Behindlings (54 page)

Stuff that falls from the septic tanks of aeroplanes

A bright blue colour

Crashes through the air and lands –

Oh God!

On the heads of an innocent couple going cycling

In a newly established country park near…

She woke up –

Wah?

Her feet
were
frozen. Crampy. She tried to shake them –

Where am I?

She was suddenly jolted. Sat upright, gasping –

Where’s Wesley?

The sun was rising. But it was cloudy. The windows were icy. There was snow – just a thin layer – and the simple reflection was making everything whiter –

Lighter

– than it otherwise might be.

The clock on her dash said 2.23. But that clock wasn’t working –

Actually

– so there was no point in looking. She was guessing 7.00… 7.30?

Jo threw off the sleeping bag, grabbed her clothes (still damp, for the most part) threw them back on (without even a murmur) found
Utah Blaine,
rolled the bag up, grabbed the flask –

Uh…

– Doc’s tupperware container –

Okay –Okay –Okay

She was almost panting –

Panicking

Then something occurred to her –

Footprints

– there was
snow
out there. There would be…

She threw open the passenger door, gazed down.
There
they were… relatively clear. Although a certain –and quite inevitable –amount of back-and-forthing –

Uh…

She slammed the car door behind her, stamped her feet to try and bring the life back into them, yanked down her hat (over her ears), secured the bag under her arm –shoved the flask into one coat pocket (pulling the seams too tight –not caring), the tupperware into the other, the book…
the book…
down the front of her jeans –

Only place for it

– and strode out, her brown eyes glued to the floor…

But it was never as –

Whoops

Arms rotating like a wind up wooden toy

Almost fell over

– but it was never as simple as it should be –

No

– because there were other footprints too –

And bird and dog and…

Bloody hell

– a total mish-mash.

It was still blessedly early, though. She turned a corner. A blast of cold sea air hit her –

Full in the face

A huge, perishing…

Fist

A mighty, spiralling

Whooah…!

She teetered on the edge of the pavement, blinking. The prints were even less decipherable here –and leading off in
both
directions. She tossed a coin in her head, rubbed her nose –

God, the tickling

– turned left, kept walking until…

Ahh

Ahhhh

Ahhh-tish-u!

Urgh

‘Bless you.’

Jo looked up, dazed, her eyes streaming. She’d been concentrating so hard it’d been almost like dreaming. Doc reached out his arm and took the sleeping bag from her. They were standing near the gates of the caravan site, the sea wall rearing above them like the precipitous brow of Frankenstein’s monster –

Did he come this way?

The other?

Gulls were circling, their keening cries at once muffled and amplified by the fleecy sky. ‘He’s long gone,’ Doc said, ‘and the phone and the internet sites are both still down.’

‘I was just bringing you back…
uh…
’

Jo grabbed the flask from her pocket, the tupperware.

She glanced down at the footprints. Up again. Doc was offering her a tissue.

‘Those prints you’re following are mine,’ he said, ‘I came to check up on you about an hour ago –just before first light –and he was already well-gone by that time.’

‘Oh…’

Jo took the tissue, pained, ‘So you knew?’

‘Of
course
I knew,’ Doc looked suitably irritated. ‘It’s my
job
to know. I’m Doc.’

As he spoke he glanced around him with an air of slight anxiety (as if uttering his own name so brazenly might prove inexplicably risky). Jo gazed around her too. Her eyes settled on a man –still in the middle distance, but heading towards them, at speed –wearing a smart coat, holding a white stick. He was being led by another man, much younger, and sighted. Shoes was just behind, following in their slipstream.

‘This Internet stuff’s causing chaos, huh?’ Jo said. ‘Are you in direct contact with the site? I thought you were their man on the ground. Are they likely to sort it all out?’

Doc didn’t answer. He tipped his head stiffly towards the approaching threesome. ‘The Blind Man,’ he murmured, ‘have you had the pleasure yet?’

‘No.’

‘I strongly recommend you keep it that way.’

‘Why?’

‘Ex-cop.’

She glanced up. Doc gave her a straight look. Shrugged. Turned back to appraise the advancing party. ‘I’m a little worried,’ he mused, ‘that Shoes might’ve gone over to the other side.’

‘Pardon?’

‘Why not just walk on,’ Doc advised her, his voice suddenly lower, more urgent, as if he’d made a decision, a snap one, ‘and be casual. Say nothing about Wesley. Give nothing away. Meet me in the Wimpy. We need to talk privately.’

‘When?’

‘Ten minutes. If anyone starts bothering you, pretend you’re still crazy. They all really fell for that clever little tactic yesterday.’

‘But I…’

I wasn’t pretending

‘The whole
shebang,
’ he expanded, raising his white brows at her. Jo scowled, gazed up at the sea wall. ‘What about Wesley?’

‘I’ve got it covered,’ Doc casually rested his hand on his coat pocket, tapped it ‘tracking device,’ he muttered, ‘Dennis is working undercover.’

‘The
dog?
’

‘Scarper,’ Doc growled, ‘I’ll fill you in later. And for
God’s sake…
’

He pointed towards her chest, grimacing.

Jo looked down –

Bollocks

The jumper

– she pulled her coat tighter, blushing, then cleared her throat and raised her voice, ‘Tell Hooch thanks for the bag. I suppose I’d better be getting back to my car…’

She thrust the thermos and the tupperware into his huge, old hands. Doc nodded, ‘You do that.’

She started walking; zigzagging across the road, to the opposite pavement, peering keenly to the right of her as if looking for something (a key or a sign or some money). As she drew adjacent to the others she could hear the sighted guide talking, ‘A young woman,’ he described, ‘skinny, wearing a knitted hat…’

‘The nurse,’ Shoes butted in, ‘the one from the bar.’

‘
Hey,
’ the Blind Man pointed his stick towards her. Jo pretended she hadn’t noticed. Walked even faster.

‘
Hey,
’ the Blind Man repeated. His tone was stentorian.

She continued to ignore it.

‘Jo,’ Shoes called, ‘
Jo.
Hold up a minute. This is Herbie. He’s
blind.
He wants a…’

Jo turned around, still very much on the move. ‘I’ve got…
uh…
’ she shouted back, then almost tripped up, ‘the
AA,
’ she continued, jerkily, readjusting her posture, ‘coming over to check out my car. I have to get…’

She threw up her arms in a gesture of apology.

‘Did you get the book?’ Shoes asked (normal volume, making quite a mockery out of all the yelling).

‘Yes,’ she answered (still loud, still moving. But he didn’t seem to catch her).

‘
Yes,
’ she shouted louder. ‘Thanks. I’ll give it you back
later…
’

‘HOW’S YOUR ARM?’ he bellowed –

Taking the piss

Has to be

She lifted it into the air, like a wing. ‘Good.
Better.
’

The Blind Man turned and began saying something. Jo turned herself and started jogging. Her feet were heavy, though, and the ground was slippy.

Thirty seconds later, the young guide was bobbing along at her shoulder. He’d plainly been dispatched. She glanced over at him. He was black haired, wide-eyed, with a sprinkling of acne on his jaw.

‘So Doc got to you first, huh?’ he panted. He had a good accent. Well modulated.

‘What do you want?’ she asked.

‘Could you just…’ The guide was breathing heavily, ‘just
stop
for a second?’

He skidded.

Jo stopped automatically, grabbed his arm and steadied him.

‘Thanks,’ he blew out his cheeks, relieved.

She glanced behind them. The others had met up and were now all in a huddle. The Blind Man was tapping Doc’s leg with his stick. Doc was smiling, raising his voice… he seemed… he seemed
jovial…

Was that…?

Was that the right…?

Jo realised that she was still clutching the tissue he’d given her. Her nose was dripping. She patted her face with it.

‘What do you want?’ she asked brusquely, finishing with it, screwing it up and pushing it deep inside her coat pocket.

‘
Uh…
’

The guide lifted his arm and inspected his right wrist (although there was patently no watch on it). ‘
Damn,
’ he cursed, ‘is it that time already?’

He wasn’t much of an actor.

‘You’re not wearing a watch,’ Jo said.

‘
Okay…
’ he swallowed and then looked up into the sky as if struggling to call something to mind, ‘just quickly, then. Herbie wants me to tell you,’ he counted each statement off onto his fingers (in case he should forget), ‘that Doc’s playing a double game. That he’s started keeping stuff back. That he’s got too involved. That he’s gone a little crazy. That he wants to spoil it for the rest of us… sorry…’ he chuckled, raising his brows, ‘the rest of
them.
’

As he chuckled he made eye contact. He had cold eyes. And they weren’t chuckling. Jo’s expression remained impassive. The guide shrugged, ‘Don’t even ask me what this all
means…
’ There was something engagingly feminine about him.

He lifted his right hand and checked his non-watch again (Jo presumed it was just some kind of crazy tick), ‘You’re not heading into the centre of town by any chance?’

‘Nope.’ Jo shook her head.

‘Oh.
Okay.
It’s just…’ he scratched his chin –the patch of acne there, ‘I was meant to be heading home
hours
ago but Herbie will insist on
careering
off at every given opportunity…’

‘I’m sorry,’ Jo was frowning, ‘I don’t…’

‘God it’s
nothing,
’ the man interrupted, ‘I’m Herbie’s temporary careworker. Someone just happened to mention that you were in the nursing profession…’

Jo slowly began walking again. He paused for a second and then slowly walked with her.

‘Yes,’ she said, ‘but I’m not… I’m on sick leave. I’m… I’m…’ she swallowed down her pride, ‘currently suspended.’

Hard to say it

‘A touch of depression.’

That was easier

The guide didn’t quite seem to hear her. ‘I had someone due to take over from me over twenty minutes ago,’ he persisted, ‘they’ll be waiting outside the library in a silver car…’

‘And?’

Jo stopped walking, faced him.

‘And I thought if you were in the area –and had a moment to spare –that you might nip on over there and tell him where I am. He’d be very…’ he tipped his head, ‘very
appreciative,
I’m sure.’

Jo smiled, sympathetically, ‘I already explained that I’m going back to my car. I’m waiting for the
AA.
My car’s
way
over…’

She pointed towards her car, then radically altered the direction she was pointing (almost hitting the guide, the swing of her arm was so spectacular) –

Oh Lord

‘Over there.’

‘Of course.’

The guide shrugged. He looked depressed.

‘Can’t you just phone him?’ Jo asked.

‘Forgotten the number,’ he shrugged again.

‘Can’t
Shoes
go and find him, then?’

The guide
pooh-poohed
this, ‘It’s nothing. It’s fine. Don’t worry. I must’ve…’ he smiled, ‘
misconstrued…
’

He put his hand up to his hair, pushed his fringe back from his forehead. Used his left hand. As he raised his arm and the sleeve of his coat fell away, Jo saw that he was wearing a watch on that left wrist. A good watch. Swiss Army.

‘Guess I’ll see you later.’

He turned and jogged back to join the others. Jo remained where she was for a moment. She shook her head, slowly –stopped –gazed blankly ahead of her, frowned –then shook it a second time, for a little longer.

The little kid –the boy –Patty –

Was that his name?

– had taken up residence on the pavement directly opposite Katherine’s. He looked, Ted thought –if possible –even grimier than he had done the day before. He was devouring a cheese and salad sandwich, its plastic wrapper casually discarded in the gutter, along with most of the tomato and most of the cheese.

‘Where’s Wesley?’ the kid asked –his gums white with bread –as Ted crossed the road in front of him.

‘I have no idea.’

Ted tried to sound civil (he knew what a potential powder-keg the kid could be).

‘
Prick,
’ the kid murmured darkly –although barely audibly. Then, ‘
Stupid damn wanker.
’ Then (Ted stiffened his back, prepared himself)…

‘
Ginger winger.
’

He made it to the opposite pavement, smartly eclipsed Katherine’s conifers, turned into the driveway and drew to an abrupt halt.