Darkmans. Nicola Barker

Чтение книги онлайн.

СКАЧАТЬ who is, to all intents and purposes, quite extraneous to the situation – then that’s perfectly understandable…’ Beede said benignly. ‘In fact it’s utterly human.’

      Kelly was quiet for a while, then, ‘You’re head-fucking me,’ she announced.

      ‘Don’t be ridiculous.’

      ‘You are.’

      ‘I merely stated a simple truth about your brother.’

      ‘No,’ she paused. ‘No. I’m wise to your tricks, see? On the surface you’re pretendin’ to be all sweet and kind and charmin’ about it – like butter wouldn’t melt – but underneath, what you’re really sayin’ – what you’re really thinkin’ – is that I’m somehow to blame for what’s happened to him…’

      ‘Not that you are,’ Beede mildly demurred, ‘but that perhaps – at some level – you believe you might be.’

      Kelly gasped (her hand flew to her chest). ‘You think I scragged my own brother?!’

      ‘Now you’re just being hysterical,’ Beede snapped, barely managing to compose his features in time to nod, politely, at a passing Staff Matron.

      ‘Fuck off I am!’

      ‘Good. Fine. Whatever you say, Kelly.’

      She stared up at him, in wonderment, the scales apparently fallen. ‘Oh. My. God. You are evil.’

      ‘I’d better get back,’ Beede smiled, crisply (no point in a denial). ‘It may’ve escaped your attention, but I’m actually meant to be employed by this hospital.’

      ‘Yeah. That’d be right. Off you go, Grandad…’ Kelly waved him away, airily. ‘Back to work. Back to the grindstone, eh? Back to cleanin’ your dirty, bloody laundry…’

      Her voice oozed ill-will.

      Beede didn’t respond, initially, he just cocked his head and gazed at her, blankly, as if inexplicably baffled by the words she’d just uttered. Kelly shifted, uneasily, under his vigorous scrutiny.

      Then – quite out of the blue – he smiled. He beamed. ‘Have I got this all wrong…?’ he asked (suddenly the very essence of genial avuncularity). ‘Or were you actually experimenting with a clever piece of word-play there?’

      Before she could muster up an answer (she’d half-opened her mouth, in preparation, but had yet to rally her considerable intellectual forces – she was still in shock from the fall, after all), he’d patted her, encouragingly, on her bony shoulder.

      ‘Because if you were, I’m very impressed, dear. Well done. Bravo!’

      Kelly’s eyes bulged at this near-perfect kiss-off.

      ‘And by the way…’ Beede continued, benevolently, ‘if you were hoping for a visit from your mother any time soon…’ (Her mouth quickly snapped shut again. Oh God. The very thought almost calcified her entire bone-structure) –’…then you’ll be delighted to know,’ he purred soothingly, ‘that she’s here.’

      The cat had found sanctuary in its basket. Only a piercing pair of china-blue eyes were now visible, peeking out at him, anxiously, from the creaking confines of its smart, wicker corral. Kane blew an idle raspberry at it, and the cat hunched down even lower, emitting a strangely haunting, dog-like yowl.

      He glanced around him. It’d been a long while since he’d ventured inside Beede’s bedroom, but during this considerable interim, a dramatic transformation – a revolution – had taken place.

      Where previously Beede had been the master of decorative understatement (books, reading lamp, bed, eiderdown, matching Victorian dark-wood cupboard and chest of drawers) now the place was like some kind of Aladdin’s cave: a veritable bring-and-buy sale of disparate objects, for the most part stacked up in crates (which now covered – floor to ceiling – three of the four walls).

      The crates had been turned on to their sides, so that the items within were individually showcased; almost as if inhabiting their own miniature plywood theatres. Kane remembered staging theatrical endeavours of this kind himself, as a boy, in cardboard boxes; with badly painted back-drops, a batch of plastic animals and his Action Man – but –

      

      Hey…

      – surely Beede was taking things a little far here…?

      Even the cat’s basket had been placed inside a crate. And each crate – Kane scowled as he bent down to inspect one – was tagged with a crisp, white label containing a date, a description of the item – eg:

      13.08.2002

      Three coffee mugs c. 1997

      One bears the inscription: The world’s best fisherman

      Cup three has slight chip on lip

      – as well as a digital image of the item/s in question neatly affixed underneath.

      Kane found himself staring at the photograph of the mugs for some minutes –

      

       Has Beede completely lost his marbles?

       Or is it me?

       Is it the weed?

       Has my fantasy/fact facility become utterly jumbled?

      He was finally stirred from his reverie by a hoarse cough from the cat –

      

       Hairball?

      He moved over to inspect its crate (squatted down to read the label):

      22.12.2002

      Blue-point Siamese

      ‘Chairman Miaow’, aka ‘Manny’

      Three years old

      Neutered male

      He stared at its photograph, then directly at the animal –

      

       Hmmn.

       A good likeness.

      The cat returned his stare, unblinking.

      Kane’s mind suddenly turned to the chiropodist –

      

       Ella?

       No

       Ellen?

      He thought about her СКАЧАТЬ