The Yips. Nicola Barker

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СКАЧАТЬ Is that the deal?!’

      Ransom slowly shakes his head.

      ‘Or how about this?’ Noel calmly pushes the bottle against his own throat. ‘Is this more like it? Is this the kind of thing you had in mind, eh?’

      ‘Fabulous tattoo,’ Jen mutters, inspecting Noel’s forearm as she straightens up and shakes out her hair. ‘What is it? A swan? A goose?’

      Noel ignores her.

      ‘I swear on my life I didn’t set this thing up,’ Ransom persists. ‘I swear on my daughter’s life –’

      ‘Fuck off !’ Noel snaps, stepping back, jabbing harder. A small rivulet of blood begins trickling down his neck.

      ‘Or a big duck,’ Jen speculates. ‘A big, ugly old duck …’

      As she speaks Jen sees the Japanese woman from the front desk entering the bar and peering around her. Jen makes a small gesture with her hand to warn her off. The woman stands her ground. Jen repeats the gesture.

      ‘This is crazy, Noel,’ Ransom is murmuring. ‘I’m sure if we just …’

      ‘A really big, ugly, old duck,’ Jen repeats. ‘A really nasty, mean old duck. Like a … a …’

      She struggles to think of a specific breed of duck. ‘… a Muscovy or a …’

      Noel’s eyes flit towards her.

      ‘It’s not a fucking duck,’ he growls, insulted.

      ‘Sorry?’

      Jen takes a small step forward.

      ‘It’s not a duck,’ he hisses, lifting the arm, ‘it’s a snake, you fucking bubble-head.’

      ‘Really?’ Jen draws in still closer, taking hold of the arm and perusing it at her leisure. ‘A snake you say? Lemme just … Oh … yeah … yeah! Look at that! I can see all the scales now. The detailing’s incredible!’

      Noel says nothing.

      ‘So what kind of a snake?’ Jen persists. ‘Is it indigenous or tropical?’

      Noel ignores her. He’s focusing in on the golfer again.

      ‘An asp?’ Jen suggests.

      Still nothing.

      ‘A viper?’

      ‘It’s a fucking adder.’

      On ‘adder’ Noel pushes the bottle even harder into his throat.

      ‘Oh God, yes,’ Jen exclaims, ‘of course it is. An adder. I can see that now. If you look really closely you can make out the intricate diamond design on the …’

      Behind them – and over the continuing commotion from beyond the window – another conversation suddenly becomes audible.

      ‘Ricker,’ a woman is saying, ‘Mr Ricker.’

      ‘Did you enquire at the front desk?’

      (Gene’s voice, getting louder.)

      ‘I went to desk,’ the woman replies, in halting English, ‘but there is nobody …’

      ‘Did you ring the bell?’

      ‘She say he will meet in bar. Mr Ricker.’

      ‘Well, the bar’s almost shut now. It’s very late …’

      (They enter the bar.)

      ‘I know. Yes. My flight also late. My plane also late.’

      ‘It’s been pretty much empty since …’

      Gene slams to a halt as he apprehends the scene.

      ‘What on earth’s happened to the window?’ he demands, indignant.

      ‘If you don’t mind’ – Jen raises a peremptory hand – ‘we’re actually just in the middle of something here …’

      Gene focuses in on Noel, who currently has his back to them (and Ransom, who’s all but obscured by Noel). He starts to look a little wary.

      ‘Mr Ricker?’

      The Japanese woman steps forward. Noel half turns his head.

      ‘Is everything all right?’ Gene asks.

      ‘Everything’s fine,’ Jen says, nodding emphatically.

      ‘No problem,’ Ransom echoes, shifting into view and smiling, jovially.

      Noel slowly lowers the bottle from his throat.

      ‘What’s happened to your cheek?’ Gene wonders.

      (There is blood on Ransom’s cheek where a tiny splinter of glass from the beer bottle has lightly nicked his skin.) Ransom lifts a hand to the cheek and pats at it, cautiously. ‘It’s fine.’ He winces. ‘It’s nothing.’

      As Ransom speaks, Noel gently places the broken bottle on to the bar and then casually lifts his shirt to show Jen his chest. His chest is painfully emaciated but exquisitely decorated. The tail of the adder curls over his shoulder and finishes – in a neat twirl – around his nipple. All the remaining skin on his belly, waist and diaphragm has been intricately inked into a crazily lifelike, rough, wicker corset.

      ‘Oh God!’ Jen gasps, suddenly remembering. ‘Wickers!’

      Noel grins.

      ‘But of course – my dad coached you in five-a-side for years …’

      She squints at the tattoo work, amazed, as bright trickles of blood drip down on to the design.

      ‘Mr Ricker?’ The Japanese woman takes another cautious step forward.

      Noel half turns, dropping the T-shirt. ‘Mrs Kawamura?’

      Mrs Kawamura bows her head as Noel tramps his way, carelessly, through shards of glass and goes over to formally introduce himself. They shake hands, then Noel politely indicates the way and they leave the foyer together. Gene gazes after Noel, bemused.

      ‘His mum was Head of Housekeeping,’ Jen says, matter-of-factly. ‘Mrs Wickers. D’you remember her?’

      ‘Uh … no.’ Gene shakes his head.

      Jen squats down and starts picking up the larger pieces of glass. Ransom is still sitting on his stool, looking pale and disorientated.

      ‘Should I fetch the first aid box?’ Gene wonders.

      ‘Hang on a second …’ Ransom lifts a hand. ‘You didn’t …’ He blinks a couple of times then frowns. ‘That story you were telling earlier. About the Jap kid. The one СКАЧАТЬ