Darkmans (13 page)

‘Just
stay
where you are,’ Beede barked, immediately setting off to retrieve the stick himself. Dina whistled, appreciatively, as he bent over, then cackled, explosively, as he straightened up.

‘I can’t believe I smashed my damn
phone…
’ Kelly tried valiantly to defuse the situation with a little light conversation, ‘if I’ve lost all my numbers I’ll go
feral
, I swear…’

‘
Huh?
’ Dina squinted up at her, boredly.

‘They reckon it’s a clean break…’ Kelly yammered on, breathlessly.

‘What is?’ Dina interrupted.

‘My
leg.
’

‘Oh.’ Dina sighed, expansively.

‘And the doc who took the x-ray said I’d be done in a few hours. So if the shop’s still open…’

‘Which shop?’

‘The
phone
shop.’

‘Good idea,’ Dina conceded. ‘An’ those brown shoes’ll be ready at the cobbler’s. You can grab ‘em while you’re at it. I got the slip here…’ She took her purse from the handbag on her lap and removed the slip from inside it.

Beede was now standing beside her, proffering her the stick.

‘Keep ya
wig
on!’ she cautioned him, handing the slip over to her daughter.

‘I could grab us some take-away,’ Kelly continued helpfully, ‘for supper. What d’ya fancy, Mum? Thai? Pizza?’

Beede proffered Dina her stick again. She took it this time, with a sultry look.

‘So you work here, then?’ she asked (pointedly ignoring Kelly).

‘I do.’

‘Good. So you can push me over to Outpatients,
pronto.
’

Beede frowned, confused. ‘But Kelly isn’t even in surgery, yet…’

‘
I
have an appointment,
stupid
,’ Dina informed him imperiously, casually inspecting her watch. ‘Blood test. Two-thirty…’

Beede glanced over at Kelly, his lips tightening (her face fell for moment, but then she rapidly rallied. The speed of the rallying – he felt – was almost the saddest part).

‘But of
course
you do,’ she murmured, scratching her head, ‘
Tuesday.
Two-thirty. I’d totally forgot…’

‘One of these fine days,’ Mrs Broad informed her, majestically, ‘you might actually appreciate that not every little thing on this fuckin’ planet revolves around
you
, Kell.’

She prodded Beede with her stick. ‘
Oi! You!
Uncle Fester! Let’s
split
!’

Without further ado, Beede promptly stationed himself behind the chair and began to push. Five paces down the corridor – and still within ear-shot – he leaned gently forward and murmured, ‘I must have a quick word with you about your
dogs
…!

Kelly gasped, ducked her head, stopped breathing, her thin body stiffening (as if preparing for some kind of monumental impact), but Beede kept right on pushing, and before she knew it, they were inside the service lift and the doors were firmly shut. How long had it taken? Twenty seconds? Less?

She took one deep breath, then another. Her hands gradually unclenched. She blinked. She glanced up and peered warily around her. Close by, a woman with second-degree burns on her knuckles was sitting – her head tilted slightly – and gawping.

‘Show’s over, love,’ Kelly hissed.

Then she placed the slip for the cobbler’s into the lining of her bra, plumped up her hair, threw back her skinny shoulders and pouted.

The Dog Warden (whom Beede had phoned from work with Dina’s express permission – ‘Just stare into my eyes –
deep
into my eyes. Good. Now does it
look
like I give a shit?’) was actually so familiar with the Broads and their lurchers that he didn’t even require an excuse, an explanation or a return address, he simply turned up – within the hour – clutching an unwieldy pole with a wire loop on the end of it to facilitate their subjugation.

Kane had seen this Draconian implement before – on one of the countless tv vet programmes – and was extremely keen to witness it in action. But as soon as the front door was opened, the dogs had leapt up and bolted (making a bee-line first for the warden, then his van), both their tails wagging, ten to the dozen.

‘If this were
Turkey,’ Gaffar muttered, resentfully (as he and Kane stood listlessly on the front step together),
‘I’d’ve blasted off the big one’s
bollocks
for what he did to me earlier.’

He took imaginary aim at the now fast-retreating van: ‘
BANG!
’ (his competence with a firearm apparently uncompromised by his recent mauling), and then congratulated himself (in Kurdish) for the accuracy of his shot.

They trooped back inside again. ‘D’ya hear what that uptight, little turd said to me out there?’ Kane asked, indignantly, as he gave Beede’s sitting-room a final once over.

‘
Huh?
’

‘The warden. He wanted to know if I’d given the dogs water –
water
, yeah? To drink? – and when I said that I hadn’t – that I forgot – he completely went off on one. Said in high summer that’d constitute “a deliberate act of cruelty”. Can you
believe
that crap?’

‘
Fascist!
’ Gaffar exclaimed.

Kane grabbed his jacket from the sofa and pulled it on. He idly adjusted the collar. ‘Well they certainly won’t be giving
him
his own cuddly, animal-welfare-based tv show…’

‘Rolf Harris?
Fuck off!
’ Gaffar snorted.

‘
Bingo!
’ Kane snapped his fingers. ‘You like Rolf, huh?’

‘I love,’ Gaffar confirmed, emphatically.

‘You
love
Rolf?’ Kane smirked, suggestively.

‘Oh yes,’ Gaffar deadpanned, performing a painstaking mime in which he repeatedly violated Rolf Harris from the rear, ‘I
love
Rolf.’

Kane gazed at him for a moment, in mute alarm.

‘
I PISS YOU! HA!
’ Gaffar burst out laughing.

Kane managed a weak smile as Gaffar jogged an exuberant lap around Beede’s sofa, lifting up his knees and clapping his hands, Zulu-warrior-style.

As if prompted by the Kurd’s sudden, thunderous show of good humour, Beede’s phone began to ring. It was an old-fashioned, heavy-set, dial-tone phone c.1976, in bright, brick orange, and it lived – as befitted its lowly status – under his desk, behind a musty pile of old
Private Eye
s which he collected – or so he claimed – to donate to his dentist.

Kane ignored the phone completely. Gaffar completed his lap and ground to a halt, still grinning.

‘So they featured this sweet, old girl on
Animal Hospital
once, yeah…?’

Kane took out his cigarette packet (refusing – point-blank – to compromise his cool by responding directly to Gaffar’s wanton display) and carefully removed a pre-rolled joint from inside of it. ‘She had a Jack Russell. D’ya know that breed at all?’

Gaffar shook his head, slightly out of breath.

‘A little, white dog – a terrier – a
digger.
’

Kane mimed ‘dig’.

Gaffar nodded, his eyes drifting – every couple of seconds – towards the source of the ringing.

‘Anyhow, there was something wrong with the animal – I don’t remember
what
, exactly – so this old dear took it along to the surgery, and they filmed her for the programme, and Rolf asked her what its name was…
blah blah
…You’re pretty familiar with the form, I guess?’

Gaffar nodded again. He was very well acquainted with
Animal Hospital
protocol.

‘Yeah…’ Kane carefully moistened the side of the joint, ‘so this old
girl says, “He’s called Bonus.” And Rolf thinks the name’s kind of cute –
Bonus
…It means to get something for free…
Gratis.
’

‘
Ah.
’

‘So he asks her why the dog’s called Bonus, and she says something like, “I was walking home from work one day and I saw this little dog running around. And it was obviously a stray. It was very dirty. Very thin…”’

Kane mimed ‘dirty’, then ‘thin’.

‘Okay.’

‘So she decided to take the dog home with her and to care for it. I mean she saved its life, effectively. And she called it Bonus because she got it for nothing. Like a gift from God.’

‘Sure.’

‘So then Rolf says, “Will you lift Bonus up on to the table so that the vet can take a look at him?” And the old woman goes, “Would you mind doing it
for
me?” And she’s looking kind of anxious. So Rolf says, “Why? What’s the problem?” And the old woman says, “Even though I took him home that day and looked after him and loved him and have always cared for him the best way I possibly could, he absolutely despises me. But only me. With everyone else, he’s fine…”’

‘
Ah,
’ Gaffar looked impressed.

‘Yeah. The dog hated her. And it was all just pride, see? It resented the fact that she had come to its aid in its time of need, when it was truly
vulnerable.
It simply wouldn’t forgive her for helping it, for saving it, yeah? But it loved everybody else, was very gregarious, very friendly. So Rolf could stroke it and pick it up and put it on the table, and the vet could give it a painful injection, but if this kind, old dear so much as went anywhere
near
it, it’d snarl and take a quick snap…’

‘
What?!
’

‘Because it was fucked up.’

The phone stopped ringing.

Gaffar shook his head, slowly.

‘Yeah,’ Kane shrugged, ‘sometimes life can be a bitch like that.’

He finally located his matches, opened the box, took one out, struck it and lit up his joint. Gaffar continued to stare at him, expectantly, as if awaiting some kind of punch-line. But none was forthcoming.

About five seconds into this perplexing hiatus, Beede’s phone began ringing again. Kane glanced over at it, then back at the Kurd, then
down at the ash on the tip of his roll-up. ‘So you’re gonna be at kind of a loose end for a while now, huh…?’

Gaffar grimaced.

‘That’s too bad.’

He inhaled on his joint. He suspended his breath.

‘I’ve actually got a couple of jobs you can do for me,’ he exhaled, with a slight cough, ‘if you fancy…’

‘Work?’ Gaffar enquired, lifting his chin.

Kane nodded.

‘For
you
?’ his right brow rose, haughtily.

‘Yup.’

Gaffar shrugged. ‘Sure.’

They shook hands.

‘Okay…’

Kane took another deep drag on the joint and then offered Gaffar the remainder. The Kurd took it. Kane gave him a long, searching look, then exhaled, sniffed and glanced back over towards the phone.

‘So I’ll need you to check up on Kelly…
uh…
’ he grimaced, ‘I’ll be wanting to maintain a certain
distance
there, if you see what I mean…’

Gaffar looked blank.

‘
Distance.
’

Kane measured out about a metre’s span between his two hands. ‘Me…’ he lifted one hand ‘…and Kelly…’ he lifted the other, ‘never the twain shall meet.’

Still, Gaffar looked blank.

‘So you could take her some food – salad,
fruit
, maybe. Some flowers. Make a quick delivery. Nothing too complicated…’

Beede’s phone continued to ring.

‘Can you drive?’

Gaffar’s face suddenly lit up.

‘Drive? Me?
Sure.
’

Kane moved over towards the door. ‘Good. Then you can use the Merc. She’s a dirty blonde. 220
C.
De-badged, of course. A strapping girl.
Exceptionally
reliable…’

He ushered Gaffar out into the hallway, yanking the door firmly shut behind them. But as soon as the lock clicked into its groove, he turned back, instinctively, and reached for the handle again. He
didn’t turn it, though – not at first – he just held on to it, loosely. He scowled. He struggled with himself. He proved unequal to the struggle.

‘
Man
…You head on up, okay?’

He faltered, infuriated, on the threshold. ‘Just let me quickly go answer that.’

‘A bizarre coincidence…’ Elen explained, picking up her mug, taking a small sip, and then quickly placing it down again (the tea was still very hot). ‘She’d left a message for me at the practice. I was meant to be making a home visit this evening, but she was admitted last thing yesterday. She’s having trouble with her pace-maker. I’d warned her about it the week before; her feet were unusually swollen during our last consultation…’

‘Perhaps I know her,’ Beede interrupted, pulling out a chair and sitting down himself. ‘What’s her name?’

‘Mrs Bristow.
Evie
Bristow. Although everybody who knows her calls her Hat.’

‘Really? Why?’

She shrugged, smiling.

Beede stirred his tea, removed the teaspoon and then couldn’t find anywhere to put it, so pulled out a man-size tissue from a nearby box, folded it neatly in half, and placed the spoon on top (adjusting it, twice, to make certain it lay dead centre).

Elen watched this laborious process with an expression of wry amusement. He glanced up, absent-mindedly, caught her fond look, and started.

‘The tea…’ She indicated towards her mug, trying to defuse his alarm. ‘It’s delicious.’

‘Good.’

Beede still seemed a little edgy.

Elen’s smile gradually faded. ‘Is everything all right, Danny?’

Beede frowned. His mother was the only other person who’d ever dared to use his Christian name in its abbreviated form (in her case, Dan). Yet Elen had always called him Danny, from the very first time they met, during a professional consultation (she’d seen his full name on the cheque he’d paid her with, and had used it, as a matter of course, ever since).

It still never failed to surprise him. He always felt a vague, nagging sense that she might actually be addressing another person, not
this
Daniel Beede, but some other, whom life – and its pitfalls – hadn’t encouraged to prosper; a more approachable Daniel Beede; a more loveable one; more
cuddly,
even.

The only thing he knew for certain was that he actually bore no resemblance to this genial man (whom she appeared so determined to see in him), although a tiny part of him sometimes wondered whether he might not actually quite
like
to, occasionally (a brief excursion might be nice, into a world where fact was eclipsed by feeling), but whenever he started to experience these impulses – and it wasn’t often – the hard, enamelled Beede within him swooped down from a great height and harried the gormless, hapless Danny; kicked him around a bit, then shoved him – without scruple – back into his box again.

He wouldn’t have tolerated it from anybody else. But this was Elen –

Elen

– and everything she did was so effortless, so natural, so kind, so
unforced
, that to interfere (to block or confront or disrupt her), would’ve seemed like the worst kind of wrong-headedness.

‘Yes. Yes. Yes, everything’s fine,’ Beede nodded, clearing his throat, ‘absolutely fine.’

They were sitting at a desk in Beede’s corner office. A handful of people were working in the laundry outside, and could be observed – going dutifully about their business – through a slightly wonky window in one of the two, make-piece, plasterboard walls (the other struggled valiantly to remain perpendicular while doing its level best to support the door).

The radio was blaring (Beede had a rota-system for choosing the channel – it was an inflammatory issue amongst the staff, whose ages
varied – and today, much to his horror, it was tuned to 1Xtra). He leaned back in his chair and shoved the door shut.

It was a very small room – more of a cubby, really – and now, if possible, it seemed still smaller. He closed his eyes for a brief moment. If he remained motionless – and concentrated very hard – he could pick up Elen’s distinctive scent of clove and peppermint (from the foot massage creams she used at work). It was a plain smell, and not particularly feminine, but he was almost ludicrously attached to it.

‘So what happened, exactly?’ she asked. She sounded tense. He opened his eyes, abruptly. He’d had no intention of worrying her. ‘Nothing too apocalyptic,’ he murmured, ‘it was just a little…uh,
tricky
, that’s all.’

He took a sip of his own tea and winced (it’d been brewed too long), then placed the mug down, gently, on to his desk again.

‘He’d taken the horse from a field near the Brenzett roundabout…’ he started off, casually.

She nodded.

‘And I presume – although I can’t be entirely certain – that he rode it to the restaurant along the dual carriageway…’

She grimaced.

‘…which is…well,
you
know…’

‘He absolutely
promised
me,’ she interrupted, ‘that he wouldn’t do anything crazy like that again.’

As she spoke, Elen slipped both of her hands around her tea mug, as if to comfort herself with the warmth it exuded. She seemed profoundly regretful, and yet (at another level – and there was
always
another level with Elen) strangely detached.

‘He was terribly confused when he came around,’ Beede continued (not entirely ignoring her interjection, but feeling unable – through loyalty to Dory, principally – to trespass on to that particular discursive mine-field any further), ‘and extremely suspicious…’

‘He’s petrified of horses,’ Elen interrupted him, her voice still stoical. ‘A pony stood on his foot once when he was just a toddler. If you know what to look for, you can see how the injury – the trauma – has taken its toll, subsequently, on his entire body-posture…’

‘Yes,’ Beede nodded, ‘he did mention it. I mean the
fear.
He knew almost immediately that he disliked horses, that he was afraid of them. It was actually one of the very first things he seemed absolutely certain of.’