Chapter 10
MAGGIE
I know more than I should about the man beside me.
After a brief intermission where I battled with Colin’s password system, I’ve managed to get The Breakfast Club running. We’ve also managed to find an unopened bottle of tequila in lost property and added some to our slushies.
Jack is broken. His thoughts as he touched me were so loud, so clear.
I know he’s had his heart shattered; I know he’s lost something of himself.
That he wants answers to a question I couldn’t quite place.
It was as though there was a gap behind his thoughts.
It’s hard to explain exactly. For the most part, I just hear people’s thoughts.
But when they are stressed or upset, it’s well…
it’s more than thoughts burrowing their way into my head.
I can feel their emotions, like they’re so strongly attached to their thoughts, they’re unable to separate them.
Sometimes, I even get flashes of memories, images, as if they’re being projected into my mind.
I suppose it’s like when you smell a specific perfume or hear a piece of music that is so tightly linked to a memory, it’s hard to differentiate one from the other.
Thoughts… memories, emotions are so extraordinarily tethered to the other parts of the brain, it’s understandable that elements of these would also pass on to me.
That’s how I know that right now, here, with me, he feels happier and lighter than he has for a long time.
And that gives me a glimmer of hope that maybe I can help him find his way back to the man he was.
Hearing thoughts has held me back from a normal life for so long, but fate has brought us together for a reason; I could help him fill in those gaps in his mind, help him find those answers.
Our students on screen – Emilio Estevez, Judd Nelson and Molly Ringwald – are navigating their way through social differences while sitting in the library, all of them having different reasons for being in detention.
Right now, I’m happily tipsy and talking to Jack comes easily, despite my knowledge of the things he’s hiding.
Our conversation has ranged from socks and Crocs – a yes from me, an absolute no from him; best boxsets ever – me, Buffy the Vampire Slayer, him The Sopranos; chess or draughts?
I would go draughts every time. I tell him about Romy and her dates; he tells me about Nell and his family.
He had dogs growing up, but had his heart broken when his last golden retriever, Bumper, died.
‘Did you always want to be a cleaner?’ I’m struck by how genuine he sounds. My occupation is usually met with pity or judgement as though I must have failed at everything else, but the way he asks could be the same as, ‘So, did you always want to be a brain surgeon?’
‘Actually, I wanted to be an astronaut.’
‘Really?’ he asks, his tone impressed not mocking.
‘I always loved the idea of being in space, of having my whole body protected in a space suit, millions of miles from the earth.’ My voice has taken on a wistful tone. ‘But… I realised I wasn’t any good at maths or physics…’
‘And then there is the issue of aliens.’
‘Right.’ I smile. ‘Aliens are the worst.’ We look back to the screen. Our teenagers are telling each other their deepest secrets.
‘So what’s your day job? Wait, let me guess.’ I tap my fingers on my bottom lip. ‘You’ve never seen Jaws but you’ve read the book, you mentioned James Joyce, you like avoiding people—’
‘Not all people,’ he says. The way he looks at me sends goosebumps along my skin.
‘Got it. You’re a writer.’
‘No, but you’re getting close.’
‘Journalist?’
He shakes his head and pulls away from the straw. ‘Too intrusive.’
‘Hmmm…’ What else do I know about Jack? ‘What’s your surname?’
‘Chadwick.’
‘Chadwick? Why does that ring a bell?’ I frown. ‘Are you anything to do with the bookshop in town?’
‘I own it. Well done – full marks.’ He smiles but there is a brief tightening around his mouth, the light behind his eyes muted for a split second.
‘You’re not going to believe this, but I almost went into your shop tonight.’ His eyebrows rise as he chews. ‘But I couldn’t.’
‘Why?’
I hesitate. ‘Germs,’ I reply holding up my gloves.
I wait for him to frown, to react to my gloved jazz hands, but he doesn’t even look at them. I take another sip of my drink.
‘Maybe’ – Jack tilts his head – ‘we were destined to meet tonight, one way or another?’
I swallow. ‘Maybe.’
‘I’m glad we did.’
‘Me too.’
‘Do you think he feels left out?’ Jack faux-whispers out of the side of his mouth, eyes directed at Henry. I reply using the same corner-of-mouth diction.
‘He doesn’t have emotions. He’s a vacuum cleaner.’
Jack laughs slowly; it pools in my stomach like warm toffee. Of course, that could also be the tequila.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ I begin, emboldened by the alcohol zinging its way around my body.
‘Shoot,’ he says twisting around in his seat, elbow leaning on the armrest.
‘Where were you supposed to be tonight?’ He takes a moment, eyes darkening, deep in thought, thumb tapping against the armrest. ‘Sorry, I shouldn’t have asked. You don’t need to explain…’
‘No, it’s fine.’ He gives me a small smile. ‘My shop was nominated for an award.’
‘Congratulations!’
‘Thank you.’ Jack’s leg is bouncing a little as he takes another sip.
‘Or commiserations?’ I probe. Jack focuses on the slushie logo on the outside of the clear plastic. The cup tips to the right then left. Slowly, he drags his eyes from the cup.
I don’t need to touch him. I don’t need to read his thoughts to experience the sense of pain behind those brown eyes as they meet mine, because it’s there, shouting through the taut air between us.
‘I’m sorry, I… I didn’t mean to pry. Your business is your own.
’ I fumble for the right words. That’s the thing when you live with a vacuum cleaner for company: rusty social skills that need buffing.
‘No, it’s fine.’ He gives me a gentle smile, shifting in his seat and pulling at his earlobe, a healed ear-piercing hole above his thumb. ‘I had a—’
But his words are swallowed by the lights coming on in all their full end-of-credits brightness. Jack and I shield our eyes.
And Romy walks into the room.
* * *
Outside, the storm has lost its enthusiasm, a light drizzle coating the fur on my coat.
‘I’m…’ Jack and I both say.
‘You first,’ I add.
‘I’m glad I chose to come here, Maggie.’
‘I’m glad too.’
Tactfully, Romy begins to walk away.
‘I’d like to see you again,’ Jack says. But this time, when he says it, this isn’t the man I didn’t know, who asked me out moments after meeting me. This is the man who has become part of the tangled labyrinth of my life. Who knows and has seen that I’m different.
The person he knows, this woman who has flirted and acted out her part in a life that she can never have, isn’t real. But that invisible thread that somehow makes me feel connected to him tugs and the words fall out of my mouth.
‘I’d like that too.’
‘So… next Friday?’ he asks, his head leaning to the right. ‘You, me, Henry…?’ He meets my eyes with that intense gaze that I have come to recognise, eyes searching mine as though looking for answers.
‘Oh, I think Henry can sit the next one out. He’s already seen Notting Hill.’
Jack lets out a soft laugh that runs up my body from the soles of my purple boots to my scalp.
Romy gives a not very discreet cough. We both glance in her direction, awkward smiles passing between us.
‘Goodnight, I’m-not-Jack.’
‘Night.’
He hesitates like there is more he wants to say, but then begins walking away.
Panic expands inside my ribcage, that feeling of homesickness already beginning to rise.
I step forward, in case – despite his offer to see me again – he realises that it would be a mistake for this to go further; that this special relationship born through soft lighting and magic reveals its true self, and he sees me with all my flaws, in the cold light of day.
‘Jack?’ He stops, half turning in my direction. ‘Hold on…’
My hands are already fishing in my bag for a pen and paper.
I pull back my gloves and scribble down my details.
He walks back towards me, my breath hitching, his dark eyes so intense that it feels like he could read my mind if he wanted to.
‘Here’s my number. In case you ever need a friend or, or someone to fight aliens with.
’ I reach out. His face falls, eyes drawn to my scribbles with a frown.
‘Forget it, I…’ I rush on, retracting the paper but his hand dashes out, his fingertips brushing gently against mine as he looks down.
There is a crack of sound as Jack’s thoughts and emotions crash into mine.
Then there is a snap, like an electrical current and I know I’m about to see as well as hear his thoughts.
There is a rip, a resistance, and symbols and words collide and disappear; there is a pain at the back of my head and then the noise stops, like a void has swallowed his memories.
Before I have time to prepare myself, an image forms. A man.
A face I recognise.
Realisation hits me hard. My breath is hot and dry at the back of my throat.
It’s my fault.
I’m the reason Jack’s life fell apart.
He takes the paper, smiles at me all enigmatic and relaxed, despite everything I’ve experienced through his mind.
‘See you soon, Maggie Wright.’
And with that, he tucks the paper in his pocket and walks across the road.