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Authors: Kate Atkinson
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found him sitting in an ancient armchair, smoking his pipe and contemplating a piece of rock on his workbench. Without saying anything, he took the rock and placed it in Jackson’s palm, as if it were a gift—Jackson was reminded of his biology teacher from school who would hand you something—a bird’s egg, a leaf—and make you explain it to him rather than the other way round. The rock was a dark ironstone that looked like petrified tree-bark, and sandwiched in the center of it was a seam of milky opal, like a hazy summer sky at dawn. A notoriously tricky stone to work, the old man informed Jackson. He had been looking at it for two weeks now, he said, another two weeks and he might be ready to start cutting it, and Jackson said that in another two weeks he would be in a remand prison somewhere, but the guy had a great lawyer and made bail and got away with a suspended sentence.
A year later Jackson received a parcel addressed to him at the police station. Inside there was no note, just a box, and in a nest lined with midnight-blue velvet was an opal pendant, a little plaque of sky. Jackson knew he was being given a lesson by the old man, but it had taken him many years to understand it. He was keeping the pendant for Marlee’s eighteenth birthday.
N icola’s husband, Steve Spencer, was convinced his wife “had taken a lover”—that’s how he put it, so it sounded delicate and rather courtly to Jackson’s ears, whereas most of the suspicious spouses who came to him tended to voice their mistrust in cruder terms. Steve was the nervy, paranoid type and he couldn’t understand how he’d managed to net someone like Nicola, because she was “so gorgeous.” Jackson had known “gorgeous” in his time and it wasn’t the Nicola Spencers of the world, although he thought that if he was married to Steve Spencer he might be tempted to “take a lover.” Steve was a pharmacist in a chain of drugstores and seemed to have no hobbies or interests other than Nicola. She was “the only woman in the world” for him. Jackson had never believed that there was one person in the world that you were destined for. And if there was, knowing his luck, she’d be working in a rice field in the middle of China or be a convicted killer on the run.
When she wasn’t at work, Nicola Spencer went to the gym, to Sainsbury’s (and once, for no apparent reason, to Tesco’s), to her mother’s, to the homes of a friend called Louise and a friend called Vanessa. Vanessa was part of a married couple—Vanessa and Mike—who were also friends of “Steve and Nicola.” Louise and Vanessa, as far as Jackson could tell, didn’t know each other. Nicola also went regularly to the garage, for petrol obviously, and in the garage shop she sometimes bought milk and nearly always bought chocolate and a copy of
Hello
or
Heat.
She had also been to a garden center, where she bought a tray of bedding plants that she had put straight into the garden and had then failed to water, judging by the look of them when Jackson climbed up on the garden fence to have a snoop at what went on chez Spencer, or, more accurately,
au jardin
Spencer.
In the last four weeks Nicola had also been to a DIY superstore, where she bought a screwdriver and a Stanley knife, to Habitat, where she bought a table lamp, to Top Shop for a white T-shirt, to Next for a white blouse, to Boots (twice for cosmetics and toiletries and once with a prescription for Ponstan), to Robert Sayle’s for two blue hand towels, and to a fish stall on the market, where she bought (expensive) monkfish for a meal—for the aforesaid Vanessa and Mike—which Steve Spencer later reported to have been “a disaster.” Nicola was apparently not a great cook. She also led a bloody boring life, unless something fantastically interesting happened to her when she was pushing a trolley up and down the economy aisles of her airline. Is that what had happened to Josie when she “took” David Lastingham?
A year later Jackson received a parcel addressed to him at the police station. Inside there was no note, just a box, and in a nest lined with midnight-blue velvet was an opal pendant, a little plaque of sky. Jackson knew he was being given a lesson by the old man, but it had taken him many years to understand it. He was keeping the pendant for Marlee’s eighteenth birthday.
N icola’s husband, Steve Spencer, was convinced his wife “had taken a lover”—that’s how he put it, so it sounded delicate and rather courtly to Jackson’s ears, whereas most of the suspicious spouses who came to him tended to voice their mistrust in cruder terms. Steve was the nervy, paranoid type and he couldn’t understand how he’d managed to net someone like Nicola, because she was “so gorgeous.” Jackson had known “gorgeous” in his time and it wasn’t the Nicola Spencers of the world, although he thought that if he was married to Steve Spencer he might be tempted to “take a lover.” Steve was a pharmacist in a chain of drugstores and seemed to have no hobbies or interests other than Nicola. She was “the only woman in the world” for him. Jackson had never believed that there was one person in the world that you were destined for. And if there was, knowing his luck, she’d be working in a rice field in the middle of China or be a convicted killer on the run.
When she wasn’t at work, Nicola Spencer went to the gym, to Sainsbury’s (and once, for no apparent reason, to Tesco’s), to her mother’s, to the homes of a friend called Louise and a friend called Vanessa. Vanessa was part of a married couple—Vanessa and Mike—who were also friends of “Steve and Nicola.” Louise and Vanessa, as far as Jackson could tell, didn’t know each other. Nicola also went regularly to the garage, for petrol obviously, and in the garage shop she sometimes bought milk and nearly always bought chocolate and a copy of
Hello
or
Heat.
She had also been to a garden center, where she bought a tray of bedding plants that she had put straight into the garden and had then failed to water, judging by the look of them when Jackson climbed up on the garden fence to have a snoop at what went on chez Spencer, or, more accurately,
au jardin
Spencer.
In the last four weeks Nicola had also been to a DIY superstore, where she bought a screwdriver and a Stanley knife, to Habitat, where she bought a table lamp, to Top Shop for a white T-shirt, to Next for a white blouse, to Boots (twice for cosmetics and toiletries and once with a prescription for Ponstan), to Robert Sayle’s for two blue hand towels, and to a fish stall on the market, where she bought (expensive) monkfish for a meal—for the aforesaid Vanessa and Mike—which Steve Spencer later reported to have been “a disaster.” Nicola was apparently not a great cook. She also led a bloody boring life, unless something fantastically interesting happened to her when she was pushing a trolley up and down the economy aisles of her airline. Is that what had happened to Josie when she “took” David Lastingham?
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