Chapter 16 Jackson #2
Her gentle joke hit him like a ton of bricks. He wasn’t sure anyone had ever said anything as generous to him in all his adult life. Jackson stared at the potato in his hand, trying to form a reply, but his thoughts were interrupted by a sharp tap on the back door.
“I’m throwing myself upon your mercy!” trilled Hazel, as she breezed into the kitchen and greeted them both with a hug.
“My oven won’t turn on and I can’t reach the repairman until tomorrow.
He’ll probably tell me it’s just an element and then charge me an arm and a leg even though he’s only ordered a replacement from anyway.
I considered having cereal, but honestly—who wants cereal for Sunday dinner?
And I knew Leah would take pity on me if I came begging.
” She swept into the living room on the sea of words, her cut-glass British accent even more pronounced than usual.
“Oh, well, goodness me! I had no idea you had company.”
Jackson considered how unlikely that was, in view of the fact she’d walked past both cars on the drive, and he wondered if it was possible for Hazel to underplay an entrance.
Raising an eyebrow at Leah as they both trailed in Hazel’s wake, her guileless shrug confirmed his suspicion that she’d had a hand in this interruption—and he was grateful.
“Hazel, this is my mother and father, Celia and Alistair. And Niamh Stockwell, a family friend.” His voice rumbled in the sudden silence. “Mom, Dad—Hazel was one of Esther’s close friends.”
The air seemed to form a vacuum inside the room.
“Oh, we’ve already met. I’ve known your dad since he was knee-high to a grasshopper.
” Hazel stepped forward to grip one of his mother’s hands in hers.
“My apologies for gatecrashing your family dinner—so terribly rude of me. But how fortunate to have this opportunity to get reacquainted.” The piercing gaze she directed toward Jackson’s father was a masterclass in unspoken communication.
Rather than Hazel’s company defusing the tension, now there were undercurrents Jackson couldn’t even get to grips with. The prospect of playing mediator in a game of blind man’s bluff had his shoulders creeping higher and higher.
It felt like an age before the pot pie was ready, but eventually Leah called everyone to the table. The food smelled delicious and there was a moment of promise before they began to eat when the visit seemed redeemable, but the reprieve was short-lived.
Leah had been overenthusiastic with the chili flakes.
The pie filling was tongue-numbingly, eye-wateringly hot.
His dad let out a strangled cough on his second mouthful; his mother and Niamh both instantly reached for their water glasses.
Hazel’s right eyebrow quivered a fraction, but other than that miniscule tell, she ploughed gamely on, keeping the sticky chatter running smoothly at the same time with sheer force of will.
“I do love your skirt, Niamh. I always feel like I’ve been trampled by a pack of hyenas when I wear animal print, but it suits you perfectly.
And your hair is fabulous. I had such a disastrous cut once when I was much younger, I had to wear a scoop-necked blouse to distract people until it grew out.
” Hazel took a sip from her glass. Leah’s eyes met Jackson’s across the table.
“Niamh is always beautifully turned out. I don’t think she knows how to be scruffy.” His mother slid a cool glance in Leah’s direction as she reached for the water jug.
Jackson’s fingers tightened on his cutlery.
Dressed a little more conservatively than normal, Leah wore clean blue jeans and a peach cropped tee.
Over the top, she’d pulled on a sloppy cardigan in olive and white stripes.
The fluffy yellow socks were a flamboyant, although not entirely unexpected, addition.
Her style was growing on him. He liked that she dressed to please herself.
Dragging his eyes away, Jackson concentrated on getting through the last few forkfuls of pie.
“Wouldn’t it be dull if there was no such thing as individuality?” Hazel tipped her head to one side.
His dad interrupted. “It doesn’t look as if anything’s been updated in this house for years. Your grandmother clearly let things slide. If you ask me, you should give up throwing good money after bad. You can’t make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear.”
“But you can sew sequins on it, add a cute little chain, and call it an evening bag.” Hazel’s tone was placid; her pale blue eyes were not.
“I’m taking the advice of the realtors, Dad. And using my own judgment, too. It’s worth making some changes if they add value and appeal to buyers.” Beneath the table, Jackson drummed restless fingers against his thigh.
“It’s a waste of your time. You need to prioritize your focus. Drop the price and someone will take this money pit off your hands.” Pushing his plate away and draining his glass, his father considered the conversation finished.
Jackson bristled. As if he had the option of dropping the price!
“I prioritized my focus when I left school at sixteen,” Hazel stated, twirling a piece of chicken on her fork.
“My father thought I should take a secretarial course but I wanted more excitement than typing in triplicate. He said it was unbecoming for a female to go into the prison service.” Her eyes danced when they met Jackson’s.
“Five years later, I was organizing arm-wrestling tournaments for inmate privileges and knew every way to weaponize a toothbrush. It was great fun. Soon after that, I moved to the US and the adventure continued. There’s more than one route to every destination. ”
His father pretended she hadn’t spoken.
Only Jackson’s and Hazel’s plates were empty when everyone laid down their knives and forks.
“Oh, Mr. Hale, a friend of yours dropped by in the week.” Leah stood up and began to clear the table. “He said to say hello.”
“Yes—the very smooth Mr. Peake.” Each word trickled like an insult from Hazel’s tongue.
Jackson’s glass paused halfway to his mouth. “Landon Peake?”
“Yes.” Leah nodded.
“What did he want?” The hair at the back of Jackson’s neck prickled.
Hazel and Leah exchanged a loaded glance. “Nothing, really. It was barely a ten-minute visit. I suggested he come back when you were here.”
His father cleared his throat. “I’ll give him a call tomorrow.”
The tension he’d been batting away all day clamped tighter on Jackson’s temples. He hated that Peake had come here. He hated that he’d talked to Leah. The visit wasn’t a social call; Landon Peake was delivering a message.
Silence settled over the table for several uneasy minutes before Leah took the plates into the kitchen. “Let’s have dessert!” Her voice was a little strangled when she returned, placing a cheesecake, decorated with malted milk balls, in the middle of the table.
“We don’t eat chocolate,” his parents said as one, in the same tone someone else might say, “We don’t eat crushed snails.”
“I’m not a big fan of cheesecake,” Niamh murmured, choosing now to speak up when she’d been all but silent the entire visit.
Jackson and Hazel shared a glance. He would eat a slice of that dessert even if it was loaded with chili, too. Hazel’s eyes said the same.
“All the more for us.” The old lady beamed at Leah and held out her hand for a plate.
He battled the migraine for as long as he could, his stomach churning and his vision beginning to shimmer at the edges. Leah had jumped at the chance to walk Hazel home, and he didn’t blame her. His parents laid into him in a two-pronged attack the moment the front door closed.
They were scathing about the house and his grandmother.
Equally rude about Leah and, surprisingly, Hazel, too.
Probably because the old lady was utterly resistant to intimidation.
Their contempt scalded. He’d grown used to it showering down on his shoulders like acid rain but it was infinitely more uncomfortable hearing it directed elsewhere. Niamh, as usual, stayed out of it.
If he could have controlled the pounding in his head, there were so many things Jackson wanted to say.
But exhaustion dragged at his limbs, weighing his tongue until he was almost mute.
The battle was lost before he could plant his feet.
He was a crab without its shell. A warrior without a shield. This was not the hour for fighting.
Retreat and regroup. That’s what he needed to do.
“I have to go to bed,” he ground out, eyes half closed, almost swaying on his feet. “I’ve got a migraine coming on.”
“Still having those?” His mom sniffed at yet another weakness from her one remaining son.
“You said we weren’t staying over. I don’t have anything with me.” Niamh re-joined the conversation with a frown.
“I wasn’t planning on it, but I can’t drive tonight.”
“You can come back with us, Niamh,” his mother offered. It was barely out of their way, since they lived less than fifteen minutes apart. “We’ll drop you home.”
“I have to lie down. Please tell Leah when she gets back—” He trailed off, knowing he shouldn’t be leaving her to deal with his parents alone but barely able to remain upright.
Almost reduced to crawling up the stairs, Jackson felt relief with each step that took him further from his family.
Sliding beneath the covers and craving darkness with every overactive pain sensor in his body, he laid his head into the cool dip of his pillow and allowed himself to relax. Within minutes, he was asleep.