Behindlings (65 page)
‘Who is she?’
‘Arthur Young’s daughter, so far as I can gather.’
‘And why does she matter?’
‘She has Cystic Fibrosis. Needs a big operation, in America.’
Josephine handed the picture back, shrugged.
‘A charming little company called Gumble Inc, manufacturers of high quality vegetarian
footwear…
’ Katherine chuckled, then burped (put her hand over her mouth), ‘
Sorry.
’
Josephine was still struggling to catch up.
‘He runs the website, you prick. Arthur Young. Gumble Inc are trying to buy him out. They engineered an exclusive advertising deal with him a few months back, then quickly started throwing their weight around…’
Josephine continued to stare at her, blankly, ‘You’re saying…’ she frowned, a slow realisation gradually dawning, ‘you’re saying you think
Wesley…?
’
‘Seems likely. I mean if you’re going to be Followed everywhere, then
hell,
why not take control of the mechanisms organising it?’ She paused. ‘Obviously it’s bound to be slightly more
complicated
than that…’
Josephine was shaking her head, ‘It doesn’t…’ she paused, speculatively, ‘and do you think Arthur Young knows?’
Katherine shrugged, hiccuped, ‘The ten million dollar question. But I doubt it. There’s no love lost there, that’s for certain. I get the impression that the whole Wesley thing is a labour of
love
with our Arthur.’
Josephine frowned.
‘Because the punchline is…’ Katherine continued, ‘and the punchline is the
best
thing; Arthur has no
intention of
selling, even though the money could buy his little girl new lungs, new kidneys and –
fuck it –
whatever else her messed-up nine-year-old heart wanted.’
Josephine picked up the letter again and rapidly re-read it, her eye pausing, just for a split second, on the word
sisterly,
the word
altruism.
‘I don’t think this letter was sent to warn you off…’ she suddenly murmured, ‘I think it’s some kind of alibi.’
Katherine wasn’t buying it. ‘Who for?’
‘If something bad happens.’
‘Who to?’
‘If something
bad
happens, to Arthur.’
Josephine’s head was spinning. She stepped back, rubbed her hands over her face.
‘Don’t get
too
excited, Bean, dear,’ Katherine muttered. She lay back on her pillows and rested her hand on her stomach.
‘Have you heard from your dad lately?’ Jo suddenly asked – dropping her hands, turning and seeing a picture of him on Katherine’s dressing table, walking over to look at it.
‘Nope,’ she burped, unapologetically, ‘he remarried five years ago, has a three-year-old baby boy and is
blissfully
fucking
happy.
’
Jo shot her a sharp look, ‘You’ll never forgive him, will you, for being almost as much of a slut as you are. That’s really what this is all about. It has nothing to do with self-sacrifice. You’re just twisting the knife, keeping us all dangling. It makes you feel powerful.’
Katherine merely sniggered at this, gazed up at the ceiling, but she wasn’t happy.
Jo walked over to the doll’s house. ‘
Christ,
the white-collar Protestant
hypocrisy…
’ and touched its neat roof, lightly. Katherine stiffened, visibly, as Josephine’s fingers made contact.
She turned, ‘How’s your mum?’
‘Died last year,’ Katherine’s voice was tight, ‘New Guinea. Pancreatic cancer.’
A long silence.
She suddenly gulped. At first Jo thought it was
grief,
but when Katherine gulped a second time, she immediately knew better. Her eye moved calmly to the glass she was holding.
‘What are you drinking?’ she asked almost tenderly.
‘Brandy.’
‘But it’s the wrong colour.’
Katherine gulped again.
Josephine strode over and took the glass from her. She sniffed it.
‘Disinfectant. How much have you had?’
Katherine shrugged, gulped again.
‘Sick it up,’ Jo ordered.
Katherine shook her head. She swallowed.
‘Okay,’ Josephine walked over to her dressing-table and picked up
a china pot. It was tiny, delicate, decorated in little hand-painted daisies. She threw it against the cupboard doors. It smashed.
Katherine gaped at her. She picked up an oriental doll, snapped its neck, turned. ‘
SICK IT UP!
’ she yelled, tossing the head at her.
Katherine ducked left to avoid it. Her book fell to the floor.
Josephine walked over to the doll’s house. She flexed her fingers.
‘
No,
’ Katherine said. She gulped, then put her hand over her mouth.
‘I won’t ask you again,’ Josephine said, and bent over to pick it up.
Katherine vomited, vociferously, down onto the carpet.
‘
MORE!
’ Josephine shouted, holding the house suspended in the air, her elbows buckling under the weight of it, the furniture shifting within, the front facade creaking, threatening to fall open.
Katherine vomited again. A third time.
‘Put it…’ she tried to clear her mouth, was sick again, ‘
down.
’
‘Of course.’ Josephine nodded. She dropped the doll’s house. It landed on its corner, with a crack.
‘What a tragedy,’ she murmured, ‘now you have absolutely
nothing
left worth staying here for.
‘I need to borrow your bike…’ she continued, swooping down to pick up the
Gumble
book, shaking the sick off it, seeing the disinfectant bottle stuffed under Katherine’s counterpane. She grabbed that too, inspected the back, ‘
Jesus,
3% non-ionic surfactants. A glass of
tap water
has more chemicals in it than that…’
She sniggered, ‘It’s 97%
preservative.
This stuff’d probably
increase
your life expectancy, before it ended it…. ’
She threw the bottle down, dismissively.
Katherine’s eyes were still slowly moving from Josephine to the doll’s house (the tiny chair on the floor, the vicious crack on the front of the facade) then back.
‘Next time your self-hatred gets too overpowering,’ Josephine advised her, ‘try pure bleach. It has a little more
kick…
’
Jo sprang – in a timely leap – towards the door, as Katherine exploded out of bed and scrambled, gnashing like a chained bull-terrier, across the floor.
He was suddenly calculating –
Really calculating
– although he’d never –
Very strange
– ever been even
remotely
mathematically-inclined at school (or since) –
Never
– but he found himself tabulating, nonetheless –
All these numbers, just spinning and squeezing and compacting and rotating… Oh Lord
– stuff about the acuteness of the angle at which he’d fallen, and the precise geometrical…
Uh
I think I hit my…
Arthur opened his eyes –
If only it wasn’t so cold – and if only I could breathe – I might con-con-consider a permanent in-in-investment in the underwater scene
He couldn’t see much –
No views
Just mud
Wood
Stuff
– but he was sharp enough to witness a violent and thoroughly unwarranted –
The bastards!
– desertion by some of his most important, his most
critical
formulas –
Shit
How to survive without 124/6792 +/- 453/009.8735465489?
Huh?
– saw them writhing away from him, like eels…
Come back!
And all those lovely fractions of fractions…
All those x’s to the power of…
Tried to grab their tails –
Not quick enough
– so he wished them well, with a heavy heart. Tried to make the best of it –
Bye-bye…
Bon-voyage…
He even slapped a couple on their backs (for good measure); booted their tiny, arithmetical rumps…
Wuh?
Wake-up!
His head snapped around as he suddenly felt –
Thwhap!
Otter-water-fur
Big
Wood-scrabble
Clip
Limb
Hoof
Bubble
Nuugh!
Deer
Remember the deer?
And that other life you had?
That old life?
Rope. Stiff rope…
Uuuuhhh…
He felt the irresistible urge to feel his way along it.
So much commotion above…
The kick
The white
The panic
He gradually worked his way down; a blind man walking the prom – it wasn’t far – and there he found…
No!
Stop!
Everything flooded back:
Wesley
4578/78 + 9/452222
She was a recruitment officer
She lived in Palmer’s Green
And I
–
He
–
I
–
He
–
Arthur Young…
Arthur Anthony Young…
And she was called Bethany
–
No
–
Bethan
–
And he
–
I
–
He felt very strong things for her
He lo-lo-lo
Wesley
And that hand
And the sheer poetry in the way he…
I like a walk
I like a drink
I work
–
I worked
–
I work
–
I worked
– for the sugar industry.
But my…
My great-great-great-great grandfather…
‘
There is certainly something in the amiable simplicity of unadorned nature, that spreads over the mind a more noble sort of tranquillity, and a lo-lo-lo
Enough!
and a lo-lo-loftier sensation of pleasure, than can be raised from the nicer scenes of art…
’
Argh
At first I just…
At first I just…
To be rejected so gently,
So absolutely…
Took a little comfort – hell, not ashamed to admit it – in the embrace of the bottle
The lovely bottle
And Gillian with herpes
From the PR
The PR
The PR…
Depart
Not enough
When they caught him…
After he stole the fucking…
The fucking pond…
Not enough
He was everything I ever…
He was…
He had…
He disregarded…
He thumbed his nose…
He trampled…
He turned his damn back…
And I
He
–
I
–
He hated him for that
Had to keep an
–
An
–
An
–
An eye…
Keep track
First the private detective, just to keep a few… a few
… a
few tabs…
The mounting ex-ex-ex-expenses
The baby
God
Am I…?
Could I…?
Did my in-in-in-infidelities…?
And Bethan told him
–
me
–
him
–
me…
It’s him or me, Arthur
It’s him or me and our little…
little
–
little
–
little
–
Fucked up
Baby
Look
I’d love a drink
A short
A shot
I’m over it.
I’m honestly…
Look!
Arthur put out his hand towards the limp body. He could feel a shoulder, a face…
Was he awake?
He could feel his…
His hand –
That wounded hand
That trade-mark hand
How small it is
– then the rope. Twisted… he felt for it… still looped around him and then over a…
Beam?
Rafter?
Plank?
Log?
… holding him down. Stopping his escape. Deer at the other end.
Yanking.
Yanking.
‘
Rise to the surface, Arthur
This is your Father speaking
I think you probably need something we people call oxygen
’
Just a small twist, a jerk, a pull. He would be free again…
Shall I leave him?
Arthur turned –
The hand tightened in Arthur’s hand –
He was awakening –
Arthur tried to see him –
Could almost see him –
Waited for the entreaty –