It wasn’t the joy or the pain that made the night memorable. Jack Hopper simply didn’t get a choice in what he remembered. Once a memory was in his brain it stayed there like a fly stuck to insect paper, never to leave. Sometimes it meant memorising fifty-eight species of sauropod at the age of six. Sometimes it meant remembering number plates of random cars on long journeys, whether he wanted to or not.
To Gracie at that moment, it just meant knowing his way around a village. Jack found his way to School Lane, and the Hunters’ house was there as promised.
A little part of Jack had expected the house to look welcoming, perhaps for the grass to be more colourful than he remembered or the windows to look cleaner. But nothing special awaited them. The two-storey building looked as dulled and silent as before, indifferent to the return of an old visitor. Jack walked up the garden path and pushed the front door open, holding his breath to avoid choking on the dust.
Dust. Unless Ewan had used a different entrance, he had not arrived yet.
Eight y per cent of dust is human sk in. Maybe some of this is ours.
Maybe a part of Charlie still exists here.
‘You OK, Jack?’ Gracie whispered.
Apparently he hadn’t hidden his misery as well as he had thought.
‘Charlie spent his last night on Earth here,’ he answered.
‘I thought he made it to New London?’ she asked. ‘And died three days later?’
‘I don’t count that as Earth.’
Jack made his way to the living room, and his eyes met the spot on the floor that had been his bed three weeks earlier. He wondered what Ewan’s reaction would be once he arrived, whether his own memories would be as specific, and his emotions just as provoked. It took Jack a moment to remember that he was supposed to check the house for clones, rather than taking a trip down Crap Memory Lane.
‘Can I ask you a question?’ asked Gracie.
‘You just did.’
She sighed behind him.
‘Why do you always do things like that?’
‘Is that your real question, or another supplementary one?’
Gracie’s next sigh was more of a snarl. Jack closed his eyes, realising that it wasn’t the best time for his brand of humour.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Go ahead.’
‘Did you know Charlie well?’ asked Gracie.
‘I did towards the end.’
‘Was he nice?’
Jack sighed. Eleven months had passed between Takeover Day and Charlie Coleman’s death, and even after spending so much time in such cramped conditions, there were still people in Spitfire’s Rise he hadn’t got to know.
‘He was Charlie, I guess.’
‘But was he nice?’
‘He was… endearing. I don’t think “nice” was the best word to describe him. But he had his good sides, even if you had to look for them.’
Gracie sat down on the faded sofa, her face indecipherable.
‘I didn’t speak to him. Not once.’
‘He was a decent guy,’ said Jack. ‘It’s a shame you two didn’t get to know each other.’
Gracie shrugged, and gave her response in a low, subdued tone.
‘I don’t think either of us missed out on much.’
Jack wasn’t prepared for that kind of answer. He took a deep breath, and then coughed out a mouthful of dust.
Gracie was sad about herself, and Jack wasn’t sure why. He was an expert at being kind and caring, but knew nothing about how to show kindness and care. Sometimes when people were sad they wanted to talk about it, and sometimes they wanted to be left alone. And whichever Jack gambled on, he always seemed to get it wrong. It was a heartbreaking position to be in: wanting so deeply to help people in need, but constantly being scorned for trying and failing. Jack could follow any instruction manual to perfection, but people were more difficult than machines.
In the end, he put a hand on Gracie’s shoulder and gave what he thought was a sympathetic smile. It seemed like the action least likely to be offensive.
‘I’m going to check upstairs, and keep watch on the street,’ he said. ‘Ewan shouldn’t be far away. Stay down here and have a rest if you like. You deserve it.’
Gracie said nothing, and Jack couldn’t tell whether his response had been the right one. But either way, the house needed guarding. And he had to admit, he was anxious about why Ewan hadn’t reached the house first.
*
Five o’clock came and went, and Ewan was nowhere to be seen.
Half past five came and went, and daylight began to fade.
Six o’clock came, and Jack made a phone call to comms to check if they had heard anything. The call did nothing but make Shannon scared. Even Alex’s voice seemed to lose its cool.
By half past six, Jack’s nerves had turned to clear and simple panic.
Ewan remembered the way, didn’t he? He just needs to find a familiar road and take the same route as before.
Was he in a fit state to agree when I told him the plan ?
Is he deliberately taking his time? Does he need the cool-off period that badly?
There was a creak at the top of the stairs behind him. Jack didn’t worry: the footstep was so loud that it couldn’t have been made by someone sneaking up on him. He turned around and saw Gracie, her hands trembling and eyes pointed at the carpet.
‘Jack?’
‘You OK, Gracie?’
At first she gave no answer. But just before Jack turned his head back to guard the approach to the house again, she spluttered her words out.
‘Did I kill Raj?’
Jack stared back in confusion.
‘What?’
‘Did Ewan mean it? Is it my fault he died?’
Jack gave a long sigh.
‘Ewan was angry because he’d just lost a friend. He was saying it out of hurt, nothing more.’
‘But he’s right… if I’d brought Raj out with me, we’d all be alive.’
‘You’re assuming you could have made Raj give up and run. He was a stubborn guy.’
‘But I could have…’
Gracie began to sniff, and Jack gritted his teeth. Situations like these were beyond his social understanding, according to the many people who had made him feel bad over the years. And from a logical perspective, it was difficult to argue with her. If Gracie had been more forceful, maybe it really would have saved Raj’s life.
But maybe it wouldn’t have.
It would be so easy, pretending to know what he’d have done in the same situation. But Gracie had been the one inside Oakenfold, not him. And he had spent many years enduring those who had judged him without knowing his background, so he would never judge others in the same way. Gracie would spend the rest of her days wondering about the what-ifs, being judged by other people who definitely would have done this or that in her position. Jack refused to become one of them.
‘You did what you needed to do, Gracie,’ he finished. ‘If you’d stayed, you could have both got trapped.’
Before he could turn to face the street again, Gracie was hugging him. He did not know whether it was a friendship hug or a romantic hug, whatever the latter was. But it lasted longer than most of the hugs he endured.
Back at Spitfire’s Rise, his friends had spent months joking about the possibility of him and Gracie getting together. The joke had been made so many times that he had wondered whether it was a joke at all. Unfortunately for the crowd, Jack wasn’t attracted to Gracie. He was just the only person her age who made time for her: the one who never called her Lazy Gracie, or underestimated her because of her habit of blending in with the crowd.