Simon Beckett - Owning Jacob - SA

Ben parked outside the house and knocked on the door.

The window box held only soil. The glass above it was misted over. He stamped his feet, feeling the dank atmosphere penetrate his lungs.

The door was opened. Ron Paterson nodded a greeting and stood back to let him in.

The kitchen smelled of roasting meat. A coal fire burned in the small grate set into the tiled fireplace. Ben felt the warmth close around him, snuffing the chill in an instant.

Paterson closed the door. “Give me your coat.”

Ben took it off and handed it to him. He went out to hang it at the bottom of the stairs.

“You sure you don’t mind me coming?” Ben asked when he came back.

“I’d have said if I did.” He nodded at the table. “You might as well sit down.”

Ben had phoned the day before to ask if he could call around. Paterson had told him to come before lunch — he’d called it ‘dinner’ —the next day. He hadn’t asked why. It didn’t need to be said that it would be something to do with Jacob.

“How’s Mary?”

Paterson was filling the kettle. “In hospital.”

“Is she all right?” Ben had thought she must be upstairs.

“They’re doing tests.” He said it matter-of-factly, keeping whatever he felt out of sight. He plugged in the kettle. “Want a cuppa?” He set out the teapot and mugs, then came and sat at the table. “So what can I do for you?”

“You said something last time I was here. About Sandra Kale.”

“I said a lot of things.”

“But you started to say that you’d heard something about her, and then you stopped. I wondered what it was you’d heard.”

Ben had remembered the conversation after he’d visited Quilley. He knew he might have made the journey just to hear a piece of useless gossip. But it wasn’t as if his Sundays were so fun-filled any more that he couldn’t spare the time.

Paterson sucked on a tooth. He didn’t look at Ben, but he didn’t give the impression of looking away from him either.

“Just rumours.”

“What rumours?”

“I don’t spread gossip.”

“It might be important.”

Paterson considered that. “Why?”

Ben told him.

Jacob’s grandfather listened without making any comment.

Once he got up to unplug the kettle, although he didn’t bother making any tea. Other than that he didn’t move as Ben described Kale’s activities in the garden, and Sandra’s in the bedroom. Ben told him how Jacob was being kept off school, and what had happened when the two men had found him in the woods. He left nothing out, except the fact that he’d almost allowed himself to be sidetracked by Sandra Kale’s ruttish sexuality.

He wanted to emphasise how Kale was unbalanced, not only unfit to bring up Jacob but an actual danger to him. But he saw the grimness in Paterson’s face and knew there was no need.

There was a silence when he had finished. The coals of the fire tumbled in on themselves in a swarm of sparks. The gas oven hissed softly. Paterson went over and turned it down.

“We don’t keep drink in the house,” he said, fetching Ben’s coat.

He took Ben to the working men’s club. It was non-political, an old and ugly brick building with an even uglier 1960s extension tacked on to its front. An elderly fat man in a three-piece brown suit sat behind a table in the entrance. He greeted Paterson with a wheezed ‘Afternoon, Ron’ as he pushed across a book for him to sign. Ben wrote his own name in the ‘guest’ column and followed him inside.

It was a big room with a high stage at one end. Brightly coloured paper streamers ran from the edge of the ceiling to its centre, and already deflated balloons hung limply on the walls. The stage itself was fringed with gold plastic tassels that could have been a part of the Christmas decorations except for a tired look of permanence about them. Round, dark wood tables and matching stools filled the floor space with no clear aisles in between. A few were occupied, mainly by men, but most were empty.

Ben tried to buy the drinks but Paterson would have none of it. “You’re my guest,” he said, in a tone that spoke of protocols and tradition.

They carried their pints to a table by the window. Paterson exchanged nods with one or two of the other customers but didn’t stop to talk. They sat down, taking the top off their beer in the ritual that had to precede any conversation. The beer was cold and gassy. Ben stifled a belch as they set down their glasses.

The lull wasn’t so much awkwardness as not knowing where to start.

“Gets busy in here at nights. Specially weekends.” Paterson lifted his chin towards the stage. “Get some good acts on, as well.”

“Right.”

“Used to come in here a lot, Mary and me. Before we moved to London, and then for a bit when we first moved back. Till Mary got really bad. It’s difficult now, though.” He looked around the room as if noticing it for the first time.

They took another drink.

“I can’t vouch for anything,” Paterson said, abruptly coming to the point. “It’s only what people have said. Nothing specific.”

Ben nodded.

Paterson studied his pint. “She’s supposed to have a bit of a history, that’s all...”

“History?”

“Been a bit of a bad ‘un. Taking money for it.” He looked across at Ben to make sure he understood.

“You mean she was a prostitute?”

“That’s what I’ve heard. One of the club members’ sons had a mate who was based at Aldershot with Kale. Reckoned she’d sold it to half the regiment before she married him.” He pursed his lips disapprovingly. “Sounds like she’s still at it, from what you’ve said.”

Ben felt let down. Even if it were true, it wasn’t the revelation he’d hoped for. “Was there anything else?”

He could see Paterson struggling with some decision.

“There were stories about some trouble she’d been in,” he said at last. “Other trouble. But I couldn’t tell you what. I don’t listen to that sort of thing.”

“Do you know anybody who might know?”

The other man considered, then shook his head.

“How about the member’s son you were talking about?”

“The family moved away last year. Couldn’t tell you where they are now.” He must have read the frustration in Ben’s face. “You thought I could tell you something to help get him back.”

It wasn’t a question. Ben hadn’t mentioned anything about why he wanted to know, only that he was worried about Jacob.

“I’ve been told there’s no chance.”

Paterson took a pull from the pint. “John Kale’s not going to let him go. It won’t matter what anybody tells him.”

Ben didn’t answer.

“He was always possessive. Didn’t like our Jeanette going out or doing anything without asking him. He was bad enough that way then. Now he’s got his son back he won’t let nobody take him again.” He tapped his finger on the table for emphasis. “I mean nobody. And I wouldn’t like to say what’ll happen if anyone tries.”

“You think I should just give him up?”

A weariness seemed to come over the older man, then it was gone. “I don’t like to think of my grandson in that house any more than you do. But John’s not going to deliberately hurt him. He’s all he’s got. Forget her, that tart...” He made a dismissive brushing-away gesture. “She’s just a bit of nothing. It’s the boy he’d lay down his life for. If he thinks he’s going to be taken away again, it’ll be like losing everything twice. I don’t think he’ll care what he does then.”

“I’ll be careful,” Ben said.

Paterson reached for his glass. “It’s not you I’m thinking about.”

They had another drink at the club — which Ben bought, so obviously the protocol of guests not buying applied only to the first round — and then went back to the house. Paterson invited him to stay for lunch. “I’ve done enough for two,” he said. “Force of habit.”