Darkmans (65 page)

‘Pardon?’

‘There
was
a letter, which the girl claimed never to have seen before…’

‘The letter D?’

‘No.’

‘An I?’

‘No…’ Elen cleared her throat, nervously, her voice almost dropping to a whisper. ‘A J. A tiny letter J. Dory
claimed
it was an I, but written in the Germanic style. Then after he’d
said
it he kind of…he kind of
turned
to me and gave me this…this awful
look.
’

‘A
look
?’

‘Yes. A kind of a…a
mocking
look. A
loaded
look.’

‘Oh.’

Pause

‘Is that dripping driving you mad?’

‘Pardon?’

‘The tap – the dripping tap?’

‘The
tap
? No.
No.
I hadn’t actually noticed it.’

Pause

‘So you think it was a J, then?’

‘Yes. I’m absolutely sure of it.’

Another pause

‘Well…’ Beede rattled what Kane presumed to be a teapot, ‘I don’t think we should allow ourselves to get too worked up over this. It was probably just a coincidence. He got lucky. He was flying by the seat of his pants…’

‘But you said the other day…’ Elen lowered her voice to a whisper again ‘…you said that you were worried about
fwah fwah fwah-wah fmwah-wah-wah
…’

Kane almost choked with frustration at his inability to hear her. ‘I was just being paranoid,’ Beede insisted.

‘But things have become so…so
fluid
lately. And the meditation’s definitely a part of it. He’s developed this strange routine with a bandage. He winds it around his head – over his eyes and his nose…’

Kane stiffened.

‘…I looked it up in his Pranayama book. There was a picture. It’s called the Six Openings Seal…’

‘I tried to confront him about the yoga the other night,’ Beede interjected, ‘after our conversation at the laundry.’

Huh?

Kane raised his eyebrows.

‘You met up?’ Elen sounded excited. ‘You didn’t say…’

‘Only very briefly.’

Pause

‘He was concerned that he might’ve bruised your arms. He said there were bruises but that you’d hotly denied it…’

Kane flattened both his palms against the door. His jaw tensed. ‘So you talked about the yoga?’ she asked (simply letting the other matter pass).

‘Absolutely. I mentioned that I had some misgivings, that rather than
improving
matters, his behaviour seemed to be deteriorating…’

‘And how did he respond?’

‘Not well. He seemed very – I don’t know –
caught up
in the whole thing. He was even keeping some kind of a diary…’

‘Yes,’ Elen interrupted, ‘I often see him scribbling in it.’

‘Have you ever managed to take a peek inside?’

‘No!’
Elen sounded shocked. ‘It’s private. I wouldn’t dream of it.’

‘Of course. Of
course
…’

Beede sounded embarrassed.

Pause

‘Anyway,’ Beede continued, ‘Dory claimed that there was a technique in the Rosen book which his father had taught him as a child. I couldn’t really get to grips with it – not off-hand – it was all rather convoluted…something to do with…with Witnessing, or
being
a Witness…’

‘I just wish he’d
stop,’
Elen interrupted emphatically.

‘Yes. I know you do.’

Pause

‘Me too.’

Longer pause

Clinking of teacups

‘There was this really
awful
interlude on the beach…’ Elen finally confided.

‘Really?’

‘Yes. On Winchelsea Beach. Although the first sign of something odd
was in Dungeness. He disappeared while we were visiting the lighthouse. He left Fleet and I on the second floor and ran to the very top. I found him outside, on the viewing platform, totally hysterical, hundreds of feet up.’

‘Good God,’ Beede sounded alarmed, ‘you must’ve been terrified.’

‘Yes.’

Silence

Kane scowled, jealously, wondering what signs of tenderness – if any – this silence might contain.

‘Was he coherent?’ Beede finally asked.

‘Almost. He seem obsessed by the power station. He kept telling me that it was in the way. He said it was obscuring the port.’

‘Which port?’

‘Old Winchelsea.’

‘But Winchelsea’s a town. It’s inland.’

‘I know. I said that. He claimed that there was an old town which was washed away during some terrible storm and that they’d moved the port to a hill. He insisted we went to try and find it…’

‘And did you?’

‘Yes.’

‘How was he at this point?’

‘Surprisingly good, really, all things considered…’

‘So you went to the port?’

‘There
was
no port. We went to the town and he got terribly upset. He ran off again. We eventually found him on the beach. He was wading around in the mud, clowning around in the mud…’

‘He was very bad?’

‘Terrible.’

‘So how on earth did you get him back?’

‘I didn’t. I got into this ridiculous conversation with a local man – a teacher and writer – who lived in this tiny cottage close by. He took a great interest in Fleet. Fleet was being very…I don’t know…difficult…
gregarious.
Just letting off steam, I guess. He said he had some books about gifted children which he wanted to give us. He was involved in some government-funded organisation…’

‘Hang on a minute…’ Beede sounded incredulous. ‘You mean to tell me that in the midst of all this chaos some total stranger approaches
you on the beach and starts up an arbitrary conversation about Fleet’s
giftedness
?’

‘Yes. I suppose it
does
sound a little strange…’

‘And Dory was rolling around in the mud, meanwhile?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well how in God’s name did you go about explaining that?’

‘I didn’t. I…I just…’

‘Then you went back to his house?’

Beede seemed astounded.

‘It was right next to the beach…’

‘You went alone?’

‘It was complicated. He’d lost his daughter in the Sudan. I couldn’t get out of it. He’d gathered together this big box of papers and stuff…’

‘But what about Dory? Was it safe to leave him?’

‘Yes.
Yes.
He’d…I don’t
know.
It was a difficult situation. Embarrassing. I didn’t want to seem rude so I just quickly went to grab this book from him…’

‘A book or a
box
of books?’ Beede demanded.

‘Pardon?’

‘You said a box, then you said a book. Which was it?’

Silence

‘This is exactly what Dory did,’ Elen said softly.

‘What?’

‘He kept asking all these
questions
as though he didn’t believe me.’

Kane almost stopped breathing, he was listening so intently.

Silence

‘I didn’t mean it like that,’ Beede backtracked.

‘It
does
sound improbable, I know. But it was all completely innocent. It was completely…’

‘Of
course
it was,’ Beede insisted. ‘Ignore me. I’m just…I’m just fractious, just tired.’

‘He’s got so paranoid now, so suspicious, that he thinks I’m having an affair, that I’m keeping things hidden from him. When we were arguing on the way home he called me a slut. In front of Fleet. He can’t bear being around me. He thinks I’m disgusting…’

‘Stop
it!’ Beede chastised her, agonised.
‘Please.
Dory wouldn’t say that. Dory wouldn’t
think
that. How
could
he?’

‘But it seemed like him, Beede. He started making
fun
of me – repeating things I’d said in this awful voice – this cruel voice – private things, word for word, like it was all just some kind of horrible
joke,
some kind of awful
game.
But I couldn’t play along because I didn’t know what the
rules
were. I just wanted it to be all right. I just wanted to make it better, and I
couldn’t.
…’

She broke down.

‘I’m so sorry,’ Beede’s voice was very soft. ‘Put that down…’

(Clanking of a teacup.)

‘Come on, come here…’

Silence

Kane now had his full body-weight pressed up against the door. To all intents and purposes Kane
was
the door.

Silence

‘How’s your shoulder?’

It was Elen speaking. Her voice sounded husky, as if she’d been crying.

‘It’s fine.’

(Sound of a nose being blown.)

‘I just really,
really
want things to go back to how they were before.’

‘I know you do. Of course you do.’

‘It was
manageable
before.’

‘Yes. I know. You’ve been very brave. Very patient. It’s obviously…’

Their conversation was suddenly interrupted by a loud clattering sound.

Holy shit!

Kane leapt back. His phone. His stupid
phone
had suddenly begun vibrating against the door.

‘What was that?’ Beede asked, sharply.

Before Elen could answer – or Kane could gather himself together – the door had swung open.

‘Kane,’ Beede said.

‘Hi!’ Kane smiled, flushing to his roots, lifting his hand and waving it, like a fatuous, ceramic Chinese cat.

‘What do you
want
?’ Beede demanded.

‘I’m just heading out,’ Kane pointed to the front door, pulling up the collar on his crombie, ‘I just thought you should…I mean in case you…’

Beede was staring at him, like he’d lost his reason.

‘Gaffar. That little
chat
…’ Kane stuttered.

‘There’s no rush,’ Beede said coldly, ‘I said later would be fine.’

Kane shrugged. ‘Good.
Great.
Then I’ll head off.’

He removed his phone from his pocket and glanced down at it.

‘Winifred,’ he exclaimed, glancing up. But the door was already shut.

The elusive Reverend Jacobs was eventually located – after a helpful tip-off from a garrulous cleaner – cowering under a desk in the tiny Nurses’ Station on an extremely busy Geriatric ward.

‘If Sister finds you here, ducks,’ Kelly warned him, jabbing fondly at his neat rump with one of her crutches, ‘she’ll use ya knackers for door-jams.’

‘Kelly!’
the Reverend exclaimed, abruptly lifting his head (and inadvertently smacking it into the desk’s small drawer). ‘How
delightful
to see you!’

‘If he can see you from down there,’
Gaffar observed (with typically implacable logistical acuity),
‘then he’s got eyes in his arse.’

The Reverend slowly backed his way out (trying his utmost to retain what little remained of his dignity). ‘I was actually searching for a
pencil,
’ he said.

‘Here…’ Kelly grabbed one from the desk-top.

‘I mean I
dropped
one…,’ he continued, vaguely. ‘Oh…
Thanks.

Fantastic. Now I can finish off that pesky
cross
word…’

‘This is Gaffar,’ Kelly said, as Gaffar politely assisted him to his feet, ‘I told you all about him, remember?’

‘Yes. Absolutely. Charmed to meet you…‘

The Reverend dusted off his knees, tightened his dressing-gown belt and then offered Gaffar his hand.

‘How do you
do
?’ he enquired, eyeing Gaffar’s bruises somewhat trepidatiously.

‘He don’t
always
talk like he got a fist up ‘is jacksie,’ Kelly nudged Gaffar, confidingly, ‘just
most
of the time, like.’

Gaffar sniggered. The Reverend shot her a dark look.

‘So guess what?’ she demanded.

‘What?’

‘The doc says they’re finally gonna send me packin’…’

‘Wonderful
news!’ the Reverend clasped his hands together, thrilled.

‘…Which means I can hang down here wiv’
you
all day,’ Kelly prattled on blithely, ‘readin’ the Scriptures an’ shit.’

‘Oh…’ The Reverend’s joy rapidly dissipated.
‘Marvellous.’

Kelly’s phone started ringing (the tone having been recently altered to How Great Thou Art). She took it out and inspected it.

‘Mum,’ she growled, flashing the screen briefly in Gaffar’s direction. ‘I ain’t answerin’. Linda should be there by eleven, an’ I got
bigger
fish to fry…’

The Reverend stared at her, disapprovingly.

‘God’s Will an’ all that,’ Kelly shrugged, slipping the phone into her pocket.

The Reverend turned. ‘I think you’ll soon discover,’ he told her tartly, leading them both back out on to the ward again, ‘that not
everything
you think and feel can simply be attributed to God.’

‘Why not?’ Kelly demanded, hopping along behind him.

‘Because it
can’t.
If everything you ever thought and felt could be attributed to God then you would
be
God…’ he shot her a scathing look, ‘and I can hardly imagine The Almighty teaming moon boots and a mini-skirt.’

‘Huh?’

Kelly inspected her outfit, offended.

The Reverend flounced over to his bed and flopped down on to it.

‘So…’ Kelly gazed around her, inquisitively ‘…they’ve gone an’ stuck you on a ward wiv’ a load of pissy, old farts, eh?’

Comic pause

‘Well at least
someone
in this shithole’s finally got you pegged right!’

She elbowed Gaffar in the ribs, snorting. Gaffar winced.

‘I don’t believe God would’ve said
that,
for example,’ the Reverend snapped.

Gaffar pulled out a chair and helped Kelly to sit down on it.

‘So what
would
God say?’ Kelly demanded. ‘Just tell me an’ I’ll say it.’

‘God would say that he loves all of his subjects equally – young
and
old – although he’s
especially
devoted to the sick and the needy…’

‘That’s
a crock for starters,’ Kelly interrupted.

‘How so?’

Kelly shrugged. ‘Well he either loves everyone the same or he don’t.’

‘When God created man,’ the Reverend’s voice took on a preaching tone, ‘he granted us a free
will
…’

Gaffar picked up a bottle of cologne from the Reverend’s bedside table and inspected the label. The lid promptly fell off and rolled under the bed. He bent down to retrieve it.

‘…so in all the decisions we make,’ the Reverend continued, irritably, ‘in all the things we
say
and do – God gives us the choice to lean either way: towards good or towards evil…’

Gaffar reached blindly under the bed, groped around for a while and then carefully withdrew a stainless-steel chamber pot (unused).

‘As
Christians
we use Jesus Christ as our template,’ the Reverend glowered at him, ‘our
guide…
Shove that back under there, will you?’ Gaffar happily obliged him.

‘We
familiarise
ourselves with his teachings. We struggle against our baser instincts. We do our best to emulate him…’ Gaffar finally located the lid –

‘Yah!’

– and held it up, victorious.

The Reverend snatched it from him. ‘And in that way we hope – very slowly, very
gradually
– to become better people…’

Kelly gazed at him as he spoke with a look of blank incomprehension. He sighed, resignedly. ‘I suppose this must all sound rather
pedestrian
…’ he waved the lid at her, dismissively, ‘to a girl like you.’

‘You told me you was a
sensitive,’
Kelly maintained stolidly, ‘so maybe
I
am too.’

‘Charismatic,’ he corrected her, replacing the lid on to the cologne bottle, ‘I said I was Charismatic with sensitive
leanings
…’ he sniffed his fingers, fastidiously, then dabbed them on a blanket, ‘although I rather regret that now…’

Kelly looked shocked. ‘But you had all your
visions,
Rev.’

‘I was
bored,
’ he snapped, ‘and just tossing a few ideas around.’

While he spoke, Gaffar idly acquainted himself with some of the Reverend’s other grooming products. He inspected a jar of moisturiser.
‘Careful
– that’s expensive,’ the Reverend snapped.

Gaffar placed it back down again and picked up an electric razor. He flipped a switch to turn it on, but ended up releasing a small hatch of beard shavings down the front of his jumper instead.

‘Urgh!’

The Reverend lay down flat against his pillows and crossed his hands over his chest. ‘Like the doctors said,’ he continued (barely
repressing a smirk at Gaffar’s expense), ‘my “visions” were probably a side-product of something else…’

‘Shame
on you,’ Kelly murmured. ‘After everything what’s happened.’

The Reverend shrugged. Gaffar dusted himself off, grimacing. Kelly sat quietly for a while, eyeing the Reverend, balefully. ‘So where’s your Calvins?’ she eventually asked.

‘Eh? My
Calvins
?’ The Reverend looked briefly disconcerted.
‘Uh
…’

He glanced sideways, shiftily. ‘They got broken – last night – in all the chaos.’

‘Oh yeah? Where’s your
screen,
then?’ Kelly gesticulated, impatiently.

‘An’ why ain’t it closed?’

‘It’s there…’ the Reverend thumbed over his shoulder, ‘I just haven’t had a chance to
draw
it yet…’

‘Gaffar,’ Kelly pointed to the Reverend’s bedside table, ‘check out his top drawer for his sunnies, will ya?’

Gaffar promptly opened the drawer, poked around, and withdrew the Reverend’s glasses from inside.

‘Ay ay,’ Kelly slowly shook her head.

‘I said they were
broken
not lost,’ the Reverend huffed.

Gaffar tried them on. They seemed perfectly fine.

‘Those suit ya, mate…’ Kelly commended him, ‘you look like Ray Liotta in
Goodfellas,
but foreign, an shorter, an wiv’out the zits.’ She paused. ‘So I guess if they’re
broke,
Rev,’ she turned and delivered him a saucy wink, ‘then you won’t mind
Gaff
here takin’ ‘em off your hands?’

The Reverend scowled. Gaffar removed the glasses and shoved them into his top pocket, delighted. The Reverend harrumphed, rolled on to his side and lay with his back to them. Kelly smiled at him, indulgently. ‘Just admit it,’ she taunted him, ‘you don’t
need
those specs no more,
do
ya?’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ the Reverend barked. ‘Of
course
I do…’ ‘My
arse!’
Kelly grinned. ‘An’ I’ll tell you why not, too. Because from the
moment
we began dietin’ together you began to feel
better
…’

‘
Rubbish
…’

‘Oh my
days
!’

Kelly slapped her hand, excitedly, on to the Reverend’s tensed thigh. ‘I just had a
thought,
Rev…’

‘What?’
The Reverend’s tensed thigh now tensed up still further. ‘In your second vision you said how the house collapsed but the man was left standin’, yeah?’

The Reverend frowned.

‘I mean to say he weren’t
hurt
or nothin’…?’

The Reverend continued to frown.

‘Well that was
you,
yeah? Everythin’ collapsed but you was
fine.
It was meant to be a
sign,
see?’

‘I
wasn’t
fine!’ the Reverend rolled over to face her again, indignant.

‘I have a painful line of bruises all the way down my back. The doctor said I was lucky the pole didn’t fracture my
spine
…’

‘Nope.’ Kelly shook her head, ‘Not
lucky
…’

‘
What?’

‘Not lucky. He didn’t say you was
lucky,
he said it was a
miracle.
Remember?!’

She was grinning again.

The Reverend closed his eyes. He didn’t speak. Kelly leaned forward, confidingly. ‘I ain’t a
fool,
Rev,’ she murmured, ‘I know you’re pissed off wiv’ me. It’s written all over ya. Far as
you’re
concerned I’m just a pest – a dork, a
dill.
I don’t know nothin’ about nothin’. You just wanna get well rid an’ I don’t
blame
ya, neither…’ she paused, ‘but what I
also
know – in here…’ she pointed to her chest, ‘is that God’s brought us together for a
reason,
yeah…?’

‘I don’t
care,’
the Reverend said, haughtily.

Silence

‘Did you
hear
me?’

More silence

He slowly opened one eye and appraised Kelly with it. She didn’t seem in the slightest bit upset or intimidated. She was actually in the middle of sending a text. He opened his other eye and glared at her.

‘So what will it take?’ he suddenly demanded.

‘Huh?’

She glanced up from her phone.

‘What do you
want
from me, Kelly?’ He threw out his hands, dramatically. ‘What do I need to do? What do I need to
say
? That I’m actually an
abysmal
priest? That I’m self-centred? Vain? Lazy? Complacent? An uninspiring orator? That I smoke Cuban cigars and drink too much Advocaat? That I don’t care quite as much as I should
about the undeserving poor? That I download pornography? That I’m a fat-head and a hypocrite? That my life and my Ministry are a total disaster? Is
that
what you need to hear? Is
that
what it’s going to take to get you off my case?’

‘Advocaat?!’
Kelly exchanged horrified glances with Gaffar. ‘Are you
serious
? I thought only
grannies
ever necked that crap.’

‘Look…’ The Reverend clenched his hands into fists. ‘I
know
you’re a good girl – I mean at
some
level. Foul-mouthed,
abrasive,
even, but fundamentally sincere…’

‘An’ you’ve got a nice bum,’ she volunteered (in the spirit of fair exchange), ‘for an old codger.’

‘…but you don’t actually know me from
Adam,
do you?’ he persisted. ‘I mean I’m a
complete
stranger. I could be a psychopath, a fraud, an
imposter
…’

‘Sweet!’
Kelly chuckled. ‘That’s
well
sick! I fuckin’
love
the way your mind works…’

‘Just
listen
to me,’ the Reverend ploughed on, determined to get his point across. ‘If you’re serious about being a Christian, a
real
Christian, then take my advice and just…just…’ he faltered ‘…just do what E.T. did…’

‘Huh?’

‘Go home!
Join a local congregation. Grieve for your brother. Care for your mother. Reappraise your life. Acquaint yourself with the Bible. Accept Jesus as your personal saviour. Ponder. Consider.
Digest
…’

She gazed at him, quizzically.

‘I’m perfectly
serious,
Kelly,’ he maintained. ‘Because if there’s one thing I’ve learned during my time in the Church, it’s that faith’s not ready-made. It’s not convenient. It’s not a quarter-pounder with pickled gherkins and extra cheese. Faith is a
slow
meal. A nourishing meal. It’s plain and healthy and sensible. A kind of emotional
casserole
…’

‘Fine,’ Kelly butted in, ‘I
get
ya.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah. I know it ain’t gonna be no stroll in the
park
…’ Kelly conceded ‘…but what I
also
know,’ she continued staunchly, ‘is that you had those three visions an’
two
already came true. First my bro’ died…’ she held up one finger, ‘Then the
ceilin’
fell down…’ she held up another, ‘so what about number three?
Huh?
’

The Reverend collapsed back on to his pillows, covering his face with his hands.

‘The visions were
metaphorical,’
he groaned.

‘Balls!’
Kelly rubbished him. ‘You wanna know what
I
think?’

The Reverend shook his head. He didn’t want to know.

‘I think God’s tryin’a
tell
you somethin’,’ she insisted, ‘but you’re too shit-scared to listen. So he sent
me,
because I ain’t. Fact is, he’s
here,
Rev. In the air. In this room. All around you. Free will or
no
free will. He’s a
livin’
God an’ he can do
anythin’
he damn well chooses. He can push a person off a wall, tap ‘em on the shoulder, ring ‘em on a phone…’ Kelly grabbed the phone from her lap and held it high, for effect.