Kelly shrugged (she just didnt want to go there). Winifred took another step closer.
So can you actually scramble down the other side of that thing?
What thing?
The wall.
Oh
Kelly glanced boredly behind her. Dunno. Maybe.
I know its a bit cheeky, the woman wheedled (flashing that charming smile again), but would you mind taking someone a message for me?
Kellys eyelids lowered, ominously. Man, do I look like your personal fuckin courier or what?
Winifreds smile did not falter. It continued blazing. She was shameless, Kelly surmised
All credit to her for that
so she lifted up her legs and grumpily slung them over. Which block?
First Villa, flat three.
Right.
She was already twisting around to scramble down when something suddenly dawned on her. She paused, mid-manoeuvre, gripping hard with her hands to stop herself from falling. But thats Kanes place, she grunted, a hint of accusation in her voice.
Yes. Winifred made no apology for it.
Kelly pulled herself up again, kicking a leg back over (sitting astride the wall now, a hand pushed down on to her skirt to preserve her modesty). So whats your business with him?
With Kane?
Yeah, Kelly growled.
I dont have any. Im here to see his dad.
Ah. Kelly was plainly relieved. Well thats a shame, cos Beede aint here, either. Neither of them are.
Are you sure?
Kelly nodded. Course I am. Thats actually who Im waitin for.
Winifred seemed mildly irritated by this news. But we arranged to meet at twelve, she said petulantly, and its ten past already. Hes usually very reliable.
Yeah, Kelly conceded, unhelpfully.
Winifred frowned and peered down at her watch. Damn. Ive got something I really, really needed to give to him, she muttered. Kelly rolled her eyes at this transparent little charade. So pass it over, she volunteered boredly, and Ill stick it through his box.
The woman gave Kelly an appraising look. Could I? Well Im not gonna nick it or anythin, if thats what youre thinkin, Kelly snapped.
I know that.
Winifred opened her satchel and removed a large, brown envelope from inside it. She passed it up to Kelly. Kelly took it (the removal of a hand from her skirt causing a dramatic flash of her baby-pink g-string) and then placed it, neatly, on to her lap. A car horn sounded. The woman Winnie glanced over her shoulder. A boy was hanging out of a car window as it drove past, performing a wanking gesture. Kelly stared fixedly ahead of her.
Winifred took a few steps back, fastening her satchel again. I really do appreciate this, she said, Im in one hell of a She flapped her hand.
Kelly nodded, sternly.
Bye then, Winnie smiled, and thanks.
She turned and began to walk.
Hey, Kelly suddenly yelled.
Winifred spun around. What?
He never went to Readin, Kelly blurted out, her cheeks reddening, holding the jiffy bag in front of her chest now like a protective corset and folding her arms over it.
Winnie looked confused. Who didnt?
Paul. He died. Early last year.
It took a while for this information to sink in. My God, Winifred murmured softly, I had no
She paused again, her mind obviously racing. Shit. Im really sorry
She seemed stunned.
Dont be. Kelly was suddenly full of bravura (her hard eyes brimming with indignant tears). He overdosed. Solvents. Cans. He was addicted for years. Thats why my sister always used to hit him. Thats why he always had those awful fuckin she put her hand to her mouth, touched her chin, to illustrate, those spots, around here.
Winnie shook her head. No. No, I didnt mean She paused, plainly in a state of some confusion. I meant she scowled, I meant that I was sorry because we used together, she said finally, her own hand suddenly fluttering to her nose, her lips, we started using together, as kids.
Kellys face dropped.
Another car horn sounded. And before the woman Winnie could say another word, Kelly had stuck the envelope into her mouth, kicked her remaining leg back over the wall, and shoved herself off.
THREE
He just blocked it all out. It was as simple (or as complicated) as that. Denial as the Americans were so fond of calling it was Isidores basic coping mechanism (his survival strategy). That was how he dealt with it. And Beede (for all his cynicism) was sensible enough to just go along with the whole thing; the self-delusion, the subterfuge, the bunk, the bullshit.
He didnt want to push or to provoke or to challenge; because bottom line it was none of his damn business. And more to the point if he did (push, provoke, challenge etc), where would it actually lead?
Seriously?
What could be gained? Dory was (after all) just a man; a human being, battling against horrendous odds merely to function; to hold down a job; to raise a family; just toto
Oh God, here it comes
to be.
He was a simple man. A good man. He had integrity and dignity. He had pride
A little too much, occasionally
Dory was a person, not some psychological experiment. He was no benighted beagle or tragic lab rat; nobodys fool, nobodys victim although Beede sometimes struggled to remind himself of this fact (he still harboured those Reformist tendencies in him that persistent urge to just roll his sleeves up and dive in no matter how diligently he mightve tried to repress them).
It could certainly make things difficult (this denial): the explanations, for one thing. Dory often displaced his confusion on to the people surrounding him. Beede had read a book by R.D. Laing (The Divided Self) and several of Freuds case studies (Wolfman, in particular). Hed quickly picked up on all the jargon, and tended to use it not because he liked it or trusted it but because it was a convenient short cut, and short cuts in working scenarios were an issue of sheer pragmatism.
When it came to displacement, this particular situation was a perfect example. As they slowly picked their way back along the Bad Munstereifel Road (and it was a bloody treacherous hike, let alone with a horse in tow and your trousers sagging), at an approximate interval of every three to four minutes, Dory would turn and ask Beede (with complete guilelessness) why he had a horse with him, and what he thought he was doing with it (his territorial army background and his job in security made the whole thing even more dodgy; Dorythis Dory had a ridiculously over-developed sense of propriety).
And whenever Beede said (as he was obliged to, because it was true), You took it, Dory, or I found you with it I was having coffee with my son etc he could see Isidores mind turning over, could see him putting two and two together (making five), could see him growing increasingly guarded and suspicious, as though Beede (for his own sick reasons whatever they may be) was intent on surreptitiously inveigling him into some atrocious form of perjury.
Because in Isidores mind (when he weighed it all up) the likelihood that he had stolen a horse himself (when he both feared and hated horses, and when he was intrinsically law-abiding) seemed somehow far less plausible than the likelihood that Beede had stolen it (or found it, or whatever) and that he had just blanked out (as he sometimes called it) and then miraculously turned up.
I mean wasnt that more plausible? Even from the outside?
Over time (their working relationship their friendshiphad lasted about twenty-two months, in total) Beede had started to modify things. He knew that this was risky (perilous, even) but he simply could not stop himself. Hed long observed in Dory a kind of helpless paranoia (a desperate vulnerability) which somehow made the truth seem so immeasurably illogical (and stupid and cruel) that it was sometimes virtually impossible not to suddenly find yourself quickly inserting a small
Tiny
neat, white lie to try and make things more bearable. He knew that Elen sometimes did the same. It was difficult not to when you cared for a person. It was only natural (call it a maternal/paternal instinct) to feel a tugging need to assuage their distress in some way; to apply some kind of remedial blotter to the leaking ink of their misery.
So approximately ten minutes into the walk Beede had begun to modify the story (it was boredom, more than anything. Dory would keep on asking the same questions again and again and againuntil he felt satisfied by the answers; and if he wasnt satisfied he may well turn hostile. There might be
God forbid
an episode.)
Consequently according to Beede the horse had simply escaped from a field. Beede had just happened across it, wandering around in the road, so had gone off in pursuit of it, then Dory had arrivedin the nick of timeand had helped him to subdue it.
In this new scenario Dory was quite the heroYes, I know you hate horses. Dont you see? Thats what made the whole thing soso admirable.
The only problem with this approach was that Dory wouldnt automatically give up on all his former scraps
Dammit
and a few hours later there was always the risk that he might suddenly remember being in the play area (for example) and then get all agitated and jumpy, and the questions would start over. He was tenacious. He was suspicious.
Things were definitely
Definitely
getting worse on that score. Elen had said so herself (and Isidore had strongly indicated as much too, in some of his rare but precious moments of unselfconsciousness).
On the positive side (and there was always a positive side), he was actually going under slightly less often than he had done previously; but when he did, he fell much more quickly, was in deeper, and for significantly longer.
When he came to he was just a mess; he was in chaos. It was as if his brain had been placed inside a food processor (set on to its chopping function); everything got hacked-up and jumbled together. And the end result? A horrible, indigestible mental coleslaw.
On this particular occasion Beede had taken the precaution of checking his watch at his very first sighting of Dory in the French Connection, and hed calculated (another quick peek. Yup) that itd taken twenty-five minutes for him to return to himself (fully return so that he remembered his address, his wife, his child, his date of birth; all the basics, in other words).
Beede had been on hand for almost the entire process, and so far as he could gauge, things were definitely degenerating. Elen had told him that thisd happened twice before (a serious degeneration): once when they were first engaged, and once a short while after Fleet was born, when Dory had been forced to quit his job with Ashfords Fire Department (a severe blow from which hed still barely recovered).