JACK The Blackbird
JACK
The Blackbird
I whip round to face my brother, jaw hanging and eyes practically popping out of my skull. Has Ian actually lost his mind and I just didn’t notice? Because honestly, there’s no other reasonable explanation for the absolute madness he’s currently spouting across the table.
I wave my arms around like an idiot, trying to shut him up, but I’m too stunned to even form words properly. Meanwhile, he keeps rambling, weirdly cheerful, trying to sell his ridiculous idea to Francis, who looks just as horrified as I do. Maybe even more.
Astonishingly, the infuriating doctor and I are suddenly on the same page. And of all people, it’s thanks to my bloody brother.
Like we’ve rehearsed it, we both shout, “No!” straight into Ian’s stunned face.
And yet, somehow, the man has the audacity to look wounded.
“But… why?” he asks, all sad puppy eyes and disbelief, like he genuinely can’t see what’s wrong with his absurd plan.
Everyone else suddenly finds something else to look at, ceiling beams, the bottom of their pint glasses, entirely imaginary conversations with the person next to them.
Everyone except Remi and Seb, who, apparently unsure what to say, decide this is the perfect moment to start snogging like teenagers.
“Why not?” Ian insists, fixing me with that big brother look that makes me feel about five years old and terminally unreasonable.
Which, to be fair, I can be sometimes… but not right now. Not on this.
“Your classes start at nine and finish at five,” he begins, rattling off a list like this is some kind of job interview, “You’d have plenty of time to drop the baby off and pick her up.
Plus, Francis lives basically next door to the LCDA, so it’d be right on your way.
You’ve been babysitting for years, trained by the best, Mum.
You like kids, and you’re good with them… ”
“Yeah, but…” I finally manage to cut in, desperately searching for an excuse that doesn’t sound blatantly offensive to Francis.
Because believe it or not, I’m trying to be the bigger person here. Diplomatic, even.
“I do love working with kids, that’s true,” I say, carefully, “but you also know I’m mainly looking to get back into teaching dance…”
“It didn’t work out with me, unfortunately, because of the schedule…” Jamie chimes in before I can stop him, and I can’t help but shoot him a look that could kill.
“See!” Ian jumps straight back in, practically glowing with renewed optimism, clearly taking Jamie’s betrayal as fuel.
“Francis isn’t that bad, as you’ve seen tonight, and anyway, you’d barely even see him, right?” he adds, turning hopefully to the irritating doctor himself.
But before he even gets the chance to reply, my brother barrels on: “I’m also pretty sure the pay would be good, probably a lot better than what you’d make teaching dance part time…”
“Oh, you can definitely count on that,” Jamie chimes in with a laugh.
What is this, a conspiracy?
I’m starting to seriously worry that Ian is trying to get rid of me.
I glance around, hoping to find some backup, but nope. Not a chance. Everyone’s suddenly far too interested in their pies or pretending to be deep in conversation.
Even Anne is conveniently locked in what appears to be a very intense discussion with Seb about some concert setlist they’re planning for Australia… next year.
Remi and Noah, meanwhile, are deep in an animated argument about the shortcomings of the British school system, while Francis, who, for the first time since I met him, actually manages to stir a bit of pity in me, looks like he’s mentally scrambling to come up with a way to turn me down without insulting me again.
The good news, if you can call it that, is that whatever excuse he comes up with, I definitely won’t be offended, because there’s absolutely no way I’m going to work for him. Not for all the gold in the world.
Sure, what happened to that poor little girl is heartbreaking, and I’ll admit it’s kind of admirable that Francis stepped up and took her in.
I’m not so intellectually dishonest as to deny that he’s trying to do a good thing here.
Still, my dislike for him remains very much intact, and as much as I feel for baby Adele, I’m not about to throw myself under the bus and go work for her maddeningly smug foster father.
The real issue here is that Francis isn’t exactly helping me out.
While dear Ian lists, yet again, every single reason why his friend should hire me on the spot, said friend is staring at him with such a panicked expression that I’m starting to worry he might actually cave if I don’t do something fast.
“Um… Ian, don’t you think it’s time to go? You did promise Ollie we’d swing by after the show. And you know that if we’re even a minute late, he’ll end up crashing at that colleague’s place again…”
My brother clenches his jaw in a way that’s almost cartoonish. And honestly, if he weren’t currently trying to throw me under the bus, I might even feel sorry for him, but this is not one of those moments.
And as I watch two conflicting emotions wage war across his face, I’m already convinced I’ve won this round.
But of course, I’m wrong.
Ian still looks torn, but I can tell he’s about to launch back into his little speech, and at that point I know I’ve got no choice, I have to play the trump card.
Yes, I know. I’m awful. But I want to get out of here, fast. I can’t risk Francis suddenly realising just how desperate he is and actually asking me to take the job.
“Oh, right!” I say, pretending it’s just come back to me. “Luke, that’s his name! The ridiculously hot one that Ollie can’t seem to keep his hands off whenever they’re alone and…”
“Enough!” Ian cuts me off, eyes blazing. “We’re going to get Ollie. Now. And you and I are having a little chat later. You can’t just go around spilling Oll, other people’s private stuff!”
“But why?” I say, getting to my feet with the most innocent look I can muster. “Ollie talks about it with everyone, he doesn’t exactly keep it a secret…”
Ian shoots me a glare but finally starts to follow. And just when I think I’ve dodged the bullet, when I’m this close to getting out of there unscathed, Jamie’s voice rises above the general chatter. Oh no. Not him again.
“So, Fran,” he calls out casually, “I didn’t quite catch what you decided about the whole… nanny situation. Are you going to give our Jack a chance?”
I freeze, turning to stare at the doctor in horror.
I give the tiniest shake of my head, silently begging him not to say yes. Don’t you dare, I think, eyes wide with panic.
But of course… Winding me up probably gives him life. That, and the fact that he clearly doesn’t have many options, or rather, any options at all.
Either way, that smug mouth of his stretches into a resigned little smile and, God help me, I watch the whole thing unfold like it’s happening in slow motion.
He lifts his hands in mock surrender, which he seems to love doing, by the way, and murmurs, far too pleased with himself: “If he’s up for it, why not?”