Jack Mutant - Which Way is Down (part 5)

 

Jack had received no contact from his father since that text on his first day at Sandpools. He put it to the back of his mind, buried it but buried things don't go away and one day a conversation with the brethren brought his memory to the surface.

 

 

'My parents don't believe in homework,' Tristan said quietly after being told off for not handing any in, again. 'I haven't got time anyway, me and my dad play Xbox for hours each night.'

 

‘You’re lucky,’ said Jack without thinking. ‘I hardly see mine,’ he added after a pause.

 

Tristan had shrugged his shoulders. ‘It’s just what dads do I guess,’ he said dismissively. ‘Although mine works away a couple of weeks a year, that’s tough, the hamsters and I really miss him.’ He paused then with some enthusiasm said, ‘I know, the brethren dads could meet up on Xbox some time, some ...maybe some Minecraft, Dragon Age or….you know,’ he whispered now, ‘GTA.’

 

Chris looked up frowning. ’GTA? I’m not allowed that,’ he squeaked.

 

‘My parents are free thinkers, they let me do anything. What about yours Jack?’

 

There was a pause. ‘I don’t think my dad will be free,’ said Jack blushing slightly. ‘He’s always away….busy.’

 

‘Look he’s blazing,’ said Tristan. Jack kept his eyes down on his books. ‘Jack, I hope you don’t mind me asking but I know you were mates from before with Cromwell Spruce..’

 

‘I wasn’t mates with him! We just went to primary school together that’s all.’

 

‘Well whatever. It’s just I’m quite, you know, in tune and I was wondering, is you dad in prison?’

 

‘What...what are you on about Tristan? No, no he’s not….no!’

 

 

Jack had felt a little bubble of rage rise within him but he’d suppressed it on account of them being in the midst of a Religious Education video about the role of angels within the various faiths. He’d returned home from school and forgotten all about it but the hole where he had buried his father's memory had now been disturbed. The conversation loitered in the back of his mind and that night, during sleep it broke out through the loose soil of his subconscious. There was a dream, it centred around a music concert, Obscura, his father’s favourite band playing locally at the Swindon Arts Centre. His mother had mentioned in passing that his father had attended the concert a couple of nights ago.

 

‘Well why didn’t he visit?’ Jack had asked in dreamworld.

 

‘Oh I think he just forgot,’ said his mother casually.

 

At this point Jack had exploded with inner-rage, woken up panting. My dad’s forgotten I exist, he thought and suffered a horrible, dark sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach. He told himself it was just a dream, probably lasted millionths of a second in real-time but the associated emotions lingered. It was days later when they began to fade, as dreams always do, that he returned from school to find his mother in a strange state of mind. She was fretful, her forehead tense and lined.

 

 

'Your father is coming soon to take you out for the evening Jack.’

 

Jack dropped his schoolbag. It seemed so inexplicably fitting that he should come on this day, as if the terrible dream had created a gap, a space for a paternal visit to fall neatly into.

 

‘But..he hasn’t texted me,’ said Jack checking his phone.

 

‘Well he called the house phone, spoke to Chloe. He’s coming at four thirty, that’s right isn’t it Chlo?’

 

Chloe raised her eyebrows, nodded feebly. ‘Uh huh,’ she said.

 

Jack checked his reflection in the hall mirror and ran upstairs to change. He didn’t like the idea of his father seeing him in school uniform, it made him feel like such a loser and there was a part of him that thought perhaps his father would rescue him, take him away somewhere exciting and he’d never have to go to school again.

 

As he got dressed he could here his mother downstairs pacing around and exhaling loudly. She was thinking about her ex husband, sighing was all she seemed able to do whenever he was mentioned; cry, lie or sigh. Jack hadn’t seen his father for five months and his visits were always short; he was always in a state of flux, moving somewhere, trying something new, never settled.

 

‘Hurry, he’ll be here soon and you need to be ready,’ she shouted tersely. ‘I wonder what he’s up to now...saving the world, doing up old cars, moving to Brazil...homeopathic medicine.’ The sighing began again, sighs of anger, of pity and exasperation.

 

 

‘He’s here!’ shouted Chloe, ‘What IS he driving..’

 

Jack dropped downstairs, peered through the semi-opaque window in the front door. He could make out the profile of his father seated in an old blue van, the engine was running and he was facing forward.

 

There was a period of a few minutes where everyone was frozen. Mum in the kitchen, still in her beige mac, sighing, Jack at the window, eyelashes touching the glass, Chloe smirking at her stepfather’s vehicle then at Jack and the familiar stranger, Mr Massey, hands still on the steering wheel, bracing himself for a glimpse at his old life, the normal, regular, domestic life, the one he’d failed at. He turned the key, off went the engine and then the radio, he opened the van door, got out, it slammed shut with a sad crack, walked down the drive with his head down and tilted slightly to the side. There was no need to ring the bell; he sensed the spirit of his son there waiting for him on the other side.

 

Jack opened the door, there was silence while they smiled at each other. Chloe got up from the sofa, came to the door to say hello.

 

‘Are you coming with us?’ said Mr Massey. Jack’s heart stopped, he turned to her, pleading with his eyes.

 

She looked at him and smiled. ‘No...I’ve got study to do, you go.’

 

‘Okay..’ Mr Massey shifted on his feet, peering through into the kitchen. ‘Hello,’ he said lifting his arm.

 

‘How are you?’ Jack’s mum spoke in an automated voice.’

 

‘Surviving..’ Jack grabbed his father’s sleeve and began pulling him down the drive.

 

‘Did you get my email about Jack’s P.E kit, it was nearly ninety pounds?’

 

Mr Massey shrugged and smiled at his son. ‘Yes, if only I had that sort of money.’

 

She made a sort of grunting sound, annoyed that she hadn’t prepared a series of cool, clever responses. ‘If only we all did,’ she said quietly.

 

‘Well….I guess we’ll see you later.’

 

‘So..where are you planning on going?’ She shouted after them.

 

‘Out, to dinner somewhere, maybe a little walk before the winter nights set in.’

 

‘Be back by nineish….. Jack has school...remember.’

 

The van smelt of soil, vegetation and something greasy but it was comfortable and Jack always felt kind of safe in a moving vehicle, there was a sense that the world outside speeding past the window couldn’t touch him.

 

‘Here I’ve got a present for you.’

 

Jack ran his fingers across the rough black plastic of the dashboard. ‘What? You didn’t have to dad.’

 

Mr Massey waited until he was round the corner, then leant across to the glove compartment. Jack heard the rustling of a packet and knew exactly what was coming as the pickled onion Monster Munch were dropped into his lap. He opened them immediately, smelt the salty, oniony aroma and all his problems melted away.

 

‘They’re not easy to find these days you know.’

 

‘Mum won’t let me have them, she says the monosodium glutamate affects my behaviour.’ He lifted the packet right up to his face and peered inside, shaking it slightly. ‘They’re all whole dad, there’s no broken feet in here….there’s nine. Thanks dad!’

 

Jack ate them in silence, placing the monster feet cleanly into his mouth, one by one, holding them there a few seconds until they began to melt a little and adhere to the roof of his mouth before chewing and swallowing them. His father glanced across at him and smiled. Jack felt that in all the world and all of time he was exactly where he should be and he wanted the moment to last forever.