‘Come in, you weirdo.’
‘Can’t feel my hands, I’ve been out all morning.’
‘Doing what?’
‘Just walking about.’
He wished he had something to tell her, but he hadn’t managed to get any good information at all. All he’d done was upset that woman with the poodle. He looked behind her at the deserted hall. The house was neat with coats hung up on hooks in the hall and a rack for the shoes. Jacob stared at them there by the door, all arranged side by side and looked for the shiny red shoes that Maggie had borrowed the day they went into Stockport. There was no sign of them though.
‘Yeah, OK.’
He felt odd going in, like he was intruding on something, it didn’t feel right somehow.
‘Been up to much?’ she asked.
He shrugged. ‘The Vincents were throwing bricks and nearly hit someone. Mr Vincent went mental.’
‘Pricks. Anyway, I was asking what you’ve done, not them.’
He tried not to show that he was pleased. He could tell that Matty Vincent had a crush on Maggie and he often wondered if she felt the same. She never gave much away.
‘Nothing. They’re more interesting.’
‘Throwing bricks is interesting, is it? Saddos.’
He wasn’t sure if it was a dig at him. He wanted to ask her if they’d found out anything more about Jayne, but he couldn’t bring himself to. His dad said it was usually someone they knew, but he wasn’t going to tell her that either. It made him worry though. He didn’t want anything to happen to her. Maybe he really did love her. Maybe that’s why he was here.
‘What?’ she asked.
‘I didn’t say anything.’
‘You’re staring. It’s weird.’
‘Sorry.’
He’d stare all day if he could.
‘So?’
He looked past her towards the kitchen. It felt odd being in there. He hoped that the family weren’t around.
‘So what?’
‘So what you here for?’
‘Nothing. Just thought I’d come.’
‘And stand outside on the street like a maniac? Great.’
‘No, I…’
She laughed. ‘Want a drink?’
‘Yes.’ He didn’t want one, but he wasn’t sure what to say. ‘Are you on your own?’
‘Stop being weird.’
He frowned. She was probably doing it to wind him up, but that’s what she liked to do. Make jokes. He could tell by her face that she wasn’t OK though.
‘I just don’t feel like talking to anyone else.’
She looked him up and down. ‘I know what you mean. That’s why I’ve been staying in. Everyone’s either whispering about me or pretending to be my best friend. I hate it.’
‘I get that.’
‘Even the real nasty twats are being nice. It’s the worst.’
He smiled; he couldn’t help it.
On the wall were some photographs of children in a boat on holiday. He tried to work out if her cousin was one of them.
‘They don’t know who it was still. They’ve no clue,’ she said, as she poured orange cordial in a glass. ‘Could have be anyone. Could have been you.’
He frowned. ‘It wasn’t.’
‘Duh.’
‘Did she have a boyfriend?’
‘Who are you, the police?’
‘Sorry.’
‘She was loved by every fucker. So who knows?’
Maggie looked out of the window. He followed her stare. She always had the wrong idea of her cousin, just because of the clothes she wore and all the makeup; whenever he’d seen her, Jayne had been on her own. She wasn’t as popular as Maggie thought.
Jacob nodded. ‘You OK? You don’t seem yourself.’
‘Well, my cousin’s dead so…’
‘Sorry.’
‘I’ve got my room back at least.’ She shrugged.
‘Right.’
She filled the glass with water, her hair in curls down her back over the T-shirt she was wearing. She placed the glass on the side and turned to face him.
‘She was wearing those shoes you took the mickey out of. When they found her.’
‘That’s awful.’
‘She never even knew I’d worn them. I put them straight back in her wardrobe that day.’
‘She wouldn’t have minded,’ Jacob said.
‘Maybe, maybe not.’ Margaret sniffed.
When she passed him the glass she pressed her lips together. He took the glass and drank. The orange was too strong and warm. She hadn’t let the water run long enough. He thought about the pale pink shimmer lipstick that her cousin used to wear. He’d come round once and Maggie had answered the door wearing it. She’d wiped it off with the back of her hand, but he could still see the little flecks of shiny pink on her lips.
‘I want to see it,’ she said.
‘What do you mean?’
‘The woods.’
‘The woods?’
‘Come with me? I didn’t want to go on my own. I can’t ask anyone here.’
Jacob swallowed.
She looked at him as though he was stupid. ‘I just want to go. I haven’t been.’
He thought about the shoes. The bright redness against the snow. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the woods, but he would. He’d do it because she asked him to. He’d do anything she asked him to.
8
Mr Anderson first noticed the small yellow tent on his way back home. The day had been tiring and he’d been desperate to get out into the fresh air. He was bloated from the free ice finger buns he’d eaten and his head throbbed from strong coffee and sugar. He’d been for training at Didsbury Library. A suited-up blonde from the university had been brought in to talk about the changing role of libraries. As she grinned through straight white teeth, he’d counted the books on the shelves behind her so that he didn’t have to listen. He’d hated it, stuck in a room of strangers who wanted to talk to him and worse, ask questions! Questions and more questions, not just about the library either – questions about his life! His mother had always told him never to talk to strangers and the whole day had been an ordeal.
Libraries were supposed to be quiet. They used to be places where people read a book and kept their mouths shut. It wasn’t that way anymore. They were trying to change things. The university woman talked about engaging the wider community and looked at him like she wanted to engage with him too. The rest of the room clapped and smiled at her as though they agreed. It was horrific. To stop her coming over to talk, he’d eaten iced finger buns from the buffet and kept a close eye on the back of her long blonde hair as she chatted to the other people. The icing had stuck to his fingers and he’d licked them clean. Then he’d had another, and another. He’d kept eating. Now he was bloated, annoyed and had a headache.
He’d managed it though. He’d exchanged some pleasantries, copied conversations and managed to get through the day. They really were stupid. He had even used the time to work on the family project and had found a couple of possibilities. He’d forgotten to laugh a few times and had to pretend that he didn’t understand the jokes they’d told. That suited him though; if people thought he was stupid, then fine – he was invisible and uninteresting that way. They thought they were different, but they were all the same. He wanted to be underestimated, because that made them vulnerable. If he could slip through their lives like water through a sieve and leave no trace then he had succeeded. They filled him with disgust, but he’d left them smiling. They even felt sorry for him. They were pathetic.