Nicola Barker - Behindlings

All those x’s to the power of…

Tried to grab their tails –

Not quick enough

— so he wished them well, with a heavy heart. Tried to make the best of it –

Bye-bye…

Bon-voyage…

He even slapped a couple on their backs (for good measure); booted their tiny, arithmetical rumps…

Wuh?

Wake-up!

His head snapped around as he suddenly felt –

Thwhap!

Otter-water-fur

Big

Wood-scrabble

Clip

Limb

Hoof

Bubble

Nuugh!

Deer

Remember the deer?

And that other life you had?

That old life?

Rope. Stiff rope…

Uuuuhhh…

He felt the irresistible urge to feel his way along it.

So much commotion above…

The kick

The white

The panic

He gradually worked his way down; a blind man walking the prom — it wasn’t far — and there he found…

No!

Stop!

Everything flooded back:

Wesley

4578/78 + 9/452222

She was a recruitment officer

She lived in Palmer’s Green

And I –

He –

I –

He –

Arthur Young…

Arthur Anthony Young…

And she was called Bethany –

No –

Bethan –

And he –

I –

He felt very strong things for her

He lo-lo-lo

Wesley

And that hand

And the sheer poetry in the way he…

I like a walk

I like a drink

I work –

I worked –

I work –

I worked

— for the sugar industry.

But my…

My great-great-great-great grandfather…

‘ There is certainly something in the amiable simplicity of unadorned nature, that spreads over the mind a more noble sort of tranquillity, and a lo-lo-lo

Enough!

and a lo-lo-loftier sensation of pleasure, than can be raised from the nicer scenes of art… ’

Argh

At first I just…

At first I just…

To be rejected so gently,

So absolutely…

Took a little comfort — hell, not ashamed to admit it — in the embrace of the bottle

The lovely bottle

And Gillian with herpes

From the PR

The PR

The PR…

Depart

Not enough

When they caught him…

After he stole the fucking…

The fucking pond…

Not enough

He was everything I ever…

He was…

He had…

He disregarded…

He thumbed his nose…

He trampled…

He turned his damn back…

And I

He –

I –

He hated him for that

Had to keep an –

An –

An –

An eye…

Keep track

First the private detective, just to keep a few… a few … a few tabs…

The mounting ex-ex-ex-expenses

The baby

God

Am I…?

Could I…?

Did my in-in-in-infidelities…?

And Bethan told him –

me –

him –

me…

It’s him or me, Arthur

It’s him or me and our little…

little –

little –

little –

Fucked up

Baby

Look

I’d love a drink

A short

A shot

I’m over it.

I’m honestly…

Look!

Arthur put out his hand towards the limp body. He could feel a shoulder, a face…

Was he awake?

He could feel his…

His hand –

That wounded hand

That trade-mark hand

How small it is

— then the rope. Twisted… he felt for it… still looped around him and then over a…

Beam?

Rafter?

Plank?

Log?

… holding him down. Stopping his escape. Deer at the other end.

Yanking. Yanking.

‘ Rise to the surface, Arthur

This is your Father speaking

I think you probably need something we people call oxygen ’

Just a small twist, a jerk, a pull. He would be free again…

Shall I leave him?

Arthur turned –

The hand tightened in Arthur’s hand –

He was awakening –

Arthur tried to see him –

Could almost see him –

Waited for the entreaty –

Help me!

Save me!

But then it dawned on him. He wasn’t actually clinging on so much as pushing… pushing away –

Can’t be!

— he was –

Not begging but rejecting…

— He didn’t… he didn’t want to be free. He wanted to… to… to stay.

He’s planning to stay here, like me

He’s planning to finish his journey in this place

At this time…

The swine!

To be trumped here? In death?

Even in death?

By Wesley?

Arthur found the snag on the rope, unlooped it, tugged –

Tugged

Then the deer did his work for him — dragged Wesley towards the surface like a sprat on a line…

Wesley roared –

Urgh-argh — urgh-urgh!

Threw out his arms, grabbed Arthur’s shoulder…

They embraced each other…

Kicking…

Bellowing…

Flailing…

Rising to the surface like a self-hating eight-angry-limbed octo-octo-octo… pusssssssss

Punctured balloons, deflating

HUUUUAAAAHHHHHRRRRR!

Air

The deer dragged them to the bank, two pegs on a line; two knots in a lace; two rattles on a snake…

Breathing

Gasping

Chattering

Pumping

Life

They clung together; tight as a couple of sharp notches on an old, leather whip. Caked with hair, sweat, blood.

Two ugly, trusty outboard motors, their cords held and pulled…

The wonderful stop, restarting with a roar.

The wonderful stop, restarting.

The boy stood by the trolley stroking the Old Man’s left foot. The Old Man was still missing a shoe. His foot was clad in only a thin, clean, white cotton sock. Slightly too big for him. They were in casualty. There was currently no bed ready. The Old Man had seen a trauma specialist. Then he’d dozed off.

He hadn’t noticed the boy’s arrival (his hands clutching anxiously at the zip on his jacket, his thin neck, his grey skin, his eyes darting about him like two water-boatmen on the polluted surface of a dank river basin).

Patty was uncertain about the extent of the Old Man’s injuries. He’d made several forceful enquiries on this subject upon his arrival, but had then promptly neglected to listen to the answers. Had simply moved on and enquired some more.

He was shivering. A kind-hearted nurse had brought him a cup of tea and he crouched over it, like a sullen rook after a rainstorm, its feathers all shaken out. The heat in-between his palms and fingers made his shoulders stiffen.