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

'That supposed to make me feel better?' asked Rob.

'If you knew how many times we've probably saved your life already over the years it would,' Jack chipped in. 'This is what we do. Now let us get on and do it.'

Rob held up his hands in surrender. 'Fine…'

'OK,' said Jack. 'We need space and security.'

He walked out of the lounge and headed to the next door along the hall.

'If I remember right, the study has a… aha!' He pointed to the lock in the old door. 'Got the key for this?'

'In the kitchen,' Julia said, walking past him to get it. 'But it's a dining room not a study.'

'Oh, nobody has studies any more,' Jack said sadly, walking in and pulling the cheap pine table over to the far wall. Rob grabbed the chairs, as always happier to be distracted by doing something. An old-fashioned sideboard filled with Julia's aunt's dinner service and some ugly brown glass trifle bowls was left where it was.

Julia came in and handed Jack the key.

'What good's that going to do?' asked Rob.

'You're the one who was hiding in the lounge earlier swinging pokers at people,' Jack retorted, dropping the key into his pocket. 'The night is yet young, who knows how it'll end up?'

He turned to look out of the French windows that filled the far wall. 'This is new.'

'How do you know?' Julia asked, a little ashamed that she couldn't say whether he was right or not.

'I used to live here,' he said. 'Long time ago.'

'It must have been,' Julia replied. 'Auntie Joan was here for… I don't know, thirty years.'

Jack smiled. 'I'm older than I look.'

'He works out,' Ianto said from the doorway. 'What are we bringing in?'

'You stay by the fire for now,' Jack said. 'We can manage.'

'I'd rather get moving, get the circulation flowing.'

Jack grinned. 'I'd love to help but I'm kinda busy!'

'Story of my life.'

'There's a couple of big canvas bags. We'll need as many monitors as we can strip out, all the audio/visual stuff you can get your hands on, basically. We want this place wired for sound.'

'"Power from the needle to the plastic",' Ianto replied, straight-faced, and walked out.

Jack stared after him. 'Please tell me he didn't just quote Cliff Richard at me… He's so dumped if he did.'

***

Ianto's arms and legs were throbbing, bursts of pins and needles erupting all over as he stepped outside the front door. It was still raining. 'Oh God,' he sighed, 'here's me, about to get hypothermia.'

He ran to the SUV, opened the back door and climbed inside as quickly as possible. Sitting down in the back section, surrounded by the monitoring equipment, he shook some of the water from his hair and worked out what he could take apart without breaking anything. Realising he was missing a trick, he pulled his set of keys out of his pocket and reached forward to turn on the engine and heater. 'Ah…' he sighed as air began to pump out of the vents, 'I may just stay here all night.'

'If you do, so am I,' Gwen said, climbing in.

'Sorry,' Ianto grinned, 'but I've baggsied electrics.' He pulled a toolkit out of the glovebox. 'You carry the bags.'

'I hate you,' Gwen told him, grabbing one of the bags.

'May it keep you as warm as these heaters do me,' Ianto replied. 'Close the door, you're letting in a draft.'

Chuckling as Gwen ran back towards the house, he pulled one of the monitors forward and began to disconnect its cabling.

Gwen nearly slipped on the polished wood of the hall floor but managed to regain her balance by grabbing hold of the banister.

'Careful,' Jack said from the dining room doorway, 'we wouldn't want you falling over and damaging the equipment.'

'I am so going to smack someone this evening,' she said, shoving the bag at him.

Rob watched Jack unpack reams of cabling from the large bag before deciding to leave him to it. The man had made it perfectly clear that his and Julia's input was far from necessary. Arrogant bastard. Rob was beginning to wish he had never called him. The minute all of this strange stuff had started, he and Julia should have been out of the house and away. He bet they would have been fine if they hadn't hung around to help the American's prissy boyfriend.

He went into the kitchen, unsure of what to do with himself but determined to find something to occupy him. He thought about putting the kettle on but decided against it; they'd only ask him to make them a drink as well, and he was neither brave enough to refuse them nor gracious enough to do it. He didn't want to be their slave.

He started poking through the cupboards aimlessly, straightening tins and cartons, ordering things a little more. He opened drawers, altering the order of the cutlery (it went fork, knife, then spoon, obviously … that was, after all, the order in which you needed them at the dining table, and why were the forks and spoons not nestling inside one another? It saved on space and looked much neater). He refolded tea towels, matching corner to corner. He turned the glasses so that they rested on their brims (why would you do it any other way? Did you want them to fill with dust?). He caught his reflection in the window, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in utter concentration, and it drew him to a halt. What was he doing? He didn't care about this sort of thing normally. Why did it suddenly seem so vital now?

He hugged himself, the sudden urge to cry building in his belly.

What was wrong with him?

Julia wanted to be where it was busiest, standing in the corner of the dining room watching Jack as he uncurled wires and stacked cases of equipment on the table.

'Help me out with this?' he asked.

'Sure.'

'Cool.' He held up a deep tray of components, miniature video cameras and microphones. 'I need to get these up all over the place, and if you help out I'll tell you all about ghosts and why they don't exist. Fair deal?'

She smiled and nodded. 'Sounds good to me.'

'OK.' He handed her the tray while he grabbed gaffer tape and as much cabling as he could carry. 'We'll start at the top and work our way down.'

He marched out of the door with Julia following.

'So…' he began. 'Ghosts… The majority of all supernatural phenomena are easily attributed to something else. We are so attuned to the fiction of spooks and haunting that we leap on it as soon as we see something strange. You see, our brains are built to demand explanation and they'll always opt for the most familiar thing they find, in the belief that familiarity equals likelihood.'

Julia was having to jog slightly to keep up with him as he bounded along the first-floor landing and up the next flight of stairs. 'But we actually saw a woman commit suicide. It was hazy but clear — it was real . It wasn't something we mistook for a woman in a bath; it was a woman in a bath.'

'OK,' Jack replied. 'But that doesn't make it a ghost.'

'What makes you so sure?'

They'd reached the top floor and Jack turned to face her. 'Because I know there's no such thing. I've been dead, and there was nothing there. The only soul I've got was given me by Nina Simone.'

'You've been dead?'

'Oh yeah.' Jack poked around in the tray Julia was carrying, picking out a small camera. 'And now I'm walking around. Doesn't make me a ghost though, does it?'

'What was it?' Julia asked. 'Like a near-death experience or something?'

'As near as you can get. I died Julia, vaporised, ceased to exist. But something — and no it wasn't supernatural — brought me back. Weird stuff happens — and believe me my life has got weirder since — but there will always be an explanation for it somewhere.' He fixed the camera to the roof with gaffer tape, coiled the video cable and dropped it down the gap between the banisters. 'You read any Arthur C. Clarke?'