on the horizon.

‘Well if you aren’t in a car and you’re jumping off a bridge — say — then you need to jump in legs first, keeping them very straight, very tight, and covering up your privates with your hands so the leeches don’t bite…’ she paused. ‘That’s a little joke.’

Arthur didn’t react.

‘Then squeeze your feet together and clench your buttocks. When you hit the water — if it’s deep enough — spread out your arms and legs to try and create…’

‘He’s back, ’ Arthur exclaimed, barely troubling to disguise his relief.

Wesley had reappeared on the edge of his sightline. He wasn’t alone, this time.

‘He’s got a horse,’ Arthur murmured.

‘Is it piebald?’

‘Yes.’

‘I saw that stallion yesterday. Do you think he might’ve rung the fire brigade?’

‘If he has,’ Arthur quipped, ‘then he’s a very intelligent animal.’

Sasha was silent for a second, then, ‘Good call.’

She was smiling.

‘Maybe he did,’ Arthur said, five seconds too late to sound convincing –

He hasn’t

He wants me dead

If Bethan finds out I’m here she’ll never…

She’ll never…

She’ll turn the kid against me

She’ll make the kid hate me

As Wesley drew closer it became clear that he was also dragging several planks along with him. And more rope — in several sections — but some of it rather shabby-looking.

He led the horse carefully down the bank.

‘This horse is a shit, ’ he said, ‘it bit my arse when I turned my back.’

There was a furtive snigger from inside the boat.

Arthur frowned –

Silence

Wesley mulled this chuckle over. ‘ Hell, ’ he finally exclaimed, ‘let’s rescue the deer and ditch the kid.’

‘ Bah, ’ the girl exclaimed.

Arthur couldn’t tell if Wesley was joking or not. He smiled thinly. He’d begun shivering, almost uncontrollably.

Wesley had tied a length of rope around the horse’s neck and midriff.