Excerpt from ‘Jack’ (working title)
Jack slowly started to come round. After a few moments of trying to snuggle deeper into the mattress he realised that he wasn’t in his own bed. Cautiously he felt the rest of the bed, testing to see if there was anyone else there with him. Nope. He pulled the duvet down from his face and peered into the gloom. He could see by the little bits of light sneaking past the edges of the curtains that it was daytime. There was an alarm clock radio on a bedside cabinet. The red digits said 14:43. FUCK! Jack jumped out of bed and whipped the curtains open. He blinked in the harsh light and squinted to focus. He looked outside and a row of street front terrace houses looked back at him. He didn’t recognise the street at all. He turned and looked at the room. He didn’t recognise the room either. Hmmm. Definitely a girls room. He looked at the photos on the dresser and blu tacked to the mirror. Seemed to be of a family. A woman in her 30’s probably and 2 daughters. Lots of pictures of them growing up. The most recent pictures seemed to show them being about 13 and 10. The older girl looked a bit familiar. Jack was confused. His clothes were neatly folded on a chair and there was a note tucked into his shirt. The note was on some of that paper that is pastel coloured and features a cuddly bear in the corner. In very neat handwriting with big circles dotting the I’s it said.
Hello sleepy head
Thanks for a fantastic day yesterday, even if it did get a bit messy last night. You’re right, you do know how to large it. Help yourself to breakfast, I’ve put stuff out in the kitchen for you. I’ve just gone out to get a bit of shopping and to pick the girls up from school. I’ll see you just after 3. If you have time, have a shower so you’re a bit presentable for when you meet the girls. There’s a new toothbrush and a fresh towel in the bathroom for you.
Love
Carol
What on earth was going on? Jack had no recollection of who this woman was and how he got here. He pulled his clothes on and looked at the clock. The red digits said 14:49. What day though? He looked outside for his car. No sign of it. Damn, where the hell was it? Jack wracked his brains but no answer came. He couldn’t find the keys so he must have left the car at home. Ah, and his phone – dead battery. He searched the rest of his pockets. Small battered baggy with some pills in it. Several hundred pounds in cash. Front door key. Scrap of paper with Carol and a phone number written on it. Jack opened the bedroom door and went out onto the landing. He found the bathroom and had a pee. It was so neat and tidy in this house, so unlike anywhere he was used to. He came out of the bathroom and walked into the back bedroom. It was all girly, must be the younger daughters room. He went back past the bathroom and went into the middle bedroom. As he walked in he gasped. The room was painted black and there was a set of decks there were posters and flyers for all the nights that Jack went to and on the chimney breast a big photograph of Djuleh and her friend wearing the same outfits they were wearing at the club on Friday.
‘Shit’.
Jack went over to the desk and sat down, he looked at the books and text books on the desk ‘Djuleh Thompson’, it said on a school book, above a big ‘RE’. There was a text book ‘GCSE RE’ with a photomontage of different places of worship, an English church, Ankor Wat, a temple with minarets, a synagogue and a few others.
‘Shit’.
Djuleh was still at school. Bollocks. Djuleh was still at school, had probably lied about her age, was probably 15 or 14 and he’d been pleasuring her at a party and now was in her house having spent the night, and yesterday apparently, with Djuleh’s mum who was called Carol and was picking Djuleh up from school right now.
‘Shit’.
Jack jumped up and ran back into the bedroom. 15:03.
‘Fuck’.
Jack looked round the room. Couldn’t see his shoes or his coat anywhere.
‘Fucking bastard bollocks fuck’.
He ran downstairs. The whole place was impeccable. There was a selection of stuff ready for him to have for breakfast, a primed cafetiere, a glass of orange juice, bread in the toaster, butter, marmite, marmalade. It all looked fantastic but Jack just wanted to get the hell out of there. He went through to the lounge. It had been knocked through to make one long room. How come he didn’t recognise it at all? His coat was over a dining chair and his shoes were by the chair. He sat down and quickly laced his shoes up. As he stood up he looked at the sheet of paper on the table, it was an electricity bill.
Carol Thompson 42 Torbay Street Blackley Manchester M9 8KL
‘Blackley? Fuck!’
There was a camera next to the bill, one of those disposable ones. Jack picked it up and looked at it. Fully exposed. He thought about taking it with him and wracked his brains to see if he could remember anything about a camera. Nope. He put it back down, grabbed his coat and started for the door.
‘Bollocks’.
He ran back, grabbed the camera and stuffed it into his coat pocket.
Then he ran back to the door, opened the latch and walked out into the street. He slammed the door shut behind him and looked up and down the road. He got his phone out. Flat battery. Shit. Can’t call a cab. Got to get away from here. Which way though? Eeny meeny, this way. He turned and walked briskly along the road, close up to the house walls and hunched up against the wind. At the end of the road there was a phone box. He went in and started hunting through his pockets for change. He tried every single pocket. None.
‘Shit’.
He turned and was about to push the door open when he saw his car driving down the street and pulling up outside the house he’d just come out of. Three people got out. One was obviously Carol and there were two girls in school uniform. The taller one was Djuleh. She looked so young. Carol and Djuleh seemed to be having some kind of argument. Jack stayed in the phone box, safe behind the scratched perspex and graffiti. The three of them went into the house. Jack waited in the phonebox for what seemed like ages but he knew it was just a few minutes. Fuck. Now what? Why was she driving his car? How was he going to get it back? Djuleh had been in the car with him on Friday. Did she recognise the car? Had she said anything to her mum. Had her mum told them who’s car it was? The note. She was expecting me to meet her kids. Was she keeping it a surprise? Were they arguing about him? Bollocks. What to do? OK. Grab the bull by the horns. Go back to the house. Why had he left? Presents. Yes, that’s it. He looked round. He could see a papershop a few hundred yards on down the street that Torbay Street came off. He walked down to the shop and inside. Although it was open, it was all shuttered up apart from the door which had wood in the frame where glass should be. Someone came out as he approached so he knew it was open. He went inside. It was really dirty and run down with ancient display counters and only about 10 different brands of fags. He clocked the magazine rack. Top two shelves full of porn. Next shelf cheap womens mags and bottom 2 shelves comics. Hardly anything for blokes apart from the porn. Nice area. Jack looked around and saw a box of Black Magic chocolates on a high shelf. It was the biggest in the shop.
‘Can I have the Black Magic chocolates please’.
The shopkeeper, a middle aged asian bloke, quite rounded and with a greying moustache got up off his stool.
‘Sir is in trouble, buying biggest box of chocolates?’ said the asian bloke.
‘Er, maybe’ said Jack, a little taken aback.
‘You should buy bottle wine too’
‘Er, nah, you’re alright’
The shopkeeper put the chocolates in a pink and white stripey carrier bag and put it on the pile of daily papers on the counter. As Jack was pulling a note out of his back pocket he notices the date on the newspaper. It includes the word ‘Tuesday’.
‘Tuesday?’ says Jack, ‘is it really Tuesday?’
‘Oh, yes, all day’
Jack paid the shopkeeper.
‘Sir really in big trouble, not know day of week’.
Jack grunted, took his change and left the shop. He wanted to tell the shopkeeper that if he put his effort into looking after his shop rather than writing comedy, he’d do much better. But he didn’t.
Jack slowly started to come round. After a few moments of trying to snuggle deeper into the mattress he realised that he wasn’t in his own bed. Cautiously he felt the rest of the bed, testing to see if there was anyone else there with him. Nope. He pulled the duvet down from his face and peered into the gloom. He could see by the little bits of light sneaking past the edges of the curtains that it was daytime. There was an alarm clock radio on a bedside cabinet. The red digits said 14:43. FUCK! Jack jumped out of bed and whipped the curtains open. He blinked in the harsh light and squinted to focus. He looked outside and a row of street front terrace houses looked back at him. He didn’t recognise the street at all. He turned and looked at the room. He didn’t recognise the room either. Hmmm. Definitely a girls room. He looked at the photos on the dresser and blu tacked to the mirror. Seemed to be of a family. A woman in her 30’s probably and 2 daughters. Lots of pictures of them growing up. The most recent pictures seemed to show them being about 13 and 10. The older girl looked a bit familiar. Jack was confused. His clothes were neatly folded on a chair and there was a note tucked into his shirt. The note was on some of that paper that is pastel coloured and features a cuddly bear in the corner. In very neat handwriting with big circles dotting the I’s it said.
Hello sleepy head
Thanks for a fantastic day yesterday, even if it did get a bit messy last night. You’re right, you do know how to large it. Help yourself to breakfast, I’ve put stuff out in the kitchen for you. I’ve just gone out to get a bit of shopping and to pick the girls up from school. I’ll see you just after 3. If you have time, have a shower so you’re a bit presentable for when you meet the girls. There’s a new toothbrush and a fresh towel in the bathroom for you.
Love
Carol
What on earth was going on? Jack had no recollection of who this woman was and how he got here. He pulled his clothes on and looked at the clock. The red digits said 14:49. What day though? He looked outside for his car. No sign of it. Damn, where the hell was it? Jack wracked his brains but no answer came. He couldn’t find the keys so he must have left the car at home. Ah, and his phone – dead battery. He searched the rest of his pockets. Small battered baggy with some pills in it. Several hundred pounds in cash. Front door key. Scrap of paper with Carol and a phone number written on it. Jack opened the bedroom door and went out onto the landing. He found the bathroom and had a pee. It was so neat and tidy in this house, so unlike anywhere he was used to. He came out of the bathroom and walked into the back bedroom. It was all girly, must be the younger daughters room. He went back past the bathroom and went into the middle bedroom. As he walked in he gasped. The room was painted black and there was a set of decks there were posters and flyers for all the nights that Jack went to and on the chimney breast a big photograph of Djuleh and her friend wearing the same outfits they were wearing at the club on Friday.
‘Shit’.
Jack went over to the desk and sat down, he looked at the books and text books on the desk ‘Djuleh Thompson’, it said on a school book, above a big ‘RE’. There was a text book ‘GCSE RE’ with a photomontage of different places of worship, an English church, Ankor Wat, a temple with minarets, a synagogue and a few others.
‘Shit’.
Djuleh was still at school. Bollocks. Djuleh was still at school, had probably lied about her age, was probably 15 or 14 and he’d been pleasuring her at a party and now was in her house having spent the night, and yesterday apparently, with Djuleh’s mum who was called Carol and was picking Djuleh up from school right now.
‘Shit’.
Jack jumped up and ran back into the bedroom. 15:03.
‘Fuck’.
Jack looked round the room. Couldn’t see his shoes or his coat anywhere.
‘Fucking bastard bollocks fuck’.
He ran downstairs. The whole place was impeccable. There was a selection of stuff ready for him to have for breakfast, a primed cafetiere, a glass of orange juice, bread in the toaster, butter, marmite, marmalade. It all looked fantastic but Jack just wanted to get the hell out of there. He went through to the lounge. It had been knocked through to make one long room. How come he didn’t recognise it at all? His coat was over a dining chair and his shoes were by the chair. He sat down and quickly laced his shoes up. As he stood up he looked at the sheet of paper on the table, it was an electricity bill.
Carol Thompson 42 Torbay Street Blackley Manchester M9 8KL
‘Blackley? Fuck!’
There was a camera next to the bill, one of those disposable ones. Jack picked it up and looked at it. Fully exposed. He thought about taking it with him and wracked his brains to see if he could remember anything about a camera. Nope. He put it back down, grabbed his coat and started for the door.
‘Bollocks’.
He ran back, grabbed the camera and stuffed it into his coat pocket.
Then he ran back to the door, opened the latch and walked out into the street. He slammed the door shut behind him and looked up and down the road. He got his phone out. Flat battery. Shit. Can’t call a cab. Got to get away from here. Which way though? Eeny meeny, this way. He turned and walked briskly along the road, close up to the house walls and hunched up against the wind. At the end of the road there was a phone box. He went in and started hunting through his pockets for change. He tried every single pocket. None.
‘Shit’.
He turned and was about to push the door open when he saw his car driving down the street and pulling up outside the house he’d just come out of. Three people got out. One was obviously Carol and there were two girls in school uniform. The taller one was Djuleh. She looked so young. Carol and Djuleh seemed to be having some kind of argument. Jack stayed in the phone box, safe behind the scratched perspex and graffiti. The three of them went into the house. Jack waited in the phonebox for what seemed like ages but he knew it was just a few minutes. Fuck. Now what? Why was she driving his car? How was he going to get it back? Djuleh had been in the car with him on Friday. Did she recognise the car? Had she said anything to her mum. Had her mum told them who’s car it was? The note. She was expecting me to meet her kids. Was she keeping it a surprise? Were they arguing about him? Bollocks. What to do? OK. Grab the bull by the horns. Go back to the house. Why had he left? Presents. Yes, that’s it. He looked round. He could see a papershop a few hundred yards on down the street that Torbay Street came off. He walked down to the shop and inside. Although it was open, it was all shuttered up apart from the door which had wood in the frame where glass should be. Someone came out as he approached so he knew it was open. He went inside. It was really dirty and run down with ancient display counters and only about 10 different brands of fags. He clocked the magazine rack. Top two shelves full of porn. Next shelf cheap womens mags and bottom 2 shelves comics. Hardly anything for blokes apart from the porn. Nice area. Jack looked around and saw a box of Black Magic chocolates on a high shelf. It was the biggest in the shop.
‘Can I have the Black Magic chocolates please’.
The shopkeeper, a middle aged asian bloke, quite rounded and with a greying moustache got up off his stool.
‘Sir is in trouble, buying biggest box of chocolates?’ said the asian bloke.
‘Er, maybe’ said Jack, a little taken aback.
‘You should buy bottle wine too’
‘Er, nah, you’re alright’
The shopkeeper put the chocolates in a pink and white stripey carrier bag and put it on the pile of daily papers on the counter. As Jack was pulling a note out of his back pocket he notices the date on the newspaper. It includes the word ‘Tuesday’.
‘Tuesday?’ says Jack, ‘is it really Tuesday?’
‘Oh, yes, all day’
Jack paid the shopkeeper.
‘Sir really in big trouble, not know day of week’.
Jack grunted, took his change and left the shop. He wanted to tell the shopkeeper that if he put his effort into looking after his shop rather than writing comedy, he’d do much better. But he didn’t.
