Page 17 of The Truth About You and 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 thatmaybeI 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, himThe 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 seenJawsbut 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.
