Simon Beckett: Owning Jacob - SA

He found the locked box the day after the funeral.

It had been his worst day even before he opened it. Until then there had been an aim, something to focus on that filled the days with at least the illusion of purpose. The bureaucratic rituals of death and burial were details behind which he could hide, while the funeral itself was unreal, a pantomime which he watched with a numbed detachment. Afterwards, though, once he had closed the door on the last of the friends and mourners, there was nothing to occupy the space that Sarah’s death had caused. He had put Jacob to bed, turned on the TV and quietly got drunk until the fact of tomorrow, and the tomorrows after that, was smudged by an alcoholic fog.

When he woke the next morning the day was as cold and bleak as the empty bed beside him. He got up and dressed, as though by moving he could keep one step ahead of the awareness that dogged his heels. Jacob was silent as Ben poured milk on his cereal, but his eyes darted about the kitchen as if he were looking for something. Ben wondered how much of what had happened the six-year-old was able to understand.

He rested his hand on his stepson’s head.

“Maggie’s going to take you to school today, okay?”

Jacob gave no sign of having heard. He bent and held one ear close to the cereal, listening to the puffed rice crackling in the milk. Ben tried to think of something he could say, but the effort of words was like lifting a weight above his head. He gave the boy’s hair a brief ruffle and moved away.

Maggie was on time, as usual. Her forced cheerfulness filled the kitchen like a clashing colour scheme. Ben suppressed his irritation as she greeted Jacob with an enthusiasm that was as grating as it was false.

Jacob didn’t acknowledge her. His attention was still fixed on his breakfast cereal, which by now had soaked itself into silence. He had eaten some of it and was arranging the rest in a neat line around the rim of the bowl.

Maggie looked at Ben, her expression becoming one of predictable concern. “How are you?”

“Okay.” He turned away from her sympathy before she could offer it. “Would you like a coffee?”

“No, if Jacob’s ready we’d better get off. It said on the radio that there’s roadworks on the way to the school, so there’s bound to be jams.”

“You won’t forget to take him the usual route, will you?”

Her smile twitched a little. “Of course not.” She had tried going another way to the school one morning and Jacob had thrown a tantrum in the car. Ben had apologised, explaining that he grew upset at any variation from his routine, without mentioning what they were both aware of; that she’d known that already.

Maggie had expressed regret, but it was a little too saccharin to be sincere. And he thought there was a trace of mistrust in her eyes now whenever she looked at Jacob. She kept up an aimless chatter as Ben helped him into his shoes and coat. “Are you sure you don’t want me to collect him as well?” she offered. “It won’t be any trouble.”

“No, it’s all right, thanks.” He maintained the semblance of a smile until Maggie accepted this.

She gave him a hug as she kissed his cheek. Her own was so over-powdered that it felt like suede. Her perfume had the same cloying pungency as the flowers on Sarah’s coffin. “If you want me to do anything, just give me a ring.”

Ben said he would and crouched down to give Jacob a kiss. “See you later, Jake. Be a good boy for Maggie.” The boy didn’t answer. He had a puzzle game in his hand, a plastic maze with a tiny ball rolling loose in it. Whenever he succeeded in manipulating the ball into the centre he gave the puzzle a quick shake and began all over again. He didn’t look up from it as he went out with Maggie.

Ben watched from the doorway as the two of them got into the car where Scott and Andrew, Maggie’s own two young sons, were waiting. He waved as they drove away, then closed the door and went back into the house.

The lack of Sarah echoed from every room. It battered at him as he returned to the kitchen. He picked up his coffee, but it was cold. He put it down again. Even the sound of the mug touching the table seemed loud in the silence. The familiar ordinariness of their home had been subtly altered, shifted into a new perspective, a parallel dimension of loss. Ben closed his eyes against it and straightaway his imagination began to play its cruel tricks. He could see Sarah, thoughtlessly humming along to the radio as she moved around the kitchen, pausing to take a hurried drink from her mug of coffee. The blue one, that she liked. He could hear her voice, internally, but clearly nevertheless as she spoke to Jacob. “Hurry up with your breakfast, Jake, there’s a good boy.” She half turned to Ben as she fixed her light brown hair in the mirror. “I forgot to tell you, I told Imogen that we might see her and Neil this weekend.”

“Aw, no, you’re joking,” he heard himself say, mouth moving in silent unison to the remembered words. “Neil’s the most boring man in the world.”

Her reflection gave him an arch smile. “Well, you’ll just have to be extra interesting to make up for him, won’t you?” She turned her head and quickly examined her hair from the side. “Sod it. That’ll have to do.”

She went to where her jacket hung on a hanger behind the door, short skirt whisking against her legs as she walked. “Come on, Jake, time to go.” She squeezed her son’s ribs from behind, making him squirm as she tickled him. Ben had smiled to see them both laughing. He smiled again now, replaying it.

Sarah planted a kiss on the top of Jacob’s head and bent to tie his training shoe laces. “Will you be working late tonight?”

“Don’t think so. I should be back by seven, anyway.”

He watched her pull back the seat for Jacob to jump down. As she straightened she winced and rubbed at her temple.

“I think I must have had one glass too many last night,” she said.

She looked trim and smart as she came towards him. He could see the exact pattern of freckling that spread faintly across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, smell her perfume when she came close. “See you later.” She smiled up at him, lifting her face for a kiss, and the image was so vivid that he swayed forward and opened his eyes.

The empty kitchen confronted him. The breakfast dishes still sat on the table. Two of them, his own and Jacob’s. He wished now that he hadn’t accepted Maggie’s offer to take Jacob to school. For a moment he was tempted to go out, to escape to a more neutral environment that didn’t resonate with Sarah’s absence. But that would only be putting off what he knew had to be faced sooner or later. It was better sooner.

She wasn’t coming back.

He took a roll of black plastic bin liners and went upstairs to their bedroom. Her personality was almost tangible in here.

Trying to close his mind to what he was doing he opened the wardrobe and took down an armful of her clothes. Her scent clung to them like a distillation of grief. He couldn’t believe she was never going to wear any of them again. He got as far as the bed before he stopped, clutching the bundle to his chest as the sobs chopped into him.

The call had come through just over a week ago. He had been at the studio in the middle of a shoot when Zoe, his assistant, told him that Colin was on the phone. Colin was Maggie’s husband and his oldest friend, a solicitor at the same entertainment law firm where Sarah worked. Ben hadn’t looked up from the camera as he told her to say he’d call back.

“I think you’d better take it,” Zoe had said.

He was about to snap that he was busy when he saw the expression on her face.