The Switch(59)

Jackson nods. ‘I know the ones.’

‘Right, well, I’m always trying to skip ahead so I can work out the best one.’

‘Best one for what?’

I pause. ‘What do you mean?’

‘Best for you?’

‘No, no, I mean just … best. The right thing to do.’

‘Huh,’ Jackson says. ‘Interesting.’

I reach for a new subject, something more comfortable.

‘Can I ask who was May Queen and May King last year? I’ve got to find someone to do it, and I’m thinking that’ll be the best place to start.’

There is a very long pause.

‘It was me and Marigold,’ Jackson says eventually.

I drop my brush.

‘Shit!’ I reach for the wet cloth and dab at the vinyl floor – I’ve got there just in time to avert disaster.

‘All right?’ Jackson asks, gaze back on the wall again.

‘Yes, fine. Sorry … you and Marigold? Your ex?’ I realise belatedly I probably ought not to know about Marigold – it wasn’t Jackson who told me. But he seems unsurprised. I suppose he does live in Hamleigh: he must be used to gossip doing the rounds.

‘She always liked doing it when we were together.’ His hand is steady and careful as he paints, but there’s a muscle ticking in his jaw. ‘She came back for it.’

‘With Samantha?’

The roller pauses briefly.

‘Aye.’

‘Will they be coming this year?’

‘I hope so. I’m lucky – Marigold’s filming in London for a spell so she’s in the UK for a few weeks.’

‘That’s great. I’m glad.’ I chew the inside of my cheek. ‘When I said about my flatmate Martha, the other day,’ I say tentatively, ‘I never meant – I know there are lots of ways to be a parent. Obviously. I’m sorry for upsetting you.’

He sluices more paint into the roller tray, and I wait, watching him carefully tilt the tin back without dripping any paint down the side.

‘Marigold keeps saying they’ll move back and set up in London,’ he says, clearing his throat. ‘But it’s been over a year. And the visits are getting less and less often.’

‘I’m sorry,’ I say again.

‘S’all right. You didn’t mean any harm. You’re just a bit – you know – direct in how you say things.’

‘Mm. I get “forthright” a lot in appraisals at work.’

‘Yeah?’ His voice lightens a little. ‘I get “good in a crisis”. Code for “too laid back”.’

‘Whereas “forthright” is what they say now they’re not allowed to call women bossy.’

‘Doubt anyone would dare call you bossy,’ Jackson says. ‘Except Betsy.’

I snort. ‘I’m sure Betsy’s said worse than that.’

‘You just need to give that lot time to get used to you.’ He shoots me a wry glance. ‘What did you expect? You swanned into Hamleigh with your city shoes and your big ideas, like this is small-town America and you’re a New York bigshot and we’re all in one of those Christmas films …’

‘I did not swan! And I’ve been borrowing my grandma’s shoes ever since I got here. You, on the other hand, Mister Not In My Town, with your devil dog and your big truck, scaring off my boyfriend …’

‘I scared off your boyfriend?’

‘No, I’m just kidding.’ I shouldn’t have said that – Ethan would hate that I had. ‘I just mean, you know, you’re pretty intimidating yourself. Everyone here hangs on your every word. You are unbeatably nice.’

The grin widens. ‘Unbeatably?’

‘I mean, unbelievably. Not unbeatably.’

The grin is still there, but he lets my Freudian slip slide. We switch over so I can do the edges on his side.

‘Listen,’ Jackson says after a moment, ‘your theme for May Day. It was better than mine.’

‘Oh, no,’ I begin, then I stop myself. ‘Yeah, it was, actually.’

‘I feel a bit bad about how that went. I sort of, you know, played the daughter card a bit.’

‘You also had a secret tropical cocktail session without me. And made me dress up as the Easter bunny and skip around looking like a twat.’

Jackson laughs. ‘I wasn’t trying to make you look like a twat. I thought you’d like to take part in an important Hamleigh tradition.’

‘And you wanted to get back at me for winning Dr Piotr over to team medieval theme. Not that that lasted long.’

His eyes turn shifty.

‘I’m right! I knew it!’ I swipe at him with my paintbrush; he dodges surprisingly nimbly, grinning.

‘I’m not proud of it,’ he says, dodging my brush again. ‘Oi!’

I get him on the arm, a big smear of pale green. He brandishes the roller at me and I raise an eyebrow, bouncing on my toes.

‘Just you try it.’

He’s a lot quicker than I expected him to be. He gets me right on the nose – I squeal indignantly.

‘I didn’t think you’d go for the face !’

Jackson shrugs, still grinning. ‘The perfect attack, then.’