Nicola Barker - Behindlings

‘It’s not… it belongs

Ted couldn’t muster up the moral fibre.

Tap tap tap…

Tap

‘If the virus arrived in an email attachment…’ Arthur paused, speculatively, ‘you should definitely put in some work to try and stop it getting any further.’

‘It wasn’t an email,’ Ted said.

Arthur turned sharply, mid-procedure (a series of ripples spreading out dramatically behind him), ‘You downloaded this thing from the web?’

Ted rubbed an uneasy shoe — still spotlessly clean — onto the back of its opposite calf.

‘From a Wesley site, actually,’ he admitted, feeling himself, his surroundings, the atmosphere, mysteriously dry up.

Arthur almost smiled.

‘How very…’

He shrugged –

Appropriate

He didn’t seem shocked (Ted was relieved to note — I mean there were rules in this business, weren’t there? And not just Following rules, either, but fundamental codes of common… of common…)

‘So which site was it, exactly?’

Arthur was back at work already. Ted frowned, ‘I thought there was only…’

Tap tap…

Hiatus

‘Nope. There are several.’

… Tap

‘The main one, then. The big one. The one all the Followings use, and the newspaper people…’

‘Behindlings.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Behindlings.’

‘Yes… Yes, precisely.’

Arthur grabbed a pen and scribbled an address down. He showed it to him.

‘This lot are notoriously shonky.’

Ted stared at it, frowning. He shook his head.

Arthur adjusted the pen and began writing out another.

‘Nope,’ Ted said, grabbing the pen himself, the paper, pressing down on the desk and writing out the address he’d used in bold, clear lettering.

‘Here.’

He pushed it over.

Arthur took the pad, glanced at the address, shook his head. ‘No,’ he said, pushing it away, ‘you must’ve got that wrong.’

Ted half-smiled, ‘Which is exactly what Wesley said when the police questioned him about it earlier.’

Arthur twisted around on his stool — all pretence of indifference suddenly gone, ‘I don’t understand. Did Wesley put you up to this? Because please don’t think for a minute that you can fuck with me and get away with it.’

He was prodigiously emphatic.

Ted stepped back, nervously. It hadn’t dawned on him… It hadn’t occurred to him that this person might be… I mean after the interlude with the would-be doctor and everything…

‘Don’t be frightened,’ Arthur said (even his tone — its demand for calm — seeming intimidating).

‘I’m not…’ Ted stuttered –

Think of the pond

The lilies

The hiss of bullrushes

‘And I’m not wrong, either. The local constabulary accessed the site this afternoon — probably round about the same time I did — and they were burned by it too. That’s what they said.’

This site?’

Arthur held up the pad again. He pointed.

‘Yes. I think they had a suspicion that Wesley himself might be behind it. But he obviously wasn’t by the way he…’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Arthur snapped, ‘this site has absolutely nothing to do with Wesley.’

Ted paused, took stock, then shook his head, slowly. ‘I’m not being ridiculous,’ he discurred, ‘and it has everything to do with him.’

Arthur took this gentle rebuff on the chin. ‘So what did Wesley have to say about the site being down?’ he asked, reviving his sympathetic side, softening his tone slightly.

‘He said there had to be a mistake. Same as you did. And he seemed…’ Ted paused, ‘I’m not very…’ he scratched his head, ‘I’m not terribly familiar with all this Wesley… all the rules and the etiquette and everything…’

‘That’s why he chose you, presumably,’ Arthur mumbled.

Chose?

Ted considered this concept, momentarily.

To be chosen

‘Do you at least know why the police were visiting him?’ Arthur was feeling around inside his pocket for his phone. ‘Was it about the site or about the Loiter? Did he mention?’

Ted seemed to experience some difficulty in answering.

Arthur found his phone, tried to turn it on — realised that it was turned on already — swore — then attempted to call up his text messages.

‘It’s important, Ted…’

Had to use the name

‘Was it about the competition, perhaps?’

‘No. No it was… it was nothing…’

Ted watched on as Arthur jabbed away at his phone, unsuccessfully.

‘It was something more…’

He fell silent. Arthur didn’t seem to be listening, anyway.

‘Was it to do with New Year, by any chance? The stuff in Brighton?’

Ted shook his head.

Arthur snapped the phone shut with a growl and slipped it into his pocket. He turned back to the computer again. He seemed deeply preoccupied, if not necessarily by it — Profound absence of tap

He turned back around again. ‘I have some equipment in my bag,’ he said, ‘and I need to charge it. Is it okay to use the plug here?’ He pointed.

‘What kind of stuff?’ Ted felt uneasy. He was in enough bloody trouble with Leo already. Didn’t feel the need to add to it particularly.

‘Portable computer. Nothing risky. I’d charge it at home but I’m staying on a boat. I have no mains power there.’

‘I suppose it’d be churlish to refuse…’ Ted murmured — wishing he could be churlish for once in his damn life. But this man was fixing his… Doing him a… And Wesley seemed to… to trust… He’d invited him back for dinner, after all. Katherine’s. In an hour (had seemed pretty confident that he’d be finished with the police by then).

Ted glanced at his watch. The hour was almost done.

‘It’s nearly time to meet Wesley at the bungalow. I could walk you over, then dash back here and sit it out for the glazier. I’m certain Katherine would let you re-charge there if you asked her.’

Arthur shrugged.

Tap tap tap

‘I still can’t…’ he promptly changed the subject, ‘I still can’t get over that girl in the bar. The skinny girl with the short…’

‘Yes,’ Ted said. ‘It was…’ He couldn’t think of a word. ‘Odd,’ he said, finally.

‘Is she local? She seemed to know her way around the place. She was having a drink with the police officer.’

‘Right.’

Ted seemed indifferent.

‘She drew blood,’ Arthur continued, ‘I don’t know how bad the wounds were. Wesley always seems to inspire that kind of…’

Crazy

‘that kind of…’

Lunatic…

‘that kind of mind-boggling loyalty.’

‘I do know her…’ Ted interrupted — as if only just patching it all together, ‘she’s a Bean. She’s the Bean girl.’

Arthur didn’t seem to be listening. He just shrugged, ‘I figured she must be…’

Tap tap tap

‘ … connected in some way. Because of the Welsh lad. Because of the extremity of his reaction.’

‘Yes it was…’ Ted nodded, ‘… it was extreme, certainly.’

Arthur peered up, ‘A Behindling, then, d’you reckon?’

‘I… uh… ’ Ted scratched his head, ‘I’m afraid I don’t really know what that means. ’

Arthur opened his mouth as if to tell him, but Ted interrupted, ‘And I think I’m happier not knowing,’ he gently resisted, ‘I mean if you don’t know the rules you can’t be… it’s less…’

Arthur shrugged. He seemed to be evaluating something –