Owning Jacob (1998)

by Simon Beckett

  There were signs that Maggie's charity was wearing thin. Her smile was glassy as she served the lasagne. Ben sat next to Jacob. On the other side of the table Scott and Andrew whispered and cast glances across at him, sniggering from time to time.

  Colin still wasn't home. He had called to say that he would be working late. Maggie ordered them all to the dinner table as she announced the news.

  'He says it's unavoidable, so that's all right, isn't it? Still, never mind. I'm sure we can manage without him. And if his dinner's burnt when he decides to get back, that'll just be too bad, won't it? If he doesn't like it he's always welcome to find himself some other hotel.'

  Ben said nothing. He wished he hadn't accepted Colin's invitation. He had called him at work as soon as he had left the detective's office. A secretary had said he was in a meeting, but Ben had insisted on talking to him.

  Colin had listened to his ranting account and then said, 'Shit.' He'd told Ben he couldn't get away just then, couldn't even talk for long because he'd got a room full of record company suits and an angry band, and if he didn't get back soon they'd start breaking the furniture on each other. 'Come over for dinner tonight. We can talk then,' he'd said.

  But when Ben and Jacob had arrived at the house he'd found that Maggie wasn't expecting them. Now she had the toothpaste smile of the self-martyred as she handed out the plates. 'I just hope there's enough to go around. Of course, it would have been nice if Colin had had the consideration to tell me he'd invited guests, but I suppose that would be asking too much. After all, that's what I'm here for, isn't it? I don't have anything better to do than stay at home all day while he goes off with his bands.'

  Maggie seemed convinced that Colin's work was mainly socialising because most of his clients were musicians. Ben hadn't heard her complain about the money he earned, though.

  'Don't bother about me,' he told her. 'I can eat later.'

  'No, of course you won't. If there isn't enough Colin'll just have to go without. Perhaps then he'll make more of an effort to get home on time when I've gone to the trouble of cooking.'

  The serving spoon rattled against china. 'Scott, it's rude to whisper to your brother at the dinner table.' Scott ignored her, whispering behind a cupped hand to Andrew. Although Ben couldn't hear what was being said he could guess its subject by the way they were looking at Jacob, who was busily picking out the pieces of onion from the sauce and arranging them end to end around the rim of his plate.

  Andrew giggled as his elder brother finally lowered his hand.

  Scott glanced at Ben indifferently, still smirking. Ben stared back at him, fighting the desire to ram his fork up the little bastard's nose.

  He's only a kid, for God's sake. Don't be so touchy.

  He turned to Jacob. 'Come on, Jacob. Eat your tea.'

  Jacob looked up, blankly, at the sound of his voice, then went back to sifting out the onion.

  Maggie finished dishing out the lasagne and sat down. For a while there was no noise except the scrape of cutlery.

  'This is really nice,' said Ben, dutifully. To give Maggie her due, she was a good cook.

  'Thank you. Nice to know someone appreciates me.'

  Oh God.

  Scott and Andrew were giggling and nudging each other.

  'If you two boys don't hurry up, you won't get any dessert,' Maggie said with forced jocularity.

  'That's all right, because I don't want any,' Scott told her.

  'Well, perhaps we'll let you go without all week, then, shall we?' The bright smile was set on her face now, as convincing as a party mask on a mugger. 'Good.'

  Maggie's mouth twitched, and Ben hoped for a moment that she would resort to violence against her first-born. Instead she tore her eyes away and noticed Jacob, still arranging the onions in a line.

  'Eat up, Jacob. Don't play with your food when Auntie Maggie's gone to the trouble of cooking it, dear.' Jacob didn't even look up. 'Did you hear Auntie Maggie, Jacob?' she persisted, 'Be a good boy and do as you're told.'

  Because your brats certainly don't. Ben gripped his cutlery. He had seen Maggie in her picky moods before. They ran off Jacob, and usually Ben took no notice. Right then, though, he wasn't in a good mood himself.

  'He'll get round to it,' he said, as casually as he could manage. 'No need to push him.'

  Maggie's smile glittered. 'Was I pushing? I'm sorry, I'm sure I didn't mean to. It's just a little annoying when you see something you've cooked go to waste.'

  Scott and Andrew had fallen silent and stopped eating, aware of the sudden tension between the adults. Only Jacob seemed unaware of it. Ben told himself to ease off. A scene wouldn't do anyone any good, and Maggie had been helpful since—since Sarah died. The thought snuffed the heat out of him.

  'It won't be wasted. If the worst comes to the worst I'll finish it myself,' he said, doing his best to smile naturally.

  Maggie backed off a little herself. At least she seemed to.

  There was an interval while she put green salad on the side of her plate. Then she asked, 'Have you any idea yet what you're going to do about Jacob?'

  Ben felt the lasagne clog his mouth. He took a drink of water. I'm not with you.'

  'About his school, I mean. Not that I mind running him backwards and forwards for you.' She smiled, saccharin again. 'He's such a treasure. But it isn't always convenient, and I expect you'll want to sort out something more…well, more permanent, won't you?'

  His relief was followed by irritation. Here it comes, he thought. First the favour, then the bill.

  'Yes, I will.' He knew he wouldn't ask her to collect Jacob again, no matter how difficult it became.

  'I don't want you to think there's any hurry as far as I'm concerned,' she went on, back-pedalling now she had made the point. 'I know it's not easy for you, though, and I just wondered if you'd had chance to think about any other options.'

  'What sort of options?' He could guess.

  'Well, I don't know, really. Perhaps some sort of…' She glanced at her two sons, who were no longer paying the slightest bit of attention, and lowered her voice conspiratorially. '…of residential school. Of course, it's only a thought. I don't know what you've got in mind, but with Jacob being a…a special little boy, and you being busy and all, well…' Her smile was failing against his silence. 'You don't mind my mentioning it, I hope?'

  'Why should I?' He stood up. 'Excuse me.' He left the table, knowing it was rude of him, but also knowing it was less rude than what he might have said if he'd stayed.

  The bathroom was at the top of the stairs. Ben locked himself in. He hadn't particularly wanted to urinate but now he was there he did anyway. It gave him something to do to take his mind off his anger.

  When he had finished he put down the pink marble-effect seat and pressed down the gold-plated flush handle. The washbasin taps were even more ornate, a pair of stylised and vaguely Japanese-style dolphins. As he dried his hands on one of the soft pink towels he remembered what Colin's room had been like when they had been students.

  The decor hadn't run beyond posters and empty bottles of Newcastle Brown. It didn't take much guessing whose hand had been behind decorating the house.

  He went back downstairs, cooler-headed than when he went up. It wasn't worth falling out with Maggie, if only for Colin's sake. And, after helping out with Jacob for the past three weeks, he supposed she had a right to ask what his plans were. It wasn't her fault that he didn't have any.

  The thick oriental carpet silenced his footsteps as he returned to the dining room. He heard voices from it before he reached the doorway.

  '…well, he is,' Scott was saying. 'I don't see why he's got to come here!'

  'I don't care, I've told you not to call him that!' Maggie snapped, trying to whisper.

  'Why not? He can't understand.'

  'That's not the point! It isn't a nice thing to say.'

  'So what? He is a mong. And you don't want him here either. I've heard you telling Dad.'

 
'You shouldn't have been listening! I won't tell you again—' She broke off as Ben came in. 'Oh.' She hastily tried to assemble a smile. 'We, er…we were just—'

  'Yes, I heard.'

  He went over to Jacob. The boy sat with his chin tucked on his chest, eyes downcast. Ben's jaw muscles hurt to think of him sitting there as they talked about him. 'Come on, Jacob, time to go home,' he said, taking his hand. He shot a glare at Scott, who was sullenly staring at the table. 'Thanks for dinner, Maggie. Tell Colin I'll talk to him later.'

  'Ben, there's no need to…I mean, I don't want you to think—'

  'Don't bother to get up.'

  She still followed them into the hallway, smiling anxiously. 'Are you sure you won't stay for dessert?'

  'I don't think so, Maggie.' He opened the door and went out before she could say anything else. His Golf was parked further up the street. He hoisted Jacob up and carried him, even though it wasn't far.

  He felt he wanted to cry. He thought about Maggie again and let himself feel angry instead.

  He set Jacob down when he reached the car. As he unlocked it there was a shout He turned to see Colin hurrying from his BMW. There was no sign of Maggie.

  'Where're you going?' Colin asked, breathlessly.

  'Jacob's tired, so we're going home.'

  'Home? I thought you wanted to talk.' He took hold of Ben's arm. 'Come on, you can have a quick drink—'

  'It's okay, I'll give you a ring.'

  Colin let his hand fall. 'What's wrong?'

  'Nothing. I just want to get Jacob home, that's all.'

  They looked at each other. Colin glanced towards the house. He seemed to sag slightly, then drew himself up. 'If you're in a rush let's talk in the car.'

  Jacob played with a puzzle in the back while they talked.

  Ben described the meeting with Quilley. When he'd finished Colin kneaded the bridge of his nose. The flesh of his face was pale and puffy. His scalp showed through his thinning hair. He looks middle-aged, Ben thought, with a slight shock.

  'I'm sorry, Ben. If I'd any idea he'd pull something like this I'd never have recommended him.'

  'You weren't to know.' But he still felt resentment, unjustified or not.

  'I know it doesn't help but I'll see to it he doesn't get any more work from our firm. I'll put the word out to other people as well. It's just a pity you didn't tell him you'd got his name from us. I don't think he'd have tried anything if he'd known.'

  'I'm more worried about what I'm going to do now than what I should have done.'

  'I can call him, if you like. Tell him we represent you. That might make him think twice before he does anything else.'

  'Are you sure you want to get your firm involved?' Colin didn't say anything, but Ben could see he wasn't.

  'I don't have any choice, do I?' he went on. 'I've got to assume it's all going to come out.'

  'You don't know for sure there's anything to come out.'

  'Oh, come off it.' Colin looked at Jacob playing on the back seat. He gave a sigh. 'Okay, then. The next thing to do is to get some advice. I can ask around, see if anyone knows a good family law solicitor. The number of divorces our clients go through I shouldn't think that'll be a problem.' He gave Ben a sheepish glance. 'I'll make sure it's someone reliable this time.'

  The streetlights had come on, although it wasn't dark. Ben looked at the weak yellow glows. 'You don't think I should go straight to the police?'

  'Christ, no. If you do they'll be all over you. You could wind up being held on a kidnapping or aiding-and-abetting charge and with Jacob put in care before you know what's happening. You need legal representation before anything else.' He paused. 'The question of custody's going to be tricky enough as it is.'

  Ben was aware that Colin was watching him, trying to gauge his reaction. In the rearview mirror he could see Jacob's face, unconcerned. He felt an urge to hug him.

  'What I can't stop thinking about,' he said, in a voice that wasn't quite steady, 'is how the other poor bastard must feel. You know who I mean. It's been over six years. We're sitting here, calmly discussing what we should do, and he's sitting somewhere not knowing if his son's alive or dead. I keep thinking about what he must have gone through, and what happened to his wife, and…fuck, I don't know…' He broke off and turned to stare out of the side window.

  Colin was quiet for a while, giving him a chance to recover.

  'You've got to think about yourself, Ben,' he said gently. 'And Jacob. I'm sorry for this guy too, but it doesn't alter the fact that you're in a vulnerable situation. If this does all come out you're going to have to prove you knew nothing about it until now. You're going to have to decide fairly soon what you're going to do, and to do that you need expert legal advice.'

  'I know.' Ben cleared his throat and nodded. 'I know you're right, and I will, but…' He realised he'd already come to a decision. 'I'd like to see him first.'

  'Oh, now look, Ben—'

  'I don't mean I want to meet him. I just want to see where he lives, what he looks like. Try and get some idea of what sort of a man he is. I can't decide anything until I know that.'

  He expected an argument, but Colin was silent.

  'When?' he asked.

  'I don't know.' He hadn't thought that far. 'Tomorrow morning, perhaps.'

  Colin passed a hand over his face and shook his head. But whatever objections he had he kept to himself. 'I'll come with you,' he said.

  Chapter Seven

  It took almost as long to get out of London as it did to get to the town itself. There was another Tube strike, and the roads were clogged with slow-moving snakes of traffic. The air was unbreathable. It was a close, muggy morning but they kept the window up, preferring the heat to the atmosphere of exhaust fumes.

  They had taken Ben's Golf. Colin had objected to travelling in what he called 'a biscuit tin', but couldn't deny that his black BMW would look conspicuous in a scrapyard. Ben guessed it was the thought of what might happen to it there that finally convinced him.

  Once on the M1 Ben made good time to the turnoff.

  The main suburban sprawl was quickly left behind, but the countryside was still marred with blotches of industry, man-made cankers of brick and metal amongst the green. Some of the fields they passed still had yellow snatches of rape clinging to them, and then suddenly there was a brown patch of houses and they were in Tunford.

  It was a new town, or at least had been in the 1950s. The brave new face of postwar housing development now looked ramshackle and depressed. They went along the high street, a short stretch of squat, dun-coloured shops, until they left the town again on the other side. Ben turned the car round in a lay-by littered with plastic bottles and tin cans and headed back for the town centre.

  'What's the address?' Colin opened the folder the detective had given Ben.

  'Forty-one Primrose Lane.' The shops came into view again. Prefabricated semi-detached houses ran off to either side. 'Do you think there'll still be primroses there?' Ben asked, trying to conceal his nervousness.

  'If there are they'll be under the tarmac. Shall we try the next turning?'

  Since they didn't know where Primrose Lane was, one street was as good as another. They had no map of the town, and didn't want to draw attention to themselves by asking for directions. Not that there were many people about to ask. Neither of them spoke as they drove through the empty streets at random. On one they passed a mongrel dog shitting on the pavement.

  'Welcome to Tunford,' Colin said.

  Primrose Lane was at the edge of the town, running parallel with the fields beyond. They drove down it slowly, counting house numbers.

  Colin pointed. 'There.'

  The house was set behind a four-foot-high wire mesh and concrete post fence. The neighbouring properties were run down, with shaggy lawns and unkempt flowerbeds, and the garden in front of 41 was heaped with rusting piles of metal. Car wings, doors and bumpers, engine parts and motors were stacked haphazardly, grown through with uncut
grass and weeds.

  'Obviously a man who takes his work home with him.' Ben didn't respond to the joke. He drove past slowly, taking in the peeling paint on the doors and window frames.

  A woman appeared in an upstairs window. He had a glimpse of yellow hair and plucked eyebrows, and then the house was behind them.

  Colin craned his head to see. 'Was that the wife?'

  'I suppose so.'

  They were quiet as they went back to the main street.

  'It might not be as bad as it looks,' Colin said, after a while.

  'Just because they won't get into House and Home doesn't mean they might not be nice people.'

  'No.'

  'You can never tell from appearances.'

  'Just leave it, Colin, will you?'

  He headed out the way they had originally gone, before they had turned back. According to the detective's report the scrap metal yard where Kale worked was on the outskirts of the next town along, about three miles away. For a while they were back in open countryside, but the taint of civilisation was in the litter-strewn hedgerows. They passed an untidy farm, then a garage. The scrapyard was the next building after that.

  Ben pulled into the edge of the road before he reached it.

  The yard was surrounded by a high brick wall, topped with barbed wire and shards of broken glass. Mounds of decaying cars were visible above it, stacked one on top of another. A battered sign saying 'Robert Shaw's Reclamation Yard' arched across the top of the entrance. Below it, the spiked double gate was open.

  Colin stirred. 'You sure you want to do this?'

  Not really.

  Ben didn't answer. He could see some sort of heavy vehicle moving about inside the yard. A crane. 'What is it we're supposed to be looking for?'

  'Spares for an MG. But I'll ask about that. You just keep your eyes open.'

  Quilley's report had given a basic description, but other than that Ben didn't know what the man looked like.

  The car spares story had been Colin's idea, a pretext for wandering around the yard until they identified him.

  'Shall we go in, then?' Colin said.

  Ben started the car and drove through the gates. Once through them the yard opened up, bigger than it appeared from outside. The long drive ran between stacks of wrecked cars. It led to a two-storey brick building with a steeply-pitched corrugated roof. In front of this was a clearing where two obviously still-roadworthy cars were parked. Ben pulled in behind them. They got out.