Behindlings (49 page)

He did

‘And all of the others,’ Dewi continued, ‘they’re just as bad: the people who Follow, the sad Old Man with his dead son, the business corporation behind that stupid competition, the people running those computer sites who repeat those lies about her, the
publishers…
they’re
all implicated. They spread the lie too. They revitalise it. They re-energise it. Make it real. Give it its power.’

Arthur suddenly stopped nodding.

‘No,’ he said. ‘It’s more…’ he frowned, ‘if you don’t mind my saying so, it’s much more
subtle
than that –and this is what you have to try and take some kind of
solace
in –because the people Following, the site on the Net tracking Wesley, the articles in the paper; these apparent trappings of his success are actually its very
opposite.
These people aren’t his allies –you’d have to be a fool to think that. These people are his punishment.

‘And those… those institutions which on the one hand seem to celebrate his so-called individuality, are the very same institutions which unwittingly curtail it. They dog him. They smother him. They torment and they
control
him.’

As he spoke, Dewi observed Arthur’s hands moving between his knees; as though they were playing some kind of invisible instrument –a harmonium, a small organ, maybe… slowly at first, and then faster…

He frowned at them. For some reason those hands made him feel uneasy.

Arthur was still speaking. Dewi tuned in again.

‘Wesley likes to project this enviable sense of… of
freedom –
from care, responsibility, from any kind of con… con…’ Arthur squinted, ‘conventional moral life, even –but he’s like a wild hare trapped in a jeep’s headlights. He’s
frozen
inside that glare. He’s
blinded
by it. He’s incapacitated. There’s no release, no reprieve, no… no
escape
from it.’

On
escape,
Arthur’s frantic hands quietened, and in the calm following the tumult –the peace after the climax –Arthur’s thin face broke into a gentle half-smile. ‘Perhaps,’ he spoke kindly, ‘perhaps you should try and take some kind of comfort from that fact, Dewi.’

Ah…

Used the name

Finally

Dewi leaned forward and threw another log onto the fire, choosing not to comment on Arthur’s assessment of things, not to give
any inkling as to whether he’d accepted or digested the stuff he was telling him.

‘When you have sex with Katherine again,’ he murmured (settling back down onto his stool, not changing his tone of voice, not meeting Arthur’s benign gaze, but speaking directly into the fire, almost tenderly), ‘could I ask you to use protection? And to bear in mind the things I’ve said? And to be gentle with her. And to be kind. She has a…’ he suddenly chuckled, fondly, ‘she has a sensitive spot just behind the lobe of her left ear. There’s a small birthmark… I don’t know if you… I don’t know if you… but she always laughs when you touch her there.’

As he spoke he pushed his hand into his shirt pocket and took hold of something. For a second, for a brief –

Awful

– moment, Arthur thought it might be a neat packet of prophylactics –

With spermicide

Ribbed

Unflavoured

‘Here’s that money I promised… for Harmony,’ Dewi stretched his arm towards Arthur. There was a roll of notes in it. He did not look at him as he handed it over, but kept his eyes fixed –all the while –on the licking flames ahead of him.

Arthur stood up to take the money, feeling slightly like a boy who’s been asked to vacate the cub-house after using bad language –

Akela’s arse is grass

Baden-Powell’s a knob-head

– feeling low and vulgar and somewhat flustered.

‘That’s very… very generous,’ he muttered, gauging the density of the roll; instinctively weighing up its financial content –

Significant

He remained standing for a minute or so, longing to say something –

To exonerate

– but this was no time –no place –for justifications. He knew it –

I am dismissed

He stood still for a second longer, then moved off, almost sloping
(hyena-like) towards the door, shoving the bundle into his pocket, pulling up the collar on his jacket –as if protecting himself, but not from the cold outside so much as something… something

interior –

He instinctively knew I could be bought off

Is it really that obvious?

Exactly the same way Wesley knew, earlier

He pulled the door open, stepped through, then softly closed it behind him. Once outside –

Deep breath

Deep breath

– instead of fleeing, Arthur paused for a second on the Welshman’s wide verandah.

The evening was still foggy. He looked up. He smelled the fruity smoke from the woodfire; saw it hanging in the air. He saw a slip of moon, peeking, just momentarily –undelineated, a
fuzz
of potentiality –through the moist and whited cloud around him. He observed the green paint on the timber, too, reflected in that nearly-shine –

Cool mint

– and he was suddenly caught up and transported on that mild patina –that
green –
through winter, through spring, to the middle of an unimagined –an
unimaginable –
summer –

Yet here I am

Here I am…

Imagining

– found himself reborn, standing tall on that roomy porch, early evening; a loose-limbed boy, full of anticipation –

Ah yes…

Possibility

‘ his head flung back, his mouth hung open, his innocent eyes roundly gazing as the clouds of fireflies commenced their nightly swarming –rising from the swamps, the high-tide-line, the marshes ‘ and then rapidly descending,
en masse
(who gave the instruction? Who was it? Who
told
them?), to candy-coat that smooth, creamy-clean-leaf-ice-green facade into a billion strong, crazy-black-speck-fidget of double-double-chocolate chipping.

Thirty-five

She was still –

Like a corpse

– for the first hour, at least. He was still, too. Seemed almost unconscious –

Motionless

– his breathing shallow but regular.

They were touching –

Shoulder

Hip

Bottom

Inside thigh

Inside knee

Foot

His arm was looped around –

Breath – on – my – neck

– her scrawny waist, holding them close together –

For the warmth

There was –

Yes

‘ a certain pressure –

A firmness

‘ to the back of her –

No suggestion of impropriety

‘ which after forty minutes she realised –

God

‘ was actually the pocket on his jacket, fallen open –

Fallen back

- full of stuff, acting as a tiny yet very distinct –

Push

‘ barrier between them. Against her buttocks.

The front pocket – when she started thinking about it – was directly beneath her left arm – which was slung –
light/heavy/mad with tension

– over the top of his.

Josephine Angela Bean steadied her breathing and considered that pocket for a very long time. She opened her eyes; the sleeping bag was pulled up and tucked firmly under her chin. Down lower she was covered by it entirely, like a small insect encased in its silky pupa – could see nothing. It was more a question of –

Of feeling

‘ of moving slightly, perhaps adjusting her position. But very –

Very

– casually.

She sighed – a dozy sigh, almost a snore – and shifted sleepily – just those parts that were necessary –

Shoulder

Thigh

Fingers especially…

– so that her hand was now gently positioned on top of the pocket, her thumb already pretty much pushed inside it. She felt a mixture of –

Can’t – help – myself

‘ intriguing sensations; tantalising objects –

Paper, foil, loose tobacco…

‘ but needed to… to investigate still more thoroughly –

To pilfer

‘ so gradually moved her index finger deep inside to join the other.

This is my job, she told herself; I am trained for it. I am
good
at it –

Talented…

A vocation to enter

To pry

To gain gentle access to those secret recesses

To check out

To investigate

To gauge

To be firm and calm and unobtrusive

Between her finger and thumb she slowly gripped a folded wad of… of…

Like those machines in the Amusement Arcade

Full of prizes

The chocolate bunnies

The cheap watches in bubbled plastic

The teddies

The silver pincer; swinging, dipping, tightening…

She remained still –

Holding

– for what seemed like forever. Listened. Wesley’s breath on her neck was exactly –if not more –

Was that possible?

– regular than before. She –

Oh Lord, can’t help it

– suddenly shuddered –

The thrill

‘ then quickly pulled herself together. Was cautious –

Excitable

‘ as an adder –early evening –public park –hiding under a discarded sheet of corrugated metal –

Old roof –wall –shed –

Sharp-edged

Orange with rust

– waiting, only, to slither free –unblinking –frozen –heightened.

Slowly –

Slowly

– she began to withdraw –

Thumb

Finger Elbow

In the slightest coordination

Many minutes –

So many

– passed. Millimetre by millimetre. Until finally –

YES

– that papery object was free. She had it.

I have it!

‘No you don’t,’ Wesley leaned a fraction closer (whispering softly into the hairs on the back of her neck), placed his hand firmly over her hand and took the object from her.

Josephine froze –gave it up readily –

‘I was…’ she said, ‘it must’ve just
slipped
into…’

‘Your arse is
grass,
Bean,’ Wesley murmured (his voice wicked with grin –
or vindictive, was it?)
into the brushed-cut softness of the hair behind her ear. ‘Give me my jacket back you sneaky little viper.’

She felt his fingers on her, around her neck. Froze harder –

Will he kill me? Like he killed his brother?

– but the hands did not tighten there, merely gripped the lapels of the jacket and slid it firmly from her shoulders. She pushed herself up a little, onto her elbow, to facilitate the coat’s removal. He yanked the sleeves down to just above her wrists then left it there, pulled her down again, roughly –

Arms all constricted…

Behind my…

Cannot…

– then leaned up onto his forearm, curving around her –like an insinuating sepal, cupping a wildflower –slightly higher now than before, breathing onto her left cheek, his lips close to the line of her jaw.

Electric tickle from ear to nipple

Then –even –
uh –

Lower

He opened his right hand –

Firm –index-finger

– and traced the curve from the back of her ear to the tip of her chin –

As if rehearsing some kind of incision

– then brushed his thumb over her cheek, to the corner of her lips.

Her mouth fell open. She breathed through it. A tiny expulsion. ‘Tell me who you are,’ he said –

No longer a smile there

‘I’m just a… just a Follower, like all of the others.’

Her voice was shaking; more, even, than she’d imagined. Her mouth was dry.

He chuckled at this, ‘No…’

Bent in closer, whispered into her ear, ‘… if you were just a Follower I wouldn’t be here. The sugar people sent you. The fat man with his gold-buttoned blazer. They’re panicking.’

She tried to shake her head, ‘
No
… I don’t…’

Her arms were already aching –

Twisted neck

– the cuts were stinging.

‘My
arms…
’

Wesley slid his finger from her mouth, over the contour of her jaw, down her throat, across her chest, around her waist, to her elbow. ‘Boo-noo,’ he whispered, gripping it, hurting. He pushed his face into the nape of her neck. She could feel his lips –

Tongue

– tracing an inexplicable pattern there. She felt like a mystical deer –

Shot

Bleeding

– fatally injured by its huntsman-lover.

‘Then
who?
’ his chin –

Stubble

‘ was tucked –

Rubbing

‘ into the curve of her shoulder, making her throat tighten and her chin jerk forward, unintentionally.

‘Or is it local industry? Is it the Gas Terminal people? Have they sent you down here to try and bribe me?’

‘No.’

She felt the badger-cold of his nose behind her ear again –