‘You’re going to end up as cat food if you don’t move pretty smartly…’
Beede tried to hustle the bird backwards, towards the grass verge. The peacock immediately took offence. It squawked, furiously, then turned, panicked, to reveal a slightly bare (and somewhat dingy) back-end, supported by pair of surprisingly long and muscular legs.
Beede shoo’d him swiftly forward, but as he moved he felt something crunching under the soles of his shoes. He glanced down –
What is that?
Grit?
No –
Seed…?
Tiny ears of…?
In ten seconds, at best, the indignant bird was safely stationed on the embankment.
‘You’d better drive off,’ Beede yelled, waving Dory onwards, ‘I’ll…’ That moment, a second fire engine came careering around the bend, its siren blaring, and smashed straight into the back of Dory’s Rover.
Dory hadn’t yet refastened his seat-belt. As the engine made contact he flew forward – wearing a look of slight bewilderment – into the steering wheel, then up, and over, and into the front windscreen. The windscreen cracked and then Dory slumped back.
But that wasn’t the end of it. Because he’d barely touched the seat again before another vehicle – a car – shunted into the back of the fire engine, then another car behind that, then a van, then another car, then another van, and each time a new vehicle made contact, this cruel, metal snake, this ravenous, steel gecko devoured a few extra metres of the road.
Beede glanced down. The bird had turned on its heel and had run for cover. Only a single, bright feather remained, pinned under his foot. Beede bent down to grab it (because what could he…? There was nothing…Because he couldn’t…).
As he bent over he felt a heavy weight (a familiar weight) on his shoulder, and calmly realised – in that instant – that he probably wasn’t going to be able to straighten back up.
The small courtyard was deserted. No geese – no turkeys – no dogs – no armed, hatchet-faced, Northumbrian housemaids in bizarre, wooden clogs.
Kane parked The Commissar and sat quietly for a while (gently strumming his fingers against the dash), then he clambered out and took a quick walk around. The farm machinery was gone. He tried the doors on a couple of the barns –
Locked
– then walked over to the cottage. The curtains had been taken down. He peered inside. All the furniture had been removed.
He stared up at the tiles on the roof. He slowly shook his head, then reached into his pocket and took out his cigarettes. He propped one between his lips and then tried to find his lighter, but couldn’t. It had started to rain. He returned to the car and climbed back inside it, then slowly and methodically emptied his pockets. He removed ten or fifteen packets of tablets, his phone, Elen’s book, the rolled-up brown envelope that Beede had left earlier. He threw each object – one by one – on to the passenger seat. Still, no lighter.
He peered around the interior of The Commissar. He opened the dash –
Registration documents
– then felt inside all the side pouches and under the seats.
Kane snorted with frustration, clambered out of the car and went to look in the boot. He opened it up –
Please –
Not a…
– but the boot was empty, except for a plastic bag crammed full of rubbish, its handles neatly tied together.
Kane stared at the bag. He lifted it out. He looked around for a trashcan. There was an old metal bin in the far corner of the farmyard, its lid weighed down with a rock. He carried the bag over there. He removed the rock and then the lid. The bin was empty. He prepared to toss the bag into it, but then something suddenly struck him and he thought better of it. He carried the bag back over to the car, climbed inside, untied the knot, opened it up and slowly sifted through the contents.
Inside the bag there were sweet wrappers, biscuit wrappers, orange peel, a couple of scrunched-up old newspapers, five empty cigar boxes, a clutch of receipts (for newspapers, sweets, cigars), several empty coffee cups, about twenty used scratchcards –
What?
Kane shook his head, disapprovingly.
Approximately half-way down he struck gold –
Yes!
A lighter – an old bic. He grabbed it and struck it –
Nothing
He struck it again and a tiny flame emerged. He pushed his smoke between his lips and struck it for a third time –
Nothing
– then a fourth. This time it sparked and he shoved his cigarette into it, puffing maniacally –
Yes…
Yes…
No
Balls!
Kane tossed the lighter aside and recommenced his search. He winced as his hand made unwitting contact with a couple of old apple cores, then delved in still deeper –
Crisp packet
Crisp packet
Peanuts
Peanut
Crisp packet
– pulling out what he took to be a card of matches –
Yes!
– only to realise that it was actually two further scratchcards folded up together. He hissed under his breath, then noticed – with some surprise – that one of these two £5 cards hadn’t even been scratched yet. He snorted, threw them back into the bag and felt around some more until his hands discovered –
Wonder of wonders!
– another lighter. He yanked it out so enthusiastically that he tipped the bag over –
Fuck!
– and almost half of its contents fell on to his lap –
Urgh!
He struck the lighter –
Nothing
He struck it again –
Yes!
– and shoved his cigarette – inhaling frantically – into the puny flame. The cigarette took –
Thank God
Kane closed his eyes and savoured it for a moment, then opened them up, crammed all the rubbish back into the bag, retied the handles, leapt out of the car, ran over to the dustbin and tossed it in. He replaced the lid. He replaced the rock –
There
– then returned to the car.
He sat in his seat, frowning, thinking, puffing on his cigarette. Every so often he inspected his hands –
Surgeon’s hands?
Eh?!
Fuck off!
When the cigarette was almost done he stubbed it out and grabbed his phone. He switched it on –
174 messages
He quickly turned it off again. He cast the phone aside. He leaned over and picked up Beede’s brown envelope. He opened it. He pulled out the batch of photocopied papers. He stared at them, frowning. He turned to a random page and squinted at the badly reproduced script. His frown deepened. He turned to another page, then another, then another.
Kane closed his eyes, leaned forward and rested his forehead on the steering wheel, then he pulled himself together, tossed the papers on to the passenger seat, started up the engine and performed a careful three-point turn. He drove out of Peta’s smallholding, back on to Barnfield, on to Ox Lane, on to Silver Hill and the Ashford Road. As he drove, a police car, an ambulance and two fire engines overtook him. Then the traffic slowed down. Then it stopped.
NINETEEN
Kelly was sitting at a bus-stop on a virtually grid-locked Malcolm Sargent Road, gazing poignantly at her phone.
‘Enjoyin’ the view, Kell?’ a cheery voice enquired from a short distance behind her.
She didn’t even look over.
‘Fuck off,’ she snapped, ‘for the thousandth bloomin’ time, just Fuck. Right. Off.’
‘Well that ain’t a very Christian way to react,’ Garry exclaimed, shocked.
‘Huh?’
Kelly’s head spun around.
The jovial builder was removing a Missing Dog poster from a nearby lamp-post.
Kelly almost fell from her seat. ‘We was just comin’ ta find ya, Gaz,’ she tried to struggle up
(but couldn’t quite manage it), ‘then the damn scooter ran out of juice an’ we got stuck here. Gaffar’s meant ta be pushin’ it to the nearest garage, but I reckon he must’ve done a bunk or somethin’. He’s been gone over an hour…’
‘Everythin’s totally grid-locked,’ Garry explained. ‘I was meant to be headin’ over to Cedar Wood but I couldn’t get through, so I nipped round here instead…’ he shrugged, ‘an’ now look at it – bumper to bloody bumper.’
‘You’ve changed your coat,’ Kelly observed, surprised.
‘Uh…yeah.’
Garry’s cheeks flushed.
‘That sports jacket looks good on ya,’ Kelly mused, ‘I always said you scrubbed up all right…’
‘I just got my dog back, as it happens,’ Garry interrupted, keen to change the subject.
‘Did ya?’
‘Nan’s over the moon,’ he grinned.
‘Aw,’ Kelly cooed, ‘I always loved your old nanna…’
She paused. ‘I always wished she was my nanna…’ she paused again. ‘Although you can keep the dog, mate. That dog is fuckin’ rank…’
Garry looked hurt.
Kelly quickly turned away. ‘These two arseholes in a car was really givin’ me some gyp earlier,’ she muttered (as if hoping to justify her inexcusable brashness). ‘I tried to turn the other cheek an’ all that, but I ain’t too good at it yet…’ she grimaced. ‘In truth, Gaz, I don’t know if I’m really cut out for all this Christian palaver.’
‘Well I suppose Christians’ve always had a history of persecution, Kell,’ Garry volunteered helpfully.
‘Ya reckon?’
‘Sure. Didn’t you ever see Gladiator?’
‘Yeah.’ Kelly nodded, ‘I had the hots for Joaquin Phoenix.’
‘Well Russell Crowe was actually the Christian in that.’
‘Russell Crowe was?’
‘Absolutely.’
Kelly gave this some consideration. ‘So what about you, Gaz?’
‘What about me?’
‘Are you a Christian?’
‘Uh…’ Gaz shrugged, ‘I ain’t much of a church-goer, Kell, but I like to think I’m a Christian man – by nature – if that amounts to anythin’…’ he paused. ‘You know, Love thy neighbour…Do unto others etcetera…’
They stared at each other.
‘If you don’t mind my sayin’,’ Garry confided, ‘you’re lookin’ a little the worse for wear.’
‘Paul died,’ Kelly murmured poignantly, ‘I’ve just been sittin’ here, all on my tod, tryin’a get it straight in my head, like.’
Garry came to sit down next to her. ‘I was real sorry when I found out, Kell,’ he murmured, lacing his hands together and staring off, morosely, into the traffic. ‘I had a lot of time for that boy. I mean Jase an’ Linda could happily go hang,’ he shrugged, ‘but you an’ Paul, well, that was an entirely different matter…’
‘I weren’t there for him, Gaz,’ Kelly lowered her head, ashamed, ‘none of us were.’
‘Oi!’ Garry gently reprimanded her. ‘You did what you could, Kell. You had your own shit to deal with, remember?’
Kelly didn’t respond.
He reached out and placed a comforting arm around her shoulders. ‘Paul always took everythin’ so much to heart,’ he murmured. ‘He was such a sensitive little bugger. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer – not by any means – but he weren’t stupid, neither. He just felt things more deeply than your average bloke, an’ the only way he thought he could cope was to blank it all out…’
Kelly nodded. A single tear dropped on to her lap.
They were quiet for a while.
‘So who told ya?’ Kelly finally asked. ‘About Paul, I mean?’
‘One of the nurses rang.’
Kelly frowned. She pulled away slightly. Garry dropped his arm, circumspectly.
‘Which nurses?’
‘From the hospital in Readin’,’ he elucidated. ‘They were a terrific bunch. Nothin’ was too much trouble for that lot…’
‘So you went up to visit?’ Kelly demanded.
‘Sure. Every few weeks,’ he shrugged. ‘I’ve got an old school pal in Chertsey so it weren’t no big deal.’
Kelly stared up at him, intently. ‘You’re solid gold, you are, Gaz,’ she announced.
Garry looked away, embarrassed. Kelly sniffed and then dabbed at her nose with the back of her hand.
‘Maybe you should come an’ sit in the Dodge for a while,’ Garry suggested. ‘The heatin’ ain’t up to much but it’s cold as a witch’s tit out here.’
‘Nah. I’m fine,’ Kelly insisted, ‘I don’t wanna hold you up.’
‘You ain’t holdin’ me up,’ Garry grinned, exasperated. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m stuck in a 10-mile fuckin’ traffic jam, you silly mare.’
Kelly shot him a sharp look, then immediately relented, and held out her hand. ‘Just like old times, eh?’ she muttered as he pulled her up.
They staggered over to the Dodge together. It took several minutes to manoeuvre her inside.
Once she was settled, Garry turned on the engine and switched the heating up.
Kelly cleared her throat. ‘There’s somethin’ I gotta tell ya,’ she confided, ‘now I’ve turned over a new leaf an’ all that…’
‘Oh yeah?’
Garry was trying to hunt down a spare blanket in the back.
‘Remember that bloody nose I got?’
‘Yup.’
‘Well it weren’t actually blood, as it happens. It was half a tin of tomato soup.’
Garry stopped his search, shocked. ‘Are you serious?’
‘Straight up. I was just a stupid, little skank, Gaz. I only did it to try’n grab your attention. ‘
‘But why, Kell?’ Garry asked, saddened. ‘You already had my attention, so far as I can recall.’
‘I guess I just wanted more of it,’ Kelly shrugged.
Garry slowly sat back down again. ‘Well I truly regret givin’ that kid a sound thrashin’ now,’ he murmured.
Kelly’s eyes widened. ‘No way!’
Garry maintained his aggrieved air for a couple of seconds longer, then chortled, delightedly, at her shocked expression.
‘Oh come on. That’s hardly my style, Kell!’ he snorted.
‘You runty bastard,’ she punched him on the shoulder.
Her phone suddenly bleeped.
‘Text,’ she said, grabbing hold of it. She accessed her menu, delighted.
‘This weren’t even workin’ five minutes ago…’
Garry rubbed his arm where she’d hit him. ‘You pack a mean punch,’ he said, ‘for such a skinny scrap.’
‘It’s from Kane,’ Kelly mused, still inspecting her phone, ‘an’ it says…’ she frowned, ‘it says 2 Corinthians 12.9.’
She glanced up, confused. ‘So what the hell’s that s’posed ta mean?’ Garry glanced over at her phone. ‘I dunno. It’s a Biblical quote, I guess…’
‘Where’s my Bible, Gaz?’ Kelly demanded.
‘It’s in the glove compartment…’
Garry pointed. Kelly leaned forward, with difficulty, to try and pull it open, but the lock was jammed, and she couldn’t get sufficient purchase to wrench it loose.
‘It won’t…’
Garry leaned across Kelly’s lap and yanked it open himself, but as he leaned, the pencil behind his ear slipped out and fell down between her knees.
‘Your pencil, Gaz,’ she muttered.
‘Oh.’ Garry straightened up, gazing down at her bare thighs, startled.
‘Ouch,’ Kelly squeaked, wriggling. ‘It’s fallen in between…’
She tried to retrieve it.
‘Ouch,’ she repeated, ‘it’s pokin’ into my…’
She placed her hands either side of her legs and lifted her bottom into the air. The pencil dropped down on to the seat below.
‘Would you mind just…?’ Kelly asked.
Garry tentatively slipped his hand underneath he
r and grabbed for the pencil, but before he could remove it, Kelly had sat back down again.
‘Hmmn. Lovely warm knuckles,’ she mused.
Garry rapidly yanked his hand out, horrified.
‘Well I bet that’s about as much excitement as your pencil’s seen in a while,’ she sniggered.
Garry didn’t respond, he just leaned over and grabbed her Bible from the glove compartment.
‘There you go…’
He handed it to her with an abrupt nod.
She took the Bible from him and quickly flipped it open. The pages automatically parted at the place where she’d stored her AIDS orphans article from Maire Claire.
‘Bloody hell,’ she suddenly gasped.
‘What?’
‘Just take a look at that…’
She held up the book to him.
Garry frowned.
‘I tore this article from a magazine, right?’ she explained. ‘An’ I just shoved it into the Bible to keep it safe, yeah? Then Kane texts me with this quote – God only knows why – and guess where it turns out I’d stuck the article?’
‘Where?’ Garry asked (already guessing the answer).
Darkmans Page 84
