Jenny Sparrow Knows the Future

by Melissa Pimentel

  ‘Insurance.’

  ‘Damn. You see, I knew you needed a little fun in your life.’

  ‘I actually really enjoy my profession,’ I snapped. I knew I was being rude, but I couldn’t seem to help myself. Yes, this mess was my fault, but it was his, too, and he wasn’t helping matters by making us spend time together. I was damned if I was going to let that time be pleasant.

  ‘Well, good for you.’ He paused, clearly waiting for me to ask what he did, but I just stood there, arms folded across my chest, and scowled. Jackson scratched the back of his neck. ‘So,’ he said finally, ‘I guess you’re wondering how I found you.’

  ‘Not really.’ I was desperate to know.

  ‘Well, it took a little sleuthing on my part, I’ll tell you. I had your name from the marriage certificate’ – I flinched at the mention of it – ‘so I started out by just Googling you. Turns out there are a lot of Jenny Sparrows out there!’ he chuckled.

  I stayed silent.

  ‘So then I started thinking about the things you’d told me about yourself. I remembered you’d said you were from New Jersey—’

  ‘I did?’ This was not a fact I readily volunteered normally.

  ‘Yeah, you told me all about growing up on the shore. You even did your accent for me.’

  I wondered if this would be an ideal moment to cause a distraction. Shout ‘Fire!’ maybe, or pretend to have a stroke. Anything to get me out of there.

  ‘… So I had New Jersey, and I had that you lived in London – you did your British accent for me too, by the way – and that narrowed it down to two. Then I saw the photo on your Facebook profile and I knew I had the right girl. I always remember a face,’ he said, nodding to himself approvingly.

  ‘Why?’

  He tilted his head quizzically. ‘Why what?’

  ‘Why go to all the trouble to find me?’

  He shrugged. ‘Seemed only right to find my wife.’

  It was a fair point. ‘Yeah, but … why now? Why not straight away? Or a year from now? Or when you met a woman you actually wanted to marry for real?’

  The waiter appeared. ‘You want drinks while you wait?’ he barked. We ordered a couple of beers and watched him storm off. He came back with two bottles of ice-cold beer. The caps were still on.

  ‘Excuse me,’ I said, gesturing towards my beer. ‘Could you open this?’

  A look of disgust crossed the waiter’s face. ‘It’s twist off!’ he shouted.

  ‘Give me that,’ Jackson muttered. I passed him my bottle and he covered the top with the edge of his T-shirt and eased the cap off. ‘Here.’

  ‘Thanks.’ I took a long slug of beer and spilled some down my shirt in the process. I cursed, dabbing at the stain.

  ‘Look, I get it,’ he sighed. ‘You’re pissed that I showed up like this, but I didn’t know what else to do. I thought a phone call would be a little weird – “Hey, it’s me! Your husband!” – and after your little stunt in the hotel room …’

  ‘Stunt! What stunt?’

  ‘You left when I was in the goddamn shower! And don’t tell me you don’t remember that, either, because while I know you were drunk the night before, I’m damn sure you’d have been sober by the morning.’

  I took another sip, more carefully this time. ‘I freaked out.’

  ‘I’ll bet, but that still doesn’t give you the excuse to just run away like that. I didn’t come here to give you grief. The reason I waited until now to find you is I knew you might not be thrilled to hear from me, so I thought it’d be better to do it in person.’

  ‘And you just happened to be in London …’ I said, eyeing him suspiciously.

  ‘I told you, I’m here for work.’ He saw the look on my face and threw his hands in the air. His beer burped out a little foam. ‘Scouts’ honor!’

  ‘Whatever,’ I muttered moodily. Something about the guy brought out the thirteen-year-old in me.

  Forty-five minutes later, a table freed up and we were pushed into chairs before the detritus of the previous diners had been cleared away. ‘Do you know what you want?’ the waiter barked as he crumpled up the dirty tablecloth and set out a fresh one.

  I looked down at the menu uncertainly. ‘Uh … do you have anything plain? Some grilled chicken or something?’

  Jackson snatched the menu out of my hands. ‘Ignore her. We’ll have two of the specials, and two more Kingfishers, please.’

  The waiter wordlessly collected the menus and disappeared into the kitchen.

  ‘What’s the special?’ I asked.

  He shrugged. ‘Dunno.’

  ‘You mean you don’t know what we’re about to eat? Jackson, it could be anything! It could be – I don’t know …’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘What? What could it be?’

  ‘I don’t know. Something gross.’

  ‘Trust me, it won’t be gross. I might not know what it is, but I know it’ll be delicious.’

  ‘Do you always live like this?’ I asked.

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘Like all …’ I waved my hands around in the air. ‘Crazy?’

  He raised an eyebrow. ‘You think I’m crazy?’

  ‘Well, let’s look at the evidence, shall we? You married a stranger in Las Vegas—’

  ‘So did you!’

  ‘And then you turned up at her place of work unannounced and forced her to eat an unidentified curry with you.’ I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back in the chair. ‘I’d call that pretty crazy, wouldn’t you?’

  ‘Where’s the gratitude? The respect? I travel all the way across the ocean to stop you from becoming a polygamist, and then, out of the kindness of my own heart, I take you for what will soon be the best meal of your life.’ He shook his head. ‘Some people are just never satisfied.’

  ‘Ha ha,’ I deadpanned. ‘I’m serious, though. Are you usually this … this …’

  He gave me a bemused smile. ‘Charming? Handsome? Debonair?’

  ‘Chaotic?’

  He considered this for a second. ‘I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being spontaneous.’

  ‘Well, I do. The one time I decided to be spontaneous, I ended up married to you.’

  He leaned across the table and pushed his hair out of his eyes with his hand. ‘Are you telling me that you’ve never done anything else spontaneous in your life? Ever?’

  I shrugged. ‘I like to have a plan.’ I didn’t mention the 87-step laminated life plan currently sitting neatly in the pocket of my bag. ‘Plans are good.’

  He waved the thought away. ‘Plans are boring! How are you supposed to experience anything new if you’re always sticking to a plan?’

  ‘Uh, plan for it?’

  He shook his head. ‘I mean something really new. Something completely unexpected. Doesn’t that idea excite you at all?’

  ‘Like I said, the last time I did something off-plan, I married you, and that doesn’t excite me in the least. The opposite, in fact.’

  He clutched at his heart. ‘Ouch.’

  ‘Planning is absolutely the way forward,’ I said firmly.

  ‘Yeah, well, not all plans work out the way they’re supposed to,’ he said quietly. He stared down at the table, a faraway look on his face. All at once, the energy drained from him.

  I reached across the table and lightly tapped his hand. ‘Are you okay?’

  Before he could answer, the waiter appeared with two steaming plates in his hands. He threw them on the table in front of us and stalked away.

  Jackson’s face lit up and he rubbed his hands together. Whatever strange mood had overcome him a minute ago cleared instantly. ‘I hope you’re ready to have your mind blown.’

  I gazed down at the mound of brown, lumpen meat sitting in front of me and felt my stomach try to flee the building. I picked up my fork and gave an exploratory prod, but what I found underneath – more brown, lumpen meat – wasn’t particularly reassuring. I looked at him doubtfully. ‘You’re absolutely, one-hundred
-per-cent sure this isn’t going to kill me?’

  He was already shoveling it in faster than I’d previously thought possible. ‘Dig in!’ he said through a dangerously full mouth. I briefly reminded myself of the steps involved in the Heimlich maneuver. I had a feeling I might be called upon to act before the meal was finished.

  I speared a small fleck onto my fork and lifted it to my mouth. The smell was … actually not revolting. In fact, it smelled pretty good. I opened my mouth and took a bite. Immediately, my eyes started to water. The heat was intense, but there was more to it than that. There was sweetness, too, and richness, and tenderness from where the meat had been cooked to the point that it almost melted.

  ‘Oh my God,’ I muttered.

  Jackson looked up at me, beaming. His mouth was ringed with reddish oil, and there was a splodge of sauce on the front of his shirt. ‘Good, huh?’

  I nodded and took another bite, bigger this time. My upper lip began to sweat. The heat worked its way through me, warming me through to my skin. Before I knew it, I was wiping up the last of the sauce with a hunk of peshwari nan and wondering if it would be impolite to ask for a separate jug of it for dipping.

  Jackson was watching me from across the table, a huge, messy grin stretched across his face. ‘You liked it?’

  I sat back in my chair and sighed. ‘That,’ I said, ‘was maybe the most delicious thing I’ve ever eaten in my life.’

  ‘And the spice? It wasn’t too much?’

  I shook my head. ‘It was genuinely fantastic.’

  He clapped his hands together and hooted. ‘I knew it! You see, everybody likes spicy food! It’s just some people haven’t eaten it right yet.’

  I gave him a begrudging smile. ‘You were right. I’m a convert.’

  ‘I’ll say you are. I thought you were going to pick up that plate and lick it at one point.’

  I picked up the paper napkin and tried to mop the grease off my chin as delicately as possible. ‘So how do you know about this place?’

  ‘I lived here a while back.’

  ‘You lived here? In London?’ My head spun.

  The waiter deposited another two cold, tall bottles of beer on the table and Jackson picked his up, tilted it in my direction, and took a long pull. ‘That’s right.’

  ‘If you lived here, why the hell did you tell me you needed me to play tour guide?’

  He shrugged. ‘I thought it would be fun.’

  Indignation bubbled up from my ribcage. ‘You thought it would be fun?’ I pushed back from the table and tossed my napkin next to my plate. ‘You’re nuts.’ A hysterical laugh escaped. ‘You’re nuts!’

  ‘Hang on a minute …’

  Everyone in the restaurant was staring at us now, but I didn’t care. ‘No! You’re a crazy person, and I refuse to spend any more time with a crazy person, even if we are married.’ There was the clatter of a knife dropping, and I turned to see a man sitting dumbfounded next to us, his fork halfway to his mouth, his eyes wide. ‘Oh, eat your food,’ I hissed.

  ‘Jenny, will you calm down for a second?’ Jackson was hovering a couple of inches off his seat. He had the look of a man who’d got too close to a grizzly bear and was trying not to get mauled. ‘Please?’

  I lowered myself reluctantly back into my seat. ‘You have three minutes to explain, and then I’m out of here.’

  He plucked sheepishly at his napkin. ‘I don’t like being on my own in this town.’

  I rolled my eyes. ‘You’re going to have to do better than that, buddy.’

  ‘I’ve got some bad memories here,’ he shrugged. ‘I like to have company to distract me. I love London, but it can be a lonely place.’

  I felt a twinge of sympathy. I knew the feeling all too well. ‘So I’m the distraction?’

  That grin of his reappeared. ‘Well, you are my wife …’

  ‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘How long ago did you live here?’

  He paused to consider this. ‘Nearly ten years ago now. I came over when I was twenty-four.’

  ‘How come?’

  Jackson started peeling the label off his bottle of beer in long, clean strips as I drank from mine. ‘A girl.’

  ‘You moved to London for a girl?’

  He shrugged. ‘I was young and in love.’

  ‘And I’m guessing she’s the reason for the bad memories. Did she break your heart?’

  ‘Something like that.’ He folded his arms, and I could tell he wasn’t going to say any more about it. ‘What about you? How long have you lived here?’

  ‘About three years.’ Saying the words aloud made my heart sink.

  ‘Three years in London, and the only restaurant you know is Claridges?’

  ‘I know other restaurants!’ I cried indignantly.

  ‘I’m sure you’re a walking, talking Time Out guide.’ He nodded towards my almost-empty beer. ‘You want another of those?’

  I hesitated. It was a week night, and I’d already had three bottles. A fourth would mean a foggy head the next day, and I had that early meeting …

  I looked up and saw that Jackson was already signaling the waiter to bring us another round.

  ‘So how do you like it here?’ he asked.

  ‘Where, Vauxhall? I’m not much of clubber, so …’

  ‘Not Vauxhall specifically. London in general.’

  ‘Oh.’ A series of words popped into my head. Lonely. Isolated. Overwhelmed. I forced a smile. ‘It’s okay, I guess.’

  ‘Only okay?’

  How could I explain how small the city made me feel without seeming totally pathetic? And why would I want to tell him, anyway? I shrugged. ‘I guess I haven’t explored all that much of it.’

  ‘Why’s that?’

  I took another sip of beer to stall for time. ‘Well, Christopher and I both work, and on the weekends he’s got his training, so we tend to just stay around home—’

  ‘What’s he training for?’

  ‘Triathlons, marathons … that kind of thing.’

  Jackson sat back in his chair and placed his hands behind his head. ‘I’m impressed. Not much of an exercise man myself.’

  I eyed the sliver of soft stomach where his T-shirt had ridden up. ‘You don’t say.’

  ‘Nah, I can’t be doing with all that stuff. Life’s too short.’

  ‘Especially when you don’t exercise.’

  He let out a laugh then, a huge, growling guffaw, and I jumped in my seat. ‘You’re funny,’ he said. ‘I remember that from our night in Vegas.’

  I groaned. ‘Please, can we not talk about that night?’

  ‘Suit yourself. You were funny as hell, though.’

  I was mortified to find myself blushing, and moved swiftly to change the subject. ‘So how come you left London? Something happen with the girl?’

  The same faraway look stole across his face. ‘You could say that. That’s not why I left, though.’

  ‘Then why did you? You obviously like it here.’

  He shrugged. ‘Like I said. Plans change.’ He emptied the rest of his beer and banged it down on the table. It was pretty clear that the subject was now closed.

  I decided to change tack. ‘You haven’t told me what kind of work you’re in.’

  ‘I’m a camera man.’

  ‘As in lights, action …’

  He nodded. ‘You got it.’

  ‘That’s so cool! What sort of stuff do you work on?’

  ‘All sorts, I guess. Television, feature films, a few documentaries. Last March I was in Fallujah doing a film for Vice about the aftermath of the war in Afghanistan.’

  ‘That sounds … terrifying.’ The waiter plonked two fresh beers down on the table, and this time I unscrewed my own cap. It gave way beneath my palm with a satisfying hiss.

  Jackson nodded and took a long pull from his beer. ‘It was, at times. At one point, our convoy came under sniper fire.’ Suddenly my work at the insurance agency seemed a lot less exciting.

  My eyes widened. ‘What
happened?’

  He laughed again. I was starting to notice how often he laughed, and how easily. ‘We got the hell out of there as fast as we could. I got some great footage, though.’

  ‘How could you remember to film when that was happening? Weren’t you scared?’

  ‘Sure I was. I was scared shitless. But it’s part of the job. You can’t let yourself get rattled and forget why you’re there.’

  I shook my head in disbelief. I couldn’t imagine being so unperturbable. ‘Where else have you been?’

  ‘You name it, I’ve probably been there. I’m on the road pretty much all the time – have been for the best part of a decade.’

  The thought of him living out of a suitcase, spending his life in airplanes and anonymous hotel rooms, filled me with sadness. ‘Aren’t you lonely?’

  He grinned wickedly. ‘There’s plenty of company on a shoot, I promise you.’

  ‘Oh God,’ I groaned. ‘I really don’t want to hear about that.’

  ‘Sorry, am I making you jealous, sweetheart?’

  I resisted the urge to reach across the table and punch him. ‘In your dreams.’ In a matter of minutes, we’d devolved into twelve-year-olds. ‘So, how often do you get to go back home? Where is home, anyway?’

  ‘Technically, it’s still in Texas. I’ve got a little house in New Deal, right near my parents. But really, it’s just a glorified mailbox. I get back there probably once every couple of months, and even then it’s usually only for a couple of days, though I’ll be there for a stretch after I leave here.’

  I shook my head. ‘I don’t know how you do that.’ Not having a routine, no security, not knowing where I’d be from one day to the next … well, it was enough to give me night terrors. In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s what my last nightmare was about. All of them were about that, really.

  He shrugged. ‘I prefer it that way. I don’t like being in one place too long. Gives you too long to think.’ I was about to ask what he was so keen to avoid thinking about when a funny look came over his face. He leaned over the table towards me. ‘C’mere,’ he said, ‘you’ve got a little bit of sauce on your—’ He reached out and wiped the corner of my mouth with his thumb.

  His touch was like an electric current shooting through me. Every nerve in my body was suddenly singing.