Darkmans

by Nicola Barker

  ‘Sorry…’ Kane still wasn’t quite satisfied. ‘They worked on the tunnel? The Channel Tunnel?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Laura walked over to the fridge. It was a huge, American-style fridge.

  ‘Look at the size of this thing!’

  She opened the door. ‘Isn’t it ridiculous?’

  She took out some milk, checked the date and then smelled it.

  ‘So Tom helped to build the tunnel?’

  ‘Yes. It was one of his first big contracts – although he was mainly involved in the demolition side of things back then…’

  ‘And Isidore?’

  Laura glanced over at him, sharply. ‘Who?’

  ‘The German?’

  ‘You mean Dora?’ she shrugged. ‘He was probably just a part-time labourer – a student, I think. He came from that place we’re joined with…doubled with…That German place…’

  ‘Bad Munstereifel,’ Kane winced as his foot cramped up again, ‘we’re twinned with them.’

  ‘Twinned? Is that what they like to call it?’

  Laura tipped some milk into each of the two mugs and then picked up the teapot. ‘I can never actually remember whether it’s a sign of bad breeding to put the milk in first,’ she smiled, starting to pour.

  ‘So that was how they met, huh?’ Kane mused.

  ‘Yes. But then obviously after all those buildings burned down…’

  Laura filled Kane’s mug and handed it over. ‘Would you like a biscuit?’

  ‘Sorry?’

  ‘A biscuit?’

  ‘The buildings? Which buildings?’

  ‘Tom’s warehouses. Three different fires. Five, six years ago. It was tragic. An awful blow.’

  Kane stared at her, in shock. ‘He burned down your brother’s warehouses?’

  ‘No, stupid!’ Laura chortled. ‘He was a fireman. He put them all out. He was quite the hero, in fact…’

  ‘Wow.’

  Kane watched her – his mind racing – as she began searching through the cupboards for biscuits.

  ‘Biscuits…biscuits…’ she murmured, slamming one door after another.

  ‘How about the jar?’ Kane suggested.

  ‘What?’

  She turned.

  ‘There’s a jar, right there, next to the tea jar. It says biscuits on the front of it.’

  Laura peered over at the jar.

  ‘Biscuits,’ she read, clumsily, as if she’d never actually seen the word written down before. ‘Gracious me,’ she exclaimed, ‘you’d think I’d know that by now. I’ve eaten biscuits in this kitchen with Pat often enough…’

  She reached for the jar.

  ‘Biscuits,’ she repeated slowly. ‘Isn’t that a funny, old word?’

  ‘Twice cooked,’ Kane responded, almost without thinking, ‘from the Latin root bis – twice, and coctus – cooked. It reached English via the Old French: biscut.’

  ‘There’s Jaffa Cakes,’ Laura said (completely ignoring Kane’s interjection), ‘or a few broken Hob-Nobs at the bottom of a packet.’ ‘I’m fine,’ Kane murmured, scratching his head, confused.

  Laura threw the broken Hob-Nobs on to a plate, pinched up some of the crumbs between her fingers and keenly devoured them.

  ‘What I still don’t quite understand,’ Kane said, ‘is why you’re so dead set against the whole road crossing thing. I mean if there’s an actual need…’

  ‘It’s Charlie,’ Laura almost choked on her mouthful. ‘He just hates the idea.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘He just…’ she coughed for a while, her eyes frantically scanning the room, ‘he just does. He just…he just wants to leave all the bad stuff behind us. He just wants to move on.’

  She quickly turned away from him, grabbed the teapot again and began filling her own mug.

  ‘And you?’

  ‘Yes. Yes. Of course I do.’

  Her hand shook as she poured.

  ‘It’s just that we’ve never actually talked about it,’ Kane mused.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About your son’s death. In all our conversations you’ve never really brought it up. Not even in passing…’

  Laura’s hand began shaking even more violently. The tea spilled. She put the teapot down. ‘Just look at that!’ she exclaimed. ‘What an awful mess!’

  She walked over to the sink.

  ‘I was the same myself, if it’s any consolation,’ Kane confessed.

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  Laura glanced over her shoulder at him, her colour still high.

  ‘When my mother died. Everybody kept pestering me to talk about my feelings, but I really didn’t want to. I couldn’t. The truth was that I didn’t really have any. I was numb. And I guess what I couldn’t admit to at the time – even to myself – was that I felt this amazing sense of relief – the pain had been so bad towards the end…’ Kane frowned. ‘And then there was all this other stuff…’ he frowned, ‘private stuff…complicated stuff…stuff I just couldn’t go into because it would’ve been a betrayal of her, of the relationship we’d had, of her confidence…I dunno. I just clammed up. It was easier that way…’

  ‘Exactly,’ Laura said, almost too enthusiastically. ‘So there you go.’ She held a dishcloth under the hot tap and then wrung it out.

  ‘But I suppose I’d had a certain amount of time – in advance – to prepare myself…’

  As Kane spoke Laura held the cloth under the tap for a second time, then wrung it out again, her movements growing increasingly jerky and uncontrolled. The tap was now running extremely hot. A small cloud of steam began to rise from the sink. Laura held the cloth under for a third time, then she dropped it, gasped in pain, shoved her fingers under her armpit, lowered her chin on to her chest and emitted a huge, choked-up sob.

  ‘Laura?’

  Kane strode over to the sink and turned off the tap. ‘Are you all right?’

  Laura shook her head.

  ‘What’s wrong?’

  He put a hand on to her shoulder but she shrugged it off, and when she next spoke her voice was uncharacteristically low and hoarse. ‘I just didn’t love him enough, Kane,’ she whispered.

  ‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Kane reprimanded her, gently squeezing her arm this time. ‘Of course you did.’

  ‘No.’ She shook her head, refusing to make eye contact. ‘I was a bad mother, and that’s all there is to it. I should’ve looked after him better – cared for him better – instead of always thinking about myself.’

  ‘That’s just not true,’ Kane maintained, aware (at some level) of having bitten off more than he could chew here. ‘I’m sure you were a great mother…’

  ‘Really?’ she gazed up at him, her eyes flashing. ‘You think so, do you?’

  ‘Yes,’ Kane nodded.

  ‘Well then this might interest you,’ she hissed. ‘Guess where Ryan’s “great mother” was when he was lying in hospital, fighting for his life?’

  Kane shook his head.

  ‘She was having extra-marital sex in a hotel room in Canterbury.’

  ‘I see.’

  Kane nodded, stiffly.

  ‘Ryan wasn’t killed instantly,’ Laura continued, determined to get it all off her chest now. ‘He fell in and out of consciousness for five hours. He was in hospital for five hours, struggling for every breath. But I wasn’t there. Nobody could contact me. Nobody knew where I was. My phone was turned off. So Pat sat with him. Pat held his hand. Pat talked to the surgeons. Pat was at his side when he died.’

  Kane stared at her. He wasn’t sure what to say. ‘It wasn’t the driver’s fault,’ she insisted. ‘It was Ryan’s fault. He missed the bus home. He was playing football with his friends. He ended up walking. It was a new road. One of the new A roads. When he crossed he was looking in the wrong direction. It was a stupid mistake. He wasn’t careful enough. He just stepped out…’

  ‘What about his dad?’ Kane asked.

  ‘He was away in Manchester on business,’
she glanced up at the ceiling, to try and stop her tears from flowing, ‘but he still managed to get home over an hour before I did.’

  ‘Did he suspect?’ Kane wondered.

  Laura looked down, frowning. A tear dripped on to the tiles. She slowly shook her head. ‘It’s even worse than you think,’ she said, trembling.

  ‘How?’

  She didn’t answer.

  ‘Who was the affair with?’

  Again, no answer.

  ‘Was it Tom?’ Kane took a wild punt.

  She gazed up at him, amazed. ‘How did you guess?’

  ‘Are you still with him?’ Kane asked.

  ‘No.’ She dabbed at her cheeks with her sleeve. ‘It only lasted a few months. We were…’ she sniffed and then put out her hand and rested it, almost reverently, on the marble work-surface. ‘Working on the house together,’ Kane filled in.

  Laura nodded.

  ‘Did Pat ever find out?’

  ‘I don’t think so.’

  She shook her head, but then she shrugged, confused. ‘I mean…I mean she knows about the affairs. Obviously she does. Because that’s just Tom. That’s who Tom is…’

  Laura turned, grabbed the teapot and quickly filled up her mug. She wasn’t shaking so much now. Kane quietly withdrew to his former position. He cradled his own mug in his hands. ‘So did you usually meet Ryan from school?’ he wondered.

  ‘No.’

  ‘Then the accident would’ve happened anyway…’

  ‘That’s not the point,’ she snapped.

  ‘Isn’t it, though?’ Kane persisted. ‘You weren’t able to say goodbye to your only son. Isn’t that a sufficient punishment for whatever you did wrong?’

  Laura stared down at the floor, grimly.

  Kane adjusted the mug in his hand. The fisherman mug. He stared at it for a second. Then he blinked.

  ‘Do you believe in God, Kane?’ Laura suddenly demanded.

  ‘Me?’ Kane glanced up again. ‘No. Absolutely not.’

  ‘Karma, then?’

  ‘Nope.’

  ‘Well I do. I think God punished me for sleeping with my brother-in-law by taking away my only child.’

  ‘The flipside of a vengeful God,’ Kane quickly shot back, ‘is eternal life.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘So, by your estimation, Ryan must be up in heaven, now.’

  Laura gave this some thought.

  ‘I’m not sure…’ she said.

  ‘You can’t have one without the other,’ Kane maintained.

  ‘I’m not sure…’ she said again, confused.

  ‘That’s the deal,’ Kane persisted.

  Silence

  ‘I’ve recently started wondering…’ Laura cleared her throat, gazing up at the ceiling again, ‘if things might feel better – if it might bring some relief if I just…’

  ‘No,’ Kane said, briskly.

  She peered over at him, frowning. ‘But you don’t even…’

  ‘Yes I do. You were going to ask whether I thought you should confess.’

  Laura grimaced.

  ‘And the answer is no. Definitely not.’

  Laura grimaced again.

  ‘Pat probably suspects, anyhow,’ Kane maintained, ‘Charlie too.’

  ‘You think so?’

  Laura covered her mouth with her hand.

  ‘Yes. Because secrets have a way of seeping out. They kind of…I don’t know…leak. Maybe that’s why Pat’s still persisting with the whole road crossing thing, even when she knows you’re not entirely happy about it. Maybe that’s her way of punishing you.’

  ‘No.’ Laura shook her head. ‘Pat wouldn’t do that. It’s not in her nature. She’s been so kind to me, so patient. She’s my best friend in the whole world…’

  ‘Such a good friend that you shagged her husband behind her back,’ Kane interrupted.

  Laura looked hurt.

  ‘The fact is that she might not even realise she’s doing it. Her hostility might be unconscious. Yours too, for that matter.’

  ‘Unconscious?’ Laura scowled. ‘I don’t know what that means…’

  ‘It means that you can love someone on the surface – very sincerely – but still hate them a little underneath…’

  ‘No!’ Laura was horrified. ‘I couldn’t hate Pat!’

  ‘It’s very deep down,’ Kane persisted, ‘so deep that you may hardly even realise it…’

  ‘No!’ Laura clenched her hands together, distraught. ‘That’s not possible.

  How could I hate Pat? She been so kind – she’s been my rock…’

  ‘Well I’d hate her in your place,’ Kane shrugged. ‘I mean how could you help yourself? She has her kids, this house, Tom, a clear conscience. She got to be with your son when he died, then to nurse you through your misery. And now she even gets to commemorate Ryan in public by setting up this committee…’

  ‘I love Pat,’ Laura sniffed. ‘She’s been wonderful…’

  ‘Of course you do,’ Kane shrugged. ‘And I’m sure she loves you, too. It’s just that feelings are complicated things. They don’t always add up. And in my experience, the truth rarely makes things easier – quite the opposite, in fact.’

  He stared down at the mug once more, as though irresistibly drawn to it.

  Silence

  ‘So…’ Kane finally pushed the mug away and grabbed something from his coat pocket. ‘Do you still want these?’

  He held out a small bag of tablets.

  Laura inspected them for a moment, and then slowly shook her head.

  ‘Fine. Good.’

  He shoved the tablets away again. ‘Should I continue to send Gaffar?’

  Laura shrugged.

  ‘Tomorrow maybe?’ he wheedled. ‘The day after? Just to help with the transition?’

  ‘Okay then,’ Laura nodded, stiffly. ‘If you think it’s a good idea…’

  ‘I do.’

  Kane stood up.

  ‘Thanks for the tea,’ he said.

  He turned.

  ‘Kane?’

  He turned back again.

  ‘Gaffar…’ Laura was twisting her two hands together, like a self-conscious schoolgirl.

  ‘Yeah? What about him?’

  ‘Well…I mean…’ she cleared her throat, embarrassed, ‘does he actually have…you know…sex with all your female clients?’

  ‘Uh…Wow…’ Kane frowned. ‘Now there’s a question…’

  Then he smiled. Then he scratched his head for a while, obviously thinking, very carefully, before delivering his answer.

  TWELVE

  When Beede finally regained consciousness he was standing in the shower, his naked body slumped heavily against the tiles – numb, leaden, inert – like an old, abandoned hog carcass. His hands and his arms – he gazed at them, blankly – were covered in scratches. The scratches were bleeding. His teeth were tightly clenched. His jaw was aching. He slowly relaxed his jaw and his teeth began chattering. He was freezing. The water –

  Ye Gods!

  – was absolutely, bloody icy.

  He turned and fumbled at the tap –

  Eh?

  He wasn’t entirely sure how it worked. At first he pulled at it, then he pushed at it, then he gently, gently twisted it, his strong brow knotted with concentration.

  Once the water had stopped flowing –

  Yah!

  – he gradually took stock, peering down, dazedly, at his feet. He felt off-kilter – wobbly, like a toddler. His balance seemed shot.

  As he stared down – his eyes falling dazedly in and out of focus – it slowly began to dawn on him that the base of the shower cubicle was full of water. It was ankle-deep and flowing over on to the bathroom floor. The bathroom floor was actually awash…

  Beede frowned. He knew that he should be feeling something – anxiety? Fastidiousness? Concern? – and knowing that he should feel these things almost made the feelings flow…Almost. But then they didn’t. They didn’t flow. Instead he felt nothing, simpl
y an idle – almost insolent – curiosity.

  He shifted his feet (just to see if he could –

  Yup…)

  – and as he moved, still more water tipped out of the cubicle and on to the floor. He watched it surge, fascinated. Riding on the tiny wave he’d created were a series of small, black boats – little, dark canoes, vying with each other to win the race to the bathroom wall. He blinked –

  Huh?

  – not canoes but feathers. Black feathers. He peered down at his feet again –

  Ah…

  – and discovered that the plughole in the shower cubicle had actually become blocked by them –

  Pen…

  He made an idle scratching motion in the air with his hand –

  Penna

  – he smiled –

  Feder –

  He frowned –

  Feather

  – he shook his head –

  Feather

  – he shook his head again, dissatisfied. He idly prodded at the feathers with his toe, then he bent over, stiffly, and grabbed at them with his fingers.

  Once the blockage was removed – at least partially – the water began to drain out. Beede crouched down and watched it disappear – grinning, delightedly, at the tiny whirlpool he’d created – still clutching the feathers tightly in his hand –

  Wah-hoooooooo!

  His head slowly rotated, round and around and around and around…

  Wah-hoooooooo!

  He found the suck, spin and glug of the water thoroughly absorbing. It was mesmerising. It was beautiful.