He didn’t want to look at the hair that had once been dark and lustrous, tumbling over her shoulders. Now, the black dye she used to recreate her former glory had grown out, showing three inches of grey.
It was depression at the root of it. Obviously. Which wasn’t surprising when your looks and your husband left you at the same time. Was it easier, Jackson wondered, not to have been beautiful in the first place? He knew he’d got by on his looks more than once. His looks and an easy charm.
‘Shall we go out somewhere?’ he asked, knowing what the answer would be. He wanted her to surprise him and say yes, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t want to see her out in the real world, because it made her situation even more depressing.
‘No, love,’ she replied, just as he’d thought. ‘It’s enough for me to have you here.’
He sighed and made the best he could of the food he had bought with the facilities available. He dished it up, coating it all in a glistening layer of packet gravy.
They ate it together at the tiny table. Jackson had no appetite, but he wanted to set an example. He forced more carrots on her. Gave her the rest of the Bisto. At least now he knew she’d had some vitamins, some calories.
He’d bought a ready-made apple pie and a carton of custard, but she declared herself full.
‘I’ll heat it up for you later.’
‘You’re a good boy.’
She’d always said that to him. He could remember her, lithe and vibrant, dancing in the kitchen, holding him in her arms. ‘You’re a good boy. The best boy.’ He would touch her earrings with his tiny fingers, entranced by the glitter. He would breathe in the smell of her, like ripe peaches.
Where had she gone, his mother? Who had stolen her?
He did the washing up in the sink, which was too small to put a dinner plate in flat. He tried to suppress his despair for the millionth time. He washed all the cups and glasses that were lying around, and wiped down the surfaces.
He could imagine Mia’s voice: ‘You never did that for me.’
He had. Once upon a time. But nothing was ever right for Mia; she was a control freak. He couldn’t even breathe right.
‘I’m off to see Finn, Mum.’ He bent down to kiss her, not leaning in too close. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘Ta ta. I’m going to have a snooze now.’ She settled back in her chair with a smile. He whistled for Wolfie and the dog jumped to his feet. He was like a cartoon, his eyes coal black and inquisitive, his legs and tail too long; his shaggy grey coat like a backcombed teddy bear. He loped beside Jackson, amiable and eager.
Jackson lugged the bin bag back down the path and hurled it over the side of the skip. The stygian gloom of the caravan stayed with him.
‘Oi!’ shouted Garvie from his lair, but Jackson knew he was safe. Garvie wouldn’t bother to chase after him, or to fish the bag out.
He left the park and broke into a run, gulping in gusts of fresh air, trying to expel the stifling staleness of the past two hours. Wolfie ran beside him, joyful, his ears streaming behind him.
There’s got to be something better out there for us, he thought.
He walked back into Peasebrook with Wolfie, then along the main road that led to Oxford. Eventually he reached the small cul de sac of houses where Mia and Finn lived. And where he had once lived. It had been one of Ian’s most lucrative projects, a mix of executive four-beds and the low-cost housing he was obliged to build as part of the deal. The homes that only locals were allowed to buy. It was one of the reasons Jackson remained loyal to Ian, because he’d let him have one of them cheap. Ian had flashes of generosity, though there was usually something in it for him. This had been an act of pure selflessness, as far as Jackson could make out, though he was always waiting for Ian to call the favour in. He was convinced one day he’d have to get rid of a dead body.
Of course, Jackson’s plan had been to get his hands
It was depression at the root of it. Obviously. Which wasn’t surprising when your looks and your husband left you at the same time. Was it easier, Jackson wondered, not to have been beautiful in the first place? He knew he’d got by on his looks more than once. His looks and an easy charm.
‘Shall we go out somewhere?’ he asked, knowing what the answer would be. He wanted her to surprise him and say yes, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t want to see her out in the real world, because it made her situation even more depressing.
‘No, love,’ she replied, just as he’d thought. ‘It’s enough for me to have you here.’
He sighed and made the best he could of the food he had bought with the facilities available. He dished it up, coating it all in a glistening layer of packet gravy.
They ate it together at the tiny table. Jackson had no appetite, but he wanted to set an example. He forced more carrots on her. Gave her the rest of the Bisto. At least now he knew she’d had some vitamins, some calories.
He’d bought a ready-made apple pie and a carton of custard, but she declared herself full.
‘I’ll heat it up for you later.’
‘You’re a good boy.’
She’d always said that to him. He could remember her, lithe and vibrant, dancing in the kitchen, holding him in her arms. ‘You’re a good boy. The best boy.’ He would touch her earrings with his tiny fingers, entranced by the glitter. He would breathe in the smell of her, like ripe peaches.
Where had she gone, his mother? Who had stolen her?
He did the washing up in the sink, which was too small to put a dinner plate in flat. He tried to suppress his despair for the millionth time. He washed all the cups and glasses that were lying around, and wiped down the surfaces.
He could imagine Mia’s voice: ‘You never did that for me.’
He had. Once upon a time. But nothing was ever right for Mia; she was a control freak. He couldn’t even breathe right.
‘I’m off to see Finn, Mum.’ He bent down to kiss her, not leaning in too close. ‘I’ll be back in a bit.’
‘Ta ta. I’m going to have a snooze now.’ She settled back in her chair with a smile. He whistled for Wolfie and the dog jumped to his feet. He was like a cartoon, his eyes coal black and inquisitive, his legs and tail too long; his shaggy grey coat like a backcombed teddy bear. He loped beside Jackson, amiable and eager.
Jackson lugged the bin bag back down the path and hurled it over the side of the skip. The stygian gloom of the caravan stayed with him.
‘Oi!’ shouted Garvie from his lair, but Jackson knew he was safe. Garvie wouldn’t bother to chase after him, or to fish the bag out.
He left the park and broke into a run, gulping in gusts of fresh air, trying to expel the stifling staleness of the past two hours. Wolfie ran beside him, joyful, his ears streaming behind him.
There’s got to be something better out there for us, he thought.
He walked back into Peasebrook with Wolfie, then along the main road that led to Oxford. Eventually he reached the small cul de sac of houses where Mia and Finn lived. And where he had once lived. It had been one of Ian’s most lucrative projects, a mix of executive four-beds and the low-cost housing he was obliged to build as part of the deal. The homes that only locals were allowed to buy. It was one of the reasons Jackson remained loyal to Ian, because he’d let him have one of them cheap. Ian had flashes of generosity, though there was usually something in it for him. This had been an act of pure selflessness, as far as Jackson could make out, though he was always waiting for Ian to call the favour in. He was convinced one day he’d have to get rid of a dead body.
Of course, Jackson’s plan had been to get his hands
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