her alone, as was his way, and speaking unabashedly as though there was no one else around. ‘I dreamt about you last night.’
‘You did?’ She shrank backwards and looked left to right to make sure no one was listening.
He nodded. ‘We were running on sand, across a wide, pale beach with palm trees, and the sun was hot. It was wonderful. I stopped and said to you, “Where shall we go next?” and you said, “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”’ He walked forward and stood close to her so they were almost touching. ‘And you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
His lips brushed her cheek. She nodded and stared at him. Yes. Yes, she would.
7
Jacks prodded the rice with a fork to check on its progress. Still unsure, she burnt her fingers as she dipped them into the murky boiling water, pulled out a couple of grains and bit; they were still gritty and firm.
She listened as Martha chatted to her mate Stephanie in the hallway by the front room, a room Jacks hardly ever entered, not because the house was so vast, but because it was where the family congregated to socialise and watch TV, neither of which she had much time for. With its sagging couch and two comfy old armchairs, the room was already mismatched and cramped before her mum had moved in, and now some of Ida’s clutter, items too precious to be discarded or stored in Gina’s garage had been assimilated into the mix. The shelf above the gas fire held a clutch of ornaments, including china birds that her dad had lovingly collected over the years and a couple of badly hand-painted Harry Potter figures that Martha had made at primary school.
Sometimes, while waiting at the supermarket checkout, Jacks browsed the pictures in interior magazines. Flicking through the glossy pages, she marvelled at the sleek coordination of matching fabrics, shiny, dust-free surfaces and not a cardboard box in sight. She wondered how you got a house like that, deciding that the answer was probably to remain childless and not to allow your design influences to be whatever Pete fancied the look of in a skip, supplemented by a biannual trip up the motorway to Ikea.
‘Come on, Martha! Don’t be so boring! It’s nearly Halloween and it’s a right laugh out! Let’s just go and hang out on the pier and if we see them, great, and if we don’t, we can just come back and chill out.’
‘I can’t, Steph, I’ve got to write these notes up for Mr Greene’s essay.’
‘You’re such a swot. Can’t you just give it a rest for one night?’ Steph tutted.
‘Not if I want As and to get into Warwick.’
Jacks beamed.
‘It doesn’t matter what uni you go to. Uni is uni and I don’t think I could be arsed if it meant having to revise every minute of every day.’
Martha gave a small laugh. ‘I think it is important. I want to start off right, get the grades, get on my course, study business and law and be a millionaire by the time I’m thirty.’
‘Money’s not everything, Martha!’ Stephanie’s tone was indignant.
‘True. But imagine earning so much that you can do anything you want. Anything! Money gives you choices and that’s freedom, isn’t it? You know, like, oh, I’m cold, think I’ll go get some sunshine, and so you just make a call and jump on a plane! Or you get invited to some snazzy do and you go to your big walk-in wardrobe and there are three or four things that you could wear, because you have clothes for all occasions. Or knowing you don’t have to do something you don’t want to because you can afford not to. And never having to share a bedroom again – unless you want to of course!’ Martha giggled.
‘Of course!’ Stephanie replied.
They had the excited air of girls who had so much yet to experience and Jacks felt a flicker of envy.
‘Wouldn’t it be incredible, though, to be in control of your own life like that, to be so comfortable and for things to be that easy?’
Jacks braced her arms against the sink and looked out into the
‘You did?’ She shrank backwards and looked left to right to make sure no one was listening.
He nodded. ‘We were running on sand, across a wide, pale beach with palm trees, and the sun was hot. It was wonderful. I stopped and said to you, “Where shall we go next?” and you said, “Anywhere, as long as it’s with you.”’ He walked forward and stood close to her so they were almost touching. ‘And you would say that, wouldn’t you?’
His lips brushed her cheek. She nodded and stared at him. Yes. Yes, she would.
7
Jacks prodded the rice with a fork to check on its progress. Still unsure, she burnt her fingers as she dipped them into the murky boiling water, pulled out a couple of grains and bit; they were still gritty and firm.
She listened as Martha chatted to her mate Stephanie in the hallway by the front room, a room Jacks hardly ever entered, not because the house was so vast, but because it was where the family congregated to socialise and watch TV, neither of which she had much time for. With its sagging couch and two comfy old armchairs, the room was already mismatched and cramped before her mum had moved in, and now some of Ida’s clutter, items too precious to be discarded or stored in Gina’s garage had been assimilated into the mix. The shelf above the gas fire held a clutch of ornaments, including china birds that her dad had lovingly collected over the years and a couple of badly hand-painted Harry Potter figures that Martha had made at primary school.
Sometimes, while waiting at the supermarket checkout, Jacks browsed the pictures in interior magazines. Flicking through the glossy pages, she marvelled at the sleek coordination of matching fabrics, shiny, dust-free surfaces and not a cardboard box in sight. She wondered how you got a house like that, deciding that the answer was probably to remain childless and not to allow your design influences to be whatever Pete fancied the look of in a skip, supplemented by a biannual trip up the motorway to Ikea.
‘Come on, Martha! Don’t be so boring! It’s nearly Halloween and it’s a right laugh out! Let’s just go and hang out on the pier and if we see them, great, and if we don’t, we can just come back and chill out.’
‘I can’t, Steph, I’ve got to write these notes up for Mr Greene’s essay.’
‘You’re such a swot. Can’t you just give it a rest for one night?’ Steph tutted.
‘Not if I want As and to get into Warwick.’
Jacks beamed.
‘It doesn’t matter what uni you go to. Uni is uni and I don’t think I could be arsed if it meant having to revise every minute of every day.’
Martha gave a small laugh. ‘I think it is important. I want to start off right, get the grades, get on my course, study business and law and be a millionaire by the time I’m thirty.’
‘Money’s not everything, Martha!’ Stephanie’s tone was indignant.
‘True. But imagine earning so much that you can do anything you want. Anything! Money gives you choices and that’s freedom, isn’t it? You know, like, oh, I’m cold, think I’ll go get some sunshine, and so you just make a call and jump on a plane! Or you get invited to some snazzy do and you go to your big walk-in wardrobe and there are three or four things that you could wear, because you have clothes for all occasions. Or knowing you don’t have to do something you don’t want to because you can afford not to. And never having to share a bedroom again – unless you want to of course!’ Martha giggled.
‘Of course!’ Stephanie replied.
They had the excited air of girls who had so much yet to experience and Jacks felt a flicker of envy.
‘Wouldn’t it be incredible, though, to be in control of your own life like that, to be so comfortable and for things to be that easy?’
Jacks braced her arms against the sink and looked out into the
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