Nicola Barker - Wide Open

And suddenly it occurred to me that maybe Louis was trying to get me off track in some indefinable way. It felt as though he was trying to divert me. So when I went out into the forest, later on, and was certain that he was on my trail — he’s always on my trail, that’s the only thing I’m truly sure of — once I was convinced that he was following me, I doubled back on myself to confront him, but it was not Louis, it was Monty. And it wasn’t even as if he was being all that subtle about it, either. He was slapdash and clumsy. He was sneering. Like this was something he’d long been in the habit of doing .

I began to wonder whether Louis had ever followed me (I mean since the bat cave) or whether, in fact, he was actually off elsewhere. But what was he doing in this other place? And where was it exactly? What was the allure? Did he know something? Had he discovered anything?

I went back to the shack. I waited. And that’s just where you find me, Ronny .

Back here, dumb, dumb, dumb, and waiting. M .

♦

He finally came out. He was grim-faced. Sara peered up at him from the sofa. She didn’t say anything though, just studied his expression for any small indication of understanding.

“So you took these?”

He held the thick sheath of photos fastidiously, between a prickly finger and thumb.

“Yes. Of course I did.”

She wasn’t ashamed. Her voice was brash.

Luke scratched his belly and then shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m sorry…” he said eventually, “but I’ve been rather taken by surprise here.”

“That’s all right.” She was perfectly cool and calm. “Would you like to go through them with me?”

“Uh…” he frowned, “I’ve seen them all. I just developed them, obviously.”

“And what did you think?”

He shook his head.

“I don’t know. What should I think?”

Sara put out her hand for the pictures.

“Were they clear enough?”

“Oh yes,” he almost smirked, “they were clear enough. They were…” he struggled, “they were bald .”

He passed the pictures over. Sara inspected the top print.

“This is my cup,” she said, “it’s the cup I always use. I have coffee in it, first thing. It’s a plain cup, but I like it. I’ve grown accustomed to using it each day. And this…” The next picture. “Well, this is my kitchen table. It was my mother’s table. I think it’s Victorian. Just clumsy and everything. Full of knots and little dips. When I was a kid I used to imagine all kinds of creatures in the knots. They were like eyes or tadpoles or something…and this…”

The next picture.

“This is the tarpaulin near the boar pens. I keep the beets under it so they don’t rot too quickly or dry out or anything. I don’t know why I’ve always liked it, but I have. I enjoy the feel of it. Kind of smooth. And it’s thick and waterproof. It’s hard to lift. I tack it down with tent pegs to keep it secure…”

The next picture. But Luke interrupted her.

“Details,” he said.

“Pardon?”

“These are just details…” It had been a concrete thought, initially, but then his voice petered out.

Sara considered it, anyhow. “Yes,” she said slowly, “but they are also what I am. You know? Sometimes I feel like I’m just an accumulation of objects. I mean, here’s my pillow. It’s made of goose feathers. It’s a bit prickly, but I made it myself from a goose of mine. I was very proud of it at the time. I felt a great sense of achievement. And the dent in it is the dent from my head. See?”

Luke nodded. She shuffled the images forward a bit.

“That’s my elbow. I think it’s quite distinctive. The little knobbly bit at the side is bigger than on my other elbow because I cracked it when I was fifteen, skating. I used to skate a lot. I always longed to be a professional skater.”

She cleared her throat. –

“Oh God. That’s my arse. I mean my anus. I never saw it before. It’s not quite like I expected. It’s smaller.”

She turned the picture the other way up.

“I think I prefer it sideways. It seems more cheerful.”

Luke was rubbing his forehead. He was barely paying attention. He was ill at ease.

“You know what?” Sara asked.

“What?” He focused in on her again.

“I just wanted to be honest with you, and with myself. I wanted to show you who I was, but plainly and frankly. And actually, I wasn’t even very sure that there would be anything to show.”

“But I already know who you are,” Luke was impatient.

“You do?” She didn’t sound too certain.

“I don’t need to see a picture of your mother’s table to understand who you are.”

“But it helps to explain. It enlarges… ”

“No.”

“It does.”

“No. I don’t think so.”

Sara cleared her throat.

“You know what I’m truly looking for?” she asked, barely believing that she would actually dare to say it.

“Tell me,” Luke smiled.

She took a deep breath, then blurted it out. “Total acceptance.”

Luke paused. “Big words,” he said, continuing to smile but now clearly intimidated.

She looked down at her knees. “And maybe I won’t find that here.”

She gathered the pictures together. She’d had an inkling he’d be this way. But even so, she allowed herself to feel slightly hollow and vaguely forlorn. She stood up.

“We fucked,” she said, almost bitter now, “ but we were never intimate.”

“You’ve lost me.”

She’d lost him.

“No. You’ve lost me,” she said, “because at heart — although you may not realize this — at heart you’re a real…” she struggled, “a true, a complete pornographer.”

Then she smiled, as though this had actually been a compliment, and the smile itself was merely the final blow in the gentlest of assassinations.

“I got some blood on the carpet. Sorry.”

Lily scuffed at the two drops with the toe of her trainer, worsening matters considerably.

“Don’t worry,” Nathan returned from the bathroom clutching a wad of toilet paper. Lily took it and held it to her cheek, tossing Nathan’s now-moist linen handkerchief into a nearby wastepaper bin.

She glanced around her. His flat was plain but comfortable. She was perfectly at her ease here. It felt safe.

“So where’s the beast?”

Nathan pointed towards the sofa. “It’s there.”

Lily’s eyes widened at the sight of the box, as though she couldn’t quite believe that it actually existed.

“Did you open it yet?”

“No.”

“Why ever not?”

She seemed genuinely perturbed by his sense of restraint.

“I was asked to look after it. That was all.”

“So does Ronny make a habit of giving you stuff to keep for him?”

Nathan shook his head. “No. Not really. Although he’s always made a habit of losing things.”

His voice sounded wistful, but Lily didn’t read anything into it. She put out her hands and touched the box’s sharp corners, pressing her thumbs down on to them until they received little temporary indentations. She studied her thumbs and then looked up. “Actually, Ronny just lost his hair. He set fire to it.”

Nathan looked uneasy. “Why would he do that?”

“What?”

“Why would he set fire to himself?”

“I don’t know. I imagine that it was an accident.”

Nathan smiled at this, but thinly.

“Why are you smiling?”

Nathan cleared his throat. “Do you know…” he paused and then finally spoke the name, “do you know Ronny well?”