Chapter 10 Jackson
Jackson
He must have seriously pissed someone off to deserve this.
They stood in a line of four, staring up at the swathe of pines on the boundary of the Kingswater plot. Jackson tipped back his hard hat to take in their full height.
“Problem is, we’ve missed the deadline for tree clearing. Can’t take them down until October now.” Rufus, their senior site manager, was typically pragmatic.
Jackson’s father squinted upward. “But they’re mainly dead.”
“That’s how the bats like them.” Rufus shrugged. “They settle in colonies and roost behind the bark to breed. I’ll contact the MES Field Office to see if we need a survey before we apply for the permit. Probably why no one else wanted to push forward on this site right now.”
Jackson let out a slow, measured breath.
Disturbing the summer habitat of the Indiana bat was not an issue Hale Evolution had faced before.
Their projects were mainly rebuilds or redevelopments in built-up areas.
The Kingswater site was close to a lake, flanked on two sides by woodland.
Now it would be six months before they could start work.
“The Addlestone-Blacks had this plot in their sights. We had to move fast.” His father’s tone was sharp.
And there it was in a nutshell. His dad’s rivalry with the Addlestone-Blacks—founders of another family-run development firm—had created this mess of escalating proportions.
Max Addlestone-Black was a forceful man; his father, Richard, more driven still.
In so many ways, they both reminded Jackson of his own father, but Alistair Hale would not be drawn on why his feud with this particular family and their company was so vitriolic.
He shut down tighter than a cable clamp any time Jackson pressed for more details.
“I heard they had their engineers out here.” Florian sounded defensive.
“Why didn’t the bat issue show up during our site assessment?” Jackson asked.
“We weren’t looking for it.” His dad’s PA had a spiky build and a spikier temperament. Jackson butted heads with him almost as often as he did with his father. “The Environmental SA checked for ground conditions and contaminants. It was all clear.”
There was nothing more to be said.
“We’ll leave it with you, Rufus. Keep us up to date with any progress.” Jackson dug into his pocket for his keys.
They separated by the cars, the site manager heading to one of the local merchants, Florian to pick up his dad’s lunch order. Half of their own journey back to the office passed in silence before Jackson cleared his throat.
“It would make sense to cut our losses on this site, Dad. If we resell the plot straightaway, we can pay back the loan and focus on our current projects. We can’t afford to sit on this until October.”
“We’re not reselling.”
“We might have to.”
His dad stared out of the window, his back as rigid as a steel pole.
Traffic was gridlocked. Knowing he’d get nowhere by pushing, Jackson tried a softer approach to keep the conversation flowing.
“D’you remember how obsessed Dom was with bats?
He’d have been making plans to camp out on site if he was here.
” His brother’s name on his tongue felt familiar and unfamiliar at the same time.
His dad huffed. For once, it was an indulgent sound rather than a harsh one. “There wasn’t an animal he didn’t find fascinating.”
“I thought he might decide to be a vet.”
“No—he was always going to work for the company. But every time we went to the library, he’d come back with armfuls of books. Different animals every time. Your brother was always reading. He was smart like that.”
Jackson stiffened. He couldn’t help himself. And the moment of easy reminiscing fractured and fell away.
“How did you get on with the realtors at your grandmother’s place?” His father changed the subject this time.
“The valuation came in around $1.3 to $1.5 million after updates. Under $1 million in its present condition.” Jackson forced his hands to relax on the wheel.
“She should have moved out if she couldn’t cope,” his father said bitterly.
Jackson had no answer to that; instead he focused on the latest fuck-up to hit one of the other sites.
Thank God Rufus had held back from spilling the details on that, or his father would never have let him hear the end of it.
An order for one hundred sheets of drywall had gone awry; only ten were delivered.
The team of men onsite, scheduled specifically to start the fit-out, had been left kicking their heels.
A costly error in time and money. As always, he’d double-checked the order before it went through, but now—faced with an irrefutable one-tenth of the expected delivery—he was doubting himself.
The next two weeks were hectic as he continued to play catch-up after his obligatory month at Amity Court.
He barely found time to squeeze in a quick mid-week dinner with Niamh, and they met at a restaurant near the office—a regular haunt.
Jackson ordered steak frites as always, without looking at the menu; he was starving.
Niamh chatted about the upcoming wedding of a work colleague and he had to force himself to concentrate on her words, pushing the jumble of figures and spiraling concerns to the back of his mind.
They were in and out of the restaurant in ninety minutes.
He pecked her on the cheek and headed back to the office for another couple of hours, their conversation already forgotten by the time he reached his desk.
It was late on Friday night when Jackson pulled up outside Amity Court, forced to make the return visit by his grandmother’s letter.
The requirement to stay overnight at least every two weeks was already pissing him off.
Closing the car door with a muted snick, he couldn’t tell if Leah was still awake or had left the one solitary side lamp shining in the bay window for him—doubtful, since he hadn’t let her know he was coming.
The three-hour drive had tightened his shoulders.
He rolled them to loosen the knots and took a moment to enjoy the silence.
His back ached and his eyes were gritty, his head full of undone tasks on an extensive to-do list. Amity Court stood shrouded in darkness against the inky sky, its silhouette even grander for the forgiving shadows of night.
A hushed serenity, so different to city living, settled around him.
Feel the peace.
Those words again from his grandmother’s letter. They echoed in his head as he took a long, steadying breath.
Turning his key in the lock, Jackson eased the front door open with his shoulder—note to self, plane the fuck out of this asap—and an indistinct and slinky shadow weaved between his feet and through the gap, padding noiselessly into the house.
The sleek black cat sat on its haunches in the middle of the tiled floor, blinking regally.
Jackson sank into a crouch. “Who are you, then?” He stretched out his hand. “You look more at home than I think you should, since this is my house and we haven’t been introduced.”
The cat turned its head toward the living room door and did its best to ignore him.
“That’s Handyman Stan.”
He looked up to find Leah on the stairs, her face soft in the half-light. She lowered herself onto one of the treads, resting her chin on her knees.
“Esther named him. He visits every now and then, and looks around as if he’s checking out all the work that needs doing.”
Jackson grunted but didn’t stand up. “Probably has fleas.”
“I guess so. He’s never let me get close enough to check.”
As if determined to be contrary, the cat stood with a languid stretch and sauntered toward Jackson’s hand, allowing his knuckles to slide gently along one flank.
“Huh. A misogynist then, like so many in the building trade.” Leah’s tone was wry.
They sat in silence for a while, Jackson’s fingers running slowly over Stan’s head, the cat arching into his touch. It was incredibly relaxing. He was suddenly so tired that standing up seemed too much effort. The grandfather clock chimed once for the half hour.
“Good couple of weeks?” Leah asked.
“Not bad.”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her wriggle her bare toes against the carpeted stairs. “Have you eaten?”
“Yeah.” He hadn’t.
With the ability to string words together short-circuiting in his brain, his natural defense mechanism had stuck on asshole mode.
Sometimes, Jackson wondered if the lack of warmth and nurturing from his parents had turned him into an ice sculpture instead of a man.
Frozen splinters for feelings and unyielding rigidity beneath his clothes.
The desire to be amenable for once beat inside his chest. Even though Leah’s presence was a complication, he found himself glad he hadn’t come back to an empty house. Jackson opened his mouth.
“I’ll leave you in peace.” Leah stood and turned in one fluid movement. “Sleep well.”
Peace. That word again. If only he could hold onto it for more than a moment at a time.
Jackson sat on the floor in the dark, stroking the cat and wishing he’d thought of just one damn thing to say in time to make her stay.
The bulb in the bathroom blew when he pulled the light cord, giving Jackson his first job of the weekend. He found a spare by rummaging through one of the cavernous cupboards in the basement. Leah walked into the kitchen as he was scowling at the recycling bin and the trash can.
“Where do dead light bulbs go?” he muttered in place of a greeting.
“Who really knows, Jackson? Who really knows?” She leaned on her hands and fixed him with sorrow-filled, dark eyes.
He smothered the smile for a minute but lost the battle. Dammit, she was funny sometimes. Leah saw his struggle and her laugh was instant and delighted. The kitchen felt immediately sunnier.
She took the light bulb from his hand, dropping it into the trash.
“What’s your plan today?” She eyed his worn jeans and old t-shirt with speculation.
“I’m taking a look at what’s underneath that ancient carpet in the living room.”
“It’s really grim. Esther wanted to replace it but the quote was too high, and it does make the room warmer underfoot.”
“It’s a damn health hazard.” Jackson reached for a mug. He was overdue a coffee.
They moved around each other, Leah lifting a glass from the drainer and opening the fridge in search of orange juice, Jackson reaching above her to take a new pack of sugar from an overhead cabinet.
It was a few short steps shy of familiar, but there was a blossoming ease in the air which allowed him to take his first relaxed breath in days.
“Need a hand?” she asked him. “With the carpet, I mean.”
“No, I’ve got it.”
Leah nodded. “OK. Well, if you change your mind, just shout.”
He knew he wouldn’t. And he could tell she knew he wouldn’t.
Underneath the decrepit carpet, it turned out, were wide oak floorboards. With a hum of satisfaction, Jackson began pulling the threadbare material up from the edges of the room, knifing it into manageable sections as he went, clouds of dust gathering around him as he worked.
“Imagine how much human DNA you’re kneeling in right now. And most of it from dead people.”
Jackson glanced up to find Leah sitting on the arm of one of the couches he’d pushed back into the opposite half of the room. She was crunching on a whole carrot, tiptoes grazing the wooden floor for balance.
“Thanks for that.” He ran the box cutter blade through another section of carpet, the brittle fibers breaking so easily he could probably tear it with his bare hands.
“Years from now, our DNA will be here too, long after we’ve gone.” She sounded almost wistful. “A hair between the floorboards, stubble in the drains, a stray fingernail—”
“Stop.” Jackson grimaced. “Fingernails are too far. I don’t need that shit in my head. You sound like a serial killer.”
“I’d suck as a serial killer. I haven’t got the upper-body strength.” Leah appeared to consider the matter seriously. “Although I could knock the research side of it out of the park.”
“And serial killers are famously great at research?” Why was he encouraging her nonsense?
She nibbled the stub of her carrot, the fingers of one hand twisting around and around in a section of her midnight hair. “It stands to reason. Tear blindly into stabby situations without any planning and the police will pick you up before you’ve washed off the first spray of blood.”
“‘Stabby situations’?” Jackson sat back on his heels.
“Yeah. Or poisoning predicaments or—”
“Shooting shitshows?”
“Yeah, those.” She grinned. “They can be especially messy.”
“Don’t require much upper-body strength, though.” He stacked another section of carpet and scooted sideways, ignoring the DNA coating his knees.
“Until you need to dispose of the corpse.”
“The amount of thought you’ve put into this is disturbing.” Jackson used his forearm to push sweat-dampened hair out of his face.
This back-and-forth with Leah was dangerously addictive. Try as he might to block her out, he quite liked the person he became around her. Ripping up another piece of carpet with unnecessary force, he made himself focus on the matter at hand. It was time to shut down the conversation.
“If you’ve finished your yammering, I’ve got a job to get on with here.”
Jackson pretended not to notice the way Leah’s face dropped, or the strange pang he felt in his chest because of it.