Behindlings (37 page)

The big, wild, Welsh
moose,
meanwhile – Arthur surreptitiously noted –

A coward? Moi?

– was being led – unrestrained – to the back of a police car. He offered no resistance. He seemed perfectly sober. Even in the unhealthy, inconsistent yellow-white of several passing headlights he looked to be a… a
reasonable
enough chap –

We’re on the same side here

Remember that

A black-haired man clambered up the steps behind them and patted Arthur (Arthur flinched) –

Oi! Hands off!

– on the shoulder (a greasy looking creature in a mac. He’d noticed him tormenting the local girl earlier. He’d seen him go through the pockets of her coat. Wouldn’t trust him an
inch
if it actually came down to it).

‘Excuse me,’ Bo panted jovially, proffering Arthur his rucksack, ‘I believe this is yours.’

He handed it over, with a puff, ‘What’ve you
got
in there, mate? Solid gold ingots? A 200CC bike engine? Your horse-shoe collection?’

He was speaking to Arthur but had eyes only for Wesley.

‘Thanks,’ Arthur took the bag – God it
was
heavy – and half-slung it over his shoulder.

Wesley lifted his head, blinked twice at the stranger and spoke
an entire sentence, in perfect order, ‘I will never sleep again,’ he stated emphatically. ‘And that is very, very
fucking
sad.’

‘Not feeling too good there, then, Wes?’ Bo asked.

Wesley shook his head, violently. ‘I will
not
feel,’ he told him, ‘and you will not
bloody
make me.’

Ted glanced over at Arthur, trying to send him a warning look. ‘Perhaps we should…’ he said. (Needed to get Wesley away from… as a matter of some… but without…)

‘Oh
shit
man. My nails are growing like
ivy…
’

Wesley was staring at his right hand now, full of wonder.

There were no fingers on this hand. No nails. No greenery.

Fortunately they were saved by the doctor.

‘I’m the doctor,’ he barked, materialising – without any kind of prompting – at Ted’s elbow, and holding up his doctor’s briefcase. He was a very small man but exceedingly charismatic.

‘Where can we take him? We need to sit him down. We need clean water. We need calm. We need…’

‘I’m wondering if there’s any particular
reason
that you should choose to return to Canvey at this point, Wes…?’ Bo continued, doggedly.

‘Hydrangea…
stranger,
’ Wesley pondered this distinction.

Bo whipped a high-tech palm from his pocket, flipped it open and removed the metal pen.

‘A kind of… of plant… or… or
flower…
?’ he questioned, starting to scribble.

‘
Quiet,
’ the doctor snapped, ‘for
God’s sake
let’s get him out of this circus.’

‘Over the road,’ Arthur nodded to the bag-bringer a second time. ‘Much obliged again,’ he said, pushing past him.

‘I can carry it for you, if you like,’ the greasy-haired man offered, finishing scribbling and then sticking the contraption hurriedly back into his pocket… ‘or take a turn with Wes, even…’

The doctor, however (almost as if sensing the threat Bo posed), was having none of it. ‘No stragglers,’ he growled, ‘just give
me
the bag and let’s get moving shall we?’

Arthur passed the bag over and they staggered off down the steps again, around the railings, across the road, back through the small crowd of onlookers. Ted found his keys and opened
the agency’s front door. He reached over for the light switch, automatically.

‘No lights,’ the doctor instructed, dumping Arthur’s bag with a grunt and pointing to the swivel chair, ‘put him down on that. Do you have a bathroom, a secure room? Anything approaching?’

Ted pointed, ‘But it isn’t very…’

The doctor indicated towards the front door, ‘I want you to lock it and stand guard. And you…’ he nodded to Arthur, ‘help me push him out into the back space.’

Arthur did as he was instructed. Wesley sat slackly on the chair, meanwhile, emitting a curious whistling sound – as if communicating in whale – while they struggled to shove him. The chair’s wheels kept buckling. He almost fell off and tried to stand. The doctor pushed him back down again, a fraction aggressively, Arthur felt – no
finesse –
Arthur hated doctors. They were all fucking Luddites.

Once they’d found their way into it, the small bathroom did indeed seem exceptionally cramped. Smelled of… (Arthur sneezed. He was echoed, in kind, by Wesley)… of
wax.
The doctor had a torch in his pocket. He took it out and turned it on. He shone it into Wesley’s face. Wesley closed his eyes.

‘
Owwwwww,
’ he groaned, abandoning all pretensions to bravery.

‘Open your eyes,’ the doctor said.

Wesley just smiled.

‘You need to help me, Wesley, to help yourself,’ the doctor yapped.

Over by the front door, meanwhile, Art noticed how –

Oh come on

– greasy-locks was trying to persuade Ted (through the window and by a series of intimidating mimes) that he should open up. Ted was at the point of yielding when Art swung rapidly past him to check on his bag. The buckles were all secure, but he still wasn’t…

‘Journalist?’ he muttered, keeping his head down.

‘Uh,
yes,
’ Ted said, nodding, smiling bravely at Bo, trying to look obliging.

‘Hand the keys over,’ Arthur straightened up. He tried his best to look officious. To look menacing.

This small charade had little effect, however, since Bo had already been distracted by a second man at the window who was mouthing the words, ‘My
case…
he’s got my…’

‘Go keep an eye on Wesley,’ Art said.

Bo was now engaging in conversation with this second man. A woman joined the fray. She seemed equally fascinated by what he was saying.

‘I don’t know if Wesley mentioned,’ Ted murmured as he made his way haltingly over to the back room, ‘but he did say you might take a look at my…’

He pointed, limply –

Computer

The woman was now indicating to Arthur that he should unlock the door. She was very pushy. Arthur recognised her from the bar as the infernally opinionated blabbermouth who’d been bending the local girl’s ear –
Bitch

‘Not
now,
obviously,’ Ted continued, ‘but maybe…’

He stopped abruptly.

‘Oh.’

Art glanced over his shoulder, ‘What’s up?’

Ted was frowning back at him, through the half-light. The bossy woman was now knocking on the glass, very emphatically.

‘I’m afraid the doctor’s locked the door,’ Ted announced.

‘
You
locked the door,’ Art answered, ‘and I’m glad you did. This woman’s a bloody menace.’

‘Her name’s Anna,’ Ted mumbled, ‘and she’s a plain clothes police officer.’

‘
Balls,
’ Art turned back to inspect her properly. She’d taken out her wallet and was holding up her badge.

‘… although for what it’s worth I actually meant the
bathroom
door,’ Ted tentatively continued.

‘
Huh?
’

Arthur wasn’t concentrating.

‘I said the doctor’s locked himself in with Wesley. I just heard the catch slip…’ Ted tried the handle. It was definitely locked.

‘
What?
’ Art was befuddled. He turned back around again. Ted had his ear pressed to the crack.

‘and whatever’s going on in there, it doesn’t sound… well not… not
medical…
more…’ Art jogged over, tried the handle, pushed the door, swore.

‘more like a kind of
water
torture,’ Ted finished up.

Art put his own ear to the doorframe.

Yes indeed

Something…

Something distinctly liquid…

The policewoman was now knocking so loudly that he could barely make out the words… but what he
could
hear sounded suspiciously…

Phlebas?
What’s
that
all about,
huh?

(Water splashing)

Huh?…
The… stupid
cat
poems. I know
exactly
what you’re playing at…

(More water)

Are…
hearing
me, you slippery little…

(Still more water)

‘How could we be so
stupid?
’ Arthur yelled, and kicked the door in fury, then looked down at the offending boot, slightly shocked –

Did I just say that?

Out loud?

Did I just…

He spun around. ‘We need to get inside there, and quick,’ he said, ‘that guy’s obviously some kind of maniac.’

Ted nodded – but nervously – as if Arthur himself might just as easily be the one worth worrying about. He stood awaiting instructions, though, perfectly obligingly.

Arthur was inspecting the handle. He tested it again with his hand. His mind was turning –

If this man…

If he…

It’ll save me the…

‘We’ll have to knock it down,’ he announced, ‘go and let the cop in.’

He threw the keys to Ted. Ted missed the catch. Arthur took a
few steps back and braced himself. Ted picked up the keys and ran. ‘You could always try…’ he called.

Arthur threw himself, bodily – shoulder first – against the doorframe. The door shook.

‘
… reasoning
with him,’ Ted concluded, wincing in tandem with the wood’s shuddering. He unlocked the front door and Anna charged in, dragging another straggler behind her but slamming it – unceremoniously – in Bo’s face.

‘This man has had his case stolen,’ she announced. ‘Where’s the light?’

She found the light switch and turned it on just in time to see Arthur flinging himself against the door for a second time. It shook again, but not very impressively.

‘
Police!
’ he gasped, trying to put the impostor on his mettle.

‘Don’t be yelling that,’ Anna calmly interrupted, walking over, ‘it’s not your place.’

Arthur turned and gave her a look of critical incomprehension.

‘The doctor’s got Wesley locked in the back,’ Ted jumped in, ‘we think he’s…’.

‘It wasn’t one of these two,’ the new man clarified (over the babble), ‘but a tiny, funny-looking
little
chap…’

A loud crash resounded inside the small room. A subsequent
kerfuffle
(rather drawn out) sounding not unlike a fist fight interspersed with successive shards of glass falling.

Ted covered his mouth with his hand. ‘Not the
mirror,
’ he whispered.

‘Stand back,’ the officer instructed. Arthur was barely out of the way before she’d karate kicked the door open (it shuddered defiantly in its frame, but remained aligned) and entered.
Shit

Wesley stood, his hair, face and chest dripping wet – eyebrows raised slightly – over by the toilet cubicle, brown tape looped around his wrists and covering his mouth. The doctor was crushed behind the door, bent over the sink, his forehead bleeding (the swivel chair pinning him into an uneasy submission).

‘I want to charge this man with assault,’ he gurgled in a worryingly high-pitched voice, pointing over towards Wesley.

‘I want this man charged with
theft,
’ the second stranger
announced, pushing his arm around the door and pulling his briefcase out of the fray.

The officer yanked off Wesley’s mouth tape, ‘Well we’re certainly keeping very
busy
tonight, aren’t we, sir?’

Wesley drew a deep breath.

She was standing very close to him.

Arthur could’ve sworn –

Oh God forbid

– that some kind of subterranean sexual
frisson
passed between them.

Wesley turned to Arthur. ‘
Never
the shoulder, Art,’ he panted informatively, trying to flick some of the water from his eyes, ‘
always
the foot…’ he tiredly re-enacted the relevant manoeuvre, ‘and as near-as-dammit to the lock.’

The policewoman pulled the tape from his wrists as Arthur watched on. Ted continued staring at the doctor as if still unable to entirely comprehend his shattered credibility. The doctor –apparently in no hurry to make any kind of escape –was gazing into the only remaining piece of mirror still hanging above the sink –a tiny oblong –hungrily exploring the depth and extent of the wound to his forehead.

‘I just don’t understand…’ Ted said (suddenly almost angry), ‘why you’d tape up his mouth if all you wanted was
answers…
’

Wesley smiled at Ted’s indignance. ‘This is
Furby,
Ted,’ he explained gently, pulling some extraneous tape adhesive from around his lips, ‘he’s my greatest fan. He gave me…’ he pulled back his sleeve –matter-of-factly –to reveal the vicious scar from what looked like a long stab wound to his left forearm, ‘
this
little beauty while I was still sleeping, Christmas morning, two years ago, and
this
…’ he pulled back his shirt collar to reveal a shorter less specific area of scarring across the top of his right shoulder, ‘last February when he ran me down on a stolen moped. He isn’t really interested in answers. He’s much more interested in…’ he chuckled, almost fondly, ‘in celebrating the whole process of
asking.
’

Ted frowned. He didn’t understand why it was that Wesley was being so flippant. Shouldn’t he at least be angry –or indignant –or… or scared?

Wes pointed towards the mirror, weakly, ‘Seven long years… huh?’ He rubbed his hands over his face, slicked back his wet hair, grinned.

‘I’m afraid I’m going to have to insist that you accompany…’ the female officer interrupted him (as further back-up started arriving).

‘And screw me…’ Wesley deadpanned smartly –