Nicola Barker - Behindlings

Ted — also struggling to stand up again, and succeeding, but with a slight groan — turned to the girl, ‘Did he just say there was a deer stuck on that thing?’

She nodded.

Ted gazed at her, dazed. The coin dropped. ‘Then you must be…?’

She nodded again, her eyes widening. Ted frowned at her reaction, then suddenly understood it on feeling a violent pressure to the back of his legs as the piebald pony interposed its large nose between his two thighs and flipped him savagely forward. He shrieked and almost toppled. Sasha grabbed him.

‘You’re so comical, ’ she murmured, staring up at him intently, ‘I’m very glad you’re here.’ She nudged him flirtatiously with her fox’s tail. Ted stepped back, his face a mixture of fascination and horror.

That was Wesley’s look (that deliciously, unconsciously cruel look).

That was Wesley’s face, in miniature.

Eileen, who had picked her way — rather more genteelly — down the slope, finally arrived safely at the bottom of it.

‘So what’s happening?’ she asked, still out of breath. ‘Has anybody thought to call the Fire Brigade yet?’

‘ No, ’ Arthur and Wes both shouted from the craft in unison.

Wes was forming a lassoo again, tossing it — the first time; unsuccessfully — the second time… Arthur was shaking out his legs.

‘My deer’s stuck on the boat,’ Sasha explained gamely, ‘and Art has promised to save him for me,’ she paused, ‘what are those for?’

She pointed to the box of eggs Eileen was clutching.

‘ Fuck the Brigade! ’ Wesley yelled, tightening the rope around the deer’s neck. ‘We reserve the right as free men… ’ he grimaced as the rope pulled on his scarred hand, ‘to make our own bloody mistakes and to suffer the consequences of them…’

‘ Hear Hear, ’ Arthur concurred, passionately. For once — and once only — they were in absolute agreement.

Eileen frowned down at the eggs (as if she hadn’t really heard them), then over at Sasha, ‘I must admit,’ she whispered softly, ‘that I was only just wondering about these myself… ’

Then she opened the box, carefully removed a single, perfect, creamy-coloured oval, held it firmly between her finger and thumb, rotated it gently, showing it off to its very best advantage, ‘but now I…’

She suddenly turned and hurled it — with a quite astonishing ferocity, an intoxicating accuracy — towards the craft.

When the egg made contact with the back of Wesley’s shoulder, the whole thing, the whole structure — as if a secret button had been pressed, a cord severed, a hidden brake, released — simply plummeted.

She dropped the dog and cautiously circled the hydrangea, as if uncertain whether this twiggy beast was stone dead or simply shamming (this was Katherine’s brute, after all — might it not jump up and bite her? Or turn and flee? At the last minute? Just when she…?).

Katherine had thrown the plant into the road and left it there. Cars were slowing down and then gingerly overtaking; no one — as yet — feeling sufficiently public-spirited to stop their vehicle, climb out and remove it.

It was a large plant, and beautiful; even in its skeletal winter phase; with numerous dried flower-heads in a subtle medley of pinky-blues and bleached brown-mauves. Jo grabbed it from underneath, just above its roots. Pulled. Groaned. It was heavy.

‘That’s so bloody Canvey, ’ she grunted, dragging it to the side of the road, beaching it on the pavement, ‘don’t you reckon?’

She glanced over towards Dewi.

Dewi was still arranging his stuff into the back of his pick-up; three 18th century walnut captain’s chairs, several pieces of bedding, a box of randomly assorted bits of cutlery and crockery, some work tools, a crate crushed full of books and shoes…

He wouldn’t look at her initially. But after a moment he stopped what he was doing and glanced up.

‘Why?’

He seemed bloodless; distressed, as faded as one of the dried hydrangea flower-heads.

‘They’d rather sit for an hour in a line of traffic,’ she exaggerated, ‘than commit to the horrible physical responsibility of removing the damn thing that’s impeding their way.’ Dewi shrugged. Jo smiled, self-consciously, ‘Perhaps I’ve grown a little cynical about this place in my old age.’

‘Just get out of here,’ Dewi mumbled — but not aggressively — turning away again.

Josephine stood her ground. She cleared her throat, as if preparing to make some kind of public announcement, then patted the dog’s rump to make it sit down. The dog, at least, did as it was told; it sat and stared up at her, shivering a little.

‘I really loved him,’ she said, her voice sounding exceptionally clear — even child-like — under pressure, ‘I really loved Mr Turpin. I know it can’t… I know it won’t make anyone feel any better about the whole thing… but he was unbelievably kind, and a great teacher, and it wasn’t as wrong or as calculated or as sordid as it might’ve seemed to… to you or to my family. It wasn’t planned. It wasn’t… it was just… just an accident… ’

Dewi was trying to unwind his tarpaulin, but his fingers were clumsy. His arms had been scratched by the plant. His hands and his nails were still muddy. He cursed under his breath.

‘We could always dig it back in,’ Jo murmured hollowly –

What was I expecting?

A sudden reprieve?

Total exoneration?

A hug?

— turning her attention back to the plant again, adjusting it slightly so its branches wouldn’t snap or tear any more than they had done already — ‘the roots are still…’

He turned on her, furiously, ‘If you’re trying to use that stupid plant as some kind of ridiculous symbol for what’s been going on between myself and Katherine, then forget about it. It’s just a hydrangea, Josephine, a ridiculous hydrangea.’

Josephine took a step back –

He used my name

— but only one step.

She gazed down at the plant again.

‘I suppose it must symbolise something, ’ she eventually muttered, ‘if you felt overwhelmed by the sudden urge to yank it up…’ she glanced over the road, ‘and then smash her window,’ she added.

This seemed to irritate him, ‘For one thing,’ he said letting go of his tarpaulin, ‘it’s none of your bloody business what I do or don’t do regarding Katherine, and for another, I smashed the window before I pulled up the hydrangea. Smashing the window wasn’t enough, you see.’ He glared at her, vindictively, ‘I felt like I wanted to hurt her more. To punish her more, in the same way she’s delighted for so long in punishing me.’

‘You punished yourself,’ Jo said, ‘because she refused to shy away from the lies people spread about her, and you weren’t big enough, or brave enough just to accept them and move on.’

‘I should’ve given up,’ he muttered, returning to his tarpaulin, ‘ years ago. I should’ve done like you did,’ he glanced over at her, coldly, ‘and crawled away from here. There’s been no dignity in remaining.’

‘But you had to stay,’ Josephine smiled, bitterly, ‘didn’t you? If only to remind her of what could’ve been if she’d loved herself a little more.’

‘You’re as twisted as she is,’ he whispered.

‘We’ve all hurt Katherine quite enough to be going on with,’ Jo intoned primly, carefully straightening the dog’s leash.