“Hmm. I can see how you’d be depressed when you have this little guy in your life. Ouch!”
“Like I said yesterday, it’s a long story,” I said, prising Buddy’s teeth from Jake’s finger. “Anyway, come in. I’ll fix you a drink. Did you have a nice day yesterday?”
Jake shrugged, taking off his leather jacket. “I ate too much, drank too much, overdosed on crap TV. It was fine. How about you? Did you get to do any of those traditional things, or was it all counselling and doom and gloom?”
“No, I . . . it . . .” To my horror and embarrassment, tears suddenly swamped my eyes. “Oh God,” I said, “I’m sorry.” But there was absolutely nothing I could do to stem the flow.
“Hey, hey,” said Jake, concerned. “I’m sorry. I was being flippant. Yesterday must have been really hard for you.”
“It . . . it was,” I sobbed, and Jake drew me into his arms for a hug.
“Hey,” he said. “It’s all right. Shh.”
It was good to be held. Comforting. Or it would have been if a wriggling mass of puppy weren’t jammed between us.
Suddenly Jake was pulling back. “Oh, I think Buddy may have . . . leaked on me,” he said, and when I looked, I saw a dark stain on the front of his freshly ironed shirt.
“Oh God, I’m sorry,” I said.
“No, don’t worry, that’s okay. But I think I’ll have to take it off, if you don’t mind?”
“Of course. I’ll see if I can find you a T-shirt or something. The bathroom’s just on the right, if you want to have a wash.”
“Thanks.”
“Jesus, Buddy,” I said to the unrepentant pup, taking him with me into the bedroom while I searched for a T-shirt large enough for Jake to wear.
The only thing I could find was a joke T-shirt Rosie had given me years ago with the slogan I’M NOT RUDE, I JUST HAVE THE BALLS TO SAY WHAT EVERYONE ELSE IS THINKING emblazoned across the front. Needless to say, I hadn’t worn it much. Still, it looked as if it would fit Jake okay.
I was just emerging from the bedroom with it when there was a knock at the door. I went to open it, still carrying Buddy.
It was Mark, complete with a stubbly, unshaven chin and a chastened expression.
“Hi,” he said. “Sorry to just turn up. I thought I’d better . . .”
Buddy had begun to yap and wriggle the second he saw him, so I thrust him into Mark’s arms.
“Right. Here he is, then. Come in for a moment while I get his stuff together for you. He’s had his breakfast.”
“Thanks. Look, Beth, about yesterday . . .”
But I did not want to talk about that. Fortunately, at that moment, the bathroom door opened, and Jake emerged, naked from the waist up, displaying an extremely buff chest with a tattoo of an eagle inked right across it.
“Hi,” he said, stretching out a hand towards Mark. “I’m Jake.”
Moving like an automaton, Mark took his outstretched hand. “Mark.”
I gave the T-shirt to Jake. “Here,” I said. “This should fit you. I’ll just get Buddy’s bits and pieces, Mark.”
“Little Buddy peed on me,” I left Jake explaining as I hurried into the living room, snatching up puppy pads, dog toys, and the few cans of food that were left.
“Here,” I said, returning to present Mark with a carrier bag.
He took it from me, his green eyes boring into mine, saying, Can we talk?
“Bye, then,” I said, refusing to acknowledge any cues. “Have fun with Buddy. I’d ask you to stay, but Jake and I have plans.”
“Do we?” Jake asked when Mark had left and I’d shut the door after him.
Jake still hadn’t put the T-shirt on, which meant his toned chest was still very much on display. I guessed that if I wanted to, I could lead him straight into the bedroom and set about doing things with him that were guaranteed to put Mark and this whole debacle of a Christmas right out of my mind for a while.
Except that this was Jake. And even though I didn’t know him well, I sensed he was kind and considerate—a thoroughly decent human being. Besides, it probably wouldn’t work anyway. Not for long. After a pleasant interlude, I’d still emerge with the horror of yesterday etched as firmly on my mind as the eagle on Jake’s chest.
So I said, “I’ll put the kettle on,” and led the way back into the living room. Jake covered up his gorgeous chest with the ridiculous T-shirt, and after I’d made the tea, I told him everything. The whole painful history of me loving Mark. And it turned out Jake knew exactly what it was like to yearn for someone you can’t have, because he’d once fallen for his best friend’s wife and had to distance himself from his friend in order to cope with it.
And sometime during that day—which started off with confessions and sympathy and ended with haphazard picnic food and several hilarious games of Pictionary—Jake Jackson and I became friends instead of potential lovers.
WINTER FOUR
29
Logan and I were working in the garden at the centre. It had been Jake’s idea to develop the area at the back of the building into a garden, and over the past year, we’d transformed it from a dumping ground to a tranquil haven. It had flower and vegetable borders, as well as a seating area for chilling out, all against the backdrop of an ever-changing graffiti wall.
Logan had a natural flair for gardening—green fingered, Richard would have called him. As we worked together, raking up fallen leaves and wrapping terra-cotta pots in Bubble Wrap to stop them from cracking in the frost, I could see the tension he’d arrived at the centre with falling away. I had no idea what was worrying him. Sometimes he spoke to me about his problems, but not often. I did know Logan’s homelife was difficult. That his mother was a single parent to four children and money was tight. And that he didn’t get on with his stepfather and was always in trouble at school for something or other. But being in the garden seemed to help him—tending to the plants, seeing them bloom, nurturing them, and being creative.
I knew the feeling.
“You’re a miracle worker,” Jake liked to tell me, but he was wrong. It wasn’t me; it was the act of gardening itself. Volunteering at the centre helped me too. It had been a good decision to keep at it after I’d decided not to adopt after all. Making a difference to young people’s lives, even in a small way, gave me a deep sense of fulfilment. Now, in December, floodlighting meant we could garden even after it got dark, though the cold temperatures limited the amount of time we wanted to be outdoors.
“I’ve just put the kettle on, if you want a hot drink, guys,” Jake told us from the doorway, and as if by silent mutual consent, Logan and I stowed our gardening tools away in the shed and headed inside.
Once we left the garden, Logan rarely spoke to me. If ever it was raining and we couldn’t work outside, I was lucky if I got more than a grunt out of him. But I didn’t mind. I understood. Logan had to be a lot of different people in his life, but just as long as he could be the Logan he was in the garden, I thought he would be okay.
In the kitchen, Jake handed me a cup of coffee. I took it gratefully.
“Thanks. You don’t realise how cold you are until you stop.”