Darkmans

‘I could grab us some take-away,’ Kelly continued helpfully, ‘for supper. What d’ya fancy, Mum? Thai? Pizza?’

Beede proffered Dina her stick again. She took it this time, with a sultry look.

‘So you work here, then?’ she asked (pointedly ignoring Kelly).

‘I do.’

‘Good. So you can push me over to Outpatients, pronto.’

Beede frowned, confused. ‘But Kelly isn’t even in surgery, yet…’

‘I have an appointment, stupid,’ Dina informed him imperiously, casually inspecting her watch. ‘Blood test. Two-thirty…’

Beede glanced over at Kelly, his lips tightening (her face fell for moment, but then she rapidly rallied. The speed of the rallying – he felt – was almost the saddest part).

‘But of course you do,’ she murmured, scratching her head, ‘Tuesday. Two-thirty. I’d totally forgot…’

‘One of these fine days,’ Mrs Broad informed her, majestically, ‘you might actually appreciate that not every little thing on this fuckin’ planet revolves around you, Kell.’

She prodded Beede with her stick. ‘Oi! You! Uncle Fester! Let’s split!’

Without further ado, Beede promptly stationed himself behind the chair and began to push. Five paces down the corridor – and still within ear-shot – he leaned gently forward and murmured, ‘I must have a quick word with you about your dogs…!

Kelly gasped, ducked her head, stopped breathing, her thin body stiffening (as if preparing for some kind of monumental impact), but Beede kept right on pushing, and before she knew it, they were inside the service lift and the doors were firmly shut. How long had it taken? Twenty seconds? Less?

She took one deep breath, then another. Her hands gradually unclenched. She blinked. She glanced up and peered warily around her. Close by, a woman with second-degree burns on her knuckles was sitting – her head tilted slightly – and gawping.

‘Show’s over, love,’ Kelly hissed.

Then she placed the slip for the cobbler’s into the lining of her bra, plumped up her hair, threw back her skinny shoulders and pouted.

SEVEN (#ulink_f0c9f147-9dab-5ea9-8cba-ce662f100ee4)

The Dog Warden (whom Beede had phoned from work with Dina’s express permission – ‘Just stare into my eyes – deep into my eyes. Good. Now does it look like I give a shit?’) was actually so familiar with the Broads and their lurchers that he didn’t even require an excuse, an explanation or a return address, he simply turned up – within the hour – clutching an unwieldy pole with a wire loop on the end of it to facilitate their subjugation.

Kane had seen this Draconian implement before – on one of the countless tv vet programmes – and was extremely keen to witness it in action. But as soon as the front door was opened, the dogs had leapt up and bolted (making a bee-line first for the warden, then his van), both their tails wagging, ten to the dozen.

‘If this were Turkey,’ Gaffar muttered, resentfully (as he and Kane stood listlessly on the front step together), ‘I’d’ve blasted off the big one’s bollocks for what he did to me earlier.’

He took imaginary aim at the now fast-retreating van: ‘BANG!’ (his competence with a firearm apparently uncompromised by his recent mauling), and then congratulated himself (in Kurdish) for the accuracy of his shot.

They trooped back inside again. ‘D’ya hear what that uptight, little turd said to me out there?’ Kane asked, indignantly, as he gave Beede’s sitting-room a final once over.

‘Huh?’

‘The warden. He wanted to know if I’d given the dogs water – water, yeah? To drink? – and when I said that I hadn’t – that I forgot – he completely went off on one. Said in high summer that’d constitute “a deliberate act of cruelty”. Can you believe that crap?’

‘Fascist!’ Gaffar exclaimed.

Kane grabbed his jacket from the sofa and pulled it on. He idly adjusted the collar. ‘Well they certainly won’t be giving him his own cuddly, animal-welfare-based tv show…’

‘Rolf Harris? Fuck off!’ Gaffar snorted.

‘Bingo!’ Kane snapped his fingers. ‘You like Rolf, huh?’

‘I love,’ Gaffar confirmed, emphatically.

‘You love Rolf?’ Kane smirked, suggestively.

‘Oh yes,’ Gaffar deadpanned, performing a painstaking mime in which he repeatedly violated Rolf Harris from the rear, ‘I love Rolf.’

Kane gazed at him for a moment, in mute alarm.

‘I PISS YOU! HA!’ Gaffar burst out laughing.

Kane managed a weak smile as Gaffar jogged an exuberant lap around Beede’s sofa, lifting up his knees and clapping his hands, Zulu-warrior-style.

As if prompted by the Kurd’s sudden, thunderous show of good humour, Beede’s phone began to ring. It was an old-fashioned, heavy-set, dial-tone phone c.1976, in bright, brick orange, and it lived – as befitted its lowly status – under his desk, behind a musty pile of old Private Eyes which he collected – or so he claimed – to donate to his dentist.

Kane ignored the phone completely. Gaffar completed his lap and ground to a halt, still grinning.

‘So they featured this sweet, old girl on Animal Hospital once, yeah…?’

Kane took out his cigarette packet (refusing – point-blank – to compromise his cool by responding directly to Gaffar’s wanton display) and carefully removed a pre-rolled joint from inside of it. ‘She had a Jack Russell. D’ya know that breed at all?’

Gaffar shook his head, slightly out of breath.

‘A little, white dog – a terrier – a digger.’

Kane mimed ‘dig’.

Gaffar nodded, his eyes drifting – every couple of seconds – towards the source of the ringing.

‘Anyhow, there was something wrong with the animal – I don’t remember what, exactly – so this old dear took it along to the surgery, and they filmed her for the programme, and Rolf asked her what its name was…blah blah…You’re pretty familiar with the form, I guess?’

Gaffar nodded again. He was very well acquainted with Animal Hospital protocol.

‘Yeah…’ Kane carefully moistened the side of the joint, ‘so this old girl says, “He’s called Bonus.” And Rolf thinks the name’s kind of cute – Bonus…It means to get something for free…Gratis.’

‘Ah.’

‘So he asks her why the dog’s called Bonus, and she says something like, “I was walking home from work one day and I saw this little dog running around. And it was obviously a stray. It was very dirty. Very thin…”’

Kane mimed ‘dirty’, then ‘thin’.

‘Okay.’

‘So she decided to take the dog home with her and to care for it. I mean she saved its life, effectively. And she called it Bonus because she got it for nothing. Like a gift from God.’