‘Quick,’ Beede snapped.
‘But you can’t use my knife,’ he protested, ‘it’s brand-new. It’s a top-of-the-range Japanese Warrior’s knife.’
‘I don’t give a damn what kind of knife it is,’ Beede informed him, holding out his hand, refusing to be gainsaid.
The man slowly pulled out the knife. It was insanely sharp and at least 50 centimetres long. Beede lay out the pup on the vest, took a hold of the knife, held it an inch or so from the pup’s torso and cleanly sliced through the cord.
‘There.’
He passed the knife back and picked up the pup. The man almost gagged as he inspected the blade, then he grabbed the vest and polished the blade with it.
Beede tore away the anmiotic membrane and then closely inspected the second pup. It felt cold in his hand. ‘This fella doesn’t feel too smart,’ he said. ‘The bigger one was probably resting on top of it inside the womb…’
He cleared mucus from the tiny puppy’s airways.
‘Vest,’ he instructed brusquely. The man passed it over. Beede rubbed the body with the vest –
Nothing
He rubbed again and blew warm air into the puppy’s face. ‘Come on, little one,’ he murmured.
Gringo, meanwhile, had turned around and was sniffing at the second afterbirth. Beede blew into the tiny pup’s face again, then he tossed it, gently – like a bean-bag – from hand to hand. He massaged its little ribs. Then he held it upside down.
‘It moved its arm,’ the man said.
‘Did it?’
Beede wasn’t so confident. He cocooned the tiny pup in his hand. It still felt cold and lifeless. He blew on it, then he rubbed it, vigorously, with the vest again –
Nothing
He decided to try mouth-to-mouth. He inserted his little finger between the puppy’s tiny jaws.
‘What are you doing?’
‘Mouth-to-mouth.’
‘Is that safe?’
‘Safe? Who for?’
He painstakingly pushed down the puppy’s tiny tongue, then affixed his lips closely around the creature’s muzzle and exhaled. The puppy’s ribs rose. Beede sucked the air out. The puppy’s ribs fell. He exhaled again. Then he inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. At the close of the seventh cycle, he stopped. He inspected the pup. The puppy remained completely flaccid. It was inanimate. It was dead.
He closed his eyes for a moment, defeated, and then –
Pow!
– he suddenly sensed the stag – that grand, old stag; not as an actual entity, but as…as a beat. He felt the stag – its raw, untrammelled energy. He felt its pulse, in the ground, like a fast-approaching train. He felt the beat thundering towards him. And then –
Bang!
– it hit him. He rocked back. He felt it reverberating inside his eardrum, inside his head – his forehead – butting into him, like a hooligan – then travelling down, through his veins, his airways, into his throat, a suffocating pulse. He almost gagged, almost choked. Then on…into his shoulder –
Argh!
(He bit on his lip to stop himself from screaming)
– then down, still further, jerking and shuddering, into his arm, into his wrist…
Until –
Huh?
– it cut out. It was gone.
Beede kept his eyes closed, barely even breathing. He focussed in on his hand. He sensed his hand; the cup of his hand, the sanctum…
Eh?
– the goblet –
Eh?!
– the Communion, and there, in the centre of it, the tiny puppy suddenly jolted, then it coughed.
Beede opened his eyes.
‘It’s alive,’ he said, his voice devoid of emotion.
The puppy coughed again. Beede gently massaged its ribs for a minute and then handed it over. The man took the second pup and placed it, gently, inside his shirt. Gringo was still gnawing at the second afterbirth.
‘You’ll need to get everybody home,’ Beede said, ‘into the warm. Where’s your car?’
‘I have a Landrover…’
The man pointed. He seemed quiet now, almost deflated. His eyes looked strangely hollow.
Beede shoved away the vest, pulled on his gloves and threw his rucksack over his shoulders. ‘I’ll carry Gringo,’ he said, wincing. ‘You lead the way…’
He carefully wrapped Gringo in the shirt again, then picked her up.
She was heavy. She kicked out her legs, in protest.
‘Right. Good. Let’s go,’ Beede said, tightening his grip on her and starting to walk, sucking on his lip as he slowly moved forward, feeling the unexpectedly warm, metallic tang of blood on his tongue.
FIVE
‘Dead?!’ Kane repeated, sounding perfectly astonished, ‘When? How?’
‘I don’t know. He just…’
Kelly began sobbing, violently, as he accelerated rapidly away from a set of traffic lights.
‘Did you speak to your mother?’
‘’Course I did, Dumbo.’
‘Is she okay?
‘’Course she’s okay.’
‘And your dad?’
‘He switched his phone off. He sent a text. He don’t wanna talk. He ain’t good wiv’ stuff like this.’
Kane opened his mouth to speak.
‘An’ don’t you dare say,’ she quickly interrupted him, ‘that it’s all for the best.’
‘Okay,’ Kane said gently, ‘I won’t.’
He paused.
‘But it is.’
‘We gotta fetch the body,’ she wailed. ‘We gotta sort out the fuckin’ funeral.’
‘Good point.’
Kane pulled on to a roundabout and then turned right.
‘Mum ain’t up to it, Jase is in the clink, Linda don’t give a fuck, an’ I’m stuck in this shithole…’
‘Don’t worry,’ Kane murmured, ‘I’ll help you sort it out. I’ll get on to it first thing. That’s a promise.’
‘But who’s gonna sit with the body?’ she bellowed.
‘Sit with the body?’
Sit with the body?!
‘Sit with it while it’s still warm,’ she blubbered.
‘Sit with the body, Kell? Are you sure? D’you think that’s entirely necessary?’
‘Of course it is! Of course it’s necessary,’ she began to hiccough, hysterically (in the background Kane could hear somebody talking to her – a nurse, two nurses, both trying their level best to calm her down).
‘It’s lights out,’ she mewed, ‘an’ I’m keepin’ up the WHOLE FUCKIN’ WARD!’
‘Just hold on a second…’
Kane glanced into his rearview mirror, turned on his indicator and gently pulled off the road.
‘I CAN’T hold on, fuck-wit!’
He braked, drew to a halt, stuck on his hazard lights…
‘Are you still there, Kell?’
All he could hear now was a high, shrill squall.
‘Kelly?’
‘His body’s stuck in some morgue, an’ he’s all a-fuckin’ lone!’
‘He’ll be in a chapel of rest,’ Kane lied. ‘They’ll have a priest sitting with him.’
‘He came to me!’ she bawled. ‘He came an’ snapped my bra strap, Kane!’
‘Pardon?’
‘I swear to God. They said he died at eight. At eight someone snapped my bra strap. I felt it. He always did that when we was kids. He snapped my bra strap. He came to me, Kane.’
‘You wore a bra when you were a kid?’ Kane said, struggling to get this all straight in his head.
‘When I was twelve, thirteen, stupid! My first bra. He used to love takin’ the piss.’
‘Right.’
‘An’ stop raisin’ your fuckin’ brows like that!’
‘I wasn’t raising my brows, Kell…’ Kane lowered his brows. ‘You’re obviously very upset…’
‘I need someone to sit wiv’ him, Kane.’
‘I already said – they’ll probably have a priest…’
; ‘They won’t have no priest. They don’t give a shit!’
‘Or if not a priest, then one of the nurses who looked after him on the ward…’
‘BALLS!’
(More hushing.)
‘They keep tryin’a shove a load of tablets down my neck…’
‘Ask for a Sinequan…’
‘FUCK OFF, KANE!!!’
‘I’m just…’
He tried to think on his feet.’…I suppose I could get Gaffar…’ he murmured. ‘Uh…Did you speak to Gaffar yet?’
‘What?! Why the fuck would I wanna speak to him?!’ she yelled.
Kane smiled. ‘So you did speak to him?’
Pause
‘Yeah.’
‘Was he helpful?’
‘What does he know?! He’s just a little, Turkish DICK.’
‘A Kurd. A Kurdish dick.’
‘WHATEVER!’
(More hushing.)
‘Look. I’m in my car. I’m on the Romney Marsh Road. I’m right in the middle of something. D’you have the number of the hospital on you?’
Kelly blew her nose, noisily, then she cleared her throat. ‘I got it on my phone.’
‘Right. Find it – quick as you can – send it to me, and I’ll sort something out.’
‘I just don’t want him to be on his own, Kane…’
‘That’s fine. That’s fair enough. I’ll sort something out. I’ll go myself or I’ll get Gaffar…’
‘Whoever goes, I want them to light candles and say a little prayer. I want it like Paul Burrell did for Diana, yeah?’
‘Who?’
‘Paul Burrell. The butler. He went an’ he sat with her. An’ he lit candles. I want candles…’
‘Okay.’
‘You promise?’
‘Yes. It’ll be fine. I’ll ring Gaffar now. I’ll order a cab. He’ll be there in a couple of hours…’
‘Thanks…’
She sniffed, poignantly. ‘An’ I mean that.’
‘It’s nothing. It’s the very least I can do.’
Half-way through saying it, Kane realised that he meant it –
Huh?
‘I’m sorry,’ he added (quickly glancing over his shoulder – as if the truth was a cruel assassin which was slowly and methodically tracking him down).
‘Yeah, yeah,’ she sighed.
They both rang off.
He dialled Gaffar’s number. Gaffar answered immediately.
‘Yah?’
The line was terrible.
‘Gaffar?’ Kane shouted. ‘It’s Kane.’
‘So?’
‘Can you hear me?’
Kane winced as a large cargo of static came slamming into his ear.
‘Man…’
He opened his car door and clambered out –
Holy Fuck –
It’s freezing out here
‘Gaffar?’ he grimaced against the cold.
‘Kane?’
His voice sounded clearer.
‘You spoke to Kelly?’
‘Sure.’
‘Her brother died.’
‘Sure. I speak Dina. Then I ring.’
‘How was she?’
‘Dina?’
‘Yeah.’
‘Is okay.’
‘Well I need you to do me a huge favour, man.’
‘Huh?’
‘I need you to go up to Reading. Reading, yeah? Where the brother is? At the hospital? Call yourself a minicab. Call Simo. Ask for Simo. He’ll cut you a deal. The journey’ll take about an hour and a half. Be sure and get a quote up front, though…’
‘Sure.’
‘I need you to sit with the body tonight.’
Pause
‘Sure.’
‘Will you do that for me?’
Even longer pause
‘Sure.’
‘Okay. Call the cab now. Wrap up warm. It’s fuckin’ freezing outside. Take plenty of cash. I’ll text you the address just as soon as I have it. You’re gonna have to bullshit the people at the morgue that you’re related. A step-brother or something. Paul Broad, his name was. Okay?’
‘Sure.’
‘You wanna write that down?
‘Sure.’
(No sound of any attempt being made to write it down.)
‘Or I can text that through if you prefer…’
Silence
‘And Kelly wants candles. Try and get candles.’
‘Sure.’
‘Thanks, man. You’re a brick.’
Kane hung up.
He stood in the darkness for a second, shivering slightly, staring at his phone, and then –
Thwack!
A large, frozen object plummeted down from the heavens and crashed into the roof of his car.
‘He has some kind of a feud under way with the local vet…’ Beede explained as Peta knelt over the bitch and gave her back-end a cursory inspection. ‘He doesn’t have the first idea how to cope. This whole situation has taken him totally by surprise. He’s a wreck – began shaking like a leaf when I threatened to leave…’
‘How mortifying,’ Peta drawled.
‘He’s just a little…well…’ Beede frowned and glanced nervously over his shoulder.
They were standing in a filthy, brightly lit double garage on the outskirts of Beckley.
‘And he lives in this place you say?’
Peta’s keen – somewhat mercenary – gaze slowly took in the single camp-bed, the Calor Gas heater, the ill-concealed, heavily stained chamber pot, the bizarre array of antique army boots, the ancient wardrobe with the badly hung door and broken mirror, the collection of magazines about oriental weaponry, the bales of hay, and the strange combination of furniture, old junk and animal cages lining the walls.
‘His mother owns the house, but they barely speak. He has a key. He comes and goes as he likes. Apparently the bitch belongs to her. She’s insanely protective of the animal. He said she’ll go crazy if she finds out what’s happened. And in the wood of all places.’
‘Well at least it’s warm in here,’ Peta muttered, straightening up and shoving her hands into her coat pockets.
‘Is the box a good size?’ Beede enquired.
She inspected the box. ‘It’s perfect. And there’s plenty of newspaper, which is ideal.’
‘She’s stopped bleeding now,’ Beede observed. ‘Do they usually lose that much blood when they whelp?’
‘Not that I’m aware of. Perhaps one of the pups was in breech…’
She peered over at him as she spoke, with a frown. ‘You’ve bitten your lip. Did you realise?’
‘Uh…Yes.’
He touched his lip, self-consciously.
‘Does it hurt?’
‘No.’
‘And your shoulder?’
Beede’s mouth twitched. ‘That’s nothing. It’s fine…’
He seemed embarrassed by her attention.
‘But you’re holding it differently – stiffly…’ she maintained, ignoring his pique. ‘Isn’t it bothering you?’
‘No. Not at all.’
She walked over and calmly placed her hands on to his shoulder. He flinched at her touch but she persisted. ‘Where’s the source of the discomfort? Is it the side of the neck?’
‘It’s honestly not…’
She pulled back the collar of his coat and loosened his scarf, then slipped her hand into the gap and applied a light pressure with her fingertips.
‘There?’
He grimaced. She’d hit the spot.
‘Is that terribly tender?’
‘No…’ he used the sudden, keening wail of a car-alarm outside as an excuse to move away and readjust his scarf. ‘Is that your car?’
‘My van isn’t alarmed.’
She remained exactly where she was, her hands still held aloft, staring at him, slightly hurt.
He cleared his throat. ‘I really didn’t expect you to come. I just rang because I wanted a quick word with Ann. I know she’s had a fair a
mount of experience in this area…’
Peta raised an imperious brow.
‘Not that you haven’t…’ he rapidly backtracked.
She crossed her arms and gazed around the room again. ‘You never cease to amaze me,’ she said. ‘I mean the situations you connive to get yourself into…’
He scowled.
‘There’s actually some good stuff in here,’ she murmured, ‘against all the odds. Interesting stuff…’
She walked over to inspect a large, ornately framed, deeply homoerotic print of a fifteenth-century Italian painting of Saint Sebastian, his lean, naked torso completely riddled with arrows. Close to that was a headless shop mannequin with two, small, individual dartboards clumsily etched on to each breast. A dart was still hanging from the left nipple (the right-hand one having been completely obliterated by overuse).
‘I could sell this for a fortune,’ she smiled. ‘There’s a greasy little misogynist I know who owns half of Aldgate – works in the city…He’d just die…’
Next to the dummy was a badly stuffed fox.
‘Urgh. D’you suppose he did this himself?’ she asked. Beede merely shrugged. Next to the fox was a brightly coloured 1950s roll-up, fabric St John’s Ambulance demonstration chart of the lower abdomen.
‘He’s one of those wood people, isn’t he?’ she sighed, trailing a bored finger around the kidney. ‘One of those strange, sexually repressed, borderline-deviant males who likes to make a habit of hanging around in the woods at night…’
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