Guy Adams - The House That Jack Built - The House That Jack Built

'Look at the state of you,' Miles said, running the sponge across Jack's shoulders. The soapy water making gritty, brown rivers of the dried mud on his back.

'I slipped,' Jack replied.

'Clearly… but what would the neighbours think,' Miles asked, 'had they happened to glance out of their window to see a naked man thrashing around in the mud.'

'They'd probably ask me to bring them some coal, too, save them going out in the rain.'

'You could have put some clothes on!'

Jack winked over his shoulder. 'I'd only have had to take them off again.' He reached over the side of the bath for the brandy bottle. 'Another drink?'

Miles shook his head. 'I'm away with the fairies as it is.'

Jack grinned and leaned over to kiss him. 'Indeed you are.'

***

The next room was still the main bedroom. Jack stepped inside, lifted up the collapsed, part-constructed wardrobe and leaned it against the wall. The bed was built but not made, just a bare mattress…

'You buy a house with cash and then seem unable to afford a bed,' Alison sighed, lying back on the mattress that lay in the middle of the room.

'I just keep forgetting,' Jack replied, rolling onto his front. He blew on her chest and chuckled as her nipple hardened in the cool air. 'Beds are for sleeping, and I don't do much of that.'

'I noticed,' she replied, not unkindly. She twisted to kiss him on the forehead and grabbed the blanket to wrap around herself. 'I'm going to marry him, you know.'

Jack propped himself up on his elbow. 'I know.'

'He loves me very much, and he's a good man.'

'I've never said otherwise.'

She threw him a glance. 'It's not like I have other offers.'

Jack nodded but didn't reply. He'd had that conversation too many times over the years and wasn't inclined to have it with Alison as well. If this was coming to an end — and it looked as if that was the case — then let it at least do so with some grace.

'I'm sure he can make you happy,' he said instead.

She stared at him. 'No you're not, and neither am I. But happiness is overrated. Sometimes you just have to settle for contentment.'

'Story of my life,' Jack said, stepping out of the bedroom and back onto the landing.

The bathroom was new, well, no… new to Jack but it could hardly be called new otherwise. It was a cheap suite with oyster-shell soap trays and a colour of yellow one could never have found outside a plastics factory. Little blue fish swam in circles on the tiles. It was ghastly.

Jack walked back out and made his way up to the second floor.

At the top of the stairs the landing offered two choices, a room to either side.

'What do you need so many rooms for, anyway?' Miles asked, gazing out of the window at the leafy trees of the road below.

Jack watched the muscles in Miles's legs and buttocks tighten as the man went on tiptoes. 'I like variety,' he replied, taking a sip of his drink. 'A room for every occasion.'

'Or guest?' Miles asked, turning around and treating Jack to a change of scenery.

'Sometimes,' Jack admitted. 'That bother you?'

'No. Why should it? I know the rules of our affaire .' Miles topped up his own glass from the decanter on the sideboard. He took a big mouthful. 'I'm going to marry her,' he said, and was then perplexed as to why this should cause so much hilarity in Jack. 'I'm glad my life amuses you so,' he said with some bite.

'It's not your life I was finding amusing,' Jack replied. 'It was mine.'

Both rooms were empty and in a much worse state than the rest of the house. It looked like nobody had been up here for years. A fat wolf spider hid in the corner of the skirting board, draped coyly in sheets of its web. Jack prodded at it with his boot but it refused to run, clinging to the paint-chipped wood with utter determination.

'To have and to hold…'

'… in sickness and in health…'

Jack tried to stifle a yawn. Church ceremonies bored him. Weddings were a poor excuse for distant family and even more distant friends to get together and bitch about a marriage that probably wouldn't last. As far as he was concerned, you could do that much easier in a bar, with the added bonus that some drunken old duffer in a frock wouldn't feel the need to keep bringing God into it.

'Heavenly father…' whined the priest, who was certainly as old — and if the volume of his proclamations was anything to go by — as deaf as the deity he worshipped, 'by your blessing let these rings be to Miles and Alison a symbol of unending love and faithfulness…'

Now there, thought Jack , is your problem already. Why set these poor kids up to fail before they've even got the rings on?

Alison looked towards the congregation and glimpsed Jack at the back. He gave what he hoped was a supportive smile, but maybe it didn't come out too well as she didn't look happy to see him. When she looked back at her husband-to-be, Miles caught the flicker of concern in her gaze. His brow furrowed slightly, perhaps worried that she was having second thoughts.

'… through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen.'

The amen rippled through the crowd, and Miles also noticed Jack. His response was, if anything, worse than Alison's. The sudden flash of panicked guilt that ran across his face was plain, and Jack realised he shouldn't have come.

'The rings?' asked the priest.

'Er…' Miles stammered. 'Yes… sorry…' He took the ring from his best man and placed it rather nervously on Alison's finger.

The priest continued intoning the words to the service: 'I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage.'

Miles repeated them. 'I give you this ring as a sign of our marriage.'

'With my body I honour you…'

'With my b… body I honour you…' A thin sheen of sweat was beginning to blossom on his forehead.

Alison, seeing his discomfort, had clearly assumed the worst. Somehow he must know about her and Jack. She too began to tremble, which only fuelled Miles's panic. How could he have trusted Jack not to tell Alison about their affaire ? Would Alison tell? His reputation would be ruined…

As they continued to repeat the words of the service, becoming more and more visibly concerned, a faint mumble began to build throughout the congregation. What was wrong? Was it just nerves? Was one of them going to back out?

Jack winced at the discomfort of it all. The mood in the church worsened by the second and, when he couldn't take it a moment longer, he began to make his way out of the back door. He shouldn't have come in the first place. The least he could do was ensure he made himself scarce now.

As he stepped out into the fresh air, taking deep lungfuls of it in relief, the priest's voice followed him:

'Those whom God has joined together, let no man put asunder.'

Jack stepped into the other room, a train of dusty spider's web dragging behind him. It was just as dilapidated, the paintwork peeling, the wood flaking.

Jack looked out of the window, the arcs of the streetlights pulled into contortions by the heavy rain beating against the glass. His own reflection looked back at him, and he realised he was crying. This surprised him…

…he wasn't a man prone to tears but he felt them now. Whether they were through sadness or guilt he couldn't rightfully say. Looking down on Alison's pale-blue face, her hair plastered against her head with dirty river water he didn't see anything of the beautiful woman he had known. He couldn't imagine having kissed those wrinkled cheeks, those puffy lips. The Alison he had known was long gone.