Behindlings (53 page)
Sex:
‘He was straight down the line, but sometimes he liked me to
bite
and pinch. Once he’d lost his hand we didn’t really sleep together any more – he lost interest, but I was heavily pregnant by then, with Sasha.’
And of course:
Wildlife:
‘At first – when he raised his hand – I thought he was going to hit me. But then he turned and pushed his fingers into the cage instead. It was dark… very dark. There was a scream. But it wasn’t him. It was the bird, the owl. This horrible… this unforgettable squealing noise. Like an animal in terrible pain.’
At this point Iris turns towards her fiancé for support. He takes her hand and squeezes it, comfortingly. The small, dark girl – Wesley’s daughter – sits by the window, apparently lost in her own childish world, smiling at a sparrow on the lawn, playing with her hair…
‘He said it was…’
Iris’s voice falters,
‘he tried to pretend it was me – when we talked about it, after – but it wasn’t. It
wasn’t.
It was the bird. And later on, Derek – the keeper – said that Wes’d asked to feed that particular owl himself over the previous couple of weeks – said he’d been paying it a lot of personal attention.
‘He actually thought Wes’d been disposing of its food, that he’d been starving it, in secret. On purpose. He thought he’d been planning the whole thing for quite a while…’
Iris clears her throat, her eyes fill with tears,
‘I mean he’s charming when he feels like it, but he’s a real manipulator. He plays with people’s feelings. I think he’s a…’
Iris lowers her voice, for the sake of the child, but she seems terrified,
‘a
schizophrenic.
He has two personalities. You can’t trust him. Especially after – well, his
history –
what he did to the younger brother
*
. That’s why I never want him to have anything to do with my Sasha.’
© Printed with kind permission of William Harvey
Arthur blinked –
Was I asleep?
He blinked again –
Why do I always remember the Wesley things?
And with such painful – such inexcusable – clarity?
He shivered, struggling to switch himself back into the present.
They were sitting together, close to the doorway. It was freezing. Arthur didn’t want to move any further inside – couldn’t risk it – and they’d kept the door open, in case of –
If the girl – the daughter – fell into the water
If she was lost in the water
That would be just…
Stop
That would be just…
STOP!
‘Snowing,’ the girl suddenly murmured. They’d been quiet for a long while. The only sounds were the gurgle of the low tide hitting the boat’s stilts, the boat creaking, the slight wind, the distant and intermittent throb of the flyover.
Arthur looked down at his wrist –
Time
– it was three forty a.m. –
Late
– then he gazed up into the sky. She was right. Snow. Improbably large flakes. His heart sank.
He took out his phone and gazed at it – the third time in as many minutes – pressed some buttons, but it still wasn’t working. Almost – kind of –
blocked –
in some way –
Is that possible?
Seriously?
Wesley’s call had been the last he’d received. But did that… could that make him culpable?
Am I going crazy?
‘The man who wrecked the boat,’ Arthur said –
It had to be…
– ‘did you get a good look at him by any chance?’
Sasha shook her head, ‘Too dark, and it was raining.’
Arthur pushed his phone back into his pocket and gently pulled his rucksack from his shoulders, careful not to do anything too abruptly. He was cold. She must be too. He pulled out his sleeping bag and unfolded it, propped it around them and loosely tucked it in.
His cut arm was aching. And warm. And numb. It was still bleeding. Felt heavy. He’d tied a handkerchief around it, but wasn’t entirely sure what good that was doing. His stomach rumbled –
Hungry
He was sure he had a small packet of honey and sesame crackers hidden away inside his rucksack, somewhere.
‘Do you swim?’ he asked, scrabbling around – eventually removing his computer, a flask, some spare socks. ‘I mean if the worst comes to the worst?’
The girl nodded, ‘But there’s rocks down below. That’s why my grandad settled the boat here. The tide’d need to be pretty high before we could risk jumping without getting hurt on them.’
‘Pardon?’
Arthur had the sesame crackers in his hand. But his hand had frozen, mid-air.
‘Rocks,’ she reiterated slowly, ‘down below.’
‘Oh,’ Arthur nodded his head, then forced himself to start moving again. He offered her the packet.
‘What are they?’ she frowned.
‘Honey and sesame crackers. Good for energy. Take one. It’ll keep you lively.’
‘Giraffes,’ she told him morosely, reaching out for the bag and carefully removing one, ‘only ever sleep for three minutes a night.’
Arthur was piling the other stuff back into his rucksack again – everything so far but the computer, which remained on his lap. ‘Not so,’ he said.
He couldn’t let her have it. He was Arthur Anthony Young, after all.
‘Is so too,’ she answered.
Arthur shook his head, ‘I think you’ll find that they only ever
doze for three minute
durations.
In total – throughout the day – they sleep for about half an hour…’
Silence
‘Which isn’t very
long,
’ he conceded, ‘admittedly.’
She handed him back his cracker packet, grumpily.
‘How about deer?’ he asked, taking them and removing one for himself, then glancing over his shoulder towards Brion. Brion was still standing firmly and implacably between the kitchen cabinets. He’d barely moved an inch in the past twenty minutes.
‘Brion likes the cold,’ she said, ‘reindeer live on the ice-caps out of preference. This is nothing to him. This is a walk in the park for Brion.’
‘Well that’s a weight off my mind, then,’ Arthur said, shocked to discover his lip curling. He took a bite from his cracker and chewed on it, thoughtfully.
Sasha – as if looking to him for a lead – took a nibble of hers then pulled a face.
‘Although in actual fact creatures rarely adapt to something out of preference,’ Arthur continued. ‘It’s more often a case of biological necessity. For all we know Brion could dislike the cold as much as you do, but his body just happens to
cope
with it better than yours does.’
‘
Yeah,
’ the little girl sighed, shoving her finger into her mouth to try and prise the glutinous layer of honey and sesame away from her back molars.
‘So why are you here?’ Arthur asked.
Sasha removed her finger from her mouth and inspected it. Then she took another bite of her cracker and chewed on it, deliberately.
‘I was just wondering,’ she said, her mouth still full, ‘how long it would be before you asked me that.’
She nodded towards his lap, ‘Is that a computer?’
‘Yes. Laptop.’
‘Can I take a look?’
‘No.’
‘What kind is it?’
Arthur frowned, ‘
Uh… Toshiba.
’
‘Piece of shit, huh?’
‘Not at all.’
She sniffed.
‘So this was your grandfather’s boat?’
‘Did
I
say that?’ Her eyes widened.
‘Yes.’
‘Then I suppose it must be true, dammit.’
She pushed out her hand into the darkness to try and catch a snowflake on it. Brion shifted. The boat shifted. Arthur grabbed hold of the doorframe, as if in preparation for hurling himself through it. But the boat slowly settled back into place again.
‘That
pesky
reindeer,’ the girl tutted, rolling her eyes, unfazed. Arthur released his grip, humiliated. He looked down at his hand, his arm. The handkerchief had been white. Now it was dark.
‘Aren’t you afraid?’ he asked the girl, quietly.
‘Aren’t you?’ she backhanded.
‘Slightly.’
‘Are there games on your computer?’
‘No.’
She snorted, ‘I bet there are, too.’
‘No,’ he shook his head. ‘No games. I’ve never seen games on it.’
‘I bet there are.’
‘And the battery’s almost flat.’
‘I bet there are, though.’
Arthur was silent.
‘Games,’ she persisted.
Arthur remained silent.
‘I
bet.
’
He drew a deep breath. ‘We’re going to have to wait until dawn. I don’t really see what other choices we have. The big question is whether when the water eventually rises the boat becomes more insecure.’
‘Are you familiar with the tides?’ Sasha asked. ‘I imagine you must be if you live here permanently.’
Her eyes were still on the computer.
‘I’ve not lived here long,’ he acknowledged, ‘not really.’
‘Oh.’
She nodded. She shrugged.
They listened to the boat creaking. Brion sighed, noisily.
‘It should be light enough by seven, seven-thirty. And you never know, someone might… A
rambler
or a
hiker
or a
farmer
or
someone…
’
‘Or
someone,
’ the girl repeated, echoing his curious emphasis. He glanced up –
Is she taking the piss?
‘I bet you
do
have games,’ she continued, fiddling with the pom-poms on her wrists.
Arthur pulled open his laptop, turned it on. He blinked at the sudden light it generated.
‘Go to
Start
and call up the menu. Then roll up to
Programs,
’ she instructed, leaning over. He ignored her, heading instead for the battery sign in the bottom right-hand corner, pressing it for more information. 1 hr20 flashed up –
Okay
Arthur whizzed over to
Start.
‘
Programs,
’ she reminded him impatiently, pressing her finger onto the screen.
‘Keep your hands off,’ he warned. ‘It’s… it’s…’
Couldn’t think of the word. She ignored him, anyway.
‘Now over to
Accessories,
’ she wheedled.
Arthur went to
Accessories.
‘
Games,
’ she chuckled. ‘See?
See?
’
She was pointing, rocking excitedly.
But Arthur wasn’t looking at
Games
(a choice of four:
Free Cell, Hearts, Minesweeper, Solitaire).
He wasn’t itching to play, or cursing his ignorance or celebrating his laptop’s extraordinary multiplicity. He was looking at the desktop, at his files (peeking out reliably from under the sudden city-scape of menu-boxes) and he was seeing,
Better watch your step, Arthur
‘Let’s play Minesweeper,’ the girl said, moving in closer, inching a proprietorial finger towards the keyboard.
WATCH YOUR STEP, ARTHUR
‘What?’
What?
This time Arthur didn’t try and stop her.
*
correction
: William Harvey would like it to be stated
here that Wesley’s brother was not – as Iris specifies in the interview – younger than him, but older, by approximately sixteen months.
. That’s why I never want him to have anything to do with my Sasha.’
It was still dark – still night – when he slowly unwound his arms from around her and –
Oh the smell of him
Like sweet ginger and leaf-mould and Polyfilla
– quietly left the car murmuring –
That voice
Like the wind through an ash tree
– something about –
Don’t wake up
Don’t worry
I just need a…
– not being gone a minute. Not a
minute –
he’d said, breathing into her ear. She remembered that breath –
Warm
– then a blast of cold air as he’d opened the door, pulled on his jacket, his waterproof, slammed it.
She remembered yanking the sleeping bag over her shoulder, her arm throbbing. She remembered her knee being punctured by the gear-stick –
Don’t
care
– and her feet feeling like solid blocks of –