The Switch(101)

‘Yeah?’ Jackson says.

‘You need to be that girl. Come on. Have you got a suit?’

‘A suit? I … There’s the one I wore to Davey’s funeral.’

‘You haven’t got a less … funereal option?’

‘No. I’ve got smart trousers and a shirt?’

‘That’ll do. And wash your hair, there’s half a tree in there.’

He raises an experimental hand to his head and pulls out a sprig of something evergreen. ‘Oh,’ he says.

‘Shower, get dressed, then it’s go-time. You can drive us to Daredale station in that truck of yours?’

‘Yeah, I can. I’ll … but …’ He swallows. ‘Is this a good idea?’

‘It’s an excellent idea,’ I tell him firmly. ‘Now come on. Chop, chop.’

*

Fitz kisses me on the cheek when I arrive, then double takes when he sees Jackson.

‘Is this Arnold?’ he says, clutching at his chest.

I laugh. ‘This is Jackson,’ I say. ‘Arnold’s stepson. In love with Leena,’ I add in a whisper, though it might not be as quiet as I thought it was because, behind Fitz, Martha goes oooh and before I know it, she’s grabbed Jackson’s arm and started what looks like a very personal conversation.

The party is a heaving mass of bodies; I wince despite myself at the barrage of thumping music as we move inside. We’re in a bar under the arches by Waterloo station, and the noise echoes from the high, cavernous ceiling as stylish youngsters mill about holding beer bottles.

‘Oh, bloody hell,’ Jackson mutters beside me, having escaped Martha’s well-meaning clutches. ‘This is …’

‘Don’t worry,’ I say, patting his arm. ‘If you feel out of place, just imagine how I feel.’

He looks down at me. ‘Somehow you fit right in, actually.’

‘I know,’ I say breezily. ‘I was just trying to make you feel better. Come on, let’s find Leena.’

We make an unusual pairing as we move through the crowds, one old lady and one giant young man walking arm in arm through the throng. Jackson has smartened up well, I’m pleased to see. His shirt is open at the neck and just the right fit across the shoulders, and even though he’s wearing a very battered pair of brown leather shoes, the overall effect is very impressive. Combined with the clean hair and the smart trousers, it’s all bound to get Leena’s attention.

‘Eileen?’

I turn, surprised, and am faced with the rather hunted expression of Ethan Coleman.

‘What on earth are you doing here?’ I hiss at him.

Beside me I can feel Jackson drawing up, getting even taller, even broader. It’s all very manly. I look around quickly, hoping Leena is within view, but no such luck.

‘I’m here for Leena,’ Ethan says. ‘Eileen, please, you have to understand …’

‘I have to do no such thing,’ I say, pulling on Jackson’s arm. It’s like trying to tug at concrete. ‘Come on.’

‘You’re here sniffing around after Leena, are you?’ Ethan asks Jackson, lip curling a little. ‘I thought as much when I first met you. But she’s not your type, mate. Or, rather, you’re not hers.’

Jackson is very still. I yank at his arm, but again, nothing – he is firmly rooted.

‘What’s that meant to mean?’ Jackson asks Ethan.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Ethan says, moving to pass us. ‘I’ll see you around.’

Jackson’s arm shoots out. Ethan walks right into it with a quiet oof.

‘If you’ve got something to say, say it,’ Jackson says. He sounds very calm.

Well. This is all rather thrilling. Where is Leena when you need her?

‘I’ve got nothing to say to you,’ Ethan says, rattled. ‘Get out of my way. I’m going to find Leena.’

‘What do you want with Leena?’

‘What do you think?’ Ethan snaps.

‘I’ll have a guess,’ Jackson says. ‘You still think you have a chance with her. You think Leena will come around and forgive you – you’re her blind spot, aren’t you, and you can get away with pretty much anything. You don’t see why now should be any different.’

‘You don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Jackson shrugs. ‘I hope you’re right about that. Good luck to you, mate, but I hope she tells you where to shove it.’ He turns to me. ‘Eileen, shall we?’

‘Let’s,’ I say, and we head on through the crowd, leaving Ethan behind.

‘So,’ Jackson says to me, ‘who do you think is going to find Leena first?’

I scoff. ‘I’m Eileen Cotton and she’s Eileen Cotton. I’ve lived her life and she’s lived mine.’ I tap the side of my head. ‘It’s a sixth sense, Jackson. You wouldn’t understand.’

‘No?’

‘No. It’s a complex bond, like the one between a—’

‘We seem to be heading to the gin bar,’ Jackson remarks.

‘Where would you be if you’d just found out your ex was at your friend’s engagement party? It was this or in front of the bathroom mirror, fixing her hair – ooh, doesn’t she look beautiful !’ I breathe, catching sight of her at the bar.