‘Is that your mother’s name smudged on the glass, or am I hallucinating?’
‘I wrote it the other night. I can wipe it off, sorry.’
‘Did it help?’
‘More than I thought.’
‘Vincent rang the landline earlier.’
‘He did?’
‘I told him that you were probably going to interview with Clear Skies. He didn’t seem very pleased.’
Clear Skies is a famous chain in the funeral industry. They run late-night ads on television where a child throws some doves in the air, while the numbers for their closest parlours are superimposed across the screen.
‘Did he yell?’ I ask, wishing they would stop antagonising each other.
‘No, he just sighed and said that he wishes you all the best with the new job, but that he’s surprised you would be comfortable working for such charlatans.’
‘Did he say anything else?’
‘Don’t think so, honey … Anyway, like I said, it would be good for you to speak to Shell, the director. The work makes you happy. It could just be something part time to give you a bit of confidence. There’s no need to rush back up north anytime soon.’
‘Does Vincent want me to ring him back?’
‘I didn’t get that impression, no. Oh, and when you do speak to Shell, tell her Jacky boy says hi.’
‘I definitely won’t.’
‘Do it, Lia. She and I go way back.’ He rubs his feet together, pleased with the thought.
A fly lands on his mandarin and he swats it away, which makes it buzz frenziedly between us. Jack tries to catch it in his hand, before batting at it with the back of his palm. ‘You’re ruining our peaceful morning!’ He swats at it again. I’m not sure if people who live alone realise this, but as soon as things don’t go their way, they tend to become incredibly agitated.
The fly soars through the air towards me, and I hit it away. Hitting a fly is different to killing a moth, although neither speak well of my character, it has to be said. I should make room for a bit more tenderness, perhaps.
‘How come you’re single?’ I ask, realising as I do that this is not a great start to my new tender way of being.
He clicks his tongue a few times. ‘I was with a woman for six months or so …’
I know I should ask him who she was and why he never told me about her, but I’m not that interested. She’s gone now, and he’s alone again, and asking intimate questions about how and why and when will only create the impression that we are closer than we are. Exchanging facts is not a bond. I think we may have both made this mistake before in the past.
‘What did she look like?’
‘Pretty but in a forced way.’
She was probably the type who enjoyed brunch. Or having lots of different shoes to choose from.
Jack begins to whistle and my phone beeps with a message from him with Shell’s number, followed by an exclamation mark. He’s settled and comfortable on the bed next to me, and when I glance at his computer screen I see he’s scrolling through a list of albums. He clicks on one and the tinny sound of gamelan music leaks out of the laptop’s speakers. He opens the chapter he is working on and begins typing furiously.
This room wouldn’t have been used since I was last here. He would have closed the door and left it locked up like other parts of the house. But here he is. Opening the curtains and lying in bed with his laptop and fruit. I think he wants to be close to me but he doesn’t seem to want much else. There are so many subjects we could be discussing that might unravel our previous misunderstandings or hurt. I’m sure he would love to ask why I don’t write back to his emails, or why I only ever answer every third call. I could ask him why he is always kind of obsessed with me but preoccupied with things that have nothing to do with me. I could ask why he only feels inspired to write when Simon or I visit. For him it’s enough just to be physically close. Well, fine then. You have to give a little to get a little. I put my hand over his, and he freezes. The typing stops, and we both look straight ahead. It is extremely awkward, but I feel it’s important, for reasons I don’t yet know. I leave my hand on top of his for twelve seconds before taking it away and getting out of bed.
I ring Shell’s number as Jack turns the music down but not off. Picking up some clothes from my case, I hang them in the wardrobe while listening to the dial tone. I am putting my underwear and bathers into a drawer when a woman answers. I introduce myself.
‘I’ve been waiting for you to call! It would be good if you could come in for a chat. Would today suit you?’ Shell says.
‘Perfect,’ I say. We agree to meet around lunchtime.
Jack leaves me to get ready. I brush my teeth and hair, and make sure the hairs of my eyebrows are facing the same way. I pull a dress from the wardrobe and put it on, then pinch some colour into my cheeks. Ready.
Clear Skies is much bigger than Aurelia’s, with a driveway that leads right up to the door for the hearse, and a chapel that seats more than eighty people. I can only imagine their targets for the year in a
