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  Ian opened a drawer and pulled out a wad of cash. He counted out five hundred.

  “That’s for expenses.”

  Jackson pocketed the cash, thinking about what else it could buy him.

  He’d love to be able to take Finn on holiday. He imagined a magical hotel on a beach, with four different swimming pools and palm trees and endless free cocktails. He longed for warmth on his skin and the chance to laugh with his son.

  Or he could put it toward a decent van. He’d just need one job to get him started. If he did it well, there would be word of mouth. He could move on to the next job, start saving, keep his eye open for a house that needed doing up . . . He could do it. He was certain.

  In the meantime, he had to keep in with Ian. Ian was his bread and butter, and he wouldn’t want to let Jackson go. He had to play it smart.

  Emilia Nightingale shouldn’t take him long. Once Jackson had a girl in his sights, she was a sitting target. He had to muster up some of his old charm. He used to have them queuing up. Pull yourself together, he told himself.

  Jackson held out his hand and shook Ian’s with a cocky wink that would have done credit to the Artful Dodger.

  “Leave it with me, mate. Nightingale Books will be yours by the end of the month.”

  —

  After his meeting with Ian, Jackson drove to Paradise Pines, where he was living with his mum, Cilla. He wasn’t going to tell her about the deal, because she wouldn’t approve.

  He hated the place. It was a lie. It was advertised as some sort of heavenly haven for the retired. “Your own little slice of paradise: peace and tranquility in the Cotswold countryside.”

  It was a dump.

  Never mind the overfilled garbage cans in the car park, surrounded by rusting cars and wheelie bins and the mangy Staffie tied up in the corner that represented the “security” promised in the brochure (“peace of mind twenty-four hours a day, so you can sleep at night”).

  He slunk past the guardhouse where Garvie, the site manager, sat slurping Pot Noodles and watching porn on his laptop all day. Garvie was supposed to vet visitors, but Ted Bundy could have floated past arm in arm with the Yorkshire Ripper, and Garvie wouldn’t bat an eyelid. He was also supposed to take deliveries for the residents, deal with their maintenance inquiries, and be a general all-around ray of sunshine for them to depend upon. Instead, he was a malevolent presence who reminded each resident that he was all they deserved.

  Garvie was obese, with stertorous breathing, and smelled like the boy at school no one wanted to sit near. He turned Jackson’s stomach. Cilla said she was fond of him, but Cilla liked everyone. She had no judgment where people were concerned.

  Jackson wondered how he could have turned out so differently from his mother. He didn’t like anyone. Not at the moment, anyway.

  Except Finn, of course. And Wolfie.

  He plowed on along the “nature trail” that led to his mother’s home. It was an overgrown path with a very thin layer of chippings to guide you. There was no nature apparent, though more than once Jackson had seen a rat scuttle into the nearby undergrowth. He should let Wolfie loose up here one day, even though you were supposed to keep dogs on a lead on the site. He would have a field day, routing out the vermin. But there was no point. The residents left their garbage rotting. The rats would be back in nanoseconds.

  The fencing that surrounded the little patch of grass belonging to each home was broken, and the grass itself was bald and patchy. There were lampposts lighting the paths, but hardly any of them worked, and the hanging baskets trailed nothing but weeds.

  Maybe once upon a time it had been all it proclaimed in the brochure. Maybe the grass had been lush and manicured, the grounds tended immaculately. Maybe the owners had taken pride in their own homes.

  Jackson felt utter despair the day his mother told him what she had done. She had been conned. Taken into a show home and given a glass of cheap fizzy wine and bamboozled by a spotty youth in a cheap suit and white socks, who had convinced her this was the best place to invest her savings. She’d had a fair old nest egg, Cilla, because she’d always been a saver. And Jackson was shocked by her naiveté. Couldn’t she see the park homes would lose value the minute the ink was dry on the contract? Couldn’t she see the management fee was laughably high? Couldn’t she see that the park owners had absolutely no incentive to keep their promises once all the homes were leased? As a scam it was genius. But it made him sick to his stomach that his mother was now going to be forced to live out her days here. No one wanted to buy on Paradise Pines. Word was that you went there to die. It was one step away from the graveyard.

  And now here he was, living with her in the place he had come to hate. It was supposed to be temporary. When Mia had first thrown him out, two years ago, when Finn was three, he thought it wouldn’t be long before she allowed him back. He knew now he’d been useless, but he just hadn’t been ready to be a dad. It had been a shock, the realization that a baby was there round the clock. It had been too easy for him to slide out of his share of the childcare, coming home late from work, stopping off at the pub on the way, having a few too many beers.

  And to be fair to him, Mia had changed. Motherhood had made her overanxious, sharp. She fussed over Finn too much, and Jackson told her repeatedly to stop worrying. It had caused a lot of friction between them. He spent more and more time out of the house, not wanting to come back to arguments and disapproval. He tried to do his best, but somehow he always managed to end up displeasing her. So it seemed easier to stay out of her way.

  Then she’d booted him out, the night he’d come back half cut at one in the morning, when she’d been dealing with a puking Finn for four hours and had to change the sheets twice when she’d taken him into bed with her, desperate for a moment’s respite. Jackson had protested—how was he to know the baby had a tummy bug? But he knew he was in the wrong and had got everything he deserved.

  He thought it was only going to be temporary, that Mia was just giving him a short sharp shock. But she didn’t want him back.

  “It’s easier without you,” she said. “It’s easier to do everything all on my own, without being disappointed or let down. I’m sorry, Jackson.”

  He thought back to when they’d first met, at a Northern Soul disco in a big pub on the outskirts of Oxford. He’d been mesmerized by her. She was far and away the best dancer there. She moved effortlessly, putting in a spin or a tricky step, her full circle skirt swirling around her. He stepped in and danced with her, because he was a good mover himself, and as their eyes met she smiled. From that night on they’d been inseparable. They went to Northern Soul all-nighters all over the country.

  Finn put a stop to all that. Of course having a baby was more important than going dancing. But maybe the dancing had been the glue that held them together. He didn’t know. It was all a muddle of resentment and money worries and dirty nappies and crying: Finn’s, Mia’s, and, although he never let anyone see, Jackson’s, when it all became too bleak.

  Jackson didn’t bother knocking on the flimsy white door of his mum’s caravan, just pushed it open. There was his mum, sitting in the gloom. Wolfie lay at her feet but jumped up as soon as Jackson came in. At least someone was glad to see him. He’d got Wolfie once it was clear Mia wasn’t going to have him back. He’d gone to the dog rescue place and looked at everything they had: Jack Russells and collies and mastiffs. At the far end was a Bedlington lurcher, far too big to be practical and ridiculously scruffy. But he’d reminded Jackson of himself. He was a good dog, deep down, but sometimes he couldn’t help himself . . . How could he resist?

  His mum was as delighted to see him as Wolfie was. Her face lit up, her eyes shone. He still couldn’t get over how frail she looked. He didn’t want to admit to himself that his mum wasn’t getting any younger. He was going to cook her a decent dinner. He was no chef, but he’d bought some chicken pieces and some ve
getables with the cash he’d been given.

  She’d always taken pride in cooking them proper meals when they were young, but somewhere, between husbands three and four, she’d lost interest in food.

  He didn’t want to look at his once beautiful mother, sitting in her chair, birdlike and frail. He didn’t want to look at the hair that had once been dark and lustrous, tumbling over her shoulders. Now the black dye she used to re-create her former glory had grown out, showing three inches of gray.

  It was depression at the root of it. Obviously. Which wasn’t surprising when your looks and your husband left you at the same time. Was it easier, Jackson wondered, not to have been beautiful in the first place? He knew he’d got by on his looks more than once. His looks and an easy charm.

  “Shall we go out somewhere?” he asked, knowing what the answer would be. He wanted her to surprise him and say yes, and yet he didn’t. He didn’t want to see her out in the real world, because it made her situation even more depressing.

  “No, love,” she replied, just as he’d thought. “It’s enough for me to have you here.”

  He sighed and made the best he could of the food he had bought with the facilities available. He dished it up, coating it all in a glistening layer of packet gravy.

  They ate it together at the tiny table. Jackson had no appetite, but he wanted to set an example. He forced more carrots on her. Gave her the rest of the Bisto. At least now he knew she’d had some vitamins, some calories.

  He’d brought a ready-made apple pie and a carton of custard, but she declared herself full.

  “I’ll leave it here for you. You can heat it up later.”

  “You’re a good boy.”

  She’d always said that to him. He could remember her, lithe and vibrant, dancing in the kitchen, holding him in her arms: You’re a good boy. The best boy. He would touch her earrings with his tiny fingers, entranced by the glitter. He would breathe in the smell of her, like ripe peaches.

  Where had she gone, his mother? Who had stolen her?

  He did the washing up in the sink, which was too small to put a dinner plate in flat. He tried to suppress his despair for the millionth time. He washed all the cups and glasses that were lying around, and wiped down the surfaces.

  He could imagine Mia’s voice: You never did that for me.

  He had. Once upon a time. But nothing was ever right for Mia; she was a control freak. He couldn’t even breathe right.

  “I’m off to see Finn, Mum.” He bent down to kiss her. “I’ll be back in a bit.”

  “Ta-ta. I’m going to have a snooze now.” She settled back in her chair with a smile. He whistled for Wolfie and the dog jumped to his feet. He was like a cartoon, his eyes coal black and inquisitive, his legs and tail too long, his shaggy gray coat like a back-combed teddy bear. He loped beside Jackson, amiable and eager.

  Jackson lugged the bin bag back down the path and hurled it over the side of the garbage can. The stygian gloom of the caravan stayed with him.

  “Oi!” shouted Garvie from his lair, but Jackson knew he was safe. Garvie wouldn’t bother to chase after him.

  He left the park and broke into a run, gulping in gusts of fresh air, trying to expel the stifling staleness of the past two hours. Wolfie ran beside him, joyful, his ears streaming behind him.

  There’s got to be something better out there for us, he thought.

  —

  He walked back into Peasebrook with Wolfie, then along the main road that led to Oxford. Eventually he reached the small cul-de-sac of houses where Mia and Finn lived. And where he had once lived. It had been one of Ian’s most lucrative projects, a mix of executive four beds and the low-cost housing he was obliged to build as part of the deal. The homes that only locals were allowed to buy. It was one of the reasons Jackson remained loyal to Ian, because he’d let him have one of them cheap. Ian had flashes of generosity, though there was usually something in it for him. This had been an act of pure selflessness, as far as Jackson could make out, though he was always waiting for Ian to call the favor in. He was convinced someday he’d have to get rid of a dead body.

  Of course, Jackson’s plan had been to get his hands on something that needed doing up. A project for him and Mia: a house with a bit more character they could put their stamp on. They could make some money on it, sell it on, and buy something bigger. Keep doing that until they had a total palace. But then Mia had gotten pregnant and they’d needed a place of their own quickly, somewhere suitable for a baby. You couldn’t bring a baby up in a building site.

  So it had been a compromise. Nevertheless, Jackson had been proud to get on the property ladder. He remembered Mia’s face when he led her over the threshold. They were pretty little faux mews houses, built in imitation of the weaver’s cottages traditional in the town. He’d chosen everything off-plan: the pale blue Shaker kitchen, the silver feature wallpaper in the lounge, the pale green glass sink in the downstairs toilet. Mia had been speechless.

  “Is it ours?” she had whispered. “Is it really ours?”

  Now there was no “ours” about it.

  He knocked on the pale cream front door. He remembered choosing the color and being so proud. Mia answered. Her dark curly hair was tied back; she was wearing a baby pink sweatshirt and gray yoga pants and eating a low-fat yogurt.

  “Can Finn come out for a bit?”

  She sighed. “Don’t you ever listen? He does tae kwon do on Tuesdays. At the leisure center.”

  Jackson nodded. “I’ll walk over there and pick him up.”

  “It’s okay. I’ve got it covered. The coach is bringing him back.”

  “I can tell him not to worry—”

  “No. He’s bringing me some protein powder for my training.”

  “Training?”

  “For the triathlon. I was supposed to be going for a swim, but . . .”

  Mia had become a fitness freak since he’d left. Jackson thought she’d lost way too much weight. Her curves had gone; she looked angular, and her face had lost its softness. It was one of the things he had liked about her, her curves and the way she didn’t seem worried about her weight like other girls. Now she seemed obsessed with it.

  He looked at her. On closer inspection, she seemed positively drawn.

  “Are you okay?”

  She looked startled. They never expressed concern for each other in their current relationship. They avoided the personal.

  “Course,” she said. “Just—you know—wrong time of the month.”

  She’d always suffered. He used to make her tea and hot water bottles and rub her back. Before he’d become a total twat. He opened his mouth to commiserate or console her but wasn’t sure what to say. Anything seemed too personal now, to this woman who had become a stranger to him.

  She spooned in some more yogurt, still on the doorstep, no intention of asking him in.

  “You didn’t come to Parents’ Evening.”

  Her voice had that horrible accusatory edge. He was glad he hadn’t sympathized.

  “What?” He frowned. “When was it? You didn’t tell me.”

  “It was last Thursday. I shouldn’t have to tell you.”

  “How am I supposed to know?”

  “By taking an interest?” She glared at him. “You never have a clue what he’s doing.”

  “I have.”

  “Really? What’s his topic this term, then?”

  Jackson couldn’t answer.

  “Vikings, Jackson. It’s Vikings.”

  He sighed. “I’m a loser, Mia. We know that. You don’t have to prove it.”

  “It’s a shame for Finn, that’s all.”

  “We have a laugh. Finn and me. We have a great time when he’s with me.”

  “It’s not all about the laughs.”

  He looked at her. When had she become so bitter? And why
? “Are you happy?” he asked suddenly.

  She looked startled, as if he’d caught her doing something she shouldn’t.

  “Of course.”

  “Really? Because happy people don’t try to make other people feel bad.”

  She looked away for a moment. Jackson couldn’t tell what she was thinking.

  He never could. Since Finn had been born, he felt as if the real Mia was somewhere else. Spinning on a dance floor, maybe. Moving to the beat.

  When she spoke, he could hardly hear her.

  “I’m just tired, that’s all.”

  That was what she used to say. She was tired all the time. Well, he had been, too. But sometimes he thought it was her tiredness that had made him tired, trying to give her a break after a day’s work. Even now, he did it instinctively. Tried to make things better for her.

  “It must be the training. It’s no wonder. Give yourself a break, Mi.”

  He stepped toward her. He wanted to give her a hug. Tell her it was going to be all right. But she sidestepped him.

  “I’m fine.” She gave him a half smile. “The training’s what keeps me going.”

  “I don’t understand, Mi. You’ve got this house. You’ve got our lovely boy. You’ve got rid of me. What more could you want?”

  She rolled her eyes. “You can have him tomorrow after school. Don’t be late.”

  She put another spoonful of yogurt in her mouth and shut the door with her foot. Jackson stood on the step for a moment, unable to believe that she had the power to make him feel worse every time he saw her. It was obvious she thought so little of him. Obvious she thought he was a shit dad. Well, he wasn’t a shit dad. They did always have a laugh, him and Finn. He took him fishing. Took him to the skate park and taught him tricks. Bought him decent food, not that rubbish she kept feeding him: lentils and quinoa. And Finn loved Wolfie with a passion.

  What did he have to do to prove himself?

  He turned and walked back along the drive to the main road, Wolfie trotting along by his side, looking up at him every now and again. Dusk was falling, and he mulled over the events of the day. And gradually, as he walked, an idea emerged. He could do Ian’s bidding and prove he was a good father. And if all went according to plan, maybe he could get himself out of this mess.