Nicola Barker - Wide Open

“Maybe you damaged your cornea.”

“Tell me she isn’t dead.”

“What?” Jim’s throat tightened and his shoulders rose defensively.

“I had this strong feeling, all along, that she was dead. Tell me she isn’t.”

Jim stood up, but with difficulty. “I think I hear something outside,” he said.

“Tell me nothing terrible happened.” Ronny dropped his shoe. He tried to pick it up again but his hand wouldn’t seem to work properly.

“Nothing terrible happened,” Jim whispered, but he couldn’t breathe. Everything was closing in.

“I was looking for a knife before,” Ronny mused, “to smooth the putty on the back wall. I couldn’t find one. Not in the drawer. Not in the sink. I thought that must mean something.”

Jim cleared his throat. “But you were doing a great job with the trowel.”

He went to the window. “I think a car’s pulled up outside. Everything’s brighter. That must be the headlights.”

“It’s the moon.”

“Don’t you hear voices? I hear them.”

Jim pushed the nets aside and peered out. Ronny stood up too. He began to walk over.

“No,” Jim said suddenly, “don’t come any closer.”

But Ronny kept walking. “Keep away from the window!” Jim cried, turning, and throwing out his arms to ward Ronny off, to try and shield him, but Ronny would not be directed and he would not be protected. He stopped, stood firm and stared blankly over Jim’s shoulder as one, two, three, four shots rang out.

♦

All in the chest. She was a great shot. Luke was crushed up against the wall of his prefab. Lily was out of the car and prancing. Nathan was standing on the driver’s side, his ears still reverberating from the sound of gunfire.

“Is it dead?” Luke asked, finally starting to inhale again. Lily walked over.

“Be careful!” Sara yelled. Her voice was higher than usual.

“It’s still breathing,” Lily observed, “big slow breaths.”

Luke moved forward. He brushed past Sara. “I didn’t even see it, but the noise it made! That squeal! And it kept on running once you’d shot at it. I thought it would never stop.”

“They always do that,” Sara said softly. “They’re almost too tough. They fight so hard for every inch of ground.”

“If we hadn’t turned the car, I’d never have spotted him,” Lily said, squatting down.

Luke drew closer to the boar.

“I haven’t ever seen one before,” he murmured, “not in the flesh. It’s a giant. Is it really still alive?”

“All four bullets hit the chest,” Lily said. “I see the fucker stewed, I see it minced, I see it roasted…”

Her initial euphoria began to wane though at the sight of this huge, dismantled, panting creature.

“Come on, die,” she mumbled, almost furtively.

“I’m glad we followed you now,” Sara said, carefully putting the gun’s safety catch back on. Luke crouched over the beast, still gazing in wonder at the size of it. Nathan, too, had finally strolled over.

“And I’m very grateful that you drove us,” Sara added, turning to him.

“It was nothing.” Nathan remained cautious. “So is it dead yet?”

“Its chest is still heaving,” Nathan said, taking a tentative step back just as the prefab door flew open and Ronny rushed out.

He clattered towards them unsteadily. He wore only one shoe.

“I don’t understand…” his voice was soft but ragged, “he was just staring out at the sea. He was so peaceful. He meant no harm to anyone…”

“If he was just staring out to sea,” Luke interjected, “how come all the shots are in his chest?”

“He turned around, that’s all. He didn’t understand the commotion…”

Jim stood in the open doorway, watching but saying nothing.

“It would’ve ended this way eventually,” Lily said gently, her original triumphalism now almost completely abandoned.

Ronny fell to his knees alongside the boar. “His eyes are open. And his mouth. Why won’t he die? Shoot him again,” he looked up at Sara, imploringly, “just finish him.”

Sara didn’t move.

“He’s in pain. He’s in painl I can’t stand it!”

Nathan took another step back. He didn’t want to be noticed or involved or implicated. But Ronny saw something moving, in the mesh of shadows between the prefabs. He glanced over at Nathan for a second, then his sore eyes returned inexorably to the boar.

Jim turned too. His eyes were fine. And with his two fine eyes he saw his only brother.

Nathan. Smaller than he remembered him. Older now. With less hair, and looking so much like their father…But gentle. Nathan stared back, his expression anything but brotherly. It was hard, angry, distant. His face expressed his gut’s instinct; his every familiar feature studiously riveted into hard lines of disdain. His mouth curled, instinctively, as if he’d just taken a slug of stale milk. Nothing was forgotten. Nothing had diminished. Jim saw his whole sad, grim, paltry life in the sudden, tiny, bolshy lift of Nathan’s jaw.

The boar, meanwhile, took one, deep, shuddering breath and then all its breathing ended.

“It’s over, Ronny,” Lily said, and put out her hand to touch his arm. Ronny yanked his arm away.

“We’ll need to move the carcass somehow,” Sara said, trying to be practical in the face of Ronny’s emotional intervention, “and he’ll weigh a ton.”

Ronny clambered to his feet, turned, staggered back past Jim and into the prefab, slamming the door behind him.

“Jim?” Luke spoke. “Will you give us a hand?”

Jim remained where he was, apparently bewildered, saying nothing.

“I have something back at the farm which’ll make the whole thing easier,” Sara said. “It’s a kind of manual forklift. We should head on back and fetch it.”

Luke put out a tentative hand to feel the texture of the boar’s pelt. It was rough, like shredded bark. The flesh underneath was still warm to the touch. He had forgotten how cold he was, and how wet. But it was still cold and it was still raining.

Jim put his own hand behind him and felt for the door handle. His fingers gripped it. He pressed it down, pushed it back and then manoeuvred himself slowly into the prefab, shutting the door gently, very gently, in front of him.

Ronny stood in the middle of the living room struggling to remove the letters from his belt.

“Turn on the light,” he said, his voice all torn.

“Not yet,” Jim whispered.

“Yes. Right now. Turn it on.”

Jim switched on the light. It was a cruel light. Everything was suddenly sharp and hideous and multi-dimensional. Even Ronny, who pulled open letter after letter, identified each one as best he could and then cast them into a heap on the floor at his feet. Eventually he reached the shortest of them all. The last letter. He held it out to Jim.

“Read it to me,” he said, “my eyes are ruined.”

“Not now,” Jim said weakly.

Everything appeared too bright but too bleary. His eyes were salt-sodden. His smooth cheeks were a clear ski-run of tears.

Ronny didn’t move. He didn’t give in. He continued to hold out the letter defiantly, while Jim shuffled past, head bowed, shoulders hunched, looking as though every inch of his own battered will had finally upped and died inside him.

They faced each other like two spiteful, glimmering starlings across the length of the kitchen. Lily’s arms were stretched around a large, slightly battered cardboard box, which she rested on the table but refused to release. Connie stood next to the Aga, glad to have the table between them.

Sara ran in — with the gun, which she carefully unloaded and locked away — then picked up some keys and headed straight out again.