38. Jack
Chapter 38
Jack
J ack sits back in his chair and stretches his shoulders. Things have gone well. There are no problems, no last-minute glitches. The final stage of the project is on track, and then he will be out of here. No more Mandrake’s, no more sleepless nights, no more missing meals, no more Carly.
‘Thanks, Carly,’ he says, reaching out and laying his hand on her wrist. She stops shuffling her papers into a pile and looks at him, those big blue eyes of hers shining at him.
‘What for?’
‘Agreeing to be our guinea pig, testing out the system for us. For me. Doing it so efficiently, so well…’
‘Too much flattery and you’ll be giving me a big head.’
‘You deserve it. The flattery, I mean. Not the big head!’
‘Thanks. I’ve enjoyed it. You’re very easy to work with, Jack.’
‘And I’m sorry about the way things worked out between us. I acted like a total prat, didn’t I? I know there’s no reason to see each other after I leave, but you never know. We have mutual friends, so it could happen, if Syd has another party or Molly makes your wedding cake one day!’ He sees her smile at that. ‘I don’t want there to ever be any awkwardness.’
‘Me neither.’
She stands up and gathers her stuff.
‘I hope you’re happy, Carly.’
‘I’m getting there.’
‘That bloke at the party? Syd’s brother?’
She looks down at the carpet but not before he sees her blush. ‘Sorry. Not my business anymore, if it ever was.’
‘No.’ She hesitates. ‘Good luck with the baby, Jack. It won’t be like the last time, I promise you. Molly seems nice, and fatherhood just might be the making of you! Now, I really do have to go. I’ve got a driving lesson soon.’ She picks up the empty cups and walks out, closing the door behind her, and he sits for a moment, relishing the silence. His stomach growls hungrily.
Maybe she’s right. Being a dad will be okay after all. He hopes so, anyway. Something clicks inside his head. Dad? Baby? Oh, God, the scan! He looks at his watch. It’s quarter to four already. How did that happen? He grabs for his laptop and papers, picks up the pen he’s dropped on the floor, and almost knocks his chair over in his haste to get out of here. All he has to do is collect his coat, with his wallet in it, unplug his phone, ring to tell Molly he’s on his way, find a cab and dash straight to the hospital. They’re bound to be running late. They always are, aren’t they? She’ll never forgive him if he doesn’t make it in time. And he realises, suddenly, that he won’t forgive himself either. He wants to be there, to see their little artichoke baby moving on the screen, and he really, really needs to be there when they finally find out if it’s a boy artichoke or a girl one.
He grabs the door handle and yanks it down hard. Too hard. With a strange clunking sound, it loses contact with the door and comes away in his hand. No! This can’t be happening. He should have listened to Carly. Treat it gently, she’d said. Bloody door. It always has given him trouble, and now…
He tries to get a grip on the door itself, to find a way of easing it open, but without its handle it won’t move. He needs a tool of some kind. The pen? He pokes it at the edge of the door but it’s too fat, too round. He needs something flat, like a screwdriver or a knife, to get a bit of leverage. A paperclip, even. He looks around the bare room. It’s set up for meetings, a so-called ‘quiet’ room. There is no phone, no cupboard, no drawer that might present him with what he needs. Frantically, he rummages in his pockets. Oh, why couldn’t he be more like his brother? Working on a farm, Richard would never be without a Swiss Army knife somewhere about his person at the very least, and probably all sorts of other useful things too. Lengths of string, screws, nails, you name it… God, he hasn’t even got a coin that he could try twisting against the mechanism, to release the catch. Everything’s cards these days. Bugger!
There’s nothing else for it. He’ll have to make a total dick of himself and bang on the door, shout out for help, like some damsel in distress in need of rescue.
‘Hello!’ he says, loudly, but just short of a real out-loud cry for help. Nothing. He thumps on the wood and yells again, a bit louder this time. Outside in the corridor, all is quiet. This room is tucked away in a corner. It’s not called a quiet room for nothing. Nobody hears him. Nobody comes.