‘I’ll tell you something that might surprise you,’ Jake had replied. ‘It works the other way too.’ In the past, he had sometimes stood at the window of his beautiful apartment in the building owned by the Rosses and had cast his gaze down at the average man in the street, wondering what it was like to earn an average wage; to work, really work, for the roof over his head. ‘Sometimes I used to feel …’ He had shaken his head, finding it hard to put into words.
‘What – you used to feel what?’ Faye had pressed him for an answer.
‘I felt like my life …’ Jake was thinking about his upbringing in London, with the best schools, a college education, whatever he wanted, regardless of cost – he had chosen America, Yale. ‘It all came so easy. It wasn’t right, somehow. It was like I was living somebody else’s life.’Marcus’s life, he had thought. If his parents hadn’t died, and he’d been brought up by them, instead of by William Ross, his life would have turned out very differently.
‘But you’re training to teach now. Something must have happened that caused you to change direction?’
‘Don’t you read the papers?’ he remembered barking at her. He knew that was unfair. Of course she had. Everyone who interviewed him for the position must have known about his background. But her question suggested she hadn’t just gone on the assumption that the loss of his wife was what had taken him there. However, despite that, she had hit a nerve, and it was a raw one; had he used the circumstances to get out of a life hewasn’t sure he wanted? Was he that heartless and that gutless that it had taken a tragedy of such magnitude to propel him into starting over? Why hadn’t he made the leap earlier?
Jake had been honest enough to admit the truth to Faye. ‘I needed a place to go, away from everything that reminded me of her.’
‘Some people would have taken a holiday,’ she had remarked.
‘I did,’ Jake had said.
And he had made it permanent – or so he had thought. Jake looked over at his house, picturing Marcus inside; his old life kept seeping back in, first through the back door and now the front.
Jake got in his car. He was ready for his holiday.
He started the engine and gingerly took the steering wheel, Fortunately, he had power steering, and the car was an automatic, so there was no gear-stick to handle, otherwise he could forget about driving with bandaged hands. It did occur to him that this might be illegal. Would he be pulled over if he was spotted driving with his hands like this? Jake dismissed that idea. He did not want to wait around for a taxi, especially as Marcus was still there. He might insist on accompanying him to the airport. Jake had a scary thought – Marcus joining him on the flight.
Jake relaxed, reminding himself that Marcus wasn’t going anywhere – he had a business to run. Jake, on the other hand, had several weeks off to do as he please. ‘I’d rather be at work,’ he said glumly to himself.
He took one long look back at his house before moving off from the kerb. Jake had left a door key on the hallway table by the phone and hoped that when Marcus left, he would have the presence of mind to lock up. There were no concierge services there to check the doors were secure at night.
At the end of the street, Jake took a left turn into asimilar street with nearly identical houses. He approached the T-junction at the end, which led out to the main road and eventually the motorway. The traffic light was red. He slowed to a stop.
He sat there, thinking about Marcus turning up in his newly painted front room. The light turned green. He sat there, thinking some more. Thinking about Marcus overdosing in his newly painted front room. A car horn sounded behind him. He didn’t move; stranded in indecision. Cars manoeuvred around Jake’s stationary vehicle until the traffic light changed from green to red.
When it was green again, Jake slowly turned left and circled the block, bringing his car to a stop behind the black Saab.
Marcus was sitting on his front step.
Jake got out of the car, walked up the narrow pathway, and stood in front of Marcus.
Marcus looked up, raising his hand to shield the sun from his eyes. ‘That was a short holiday.’
Jake had the impulse to hit him for being a smartarse, and for his smug self-assurance that Jake would feel compelled to come back.
Jake sat down on the front step beside Marcus. He stared at the pathway. There were weeds sprouting up through the cracks. He plucked at the one nearest his foot and seriously began to re-consider his plan to go to Scotland. He would be quite happy, more than happy, to hang around the house. He looked at the weeds; he had things to do.
‘Where are you going on holiday?’
‘Does it really matter?’ Jake sighed and pulled on the weed. The tough little thing was staying put.
‘Yes, it does. You need to give me some idea of what you’ve got planned. You see, I’m coming with you.’
The weed was forgotten in an instant. ‘Are you nuts?’ Jakestood up so fast that he nearly lost his balance. ‘You’ve got a fiancée! Aren’t you planning a wedding?’ He was conscious of the fact that he was making a scene; somewhere in the street he heard the sound of a window slamming shut. He’d probably interrupted someone working from home.
Jake realised his mistake. He shouldn’t have turned the car around and returned. ‘And … and you can’t just up sticks and leave the company without a word of warning.’
‘Why not? You did,’ Marcus pointed out.
Jake glared at him. Was this a wind-up? If it was, Marcus was doing a bloody good job of it. He knew the score. Jake’s house, phone and physical presence were effectively out of bounds to Marcus. Jake wanted him to stay well away. If it were practicable, Jake would have slapped Marcus with a restraining order to keep him out of his sight. He was not welcome in Jake’s life, and he knew it.
Trying desperately to keep his cool, Jake asked once more what Marcus was doing at his house. ‘What do you actually want?’
‘I knew you’d come back. I need a holiday, and …’
